2

Two days later, on a cold and damp Monday morning, which typified the Welsh summer—glorious sun one day, miserable the next, Ianto arrived early at Dragon's Den to open up.

For a moment, he stood on the pavement outside of the now unrecognisable old village hall and admired his business, from the smart black sign that spelled out Dragon's Den in shiny silver lettering, to the cartoon-style depiction of the Dragon drinking from a huge cup in the middle of the glass door. The Christmas stuff was about to go up in the window as well, the thought of the tree making him itch with anticipation. He could just imagine little Rose grabbing at the baubles. But the house was Jack's so… no doubt he had his own ideas but tis shop… this shop was Ianto's, and he knew he wanted a grotto.

He might have needed a terrible allegation and loss of a good superior officer to make it happen, but by goodness, he was going to make a success of it.

Ianto accepted it would probably need more than the one cat currently housed in the establishment at the rear of the building. Old Mrs Best had left Tiddles for two whole days while she stayed with her daughter in the nearby town of Scarborough. Still, everyone else was doing well.

Jennifer had received orders for cakes, Morwen the sales assistant they had hired had sold plenty of books on Saturday as well as receiving requests to stock certain titles, and Sarah had sold two quilts and had enough bookings to keep her busy until Christmas.

Ianto tried not to think about that as he walked around to the back of the building, document bag in one hand, and keys in the other. Later that morning, he had an appointment with the village solicitor, who just so happened to be Sarah's second husband, to go through the sales agreement for upstairs as well, might as well own it all. Jack paid such a high rent for the space.

Ianto paused at the end of the building. The back door of Dragon's Den was ahead and to his right.

To his left was the low brick structure that housed the kennels and cattery he was hoping to one day fill with people's pets. Ianto made a mental note to check on the progress of the jingle he had requisitioned to be recorded for the local radio. Was that a homeless person on the floor in front of the door?

Ianto walked closer.

It couldn't be… we didn't have those sorts of social issues in our small village.

It was much more likely the man slumped in front of the back door of Dragon's Den was a local sleeping off too much to drink after quiz night at the Dog and Whistle. Ianto was not sure which of the warning signs hit his conscious thought first. Maybe it was the pallor of the man's skin, the angle of his head… surely no one could sleep with their head tilted that way, or the knife sticking out of his chest.

Ianto had seen enough cadavers in his time to know what he was looking at.

Dropping his keys and bag to the floor, Ianto rooted through his pockets for his phone. Not for the first time, Ianto wished he put it in the left pocket, like a gun, so it was easy to find.

Ianto's breath caught in his throat, and he looked up anxiously, as though the delay could not at all be the difference between life and death for the poor man drooping in the doorway.

He eventually found it, unlocked the screen by pointing it at his face, and stabbed the number nine three times.

"Good morning. Police, fire brigade, or ambulance?"

"Murder!" Ianto forced the word out despite his disbelief.

Ianto cleared his throat. "There's a man dead on my doorstep. He's been murdered."

"Police, fire, or ambulance?"

The voice repeated as though it was a robot speaking and not a real person.

Ianto wanted to demand she send all three because of the seriousness of the scene in front of him, but really, he needed only the one emergency service. "Police, please."

After a momentary delay, another voice came onto the line.

"What is the nature of your emergency?"

"A man has been murdered on my doorstep." Repeating the words didn't make it any more real.

Ianto expected him to get up, pull out the fake knife, and laugh at his trick. It was amazing what people could do with make-up these days.

"I need you to check for signs of life."

"His skin is grey, his lips are blue, and there's a big knife sticking out of his chest. He's dead."

"Calm down, sir. Let me have the address, and I'll get help on its way to you, and then I'll talk you through performing CPR."

Calm down? That was all right for the faceless voice on the end of the line to say. They weren't the one expected to perform mouth to mouth on a corpse.

Ianto took a deep breath and forced himself to sound in control. "I am at the rear of Dragon's Den. That is the former village hall on Main Street, Torchwood Bay. Police Constable Parkinson lives only two minutes away. I'm sure —"

"If you're right, and it's a suspicious death, sir, I don't think a village police officer will be much use to you."

The infuriatingly unruffled voice was getting on his nerves. He'd given the address. He wanted to hear police sirens immediately.

"Now, let me talk you through CPR. First of all, you need—"

Footsteps sounded on the path, and moments later, Morwen arrived carrying a box. "Yani? What's going on?"

Ianto moved to the side. "He's dead."

She swept her gaze over him. "He certainly is."

Ianto indicated the phone in his hand. "They want me to perform CPR."

She wiggled her fingers, and Ianto passed the device over to her. "This man has been dead for hours. Yes, I am checking for a pulse as we speak. Of course, I'm sure it's not a natural death. The knife sticking out of the centre of his chest is as much evidence as I need to tell you this man has been murdered."

Morwen rolled her eyes, and Ianto gave her a tremulous smile in return. Now that she was here and had taken over the situation, the coffee Ianto had drunk for breakfast was threatening to make an unwelcome return.

"Yes, I do know him. The victim is Roger McDonald."