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interrupted by a loud clanging noise coming from the empty hall. She hadn’t realised there was a landline in the house. But now she saw the phone, a black Bakelite up in a niche by the door, covered in dust.
    ‘Catrin?’
    She recognised the voice at once, though it had been many years since she’d last heard it. Catrin said nothing at first, she’d been caught off guard. But somewhere at the back of her mind she’d known all along this moment would come. She’d been waiting for it ever since her return.
    ‘It’s been a while – hasn’t it?’
    The words came out in one of those Welsh purrs that could make the most innocent comment sound like an indecent proposal. Catrin still said nothing. She heard her heart beating but it sounded remote.
    ‘It’s Della, dear. Della Davies, remember me?’
    ‘How did you get this number, Della?’
    In the background Catrin could hear bracelets jangling. Then silence. She’d never liked Della. And not just for the obvious reasons. She was the type people probably imagined first when they thought of a successful media operator: no cracks showing through her hard shell, all side. She’d heard Della had done well for herself. She had her own press agency now, and a celebrity column in the Echo .
    ‘You sound well, Cat?’ the soft voice said at last.
    Catrin was aware she’d hardly spoken yet.
    ‘Anyone say I wasn’t?’
    ‘Right as rain – that’s what I heard.’
    Slowly Catrin leant back against the wall. ‘So why do I feel you’re about to tell me something that’ll stop me feeling that way?’
    ‘Still the sharp one, eh Cat?’
    Catrin could hear faint music now, as if playing on a car stereo.
    ‘I don’t think I want to talk to you,’ she said.
    The music stopped. Down the line came a low rustling sound.
    ‘It’s about Rhys.’
    The gentle purr again. It was still a voice that sounded as if it was used to getting what it wanted.
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘We both knew him, I thought you’d want to talk about it. That’s all.’
    Della held the pause a moment. Catrin kept her silence, hoped Della would just hang up. But she didn’t.
    Catrin was intrigued, she had to admit it. Why was this woman calling her after all these years? It certainly wasn’t for sentimental reasons.
    ‘They’ve closed his file, I suppose?’ the soft voice said.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Accidental Death no doubt they called it.’
    ‘They did, yes.’ Catrin held the phone a hand’s length from her ear; she could hardly bear to hear the voice, its gentle, wheedling sound.
    ‘What if I told you Rhys was working a case when he died.’
    Catrin laughed. She couldn’t help herself. There was no joy in it though.
    ‘Working a case? He wasn’t working anything except a needle into his arm.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Della, ‘he was doing that all right. But it didn’t mean he didn’t have a brain. Did you ever know anyone smarter?’
    ‘No,’ said Catrin, her voice suddenly weaker, ‘no, I didn’t.’
    ‘Well he didn’t lose that, no matter how much shit he took. And he was working a case.’
    ‘How do you know?’
    ‘Cause he was working with me on it, that’s how. You want to know what it was?’
    Catrin kept the phone raised, and waited.
    ‘It was the Owen Face case. Remember, the bloke from Seerland?’
    Catrin let out a humourless bark. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake. That’s just junkie bullshit. That’s not a case.’
    ‘There’d been a new sighting.’
    Catrin gave another dry laugh. ‘But that’s just a tabloid myth, like Lucan. No one actually takes that stuff seriously.’
    There was another pause, longer this time. For a moment she thought the line had cleared.
    ‘What if I told you that I’d seen something that would make you change your mind?’ the voice said at last.
    There was a metallic scraping sound in the background Catrin couldn’t place, then a sharp intake of breath.
    ‘Rhys had some photos, some new evidence.’
    She noticed Della spoke more quietly now.
    ‘New