Page 98 of The Hallmarked Man (Cormoran Strike #8)
I spoke to her, but she merely jabbered
In the old style; both her eyes had slunk
Back to their pits; her stature shrunk;
In short, the soul in its body sunk
Like a blade sent home to its scabbard.
Robert Browning The Flight of the Duchess
Dilys Powell was a small, saggy-cheeked woman with wispy white hair, who looked frail and ill. She was wearing a thick tartan winter coat and entered the room very slowly, using a walking frame, a large black handbag over one arm.
‘Hello, Mrs Powell,’ said Robin, getting to her feet. ‘I’m Robin Ellacott. We spoke on the phone about your grandson, Tyler?’
Dilys’s only reply was a sniff.
‘She was up the church,’ said Griffiths, guiding Dilys to a chair. ‘It’s where her husband’s buried. I’ve been telling them about the car accident, Dilys,’ he told the old woman, raising his voice. ‘About Hugo and Anne-Marie, and why Tyler left Ironbridge.’
‘He never did nothing to that car,’ mumbled Dilys.
‘That’s what I told them,’ said Griffiths.
‘Never did nothing,’ repeated Dilys. She released the walking frame, then sank, with Griffiths’ aid, into an armchair.
‘We were hoping to ask you some questions, Mrs Powell,’ said Robin, ‘about why you thought the man in the vault could have been Ty—’
‘Took off,’ said Dilys. ‘Never told me where he was going. Told him, ’ she said, with an aggrieved glance at Griffiths.
‘Only—’ began Griffiths.
‘Silver,’ said Dilys.
‘What about silver, Mrs Powell?’ asked Robin.
‘He was talking about silver. On the phone.’
‘Tyler was?’
‘Yer.’
‘What did he say about silver?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Who was he talking to? You?’
‘Jones, probably.’
‘Who’s Jones?’ said Robin.
‘His friend,’ said Dilys. ‘Up Higwell Farm, by Apeton.’
‘What’s Jones’ first name?’ asked Robin.
‘Wynn,’ said Dilys, as Strike’s pen moved rapidly across the page.
‘Is Wynn a good friend of Tyler’s?’
‘Yer,’ said Dilys, scowling. ‘I don’t like him.’
‘Why’s that?’ asked Robin.
‘Rude,’ said Dilys. She turned to look at Griffiths. ‘I need the loo.’
‘Right ho,’ said Griffiths, getting up again. He helped Dilys out of the armchair and guided her hands back on to the walking frame. ‘First on the left, down the hall.’
Dilys left the room slowly. Once she was out of earshot, Griffiths said quietly,
‘She’s gone downhill a lot since Ty left. He was good to her, did her shopping and that. She took it hard, him leaving, ’specially after his parents left for Florida. Ivor’s Dilys’s son. We all offer to help her, but Dilys likes her independence.’
‘There’s a great-niece, isn’t there?’ asked Robin. ‘I spoke to her before Christmas.’
‘She doesn’t live round here, she’s back at uni,’ said Ian.
‘I wouldn’t mention her. Dilys’s cat, that she was supposed to be feeding, died when Dilys was in hospital.
The cat was ancient, but Dilys hasn’t forgiven the girl, and when Dilys loses her temper, believe me, you know it.
She’s been worse since she slipped on the ice last autumn.
Knocked herself out, going down the hill.
She was lying out there in the dark for a couple of hours and nobody realised.
She was in hospital a month and – shit,’ said Griffiths, jumping up as a muffled thump issued from somewhere out of sight.
He left the room. They heard another couple of thumps, Dilys saying, ‘That wasn’t me!
I can do it!’ then the sound of a closing door. Griffiths re-entered the room.
‘’S’all right, she just hit the hall table,’ he said.
‘So Tyler never mentioned silver to you?’ asked Robin.
‘No, he just told me he’d got a job in a pub, somewhere down south. Dilys was angry I never told her that, see, but I thought she knew. Anyway, I dunno if Ty was telling the truth. He didn’t give me the name of the pub or anything. He might just’ve wanted me to think he had a plan.’
They heard a distant flush.
‘You’ve been to Belgium,’ Strike said to Griffiths.
‘What?’ said Griffiths.
Strike lifted the small gold figurine from the table beside which he was sitting. ‘This is the Manneken Pis, isn’t it? Copy of the Belgian statue?’
‘Oh – Chlo sent me that, from interrailing. Family joke. Find the tackiest souvenir you can, wherever you go.’
‘Ah, right,’ said Strike, setting the thing down again. He supposed that explained the glittery Virgin Mary and the neon pink Thai elephant on the shelf over Griffiths’ head.
‘Mrs Powell was interviewed by the police, wasn’t she?’ asked Robin.
‘Yeah,’ said Griffiths, ‘but I don’t think it went anywhere.
Ty took all his stuff with him when he took off, see, so there was no ruling him out on DNA.
Like I say, he was kind of squatting in the house after Gill and Ivor went to Florida.
They got rid of most of the furniture before they put the place up for sale. ’
‘Have they been in touch with Tyler, do you know?’ asked Robin.
‘No idea, you’d have to ask Dilys, but like I say, they’re not very concerned parents.’
Dilys shuffled back into the room a few minutes later and was again helped down into her armchair by Griffiths. Rather than thanking him, she scowled up at him.
‘Your Chloe stopped talking to Ty, and they was supposed to be friends.’
‘She didn’t, Dilys,’ said Griffiths. ‘She was just off on her trip, so—’
‘Tyler didn’t have nobody on his side,’ said Dilys. ‘Nobody. All of ’em saying he’d done something to the car. He never. He never did.’
She seemed both angry and upset, her hands moving restlessly in her lap.
‘When did Tyler leave Ironbridge?’ asked Robin.
‘Months,’ said Dilys. ‘Months ago.’
‘Must’ve been… May, Dilys?’ said Griffiths. ‘I know it wasn’t long after Chloe’s birthday.’
‘They was supposed to be friends, but she left and never stood up for him,’ said Dilys, for whom this seemed a very sore point.
‘Only because she was off inter—’
‘Looking at his phone, all the time. Defending himself, he said. On the internet. I told him, “stop looking at what they’re saying, you’re only upsetting yourself”.’
‘Have you heard from him since he left, Mrs Powell?’ asked Robin.
‘He whatsitted me,’ she said, gripping and releasing her hands in her lap. ‘But then he stopped.’
‘You mean WhatsApped?’ suggested Robin tentatively.
‘Yer,’ said Dilys.
‘Can you remember when the messages stopped?’
‘What?’ said Dilys, scowling as she raised her hand to her ear.
‘Could I see the messages?’ asked Robin more loudly.
‘What for?’
‘To see the dates,’ said Robin.
Griffiths lifted Dilys’s bag off the floor and gave it to her.
Mumbling under her breath, Dilys fumbled in its depths, at last retrieving an old Nokia.
Breathing laboriously, she stabbed at the buttons, and after a protracted wait, handed the phone to Robin, who looked down at a short series of messages.
Tyler Powell
Hi gran hope your ok
Dilys Powell
my knees so bad I cant hardly walk
Tyler Powell
I’m sorry can’t you call Doris?
Dilys Powell
I can’t be bothering Doris all the time. when are you coming back?
Dilys Powell
are you ignoring me?
Dilys Powell
Ignorant bastard
Dilys Powell
after all ive done for you
Tyler Powell
Gran I’m not ungrateful but I’m busy Ive got a job
Dilys Powell
so your happy me being a prisoner in my own house
Dilys Powell
I can’t do shopping or nothing
Dilys Powell
you can forget me leaving you my money after this
Dilys Powell
Ungrateful little bastard
Tyler Powell
ok fine im an ungrateful bastard you’ll be better off not hearing from me then
Dilys Powell
Where are you?
Dilys Powell
I need to know where you are
Dilys Powell
Im bad my knees playing up
Dilys Powell
where are you Tyler
Dilys Powell
Ive called the police
Dilys Powell
tell me where you are im worried
The last message from Tyler had been sent on the sixteenth of June the previous year. Dilys’s final message to him had been sent in October.
However, directly above this WhatsApp chat was another, which Robin, seeing the name ‘Tyler’, surreptitiously opened, scrolling back to the first message, which had been sent on July the twelfth of the previous year.
07700 903361
Gran this is my new number
07700 903361
Gran I got rid of my old phone because I was getting people hassling me on it so you need to use this one for me now. Griff can have it but nobody else, ok?
Dilys Powell
Who is this?
07700 903361
It’s Tyler. You need to use this number for me now.
Dilys Powell
Is that you Wynn Jones
07700 903361
No gran it’s me, Tyler. I’m going to call you now all right?
07700 903361
Gran answer the phone it’s me
Tyler
07700 903361
Gran THIS ISN’T WYNN IT’S ME
The last of these messages had been sent shortly before Christmas.
‘Would you mind if I take copies of these, Mrs Powell?’ asked Robin.
‘All right,’ said Dilys, and Robin photographed both chats with her own phone.
‘And would it be all right for me to take the number for Tyler’s father?’ Robin asked, seeing Ivor Powell’s name on an older WhatsApp thread.
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Dilys again.
Robin saved the number, then handed back the Nokia.
‘Have you spoken on the phone to Tyler since he left, Mrs Powell?’
‘No,’ said Dilys. ‘That’s not him. It’s that Jones playing games.’
‘Wynn Jones from Higwell Farm?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You think he’s been calling you, pretending to be Tyler?’
‘What?’
‘You don’t think it’s really Tyler who’s been calling you?’
‘Rude,’ said Dilys. ‘And he was a good boy before all this.’
‘Have you spoken to Tyler since he left, Griff?’ asked Robin.
‘Not since June,’ said Griffiths.
‘He seems to have wanted you to have his new number,’ said Robin.
‘That’s not Tyler, that other one,’ said Dilys mutinously. ‘I can tell the difference.’
‘You called the police in late June, Mrs Powell, did you?’ said Robin, looking down at the messages again. ‘Was that because you saw the news stories about the—?’
‘He said “silver”,’ said Dilys stubbornly. ‘I heard him.’
‘You know the shop where the body was found was masonic?’ asked Robin.
‘What?’