Doctor Who_ Cats Cradle_ Witch Mark - Andrew Hunt [34]
Back in his car, he took a look at his watch and decided that it was time to go over and see the policeman in Llanfer Ceiriog. Hughes, the man's name was. He'd tried to contact him the night before to see if he could follow up the identities of some of the people involved in the coach crash, but to no avail.
Hughes hadn't been by his phone then, but surely a village policeman would still be abed at this time in the morning?
It took twenty minutes to drive to Llanfer and in that time the bright morning sunshine was dissipated by a thin cloud cover. The policeman lived on the far side of the village and Stevens noticed the track up to the stables leading off the road as he passed. It turned out that the policeman's house was a small cottage overlooking the road, its whitewashed walls a dull grey colour from years of weathering. An old bike leant against the wall by the door, its handlebars tangled up amongst a sheet of ivy that clung precariously to any available nooks and crannies.
Stevens drove on to the grass verge and walked up the small set of stone steps that led to the front door of the cottage. He knocked briskly on the flakily painted door. A few seconds elapsed before it swung open, accompanied by the smell of frying.
'Hello?' The man was tall and broad-shouldered. His greying hair was swept untidily to one side and stubble speckled his chin. His eyes were bleary.
'Constable Hughes?'
'That's right, boyo.'
Stevens took his ID from his breast pocket and showed Hughes. 'Inspector Stevens from the Yard, can I come in?’
Hughes hesitated uncertainly but eventually capitulated. ‘Ah, come on in. Just having me breakfast, you know.'
Stevens was led into a small kitchen, its tiled walls stained with the signs of frying explosions. A pan simmered on a ring in the corner.
'Take a seat, why don't you?' Hughes suggested. He turned to the blue formica-covered work surface.
'So what's this all about?'
'You heard about the big coach accident yesterday morning?’ A mug was deposited in front of him.
'Cup of tea, isn't it? Yes, I heard about it. Nasty, I believe.’
‘Very nasty, no survivors. The thing is the only one we've been able to identify is the driver. He came from Llanfer Ceiriog.'
'That so? What was he called?'
'Hughes, like you, Selwyn Hughes. Know him?'
‘Selwyn. No, doesn't ring a bell. How did you identify him? Driving licence, was it?'
‘That's right.'
‘Ah, well, he may have lived here a few years ago then. Come think of it, I do recall a Selwyn being in the pub sometimes. But not recently. Sorry.'
‘You're sure? I've got the address somewhere. And these photos of the casualties.' Stevens handed over a sheaf of pictures and Hughes started to leaf through them. He shook his head. ‘No, nothing I recognize.'
‘The thing is the coach is registered as being owned by a Mr Emrys Hughes - you Hugheses get around a lot, don't you? - who lives at a place called Dinorben in Llanfer Ceiriog.’
‘Emrys owned the coach, did he? Well, there you go. Selwyn was probably a relative that Emrys was helping to set up in business. Emrys'd do things like that. As far as I know though, Emrys isn't around at the moment so there's not much point in going up to Dinorben.'
‘Ah, right. Well, er, you've been very helpful.' Stevens stood up and picked up the photographs. 'I'll probably get in touch with you again. I'll be staying around here, trying to track down any of these faces.
Thanks for the tea. Enjoy your breakfast. I'll myself out.'
He stood outside the front door, thinking. He couldn't be sure, but when he'd first arrived, Hughes had seemed definitely uneasy about something. And then that clumsy attempt to persuade him not to go and see this Emrys. Something was going on here.
He walked down and got into his car, turning it in the road. There were certainly enquiries to be pursued here. But first to see about this unicorn at the stables.
Hugh woke and felt Janet's warmth