Page 38 of A Game of Lies

Today’s police activity is at the opposite end of lake from where Cwm Coed’s last body was found, drifting through the mist towards the New Year’s Day swimmers. Rhys Lloyd had been in the water for a matter of hours before he was spat out. Even the lake wanted rid of him, Ffion thinks. She glances at Leo, heat rising within her as she thinks about where she was – where they were – when Rhys’s body was being hauled out of the water.

‘Penny for them?’ Leo says, catching her eye.

‘I was just thinking about Rhys.’

‘Do you think about him a lot?’

‘I try not to.’

Leo nods, then he smiles suddenly, as though it’s caught him off guard. ‘Your face, when you saw me in the mortuary.’

‘Yourface!’ It had been mere hours since they’d parted company – work the last thing on either of their minds.

‘Well, I hadn’t expected to see—’

‘I thought I was imagining—’

They both talk at once, then stop to allow the other to finish, and the silence is abrupt and unwelcome.

Ffion bends to pick up a stone from the shore. ‘Seems like a lifetime ago.’

‘Longer,’ Leo says quietly. He waits, perhaps for her to say more, but Ffion rolls the smooth pebble between her fingers and looks out over the water. A minute passes, then she hears the stones shift under his feet as he walks away.

They had hoped to find Ryan yesterday. After he’d been seen in the lake, the helicopter was immediately scrambled. It flew low above Llyn Drych, streaming the resulting footage back to Control Room.Eastern shore clear, came the commentary, above thewhomp whomp whompof the rotor blades. Below them, two search-and-rescue operators in a tangerine boat responded to the helicopter crew’s requests, checking out an upturned kayak, a burst inflatable, carrier bags.Negative, came the response every time.

And so this morning, at first light, the police underwater search team arrived. Frogmen in black dry suits and scuba gear, ropes guiding them from the shore. They’d check the area where Ryan had been standing, the skipper said. Look for his clothing, his shoes. His body.

A chill runs down Ffion’s spine. She pictures Ryan walking deeper and deeper into the lake, desperate for it to be over. She imagines his fear – not only of what faced him in the depths of Llyn Drych, but of what brought him there. She knows exactly where the lake bed drops away, and she imagines Ryan’s feet stepping into nothing, his head ducking beneath the surface.Ryan can’t swim, Jessica told them. Did instinct make him draw breath before he went under? Or did he force himself to sink with empty lungs, determined to end the nightmare?

Dave pulls at the lead, unsure why everyone is suddenly getting in the water but convinced he should be part of it. Last night, when a weary Ffion had returned home after a long and frustrating day, she found Dave and Seren bundled up under Ffion’s duvet, revision cards scattered around the room like confetti.

‘He’s been crying for you all day,’ Seren said. ‘I’ve hardly done anything.’

No matter how desperate Ffion is for a dog-sitter, Seren’s A-levels – and the degree course she’ll start in Bangor in September – are more important. Seren is back in the library today and Dave has come to work with Ffion, under strict orders not to disgrace her.

Ffion walks over to where the Major Incident wagon is parked up. Unsurprisingly, Huw has already sniffed out the free coffee. Through the vehicle’s open door, she glimpses the Family Liaison Officer sitting with Jessica Shenton, whose face is streaked with tears.

A few metres away, Leo and George are talking to Jim Morris, a North Wales dog-handler Ffion has known since she joined the job. Well-built and tasty in a pub fight, Jim has grown a beard since Ffion saw him last, which adds to his already imposing presence. Many a North Wales burglar has thrown in the towel at the sight of Jim and his German shepherd bearing down on them. Right now, the dog is sitting patiently while his master talks to Leo. A long, coiled line hangs on Jim’s belt.

‘Ti’n iawn, Jim?’ Ffion bends to stroke Foster. ‘Aren’t you a gorgeous boy?’

‘Thanks,’ Jim says. ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’

Foster is doing his best to ignoring Dave’s enthusiastic butt-sniffing.

‘Sorry.’ Ffion yanks him away. ‘He didn’t learn that from me.’

‘Rescue dog?’

‘How did you guess?’ Dave leans so hard against Ffion’s legs she almost falls over. ‘He’s a bit … clingy. Eats the house if I go out, and howls if he can’t see me.’

‘Get him working. Most behavioural issues can be solved by keeping a dog busy. Got any game shoots in your area?’

Ffion pictures Dave running amok through a flock of pheasants. ‘Not sure that’s quite his bag.’ She eyes Foster enviously. ‘Could he be a trail dog?’

‘He’d be perfect for that.’ Huw appears beside them, hands cupped around his coffee. ‘As long as Ffion’s the one missing.’ He holds an open palm out to Ffion. ‘I’ll take my twenty quid now, if you like.’

‘I’m not sending Dave back.’

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