Ffion’s phone buzzes in her pocket, and she glances at the screen before answering, glad of the distraction. “All right, boss?”
“Good news,” DI Malik says. “Now the crime scene’s been identified as being on the English side of the lake, they’ve got no justification for keeping you. I’ve spoken to DI Crouch and I’ve persuaded him to let you go.” There’s an edge to this last remark, suggesting Crouch’s reluctance was short-lived. Ffion’s backchat clearly went down like a shit sandwich, but if the man can’t take it, he shouldn’t dish it out to Leo.
The thought of Leo makes her remember the CCTV, and her stomach hollows. If she isn’t working on the case, she’ll have no way of knowing what’s been uncovered. How close they are to the truth. She walks away from Leo.
“The thing is, boss, I think I should stick with it.”
“Ffion, you begged me to take you off!”
“There are a lot of local inquiries to do on our side of the border. A number of witnesses who prefer to be dealt with in Welsh.” She knows just how to play this one. “And I think it’s good experience for me. You know, working in a team. It’s an area for, um, personal development.”
There’s a long—and somewhat surprised—pause. “I can’t argue with that.” Malik sighs. “Fine. Stay. But next time you ask me for a favor, I want a cooling-off period.”
Yasmin and the twins have temporarily moved in with Rhys’s mother. Ffion hears music through the ceiling as she and Leo sit on Glynis’s Dralon sofa, Yasmin opposite them in a narrow, high-backed chair. Glynis fusses around, making a pot of tea and finding a plate for biscuits no one wants to eat.
“Dach chi isio rwbath—” Glynis breaks off, glancing at Yasmin and switching to English. “Would you like something more substantial? A sandwich, maybe?”
“We’re fine, really,” Leo says.
“When can we go home?” Yasmin is pale and thin, her long legs drawn into her chest like a child.
“The Crime Scene Investigation unit will be there for another couple of days, I’m afraid,” Ffion says. “But if there’s anything you need, we can arrange—”
“Not The Shore! I’d be happy if I never set foot there again. I want to take the girls home, back to London.”
“Yasmin,cariad,” Glynis says, “don’t take the twins away. They’re the only family I’ve got left now.” She pulls a handkerchief from her sleeve and rubs at her nose.
“We’d prefer it if you’d stay local,” Ffion says. “Just while the investigation is ongoing.” From the window, she can see down into Glynis’s back garden, which is almost entirely taken up with a wooden outhouse.
“You’ve already been targeted once at your London address,” Leo adds. “We still haven’t ruled out a link between your husband’s stalker and his murder.” He takes out his phone and brings up the image from Yasmin’s Instagram grid of Rhys’s trophy shelf, zooming into the award they suspect is now at the bottom of the lake. “We believe this is what caused your husband’s facial injuries. What can you tell us about it?”
Glynis looks at the image over Yasmin’s shoulder and sobs again. She starts rifling through the drawers of a large oak dresser.
“That’s the Rising Star Award,” Yasmin says flatly. “2010. Awarded to a musical theater actor deemed to have delivered the best performance of the year. Rhys won it for Judas inJesus Christ Superstar. Last decent job he had.” She glances at her mother-in-law, but Glynis doesn’t react.
“I imagine it’s a tough industry,” Leo says.
“Everyone wants the next big thing.” Yasmin picks at a loose thread on the arm of the armchair. “Every agent wants a breakout hit, and when they’ve got that, they move on to fresh talent. Rhys’s agent had him doing commercials for car insurance, for fuck’s sake.”
“And fair play, he was brilliant at them,” Glynis says. She hands Ffion a glossy photograph. In it, Rhys Lloyd wears a black tux; Ffion wonders if it’s the same one he died in. Yasmin’s in a full-length gown with plunging neckline, glittering diamonds around her throat. They stand on a red carpet in front of a backdrop peppered with sponsors’ logos. One of Rhys’s hands rests loosely on his wife’s waist; the other grips the neck of a huge award.
“Very impressive,” Leo says.
Yasmin works the loose thread free, winding it around her fingers. “It’s hideous.”
Ffion looks at the photo. “What’s it made of?”
“The base is marble; the rest is metal. The whole thing’s covered with gold leaf.”
Above Rhys’s hand is a starburst of metal spikes. Ffion shivers. “When was the last time you saw it in his office?”
“New Year’s Eve, I suppose.”
“You actually saw it then?” Leo says.
“Well, no. I mean…you don’tseethings you know are there, do you? You just assume they are.”
Leo opens his notebook. “Can you give me a list of people who have been in that room, please? We need to cross-check it against the elimination prints we’ve taken.”