Good People

Where was Magda?

Where was Boon Paterson?

Did they connect?

Slamming Ken McGuire’s composure had been gratifying, but self-indulgent. Now I was going to pay for it. Because he was going to use his influence to get Inspector Morgan to cripple me. I was going to have to do something fast. To either find something concrete I could take to Jack Galbraith to get the investigation sanctioned, or to convince myself that I had been pursuing phantoms. What I didn’t have was time.

Trevor Vaughan was their soft spot. I needed to brace him hard. But they knew that he was their weakness; the defensive block would be in place. I had to try to persuade them that it was no longer required.

I found the Evans family builders team at work on a loft conversion in Dinas. Three men crammed into the cab of a white Ford Transit van drinking tea from thermos flasks. They stared at me as I approached. Paul in the passenger’s seat, with a skinny guy wedged between him and the driver, who shared the family likeness, older, but a little more hair, and marginally less bulk.

The driver got out of the van. I held up my warrant card and introduced myself pleasantly.

‘I know who you are. What do you want?’ he asked truculently.

‘I want to speak to Paul,’ I said, nodding towards the van.

‘I’m his father. He’s got nothing to say to you.’

‘It’s important.’

‘You’re wasting our time.’

‘I’m trying to help Paul.’

He shook his head. ‘Paul’s done nothing to need your help. So why don’t you just piss off now and leave us alone.’

‘I disagree.’ I took his sleeve between my fingers. The move surprised him, but he let me lead him away from the van. I lowered my voice. ‘It’s psychology, Mr Evans. Perception. It’s unfair, but it’s the way the world rolls.’