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Twenty-Five
January 6
Ffion
After they’ve left Ashleigh, Ffion rolls a cigarette she doesn’t want. “I know who the boat with the red sails belongs to.”
Leo looks at her. “Who?”
“Angharad Evans. She lives at the end of the lake. Bit of an oddball.”
“The sort of oddball who offers the use of her boat to dispose of a body?”
Ffion shakes her head. “It doesn’t fit. We think Yasmin poisoned Rhys and persuaded Jonty Charlton to knock him out then clean up the crime scene, right? But Jonty’s the one who told us about seeing a boat with red sails. He’d hardly have done that if he’d used the boat himself.” She lights her cigarette. “Besides, Angharad hates The Shore. I mean, really hates it.”
Leo shrugs. “So maybe she’s our plan B. Could she have killed Rhys?”
“Angharad’s not a murderer. Although we did use to call herthe witchwhen I was growing up, and if you saw her, you had to stand on one leg, then touch your left elbow to break the curse.” Ffion laughs, but Leo isn’t smiling.
“We should speak to her.”
“Because I thought she was a witch when I was seven?”
“Because the team’s spoken to everyone with a boat permit, and I don’t recall Angharad Evans’s name coming up.”
“She doesn’t need one. Her cottage has mooring rights.” Ffion can see Leo’s mind working. “Okay! I’ll take you to her. How do you fancy a boat trip?”
“Not remotely.” Leo takes in Ffion’s expression. “My God, you’re serious.”
“Her place is awkward to get to by road.”
“Awkward or impossible?”
“Well, just awk—”
“Then we’re driving.”
On the way, Ffion looks out the window, where glimpses of lake flash between the trees. “You’re not keen on boats, then?”
“I’ve got nothing against boats; it’s water I don’t like. Unless it’s in a glass or I’m watching it with my feet on dry land.”
Ffion laughs. “Noted.”
The road runs alongside Llyn Drych. It’s straighter than the serpentine lake, and flashes of silver dip in and out of sight as Leo drives. Ffion sees him glancing at her when he thinks she isn’t looking, trying to work her out. If he’d reported her for destroying CCTV evidence, she’d have heard from Professional Standards by now. Does that mean she’s in the clear?
She points to a single-track road taking them through the trees. “Turn off here.” They’re at the end of the lake now, a mile from the village, the forest dense and dark. Half a mile up the track, their path is blocked by a fallen tree. It lies at an angle, caught by the trees on the opposite side, with half its roots still in the ground.
Leo stops the car, and Ffion gets out. “Come on. It’s on foot from here.”
“How long has it been like this?” Leo asks. The forest has grown around the fallen trunk, new branches formed vertically, undaunted by the damage caused beneath them.
“As long as I can remember. It’s on Angharad’s land, so it’s down to her to remove it, but Mam says she likes it this way.”
It’s another ten minutes before they reach the clearing in which Angharad’s place stands, a thin trail of smoke coming from the chimney. Leo stops walking, taking in the encampment.
“It’s quite something, huh?” Ffion says. She shivers and hugs herself, her right hand clutching her opposite elbow. Leo glances down to see Ffion’s foot hovering above the other. She catches him looking. “Old habits.”
“Does she live alone?”
