‘I think so, sir.’ Leo coughs, self-conscious at once again being the centre of attention. ‘We’ve had a good result on the trophy found in the lake. The fleck of glitter retrieved from Lloyd’s facial injuries is a match, so we’re confident this is the weapon used in the assault.’
‘The award’s been in the water for a week,’ Ffion says, ‘but CSI have been able to recover several sets of prints. Both the Lloyds’ prints are there, as you’d expect, but they also found a partial belonging to the postwoman, Ceri Jones.’
‘She had a long-standing grudge against Rhys Lloyd,’ Leo says, when Ffion doesn’t elaborate. He glances at her, but her face gives nothing away. ‘She’s on her postal round till midday. We’ll be waiting for her when she finishes.’
‘She didn’t do it,’ Ffion says, when they’re on their way to Cwm Coed. Other members of the team have been tasked with establishing a timeline for Ceri Jones on the night of the party, piecing together the information they have from witness statements and photographs.
‘Her prints are on the weapon.’
‘It’s not technically the murder weapon, though, is it? Izzy Weaver said the injuries were superficial. The assault brought on a heart attack – that’s what she thinks.’
Leo looks at Ffion. She’s zipped into her enormous coat, and, with her hair tucked under a bobble hat, only her face is visible. ‘So what are you saying? Ceri Jones didn’t hit Lloyd with the trophy? Or she did, but she didn’t kill him?’
‘I’m saying there’s an innocent explanation. I know Ceri. She’s not a violent person.’
‘She was bullied by Rhys Lloyd so badly she left school a year earlier than planned, and never did the art degree she’d dreamed of. Her fingerprints are on a weapon known to have been instrumental in his death.’
‘It wasn’t her.’
‘What makes you so sure?’ Leo waits, but she doesn’t answer. ‘Ffion, you being on this case is already a terrible idea. If arresting Ceri is too great a conflict of interest, then you should—’
‘I’m staying on the job.’
Leo glances at her. Four days ago, Ffion had been told she could go back to her own force.
‘Apparently she begged her DI to let her stay,’ Crouch told Leo. ‘I’d assume it was because you were knobbing her, only she’s not blind.’
Had Ffion stayed on the case so she could interfere with evidence? Leo tugs at his seatbelt, suddenly too tight across his chest. Is that why she’s so insistent about staying on it now?
They’re waiting for Ceri when she pulls up outside her house. In spite of the cold, she wears shorts beneath her uniform fleece. She eyes Ffion and Leo with resignation.
‘Please tell me you don’t need another statement. I’ve had a shocker of a day – you’d think I was personally responsible for missing Christmas presents, the way people go on. Like it’s my fault they—’
‘Ceri.’ Ffion interjects. ‘We need to talk to you about something else.’
Leo waits for Ffion to make the arrest – it’s her patch, her community. But when the hesitation begins to hint of reluctance he steps forward. ‘Ceri Jones, you’re under arrest on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘What?’ Ceri gives a burst of laughter. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’ She looks at Ffion. ‘Ffi?’
‘No joke, Ceri,’ Ffion says shortly.
They travel to custody in silence, Ceri white and shaken in the back seat. A good actor? Leo thinks. Or simply shocked to have been caught? Ffion stares out of the window, her entire body radiating fuck off vibes. There are so many different women there, Leo thinks. The caustic, spiky Ffion, making him laugh with one-liners and piss-taking. Yesterday’s open, raw Ffion, in so much pain it made Leo’s heart hurt. Today’s shut down, don’t-talk-to-me Ffion. And, of course, the Ffion he’d met on New Year’s Eve. The caution-to-the-winds, don’t-care-who’s-watching woman, who had kissed him as though they were the last two people standing, and curled into his outstretched arm when they finally fell asleep.
Leo likes them all.
He looks out at the road ahead, the snow becoming lighter as they leave Wales. Maybe when they aren’t working together. Maybe they could have a drink, or something.