- Scales of Silence
- Shadows in the Grass
- Guardians of the Marsh
- Silver Tides White Gold
- The Price of the Poults
When veteran journalist Gareth Rhys first begins looking into rumours surrounding peregrine falcons around Newport docks, he expects little more than another local wildlife story. Instead, he finds himself drawn into a hidden world where rare birds are worth fortunes, old industrial sites conceal dangerous secrets, and powerful people are prepared to do almost anything to protect their interests.
Across the wetlands, abandoned warehouses and redevelopment zones of South Wales, Gareth uncovers signs that something far darker is happening beneath the surface. Peregrine falcons are disappearing. Nesting sites are being disturbed. Strange movements are taking place around derelict buildings and isolated marshland tracks. What begins as environmental reporting soon becomes a deadly investigation involving organised wildlife trafficking, private security firms, suspicious deaths and international connections reaching far beyond Wales.
As Gareth digs deeper, the lines between conservation, business and criminal enterprise begin to blur. Local developers speak passionately about environmental regeneration projects while, behind closed doors, rare birds of prey are quietly becoming luxury commodities for wealthy collectors and elite falconry circles overseas. With police officer Sara Llewellyn investigating a growing list of crimes, and Gareth’s wife Lowri trying to keep him alive long enough to finish the story, the danger steadily closes in.
Set against the atmospheric backdrop of Newport, Magor Marshes, the Gwent Levels and the industrial landscapes of South Wales, this Gareth Rhys Investigates novel combines investigative journalism, wildlife crime and modern conspiracy thriller elements with authentic Welsh settings and richly drawn local characters.
At its heart, the novel explores a world rarely seen in crime fiction: the lucrative international trade in birds of prey, where organised networks exploit protected wildlife for enormous profit while hiding behind wealth, influence and respectability. As Gareth follows the trail through wetlands, quarries, hidden surveillance routes and abandoned industrial sites, he discovers that exposing the truth can be just as dangerous as the crimes themselves.
Blending tense investigation, environmental themes and grounded realism, this is a gripping Welsh crime thriller filled with suspense, political pressure, hidden motives and the constant tension between journalism and justice.
Perfect for readers who enjoy atmospheric British crime fiction, investigative thrillers, rural noir and environmentally themed mysteries in the tradition of Ann Cleeves, Peter May and LJ Ross, but with a distinctly Welsh identity and a strong focus on wildlife crime and conservation.
Chapter 1
The wind coming in from the estuary still carried a trace of winter despite the brightness of the afternoon, sharp enough that Gareth Rhys instinctively pulled the zip of his jacket slightly higher as he and Lowri followed the broad riverside path skirting the edge of Newport’s redeveloped docklands. The tide had fallen halfway back toward the sea, exposing glistening mudbanks along the lower edges of the River Usk where gulls picked noisily through the shallows while farther out the dull silver surface of the estuary merged almost seamlessly into the pale haze hanging over the Severn.
It was one of those deceptive South Wales spring days that looked warm from a distance yet still managed to find its way through clothing once you stopped moving.
Lowri glanced sideways toward Gareth as they walked. “You’re limping again.”
“I’m not limping.”
“You are.”
READ MORE“It’s uneven ground.”
Lowri looked pointedly down at the smooth paved walkway beneath their feet. “The pavement is flat.”
“That’s your opinion.”
A faint smile touched the corner of her mouth, though there was concern beneath it too. Gareth had improved enormously in the weeks since leaving hospital, but the recovery had been slower than he liked admitting. He moved more stiffly now, particularly first thing in the morning or after sitting too long, and although the doctors remained satisfied with his progress, Lowri had noticed the way he occasionally paused before putting full weight on the damaged leg. Not that Gareth would ever openly acknowledge any of it.
Around them, the docklands stretched through that strange half-finished state Newport seemed permanently trapped inside, balanced somewhere between industrial memory and expensive regeneration. Modern apartment blocks with polished balconies overlooked stretches of river once crowded with cranes, coal ships and steel exports, while cafés and office developments stood beside abandoned warehouses slowly collapsing behind temporary fencing.
The city had spent decades trying to reinvent itself after industry faded, though not always successfully.
Ahead of them, an old bonded warehouse stood isolated beside a cleared redevelopment site where weeds pushed through broken concrete around piles of stacked fencing and idle machinery. The warehouse itself looked forgotten, its upper windows boarded with weathered plywood while faded paint peeled from the brickwork in long vertical scars.
Gareth nodded toward it. “That’ll disappear soon.”
Lowri followed his gaze. “Probably flats.”
“Luxury riverside living,” Gareth said dryly.
“Which means tiny kitchens and expensive parking.”
“That too.”
They continued walking slowly along the waterfront while the breeze carried the mixed smells of salt water, river mud and distant diesel drifting across from the active docks farther downstream. It felt good to be outside again properly.
The weeks after a snake bite had blurred together hospital corridors, medication schedules and cautious rehabilitation walks while people constantly told Gareth what he should or should not be doing. Even now, Lowri watched him with the quiet attentiveness of someone no longer entirely convinced he could be trusted alone near danger. Not that she was wrong.
Ahead, near the old warehouse, two security workers stood beside a white transit van, apparently in the middle of some disagreement. One gestured repeatedly toward the partly open side entrance of the building while the other shook his head with visible irritation.
Lowri noticed them too. “Something’s happened,” she said.
“Looks like it.”
As Gareth and Lowri approached, the taller of the two men spotted them. “You can’t come through here at the moment.”
Gareth slowed. “What’s going on?”
The security guard hesitated briefly, clearly deciding how much to say. “Probably nothing.”
“That usually means something.”
His younger colleague looked distinctly uncomfortable. “We think there’s someone inside.”
“In the warehouse?”
“Yeah.”
The older guard rubbed at the back of his neck. “Only thing is… there’s a smell.”
That altered the atmosphere immediately. Lowri saw Gareth’s expression shift slightly beside her, the journalist’s instinct waking almost visibly behind his eyes.
The older guard noticed it too. “You police?”
“No,” Gareth replied. “Journalist.”
The man sighed. “That might actually be worse.”
Before Gareth could answer, the younger guard spoke quietly. “Demolition crews are due Monday, so we came to check that the building was empty. Thought maybe kids or rough sleepers had been getting inside.”
“And?”
The younger man swallowed. “There’s definitely somebody in there.”
Even standing outside now, Gareth could detect it faintly beneath the estuary air. Not strong. Not fresh. But unmistakable once recognised.
Lowri folded her arms. “Gareth.”
“I’m just looking.”
“That’s exactly how all your problems start.”
Ignoring that, Gareth moved carefully toward the partially open side door while the security guards followed uncertainly behind. Lowri came too, though she already looked unconvinced that this qualified as sensible post-hospital rehabilitation.
Inside, the temperature dropped noticeably. The warehouse stretched away into shadow beneath rusted steel roof beams and cracked skylights that allowed narrow shafts of dusty afternoon light to cut across the gloom. Rows of collapsed shelving stood among scattered pallets and construction debris left behind by previous occupants, while somewhere overhead, loose metal clattered softly in the wind.
The building smelled of damp concrete, old timber and stale standing water. And halfway across the warehouse floor lay a body.
The young man rested awkwardly near the base of an old, rusting staircase leading upward toward a storage gantry above. One arm disappeared beneath him while dark staining spread outward across the concrete near his head. Nobody spoke for several seconds. Even from a distance, it was obvious the man was dead.
Lowri stopped near the doorway. “Don’t go any closer.”
“I’m not touching anything.”
Gareth moved only slightly forward, careful to avoid disturbing debris scattered across the floor. Young male. Mid-twenties perhaps. Outdoor clothing. Heavy boots. Climbing harness partly visible beneath one shoulder. And lying beside the body, a thick leather falconry glove.
Gareth frowned immediately. Nearby sat an open rucksack with ropes spilling partly across the concrete beside it. Thin leather straps lay tangled near the dead man’s hand. Jesses. Falcon handling equipment. That didn’t belong in an abandoned warehouse beside Newport docks.
The younger security guard hovered nervously behind them. “Did he fall?”
Gareth looked upward toward the old metal gantry platform overhead, where rusted railings leaned dangerously outward above the body below. Possible.
But something felt wrong immediately. He crouched carefully several feet away, studying the visible injuries without touching anything.
The dead man’s hands were heavily scraped around the knuckles and wrists, while angry red rope burns circled the skin beneath dried blood. Fresh cuts crossed both forearms, and one sleeve had been partly torn near the elbow.
Then Gareth noticed the deeper marks. Parallel punctures. Curved. Uneven spacing. Not knife wounds. Not human fingernails. Claw marks.
Lowri saw his expression change. “What?”
Gareth pointed carefully. “His arm.”
The older security guard squinted toward the body. “Looks like scratches.”
“No,” Gareth said quietly. “Talons.”
The word settled oddly inside the vast empty warehouse.
Outside, somewhere beyond the riverfront, gulls cried sharply against the wind. Lowri looked again toward the glove. “You know what that is.”
“Falconry gear.”
The younger guard blinked. “As in hawks?”
“Yes.”
Gareth’s attention moved slowly across the body again, taking in details piece by piece. Climbing equipment. Rope burns. Falconry glove. Jesses. And then another detail caught his eye.
Near the open rucksack, half-trapped beneath a broken pallet board, lay a feather. Long. Dark. Barred silver-grey along one edge. Not gull. Not pigeon. Bird of prey.
Gareth carefully leaned slightly closer without crossing the invisible boundary around the body. Peregrine maybe. Or goshawk.
His stomach tightened slightly.
Lowri recognised the look immediately. “You’ve got that face again.”
“What face?”
“The one where you think something’s wrong.”
“Something is wrong.”
The older guard shifted uneasily. “You reckon someone killed him?”
Gareth didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked upward again toward the rusting gantry platform. The railing above showed fresh disturbance where rust flaked brighter against exposed metal. A fall could certainly kill someone here.
But climbers understood heights. Understood balance. And the rope burns on the victim’s wrists suggested panic or struggle rather than accident.
Before Gareth could say more, faint sirens sounded somewhere outside along the dock road. Police approaching.
Lowri exhaled quietly. “Sara’s going to be thrilled.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“She specifically told you not to involve yourself in anything dangerous for at least another month.”
“I’m standing still.”
“You’re standing near a dead body inside an abandoned warehouse.”
Gareth considered that. “That’s technically true.”
The sirens grew louder outside before stopping abruptly nearby. Doors slammed. Voices echoed faintly beyond the entrance.
Gareth remained where he was, eyes still moving carefully across the scene. Something about it resisted simplicity. A climber with falconry equipment died inside a dockside warehouse. That alone would already make a strange story.
But Gareth had spent enough years around investigations to recognise the feeling creeping slowly through him now, the quiet instinct that what lay visible on the surface rarely represented the whole truth.
Behind him footsteps approached quickly across the concrete floor. Acting Detective Inspector Sara Llewellyn entered the warehouse wearing plain clothes beneath a protective vest, one uniformed officer following close behind her.
She stopped immediately upon seeing Gareth. “Oh, for God’s sake.”
Gareth looked over calmly. “Afternoon, Sara.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Walking.”
Sara stared at him. “You were attacked by a Gaboon viper six weeks ago.”
“That feels increasingly irrelevant.”
“It’s medically extremely relevant.”
Lowri folded her arms. “I did try warning him.”
“Not very convincingly.”
Sara sighed heavily before turning toward the body. “What have we got?”
The older security guard started explaining while Sara crouched several feet from the victim, eyes narrowing as she took in the climbing harness, glove and visible injuries.
Then Gareth spoke quietly. “Look at the arms.”
Sara followed his gaze. The claw marks. The rope burns. The feather near the bag.
Her expression shifted subtly. “That’s interesting.”
“Yes.”
Sara looked toward Gareth again. “You touched anything?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Another officer entered behind them, carrying forensic equipment, while outside, the wind rattled loose metal somewhere high above the warehouse roof.
Sara studied the body silently for several more moments before speaking quietly enough that only Gareth and Lowri heard. “This isn’t going to stay simple, is it?”
Gareth looked once more toward the feather lying beside the dead climber. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t think it is.”
COLLAPSE