Elizabeth Duncan - A Killer's Christmas in Wales

“Can you remember anyone else who was at the front of the church at that time?” asked Davies.

“Well, his wife was with him, I think, but she was talking to someone. The woman from the charity shop, I think. Having a good old natter, they were.”

Davies shot Bethan a quick glance and thanked Florence. “You’ve been very helpful. We won’t keep you away from your dinner any longer, and we do apologize for holding you up.”

Something seemed to occur to Florence, and she leaned forward as if she was about to say something important. “Have you had your dinner yet, Inspector?” she asked.

Bethan and Davies shrugged.

“Just wait there a moment, Inspector,” said Florence as she hurried into the kitchen.

She emerged a few minutes later and handed them a hefty packet wrapped in aluminum foil.

“From the look of things, it might be a while before you get to your dinner and there’s nothing open today, so here’s a couple of turkey sandwiches to take along with you.” As a wide grin spread across Bethan’s face, Florence brushed away her thanks. “I put a little cranberry sauce and stuffing in them. Not as good as the real thing, I know, but something to be going on with.” She pulled two bottles of water from her apron pockets and solemnly handed them to Davies. “I expect you’ll be wanting these, too.”

“Well, thank you so much,” Davies said. “And a very happy Christmas to all of you.”

Davies checked his watch as the car pulled up in front of the Bowens’ two-storey home.

“The whole afternoon is disappearing,” he grumbled. “I really didn’t want to spend Christmas Day like this. Let’s just hear what Bowen has to say, and then maybe we can salvage what’s left of the day.”

“There won’t be much of it,” said Bethan. “It’ll be dark in an hour or so. But I’m starving. It was so good of Florence to think of sending those sandwiches with us. Should we take a few moments to eat them before we go in?”

“Yes, I think we should.”

Huw Bowen answered the door, still wearing the shirt and tie he’d worn to church, but his suit jacket had been replaced by a frayed green cardigan with leather patches on the elbows.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said when he saw who it was. “You’d better come in, then.” He stood aside to let them enter and then shuffled along behind them in worn slippers down a short hallway into an overheated, overdecorated sitting room whose predominant colour was beige. No Christmas decorations had been put up, and there was no Christmas tree. A few cards had been propped up on the mantelpiece, but one had fallen over and no one had bothered to set it upright. A small lamp in the corner of the room was losing its battle to dispel the gloom.

“This is my wife, Glynnis,” he said, with a defeated wave in his wife’s direction. “I don’t know if you’ve met before.” The two police officers nodded at her, then turned to Bowen.

“We’re sorry to bother you on Christmas Day,” Bethan began, “but we want to talk to you about a packet that was left in a collection plate at the church this morning. Did you happen to see who put it there?”

“Why do you ask?” Bowen replied.

“We’re investigating a series of thefts that may be connected to a murder.”

Bowen sighed and rubbed his hand across his chin.

“I’ve been expecting you,” he said, “only not today, of course. I thought you might have the decency to at least let us have Christmas Day.”

Seeing Bethan’s look of confusion, he turned to Davies.

“You’ve really come about that Harry Saunders fellow, haven’t you?”

“Why do you say that?” Davies replied.

“Because I killed him. I’ve been expecting you.”

The atmosphere thickened as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Glynnis Bowen gave her husband a hard, hateful look and covered her face with her hands. The only sound was a faint hiss coming from the radiator under the window.

“Here you go, Jimmy,” said Penny as she helped him on with his coat. “They’ve finished lunch at Mrs. Lloyd’s so we’ll run you over now.” Penny exchanged a few brief words with Gwennie, and then she and Victoria guided Jimmy gently down the path and into Victoria’s car. They drove slowly through the almost deserted streets, quiet and peaceful in the lull of a Christmas Day afternoon.

“Everyone’ll be sleeping off all that turkey,” Jimmy observed.

“Are you tired?” Penny asked him. “You could have had a little lie down, and then we could have taken you over for supper, perhaps.”

“How do you know I won’t be having a little lie down when I get there?” asked Jimmy with a cheeky grin.

“Aren’t you a bit old for that kind of carrying on?” Victoria laughed.

“You’re never too old,” said Jimmy. “At least I hope not.”

“Hello, Jimmy, and do come in,” said Mrs. Lloyd graciously, with a sweeping gesture in the direction of her sitting room. “Now I know you’ve just had a wonderful lunch, but I wondered if we might offer you a warm mince pie and a glass of sherry. I have dry and sweet.”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” said Jimmy. “I couldn’t eat another thing.” Leaning heavily on two canes, he walked slowly but steadily into the sitting room, followed by a solicitous Mrs. Lloyd.

“Come in, you two,” said Mrs. Lloyd to Penny and Victoria. “We’ve given Florence the afternoon off after all her hard work this morning. She’s in here with the Evanses.” Everyone laughed as a small, sharp bark emanated from beside Bronwyn’s chair.

“Oh, sorry, Robbie. Yes, Robbie’s here, too.”

Penny and Victoria smiled at the room, and Penny reached down to give Robbie a pat.

“We can only stay a few minutes,” Victoria said. “I’ve got to drive Penny back to hers and then get over to my cousin’s and deliver the Christmas presents to the children. They’ve already texted me twice, asking when I’m coming. They’re pretending they can’t wait to see me, but we all know what they’re really after.”

A light silence fell over the group as they watched Mrs. Lloyd settle herself into a corner of the sofa.

“We had a lovely meal,” said Bronwyn to no one in particular. “Florence did herself proud. Everything was just delicious.”

“Indeed it was,” echoed the rector.

Seated in a wing chair in front of the fireplace, Florence acknowledged their thanks.

Penny glanced at her, and then at the rather large book on the table beside her elbow.

She picked it up and turned it over.

“Are you reading this, Florence?”

“Yes, I am and quite enjoying it, too. He does a good job, that author does, of capturing the essence of Liverpool the way it used to be.”

Jimmy leaned over to get a closer look.

“ John Lennon. The Life. ”

“Yes, there’s a lot about Liverpool back in the old days, the way I remember it,” Florence said. “I like reading about the old days. All those people and places. Beautiful old buildings, some of them. Long gone.”

“Where did you get this book, may I ask?” said Penny. “It’s not a library book or I might take it out of the library myself.”

“Oh, it was given to me as a little gift,” said Florence. “It’s used; it came from the charity shop, but I don’t mind that. I’m glad to have it. It must have cost quite a bit when it was new, by the weight of it.”

Penny nodded. Careful, now, she thought. Take it easy.

“Who gave it to you, Florence?” she blurted out.

Florence tipped her head to one side.

“Why, Glynnis Bowen. She’s very generous. She’s given me quite a few nice things, hasn’t she, Evelyn?”