Page 6

6

Sunday morning

DI Freya Ravensbourne never drove herself. Today’s driver must be moonlighting from his day job in Formula One, because she arrived in Llanfair in record time. Charlie had never been so pleased to see his scruffy, cigarette-scented boss, especially as she was accompanied by three uniformed constables.

“We need to secure this building,” he said. “And there’s some racist graffiti on an alley wall by the Town Hall. It’s taped, but people have already taken pictures.”

Ravensbourne nodded and gestured at the three constables. They left immediately, and Charlie sighed with relief. Patsy disengaged herself from Charlie and sat up.

“Sorry, ma’am,” she said.

Ravensbourne patted Patsy’s shoulder, and it was a gentle pat, not the usual bruising blow. “No, I’m sorry,” she said. “Unwin is going to be missed by a lot of people. Now let me talk to Charlie for a minute, and we’ll get you home.” She grabbed Charlie’s arm and pulled him away from Patsy, further into the yard.

“Tell me what’s what,” she said in a low voice, keeping her eyes on Patsy.

“The fire broke out late last night. Patsy, Eddy and I were keeping a visible presence in case of trouble, but we didn’t see the fire until it was well alight. No one we’ve talked to saw anything either. Then this morning, Patsy and I turned up and found the fire investigator was already there. He walked us through the building and up to the top floor which is we found Unwin’s body. I don’t know if the fire guy knew it was there, because he didn’t say anything about it until we got there. No need to tell me how weird that is, because I already know. I mean, if he’d been up the stairs before, he would have seen the body, so surely he would have said something.” Charlie shrugged, because he simply didn’t know what to make of Britton’s behaviour. “The only reason I didn’t call him out on it was that Patsy saw who the body was. Anyway, Eddy’s talking to him now.”

Ravensbourne nodded. “You did what you could.”

“It looks to me as if someone bashed Unwin on the head,” Charlie went on, “but that’s not my call. There’s lots of blood and it looks dry. I’ve got Unwin’s next of kin details and I want to get to them before the word gets out.”

“Good,” Ravensbourne said. “Anything else?”

“The shop used to be a takeaway, run by a Muslim family. They moved to a bigger place. There’s racist graffiti on a wall by the Town Hall. Eddy’s seen it. I haven’t. I don’t know if any of it’s connected.” Charlie took a breath. “Oh, and the local MP is offering any help we need.”

“That’s something I suppose,” Ravensbourne said. “But you’re right about Unwin’s family. Get going and I’ll wait for Hector Powell. Not to be crass, but we need the body moving asap in this heat.” She paused and her face fell into lines of unhappiness. “Unwin, though. Who would kill Unwin? Go. I’ll keep hold of Patsy.”

“Just before I do, Patsy said Unwin had another partner, Dylan. Maybe I should talk to him, too?”

Ravensbourne nodded. “You absolutely should. I’ll get the address and text you.”

“And Eddy is talking to the fire investigator,” Charlie said.

“What is my job, Charlie? How many reminders do you think I need?” Ravensbourne asked.

Charlie took the hint and left, walking back to the police station where he’d left his car. The air was warm and humid, and becoming decidedly soupy; soup flavoured with a hint of burnt ashes. The sky was already a hard blue, and the bright streets were striped with dark shadows. Charlie stuck to the shady side of the street, wishing he could go home for a shower. But he had a spare shirt in his car, and that, with some wet wipes and deodorant, would have to do. It was his very last shirt. Home was calling increasingly loudly.

The Unwin house was exactly as Patsy had described it: a pristine white bungalow, with an array of solar panels on the roof. There was a large brick driveway, but Charlie left his car on the road, where a high hedge provided some shade. Nothing was going to make this easy, so he squared his shoulders, walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

There was some shouting from inside, along the lines of “If that’s the Jehovah’s Witnesses …” and “I’m going,” before the door opened to a man who could only be Unwin’s father. He had the same features, and when he said “Yes?” it was with the same inflexion in his voice.

Charlie produced his ID. “Mr Gerald Unwin?”

The man nodded “Why?”

“Detective Sergeant Charlie Rees. May I come in?”

Gerald Unwin held the door open, and stepped backwards, though not far enough to allow Charlie to enter. “Why are you here?”

“Is your wife here, sir?” Charlie asked. “Perhaps you could call her.”

“Oh, hell,” Unwin senior said. “Are the kids alright?” Then he shouted, “Tansy, it’s the police.” This time he did hold the door open and led Charlie to the back of the house, into a large room with a kitchen at one end, dining table in the middle and a curved sofa in well-used blue corduroy at the other end. A tiny, doll-like woman with bright white hair, wearing a thin cotton dressing gown stood by the kitchen island, one hand on a coffee machine. She looked up and opened her mouth as if to speak, but something in her husband’s expression warned her that this wasn’t a social call.

“What?” she said.

“I think you should both sit down,” Charlie said, and he saw that they knew what he was going to say. Neither parent moved.

This was it. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that this morning police in Llanfair discovered the body of your son, Josh. At this point, we don’t know how he died, but we are treating it as suspicious. I’m so sorry for your loss. Un — Josh was a good man and a valued colleague.”

Unwin’s mother, Tansy was shaking her head violently. “No, that can’t be right. Josh is in Wrexham. It must be someone else.”

“I’m afraid there is no doubt, Mrs Unwin. I knew Josh personally, and Patsy Hargreaves was also present.”

At this, all the blood drained from Tansy’s face, and her eyes began to roll back in her head. Gerald started towards her, but Charlie was closer, and caught her before she fell. Gerald stepped close and took his wife, her eyelids fluttering. He carried her bodily to the sofa and put her down gently, sitting beside her and stroking her hair.

“Let me get you a glass of water,” Charlie said. He could see tumblers in a glass-fronted cabinet.

“Thanks,” Gerald said as Charlie put two glasses of water on the small table by the sofa.

Tansy had recovered, if that was the right word, and was holding tightly to her husband, as the tears streamed. Gerald offered her a glass, and she drank thirstily.

She lifted her face and asked, “Patsy found him?”

Charlie nodded.

“Poor Patsy. They were going to get married, you know,” Tansy said, and the tears came harder than ever.

By contrast, Gerald sat like a statue. Charlie recognised the feeling. Hold the body to contain the emotion, because if the emotions leaked, every bit of control would go, and that was too terrifying to contemplate.

“What’s going on?” said a girl’s voice. “What’s wrong with Mum?”

Charlie hadn’t heard the girl come in. She was a teenager with her mother’s petite figure and pale hair.

“Come and sit down, Lola,” Gerald said, patting the sofa beside him. When she did, he took her hand. “I have some very bad news, love. Josh is dead. The police found his body this morning. They say his death is suspicious. This is …” He looked helplessly at Charlie.

“Detective Sergeant Charlie Rees,” Charlie supplied.

The girl looked him in the eyes. “You work with Patsy, don’t you? Did she find out about his other women and kill him?”