Circus of Nightmares: Death is the Ultimate Illusion (The Anglesey Mysteries Book 2)

by Conrad Jones

  ‘We know Mildred Troutman had a heart attack during all this, hence she wasn’t tied up,’ Alan added. ‘The others were put into the cellar.’

  He switched the image to an arrest record and custody suite photograph of Bronski.

  ‘This is where the Telford’s charmed life ran out.’ Carlton pointed to the screen. ‘We arrested Bronski two weeks ago on conspiracy charges and held him on remand. He was granted bail three days ago when one of the key witnesses was found dead in the Thames.’ A murmur ran around the room. ‘Bronski was in jail and there was no one to give the Telfords food or water. Which explains why they were emaciated when you found them in their cellar.’ Carlton looked around the gathering. ‘Bronski was in jail and left them there to starve to death. He was trying to tidy up at the house when Mary Adams fell through the window. That wasn’t part of the plan and it scuppered his. If things had gone to plan, the Syrian women would have been in the fairground trailers on Friday sailing to Ireland and he would have disposed of the Telford family’s bodies and no one would be any the wiser. The Telfords were transient and had no children to worry about them. No one would have noticed they were dead for a very long time,’ Carlton looked around the room. ‘Are there any questions?’

  ‘Why take the women to Rhosneiger?’ a detective asked. ‘Why not just take them on the ferry as foot passengers?’

  ‘That would involve letting them go and they owed ten-grand each,’ Carlton said. ‘This wasn’t Thomas Cook arranging their journey, they’re people traffickers. They would never have let them go. Not even when they paid what they owed. Those women were destined for a life in slavery in some shape or another. There was no happy ending waiting for them in Ireland. There never is a happy ending with these people.’ Carlton nodded to Alan that he was finished.

  ‘Thank you, Chief Inspector,’ Alan said. ‘Benaim Bronski is our number one focus. He is the linchpin in all this,’ Alan said. ‘We have a warrant for the Vincentia trailer and the workshop and we can crosscheck what Pamela Stone has recovered from the boat. She has fibres, DNA and footprints. Whoever took Michelle Branning to that boat and raped her was in a hurry because they left a lot of clues behind. They never went back to tidy up.’

  ‘Do you think they were disturbed?’ someone asked.

  ‘Yes. Probably, although the boatyard is closed on a Sunday,’ Alan said. ‘Michelle Branning had water in her lungs. She drowned.’ The expressions on the faces of the detectives in the room said exactly was he was thinking. ‘She was still breathing when he put her in the water.’ He paused. ‘In the meantime, I want to eliminate everyone else. What was the name of the man who helped Tiffany look for Michelle?’

  ‘Wayne Best,’ Kim said. ‘We know he dated Michelle for a few months about a year ago but she finished with him when she caught him cheating. He could be deemed as a suspect. Best to make sure one way or the other.’

  ‘We have a statement from him but I want him interviewed, swabbed and removed from the picture,’ Alan said. ‘We know what we need to do. Let’s get to it. Find David Prost, Benaim Bronski and Carlos Vincentia.’

  Chapter 27

  Len Jobson swallowed three pain killers and brushed his teeth. He felt better than he had for a long time. It was all about focus. Instead of focusing on what had happened to Leo and Katrin, he could focus on “who” had happened to them. After a phone call to a cop on the Quinn’s books, he found out Tarek Koresh had a criminal record. Assault, rape, sexual assault, grievous bodily harm with intent, robbery, going equipped to burgle and conspiracy to supply. He was a busy man when he wasn’t moving his ghost train around from fairground to fairground. The ghost train was used predominantly as a cover for ferrying class A’s for an outfit linked to Manchester, Blackburn and Leeds. It hadn’t taken long to get his details from another cop on the Quinn’s payroll. He had his home and business address, mobile number, vehicle registration plate and tax details. The police were watching him for the purpose of gathering information on his employers. Len had everything he needed except permission. He needed permission to act against anyone in the business as they may be associates of the Quinns; he also needed permission to act alone.

  Dale Quinn called the shots and he said Len could do whatever needed to be done with impunity. The Quinn organisation would lend him as much help as he needed to find the man who killed his son. Len had been honest that the Koresh family could be implicated and Dale had told him they were a spent force, running from the shadows of their past. Their violent reign in London was over and had generated many dangerous enemies and they were too few, too poor and too weak to fight them. Most of the London based family had gone back to Albania to avoid being chopped up and fed to the pigs. Only a few kept the family name and they were all in the relative safety of the north. London was off limits. Most had changed their names for fear of reprisals for their ruthless past but Tarek and his son, Samiri had kept it. They liked the sway it gave them with wannabies in the north. The reputation of the Green Lane gang still lived in the annals of gangster history. The true players knew the family was done but they didn’t deal with true players. They dealt with minnows and those on the periphery of the drugs industry and the weak, where they could toss a name in to create fear. Fear was good for business. Len was going to show them they didn’t know what fear was. It was something they were about to learn the hard way.

  Len was waiting for a call from Reggie Quinn, a man he’d known as long as he could remember. They had worked with each other for decades with complete trust and total respect for each other. Len Jobson proved he was lethal, discreet and could be trusted. When the Quinns had a problem that needed to be resolved, Len sorted it with the minimum of fuss. Some problems needed to vanish, some needed to be left in a very public place as a message to others. Whatever was required, Len was the final solution. The Quinns had clean hands yet were responsible for dozens of killings. Len loved Reggie like a brother and the feeling was mutual. Reggie was the oracle of the family. If they needed to know where someone was, Reggie could find out. His contacts reached far and wide and deep into police forces all over the country. He had intelligence providers in most of their rival operations. If Reggie wanted to find someone, it didn’t take long. Len felt his mobile vibrate. The number was withheld. He answered it.

  ‘Len, Reggie speaking. How’s it going?’

  ‘As well as can be expected,’ Len said. ‘I’m taking each day as a bonus.’

  ‘Good man. Did you get the case of scotch I sent to you?’

  ‘I did,’ Len said. ‘Very nice it is too. I was going to save it for a rainy day but they’re all rainy days from here on in so I’m halfway through the case.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Reggie said. His tone changed. ‘About that bit of business, we were talking about. A little birdie has told me what you’re looking for is in Chester tonight, down by the racecourse on the other side of the bridge.’

  ‘Down by the castle?’

  ‘That’s the place. There’s a coach park there near the river, which is used for events.’

  ‘I know it,’ Len said.

  ‘You should do. It’s next to the Crown Court,’ Reggie chuckled. ‘We’ve been in there few times over the years, haven’t we?’

  ‘Too many times,’ Len laughed. ‘Do you remember that paedo we lifted from the racecourse?’

  ‘How could I forget him. He thought he’d got away with it because they found him not guilty,’ Reggie said, laughing. ‘Horrible bastard. I’ll never forget his face when he saw the wood shredder and realised what was going to happen. Pissed his pants on the spot. Horrible bastard.’ He stopped to think. ‘We’ve had some good times, Len,’ he added. ‘You go and do what you need to do to make amends for your boy and make sure you fucking hurt him, Len.’

  ‘Oh, I will, Reggie,’ Len said, smiling at the thought. ‘Does Tarek work the ride anymore?’

  ‘No. His boy Samiri works it,’ Reggie said. ‘He’s a wrong one too. If you get the chance to gut the pai
r of them, take it. You’ll be doing the world a favour.’ Reggie went quiet for a second. ‘Listen to me, Len. Are you going after Koresh because you know the name and have history with the family or because you know he’s responsible?’

  ‘I’m following the police and they don’t know their arse from their elbows. It’s a hunch,’ Len said. ‘My boy and his girlfriend were found in a grease drum. The type of grease that would be used on wagons and fairground rides. The woman who runs the circus told the police they didn’t use that brand of lubricant.’

  ‘Meaning what?’ Reggie asked. ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘Koresh was an independent trader and would have purchased his own grease. He owned the ghost train independently of the circus, so it fits.’

  ‘I see where you’re coming from but it’s a stretch, Len.’

  ‘Koresh and his sons are sex pests,’ Len said. ‘Tarek has got form for it. My boy and his missus were last seen at that fair and she was found with no clothes on. Leo was tied up and had a broken arm but wasn’t badly hurt, which worries me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I was convinced he’d been taken because he was my son but now, I’m not so sure. If they wanted to hurt me, they would have tortured him and dumped him somewhere where he would have been found, so that I would know exactly why he was killed,’ Len explained. ‘They hid his body. If it wasn’t for the supermarket project, he would never have been found. I don’t think it was another outfit squaring things up. This is something different. I can feel it in my bones.’

  ‘I get you,’ Reggie said. ‘I can see where you’re coming from.’

  ‘Finding their bodies, the way they did tells me it’s more likely whoever killed them was after Katrina and Leo was in the way. I think the attack was sexually motivated.’

  ‘The way I see it, you have two choices,’ Reggie said. ‘It was business related or it was perverts.’

  ‘Exactly. Either way, Tarek and his offspring fit the bill.’

  ‘I see what you mean.’

  ‘I’m going to ask them the question. I’ll know when I look in their eyes if they had anything to do with it. If they do know anything, they’ll tell me.’

  ‘Of that, I’m completely sure they will,’ Reggie said. ‘Good luck my old friend. Happy hunting. Let me know if you need anything else.’

  ‘I will do. You take care of yourself, Reggie,’ Len said. ‘Make sure you give your grandkids a massive hug every time you see them. Don’t take any of them for granted.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t. You go and do what you need to do, Len. All the very best.’ He hung up and smiled. He felt good about his mission. If it was to be his last, so be it.

  ****************************************************

  It was after eight o’clock when Malcolm Orange arrived home. Jane was on tenterhooks listening to him. He spent an hour in the window ranting about the effing circus. She couldn’t tell him about her visitor. He would implode if he knew what had happened and he would make things worse. The bump on the head had done nothing to quell his notion of self-importance and superiority. She wished there was an off switch somewhere. They ate a meal in awkward silence. Malcolm was angry that she’d demanded he drop his accusation of assault. He point-blank refused. Jane cleared the plates and washed the dishes and poured herself a large brandy. When she went into the living room to ask Malcolm if he would like one, he was gone. His coat wasn’t on the hook where it always was. Jane was terrified that the bloody fool had gone to the fairground to cause trouble. She knew her husband well. That’s where he had gone. She paced the room and gulped her brandy for what felt like an hour. Fifteen minutes later, he walked back through the front door.

  ‘I’ve told her exactly what I think of her,’ Malcolm said.

  ‘Please don’t tell me you’ve been to the fair making a bloody fool of yourself again,’ Jane said. ‘After everything I’ve said to you.’

  ‘I’m not going to sit here and do nothing, and I’m disappointed you are prepared to let these pikeys get away with it,’ he said, taking off his coat. ‘I went straight to the boss, Lottie Edwards and I told her she’s in charge of a bunch of thugs. That’s what they are, thugs.’

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘She told me to fuck off,’ Malcolm said, offended. ‘I can’t bear women who swear like that. It’s not big or clever and it’s certainly not attractive.’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Malcolm.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said shut up!’ Jane said. ‘I’m sick of listening to you drone on about what you think about this and what you think about that. I couldn’t give a shit what you think anymore. You’re a boring, irritating big bag of piss and wind and everybody thinks the same,’ Jane said. ‘That woman is trying to run a business and I bet she has to put up with wankers like you everywhere they go.’

  ‘Jane Orange,’ Malcolm said, astounded. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so vile come out of your mouth. What on earth is wrong with you?’

  ‘You!’ Jane snapped. ‘You are what’s wrong with me.’ She stormed upstairs. ‘And don’t even think about coming into this bedroom tonight or any night until you can stop being a wanker and be effing normal for once.’ The bedroom door slammed.

  ‘Typical woman,’ Malcolm muttered. ‘They have to overreact to everything. Boring, irritating bag of piss and wind?’ he said, to himself, shaking his head. ‘The poor woman has lost her marbles.’

  Malcolm made a hot milk and added a little scotch. It would help him to sleep. He turned out the light and headed for the hallway. A knock on the window made him turn around.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Malcolm opened the blind and looked into the back garden. He couldn’t see anything but his reflection.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  On the back door. Malcolm put down his mug and stormed over to the door. He picked up a steel ladle and opened the door. The cold night air and sound of the fairground rushed in. He looked outside but couldn’t see anyone there. A balloon was attached to a piece of string on the lawn. It was weighted down by something. He walked over to it, angry but baffled.

  ‘Bloody pikey kids messing about, playing knock and run,’ he muttered. ‘They can’t control their dogs or their kids, no wonder they can’t control their employees.’ He bent down to inspect the balloon. It was weighted by something. He patted his pocket for his glasses case but it wasn’t there. Reaching down to the grass, he picked up the balloon and what was attached to it and carried it into the kitchen where he could see it in the light. ‘How the hell did that get there?’

  His glasses case was tied to the string. He opened it. His spectacles were twisted and flat, the lenses shattered. He was confused. How did they get his glasses? He thought.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  On the window. He looked up into the face of a clown. It grinned and waved. Malcolm slammed the back door closed and shut the blind. He stood waiting for something to happen but nothing did. Malcolm put the whisky bottle in his pocket, went upstairs and picked up the landline. The phone was dead. He wondered if it was a coincidence. How did they get his glasses? He peered between the curtains and looked out of the window. There was no sign of the clown. Had there been one there at all? His head ached; the pain reminded him of what he had endured in the pursuit of a trading licence. Jane was probably right. Maybe he should stop being such a wanker. There was a feeling of dread in his guts. He added more scotch into his milk and went to bed.

  Chapter 28

  Carlos waited and listened. He could hear shuffling inside the kitchen, then the clicking sound of the walking frame against tile. A shadow appeared at the back door. And he could see the hunched figure of an elderly female. The lock rattled as a key was turned and the handle twisted. It seemed like an age before the door opened. A confused looking lady with white hair and a jaundiced complexion blinked against the daylight. She smiled, her teeth slipping from her gums slightly.

  ‘Hello lovely,’ she said, look
ing at the spade. ‘Have you come to do the garden?’

  ‘I have but I could murder a cup of tea and I’m desperate for the loo,’ Carlos said. ‘Do you mind if I use your bathroom?’

  ‘Of course, you can,’ she said, stepping back to let him in. ‘Harold said you would be here this week if the weather was alright. I wasn’t sure when you would turn up. The frost has killed most of the bedding plants and the roses all need cutting back.’

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ Carlos said. ‘I’ll get all that done and I’ve noticed the borders need a tidy up.’

  ‘Oh yes. Ted used to do the garden but he died of covid-19 last year and it’s too much for me.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about that,’ Carlos said. He walked into the kitchen and looked around. A single egg cup, mug and plate were soaking in the sink. She’d had breakfast alone. ‘Where is the bathroom?’

  ‘Up the stairs to the right,’ she said. ‘I’m Martha,’ she added as Carlos went into the hallway. ‘What’s your name?’