Page 22 of Villainous Mind
“Jesus Christ, Navy,” he sighed.
“I really am sorry.”
“Fine, find out what you can about the new girl and write something up. Send it to me tonight, and I will proof it and send it on to Granger. He wants something in tomorrow’s paper.”
“You’ll really help me?” I asked.
“Yes. I’ll help you,” he said. “Find something good, Navy. Something no one else knows, so it sets your story apart. I know you have it in you.”
“Thank you, Sam.”
“Now get off the phone and concentrate on driving.”
“Can you send me the address of the girl?”
“Yes.”
“Bye, Sam. And thank you.”
“Bye, Navy.”
Three and a half hours later, I pulled up to the missing girl’s street in Dale. It was a small village on the other side of the bay. The police had cordoned off the block, stopping the press and nosey onlookers from getting too close. I parked my car and got out, going up to the yellow police tape. Reporters flooded the area, vying for answers under the harsh floodlights set up for the investigation. DC Havard stood at attention, shooing them away.
He frowned when he spotted me. “You’re back.”
“I have every right to be here,” I said. “And you need the press whether you like it or not. This story needs to be front and center for the girls’ sake.”
“I don’t like it,” he snapped. “The press just gets in the way of our job. I should be in there helping, but instead, I have to manage you lot.”
“Sounds like sour grapes.”
“Trust me, it’s not.”
DCS Davies came out of the house, walking toward the temporary barricade. He stopped next to Havard. “At the moment, we have no new information,” he said to the crowd. “There will be a press conference tomorrow at ten in the morning, when I will update you with the details. In the meantime, I ask that you give the families their space. They have been traumatized enough.”
He turned to leave when I called out his name. “Morgan.”
He looked back and caught my eye. “Navy,” he said quietly. Deep lines rimmed his eyes. “I didn’t know if I would see you again.”
“I just returned.”
“I have to finish some things here, but I’ll meet you at The Brooks Inn at eight if you want to talk.”
I nodded, his somberness rubbing off on me. “I’ll see you then.”
The other reporters and news channels were packing up their cameras and equipment and leaving. I hung back, watching. Bryn Lloyd was only eighteen. Three girls in three months. All students at Milford Haven School and all bus riders. It was becoming an ugly pattern.
There was no chance of talking to her family, so I returned to my car and drove the short distance to the pub, parking along the street. I got out and crossed through the outdoor beer garden to the front. Someone had tacked a paper sign that read:Missing Bullalong with a picture and phone number on the door. The short-legged, hardy, coal-black animal looked robust and healthy. Nothing like the deflated and mutilated bull on Rhys’ property. My throat tightened, knowing they were the same, and a chill ran down my spine at the thought of Rhys being involved in something so heinous. I should have called the number and reported what I saw, but I wasn’t here to get involved with neighbor disputes. I was here to report on the missing girls, and I wasn’t even doing a good job at that.
Surprisingly, it was pretty crowded when I entered. I spotted a table in the corner and sat down, pulling out my notebook to review the case and hoping to find any standout information. It was thirty minutes before DCS Davies joined me.
“Can I get you another?” he asked, pointing to my empty glass.
I nodded. “White wine.”
He returned with a fresh glass for me and a tonic and lime for himself and sat down.
“You look exhausted.”