Chapter 5
DAY TWO
Brody Murphy wouldn’t have noticed if Deryn had turned up as Dee — he was too disturbed by what Mrs Davies had told him about his friend.
“It looks like kidnapping to me,” he said. “Or some kind of coercion at the very least. This makes all the difference. There should be a search.”
“If Mrs Davies won’t give a statement, there’s no reason to start a search.
You know that as well as I do,” Deryn said.
It was true. He believed that Murphy had fairly reported what Mrs Davies had told him, and that she had seen Mason pushed into the car.
But unless she was prepared to say it on the record, they had nothing.
“Tell me more about Mr Abruzzi. Why did he come here, of all places? Why did you come to visit? What help was he looking for from you?”
“Is there somewhere we can get coffee?” Murphy asked.
Deryn shook his head. There was a cafe on the main road, specialising in stewed tea, sticky buns and gossip. “Nowhere we could talk without every word going round the village,” he said.
“Garden then, though the sight of the coffee machine on the kitchen counter, just out of reach, will torment me.”
They returned to the white plastic table, Murphy sitting facing away from the house and the taunts of the coffee machine. The scent of pine trees drifted across the river.
“I haven’t got long,” Deryn said. “I told you we had the two overdoses yesterday — if it was fentanyl we need to get the word out to warn other drug users. So, Mason Abruzzi? Why would a millionaire come to live in Cwmcoed?”
Murphy tipped his head back, looking up at the trees, seemingly organising his thoughts.
“Honestly, I have no idea. At least, I know why he left the States; what I don’t know is why he came to this bit of Wales.
Though he said he was very happy here. Gotta say, I imagined something a bit more romantic, and well, bigger.
You should see the size of his house in Brooklyn. ”
“Why did he leave America?”
Murphy blushed and fixed his eyes on a couple of the chickens who were scratching in the dirt. “His relationship broke up. He said he wanted a new start. He talked about leaving everything behind and reinventing himself. Said he didn’t like who he had become.”
“The relationship that ended was with … you?” Deryn was certain he knew the reason for the blushes.
Murphy blushed harder and nodded. “He … erm …” There was a silence and more studying of the chickens, then, “Mason didn’t like that I work in law enforcement. He hadn’t had good experiences.”
“I asked yesterday about whether Mason was involved with drugs, but we didn’t have time to discuss it.”
“Not drugs, no. I mean, a bit of weed, sure, but no hard drugs. No, he got a couple of DUIs … his folks made the first one go away … and the second one, but the cops gave him a hard time. Like they knew he was going to walk, so he got pushed about a bit. He didn’t injure anyone driving drunk, but he did a fair amount of damage to other cars.
I mean, he was a really sweet guy, but he was kinda out of control. ”
Deryn didn’t like the implications of that, but he was hardly in a position to throw stones. None of it explained why Abruzzi had come to Wales. He asked again, and got the same answer, accompanied by a shrug.
“I have to go,” he said. “Will you be OK?”
“I’m going to talk to the rest of the street,” Murphy said. “Someone must have seen something.” Deryn thought that they both knew that wasn’t a given.
Deryn felt a chill in the air, and a fluttering in his stomach. The river seemed very loud all of a sudden and he was afraid. “Be careful,” he said. “There are some desperate people in these houses. If your friend was abducted, asking questions might not be too healthy.”
“It’s my job. I know how to look after myself. And your ordinary citizens aren’t armed, right?” Which was true, though the feeling of foreboding didn’t go away.
“Ring me,” Deryn said. “Tell me if you find anything.”
“Rely on it,” Murphy said, and sketched a salute.
Deryn wanted to ask Murphy to ring if he didn’t find anything. Just ring. Something nasty — nastier than usual — was happening in Cwmcoed and it didn’t feel safe.
The rest of Deryn’s morning was dispiriting.
He visited three people known to be regular heroin users, and in one case, also a small-time dealer.
Each one let him in probably because he was related to Phillip, rather than because he was a police officer.
His warnings that mixing fentanyl with heroin was life threatening were listened to with more or less patience.
In no case did Deryn have any sense that behaviour would change.
No one was prepared to name Phillip as the source of the drugs.
Phillip would continue to sell his wares and someone else would die.
Phillip would never see the reality of his dealing up close and personal.
He provided the product — and even that was at arm’s length — and others sold it and collected the money.
Then Phillip washed the cash through another one of the family businesses.
Phillip Fromow had been Deryn’s father’s right-hand man, and now he had stepped up.
It was lunchtime, and there was a kebab shop a couple of streets over. Deryn rang Murphy without examining his reasons too closely.
“I’m getting myself a kebab, shall I bring you one? The coffee isn’t bad, either,” he said.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if it’s food, then yes. And coffee. Lots of coffee. In Mason’s garden?”
Twenty minutes later, Deryn opened the gate to find Murphy sitting at the white plastic table with the black cat on his lap. Deryn presented him with a warm, paper-wrapped parcel and a cardboard coffee cup. Murphy evicted the cat and opened his parcel.
“It’s gyros,” he said, seemingly pleased, and tucked in. Deryn made a mental note of the name and unwrapped his own kebab.
They ate in silence until the kebabs were gone and the focus had shifted to coffee. Murphy said, “I have found something interesting about Mason. It turns out that he volunteered with the Scouts. Volunteered a lot, and paid for a lot of things, too.”
“OK. I’ll bite, how did you find that lot out?”
“Coffee place on the main street.” Murphy smiled. “Interesting place. Surprisingly decent coffee, even if the barista wondered aloud that I hadn’t asked for an americano.”
“We don’t get a lot of outsiders,” Deryn said.
“I expected the music from High Plains Drifter to begin. I mean, everyone looked at me as I walked in, and they all laughed at the americano comment. So, I asked for pie as a joke, and they laughed some more and offered cheese and onion pasty, shepherd's pie and something called iced fingers. I don’t even know what the last two are. Apparently homemade by the co-op, which sounded promising, but I think they came from a factory.”
“They did,” Deryn said. “The Co-op is a supermarket chain. I hope you didn’t eat anything?”
“I tried an iced finger, but it was just a bread roll with icing. A sort of small hot dog roll.”
“Probably better than the pasty anyway. And that’s where you found out about Mason being a Scout leader? Did he do that in the States?”
Murphy laughed. “Mason? He was drunk most of the time. Hardly someone to set a good example to young folk. Anyway, they told me who to talk to, and after I had managed to eat my roll, I went to find him.” His face became serious.
“The guy I spoke to was worried. They expected him at Cubs last night, but he didn’t turn up, and didn’t call, which was odd, because he was usually reliable.
And this guy will make a statement to that effect. ”
“I’ll talk to him,” Deryn said.
“You can’t, or not until tonight. There’s a meeting of all the volunteers at the Scout Hut, at six. The Scout Hut that Mason paid for. I’ve got the address.”