Elizabeth Duncan - A Killer's Christmas in Wales

“Oh, Evelyn,” she said, her voice filled with warm concern. “How could you have been so…”

“It’s all right, Bunny. You can say it. Stupid.”

The two old friends looked at each other, and Bunny reached out to give Evelyn a comforting hug. At the tenderness of the gesture, Mrs. Lloyd’s eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Bunny. I know I’ve been such a fool. But he was so charming and he made me feel like I was the only woman on earth. Special, like. I remembered things I hadn’t experienced in years. How good it felt to have a man admire me, tell me that I looked nice, open a door for me, give me a nice dinner. I enjoyed being seen out and about with a man. I liked being thought of as half of a couple. And he seemed so sophisticated, not like the men you get around here.”

Bunny inclined her head as she listened. “But what did you really know about him, Evelyn? You’d only known him for, what, a few weeks?” She shook her head and winced. “And to give him so much money. How could you? What came over you? What on earth were you thinking? How did all this happen so quickly?”

“I trusted him,” Mrs. Lloyd said simply, as if that explained everything. They remained looking at each other for a few moments, and then Mrs. Lloyd gave a little shrug and broke eye contact.

“It’s still early and I don’t feel like going home yet. Shall we walk on for a bit, maybe stroll past the castle?”

“I’d like to go in,” replied Bunny, “if you’re up to it. I haven’t been inside for years and I’ve never seen it in winter. Let’s just have a wander round, shall we? When I was a child, I used to try to imagine what it must have looked like when it was built. I pictured the queen sewing in her apartment all hung with tapestries, with her ladies gathered about her while the king was busy planning his war with his military advisors, or whoever he would have planned wars with. Of course, there would have been huge fireplaces with Irish wolfhounds or some such gigantic dog lying in front of them.”

Mrs. Lloyd managed a tight smile.

“Oh, Bunny, you always did have such a wonderful imagination. I can almost picture it. Yes, all right, let’s go in. Anyway, the views from the wall walks are lovely. You can see for miles.”

“The castle closes at four,” advised the attendant as the two women moved toward the glass doors that opened to a wooden walkway that led to the modern, upward path that would bring them to the castle entrance.

Mrs. Lloyd and Bunny entered a narrow enclosure, or barbican, and then continued on into the ruins of the castle proper. The roof and floors had disappeared centuries ago, leaving the dark grey stone walls, green with lichen in places, standing open to the sky.

The women talked quietly as they walked slowly through the outer ward, referring to the guidebook Bunny had bought in the gift shop, until they reached what Bunny said was the hall range.

She pointed to their right.

“Although it now appears as one long room, the interior was divided into at least two sections-the chapel and the great hall,” she read. As they prepared to move toward the middle gate, the cross wall that divided the castle into what had been its public and private areas, they spotted Penny Brannigan seated on a low stone wall, making rapid, sweeping marks in her field sketchbook. She looked up as they approached.

“Oh, Mrs. Lloyd, imagine seeing you here,” she said as she looked from one to the other. “Hello, Bunny.” A slight frown creased her brow. “I think I just saw Harry Saunders. Were you meant to be meeting up with him?”

Mrs. Lloyd exchanged a quick glance with Bunny, and both of them took a step toward her.

“Did you, Penny? How long ago? Where was he going? I mean, what direction was he headed?”

Penny waved her hand in the direction of the stone wall that ran across the width of the castle. “I think he went through there,” she said. “I didn’t have a chance to speak to him.”

Mrs. Lloyd put a hand on Bunny’s arm.

“Wait here. I need to speak to him on my own.” She hurried off in the direction Penny had indicated, leaving Penny and Bunny staring after her.

“I hope she catches him up,” Bunny said.

“Well, when she finds him, he may not be alone,” Penny replied. “Just after he passed me, Florence came along. I thought at the time something was up, but she hurried right past me. Took no notice. I’m not even sure she saw me.” After a moment she added, “Is everything all right? What’s going on?”

“Evelyn has something important she needs to discuss with him. She’s been ringing him for days, trying to get in touch.” She peered at Penny’s sketch. “Do you mind if people look at your work while you’re doing it?”

“I don’t mind if they take a quick look at it, but I don’t really like someone watching over my shoulder while I’m trying to concentrate,” Penny said.

“Oh, right,” said Bunny, stepping back. “Look, I’ll just go and sit on that bench over there and wait for Evelyn to return.” Bunny looked up at the towering castle walls.

“This place is so massive, she could be anywhere.”

“It’s not really as big as it seems, once you understand how it’s all laid out,” Penny replied, making a shading motion on her sketchbook. “Of course, we’re really just seeing its footprint. When it was built, with all the different levels, then, it would have been enormous.” She rubbed her hands. “And busy, too, with everyone running up and down the stairs all day long.”

“Here on your own, are you?” asked Bunny.

“No, I’m with some members of my sketching club, but we’re all over the place. I haven’t seen any of them, but they’ll be around, somewhere. Some of them could be back there, I suppose, looking at the remains of the royal apartments,” she said, gesturing toward the inner ward.

She had just returned to her work, as Bunny settled down on the nearby bench to study her guidebook, when a primal sound ripped through the peace and stillness of the vast space. Penny dropped her pencil and turned toward the source of what had now become an urgent scream. At that moment a man emerged, waving his arms, through the entranceway to the Great Hall opposite her. Although he was some distance away, she could hear him clearly.

“Ring 999! Someone’s fallen from the wall walk!”

Bunny jumped up, her face white with fear and confusion. Penny snapped her sketchbook closed and, telling Bunny to stay where she was, reached into her handbag for her mobile. After a few words with the emergency operator, she rushed over to Bunny.

“Can you go and see who it is,” Bunny wailed. “Oh dear God, please let it not be her.” Penny thrust her sketchbook into Bunny’s arms and bolted.

She raced across the wooden bridge that led to the narrow circular staircase of the prison tower that would take her to the wall walk high above. Holding on to the rope hand railing, she clambered up the stone steps as fast as she could until, panting slightly, she reached the top and stepped out into the fading afternoon light. A strong gust of icy wind greeted her, and she clung to the cold stones of the ancient tower for support. A small group had gathered a short distance away, and one of them was pointing over the low wall to the frozen ground below.

She inched along the narrow wall walk, fighting back vertigo, and leaned over the outer wall as far as she dared. She could make out what looked like a man in a green anorak, lying on his side facing away from the castle, his left leg crumpled and bent outward at a terrible angle. He did not move.

“The police and ambulance are on their way,” she told the small crowd. “I think you should all just stay where you are until they arrive.” She noted a few members of the Stretch and Sketch Club in the group, including Alwynne Gwilt, who was clutching photographer Brian Kenley’s arm. His camera dangled from a strap around his neck. She made a mental note; he might have captured something important and the police will certainly want to examine the digital photos he had taken.