The Last Party (DC Morgan #1)(12)

Ffion puts a hand on a chair opposite the two women. ‘May I?’ She sits, making eye-contact with the older woman, who nods in recognition. They exchange a few words in Welsh, and Leo hears his own name repeated. It’s warm in the lodge – stuffy – and, despite the cold outside, he wishes someone would pull open the big doors and let in some air. Tabby is wailing, a high-pitched, mournful note which makes the hairs on the back of Leo’s neck stand up.

‘It’s all over Twitter,’ Yasmin says. ‘They found a body in the lake.’ She takes a slow breath. ‘Is it Rhys?’

Leo holds her gaze. ‘We think so. I’m so sorry.’

Yasmin closes her eyes, gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles turn white. Tabby collapses into a chair, sobbing so hard she has to fight for breath. Her twin sister stands rooted to the spot, shaking her head over and over.

‘We’ll need someone to formally identify the body,’ Ffion says.

Glynis Lloyd is trembling, her chair rocking against the tiled floor. The blood has drained from her face and Leo keeps a watchful eye in case she goes into shock. She’s perhaps in her late sixties – not old, but no parent expects to bury a child.

‘I . . .’ Yasmin starts, before her voice fails. She pulls herself together and tries again. ‘I should do that.’

‘I’ll take you,’ Leo says. ‘We need to speak to your neighbours, so please, take your time. I know what a shock this must be.’

‘He was right here,’ Yasmin says, half to herself.

Tabby’s twin starts crying. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Felicia, cariad.’ Glynis holds out her arms to the teenager, but the young girl doesn’t move. Her grandmother speaks to Ffion in Welsh.

Ffion answers in English, a concession to Leo and Yasmin, Leo assumes. ‘We won’t know that until after the post-mortem, I’m afraid.’ She turns to Yasmin. ‘When did you last see your husband?’

Yasmin is ashen. ‘Last night. Ten, maybe? I—’

‘You should have called the police when he didn’t come to bed!’ Tabby says suddenly, angry tears blotching her face. ‘But you didn’t care, did you? Even this morning, when I said Dad was missing, you said He’ll turn up, and now . . .’ She collapses again, burying her face in her arms.

‘Mrs Lloyd,’ Leo says, ‘was your husband fit and well when you last saw him?’

‘Yes.’ Yasmin glances at her mother-in-law. ‘Although, not well, exactly.’

‘He was ill?’ Leo flips open his notebook. The pathologist will want to know about signs of illness. Perhaps Lloyd died from natural causes. Bat it back to Wales, Crouch said, but Leo can’t do that, if Rhys died at The Shore.

‘You could say that. It was . . .’ Yasmin closes her eyes for a second ‘. . . self-inflicted. He was very drunk. But it was New Year’s Eve,’ she adds, a little defensively.

‘I’m sorry to ask this,’ Leo says, ‘but what was Rhys’s state of mind yesterday evening?’

Yasmin looks up sharply. ‘Are you suggesting he committed suicide?’

There’s a stifled gasp from Glynis.

‘Dad wasn’t depressed.’ Tabby sniffs hard. ‘Why would he kill himself?’

‘Maybe something upset him.’ Felicia speaks quietly, a hard undercurrent threading her words. She’s staring at her mother, who seems unaware of her daughter’s sudden change in mood.

‘Like what?’ Leo directs his question to Felicia, but it’s Yasmin who answers.

‘Rhys was fine. Drunk, that’s all. As I said: it was a party.’

‘Did he have any medical conditions?’ Leo asks.

Yasmin shakes her head. ‘He was very healthy. He had to be – people don’t realise how fit you have to be to sing at a professional level.’

‘Did he take drugs?’ Ffion says. The briefest of glances passes between Tabby and Felicia.

‘Absolutely not.’ Yasmin’s response is too fast. Leo makes a note to request a rush job on the toxicology.

‘Had he fallen out with anyone?’ Ffion asks.

‘Everyone loved Dad.’ Tabby’s words are punctuated by juddering breaths. ‘He was the nicest man you could ever meet.’ Felicia puts her arms around her sister, but Leo thinks he sees a dart of anger in her eyes, before both girls’ faces are lost to the embrace.

It could be something or nothing, thinks Leo. There’s always a reluctance from family to admit to an argument, even a trivial one – especially a trivial one – when a loved one has been found dead. The deceased is always a loving spouse or parent; their relationships always unsullied by petty spats. So many victims able to light up a room before their lives are snuffed out, it’s a wonder it hasn’t put the National Grid out of business.

Yasmin chokes back a sob. ‘I just can’t believe he’s gone.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Leo says.

‘Sorry?’ It explodes from Tabby with such vigour that Leo instinctively tenses, the way he does if something’s about to kick off. But although the girl’s fists are clenched, and her eyes blazing, her lip wobbles, and tears stream down her face. ‘You’re sorry? Even though Dad told you he had a stalker, and you did nothing about it? But now you’re sorry?’