Elizabeth Duncan - A Killer's Christmas in Wales

Down the road from the castle, in the two-storey grey stone police station that faced Lancaster Square, Detective Sergeant Bethan Morgan was wrapping up a crime prevention presentation to a group of seniors.

“So, ladies, remember when you go to the supermarket, to leave your handbag at home. Just take as much money as you think you’ll need or a debit or credit card and keep them in your pocket. Because while you’re turned this way”-Bethan twisted away from the old leather handbag she had placed on a table-“looking at the mince on sale and your handbag is behind you in your shopping trolley, it’s an open invitation to a thief.”

She stopped as a police officer entered the room, smiled at the pensioners, and signaled he wanted a word with her.

Bethan listened and then nodded.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, PC Jones tells me I’ve been called out, so we’re going to have to leave it there for today,” Bethan told her grey-haired audience. “Just remember, thieves are opportunists and if you don’t give them an opportunity, they can’t take what’s yours.” She gave them a reassuring smile. “Sorry, I’ve got to run, but Constable Jones here will see you out.”

As she prepared to leave, Jones called after her, “The detective chief inspector said to tell you he’ll get there as soon as he can.” Bethan held up a hand to show she’d heard him and was gone.

Pulling on her fluorescent-yellow high-visibility jacket as she went, she walked quickly across the paving stones of Lancaster Square and sprinted down Rose Hill Street, rounding the corner at the Guildhall, and burst into the castle’s visitor centre. After flashing her warrant card to the woman at the ticket sales desk, who had just been told that someone had fallen off the wall walk, Bethan prepared to enter the castle.

“The castle closes at four o’clock,” the woman called after her.

“Not tonight it probably doesn’t, love,” Bethan shot back over her shoulder as she sped through glass doors that would take her to the wooden bridge that gave access to the castle ramp.

A few more curious onlookers had joined the crowd gathered on the wall walk peering down at the body, and one or two were pointing at it.

“Would have been interesting if he’d gone over the side at the western end near those two towers,” said a man holding a guidebook and pointing off to his right. Stunned faces turned toward him.

“Those things, those stone structures projecting beyond the parapet of the main curtain wall between the two western towers. They’re called machicolations. Murder holes.”

“Who said anything about murder?”

The small crowd that had gathered to peer over the parapet turned around to see a young policewoman, dark curls tucked into her bowler-style hat with its distinctive navy-blue-and-white-checkered band and a North Wales Police silver cap badge, holding a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. She looked from one cold, pale face to another.

“Who said anything about murder?” Bethan repeated.

“I was just saying that those things are called murder holes,” the man with the guidebook said defensively. “It says here that those defending the castle could pour boiling water or large stones down them to kill the invaders below.”

“Right, well, never mind that now. Was anyone here when it happened? Did anyone see anything? If you did, I’ll need your names and we’ll want to interview you,” Bethan said.

The crowd started to speak all at once and Bethan held up her hand.

“If anybody saw anything, please go and stand over there and do not talk to each other,” she ordered, pointing a little way down the wall walk. “If you did not see anything and cannot help with our inquiry, then you are free to leave and I would ask you to do so.”

Nobody moved.

“Who was the first one here?”

The man with the guidebook raised his hand. “Right,” Bethan said. “What’s your name?”

“Huw Bowen.”

“Good. Now then, Mr. Bowen, can you tell us what you saw? Did you see someone go over the wall walk?”

“No,” Bowen replied. “But I arrived soon after it happened. I was the first one to spot the body and I raised the alarm.” Bethan noted this. “Anything else you can tell me?”

He shook his head. “I was looking for my wife. I wonder where she’s got to.”

As he spoke, police officers on the ground began erecting a screen with a roof on it around the body to hide it from public view and cordoning off the area with blue-and-white crime-scene tape.

“Tell me everything that happened,” Victoria said that evening, reaching for the glass of red wine Penny was holding out to her. “From the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

At first, Victoria hadn’t been too keen on the idea of Penny’s taking off the best part of a weekday to attend the Stretch and Sketch Club Christmas party but had agreed when Penny pointed out that most of the club members were either customers or potential customers, so it would be good if she went. Victoria had then suggested that Penny take business cards with her and be sure to hand them out.

Victoria had dropped in on Penny on the pretext of a few documents that needed signing, but they both knew the papers could have waited until the next day and that the real reason for Victoria’s visit was to hear all about the events at Conwy Castle.

“Well, I didn’t really see much,” Penny replied. “I was at ground level sketching, and the other members of the group were roaming all over the castle. I have no idea where they were. In fact, some of them might even have gone home, for all I know. Anyway, a few people were wandering about, and then I saw Harry Saunders stroll past. A few minutes later Florence hurried after him, and then Mrs. Lloyd and her friend Bunny showed up, and then Mrs. Lloyd rushed after Saunders, hoping to catch him up, I think. She seemed very determined and quite agitated. I didn’t get a sense that she knew that Florence was there. And a few minutes after that, the commotion started. A scream came from somewhere”-she raised her arm and made a fluttering motion-“and then the next thing I knew, a man came running out of the Great Hall area shouting that someone had fallen. I didn’t realize until I got up there that it was Huw Bowen. Anyway, I called the police and then I climbed up the prison tower stairs.” She winced. “They were very slippery, by the way, those stairs were. I hate heights and I really had to force myself to keep going up those terrible, narrow stairs.”

After a sip of wine and a moment spent gathering her thoughts, she continued.

“Let me see. Where was I? Oh yes, and then Bethan arrived and joined us up on the wall walk and more police arrived and started taping off the scene on the ground. People had to be very careful coming down those awful stairs. So slippery. I was terrified on them. And besides, everyone was quite shaken up, as you’d imagine.”

“But you didn’t actually see anything?” Victoria asked. “You didn’t see him go over the side or anything like that?”

“No, I wasn’t anywhere near.” She shifted in her chair. “I don’t even know who it was, but I have my suspicions.”

A knock on the front door halted the conversation. As Penny went to answer it, Victoria set her wineglass down on a side table and waited. A few moments later she heard voices at the front door and Detective Chief Inspector Gareth Davies entered the room, with Penny following, holding his coat.

“Evening, Victoria. How are you?”

She smiled at him. “Good, thanks. You?”

“Fine.” He looked around a little uncertainly.

“Bethan not with you?”