The Last Party (DC Morgan #1)(51)

He knows.

‘Oh, right.’ Ffion forces a laugh. ‘I was there on New Year’s Eve. There was some suggestion of fireworks and the locals were up in arms about it.’

‘And that’s a CID job, is it?’

‘I was in the area. Thought I’d help out.’ Ffion looks up, holding his gaze challengingly.

‘And you didn’t think to mention it?’

‘I forgot.’

‘You forgot you’d parked outside a murder victim’s house, the day he died?’

‘I’ve had a lot on my—’

‘For fuck’s sake, Ffion!’ Leo slams both palms flat on the desk. ‘You lied about your sister refusing elims. You lied about going to The Shore on New Year’s Eve.’

‘I didn’t lie—’

‘By omission. And please tell me you didn’t actually destroy CCTV evidence to hide the fact that you’d been there?’

‘I can explain.’ She can’t, but she needs to buy time, because there has to be a way out of this. She thinks of Yasmin Lloyd, blaming poor mental health for her batshit actions. ‘It’s been a difficult year. My marriage broke up and Seren took it badly. She got on well with Huw. Saw him as a kind of father figure, I suppose.’ As Ffion speaks, she realises it’s not far from the truth. Seren had been devastated by the separation, unable to understand why Ffion had walked out.

Leo is frowning, and for a moment Ffion thinks she’s successfully distracted him.

‘Who?’ he says.

‘It’s pronounced Huw. As if there’s a “y” after the “h”. Move your tongue to—’

‘Don’t fuck with me, Ffion. Huw what? What’s his last name?’

Ffion has underestimated Leo. She looks away. ‘Ellis.’

There’s a long pause. ‘You’re married to one of our murder suspects?’

‘Separated.’

‘I can see why.’

Anger flares inside Ffion. ‘Says the man who never sees his son.’

She regrets it the second it’s out. The hurt in Leo’s eyes turns to anger. ‘What did I ever see in you?’

‘The feeling is entirely mutual.’

There’s a sound from the door. ‘Um . . . excuse me.’ A custody officer is standing awkwardly in the doorway. ‘Yasmin Lloyd’s ready for interview.’

If the chairs in the interview room weren’t fixed to the floor, Ffion is sure Leo would move his further away. She feels the tension coming off him in waves, as she further arrests Yasmin on suspicion of murder.

‘This is ridiculous.’ Yasmin looks at Ffion and Leo in turn. ‘I didn’t kill my husband.’

‘How long have you been in a relationship with Jonty Charlton?’ Leo says.

There’s a long pause, before Yasmin answers. ‘Six months. It started in the summer, when The Shore opened. It was only ever meant to be a bit of fun, although Jonty, of course, fell in love with me.’ A tiny smile at the corners of her mouth suggests she sees such an occurrence as inevitable.

‘That’s a classy way to celebrate your husband’s success,’ Ffion says neutrally.

The solicitor coughs. ‘Are you here to interview my client, or to debate her morality?’

Ffion ignores the interruption. ‘Who knew you were having an affair?’

‘No one. We were very careful.’

‘Not even Rhys?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘How can you be so certain?’ Leo says.

‘Because if he’d found out, he’d have—’ Yasmin breaks off. An ugly flush moves from her neck to her face like a rising tide.

Leo breaks into the silence. ‘Blythe Charlton says you and Rhys were arguing, before the party on New Year’s Eve.’

‘I was pissed off with him, that’s all. He’d been drinking all day. I found him on his knees in the middle of the road at one point – he was totally out of it.’ Yasmin shakes her head. ‘So embarrassing.’

‘Interesting,’ Leo says, and Ffion’s pulse quickens, but Leo’s picking up the pathology report. ‘Because toxicology results suggest there was very little alcohol in your husband’s bloodstream. Did he take any other substances that day?’

‘Rhys didn’t do drugs.’

‘Let me rephrase that,’ Leo says. ‘Did you give your husband any substances on the day of the party?

Yasmin’s eyes widen. ‘What are you suggesting? That I drugged my husband?’

‘We showed you a list of medication seized from your bedroom,’ Ffion says. ‘Your reaction suggested you had something to hide.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ There it is again: the same panicked look they’d seen at Glynis’s house.

Leo leans on the table. ‘Did you drug your husband?’

‘No!’

‘He was killed in his office,’ Leo continues. ‘Somewhere – by your own admission – you went to several times, during the party.’

‘With dozens of guests!’ Yasmin gives a humourless laugh. She looks towards the door, as though she’s considering walking out – as though she’s free to do so. A fine sheen of sweat has broken out across her forehead.