Apparently, Connor had a man come down to reconnoitre and prepare the ground, literally. Using the coordinates his man had provided, Connor drove the jeep right through a field gate and up to a crop of trees on the crest of a small hillock. It was past 4pm and was already getting dark after what was a murky day to begin with. Connor slid out and grabbed a duffle bag from the boot. Murdoch joined him, stretching the five-hour drive out of his bones. They both pulled on long woollen overcoats, woollen beanies with integrated forehead lights and leather gloves.
Through the deepening Welsh twilight, two imposing figures cut through the evening mist like wraiths. Their matching black attire melted into the gathering darkness, making them appear and disappear as they moved through patches of fading light. At six and a half feet tall, they towered like living shadows, their long strides silent against the rain-slicked grass beneath their feet.
Connor, the lead figure, periodically raised his phone, its harsh artificial light jarring against the soft purple-grey of dusk, casting an eerie glow across his features. Behind him and slightly to the left, Murdoch moved with practised precision, his silhouette barely distinguishable from the deepening gloom.
Through the thickening evening mist, a rustic scene materialised; a weathered cottage emerged, its windows beginning to glow with warm interior light. Adjacent stood a barn, its wooden frame now just a darker shape against the darkening sky, creating a foreboding symmetry across a modest yard. The setting sun cast long shadows that seemed to reach for them like ghostly fingers
Connor stopped, opened his bag and pulled out a Tupperware box. He opened the lid and carried on walking towards the cottage. Neither man said a word.
Suddenly, two scrawny-looking border collie-type dogs came racing out towards them, and the men paused. Connor held out a couple of steaks from his Tupperware, and as they bounded up, he threw them into the grass in their path. Both dogs stopped immediately and devoured the meat. Murdoch looked at Connor in surprise.
“That should give us a good few hours.” He said softly before resuming his leisurely walk towards the cottage. Murdoch, despite himself, couldn’t help but be impressed. He followed Connor, stepping over the now still dogs lying in the long grass.
They reached the cottage on a side that seemed to have no windows. Connor stood with his back against the house wall and looked down at his phone again. Murdoch mimicked him and could see that Connor had a live-feed of what looked like a small kitchen. A woman was sitting at a wooden table in front of a small fire. She was chopping carrots on a board. Just then, the clock on the mantel began to chime. The woman stood up, wiped her hands on her apron, filled a kettle and put it on the hob. She then took a mug from the cupboard, opened a small black square tin on the work surface and put a tea bag into the mug. Then she went to the fridge and took out a milk bottle, which she stood beside her mug. She returned to the cupboard, pulled out a saucer and opened another tin, this one red and round, and she placed two biscuits on the small plate. This had all the hallmarks of a ritual. Connor leant over.
“When I say so, go to the front of the house,” Connor nodded towards the corner, “and knock twice on the door, once loudly, once quietly, then high-tail it back round here, before she answers it. Here, take this so you can watch the action!”
Connor offers, and Murdoch takes the phone and can see the woman is now filling her mug with boiling water to steep the tea bag. “Go!” he whispers.
Murdoch did as he was told. He stepped out to the front of the cottage, walked quickly to the front door, knocked awkwardly as instructed, then retreated and watched the kitchen live-feed again, cupping his hands around the screen to keep light pollution to a minimum. He saw the woman leave the kitchen and saw the backdoor opening. Connor’s huge frame slid into the room. He stepped up to the steeped tea, emptied some powder from a folded paper packet into the mug. Nodded at the camera. Span on his heels and left via the back door. The whole thing literally took seconds. The woman appeared back in the kitchen. She paused for just a moment, crossing her arms around her middle. Murdoch was immediately reminded of her daughter and why they were here. This woman with the dark bob-cut and thin features was Seren’s mother.
Connor returned to stand beside Murdoch.
“Why did you make me knock like that?” Murdoch loud-whispered.
“So she wouldn’t be sure if she imagined it; nobody really knocks like that,” he replied simply.
Together they watched Seren’s mother scoop out her tea bag into the compost, pour a splash of milk into her mug and stir the tea with a teaspoon. Then she filled a small dish on the floor with milk and returned the bottle to the fridge. Then she sat back down at the table, poked the fire, and began dunking her biscuits and drinking her tea. She seemed content and soon was joined by a large, fat black cat, who lapped up the newly poured milk in his bowl.
Within minutes, Seren’s mother, Nia Bevan, looked sleepy. She yawned a few times. Then put her head in her hands and soon slumped down onto the table. Connor stood up from leaning against the wall, whirled around and headed for the backdoor. Murdoch followed.