“The lodges were harder to sell than anticipated. We had to drop the price, and even then, they didn’t shift. We don’t offer payment plans or accept mortgages—we’re strictly top-end—and it was tricky to find the right place in the market. In the end, we employed a PR firm to create a campaign around The Shore. Paid influencers, tweeting about how incredible it was, when the place was still a building site—that sort of thing.”
“It sounds highly unethical,” Leo says.
“Everybody does it. And it worked. That’s how we got Ashleigh Stafford. We implied there was a waiting list, that applicants were being vetted…” Jonty looks smug. “The truth was, Rhys and I had taken a lodge each in lieu of shares, and the other three were standing empty. Ashleigh was just what we needed. There’s genuine word of mouth now. Once the rest of the lodges are built, we’ll be able to sell them three times over.”
“Did you and Rhys always see eye to eye on business matters?” Ffion says.
“Pretty much.” Jonty blinks several times in quick succession.
“Are you sure about that?”
He blows out his cheeks. “Look, I was a bit pissed off with him before he died, all right? Someone’s bound to tell you, so there you go—I’m telling you now. We had a bit of a cash flow problem last year and had to let the builders go. Rhys hired a local chap, Huw Ellis, to finish the job, and I bankrolled the thirty-grand bill. Only, Rhys spent the money, and the builder still needs paying.”
“And you’re still owed thirty grand?” Leo says.
“Well, yes. Not a fortune, I know. But with a builder on the warpath as well, you can see why I’d be a bit pissed off.”
“I’d imagine Huw Ellis is pretty pissed off too.” Ffion’s voice is cold. Leo doesn’t blame her. After almost ten years in the police, his take-home pay is a fraction under thirty grand a year. It might not be a fortune to Jonty Charlton, but it is to most people.
“He had a go at me, at the party,” Jonty says. “Didn’t get anywhere with Rhys, so came after me, the—” He stops himself. “It all seems rather irrelevant now, doesn’t it? Now that poor old Rhys has gone.”
On the contrary, Leo thinks, it seems very relevant indeed.
Outside, he’s about to suggest to Ffion that they compare notes over a coffee when she announces she has to go.
“But we’re in the middle of a job.”
“I’ve got stuff to do.” She zips up her capacious coat and flashes an unconvincing smile. “Lone Ranger, remember?”
“Lone Shirker, more like,” mutters Leo. He’ll still grab a coffee, he decides, and he begins walking toward the village. The investigation is a tangle of weeds in his head, and he pulls at each strand, trying to make sense of it. Both Jonty Charlton and Yasmin Lloyd gain financially from Rhys Lloyd’s death. They both had a motive, but did they have the opportunity? Both feature in Instagram images posted throughout the evening, giving the impression they hardly left the party. The tech team hasn’t yet retrieved the metadata that might enable them to pull together a more reliable timeline, and Leo wonders if it will show that either Jonty or Yasmin were absent for long enough to kill Rhys and dispose of his body.
As Leo reaches the high street, a teenager with a mass of red curls is walking toward him. There’s no mistaking that hair, nor the stubborn set of her jaw. Leo stops.
“It’s Seren, isn’t it? Ffion’s sister?” The girl looks at him suspiciously. “Leo Brady.” He shows his ID. “I’m working with Ffion on the murder case at The Shore.”
“Lucky you.”
“I wondered if you might reconsider giving elimination prints.”
Seren looks at him blankly.
“Itisvoluntary,” Leo says. “You were quite within your rights to say no, only it’s incredibly helpful to be able to rule people out.”
“Fingerprints? What happens to them afterward?”
“They’re deleted. They can’t be used for anything except this case. Ffion must have explained all this to you?”
“Nope. But I don’t mind doing it. It’s quite cool, actually. I’ve never been involved in a murder investigation.”
“Thanks for changing your mind. I appreciate it.”
Seren shrugs. “No one asked me in the first place, but whatever. Can I…” She gestures vaguely up the street.
“What? Oh, yes, of course. Thanks.” Leo watches her go, his mind working overdrive. Seren Morgan was on the elimination list as a refusal, and there’s only one explanation for the discrepancy.
Ffion lied.
Fifteen