Page 24 of A Game of Lies

She looks at Huw. ‘Round up as many volunteers from the village as you can. Tell them whatever they need to know.’

EIGHT

WEDNESDAY | LEO

The last time Leo drove to Wales, it was with Ffion. They were tying up loose ends following Rhys Lloyd’s murder: additional statements, another house search, a final look at the lake from which Lloyd’s body had been pulled a few weeks earlier.

Now Leo watches the landscape change as he draws closer to Cwm Coed. He waits for that first glimpse of Mirror Lake. It took his breath away the first time he saw it, and it does the same today – a slash of sapphire, shimmering in the valley. It was winter when Rhys Lloyd died, and there were few boats on Mirror Lake, but today there are dozens. Tiny triangular sails skate across the water, their movements seemingly choreographed, so that each vessel slips past another with what looks like mere inches to spare.

Leo could have sent a DC to liaise with North Wales Police. Probably should have. But his caseload is quiet for once, and Leo feels the pull of the mountains. And Ffion.

As the road drops down towards the village, the lake vanishes behind the belt of green that encircles it. Cwm Coed had felt provincial to Leo, that first time. Too big for a village, yet too small to be a town. Nothing to do except swim, fish or sail; nothing to see but the lake and the mountain. Cwm Coed, Leo had thought then, was a place you drove through on your way somewhere better. Today, he has the oddest sensation as he nears the village. He feels a loosening of the tension in his shoulders, as though he’s shrugging off a tight jacket. He feels his body settle back into his seat, the way it does when he sinks into the sofa after a long day at work.

Cwm Coed’s been the same for hundreds of years, Ffion once said to him, and she’d meant it as a blessing and a curse. Leo had felt envious of her roots, her history here. He liked that she couldn’t walk from one end of the high street to another without a dozen conversations about the weather, or the building work up by the church; without people asking after Ffion’s mum, Elen Morgan, or seeing if Ffion knew who’d nicked Osian Edwards’ ride-on mower. You don’t get that in a city.

Leo’s SatNav takes him north of the village, towards Pen y Ddraig mountain. As the road begins to climb, his pulse surges, and he makes himself take several deep breaths. He’s a detective sergeant meeting a constable from another force for a briefing, not a sixth-former queuing for the school disco.

Ffion, though.

He messaged her this morning, letting her know he was coming. A single line, mirroring the abrupt tone of last night’s call.

Her reply was instant.Noted.

So that’s how it’s going to be. Leo feels something akin to grief, and he opens the window to let the rush of air blast away his folly. The road narrows. The SatNav says the farmhouse is three minutes away, but Leo’s running out of road and there’s not a house in sight.

He stops the car and zooms in on the satellite map on his phone.

He’s the wrong side of a field.

As Leo reverses cautiously all the way back down the single-track road, he catches sight of himself in the mirror. When did he last get a haircut? He straightens his tie. He’s wearing a grey checked suit, but he switched out his office brogues for robust boots more suited to the terrain. Does he look okay? Is the suit jacket too much? He could leave it in the car and wear the cagoule he keeps in the boot in case of rain …For God’s sake, man, pull yourself together. It’s only Ffion. And Ffion’s made it quite clear she’s not interested, so it hardly matters if his hair’s a mess, or—

His phone rings as he hits the main road (‘main’ being a relative term; he’ll have to squeeze into the hedge if something comes the other way) and, even though he doesn’t really want to speak to Gayle, the distraction is welcome, so he pressesaccept.

‘Hello, gorgeous.’ Her voice, deep and flirtatious, fills the car. ‘I’m in Chester today – I wondered if you fancied meeting up. We could check out that new place by the river; I hear they do an amazing afternoon tea.’

‘Sorry, I’m across the border on a job.’ Leo has tried several times to explain that he can’t take long, boozy breaks. Police meals are eaten in parked cars or at your desk; abandoned the second a job comes in, or Custody calls to say your suspect is ready for interview. As for afternoon tea … Leo can just imagine running that one by the DI.Just popping out for a cucumber sandwich, boss.

‘Everyone has to eat,’ Gayle had said once, when he declined her offer to meet at the pub fora quick bite and a cheeky Pinot.

‘Tell that to Cheshire’s criminal fraternity.’

‘But Morse and Lewis are always in the pub.’

Leo had laughed, but it turned out Gayle was being serious.

‘How are you?’ he says now. He ignores the SatNav telling him to make a U-turn and pulls through an open gate on to a wide gravel driveway in front of the farmhouse. A sign on the gate saysCarreg Plas.

‘Horny,’ Gayle says, drawing out the word in a sultry stage whisper.

Leo snatches up his phone and turns off the in-car speakers. What is he supposed to say?That’s nice?Oh, dear? He settles for, ‘I’m at work,’ then adds, ‘unfortunately,’ even though he doesn’t mean it.

‘I’m sure you’ve got five minutes to help a girl out, haven’t you?’ She gives a throaty chuckle.

Leo can’t do this. Partly because, as time goes on, he likes Gayle less, not more; partly because dirty talk has always made him feel self-conscious. But mostly because Ffion is standing in the drive. Wisps of hair have escaped the clip in the nape of her neck, the wind tangling them about her face. She gives a brief nod as their eyes meet.

‘I have to go,’ he tells Gayle. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Ffion walks towards Leo’s car, until he can no longer see her face, only a leather belt and a pair of grey trousers, liberally adorned with what looks like dog hair.

‘Do you know what I’ve got on under my dress?’ Gayle says.

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