‘Ricin?’ Leo says. He tries to remember the list of medication seized from the Lloyds’ bedroom. It was all over-the-counter stuff – is ricin ever a legitimate ingredient? If Yasmin slipped him something at the party, it would explain her reaction when they showed her the list. ‘You mean, poison-tipped umbrella, KGB-operatives sort of ricin?’
‘It does rain a lot in North Wales,’ Ffion says, laughing. ‘They’d fit right in.’
‘Ricinus communis,’ Elijah says. ‘That’s where it comes from. It’s quite popular – Monty Don had it on Gardener’s World.’
But Leo is no longer listening. He’s staring at the screen of his laptop, where the footage from Bobby Stafford’s door-cam shows a car parked in the visitors’ bay at The Shore for a full thirty minutes on the afternoon of Rhys Lloyd’s murder.
Ffion’s car.
TWENTY-ONE
JANUARY 5TH | FFION
‘Ricin’s a bit exotic for Cwm Coed,’ Ffion says, once Leo’s ended the call. ‘We’re more your couple-of-joints-after-work-and-a-line-at-the-weekend sort.’ She thinks again about Caleb dealing dope to Cwm Coed’s teenagers, and wonders if arresting him would put Seren off, or make him more appealing. Never underestimate the allure of a bad boy, she thinks, with a shiver. She looks up to find Leo staring at her. ‘What?’
‘Has there been much crime at The Shore since it opened?’
‘Only the graffiti on the sign.’
‘Who dealt with that?’
Ffion shrugs. ‘The neighbourhood policing team, I guess. Why?’
‘You’ve not been there on official business, then?’
Leo’s staring at her, and the hairs on the back of Ffion’s neck start to prickle. She jerks her head in a way that could either be a nod or a shake.
‘How about in a personal capacity?’ Leo’s voice is hard.
Ffion makes herself breathe normally, tracing her pen back over the cat she’s doodled, feeling a tremor in her normally steady hand. He doesn’t know. He might guess, but he doesn’t— Leo spins his laptop one-eighty degrees and pushes it hard towards her.
He knows.
‘Oh, right.’ Ffion forces a laugh. ‘I was there on New Year’s Eve. There was some suggestion of fireworks and the locals were up in arms about it.’
‘And that’s a CID job, is it?’
‘I was in the area. Thought I’d help out.’ Ffion looks up, holding his gaze challengingly.
‘And you didn’t think to mention it?’
‘I forgot.’
‘You forgot you’d parked outside a murder victim’s house, the day he died?’
‘I’ve had a lot on my—’
‘For fuck’s sake, Ffion!’ Leo slams both palms flat on the desk. ‘You lied about your sister refusing elims. You lied about going to The Shore on New Year’s Eve.’
‘I didn’t lie—’
‘By omission. And please tell me you didn’t actually destroy CCTV evidence to hide the fact that you’d been there?’
‘I can explain.’ She can’t, but she needs to buy time, because there has to be a way out of this. She thinks of Yasmin Lloyd, blaming poor mental health for her batshit actions. ‘It’s been a difficult year. My marriage broke up and Seren took it badly. She got on well with Huw. Saw him as a kind of father figure, I suppose.’ As Ffion speaks, she realises it’s not far from the truth. Seren had been devastated by the separation, unable to understand why Ffion had walked out.
Leo is frowning, and for a moment Ffion thinks she’s successfully distracted him.
‘Who?’ he says.
‘It’s pronounced Huw. As if there’s a “y” after the “h”。 Move your tongue to—’
‘Don’t fuck with me, Ffion. Huw what? What’s his last name?’
Ffion has underestimated Leo. She looks away. ‘Ellis.’
There’s a long pause. ‘You’re married to one of our murder suspects?’
‘Separated.’
‘I can see why.’
Anger flares inside Ffion. ‘Says the man who never sees his son.’
She regrets it the second it’s out. The hurt in Leo’s eyes turns to anger. ‘What did I ever see in you?’
‘The feeling is entirely mutual.’
There’s a sound from the door. ‘Um . . . excuse me.’ A custody officer is standing awkwardly in the doorway. ‘Yasmin Lloyd’s ready for interview.’