MURDER IN THE VALLEYS: A cozy Welsh crime mystery full of twists (The Havard and Lambert mysteries Book 1) by Pippa McCathie

Author:Pippa McCathie [McCathie, Pippa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Book Folks bestselling Welsh crime fiction, mystery and thriller publisher
Published: 2018-10-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Up St Madoc’s Road, past Well House where the Coles lived, and a few hundred yards beyond St Madoc’s school grounds was a pair of ornate wrought iron gates. Carved into the granite wall and picked out in gold were the words, Bryn-y-Mor Lodge. Tall, neatly clipped conifers shaded it from the road, and rose bushes lined either side of the drive, with lawns and neat flower beds beyond. It was obvious Paul Vaughan could afford a full-time gardener.

The house itself was an attractive building, modern, long and low, built in a style reminiscent of a Spanish hacienda. But, in spite of this, it didn’t look entirely out of place in this Welsh rural setting, in fact it had a smugly permanent air as it crouched, gazing out over the fields and hills beyond.

They parked the car and mounted two shallow semi-circular steps to the heavy oak front door and, when Dilys pressed the bell, they could hear a peal of music echoing through the house. She grimaced up at Matt. “Common as muck, my Nan would have said. I ask you, what kind of a doorbell does he think that is?”

The door was opened by a bald man with a broken nose and a damaged ear. If it hadn’t been for his neat pinstripe trousers and black jacket, he would have been the epitome of a retired bare-knuckle fighter. His small eyes looked them up and down and, from the expression on his face, Matt gathered he wasn’t impressed with what he saw. Matt took out his ID card and showed it to the man.

“Chief Inspector Lambert and Sergeant Bevan. We’d like to see Mr Vaughan, please.”

The man barely glanced at the card and didn’t give him a direct answer. “You can stay here,” he said, and stepped aside to let them in. “I’ll check with his nibs.”

“Thank you,” said Matt to his retreating back as the man disappeared through a door on the right.

“A Londoner, I think,” commented Dilys dryly.

“And used to be a boxer, I wouldn’t mind betting.”

A moment later the door opened again and a man came striding out. He had show business printed all over him. From his slightly long, swept-back brown hair, his cream shirt and black leather waistcoat, striped loose-fitting trousers, to his Gucci shoes, he yelled it. But when he opened his mouth, just like his henchman, it was straightforward London backstreet boy that you heard, so much so that it almost sounded artificial.

“Afternoon. What can I do you for?”

Matt introduced them both again and explained why they were there.

“Ah yea, poor little cow.” In spite of the phraseology, he sounded genuinely sorry. “She was a good kid. It was what’s called foul play, was it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Matt said.

“Can’t get me brain round the kind of bastard that’d do a thing like that. Come in, come in. Anything I can do to help find the bugger, you only have to say.”

They followed him across the black and white tiled hall to an enormous sitting room.

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