Chapter 2
DAY ONE
Station Terrace, Cwmcoed, had no station, and no longer led to one.
There was no need for a station, or a railway line, once the coal mine closed.
Instead of a station, there were two long rows of small stone-fronted houses facing each other across the street.
The front doors opened onto the pavement and almost all the window surrounds were painted in bright colours.
It was a dead end with a gate leading to a track where the mountain rose up, covered in trees.
After all the activity in the street Deryn had just left, it seemed peaceful, still and green.
The houses could be empty for all the signs of life they displayed.
Deryn parked outside number fifty-nine, the very end of the terrace where the woods began.
From the car he could see down the side of the house, where there was a wooden gate presumably leading to the back yard.
As he was getting out of the car, the gate opened, and a young man peered out.
He was taller and thinner than Deryn himself, and as the sunlight caught it, Deryn could see the man’s hair was the colour of weathered pine.
“Mr Brody Murphy?” Deryn called, walking towards the house. He got his ID from his pocket and held it out. “Glamorgan police.”
“That’s me. Thanks for coming,” the man said in an American accent, and held the gate open.
The first thing Deryn saw when he stepped into the untidy space were the chickens.
There were five, all copper coloured, clustered around Murphy’s feet, clucking and looking up with their heads tipped to one side.
The reason for their interest was almost certainly the tub of pellets in the man’s hand.
Deryn had no experience of chicken keeping, but he was prepared to bet that the pellets were chicken food, and the birds wanted at it.
He grinned and gestured at the tub. “You might want to scatter a few of those,” he said.
He got an answering smile, tempered by a look of exhaustion, and the chickens got some food.
“Tell me about your missing friend,” Deryn said.
The garden had a couple of trees, some very sad-looking grass, and two wooden sheds. There was a white plastic table and chairs under one of the trees. On the table sat a large black cat. At the far end, there was the sound of the river, and beyond that, the forest, rising steeply.
“Let’s sit down,” Murphy said and led the way to the table and chairs.
The cat jumped down and stalked away towards the river.
Murphy rubbed at his face and Deryn saw black shadows under each eye, and a day’s worth of stubble on his chin.
“I landed at Heathrow first thing, like five am,” he began.
“Mason was supposed to meet me, but he never showed. I waited a couple hours, kept calling but he didn’t answer.
In the end I rented a car and drove here.
I came around into the yard, and the door to the house was open.
There’s no sign of Mason and his phone is on the kitchen counter.
There’s blood on the floor, overturned furniture, spilled coffee.
I walked through the whole house and he’s not there.
So, I rang you.” Murphy rubbed his eyes again and yawned.
“Let me have a look,” Deryn said. He stood up and walked to the house.
Much of the back was taken up with a set of sliding glass doors, one of which was just open.
Through it, he could see that the whole of the downstairs had been knocked into a single space and painted white — including the floor, which showed the splashes of possible blood and coffee to dramatic effect.
A dining chair lay on its side, and a coffee table was shoved up against a bookshelf.
There was a broken mug on the floor, and a mobile phone on the kitchen worktop.
He walked back to Murphy, who was resting his head in his hands and looked ready to fall asleep.
“Mr Murphy,” he said, “was there any sign of disturbance in the rest of the house?”
Murphy shook his head. “Nope. Just in the kitchen.”
“I need to call my boss,” Deryn said, “and then I have some questions.” DI Glover was going to love this.
Two dead bodies and a missing man in one day, in the same tiny village.
Not that Deryn was pleased by having to spend any more of his own time in Cwmcoed.
The sooner he got out of the evil place, with its constant whispers and eyes watching his every move, the better.
He walked back towards the house to make his call, and as predicted, Glover was unimpressed.
“Have you looked for this Mason bloke?” she asked.
“I didn’t want to disturb things any more. But if you think it’s a good idea, I can walk through the house.”
She did. “And then ring me back.”
Deryn looked at where Murphy was slumped over the white plastic table. The black cat had returned and was sitting on one of the chairs. “I’m going to my car for some gloves, Mr Murphy. My boss wants me to check the rest of the house,” he said.
“I’ll be here,” Murphy replied, and in truth, Deryn couldn’t see him moving for hours.
Even so, he was as quick as he could be in collecting his gloves and bootees.
When he returned, he was fairly sure Murphy had dozed off.
The plastic chairs weren’t comfortable, but the sun was warm, and the murmur of the river soporific.
He eased the sliding door open, then closed it behind him to prevent any of the animal kingdom gaining entry.
It was clear that the downstairs room was empty, but Deryn looked behind the two sagging sofas anyway.
The original stairs had been replaced by a neat spiral, so there was nowhere to hide underneath.
The top of the stairs gave onto a small landing with three doors, all open.
One was a tiny shower room — empty. The second was the smallest bedroom containing nothing but a fold-out bed, which had been made up, presumably in the expectation of a visitor.
It too was empty. The final bedroom held a double bed, chest of drawers, and a built-in wardrobe.
There was no one under the bed, or in the wardrobe.
Mason was not there, just as Murphy had said.
Outside, he went to look in the two garden sheds, one of which turned out to be a chicken house, and the other a store for chicken and cat food, plus a few garden tools.
Both were empty of the house owner. To cover all the bases, he checked the rest of the garden and the riverbank at the far end. Nothing.
Deryn called Glover to report and was told to get a description of the missing man and make sure Murphy didn’t leave. “I’ll send someone to test the alleged blood,” she said. “Wait for them.”
There were gentle snores coming from Murphy. The cat had curled up in a patch of sunlight, and the chickens were happily scratching at the soil. They looked up — sideways — as he approached the table.
“Mr Murphy,” Deryn said, and then touched him gently on the shoulder. Murphy started awake.
“Wha?” he rubbed his face. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“I need to know about your friend,” Deryn said. And about you, he added silently to himself. “My boss is sending a crime scene technician to test the marks on the floor. It might not be blood. There could be a simple explanation.”
Murphy nodded slowly. “Here’s hoping.”
“Can we start with your full name and address?” Deryn got his phone out to make a recording, and his notebook as backup.
“Brody Johnson Murphy,” Murphy said, and reached into his pocket for a wallet, extracting a card which he placed in the table and pushed towards Deryn.
“Special Agent Murphy, FBI, New York office.” As Deryn’s eyebrows rose, Murphy said, “But I’m here as a private citizen.
Mason is a friend. He called me last week and asked me to visit.
Said he needed my help and he would tell me about it when I arrived. ”
Deryn picked up the card. It seemed genuine, but how would he know? “We’ll have to verify this.”
“Of course.”
“Now, your friend. I need his full name, and a description. Is he an American?”
“Mason Abruzzi, thirty, about five ten, a hundred and eighty pounds, blond, blue eyes. Dual nationality, US and UK. He’s lived here for a few years now, but he grew up in the US.”
“What does he do for a living?”
Murphy’s face reddened slightly. “He’s, um, very wealthy. Like a millionaire. I’ve never known him to have a job.”
Which didn’t explain why he was living in one of the poorest places in the UK, in a tiny house with chickens and a cat. Or, indeed, why he had disappeared on the day his friend arrived. His FBI friend. The same day they found two bodies. Glover was going to like this even less.
“Did your friend Mason use drugs?” Deryn asked.