MURDER IN PEMBROKESHIRE an absolutely gripping crime mystery full of twists (Tyrone Swift Detective by GRETTA MULROONEY (ebook reader for laptop txt) 📕

the plaque on the wall above her head while she answered it. It informed him that the pub dated from the sixteenth century and had been a town hall, a courtroom, a market, an auction room, a coroner’s court and a grain store. It was cosy, with sloping old slate floors, oak beams, antique settles and a huge open log fire. Upstairs there was guest accommodation. A group of walkers clustered around a table with maps, discussing their day’s ramble and planning tomorrow’s while they ate ham, eggs and chips. Nearby, two older women were deep in a game of backgammon, chatting in Welsh.

Sofia finished her call, took a long drink of orange juice and leaned forward, whispering.

‘The woman over there with the badly dyed black hair and crimson lippie is telling her friend that if she was forty years younger, she wouldn’t pass you over.’

Swift put a hand to his heart. ‘It’s good to be told I can turn heads, but she’d have to get in the queue behind Kat Glover, who seems to have taken a shine to me.’

Sofia harrumphed. ‘Lucky you. She’s got over Afan pretty quickly then, despite her apparent grief.’

‘Maybe I’m any port in a storm, or she’s transferring her emotions to me.’ He smiled at the black-haired woman. She blushed and fingered the necklace at her throat.

‘Rather you than me. Now, let’s crack on because my eyes will close soon. I spoke to Afan’s solicitor. His will is dead simple, drawn up years ago by that firm. He’s left his whole estate to two anti-bullying charities. The solicitor doesn’t have any financial documents, so he has no idea what Afan was worth. Given that we didn’t find any either, he’s going to have to start a search. We’ve taken the computer that Afan used at Blasus and given it to our IT people to trace his history. I’m hoping that his email account or cloud files have some information about his contacts and transactions.’

‘I’ve emailed Amira Brodeur, who was in a relationship with Afan for a while in Lyon. She should be able to fill in some background. I haven’t heard from her yet.’

‘Right. I have Interpol on my to-do list for tomorrow. Call me if you hear from Ms Brodeur. Spence has run a check on everyone at Tir Melys. Guess the offender.’

‘Bruno or Bryn,’ he said without hesitation.

‘Correct, it’s Bryn,’ she said, making a tick sign in the air. ‘He was fined and did community service for breaking a guy’s jaw in a pub fight in Cardiff when he was seventeen. Nothing since, so probably a case of raging teenage testosterone.’

‘But it shows he can be violent. There’s a kind of compressed energy about him and he’s a loudmouth. I’d guess that Afan wouldn’t have had much time for him. Where was he on Monday afternoon?’

‘That brings us neatly to alibis, none of which are independently verifiable. The Merchants said that they were together for the timescale we’re covering, gardening, having lunch and a rest. Guy Brinkworth was out on his bike and had handily left his phone at home, so we can’t track his movements. He’s given us his supposed route, which was nowhere near the coastal path. Bruno Andersen and Suki Mehta spoke briefly at 12.20 p.m. for about five minutes, when she swapped him some tomatoes for aubergines — such exciting lives those people lead. Other than that, those two, Kat Glover, Elinor Brinkworth and Bryn Price were all on their own, gardening, working, cooking and reading — or in Elinor’s case, doing prep work towards adoption. They all said that they hadn’t seen Afan after around half ten, when he was on the communal allotment and waved to Kat, and they were tucked up in bed when you saw your fleeting figure around midnight on Monday.’

‘Have you got any forensics?’

‘Still waiting on results.’

‘What about the pottery left by Afan’s body?’

‘Everyone said that their sets are all present and correct and the numbers checked out. So, given that it’s for sale, it could have come from anywhere.’ Sofia yawned, and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I asked the Merchants about this rumour that they’re selling. They were flustered and Jasmine got righteous. Said it wasn’t my business and when I stamped on that, said it wasn’t true. But I didn’t buy it. When I asked them about their son, they said he was fine and dandy, raking it in in London.’

‘I googled Giles Merchant. He runs a cake-making business. I’ll forward you the link to it. From what I’ve learned, the Merchants aren’t making the income they expected from their rentable rooms in the Bivium — God, I hate saying that affected word — and their income from the tenants can’t be great. But the house and land must be worth a fair bit. Bryn Price knows more about it than he’s willing to tell.’

‘I’m going to have another word with him, lean on him more. I didn’t like his cocky manner. But even if the Merchants are planning to sell, I can’t see at the moment how that would connect to Afan’s murder.’

Swift sipped his ale. ‘I don’t buy Bryn stabbing Afan, it wouldn’t be his style. He could do someone damage if he got angry enough, but he’d use his fists and punch them to death. There’d be blood, mess and broken bones, not a neat stab wound.’

‘I don’t disagree, but he’s in the queue with only his word for where he was.’

‘Going back to Afan’s assets,’ Swift said. ‘I’m fairly sure that he planned to rent out his apartment in Lyon when he moved to Brussels, and that he bought another place there. He must have done something with the proceeds from selling those properties unless he was renting them both out for income. I could ask Amira about it.’

Sofia finished her juice,