split into a wide, carnivorous grin. 'Burnham-Lloyd himself is it?'
Dai did not find this funny. He'd had a vague hope that he, the local man, would have been chosen to handle the Burnham-Lloyd funeral, but the more he thought about it the less likely it seemed.
'Let me tell you something, Guto.' he said. 'Even if, through some insane aberration, they were to make you the candidate, I don't even think your mother would vote for you. It's a hiker.'
'What is?'
'Him. In the back. They found him in the woods by Y Groes.'
'English?'
'Probably.'
'Second one in just a few days. Bloody hell, Dai, might as well be working for the council, the times they send for you to cart away the rubbish.'
'Anybody can tell, Guto, that you are a natural politician. That sense of fair play, of diplomacy, the way you choose your words so as not to cause offence.' Dai opened up the tailgate of the hearse so fast that Guto jumped back. 'How would you like to help me carry him in?'
'Me? Carry a coffin? An Englishman's coffin?'
'Don't like the thought of death, do you, Guto?'
'Get lost,' said Guto.
Dai nodded knowingly. Most people were made instantly uncomfortable by the arrival of himself and his hearse. Except for those in professions touching on the death business — doctors, nurses, solicitors, monumental masons.
And the police.
By the time Dai had arrived the body had been cut down and lay on the river bank in the manner of a determined sunbather, vainly stretching out his head to catch what remained of the light.
Then Dai saw the rope still dangling from the branch and realised what this was all about.
'Oh dear,' he had said to Chief Inspector Gwyn Arthur Jones, and the policeman nodded.
'I've never understood why they come out here to do it,' Gwyn Arthur said, taking out his pipe. 'Three or four a year, I reckon. If it's not here it's the Elan Valley. If it's not a rope over a tree it's a rubber pipe from the exhaust.'
Dai did not mention that it was his personal ambition to die here too in case the Chief Inspector got the wrong idea.
'Well, they come here for holidays. Happy memories, isn't it. Want to go out where they were happiest.'
'Bottle of pills and a photo album would save us all a lot of mess,' said Gwyn Arthur.
The corpse looked to be in his mid-forties and quite a seasoned hiker, judging by his clothing and well-worn boots.
'Who found him?'
'What's her name — the teacher. Pretty girl.'
'Bethan? Oh God.'
'Well, one of the kids it was originally. Anyway, Dai, we want to have a little poke around the woods, just to make sure he was alone. Then you can cart him up to the hospital mortuary. Why don't you go and bang on the
Dai made his way back to the hearse. He'd managed to squeeze it into a bit of a clearing by the roadside so it wasn't very far to carry the coffin down to the river — not as far, anyway, as it would seem to the coppers carrying it back.
It was less than a quarter of a mile to the village, so he walked, feeling the air — so much lighter, somehow, than the air in Pontmeurig. He strolled across the bridge to Tafarn y Groes. It was just gone six. Aled rarely opened before seven-fifteen. Dai rapped briskly on the pub door. Forgetting, until the pain stung his knuckles, what a solid oak door this was.
For a long time there was no response.
Dai was about to knock again when the door opened slowly and unwillingly, and in the gap he saw Aled's worried face. His white hair was uncombed: he had a hunted look about him.
'Coffee. Aled?'
'What?'
'Coffee. I won't ask you for a pint, but I wouldn't mind a coffee.'
'What are you doing here?'
Dai was thrown by this. All right, he was early and some landlords could be expected to be inhospitable. But not Aled. Aled was flexible.
'Something wrong, is there?'
'No… Well. Gwenllian's not so good. Bad throat. Awake half last night. Got a bit behind, we have.'
'Oh. I'm sorry. In that case I won't bother you.'
'No. no,' Aled said, opening the door wider. 'Come in. I want to talk to you.'
Aled made him coffee in the bar. There was no sign of Gwenllian. But then, in Dai's experience, there rarely was; she kept to herself to the kitchen and served infrequently in the bar.
'Another body then.' Dai said.
'What?' Aled dropped a saucer.
'A body. Up by the woods. Hiker. Strung himself up, poor bugger.'
'Oh.' Aled was staring at the broken saucer as if someone else had dropped it. He began to pick up the pieces.
Dai drank his coffee in silence, burning his mouth in his haste to be away. There was clearly something wrong here, more than a bad throat.
Aled said, a bit hoarsely, 'How did you get on with Dr. Ingley?'
'The Prof? Shipped back to — where was it now? Basingstoke.'
'Gone?'
'Gone,' said Dai.
'Where did you keep him?'
There was an odd question.
'How do you mean?'
'Where did you put the body?'
'Well, chapel of rest,'
'No… no problems?'
What the hell did that mean?
'I was asked to embalm him. Usual thing. Why do you ask?'
'No reason,' Aled said. Though it was not quite dark yet, he moved to the switches on the wall and put all the lights on.
Blinking in the sudden glare, Dai thought at first he must be seeing things when he noticed how badly the landlord's hand was shaking.
Part Three
SICE
Chapter XIV
'I know what you're thinking,' Giles said.
They were driving inland on roads that became narrower, through countryside that got bleaker. Camouflage
