In his office in Colwyn Bay, DCI Davies shifted in his chair and frowned. Before him was the file on the investigation into the death of Gwillym Thomas, the mine worker who was killed in 1971 with a slate splitter.
Davies had read the report thoroughly and been struck by how unhelpful the miners had been. No one had seen or heard anything. No one wanted to help with the investigation. But someone must have heard or seen something. Conspiracies of silence troubled him on many levels. There was always an element of fear and intimidation. Good people, who wanted to do the right thing and come forward to help, were sometimes coerced and threatened into doing nothing so they became part of a cover-up, which allowed the guilty to remain free. Sometimes a hard, killing glare was all it took. You say anything, and we’ll hurt you. Or even more powerful and persuasive, you say anything and we’ll hurt someone you love.
As he was about to close the file, the name of one of the investigating officers caught his eye: PC Tim Crawford. He’d known that name for some time, but although he’d been very curious about him, for ethical reasons had resisted the temptation to use police records to learn more about him because his interest was purely personal. Now, he felt he could just about justify it. He logged into the securest of police personnel databases and entered the name. A moment later, the file came up and he scanned the early details—the date PC Tim Crawford had joined the force, glowing performance reviews—until he found what he was looking for.
July 29, 1995. The day PC Crawford died. Written in the stilted, curiously bland language of police reports that describe events of great emotional significance in detached, flat detail, the report had been written by the officer who’d responded to the call for assistance when PC Crawford was reported in trouble in the River Conwy.
At that time I observed PC Crawford on the far side (west) of the riverbank, struggling to get out of the water. He had a young girl in his arms and with some apparent difficulty was able to push her against the steep side of the bank near the Ivy teahouse where a group of people reached down and pulled her up to safety. The girl was able to breathe on her own and did not require medical intervention except to treat a few scrapes and small cuts.
Unfortunately the group was unable to assist PC Crawford out of the water. The River Conwy at this place is fast flowing, made up of the convergence of three rivers just a short way upstream. At the time of the incident the tide was coming in, so the water was high and with the opposing forces of the tide and the normal flow of the river downstream, the water was turbulent.
PC Crawford was swept away and despite the best efforts of attending police and fire officers and citizens, we were unable to rescue him. His body was recovered downstream later that afternoon.
Interviewed at the scene was Penny Brannigan, 34, the woman in charge of the little girl. Miss Brannigan stated that she was the fiancé of PC Tim Crawford and that she had been charged with looking after the girl, Morwyn Lloyd, 11. Miss Brannigan, a watercolour artist, said she had been momentarily distracted by her sketching at the time the girl went into the water and that PC Crawford, who had accompanied the two to the riverbank, was off getting ice creams. When he heard the commotion at the bank he rushed over. The life ring, which should have been secured on the bank for such an emergency had been removed by vandals and not replaced. Witnesses said the girl was caught in the current and seeing no alternative, PC Crawford entered the water and reached the girl a few moments later. Miss Brannigan was understandably distraught and was offered medical assistance, which she declined. The child and Miss Brannigan were driven in a police car to the home of the child’s aunt, Evelyn Lloyd, of Rosemary Lane.
The report was followed by details of PC Crawford’s funeral and recommendations for a bravery medal.
With a pounding heart, Davies closed the file. Penny had told him about Tim Crawford early in their relationship—that they’d been engaged and that Tim had drowned in the River Conwy saving a child’s life—but she hadn’t told him that she’d been there. She’d left out a few other details, too: that she’d been in charge of the child and been distracted with her painting when the child had fallen in the river. He thought he knew Penny in ways that she didn’t know herself. She must have spent every day since buried under a landslide of guilt and self-blame, berating herself to hell and back. He’d thought for some time that something was holding her back emotionally, preventing her from opening up to him. Had he found the reason why she was unavailable? Because she hadn’t forgiven herself for what had happened on that riverbank so long ago? And now what? What should he do with this knowledge? Bide his time? Mention it during a quiet, gentle chat over lunch. He was about to reach for his phone when it rang. He listened to Bethan for a moment and then stood up as he pressed the button to end the call.
Bevan Jones had called to report that a third slate splitter had turned up in the depths of the mine. And if Bethan was right, there was a good chance that this one was the murder weapon.