‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes, I’d say it does,’ snaps the detective.
Stephen sighs. ‘Human sacrifice may still be prevalent, even today. Most recently, a shrine of twenty-four human skulls were found in Uganda with injuries pertaining to human sacrifice. It was a widespread historical practice across many cultures for a multitude of reasons. The most obvious one was to appease deities, ensuring fertility or good harvests, but it could also be used to maintain social order, to terrorize lower classes, display authority, and maintain existing social hierarchies. It was also used as a means of showing devotion or to accompany the deceased into the afterlife.’
‘But this is the twenty-first century, Mr Mallow. We’re in the middle of rural Wales, surrounded by sheep and family farms.’
‘I’d say that makes it even more likely. In some cultures, sacrifices were used to promote fertility in the land and ensure successful harvests. According to the village magazine, the same farmers win the village show every year.’
‘Yes, but sacrificing a human is a tad dramatic, don’t you think?’
Stephen shrugs. ‘I’ve heard of worse reasons.’
Detective Williams nods. ‘Hmm, you may be right there, Mr Mallow. I’ve also noticed that the most successful farms in the area are all run by members of the committee, including Hammel, Bevan and Davies, although Frank must have run into some financial trouble in the past.’
‘It seems Frank Hammel, Diane Bevan and William Davies have just moved to the top of our suspect list.’ Stephen swallows, attempting to dislodge the lump in his throat. ‘To think … a father sacrificing his own daughter for the sake of the community.’
Detective Williams sighs. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve encountered such horrors. You remember Tyler Jenkins, right?’
‘How could I forget? But what about Griffiths? Do you know anyone with that surname?’
‘Not that I can recall. But I’ll bet there’s a Griffiths still in the village.’
Chapter 37
STEPHEN
Stephen parks in the pub car park and assesses his surroundings before moving another muscle. He finds country pubs odd places to hang out. They are mostly filled with a plethora of elderly locals who complain if anyone under the age of forty enters or if the noise levels raise above a certain decibel. And if it’s not the elderly locals who take over the place, it’s the youth who think it’s suitable to laugh and swear really loudly right next to a family with a young child who are trying to enjoy a pleasant meal.
Stephen gets out of the car, walks the short distance to the entrance and then finds a quiet booth at the back of the pub, settling into the padded seat with his back towards the corner. He likes to have eyes on the exit and to be able to see who’s approaching. He also enjoys people watching, fascinated by their behaviours. Yes, he’s a person too, but he knows he’s different somehow. Watching people is like watching television for him.
It’s busier than he likes. He was expecting a quiet pub with a few locals and maybe a Labrador stretched out in front of the roaring fire, but it’s exceptionally busy for a weekday evening. He prefers it when the background noise is a quiethum rather than a loud roar. He can barely hear himself think. It’s a struggle to form or organise any thoughts right now. He considers standing up and walking out, but no, he’s here for information. The detective is counting on him to bring back vital details that will help them solve Sophia’s disappearance. Not to mention the idea that people in this village are possibly sacrificing people for the good of their livelihoods and farms is a morbid thought if there ever was one.
What he really wants to be doing right now is combing through the heaps of diaries, journals and newspapers piled high on the kitchen table back at Rosemore Cottage with the detective. It’s like a treasure trove of information spanning decades from a hundred years ago. Like looking into John Hammel’s soul.
While he waits for Frank, he ponders his call with Rachel earlier today. It makes no sense. He remembers texting her as clear as day, but she’d never received anything. How odd. And yet, despite it being an interesting question that needs an answer, it isn’t his number one priority.
‘Mr Mallow, what can I get you?’
Stephen flinches as if burned as Frank Hammel speaks above him. He hadn’t noticed him approach, despite his eyes being focused on the entrance the whole time.
‘Whisky. The smokier the better.’
‘Good choice. Won’t be a moment.’
Frank turns and walks to the bar, weaving in-between various customers, all of whom greet him with a nod or a hearty handshake. Frank instantly engages in conversation with the barman. Stephen envies those who converse with others so easily. For him, it’s a constant battle between the words that come out of his mouth and the words his brain wants to say. The ones from the brain, if he allows them out, would easily cause offence or make others uncomfortable with their bluntness, whereas the words that come out of his mouth sometimes aren’t the ones he means to say and often leaves him feeling confused and disappointed.
Frank arrives a few minutes later holding two glasses. Stephen takes the one handed to him. He smells the smoky peat as soon as he brings the glass to his lips.
‘Cheers,’ says Frank as he takes a mouthful.
Stephen frowns. Doesn’t one usually raise their glass and then clink them together to initiate a “cheers?” Or has he got that wrong? Battling against the words in his head, he remains silent and takes a sip instead.
‘So … what would you like to know?’ asks Frank. He leans against the wooden booth and spreads one arm out along the back of the bench. Stephen has been working on recognising body language and Frank appears to be relaxed in this environment. Stephen, on the other hand, is far from relaxed, crossing and uncrossing his legs and constantly shifting his position on the seat, unable to get comfortable. He may as well make a start. The sooner he asks the questions, the sooner he can get out of here.
‘Run me through the events of the day of Sophia’s disappearance. I need to understand her movements. Was there anything out of the ordinary? Tell me what she said, what she did, where she went. As much detail as possible. Don’t leave anything out.’ Stephen pauses for a moment and then adds, ‘Please,’ because it’s the socially acceptable thing to say when asking so much of someone.
Frank clears his throat as he swirls the dark golden liquid around the bottom of his glass. ‘Sophia and I had a falling out the day before, so we weren’t on speaking terms.’
