The Last Party (DC Morgan #1)(39)

There’s a pause before Leo speaks. ‘She was at the party.’

Ffion looks at him. ‘Ceri isn’t a murderer.’

‘She might be.’

‘Because she was bullied – what – thirty years ago? That’s not a motive for murder. Not like money is.’

‘You think Yasmin did it?’ Leo says.

‘Did you see how jittery she got over the drugs list? I’d put a tenner on the toxicology showing high levels of sleeping pills. I reckon Yasmin liked being married to a rising star. Once he was burned out, she bumped him off for the cash.’

‘Why now, though? She’d inherit more once the rest of The Shore was built.’

‘Only if she’s the beneficiary there. Jonty Charlton’s the financial partner, remember.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be delighted to talk to us again.’

Jonty Charlton is not delighted. He looks at Leo and Ffion as though they’ve been dredged from the bottom of the lake. ‘Are you harassing the other residents of The Shore, or is that pleasure reserved for me and my wife?’

‘We don’t discriminate,’ Ffion says cheerfully, taking a step into the lodge, so Jonty has no choice but to move back.

‘This really is getting rather tiresome, you know. I thought incompetence was a quality particular to the Metropolitan Police, but clearly it’s endemic.’

‘You told me this place would be a goldmine when it was finished,’ Ffion says. ‘Who gets that goldmine, now Rhys is dead?’

Jonty looks a little taken aback. ‘Ah . . . Yasmin will inherit almost all of Rhys’s shares.’

‘Almost?’ Leo says.

‘He owned fifty-one per cent of the business. I have forty-nine per cent. Our agreement was that, in the event of Rhys’s death, two per cent of the business would be passed to me.’

‘Making you the controlling partner?’ Ffion says.

Jonty waves a hand, as though her point were moot. ‘It simply means that whoever Rhys chose to pass his shares to, the integrity of The Shore would be maintained.’

‘Why did Rhys have the controlling shares, if you put up all the money?’

‘Running a business is a little more complicated than issuing a parking ticket, officer.’ Jonty laughs. ‘I had the money, but Rhys had the land. Most of the plot was owned by an English farmer. There was no planning permission and no likelihood of getting it, so Rhys bought it for a song.’

‘But the land he inherited from his father already had a building on it,’ Ffion says slowly. ‘So there was a precedent.’

‘Not just a pretty face, eh?’ Jonty says. Ffion stares at him, unsmiling. ‘You’re spot on. A small, scrubby bit of land, but arguably priceless. It was still a battle, but there was already a structure of sorts on the foreshore, and eventually we were able to make authorities see sense.’

‘Was the business going well?’ Leo thinks it’s possible Ffion might actually implode.

‘The lodges were harder to sell than anticipated. We had to drop the price and, even then, they didn’t shift. We don’t offer payment plans or accept mortgages – we’re strictly top-end – and it was tricky to find the right place in the market. In the end, we employed a PR firm to create a campaign around The Shore. Paid influencers, tweeting about how incredible it was, when the place was still a building site – that sort of thing.’

‘It sounds highly unethical,’ Leo says.

‘Everybody does it. And it worked – that’s how we got Ashleigh Stafford. We implied there was a waiting list, that applicants were being vetted . . .’ Jonty looks smug. ‘The truth was, Rhys and I had taken a lodge each in lieu of shares, and the other three were standing empty. Ashleigh was just what we needed – there’s genuine word-of-mouth now. Once the rest of the lodges are built, we’ll be able to sell them three times over.’

‘Did you and Rhys always see eye to eye on business matters?’ Ffion says.

‘Pretty much.’ Jonty blinks several times in quick succession.

‘Are you sure about that?’

He blows out his cheeks. ‘Look, I was a bit pissed off with him before he died, alright? Someone’s bound to tell you, so there you go – I’m telling you now. We had a bit of a cashflow problem last year and had to let the builders go. Rhys hired a local chap, Huw Ellis, to finish the job, and I bankrolled the thirty-grand bill. Only, Rhys spent the money, and the builder still needs paying.’

‘And you’re still owed thirty grand?’ Leo says.

‘Well, yes. Not a fortune, I know. But with a builder on the warpath as well, you can see why I’d be a bit pissed off.’

‘I’d imagine Huw Ellis is pretty pissed off, too.’ Ffion’s voice is cold. Leo doesn’t blame her. After almost ten years in the police, his take-home pay is a fraction under thirty grand a year. It might not be a fortune to Jonty Charlton, but it is to most people.

‘He had a go at me, at the party,’ Jonty says. ‘Didn’t get anywhere with Rhys, so came after me, the—’ He stops himself. ‘It all seems rather irrelevant now, doesn’t it? Now that poor old Rhys has gone.’

On the contrary, Leo thinks, it seems very relevant indeed.

Outside, he’s about to suggest to Ffion they compare notes over a coffee when she announces she has to go.