‘But it hasn’t sold yet,’ said Robin, glancing through the back window at the Powells’ house.
‘No, because they haven’t had an offer they like, see That’s Ivor. He’s the type who wants to get every penny he can…’
Strike, who was making notes, thought instantly of Greg.
‘Couldn’t Tyler have gone with them to Florida?’ asked Robin.
‘Nah,’ said Griffiths. ‘Ty likes Ironbridge. ’S’all he knows, see. Anyway, they didn’t want him. As far as they were concerned, he was twenty-five, time he was off on his own. So, Anne-Marie’s left Ty for Hugo, and he doesn’t know when he’s going to be homeless – Chlo and me wanted to offer him our spare room, but – well, that was before…’
‘Before?’ Robin prompted him.
‘Argh, it was difficult for Chlo,’ said Griffiths uncomfortably. ‘She an’ Ty were good friends when we first come here, but after what happened happened, people were turning on everyone who stuck up for Ty, so I s’pose… I mean, you can’t blame her, really. But she changed her mind. She didn’t want Ty living here, not after the crash…
‘I don’t know the ins and outs of what happened that night, but basically: there was some concert in Birmingham a group of them wanted to go to, but Hugo couldn’t get a lend of Daddy’s Range Rover, so he asked Ty if he and Anne-Marie could get a lift with him, see. There was nothing in that,’ said Griffiths quickly. ‘Ty’s good-natured, see? He’d do anything for anyone. But at the last minute, Ty says he’s feeling ill, see, but that Hugo can still borrow his car. Ty loves cars. He got this one cheap and did it up. It was his pride and bloody joy, so people are effing deluded thinking…
‘Anyway… Hugo had only just passed his test, and he crashed it. Anne-Marie was killed outright and Hugo was in a coma for three months. Brain dead, but his mother didn’t want to pull the plug.
‘People round here were upset,’ said Griffiths, ‘obviously. Anne-Marie was local, grew up in a flat over a sweet shop on the High Street. Everyone knew her. And Hugo being in the coma, and the Whiteheads being everyone’s flavour of the month…
‘And then the Whiteheads started putting it about that it couldn’t have been Hugo’s driving, see. There must’ve been something up with Ty’s car – it wasn’t roadworthy, or whatever. But then people started saying something had been done to the car. Tampered with. They said Ty fixed the car to crash. Revenge, see, on Hugo and Anne-Marie. Bullshit,’ said Griffiths fiercely. ‘Pure bullshit. But the rumours just went on, and everyone was looking sideways at Ty. Finally he came to me and said he’d had enough, he just wanted to clear – hang on,’ said Griffiths suddenly, getting to his feet and peering out of the window on to New Road. ‘That’s Dilys, she must’ve been up the church. I’ll get her, shall I?’
67
I spoke to her, but she merely jabbered
In the old style; both her eyes had slunk
Back to their pits; her stature shrunk;
In short, the soul in its body sunk
Like a blade sent home to its scabbard.
Dilys Powell was a small, saggy-cheeked woman with wispy white hair, who looked frail and ill. She was wearing a thick tartan winter coat and entered the room very slowly, using a walking frame, a large black handbag over one arm.
‘Hello, Mrs Powell,’ said Robin, getting to her feet. ‘I’m Robin Ellacott. We spoke on the phone about your grandson, Tyler?’
Dilys’s only reply was a sniff.
‘She was up the church,’ said Griffiths, guiding Dilys to a chair. ‘It’s where her husband’s buried. I’ve been telling them about the car accident, Dilys,’ he told the old woman, raising his voice. ‘About Hugo and Anne-Marie, and why Tyler left Ironbridge.’
‘He never did nothing to that car,’ mumbled Dilys.
‘That’s what I told them,’ said Griffiths.
‘Never did nothing,’ repeated Dilys. She released the walking frame, then sank, with Griffiths’ aid, into an armchair.
‘We were hoping to ask you some questions, Mrs Powell,’ said Robin, ‘about why you thought the man in the vault could have been Ty—’
‘Took off,’ said Dilys. ‘Never told me where he was going. Told him,’ she said, with an aggrieved glance at Griffiths.
‘Only—’ began Griffiths.
‘Silver,’ said Dilys.
‘What about silver, Mrs Powell?’ asked Robin.
‘He was talking about silver. On the phone.’
‘Tyler was?’
‘Yer.’
‘What did he say about silver?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Who was he talking to? You?’
‘Jones, probably.’
‘Who’s Jones?’ said Robin.
‘His friend,’ said Dilys. ‘Up Higwell Farm, by Apeton.’
‘What’s Jones’ first name?’ asked Robin.
‘Wynn,’ said Dilys, as Strike’s pen moved rapidly across the page.
‘Is Wynn a good friend of Tyler’s?’
‘Yer,’ said Dilys, scowling. ‘I don’t like him.’
‘Why’s that?’ asked Robin.
‘Rude,’ said Dilys. She turned to look at Griffiths. ‘I need the loo.’
‘Right ho,’ said Griffiths, getting up again. He helped Dilys out of the armchair and guided her hands back on to the walking frame. ‘First on the left, down the hall.’
Dilys left the room slowly. Once she was out of earshot, Griffiths said quietly,
‘She’s gone downhill a lot since Ty left. He was good to her, did her shopping and that. She took it hard, him leaving, ’specially after his parents left for Florida. Ivor’s Dilys’s son. We all offer to help her, but Dilys likes her independence.’
‘There’s a great-niece, isn’t there?’ asked Robin. ‘I spoke to her before Christmas.’
‘She doesn’t live round here, she’s back at uni,’ said Ian. ‘I wouldn’t mention her. Dilys’s cat, that she was supposed to be feeding, died when Dilys was in hospital. The cat was ancient, but Dilys hasn’t forgiven the girl, and when Dilys loses her temper, believe me, you know it. She’s been worse since she slipped on the ice last autumn. Knocked herself out, going down the hill. She was lying out there in the dark for a couple of hours and nobody realised. She was in hospital a month and – shit,’ said Griffiths, jumping up as a muffled thump issued from somewhere out of sight. He left the room. They heard another couple of thumps, Dilys saying, ‘That wasn’t me! I can do it!’ then the sound of a closing door. Griffiths re-entered the room.
‘’S’all right, she just hit the hall table,’ he said.
‘So Tyler never mentioned silver to you?’ asked Robin.
‘No, he just told me he’d got a job in a pub, somewhere down south. Dilys was angry I never told her that, see, but I thought she knew. Anyway, I dunno if Ty was telling the truth. He didn’t give me the name of the pub or anything. He might just’ve wanted me to think he had a plan.’
They heard a distant flush.
‘You’ve been to Belgium,’ Strike said to Griffiths.
‘What?’ said Griffiths.
Strike lifted the small gold figurine from the table beside which he was sitting. ‘This is the Manneken Pis, isn’t it? Copy of the Belgian statue?’