MURDER IN PEMBROKESHIRE an absolutely gripping crime mystery full of twists (Tyrone Swift Detective GRETTA MULROONEY (epub e reader TXT) 📖

a job that I love. Without wanting to sound rude, mind your own business. I don’t judge how you run your life and work, and I don’t have to conduct my life according to your, and I suspect Marcel’s, standards. I’ll be Branna’s father on my terms, not yours.’

She made a tiny, impatient noise. ‘I’d better go, it’s story time and if Branna gets overtired, she takes ages to get to sleep.’

He rang off, annoyed with Ruth but glad that he’d fought his corner. The dynamic between them had shifted since she’d got together with Marcel. Swift had supported her through her difficult divorce from Emlyn, and they’d cooperated well on Branna’s care. Now, Ruth frequently reproached him and had taken to quoting Marcel’s views on childcare, especially where Branna’s hearing was concerned. While he had a signal, he sent Ruth a brief email.

I won’t attend your wedding and assume you weren’t planning to invite me, so please make sure that you/Marcel don’t encourage Branna to think that I might. I’ll talk to her about it when I see her at home. She’s got a lot to handle in the coming months and I’ll deal with her in my own way about it.

That was better out of his system. He checked his calls, texts and emails in case Amira Brodeur had responded, but found no reply. There was one from Ruth.

Okay, Ty. I’ll leave you to talk to B. Let’s keep things on an even keel.

In the car park he unlocked Afan’s bike and saw Caris Murray in the distance, talking on her phone. She seemed wired and intent, holding the phone clamped to her ear with both hands. She turned down a side street and was gone from view. He cycled after her, following her slowly once she was in his sights. She walked rapidly, criss-crossing a number of roads, each one becoming progressively more down-at-heel, the tarmac pitted and potholed. Finally, she entered a depressing, short row of shabby terraced houses that fronted the narrow, uneven pavement. It was the kind of place where lidless bins stood by front doors and the gutters were clogged with rubbish. In hot weather, it would be fly heaven.

He waited until she’d let herself in through a peeling red front door, and then cycled to the house. There was no one around, but he thought he’d better hold on to his bike. The bell was detached from its casing, with wiring showing, but it rang when he pressed it. He could see a large, wall-mounted TV through the thin net curtain of the living room and recognised Matt Damon playing Jason Bourne.

Caris answered the door still wearing her coat. She sounded apprehensive. ‘What are you doing here? How did you find where I live?’

‘I asked around. I just wanted to have a chat about Afan. Can I come in?’

She folded her arms. ‘No. It’s not convenient.’

‘It won’t take long.’

‘Not now. I’ve already spoken to a policewoman today and I’m knackered.’

‘DI Weber?’

‘That’s right. She was banging on for ages, asking me stupid questions.’

‘Okay. I’ve got some questions of my own. Have you any idea why Afan missed Welsh lessons on Fridays, lied about the reason and got the Cardiff train?’

Caris chewed the inside of her mouth and stared over his shoulder. ‘Where did you hear that?’

‘Someone saw him at the station. The Afan I knew was a truthful, honest kind of person. He wouldn’t have lied easily, so I’m puzzled about what made him mislead people.’

‘No idea about that at all.’

Fibber. ‘I thought you might, given that you were friendly.’

‘Like I said, no idea.’

‘Okay. Did Afan loan or give you money?’

She snapped to attention. ‘Who told you that?’

‘Someone I was talking to.’

Her eyes flickered while she weighed up her answer. She said defensively, ‘Afan lent me some money, yeah. I had a few problems and we were friends. That’s no one else’s business.’

‘How much did he lend you?’

She coloured up. ‘That’s nothing to do with you. You’ve no right to be asking me. I’m not the only one who tapped him for money, you know, so there!’

‘Really? Who else asked him?’

She stepped back from the door. ‘I’m not telling you anything else!’

He took his card from a pocket and gave it to her. ‘If you fancy a chat, get in touch.’

‘I won’t, don’t worry. You can piss off, coming here and bothering me.’

She slammed the door and the bell quivered and then dropped lower on its dangling wires. A woman with fading mousey hair peeped around the curtain at him and then vanished.

Dusk was falling, he was hungry, and he wanted to get back to Tir Melys before it was pitch dark. He cycled away fast, his head full of questions.

Chapter 11

It was high time he had fresh drinking water. The next morning, he took the enamel bucket and found the natural spring behind the Merchants’ house, following the track behind the high beech hedges that screened their home. He heard the water before he saw it. It was in a small copse of holly and birch trees and came from a pipe set into a stony ridge with a lipped saucepan hanging beside it. He drank some from his hand. It was beautifully cold. He filled the bucket and as he walked back with it, he saw Elinor Brinkworth drive away in the Land Rover with Frankie curled up in the back window. Dr Brinkworth might be at home, polishing his PhD.

He placed the bucket by the sink and made his way over to Cuddfan, the Brinkworths’ house. There was no answer when he knocked at the door, so he followed the brick herringbone path around the side of the house to an egg-shaped timber building with a mossy green roof and full-length windows, painted a sunny