Disclaimer: All characters and episode references belong to Acorn Media. All original content belongs to me.
D.C.I. Tom Mathias sighed tiredly as he drove down the dirt track that was the closest thing he had to a driveway. He could just make out the outline of his caravan off to the left. To call that caravan his home was stretching the truth. It wasn't a home, and it didn't really belong to him. He was only renting it from Delme Thomas, the landowner, until he found something better. In truth, he was hoping to be able to transfer back to London one day soon. He didn't have anything against Aberystwyth. He just preferred the fast-paced lifestyle and excitement of London.
Tom picked up his torch, and he got out of his car. As he started to walk down the slope towards the caravan, he thought he heard a noise behind him. It was a soft rustling sound. Tom paused and turned to glance around. Seeing nothing, he was about to resume walking, when he heard the clinking sound of breaking glass. Almost immediately, a fireball exploded inside the caravan.
Without hesitating, Tom ran towards the caravan. There was only one thing inside that he wanted to save – the photo of his daughters. It was one of only a few photos that he had of them together. Tom tried several times to get inside, but it was a hopeless cause.
After he'd been driven back by the intense heat and flames, Tom stood and stared in disbelief as his caravan was engulfed by the raging fire. An explosion rocked the area as a gas cannister blew up.
Tom was so absorbed in watching his caravan burn, that he failed to see or hear someone creep up behind him. If he had, he may have been able to stop the blow as something solid struck him in the back of his head.
Tom collapsed to the ground, unconscious before he'd even landed.
…
Inside his farmhouse near the top of the driveway, Delme was in the process of drawing the curtain's inside his sitting room, when he happened to see an orange glow in the near distance. Looking closer, he realised that the orange glow was a fire, and it was coming from Tom's caravan. Shocked, Delme snatched up his mobile phone, and he dialled 999.
"Which service do you require?"
"Fire service!" Delme exclaimed as he bolted out of his house.
"Okay, what's the situation?"
Delme was now running down the driveway towards the caravan. "There's a caravan on fire on my land! I don't know where my renter is. He…I can see his car, but I can't see him!"
"Okay, sir. Just take a breath and calm down. I'll connect you to the fire service now. Can you tell me your name and address, please?"
…
Mared exhaled heavily as she leaned back against her front door to close it. It had been a long day involving the complicated case of Aaron Bowen. Now that her adrenalin had dissipated, she felt completely drained. She hoped that her usual glass of wine would set her to rights again.
But before Mared could even take one step towards the kitchen, her mobile phone rang. Seeing Lloyd's name and number on the screen, Mared decided to answer it.
"Helo, Lloyd."
"Rwyf newydd dderbyn galwad gan y gwasanaeth tân. Maen nhw'n ymateb i alwad am dân amheus ar yr arfordir. Maen nhw wedi gofyn i ni anfon uned. (I've just received a call from the fire service. They're responding to a call about a suspicious fire on the coast. They've asked us to send a unit.)"
"Iawn, Dwi ar fy ffordd. Beth yw'r cyfeiriad? (Okay, I'm on my way. What's the address?)"
Lloyd told her. Mared drew in a sharp breath.
"Dyna le D.C.I. Mathias. (That's DCI Mathias's place.)"
"Bydda I'n cwrdd â chi yno, (I'll meet you there,)" Lloyd said before hanging up.
Mared gathered up her coat and handbag, and she hurried back outside into the night. As she drove through Aberystwyth, Mared tried not to let herself be too concerned about Tom. Her training had taught her not to jump to conclusions, but her natural instincts were trying to override her training. She wondered what the firefighters had found to arouse suspicion about the fire. And she also wondered, or rather hoped, that Tom was safe.
It took Mared about ten minutes to drive from her house to the caravan on the coastal cliff where Tom lived. As she approached the area, she saw an orange, blue, red and white glow in the near distance. When Mared drove down the driveway, she saw that Tom's caravan was fully engulfed in flames, although a team of firefighters were already dowsing it with jets of water. The red, white and blue lights were flashing from the emergency vehicles present. There was a single fire appliance and two police cars parked a safe distance from the flames, along with Lloyd's car. Mared parked her car next to Lloyd's, and she got out.
Lloyd was leaning against the bonnet of his own vehicle, staring at the flames that had all but consumed Tom's caravan. Beside him was a man, who Mared assumed was Tom's landlord. Mared went over to them.
"Beth sy'n gwneud iddyn nhw feddwl bod y tân yn amheus? (What makes them think the fire is suspicious?)" Mared asked.
"Mae car DCI Mathias yma, ond ni all neb ddod o hyd iddo, (DCI Mathias's car is here, but nobody can find him,)" Lloyd replied. "Mae un ai wedi'i ddal y tu mewn i'r garafán, neu mae ar goll. (He's either trapped inside the caravan, or he's missing.)"
Mared bit her tongue to stop herself from gasping. "Byddai'n well inni ddechrau chwilio yn yr ardal am dystiolaeth. (We'd better start searching the area for evidence.)"
Lloyd nodded in agreement, and he took out his torch. While Lloyd went over to the rest of the police unit to co-ordinate them in a search, Mared returned to her car to fetch her torch. She then set out to search on her own.
As Mared walked down the slope towards the coastal cliff, her torchlight landed on a dark mound sticking up out of the long grass. Mared walked towards it. As she drew closer, she realised the it was a person, lying on their stomach.
"I think I've found him!" Mared called to her colleagues.
Lloyd and the other police officers came running over to her. Mared pointed her torchlight at the person. She and Lloyd then approached the person. It was a middle-aged Caucasian brunette male, lying with his face to the right. Lloyd shone his torch on the man's face.
"It's definitely D.C.I. Mathias," Lloyd declared.
Lloyd kept his torch focused on Tom's head, while Mared placed two fingers against Tom's neck for a moment, to feel for his pulse.
"He's alive," she announced with relief. "Just unconscious. We'd better call an ambulance. He feels cold, probably from shock and exposure. We'd better not try to move him ourselves."
Lloyd took out his mobile phone, and he dialled 999. While Lloyd was on the phone with them, Mared knelt in the grass, and started to examine Tom more closely. There didn't seem to be any reason as to why he was unconscious. At first, she wondered if he'd been overcome by smoke inhalation, but his breathing was slow and even, like he was sleeping. Then, she noticed that some of Tom's hair was smeared with something. Closer inspection revealed to her that it was clotted blood. Mared decided not to touch it, and instead, she decided to try and wake Tom.
"Tom? Tom, can you hear me? It's Mared. Look, I need you to wake up now. Please…"
Mared gently shook Tom by the shoulder, hoping to rouse him. It didn't work at first, but after a moment, a low groan escaped from Tom's lips.
"Tom? It's Mared. Can you wake up for me, please?"
Tom groaned again, and this time his eyes fluttered open. A bolt of pain exploded from the back of his head, causing him to gasp sharply. Mared gave his shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze.
"Can you tell me where it hurts?"
"My head…" Tom muttered. He reached up with his right hand to touch the back of his head where Mared had seen the blood. However, he wasn't quite able to reach the left-hand side where the pain was at its worst. He attempted to sit up, but Mared pushed him back down. In his weakened state, Tom didn't have the strength to fight her.
"Just lie still for now, Tom," Mared instructed. "An ambulance is on its way."
"I…don't need…an ambulance…" Tom managed to say, although it was a struggle. His thoughts and vison were both fuzzy. He also had no recollection of what had happened to him.
"I'll be the judge of that," Mared told him firmly.
Lloyd returned to them. "The ambulance is on its way. How is he?"
"Awake and restless," Mared replied.
Lloyd suppressed the urge to laugh. "Mae hynny'n swnio'n iawn. (That sounds about right.)"
Mared chuckled slightly. Tom groaned again. He shifted beneath Mared's hand, but she refused to take her weight off him.
"I told you to lie still, so if you hurt yourself more, it'll be your own fault."
Mared felt Tom's muscles relax as he gave up fighting. She felt a bit bad for pinning him down, but she knew that it was for his own good. She'd seen Tom at his worst, so she knew what he was capable of when he was angry.
A few minutes later, they heard the distant wailing of approaching sirens. Knowing that it was the ambulance, Lloyd jogged over to the driveway in order to direct it to where Tom was lying. As the ambulance approached, Tom managed to push himself up onto his elbows. Mared tried to push him back down again with her weight, but this time, Tom was too strong for her. He rolled over into a sitting position.
"Please, lie back down, Tom," Mared begged. "The paramedics are here now."
Tom ignored her. Through his blurred vison, he stared at the flashing blue lights from the ambulance as it parked in the driveway. Lloyd escorted two paramedics over to Tom. The male paramedic had a large first aid bag slung over his shoulder.
"I'm Anna, and this is Daffyd," the female paramedic said by way of introduction.
"D.I. Rhys," Mared replied. "Thank you for coming. This is your patient, D.C.I. Mathias. He was unconscious when we found him about ten minutes ago, but he woke up while D.C. Elis was on the phone to you. I tried to keep him lying down, but he refused."
Tom was now sitting with his arms resting on his knees and his head hanging down. He was starting to feel nauseas. While Anna pulled on a pair of latex gloves, Tom turned to his left and he vomited onto the grass. It had been several hours since he'd last eaten, so there wasn't much left in his stomach for him to bring up. Daffyd set the first aid bag down on the grass, and he unzipped it. He took out a bottle of water and a disposable cup. After Daffyd had poured some water into the cup, he handed it to Tom.
"That's just to rinse out your mouth," Daffyd explained. "Please, don't drink any of it, just in case you need to have surgery."
Tom gladly took a sip of water to rinse out his mouth. He spat the water out onto the grass beside him. He then handed the empty cup back to Daffyd.
"Thanks."
Anna gently took hold of Tom's wrist so she could feel his pulse. "Pulse is strong, but a bit fast," she reported to Daffyd. She took out a small torch and she used it to study Tom's eyes for a moment. "His pupils are dilated." Anna put her torch back in her pocket. "How did you become unconscious?"
"I don't know," Tom replied. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I can't see properly."
"He said his head was sore," Mared said. "He indicated towards the back of his head. I saw a bit of blood there too."
Anna reached around to the back of Tom's head, and she gently prodded it with her fingers.
"Ow!" Tom yelped when her fingers touched a spot on the lower left-hand side of his head.
Anna removed her hands. "He's definitely got a small cut there. Quite possibly a bad contusion as well. We'd better get him to hospital for x-rays, just in case he's got a skull fracture or possibly even a haemorrhage. There's always a slim possibility that the patient might need urgent surgery after a knock like he's had."
Tom groaned in disbelief.
"Do you think you can stand up?" Anna asked him. "We can help you walk over to the ambulance."
Tom nodded slowly. Mared and Lloyd helped him stand up and they supported him between them as he stumbled over to the ambulance. Once Tom was safely lying down on the stretcher inside the ambulance, Mared and Lloyd left the paramedics to do their job.
"Beth wyt ti'n meddwl? (What do you think?)" Mared asked Lloyd as they walked side-by-side up the driveway towards where they'd parked their vehicles.
"Dwi'n meddwl ei bod hi'n bryd i ni alw ar Prosser. Bydd yn flin gyda ni am beidio â dweud wrtho am hyn yn gynt. (I think it's time for us to call Prosser. He'll be annoyed with us for not telling him about this sooner.)"
"Bydd yn flin beth bynnag, (He'll be annoyed anyway,)" Mared pointed out. They moved over to the side of the driveway as the ambulance drove slowly past them under lights. Lloyd grimaced as he took his mobile phone out of his pocket. He dialled Prosser's number.
…
Half an hour later, Mared and Lloyd arrived at Bronglais Hospital in Aberystwyth. Prosser was already waiting for them in the emergency ward's waiting room.
"Mae DCI Mathias yn dal i gael ei archwilio gan y meddygon, (DCI Mathias is still being examined by the doctors,)" Prosser explained. "Mae'n ymddangos eu bod yn meddwl y bydd yn iawn. (They seem to think that he'll be okay.)"
"Mae'r diffoddwyr tân wedi diffodd y tân yn awr, ac mae tîm ymchwilio tân ar y safle, (The firefighters have put out the fire now, and a fire investigation team is on site," Lloyd said.
"Da, (Good,)" Prosser replied with a slight nod. "Roedd Tom yn lwcus. Y tro 'ma. (Tom was lucky. This time.)"
"Wyt ti'n meddwl fod ei ymosodwr am ei ladd e, Syr? (Do you think his attacker wanted to kill him, sir?)" Mared wondered.
"Efallai. Yn dibynnu ar bwy ydoedd. (Possibly. Depends on who it was.)"
"Ac, pwy wyt ti'n meddwl oedd, Syr? (And, who do you think it was, sir?)" Lloyd asked.
"Dydw i ddim llawer o ddyn betio, Lloyd, (I'm not much of a betting man, Lloyd," Prosser replied. "Ond mi faswn I'n rhoi fy arian ar Iwan Thomas. (But I'd be putting my money on Iwan Thomas.)"
A doctor entered the waiting room then. "Chief Superintendent Prosser?"
Prosser stepped forward and the doctor came over to the group.
"We've finished examining D.C.I. Mathias now. Given the nature of his injuries, we've decided to keep him here overnight for observation. The nurses are currently getting him settled in a room. Does he have any family that we need to contact?"
"No," Prosser replied before Mared could even open her mouth. There was a strained moment of silence before Mared spoke.
"I believe he has an ex-wife who is now living overseas."
"Tom's moved on from that now," Prosser growled softly. "He's cut off all contact with her."
The doctor cleared his throat. "I see. Well, is there anyone else? Parents? Siblings?"
"Not that we know of," Lloyd answered. "He's very private about his personal life, and we don't pry into it."
"Okay." The doctor drew in a deep breath before he spoke again. "D.C.I. Mathias has suffered a moderate concussion with a small cut and a severe contusion to the back of his head. He also has a small cut above his left eyebrow, but that's very minor. We couldn't find any other injuries."
"So, the concussion is what you're most concerned about then?" Prosser mused.
"Yes. He's vomited twice as far as I know – once at the accident scene, and then again as soon as he arrived here. His eyesight is also rather blurred right now, and he's got some post-traumatic amnesia. They're all typical symptoms of concussion associated with blunt-force head trauma. He'll probably feel a bit sore and sorry for himself for a week or two."
"Can we see him, please?" Mared asked.
"Briefly. I want him to rest for now. Try not to stimulate him too much."
"Mewn geiriau eraill, dim cwestiynu, (In other words, no questioning,)" Lloyd muttered as the police inspectors followed the doctor down a corridor.
…
Inside his hospital room, Tom stirred enough to realise that he was now lying in a warm, comfortable bed. He was very glad of that, because he was tired of being poked and prodded by the doctors. Keeping his eyes closed, Tom could hear several machines beeping rhythmically nearby, but he did his best to ignore them. He could also feel something cold between his head and the pillow. He presumed that it was an icepack. All he wanted to do was sleep. However, despite his exhaustion, his mind wouldn't settle down. Perhaps it wanted to sort out his jumbled thoughts first.
Tom recalled that he'd had a successful day solving the murder of Aaron Bowen. It had been a sad case, but at least he'd managed to find out everything he'd needed to know. He'd returned to his caravan, hoping to get a good night's sleep. Instead, he'd returned to the start of a living nightmare. He couldn't understand why his humble caravan had been set alight. He was sure it was arson; quite possibly a retaliation from someone he knew or was acquainted with. He knew he had a lot of enemies. That was just the nature of his profession. However, one name stood out clearly in his mind – Iwan Thomas.
"Tom?"
Tom snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Mared's familiar voice. He blinked open his eyes to see Mared, Lloyd and Prosser gathered around his bed.
"How are you feeling, Tom?" Mared asked him kindly.
"Tired," Tom replied.
"We'll let you sleep shortly," Prosser said. "I just want to let you know that we'll find a new place for you to live, so don't worry about that. If we can't find somewhere for you to stay by the time you're released from here, you can come and stay with me. I'll ask my wife to buy some new clothes for you in the morning too. You just focus on getting better."
"Thank you," Tom muttered.
Mared smiled sympathetically down at him. He was falling asleep before their very eyes.
"We'd better go," Lloyd prompted.
Without saying another word, Tom's colleagues left him room. Tom closed his eyes. Within minutes, he was fast asleep.
…
Early the following morning, D.S. Siân Owens arrived at the Aberystwyth police station, ready to start a new day of work. The team still needed to finish off writing their report into the investigation into the Bowen case, so that was her primary agenda for the day. However, her plans changed when she entered the foyer. She found Prosser seated on one of the chairs, waiting for her. He stood up.
"Dewch i mewn i'm swyddfa i, D.S. Owens, (Come into my office, D.S. Owens,)" Prosser instructed.
Siân followed him into his office. She closed the door behind her before she sat down in the chair in front of his desk. Prosser sat down in his chair behind his desk.
"Dydw i ddim yn gwybod os ydych chi wedi clywed y newyddion am yr hyn a ddigwyddodd i D.S.I. Mathias neithiwr? (I don't know if you've heard the news about what happened to D.S.I. Mathias last night?)"
Siân shook her head. "Na Syr. (No, sir.)"
"Ymosodwyd arno gan rywun. Gosodon ei garafán ar dân a'i tharo dros gefn ei ben â gwrthrych pybyr. Mae'n yr ysbyty ar hyn o bryd i arsylwi. (He was attacked by someone. They set his caravan on fire and hit him over the back of his head with a blunt object. He's currently in hospital for observation.)"
Siân was clearly shocked. "A yw D.C.I. Mathias yn iawn, Syr? (Is D.C.I. Mathias all right, sir?)"
"Dylai fod, (He should be,)" Prosser replied. He started playing with a pen on his desk. "Rwy'n eich rhoi chi yn gyfrifol am yr ymchwiliad i'r ymosodiad. (I'm putting you in charge of the investigation into the attack.)"
"Syr? (Sir?)" Siân wasn't sure of what else to say. This was a big step for her, leading her own investigation for the very first time. It was exactly what she'd wanted, but she immediately realised that it would be a very difficult case. She'd have to pry into Tom's private life; something he never spoke publicly about. He was so private; so closed. Getting any useful information out of him wouldn't be easy.
"Credaf eich bod yn fwy nag abl i drafod yr ymchwiliad hwn, (I believe you're more than capable of handling this investigation,)" Prosser continued. "Bydd hyn yn rhoi cyfle i chi ddefnyddio'r sgiliau rydych chi wedi'u dysgu. (This will give you a chance to use the skills you've learned.)"
Siân nodded in agreement. "A gaf gychwyn yn awr, Syr? (Shall I get started now, Sir?)"
"Wrth gwrs, (Of course,)" Prosser replied. "Rwyf am i chi adrodd yn uniongyrchol i mi. Gallwch gael cymorth D.C. Elis os bydd ei angen arnoch. Rwyf am i D.I. Rhys fod ar gael ar gyfer achosion eraill, felly cofiwch adael yr ymchwiliad hwn gymaint â phosibl. Yr wyf am iddi orffen oddi ar achos Bowen. (I want you to report directly to me. You may enlist the assistance of D.C. Elis if you need it. I want D.I. Rhys to be available for other cases, so please leave her out of this investigation as much as possible. I want her to finish off the Bowen case.)"
"Wrth gwrs, Syr. A fydd hynny i gyd? (Of course, Sir. Will that be all?)"
"Ar hyn o bryd, oes. Rhowch wybod i mi os oes angen unrhyw beth arnoch. (For the moment, yes. Let me know if you need anything.)"
Prosser handed Siân a file containing the paperwork that he'd already compiled about the attack on Tom. Siân started skimming through the file as she left Prosser's office. Her mind was racing with adrenalin as she read the medical report on D.C.I. Mathias's injuries.
"Rhaid i bwy bynnag a wnaeth hyn iddo wir ddal grudd, (Whoever did this to him must really hold a grudge,)" Siân muttered to herself as she sat down at her desk.
Lloyd, who was already seated at his own desk opposite her, looked up. "A ddywedasoch rywbeth, Siân? (Did you say something, Siân?)"
Siân closed the file and she looked directly at her colleague. "Mae Prosser wedi rhoi'r cyfrifoldeb am yr ymchwiliad i'r ymosodiad ar D.C.I. Mathias. (Prosser has put me in charge of the investigation into the attack on D.C.I. Mathias.)"
"Da iawn, (Well done,)" Lloyd said.
"Yn ôl adroddiad Prosser, yr oeddech yno neithiwr. (According to Prosser's report, you were there last night.)"
"Felly roedd D.I. Rhys. (So was D.I. Rhys.)"
Behind Siân, Mared entered the office. "Beth ydw I'n cael fy nghyhuddo o'i wneud? (What am I accused of doing?)"
Lloyd smiled slightly. "O fod yn bresennol ar ôl yr ymosodiad ar D.C.I. Mathias neithiwr. (Of being present after the attack on D.C.I. Mathias last night.)
Mared hung her jacket up on the coatrack before she replied. "A ydych yn gyfrifol am yr ymchwiliad i'r ymosodiad ar D.C.I. Mathias? (Are you in charge of the investigation into the attack on D.C.I. Mathias?)"
Siân nodded. "Hoffwn gael datganiadau gennych chi a Lloyd cyn gynted ag y bo modd. (I'd like to get statements from you and Lloyd at your earliest convenience.)"
"Mae gennych chi eisoes, (You already have them,)" Mared replied. "Rhoes ein datganiadau i Prosser neithiwr. (We gave our statements to Prosser last night.)"
Siân looked through the file until she found the statements. She looked up at Lloyd. "Lloyd? A fyddech cystal â ffonio'r ysbyty a chael gwybod a yw D.C.I. Mathias yn gallu cael ei gyfweld heddiw? (Lloyd? Could you please phone the hospital and find out if D.C.I. Mathias is able to be interviewed today?)"
"Dw I eisoes wedi ffonio'r ysbyty, (I've already phoned the hospital,)" Mared interjected. "Maen nhw'n mynd i'w ryddhau yn nes ymlaen heno. Yn ôl pob tebyg, doedd e ddim yn cysgu'n dda iawn neithiwr, felly maen nhw'n gobeithio y bydd e'n cysgu'n well heddiw. (They're going to release him later this evening. Apparently, he didn't sleep very well last night, so they're hoping he'll sleep better today.)"
Lloyd looked up from his computer screen. "Nid yw hynny'n fy synnu. Mi ges i gytgan yn syth ar ôl syrthio allan o goeden pan o'n i'n blentyn. Mae'r meddygon a'r nyrsys yn dal i'm deffro am oriau. Dwi'n meddwl fy mod i'n cysgu am ddyddiau wedyn. (That doesn't surprise me. I got a concussion once after falling out of a tree when I was a kid. The doctors and nurses kept waking me up for hours. I think I slept for days afterwards.)"
"Dim ond er mwyn gwneud yn siŵr nad ydych chi'n llithro i mewn i goma y gwnânt hynny, (They only do that to make sure you don't slip into a coma,)" Mared said as she glanced through some papers on her desk.
Siân sighed heavily. Her first investigation wasn't beginning well. She decided to start by reading Mared's and Lloyd's statements. Then, she'd go to visit Tom in the hospital and find out for herself if Tom was feeling up to providing her with a statement.
…
A couple of hours later, Siân arrived at the hospital to see how Tom was. She knew that Prosser was already there for the same reason, so she wasn't surprised to find him standing outside the window to Tom's hospital room.
Siân followed Prosser's gaze through the window. Tom was lying in his hospital bed, fast asleep. He was connected to both an I.V. and EEG monitoring machines that beeped rhythmically.
"Sut mae e? (How is he?)" Siân asked.
"Mae e'n gwneud yn well, (He's doing better,)" Prosser replied. "Mae ei feddyg yn hapus ei fod o'r diwedd yn cysgu. Gallai gael ei ryddhau mor gynnar â'r prynhawn yma. (His doctor is happy that he's finally sleeping. He could be released as early as this afternoon.)"
"Mae hwnna'n dda. Hoffwn gyfweld ag ef cyn gynted ag y bo modd. (That's good. I'd like to interview him as soon as possible.)"
"Dydw i ddim yn meddwl y bydd hynny'n digwydd am rai dyddiau, (I don't think that will happen for a few days,)" Prosser told her. "Mae ei feddyg eisiau iddo orffwys yn dawel am o leiaf wythnos. (His doctor wants him to rest quietly for at least a week.)"
Siân was a bit disappointed. Tom was her key witness, so she needed to interview him as soon as she could, while the details were still fresh in his mind. She was about to ask Prosser a question, when she saw Tom stir and start to wake up.
Tom moaned sleepily as he slowly regained consciousness. After a moment, he blinked open his eyes. The first thing he saw was Prosser and Siân standing at the window. He made eye contact with Prosser before he closed his eyes again. He didn't really feel much better, even though he'd been asleep for several hours.
A moment later, Tom heard the door to his room open. He opened his eyes when he felt someone fiddling with his I.V. line. Looking to his left, he saw that it was a nurse. She was just checking up on him.
"Could I have something to eat, please?" Tom asked softly.
"Of course," the nurse replied. "What would you like? Some jelly and ice cream perhaps?"
"That'll be fine, thank you. Oh, and you can send my colleagues in here if you like. I'd like to talk to them."
"All right, but not for long. You need to rest again after you've eaten."
Tom watched as the nurse left his room and spoke to Prosser and Siân. They entered his room.
"How are you feeling, sir?" Siân asked as she sat down in a chair near Tom's bed.
"Like I've been hit by a train," Tom muttered. He reached for the back of his head. "What did hit me?"
"We're still trying to work that out," Siân said.
"I've put D.S. Owens in charge of the investigation into your attack," Prosser explained. "But don't concern yourself about that now. I've managed to find a bed and breakfast for you to stay at temporarily. It's in town. I'll take you there after you're discharged. My wife is currently shopping for a new wardrobe for you. We can return anything you don't like."
"Thank you, sir. I really appreciate your kindness."
"It's the least we can do for you, Tom," Prosser said, just as the nurse returned with Tom's jelly. "We'd better let you rest now. Come, D.S. Owen."
Siân reluctantly followed Prosser out of Tom's hospital room. Once they were out of earshot, Prosser turned to Siân.
"I want you to go to the scene of the crime and acquaint yourself with it. And see if you can find the weapon that Tom was hit with."
"Yes, sir."
…
When Siân arrived at Delme's property she found him standing in the driveway, staring at the burnt remains of Tom's caravan. After she'd parked her car, Siân got out and she went over to Delme.
"I'm D.S. Owens," Siân said, introducing herself. She held up her badge. Delme nodded in her direction before he looked back at the caravan. "I'm conduction the investigation into the attack on D.C.I. Mathias."
"I've given you lot my statement," Delme replied. "I have nothing new to add."
Siân nodded in understanding. Delme looked back at her.
"Will Tom… D.C.I. Mathias be all right?"
"I believe so," Siân answered. "He's due to be released from hospital soon. He sustained minor injuries, but I've spoken to him, and he seems to be recovering well."
"Good. He's been a good tenant. And friend."
"I'm sure he'll remain your friend even though he'll now be living in town. I'll just take one more look around for evidence."
"Be my guest. I'll be up at the house if you need me again."
Delme started walking up the driveway, and Siân walked over to the remains of the caravan to begin conducting her own examination of the evidence. She was just about to enter the caravan when her mobile phone rang.
"D.S. Owens," she said upon answering it.
"Yr ydym newydd dderbyn yr adroddiad gan y tîm ymchwilio tân, (We've just received the report from the fire investigation team,)" Lloyd said. "Cafodd carafán D.C.I. Mathias ei bomio gan coctel Molotove. (D.C.I. Mathias's caravan was firebombed by a Molotov cocktail.)"
…
Early the following morning, Tom was lying on the bed in the room he was now renting at the bed and breakfast. He'd been discharged from hospital the previous evening, under strict orders to rest for at least another twenty-four hours. Despite that, Tom wanted to go back to work as soon as possible. He knew he'd need to obtain a medical certificate before that happened.
Tom sat up and he rested his head in his hands for a moment, until his head had stopped spinning. Whoever had attacked him had held back just enough to not kill him outright. Tom drew in a deep breath before he stood up. He moved slowly across the room and he entered his adjoining bathroom. Tom spent a few minutes at the basin, washing his face with a face cloth. The small cut above his left eye had almost healed, but the one on the back of his head was still crusted with blood. Tom focused on cleaning the cut above his eye as he washed his face. He didn't think it would leave a scar, but he was sure the one on the back of his head would. He was lucky that he hadn't required stitches.
Once Tom had finished washing his face, he placed his towel over the mirror. He looked just as bad as he felt. Just then, Tom's mobile phone rang. He left the bathroom and he sat back down on his bed before he picked it up to answer it. "D.C.I. Mathias."
"Tom? Mae'n Delme. Dw i jyst yn ffonio i adael i chi wybod fy mod i'n mynd i gael olion eich carafan wedi ei ddymchwel yfory, felly os oes unrhyw beth rydych chi eisiau ei achub, nawr yw'r amser. (Tom? It's Delme. I'm just phoning to let you know that I'm going to have the remains of your caravan demolished tomorrow, so if there's anything you want to salvage, now is the time.)"
"Diolch, (Thanks,)" Tom replied. Then, he hung up the phone with a heavy sigh. He knew there'd be nothing left to salvage, but he could at least have a look, just to be sure.
Minutes later, Tom left the bed and breakfast, and he got into his car that was parked in the street outside. He knew that he shouldn't be driving in his condition, but he really didn't care. He would drive slowly though, just in case he suddenly felt dizzy.
Before long, Tom arrived at Delme's property. After he'd parked his car, he got out and he approached the burnt remains of his caravan. He stopped in front of it, staring up at the shell. A cool, gentle breeze whipped around him as he took in the devastation of what had been his meagre possessions.
After a few minutes, Tom finally plucked up the courage to look inside. He stepped through what had been the front door, and he looked around. It was hard, even for him, to believe that he'd once lived there. It had never been his home, but it had been a place where he'd felt safe.
Tom left Delme's place a few minutes later. He wanted to get back to work now more than ever, so he drove straight to the hospital. The sooner he got medical clearance to go back to work, the better. He didn't think he'd get it so soon, but there was no harm in trying.
…
Early the following morning, Tom entered the police station. He went straight to Prosser's office, and he knocked on the door.
"Dere mewn, (Come in,)" Prosser called.
Tom entered the room and he strolled over to Prosser's desk. He placed his medical certificate down in front of Prosser. Then, he took a step back.
"I've been cleared to return to work, sir. There are some restrictions though."
Prosser glanced at the medical certificate. "So, I see."
There was a strained moment of silence between them. Then, Prosser leaned forwards in his chair.
"D.S. Owens has been waiting to interview you for long enough. You are to report to her before you go back out in the field. That is a direct order, Tom."
Tom nodded and he left the room, closing the door behind him. He knew that Siân had waited long enough to talk to him, so he went to find her. She wasn't hard to find. He found her seated at her desk, working away on her laptop. Tom leaned against the doorframe, watching her silently for a moment. Finally, he cleared his throat to get her attention. Siân spun around to face him.
"You're back then?"
Tom nodded. "I know you've been waiting to interview me."
"Indeed, I have, sir." Siân closed her laptop and she picked up a file before she stood up. "Let's go into one of the interview rooms. We'll have more privacy in there."
Tom followed Siân down the corridor to one of the interview rooms. He knew full well that the interview rooms were under constant surveillance, so he suspected that Prosser would probably be watching the interview from the surveillance room. He had nothing to hide, but he was worried that Siân might start asking him some personal questions. He decided to play it safe and only speak when he needed to.
Once they were alone inside the interview room, Siân sat down on one side of the table. Tom sat down opposite her, waiting for her to start the interview.
Siân opened the file on the desk in front of her. She drew in a deep breath before she spoke. "I'm surprised to see you back here so soon. It's only been, what? Two days since you were attacked?"
Tom nodded slightly. "I've given Prosser my medical certificate."
Siân nodded as well. "I understand that you've been diagnosed with post-traumatic amnesia."
"I've recovered from that now. I can remember almost everything that happened."
"I see. In that case, can you tell me what you remember from the night of the attack?"
"I'd just finished wrapping up the details of the Aaron Bowen case, and I drove back to the caravan. When I arrived, I immediately suspected that I was being watched. I thought I heard something or someone near me, but before I could investigate, my caravan ignited. I…I tried to get inside to save a sentimental photo, but I couldn't get in. I don't really remember what happened after that."
"You didn't see the attacker?" Siân asked.
Tom hesitated for a moment before replying, "No."
"You didn't see anything? No sign of a vehicle?"
Tom shook his head slightly. He watched, deflated, as Siân crossed something off in her notebook.
"Can you think of anyone; anyone at all who might hold a grudge against you?"
Tom stifled the urge to laugh. "That's a long list."
Siân looked at him for a moment, waiting for him to say more. When he didn't, she asked her next question. "Any recent disputes?"
"No," Tom replied without hesitation.
"With somebody local, perhaps?" Siân prompted. When Tom didn't say anything, Siân decided to try and prompt him some more. "Like Iwan Thomas?"
Tom still didn't say anything. He did, however, maintain eye contact with Siân.
"I saw what happened at the caravan park, sir," Siân continued, hoping to get him to say something. Tom blinked, but still he said nothing. "You didn't exactly part the best of friends."
That did the trick.
"That doesn't mean he attacked me," Tom said bluntly.
"He hasn't been seen or heard from since the attack. His flat's been cleared out. His car's gone."
"Well, Iawn's angry, isn't he? He's lost everything - his job; his family. He blames everyone."
"Does he blame you?"
"Why would he blame me, D.S. Owens?"
Tom was starting to get angry now, and Siân could sense it, but she had to continue questioning him now that she'd managed to get him talking. "I don't know, sir, but whoever did this took everything from you. Your home; your possessions…"
"That caravan was never my home," Tom interjected.
"Okay, sir!" Siân had raised her voice, but she managed to calm down quickly. She really didn't like being interrupted. "But, I'm just aware that this was a very personal attack. Doesn't that leave you feeling vulnerable? Angry?"
"Yes," Tom admitted. "But whatever I feel has no bearing on you finding my attacker, does it?"
Siân didn't respond. She knew that Tom was right, but she also felt a sense of personal victory. She'd managed to get Tom to talk about himself, which was something she was certain that her other colleagues hadn't been able to do yet. They stared at each other for several seconds, until Siân looked down and nodded slightly. Tom interpreted that as her silent way of saying that the interview was over. He promptly stood up, and he left the room.
As the door closed behind Tom, Siân brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. She was glad that Tom was at least on her side. She couldn't imagine the nightmare she'd have if she had to interview him as a suspected criminal. Then again, he was trained in psychology just as well as she was. In that aspect, they were equal. He knew her questioning tricks because he used them as well.
Siân looked down at the file in front of her. She stared at the photo she had of Iwan Thomas, and where she'd underlined his name. Her interview with Tom hadn't changed her suspicions that the former police inspector was behind the attack on Tom.
…
Later that morning, Tom drove along a narrow, windy, country road. Having concluded giving his statement to Siân, Prosser had assigned Tom to work on a new case with Mared and Lloyd. All Tom knew so far was that a local minister, Elwyn Jones, had been found dead inside the chapel of a village church earlier that morning.
When Tom arrived at the small village church, he found a single police car parked outside. The area had been tapped off. A police officer unfastened enough tape to allow Tom to drive his car into the restricted area. Tom remained in his car for a moment after he'd turned off the engine, so that he could take in the scene. He sighed when he felt another headache starting. His doctor had warned him that the headaches would come and go for a few more weeks at least, and he'd advised Tom to take ibuprofen at his own discretion.
As Tom got out of his car, he saw Lloyd walking towards him. Tom went over to him, and the two colleagues shook hands. It was Lloyd's way of welcoming Tom back onto the team after his medical leave. He then handed Tom a pair of latex gloves.
"Local minister, Elwyn Jones," Lloyd explained as they started to walk over to the church. "Found dead this morning, sir."
"Forensics?"
"On their way. Wife found the body. Family yet to be questioned, sir." Lloyd lifted a section of police tape high enough for Tom to duck under it.
"Thank you, Lloyd."
Tom finished putting on the latex gloves as he entered the church. Lloyd remained outside. Tom found his own way through the church until he reached the chapel. He saw Mared inside, squatting next to the victim's body. Tom leaned against the doorframe for a moment, taking in the crime scene.
Hearing Tom, Mared looked over her shoulder at him. She looked very surprised to see him standing there. "I thought you were taking some time to recover?"
Tom decided not to bother answering her. He entered the chapel so that he could take a closer look at the body. Mared watched his every move. Although she tried to mask her concern, Tom could clearly read it in her face. She was worried about the state of his health, and whether or not he was ready to come back to work. She presumed that, since he was here, Prosser must know about it.
After Tom had studied the injuries inflicted on Elwyn Jones, he sat down at the end of a pew. Mared followed his lead, sitting down on the pew across the aisle from him. She glanced at him, wanting to say something, but she couldn't quite work out what she wanted to say. After a moment's hesitation, she spoke.
"This place has been broken into a few times over the years."
"Anything taken this time?" Tom asked.
Mared could see that he was fully focussed on this case, which to her was a good sign that he had made a full recovery, even though it had been surprisingly quick. "Nothing left to take."
Tom stood up and he walked to the back of the chapel, where a door off to the side led into the main church. Mared watched Tom disappear. She'd already conducted her own investigation back there, so she decided to call Prosser. He answered her call on the fourth ring.
"Syr, D.C.I. Mathias newydd gyrraedd yma. Ydych chi'n siŵr ei fod yn ddigon iach i ddychwelyd i'r gwaith? (Sir, D.C.I. Mathias has just arrived here. Are you sure he's well enough to return to work?)"
"Ydy, mae e wedi rhoi tystysgrif feddygol i mi gan ei feddyg. Cadwch lygad barcud arno Serch hynny. Os bydd yn dangos unrhyw arwyddion o gynghanedd, gadewch i mi wybod ar unwaith. (Yes, he's provided me with a medical certificate from his doctor. Keep a close eye on him though. If he shows any signs of concussion, let me know immediately.)"
"Gwnaf, Syr, (I will, sir,)" Mared promised before she hung up.
…
In the early afternoon, after they had interviewed Elwyn Jones's family, Mared joined Tom in his car as they travelled to the address of Lyn Edwards, who was now a possible suspect. Mared watched Tom's driving closely, looking for anything abnormal in him. She knew that concussion could take weeks to recover from, which was why she was so surprised and anxious to see him back at work so soon. However, from what she could see, Tom was behaving just like he always had.
"Have you spoken to D.S. Owens?" Mared finally asked.
Tom glanced at her, but he didn't reply. Mared decided to try and press him further.
"Iwan Thomas? Do you think it was him?"
Tom still said nothing.
"He tried to kill you, Tom!" Mared snapped. She wasn't angry with Tom. Rather, she was angry and afraid that somebody had come very close to killing her superior officer and friend. She just wanted Tom to say something to prove to her that he was just as angry about it as she was.
"If he'd wanted to kill me, I'd be dead, wouldn't I?" Tom replied evenly.
Mared didn't know what to think. The Tom she'd known before the attack would've snapped right back at her. She wondered if, perhaps, the blow to his head had altered his attitude somehow. She'd heard of that happening after a severe concussion. She couldn't help wondering if Tom was still affected by the concussion, or if this was how he'd be from now on. Only time would be able to give her the answer to that question.
…
After Tom had had lunch back at the police station about an hour later, he went downstairs into the basement, to go through the police archives. Mared joined him shortly after Tom had found the newspaper documents that he'd been looking for. He wanted them to help him understand their new lead into the Elwyn Jones case. Tom and Mared stared at each other for a moment. This time, Tom was the first one to speak.
"Losing a child…changes everything." He looked back down at the newspaper article he was holding. "You try and make sense of what happened, but…you can't." Tom put the newspaper articles back in their box and, after keeping hold of the top one, he looked up at Mared again. Then, he turned around, so that he could lean back against the shelves. He looked back down at the article he still held. "When Lyn Edwards lost his child, he lost his whole world.
"He was angry," Mared said.
"He should be," Tom replied firmly.
"Angry enough to kill?"
Tom stared at Mared for a moment. He knew full well what Lyn was going through. No parent should ever have to suffer the pain of burying their own child.
"Come on," Mared said gently. She turned and left the room. After Tom had returned the newspaper article to its box, he reluctantly followed her. It was time for them to inform the press about the murder.
Since Tom had only just returned to work that morning, Prosser insisted on Mared making the press announcement. For once, Tom didn't object to Prosser's decision. He was already feeling more exhausted than he cared to admit. Deep down, Tom knew that he'd returned to work much too soon, but he'd rather be doing something productive and be completely exhausted by it, than to be idle and unable to sleep.
Tom sat beside Mared in the media room as she read out the official police statement to the waiting press. Prosser watched his two senior investigators from the back of the room, arms folded across his chest. Like Mared, he was also concerned that Tom had returned to work far too soon, so he wanted to keep a close eye on him.
As the press announcement got underway, Prosser noticed that Tom seemed to be rather distracted. Initially, Tom stared out of the nearby window, but then he stared down at the desk in front of him. He really didn't look as well as he'd claimed to be earlier that morning.
"At eight o'clock this morning, the body of Elwyn Jones, minister at Capel Seion was discovered in his own chapel at Capel Seion," Mared said to the gathered press as they took photos and film of herself and Tom. Other journalists wrote down her statement in shorthand. "We're still working to establish the exact time of death, but we believe that he was murdered during the early hours of this morning."
While Mared paused to gather her thoughts, Tom saw Prosser cross the room to the doorway.
"Elwyn Jones was a community leader, active in and out of the chapel," Mared continued. "He was respected and loved. His murder has shaken the local community."
Tom watched Prosser as he spoke to someone just outside the doorway. He couldn't see who it was, but his best guess was Siân. He hoped that she had a lead into who his attacker was. Distracted, he failed to hear the rest of what Mared said to the press, but like always, it was only an appeal to the public for witnesses. Tom kept staring at Prosser until the door closed behind him as he left the room.
As soon as the press statement was done, the journalists started to file out of the room in an orderly manner. Tom leaned forwards, resting his head in his hands. His headache was much worse now. In fact, he could feel his own blood pulsating around the bruise on the back of his head.
Mared looked down at him as she stood up. "Are you feeling all right, Tom?"
"I've been better," Tom admitted.
"I think you should go and have a lie down somewhere," Mared told him firmly. "You're looking awfully pale."
"It's just a headache. I'll be fine once I've had some pain medication."
"I'll get you some from the first aid kit."
"No, it's fine, Mared," Tom insisted. He took a packet of ibuprofen pills out of his pocket, and he tossed them down on the desk in front of him. Then, he reached for the glass of water in front of him. Mared nodded slightly and then she left the room.
After Tom had taken the ibuprofen, he also left the room. He went straight to the evidence room and he leaned back against the table in there. He stared at the photos relating to the Elwyn Jones case that had been pinned to the corkboards lining one wall of the room. For a moment, Tom's vision blurred over as he felt a stabbing pain radiate from the bruise on the back of his head. He winced, and instinctively reach for the back of his head with his right hand. He could feel the crust of a large scab where he'd bled, along with a bump. The swelling had obviously returned.
Tom was still rubbing his wound when Lloyd stepped into the room. Seeing his superior officer in a moment of weakness, Lloyd froze in the doorway. Tom didn't seem to notice him.
"Are you all right, sir?" Lloyd ventured to ask.
Tom looked up at him, but he kept rubbing his wound. "Hmm?" Realising that Lloyd was clearly concerned for him, Tom tried to brush it off. He quickly lowered his hand. "Yeah. Fine, thanks. Are you okay, Lloyd?"
"Yes, sir. I'm fine." Sensing the awkwardness of the situation, Lloyd crossed the room.
"Good, so we're all fine," Tom said just as Siân also entered the room. He watched her as she picked up a file and left the room just as quickly as she'd entered.
Mared walked into the room, carrying a file. "Early reports from pathology are in. Time of death was between five and seven a.m. There's also a high level of alcohol in the victim's blood."
Tom, his attention drawn to Siân's activities, went over to the doorway. He watched as she put on her jacket and prepared to go out.
"He likes his drink," Lloyd remarked.
"Mhm," Mared agreed.
Tom reached for the back of his head again. It was still throbbing, but not quite as badly as it had been earlier. Mared glanced at him, concerned. She knew she should tell Prosser that Tom wasn't at his best, but she also wanted to follow up on the leads they had while they were still hot.
However, Tom decided to take matters into his own hands. He went to Prosser's office.
"Dere mewn, (Come in,)" Prosser called when Tom knocked on the closed door.
Tom opened the door and he stepped into the office. "Sir, would you mind very much if I took the rest of the day off?"
Prosser smiled slightly. "I had a feeling you wouldn't be up to a full day yet. Go and get some rest. I'll keep you informed of any significant developments in the Elwyn Jones' case."
"Thank you, sir."
After Tom had left his office, Prosser went to the evidence room to speak to Mared. Her found her still in there with Lloyd. They looked up at him expectantly.
"I've just sent D.C.I. Mathias home to rest for the rest of the day," Prosser explained.
"Will he be all right, sir?" Lloyd asked, concerned. "He hasn't been looking well ever since he arrived back here before lunch."
"I think he's just overtaxed himself," Prosser replied. "If he hasn't improved by tomorrow, I'll send him back to his doctor for more tests."
Mared nodded, satisfied.
…
Later that evening, Tom was sitting at the desk in his room at the bed and breakfast. He'd spent most of the afternoon sleeping, but he'd felt much better when he'd awoken around five p.m. Having had dinner, he was now examining the evidence they'd already gathered into the Elwyn Jones case.
Feeling thirsty, Tom got up and he went downstairs to the bar. The place seemed deserted, but Tom knew that Manon, the lady who owned and managed the bed and breakfast, must be around, because her TV was on. He went over to the bar and he rang the bell on the counter twice. Feeling slightly embarrassed, Tom turned to head back upstairs to his room, but instead he walked straight into Manon, who was carrying a milk crate filled with bottles of beer. The force of his collision with her caused her to almost drop the milk crate. Several bottles fell out onto the floor.
"Oh! Sorry!" Manon gasped.
"Sorry!" Tom apologised at the same time. He immediately stooped beside her to help her gather up the stray bottles. "My fault. Let me help you."
"No, I'm fine," Manon insisted. She stood up and continued into the bar. Tom also stood up and he went over to the doorway.
"Sorry," he said again.
Having placed the milk crate down on the bench, Manon turned to face him. "What can I get you?"
"I'll have one of those, please," Tom replied as he indicated towards the beer in the crate.
Manon reached inside and she took a bottle out. After she'd removed the top, she handed the bottle to Tom.
"Thanks. Is it always this lively here?" He took a swig from the bottle.
Manon chuckled and she resumed with her work. Tom went around to the front of the bar, and he sat down at the counter.
"We had plans to modernise," Manon said. "Renovate."
"We?"
"Well, plans change."
"Yeah." Tom drank another mouthful of beer. He knew exactly what she meant.
"What about you?"
Tom looked at her, surprised by her question. "What about me?"
"You got any plans?"
Before Tom could gather his thoughts together, his mobile phone rang. Maron left him alone to answer it.
Seeing that it was Prosser phoning him, Tom answered the call with a simple, "Hello."
"Tom, I was wondering if you could come around to my place for a chat," Prosser said as Tom stepped out of the bar.
"When?"
"As soon as you can."
"Now?"
"Yes, now would be perfect. I'll see you soon."
"Okay." And with that, Tom hung up. If Prosser wanted him to come around to his place at that hour, Tom knew that whatever had had to say was important. He could only guess that whatever it was had something to do with the state of his health.
…
About fifteen minutes later, Tom arrived at Prosser's house on the outskirts of Aberystwyth. Prosser invited him inside and immediately offered him a whiskey. While Tom made himself comfortable in the sitting room, Prosser went into the kitchen to prepare their drinks. For a brief moment, he was tempted to lace Tom's drink with a sedative to ensure that he got some sleep that night, but he quickly decided against that idea. Tom would have to drive home, and since he had no idea what medications Tom was on, he knew it would be foolishly reckless for him to give him something without his knowledge. He just hoped that the whisky would be potent enough to knock him out for most of the night.
When Prosser returned to the sitting room, he found Tom seated quietly in an armchair beside the fire. Prosser handed him his drink.
"My wife's staying with her sister for a while," he explained as he sat down in the armchair opposite Tom. "Under the circumstances, I thought it a good idea…"
Tom put the glass of whisky aside without even taking a sip. "What circumstances?"
"You're lucky to be alive, Tom. Until we find Iwan Thomas, he continues to be a threat. To both of us."
Tom tilted his head quizzically. He wasn't quite sure what Prosser was getting at.
Seeing the confusion in Tom's face, Prosser decided to explain. "I met up with him the night before he attacked you. He was making all sorts of wild accusations."
"What kind of accusations?"
"He accused me of single-handedly wrecking his career. He's obsessed by that."
"Well, have you told D.S. Owens about this, sir?"
"I don't think telling her now would help her find him."
Tom leaned forwards. "Well, she is in charge of the investigation, sir, not me."
"Iawn Thomas has unfinished business with both of us," Prosser said warningly. "We need to be careful, Tom. You need to be careful."
Tom blinked slowly. He knew that although Iawn was furious with him, he wasn't a killer. Otherwise, he would've died the other night. Hearing a distant rumble of thunder in the distance, Tom stood up to leave.
"I'd better go before it starts to rain."
"Yes, I don't want you catching a cold on top of what you already have." Prosser stood up as well. "Take care of yourself, Tom. I'll see you in the morning."
Prosser showed Tom out of his house just as it started to rain. After he'd closed the front door, Prosser returned to his sitting room window to watch Tom as he walked over to his car. He could only hope that Tom would heed his warning to stay on his guard. Circumstances were slowly drawing things to a head. Prosser suspected that it would only be a matter of time before either he or Tom crossed paths with Iawn Thomas again. He hoped that he would be the target of Iawn's next attack; for Tom's sake. The battle lines had been drawn in the sand between them. Iawn may have outflanked Tom, but Prosser was determined not to be caught out.