Elizabeth Duncan - A Killer's Christmas in Wales

She was letting herself become increasingly attached to Detective Chief Inspector Davies and she knew he cared deeply for her. Unsure of just where she wanted the relationship to go, she was secure enough in herself to let it become what it was meant to be. She was smart enough to appreciate what she had while she was lucky enough to have it, and the thought of her warm, peaceful cottage waiting for her cheered her on.

The snow was blowing across the street and it was becoming increasingly difficult to see through the cascading flakes. She clutched her collar tightly and pressed on toward the cobbled town square. There was no traffic and the streets were eerily quiet. Lights glowed behind curtained windows, and for a moment she envied the people who lived there, snug and warm in their homes. But just a few more streets to plow through and she, too, would be home.

As she passed the churchyard, a small movement caught her eye and she stopped. Edging along the side of the rectory, she recognized the dim outline of two figures in the doorway of the church, caught in a tight embrace. She smiled to herself and prepared to move on, but something about the pair held her attention. She placed a hand against the rectory wall to steady herself and watched as the couple stepped back a few inches from each other. They were too far away and it was too dark to make out who they were, but something about them seemed familiar.

She watched as they held hands, looking at each other. As the smaller figure, whom she assumed to be a woman, turned to leave, the larger one pulled her back. They embraced again, obviously reluctant to part. The woman reached up and brushed a few flakes of snow off the man’s jacket. Penny watched for a few more moments, and then, starting to feel the cold seeping through her gloves and beginning to shiver, she turned and slipped silently into the night.

She arrived home a few minutes later, and after taking off her boots and hanging her coat and wet gloves to dry in the hall, she turned on the light in her sitting room and then passed through the dining area to her kitchen. She opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of milk. If there was ever a night for a comforting mug of cocoa, this was it. She placed a small saucepan on the cooker, poured some milk into it, and turned on the element. While the milk heated, she took down a large mug, put in some cocoa powder, sugar, and a little milk, and stirred it all up to make a smooth brown paste.

When the milk was almost at the boiling point, she added it to the mug, gave it a good stir, and took her mug back to the living room. She settled on the sofa, tucked her legs under her, picked up her telephone, and dialed the code to listen to her voice mail messages.

“Hi, Penny, this is Alwynne. Do you think because of the storm we could postpone our lunch and sketching at Conwy Castle to Tuesday? I can’t make Monday and the roads should be clear by Tuesday. Let me know. Thanks.”

The Stretch and Sketch Club had planned to hold its annual Christmas lunch at a popular restaurant in Conwy on Sunday, and combine that with some sketching, if the weather permitted, at the castle. If it was too cold, the members would take photographs and paint from them later.

Tuesday it is, then, Penny thought. She looked at the clock on the mantel and, deciding it was too late to ring Alwynne, made a note to telephone her the next day. She drained the last of her cocoa and, licking her lips, suddenly realized how tired she was.

Half an hour later, settled in her new bed, and enjoying the tranquility of her stylish bedroom that overlooked the garden at the back of the house, she picked up her library book. A few moments later, realizing she had read the same paragraph three times without any recollection of it, she put the book down and switched off the light.

She lay there in the dark thinking about the courting couple she had seen in the churchyard.

But were they courting, she asked herself. Something about their body language, the way they couldn’t seem to resist each other, the way he pulled her back to him, suggested something different. There had been an unfulfilled eagerness there, a reluctant yearning. She closed her eyes and visualized the scene. And a moment later it came to her.

At least one of them, she thought, is married to someone else. What she had seen was the excitement, the furtiveness of forbidden passion.

She’d had a classmate at university who had been swept up in a mad affair with a married professor. She’d come upon them one morning during Reading Week, when the campus was relatively deserted, kissing passionately in an empty classroom, unable to keep their hands off each other. They’d had that same look about them, except that pair had noticed her. They’d jumped apart, their faces filled with guilt and, in his case, fear. The professor had gathered up his briefcase and, avoiding Penny’s eyes, had hurried out of the room. That relationship had ended badly, as most relationships built on the sandy foundation of deceit tend to do. By the next September a new intake of impressionable female students had provided the professor with lots of new girls to choose from, and her former classmate did not return to school.

She wondered what lies the married one she’d seen earlier that evening had told his or her partner to get out of the house in the middle of a snowstorm. And then she realized it didn’t matter. There would always be enough lies to cover up an affair. At the beginning, anyway. But only for a while.

And still it snowed. Tree branches bowed under the weight of the snow and deep drifts made the rural roads almost impassable. On the hill farms above the valley the sheep had sensed the approaching storm and taken shelter in the hollows. But there lay danger, so the shepherds, helped by their trained and eager dogs, moved the ewes and rams onto more exposed land so the drifting snow would not bury them. The flocks huddled together beside the stone fences, vague silhouettes, almost invisible against the cold landscape of endless snow.

In the town, the primary school was closed, shelves in the food stores had been stripped bare, and travel was almost at a standstill.

Many were forced to stay home from work, but those who could, plowed bravely through the snow to open their businesses. Among this hardy group was Huw Bowen, who held the keys to the bank. And not only did the bank open as usual, it opened on time.

At ten past ten his assistant knocked on the door to his office.

“Come.”

“Morning, Mr. Bowen. Just wanted to let you know that there’s been a request from the branch in Chester to transfer funds out of an account that was recently opened with us. It’s a large sum.” She glanced down at the slip of paper in her hand. “Yes, quite large, actually. Twenty thousand pounds. It all seems in order, but I thought you’d like to know.”

“Quite right, too, Gaynor.” He let out a long sigh. “Now don’t tell me. We’re talking about the Lloyd-Saunders joint account.”

“Yes, Mr. Bowen, that’s right. That’s the one.”

“Right. Chester, you say. Thanks very much.”

He waited until she closed the door behind her and then reached for the telephone.

Mrs. Lloyd put the phone down and stood in the hall, unseeing. She had been ringing Saunders on his mobile for two days and had not reached him. At first she had been able to push back the rising tide of anxiety that kept creeping into her awareness, but as the days and nights passed, the mild anxiety had turned into a dawning realization, with an undercurrent of disbelief, desperation, and cold, gripping fear that clawed at the very centre of her.

And just now, Huw Bowen had called from the bank to tell her that the bank had released twenty thousand pounds to Saunders. Well, they’d had to, hadn’t they? It was a joint account with his name on it and only one signature had been required to make a withdrawal. He was entitled to what was essentially his money because she had given it to him. Everything had been done by the book. Oh, if only she’d listened to Huw.