The Last Party (DC Morgan #1)(37)

Glynis looks at the image over Yasmin’s shoulder and sobs again. She starts rifling through the drawers of a large oak dresser.

‘That’s the Rising Star Award,’ Yasmin says flatly. ‘2010. Awarded to a musical theatre actor deemed to have delivered the best performance of the year. Rhys won it for Judas, in Jesus Christ Superstar. Last decent job he had.’ She glances at her mother-in-law, but Glynis doesn’t react.

‘I imagine it’s a tough industry,’ Leo says.

‘Everyone wants the next big thing.’ Yasmin picks at a loose thread on the arm of the armchair. ‘Every agent wants a breakout hit, and, when they’ve got that, they move on to fresh talent. Rhys’s agent had him doing commercials for car insurance, for fuck’s sake.’

‘And fair play, he was brilliant at them,’ Glynis says. She hands Ffion a glossy photograph. In it, Rhys Lloyd wears a black tux; Ffion wonders if it’s the same one he died in. Yasmin’s in a full-length gown with plunging neckline, glittering diamonds around her throat. They stand on a red carpet, in front of a backdrop peppered with sponsors’ logos. One of Rhys’s hands rests loosely on his wife’s waist; the other grips the neck of a huge award.

‘Very impressive,’ Leo says.

Yasmin works the loose thread free, winding it around her fingers. ‘It’s hideous.’

Ffion looks at the photo. ‘What’s it made of?’

‘The base is marble; the rest is metal. The whole thing’s covered with gold leaf.’

Above Rhys’s hand is a starburst of metal spikes. Ffion shivers. ‘When was the last time you saw it in his office?’

‘New Year’s Eve, I suppose.’

‘You actually saw it then?’ Leo says.

‘Well, no. I mean . . . you don’t see things you know are there, do you? You just assume they are.’

Leo opens his notebook. ‘Can you give me a list of people who have been in that room, please? We need to cross-check it against the elimination prints we’ve taken.’

‘I’m sorry, that’s impossible.’ Yasmin blinks. ‘I’ve taken everyone up there. I’m an interior designer – The Shore is a very important part of my portfolio.’

‘When you say everyone . . .’ Leo says.

‘Jonty and Blythe, obviously. Clemmie, Dee, the Staffords – Ashleigh wanted my advice on lighting, although can you believe it, they’ve put spotlights in the—’

‘Who else?’ Leo interrupts.

‘The builder, Huw Ellis. There have been a few snags, and he has a set of keys. He’s been in all the lodges. Same goes for Mia, the cleaner. And then, of course, I did tours at the party.’

‘You did tours?’ Ffion imagines giving tours of Mam’s place. This is the bathroom, where you have to whack the pipe with a hammer to make the shower come on. This is my bedroom, which still has a poster of the Backstreet Boys on the wall . . .

‘People were curious.’ Upstairs, the sound of music grows louder, and Ffion realises it’s Rhys singing. She pictures the twins up there, listening to their father’s voice, and she swallows hard. She hands a sheet of paper to Yasmin.

‘This is a list of medication found in your husband’s bedside drawers. Do you know which of them he was taking?’

Yasmin scans the list of tablets. ‘He took ibuprofen for a bad back sometimes. These are multivitamins – I take the same ones. Oh, and these sleeping tablets were for jet-lag.’ She hands back the list. Upstairs, the girls’ music goes up another few decibels, Rhys’s soaring voice making the hairs on the back of Ffion’s neck stand up.

Yasmin stands. ‘I can’t bear it.’

‘Let them be,’ Glynis says, but Yasmin’s already leaving the room. Convenient, Ffion thinks. She isn’t interested in what Yasmin said about the drugs – all run-of-the-mill stuff – but she is interested in the way the woman’s hand shook as she read the list, and in the intentionally offhand manner with which she rattled through her explanations. Something on that list is significant. Ffion looks at Leo and knows he’s thinking the same.

Upstairs, Rhys’s voice cuts off, mid-note.

‘I keep forgetting,’ Glynis says quietly. ‘Then it all comes back and . . .’ Tears brim over her eyelashes.

‘It must be very difficult for you,’ Leo says. ‘I’m sorry if we’re making it harder, asking all these questions. We just want to find out what happened to your son. Did he ever talk to you about his harassment case?’

‘Yes, I was very worried for Yasmin and the girls.’

‘Not for your son?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You said “Yasmin and the girls”. Were you worried about Rhys?’

‘Of course I was worried about him!’

‘He received a number of abusive messages online,’ Ffion says. ‘Do you have any idea who could have been sending them?’

‘None at all.’

‘Had Rhys fallen out with anyone?’

Glynis’s hands are shaking. She looks nervously at the ceiling. There’s no sign of Yasmin.

‘Mrs Lloyd?’ Leo prompts.

‘People locally were very upset when The Shore was built,’ she says, eventually. ‘With Rhys, and with me, too. There’s been a lot of ill feeling.’