The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,85
how Victoria was doing. She thought about letting the answering machine pick up but then realized the ringing might wake Victoria.
“Hello?”
“Penny,” said a soft voice at the other end. “It’s Bethan. I’m just calling to let you know they think they’ve picked up our mystery woman. At a petrol station in Glasgow. I can’t say any more right now, but I’ll drop by as soon as I can.”
The line went dead and Penny slowly replaced the telephone receiver.
The afternoon wore on and just as Penny was getting ready to close up shop, the door opened and Sgt. Morgan entered, looking like the cat that got the cream.
“She was picked up in Scotland this morning, she’s been fingerprinted, and they match. We’ve got her.”
She smiled smugly and nodded as Penny gasped.
“Really? Scotland? How did they know it was her?”
“That’s the funny thing about policing,” said Morgan as, at a nod from Penny she locked the door and turned the sign to CLOSED. “No matter how high tech we get and how clever we think we are, it’s always something really simple that blows things wide open.
“This woman—we still don’t know her real name—was wearing a head scarf and you don’t see many of them around these days, so she fit the description on the memo that had been circulated to all the police services. Anyway, there she was using a credit card with a stolen number in a petrol station and it just so happened that an off-duty officer from Stirling was behind her in the queue. When the card was declined and the kerfuffle started—you know, the woman in the head scarf protesting there must be some mistake—he got curious.”
Penny opened the door to the flat and led the way upstairs.
“It’s uncanny how often you see it,” Bethan went on. “First, something has to happen and when it does, there’s someone on the scene smart enough to pick up on it and figure out what it means. That’s how these cases get solved.” She followed Penny into the flat where Victoria was setting the table.
“Anyway, I knew you’d want to know.” She looked brightly at the two of them. “Room for a little one at dinner? We could order in Thai. My treat!”
“Of course he does! He knows I like being here and he thought it might be a good idea if I kept an eye on the two of you while he’s away.”
“Away?”
“It’s his case, remember? So he’s gone to Scotland to question her. She’s got a lot of explaining to do, and we’re pretty sure she’ll tell us who she was working with.”
By the end of the evening they had their answer.
On Monday, Rev. Thomas folded the morning newspaper, set it beside his wife’s breakfast plate, removed his reading glasses, and placed them in their case.
“There’s something very wrong here, Bronwyn,” he said as he wiped homemade marmalade from his fingers before reaching for the cafetiere to pour himself the second cup of coffee he sometimes allowed himself. “This makes no sense to me,” he said, gesturing at the newspaper headline.
LATE LANDOWNER’S SON SOUGHT IN BRIDE’S SLAYING
“I know,” said Bronwyn as she picked up the newspaper. “The whole village is in shock. No one can believe it.”
“Yes, well, there’s that, too,” said Rev. Evans. “But no, what I’m referring to is that headline. It makes no sense. ‘Late Landowner’s Son’. Emyr is the landowner now. Why not just say ‘Landowner Sought in Bride’s Slaying’? Still, what’s it matter? The point is that they’re after the wrong chap. I saw his anguish that day when Meg Wynne went missing. Either he’s a very fine actor or he had nothing to do with it. And my money, what there is of it, is on the latter. There’s something not right here.”
“But that woman, that accomplice, what’s her name, oh, where is it?” said Bronwyn scanning the newspaper, “Here it is … Gillian Messenger, she’s given police all the details and she says Emyr put her up to it and that he killed Meg Wynne. That’s what the police are going on.”
“Well, they’re wrong,” said Rev. Thomas as he pushed himself away from the table and took a couple of steps toward his wife. Bending over, he kissed her upturned face.
“Lovely breakfast as usual, dear, thank you. I’ll be in my study if you should want me.”
A few minutes later he settled himself behind his desk, switched on his computer, and started to check