Angel of Death Page 4

  The DI smiled and patted her friend's hand. "Don't worry. I'm glad you've eaten something, at least."

  Tasha put down her knife and fork. "I wish I could have done it justice. That was truly delicious." She gave a wistful smile. "If you were not such a brilliant detective, I could imagine you as a chef."

  "Oh, go on with you." Yvonne pulled a face.

  "Seriously. I'd employ you."

  Yvonne giggled. "More wine?"

  Tasha stared at her near-empty glass. "I guess one more won't hurt."

  Yvonne refilled their glasses.

  "My dad hasn't had it easy in life." Tasha ran her fingers around the rim of her glass.

  Yvonne seated herself, head tilted.

  "He and my mum have had their share of trials. They split up a few times, in the distant past." The psychologist looked her friend in the eye. "He always took it hardest. My mum has a fiery temper. All vocal and flailing arms. She has Italian blood in her."

  "Did she hit your dad?"

  "Oh no." Tasha shook her head. "Nothing like that. But she'd walk out, or else send him packing. Each time, she would be adamant she meant it. Then, a month or several later, she'd be back, or she'd phone him up to ask him to come home."

  "Wow." Yvonne tilted her head, searching Tasha's face. "That must have been hard for you, especially when you were young."

  Tasha sighed. "Gave me more than a few sleepless nights, until I was older and got used to it."

  "Were you angry with her?"

  "Not when I was young. When she walked out, I missed her terribly. But, as a teenager, I resented her for it. I resented her for the way it affected our feelings. Mine and dad's. I thought her childish. It was as though I was older than her. More mature. Then, one day, she stopped doing it. Just stopped either running out on us, or sending my dad packing. It was like she had suddenly grown up. Realised the hurt she'd caused. The last time they split, I was sixteen and revising for exams."

  "Were your results affected?"

  "Maybe, a little. I remember dad talking to her when she came back. I overheard part of the conversation. He asked her if she had even considered the effect her behaviour was having on me and my future and, from her responses, I don't think she had. Whatever he said to her, it worked. She never went that far again. Not to my knowledge, anyway. They've been together nearly forty years and, for the last twenty-or-so, they haven't split up once."

  "How did she take the news of...?" Yvonne's voice trailed away as though she was reticent of reminding Tasha.

  "Of my dad's illness? She was in bits on the phone. It hit her hard. I'm sorry for her. She loves him. She loves him very much. I don't doubt it."

  The DI nodded. "She'll value your presence and support."

  Tasha nodded. "I know."

  They spent the rest of the evening talking, drinking and, on occasions, crying until, both exhausted, they fell asleep.

  "What can I get you? Hello?"

  Yvonne jumped as she realized the young male behind the counter awaited her attention, the people in front of her having gotten their beverages and dissipated.

  She closed the gap between herself and the male. "Oh, I'm sorry." She cast her eyes over the chalked list on the blackboard behind and above him. "Two large lattes, please." She pulled her purse from her bag, listening as a female voice came over the tannoy, announcing that the train to Birmingham New Street would arrive in ten minutes, stopping at Machynlleth and Shrewsbury.

  The fishy-tang of the sea wafted through Aberdovey station as Yvonne thought of the six-hour journey that Tasha would have to make, changing at Birmingham, and again at Reading and Staines before reaching Ashford. A journey far too long when one was feeling as distressed as her friend was.

  The sound of air whooshing through hot milk pierced her thoughts and she realised she was still standing in front of the counter, waiting for the coffees and searching for words to comfort the psychologist.

  "That'll be six pounds seventy." The young man placed lids onto the coffee cups and pushed them towards her.

  "Thank you." She placed the right money on the counter, giving the barista a smile before pushing her bag strap back onto her shoulder and grabbing the cups.

  Outside, Tasha sat on a pale-blue bench, shoulders hunched, her glazed eyes staring out over the tracks.

  At a quarter past one, the station had filled with people waiting to catch the thirteen-twenty-two train.

  As the DI approached, the psychologist appeared not to notice anyone around her, continuing to stare, a haunted expression in her sunken eyes.

  Yvonne placed the coffee cups down next to her friend, seating herself the opposite side of her.

  She still hadn't found the right words and decided they were unnecessary. Instead, she placed an arm around Tasha's shoulders, pulling her close.

  Tasha's head fell to rest on her shoulder.

  From the corner of her eye, the DI saw a tear drip into her lap, just before the tannoy announced the thirteen-twenty-two as it screeched into the station.

  "Are you going to be all right?" Yvonne had the urge to climb on board with her.

  The psychologist looked up and accepted the coffee the DI held out. "Yes. Yes, I'll be all right." She ran a sleeve under her nose.

  "Call me, when you get there?"

  Tasha nodded, running the back of her hand across her eyes. "Thank you."

  Yvonne closed both eyelids in acknowledgement as her friend turned and boarded the train.

  11

  Krysta

  Yvonne and Dewi paused on the threshold of a substantial detached home near Mochdre, two miles to the West of Newtown. The DI guessed it must be four or five bedrooms, at least.

  Although an enclosed property, someone had left the tall metal gates unlocked, anticipating their arrival. Dewi exited the car to push them open, allowing Yvonne to park on the ample driveway. To the right hand-side of the red-brick property, she spied the steps of a swimming pool, the bulk of which disappeared behind the house. The well-kept lawns matched the paved driveway, in their perfect condition. The sun seemed to bounce around the whole, giving the place a Mediterranean feel.

  Dewi pressed the intercom and announced their arrival. A sharp buzz, and the brilliant-white door opened with a click.

  A middle-aged man, dressed in casual trousers and shirt, came to greet them. He was well built and the DI eyed his muscles; the gravitas in his blue eyes hinted at intelligence and a profound sadness.

  She held her hand out for him to shake. "DI Yvonne Giles." She pointed to her DS. "And this is Sergeant Dewi Hughes."

  "Miles. Miles Whyte. Krysta's father." He accepted her hand. "Thank you for coming. My wife Kate is in the garden out back." He turned to lead them through a huge open-plan kitchen-diner.

  Yvonne cast her eyes around. Their home could be the centre spread in some style magazine, all shiny surfaces and doors without handles. Light bouncing around the interior and giving the space an air of being outside, helped by the massive glass doors to the garden which, like walls, stood open with a decked patio area between. The latter had a good-sized swimming pool sunk into it.

  Miles led them into the quarter-of-an-acre garden, surrounded by evergreen hedges and dotted with mature trees and clever planting.

  Kate Whyte appeared fragile, tendrils of greying-blonde hair falling about her face from a loosely held ponytail. Hands inside the pockets of her pale-blue summer dress, she rose to greet them. Perhaps emphasised by her lack of makeup, her skin appeared pale and colourless, her expression, haunted.

  "You have a beautiful home." Yvonne smiled at her.

  "Thank you." Kate smiled back, but there was no joy in it.

  Yvonne took her hand. "I'm so sorry about your daughter."

  Kate nodded, turning her gaze towards the trees at the end of the garden, tears forming in her amber eyes. "We still have the swings we bought her for her Seventh birthday."

  Yvonne cast her gaze towards the frame at the end of the garden, under
the trees, spying the telltale signs of age; the red plastic seats now more pink and white. Patches of rust dotting the black metal frame.

  "We will find out who killed her." Yvonne's voice was firm, her gaze determined. "We have to ask you some questions."

  Miles walked over to his wife, putting an arm around her waist before they seated themselves. Yvonne and Dewi sat opposite, across a glass outdoor table.

  "What would you like to know?" Miles held his wife's hand.

  "How much did you see of Krysta in the weeks preceding her death?" Yvonne's tone was soft.

  Miles ran a hand through his hair. "Not at all, in the week before she died. She came here for Sunday lunch the weekend before that."

  "Was her boyfriend with her?"

  "Ed?" Miles shook his head. "No. He didn't always come with her and, for whatever reason, that day he didn't."

  "How did she seem while she was here?”

  "Quiet." Kate spoke up, leaning her elbow on the arm of her chair and cradling her chin. “Lost in her own thoughts."

  "Did you get any indication of what she was thinking about?”

  Kate shook her head.

  "You didn't ask her?"

  Kate sighed, a wistful, pained expression in her eyes. "No. I wish we had. You've no idea..." Her voice tailed off.

  "What about before that? When had you seen her prior to that day?"

  "She came round the Saturday before. Not for lunch, that time. She stayed long enough to collect something from her room."

  "From her room? I assumed she was living with Ed?" Yvonne frowned.

  "She was. But we kept her room open for her, in case she needed it. Her room from childhood... She was fluid in her living arrangements. She came back to stay here many times, since leaving home. Usually, after a break-up or some other traumatic or troubling period in her life." Miles flicked a glance towards his wife.

  "How was she on that Saturday?"

  "She seemed fine. In reasonable spirits and talking about the proposed wind farms near Abermule. She was happy that they had denied the planning permission, at least for the time being. Yeah, it buoyed her up for a while."

  "She got involved in the campaign against the wind farms?"

  Miles nodded. "She pretty-much headed it up. Helped to draw up the campaign plans, and she didn't miss a single gathering."

  "I see. Did she express fear over the campaign? Especially, regarding those she was campaigning against?"

  Miles pursed his lips. "Not that I recall. I mean, she had had run-ins with representatives at the meetings, but she didn't express a fear about the meetings or the people involved."

  "Would she have told you? I mean, if she had?"

  He tilted his head. "I'm not sure, Inspector."

  "Did she talk to you about Ed, at all? About their relationship, or her intentions?"

  "Krysta talked to me about him." Kate frowned as she remembered. "She thought he'd been distant, distracted by something. She tried talking to him about it, but he would close the conversation down and she was afraid they were drifting apart and there appeared to be little she could do to change that."

  "What did she come to collect? Any ideas?"

  "Her diary."

  "Her diary?"

  "Yes."

  "We didn't find a diary. Where did she keep it?"

  "Here." Kate tilted her head, her eyes locked on the DI. "She felt it was safe from prying eyes, here in her room."

  "You don't think she would have kept it at the place she was sharing with Ed?"

  Kate shook her head. "She wrote everything in it. From what she was doing, to her inner thoughts and fears about her relationship. She wouldn't have wanted Ed to witness that private part of her. I wondered if her worries were born out of a general anxiety. Whatever, she wanted no one reading them."

  "What about you?" Yvonne asked Kate. "Did you see inside her diary."

  "No, Inspector. I would never have invaded her privacy like that. Even, when she was little. I wouldn't have looked without asking."

  "So, you don't know if she had written about any specific worries in her last few weeks?"

  "No, I'm sorry."

  "That's okay. Now we know it exists, we'll look for her diary and will return it to you, when we have finished with it."

  "Thank you." Kate smiled, tears in her eyes.

  "Could we see her room, please?"

  Miles stood. "Of course, I'll take you to it."

  Yvonne and Dewi got up to follow him, the DI looking round towards Kate. "Thank you for talking to us. I will keep you informed. We'll do our best to find out who killed her and we will bring them to justice."

  Kate nodded. "Thank you, DI Giles."

  Krysta's room was off-white and yet another light-filled, spacious room with sliding doors leading onto a small balcony overlooking the garden and swimming pool.

  Various items of Krysta's lay in a muddle on the bed, on the sideboard and bedside cabinet, including books, pens and pencils, notes and plans, and a laptop.

  A khaki coat lay over the back of an office chair.

  Yvonne took out her mobile and photographed everything. "Our SOCO officers will need to take some of these items, including the laptop."

  "Yes. They can help themselves." Miles nodded. "Anything to help find her killer."

  "Thank you." Yvonne reached into her bag. "Here is my number. If you remember anything else you think important, I want you to call me. Any time, night or day."

  Miles accepted the card before glancing around the room. "We miss her so much. Everything is... empty. I wish I'd talked to her more. You forget to make the most of those you love, take for granted the years that seem to stretch out ahead, assuming that they will keep coming through the door. And then, one day, they don't."

  Yvonne saw the broken expression on his face and the weight in his hunched shoulders and had the urge to comfort him. She rubbed his arm. "From what you've told me, Krysta viewed this as her sanctuary. She knew you loved and supported her." The DI shouldered her bag. "Help your wife. She needs you and you need her."

  He nodded.

  "Thank you for your time, Mr Whyte. We'll let ourselves out."

  12

  Eva Wilde

  As she knocked on the paint-chipped door of Ed and Krysta's eclectic cottage, it reminded Yvonne of the stark contrast in living conditions of the dead girl and her parents. The DI mused over whether Krysta would have felt more comfortable in the relaxed mess of the cottage, even if needing the support of her mother and father. From what she had learned, Yvonne suspected this was the case.

  Ed came to the door in jeans and a loose grey t-shirt, the front of which bore telltale holes from cigarette ash.

  "Can we come in?" Yvonne asked, as Ed filled the door frame.

  He stared at them, as though unsure.

  "It won't take long." Dewi took a step forward, to stand beside the DI.

  Ed took a step back, sighing and running a hand through lank hair. "Sure." A redness spread along his neck, into his face.

  Behind him, a young woman of about twenty, with long red hair and wearing a flowery cotton dress, grabbed her coat and bag.

  "Hello." Dewi blocked the doorway. "I'm DS Dewi Hughes. Can I ask your name, miss?"

  The young woman cast a nervous glance towards Ed.

  He said nothing, rubbing his face and neck.

  "E-Eva." The girl stuttered. "Eva Wilde."

  "Are you able to talk to us?" Dewi stepped away from the door.

  "I'm sorry." She looked at him, wide-eyed. "I've got an appointment. It's urgent."

  The Sergeant nodded and allowed her past. "We will need to speak to you at some point, soon though, Eva."

  She nodded. "Ed has my number." With that, she left.

  Yvonne turned her attention back to Ed, who looked at his shoes, shuffling between his feet, his face still red.

  "Are you two seeing each other?" She asked, keeping her tone light.

  "We're friends." He ran his tongue
across his lips. "She's been helping me sort everything, since Krysta..."

  "I see. It's just, you looked-"

  "We like each other. That's all."

  "Were you two friends while Krysta was alive?"

  Ed nodded. "We talked to each other, but not that much."

  Yvonne rubbed her chin. "Ed, we wanted to ask you if you knew that Krysta had a diary?" She studied his face.

  "No." He stared at her, his eyes wide. "What diary?"

  "Her parents said she kept a diary and a relative informed us that she had it with her, either here, or on her person, at the time someone murdered her."

  "Wow. I wasn't aware." He turned to glance around the room, as though the mess of books and papers, cups and clothes, would yield up the mysterious artefact.

  "So, you didn't see one?"

  Ed frowned. "Honestly, I didn't even know she had one. Your officers searched this place. If she had one here, they would have found it." He shrugged.

  "Might anyone else have taken it from here? Eva, perhaps?"

  "Eva? No. What would Eva want with my dead girlfriend's diary?"

  "What about anyone else?"

  "Well, I have had friends in here, the usual crew, but I can't see any of them running off with Krysta's diary."

  "Can you give us the names of all the people who have visited you, since Krysta's death?"

  "Sure, but you already have the names. It's our sab group. No one else comes here."

  Yvonne nodded. "May we take a seat?"

  "Er, yeah." Ed ran his hands through his hair. "Sorry, your visit took me by surprise. Please, do take a seat." He moved over to the couch, joined by the officers.

  Yvonne looked at the filled ashtray, fighting an urge to take it and empty it. The smell of it was making her ill. "Ed, someone told us that you've been having a relationship with Eva for some time and that the affair began while Krysta was still alive."

  Ed looked at the floor, colour once again rising in his neck.