The Wilderness Murders: DI Giles Book 16 (DI Giles Suspense Thriller Series)

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  “While he was restrained?” Her eyes travelled to the victim’s wrists.

  “It’s possible, yes.”

  “Have you checked his ankles?”

  The SOCO officer pulled down the victim’s sock. “Welts can be seen around the ankle, similar to those around the wrists.”

  “Looks like his feet were bound as well as his hands,” Dewi tutted.

  “Hog-tied, like the Paynes.” Yvonne frowned. “I wonder where he was killed? If he’s only been in the water for a week or less, where was he before that? Was he held for a while? Or was he killed, stored somewhere cold, and then thrown into the river?”

  The SOCO pulled a face. “I’ll leave that part of the narrative to Hanson. The post-mortem will probably take place tomorrow. You’ll get a much better idea from that. Look... I’d better get on.”

  “Yes, of course.” The DI stepped back, allowing the officer better access to the body.

  She turned her attention to Dewi. “I wonder what his wife will make of this?”

  He sighed. “This may change her attitude, presuming she wasn’t somehow responsible. Anyway, I think we can safely take him off our suspect list.”

  Dai approached them as soon as they returned to the incident room. “Got some news on the shotguns.”

  Yvonne threw her coat over the back of her chair. “Go on…”

  “The lab carried out extensive tests with all three of the shotguns supplied to us by Carwyn Jones.”

  “And?”

  “They’ve not ruled them out entirely, but they say that, in their opinion, they are not the guns used to kill the Paynes, Kyle and Brianna, or Carl Baker. They think we are looking for another weapon.”

  She couldn’t hide her disappointment. Ieuan Jones had been their number one suspect, and now his involvement in the murders was looking doubtful. She sighed. “If Jones isn’t our killer, it’s better we find out sooner rather than later. Let’s keep going. Don’t let up the pace. This killer isn’t stopping, so neither are we.”

  23

  Disappeared

  The DI accompanied Sian Timms to the mortuary viewing room herself.

  Sian had dressed in a pin-striped skirt suit for the occasion and carried a handkerchief in her right hand. Her hair was held in a bun.

  “Take your time.” Yvonne’s voice was soft as Jason’s wife approached the shrouded body lying on the metal trolley before them.

  The woman’s heels click-clacked on the freshly mopped floor.

  The mortuary assistant pulled back the sheet.

  Sian let out a sob, putting her handkerchief to her mouth as she stared at her husband’s face.

  The DI waited in silence.

  When finished, Sian turned towards her.

  Yvonne took a step forward. “Are you all right?”

  “It’s him.” The light reflected off her wet face. She wiped her tears with the hankie. “It’s definitely Jason.”

  “Thank you.” The DI placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  Mrs Timms nodded. The fight had left Jason’s wife. She wobbled on her stiletto heels.

  In the quiet room provided for such times, with the sun pouring obliquely through the tiny window to the right of the DI, they sipped tea.

  Sian appeared lost, her wide eyes going in and out of focus as she came to terms with her husband’s death. “I thought about it, you know, what I would do if he was found dead. I thought I wouldn’t care, that I’d see him, I’d know he was dead, I’d have closure, and I’d move on. And it isn’t like that, is it?” She turned her red-rimmed eyes to Yvonne.

  “It isn’t,” she agreed. “It is never that easy.”

  Sian shook her head, her movement slow. “It’s so final. I feel bad. Bad for him; bad for me. I feel terrible about wishing him gone.”

  “Your feelings are really quite normal,” the DI reassured.

  “Are you going to find out who did this to him?”

  “Yes.”

  Sian nodded. “I believe you. His death was brutal, wasn’t it?”

  Yvonne scrutinised the woman’s face. If Mrs Timms was involved in these murders, or the murder of her husband, she was putting on a convincing act. The DI felt the sadness was genuine. Still, it was possible to be grief stricken, and still a murderer.

  The DI’s phone vibrated in her pocket. “Dewi?”

  “Sorry to disturb you, Yvonne.”

  “Is it urgent?” Her eyes flicked to Sian’s tear-stained face.

  “It is… Eifion Evans has gone missing.”

  “What?” She frowned. “Gone missing? Where? When?”

  “He left the house yesterday lunchtime and he hasn’t returned.”

  She turned her attention to Sian, her hand over the phone. “I’m sorry, Mrs Timms, would you excuse me?”

  The other woman nodded, her eyes glazed.

  Yvonne continued the call from the corridor outside of the mortuary. “Have you spoken to the parents? What have they said?”

  “Eifion had been intending to go to the sports shop, amongst other things. I think he wanted toiletries from the pharmacy, too. Anyway, he said he might go for a walk afterwards, but that he would be home by teatime. He didn’t return.”

  “What time would they normally have tea?”

  “Six-ish, his dad said.”

  “Do they know where he would have gone walking?”

  “That’s the problem… Eifion didn’t say.”

  “Oh, God… Okay, Dewi. Look, make sure a notice goes out to all units with the description of what he was wearing, and see to it we get any CCTV recorded by relevant shops. If he made it to town, we should see him on that. Was he using a vehicle?”

  “Apparently, he was in a blue Ford Focus.”

  “Has the car been found?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Okay thanks, Dewi. I’ll wrap it up here and be back with you as soon as I can.”

  “Right-oh.”

  “Get onto the all units broadcast, right away, and get hold of that CCTV.”

  “Will do, ma’am.”

  He was back, skulking in the shadows, hot sweat snaking down his spine.

  They had to be fifty yards further along the woodland trail, oblivious to the danger stalking behind.

  The hunter hitched the gun bag up on his shoulder. He had let them get away once. He wouldn’t again.

  He couldn’t get too close, though… not yet.

  This time, they didn’t have the dog with them. The mutt would have wandered back-and-fore, scampering and barking at any creature that moved, and many things that didn’t. He couldn’t afford that sort of attention. Not that the couple paid much heed to the antics of the dog. They seemed happy to let it explore unhindered and without a leash. If the dog had discovered him, it might have barked incessantly, giving him no option but to beat a hasty retreat before they investigated the commotion.

  This time, conditions were perfect. The couple appeared to have everything they needed. They were calm and happy. Everything was right in their world.

  He smiled to himself. What a shame he was about to turn all of that upside down?

  24

  Captive

  Yvonne was back at the mortuary, for Jason Timms’ post-mortem, hoping for the critical piece of information that would blow their murder investigation wide open.

  Hanson had prepped, and was carrying out a last-minute inspection of his instruments. “Glad you could make it.” He grinned, glancing at his watch.

  “I’m sorry, it’s been one of those mornings. We have another missing person. The last thing anybody wants is another victim.”

  “You’re certainly keeping me busy, Yvonne.” Hanson snapped on his gloves. “Or, rather, your killer is.”

  “Tell me about it.” She grimaced, her eyes wandering the whitewashed walls and shiny metal surfaces. How ordered things appeared in here, a far cry from the chaos outside. The quiet calm was welcome to her, her temples had throbbed for o
ver an hour, and she had forgotten to get pain killers.

  “Are you okay?” Hanson enquired. “You’re looking pale.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be fine.” That was her signal to continue. Get the job done.

  Her headache continued as she watched Hanson at work. The ease and competence with which he proceeded was testament to his two decades’ experience.

  “He has considerable damage to his face,” he began. “Some of that may have been because his body impacted rocks as it was dragged down river. However, there are injuries to the head and upper torso, which would be consistent with beating or other blunt trauma prior to death. It’s normal for some discolouration as the body decomposes, but some of this bruising appears to have occurred while he was still alive. I would say it is consistent with having been punched in the head, several times. I can’t see similar bruising on his arms, meaning he did not defend himself. That would suggest he was beaten whilst restrained, before being shot in the chest.”

  “I see.” Yvonne pressed her lips together as the pathologist painted the vivid picture.

  He continued. “I don’t think the body was in the water for the four weeks he was missing. I’d suggest he was submerged for only ten days at most.”

  “Could his body have been stored somewhere else for a while?” The DI frowned in concentration.

  “Somewhere cold, it's possible.” Hanson nodded. “A cellar, maybe… Perhaps the killer waited until the coast was clear before disposing of the body. That would explain the lack of time in the water. He may have been tied up for a while before being killed, of course.”

  “Does he have other injuries we should know about?”

  “Well, as you’d expect, the torso is peppered with shot. He was blasted at close range. I’ll save the pellets for ballistics, and they can tell you more, but I would suggest the killer was only a few feet away.”

  “I see.” She thought of Sian, and the grief which had appeared to be genuine. Could she have hired someone to kill her husband? “It seems personal,” she said out loud.

  “Who knows?” Hanson shrugged. “Maybe the only mistake this victim made was to cross the path of a crazed killer. I think you are likely looking for the same man who killed the others. This victim’s ankles were tied and under strain. It’s possible he was hog-tied, in the same way as previous victims, and kept like that. Perhaps Mr Timms here put up more resistance. Maybe the killer was angry and beat him before killing him. He took the ropes off, marched him to the river, shot him, and pushed him into the water. We found carpet fibres in the wounds on the victim's wrists. They could be from a car boot. Forensics have them.”

  As Yvonne left the mortuary, she thought of Eifion Evans, hoping the killer wasn’t holding him somewhere. They had to find him, and fast.

  He stepped out of the bushes; his gun levelled at the woman who was oblivious as she scrunched her raincoat to fit it in her husband’s backpack.

  Both targets had their back to him.

  He waited, licking the sweat from his upper lip, anticipating the fear he would see on their faces.

  As though sensing his presence, the woman turned, her eyes widening as she caught sight of the gun.

  “Trevor…” she called to her husband.

  Funny, he hadn’t expected that. A scream, perhaps, but not the whimper of her husband’s name while she remained perfectly still.

  Her blonde hair, damp with sweat, was tied in a ponytail. She wore a white cotton shirt and cargo pants. The yellow raincoat was safely inside the husband’s bag. She had to be mid-forties, but pretty, he thought. It was a shame to kill pretty people, but that wouldn’t stop him.

  The assailant’s eyes flicked between them.

  The man held his hands out. “Oh… What is this buddy?”

  He felt like shouting, I’m not your buddy, but he didn't. Let them sweat.

  “What are you doing?” The husband asked again. “Are we trespassing? Is that it?” he asked, glancing around. “I didn’t see any signs…”

  He eased back the hammers, watching the man’s eyes widen in horror. Even at this distance, he could see the light reflecting off the guys’s bald patch. He was just as frightened as his wife.

  “Who are you?” The woman’s voice had a satisfying tremble to it. “What do you want?”

  He reached into his pockets with leather-gloved hands, fumbling a piece of cord before stepping closer to the couple, and throwing it at her feet. “Tie his hands,” he ordered, pointing his gun at the husband. “And make sure it’s tight enough, or I’ll have to kill him.”

  Tears streaked down her face. Her body shook as she bent to take the cord.

  “Move it.”

  She jumped, as he knew she would. He liked that.

  25

  Eyes open

  Yvonne and Dewi parked the car near the home of Eifion Evans, on the Llanidloes Road, in the south-west of Newtown.

  A terraced house, with a modest two bedrooms, it was fronted by a neatly trimmed hedge, and a lawned garden.

  Dewi rapped on the door.

  It was opened by a tall male, who ran his hand through his hair. “Oh, thank God… I thought you would never get here,” he said, not giving them the chance to introduce themselves. “We are going out of our minds. He’s done nothing like this before.”

  “May we come in?” She asked, observing his dishevelled shirt and mussed, dark hair.

  “Yes, of course. I’m Derek, Eifion’s father. My wife Caroline is in the living room.” He pointed along the hall to a door at the end. “Please, go through.”

  Eifion’s mum sat in a dark leather armchair, her face pale and drawn.

  “Mrs Evans?” The DI asked. “We’re police officers. I’m DI Yvonne Giles, and this is DS Dewi Hughes. We want to talk to you about Eifion. I understand he’s missing?”

  Caroline nodded, wringing her hands. “He didn’t come home last night, and he hasn’t been in touch. It’s not like him. It’s not like him at all. He’s never done this before.” She tucked her bobbed brunette hair behind her ears.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “He left just after lunch yesterday.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “He said he was going to town for a few things, and that afterwards he might go for a walk. He said he’d be back around teatime.”

  “What time would you normally have tea?” The DI tilted her head, her voice soft.

  Mrs Evans hunched in on herself, appearing tiny in the reclining chair. “Half-five, six o’clock.”

  “Did he take anything with him?”

  Caroline shook her head. “Not that I know of. I kissed him on the way out, and told him to be safe… you know… with what’s been going on lately, you don’t know who is out there.”

  “Quite.” Yvonne nodded. “What time did he leave, exactly? It would help us, having a timeline.”

  “I think it was about quarter-past one. I switched on the lunchtime news after he left, and I’d missed the first couple of items.”

  “I see.” The DI made a note. “What sort of mood was he in? Was he happy? Sad? Worried?”

  Caroline thought about it. “I don’t remember any mood. He seemed relaxed, like normal really.”

  “Did he tell you where he was going for a walk?”

  “No, he didn’t. I’d have remembered if he had.”

  “Of course…” The DI pursed her lips, looking back towards the door. “May we see his room, Mrs Evans? It might give us an idea of what his plans were, and where he might have been heading.”

  “Sure, yes of course.” Caroline stood. “I’ll show you upstairs.”

  He finished tying the man’s ankles, kicking his captive hard in the ribs to stop him from making gurgling noises through the sock stuffed in his mouth.

  “Keep quiet, or I’ll kill your wife,” he threatened.

  The victim whimpered from the blow, and fell silent.

  The gunman turned his attention back to t
he woman.

  She wasn’t there.

  A cold sweat spread across his shoulder blades. Where was she?

  Heart thumping, he ran to where she had been standing, hands tied behind her back. She couldn’t have gone far.

  Head thrashing this way and that, he scanned the undergrowth, gun at the ready. “Come out,” he ordered. “I know you’re there. If you don’t, I’ll hurt your husband.”

  He stilled, listening for movement. There was none, and yet she must still be around. She had to be. He would have heard her running if she had taken off. No, she’d gone to ground, and he had to find her before anyone else did.

  Caroline led them up a narrow staircase to a room at the end of the landing. “This is his bedroom,” she said. “I wouldn’t normally go in there without asking him first.”

  “I know.” Yvonne nodded. “We’ll make as little disruption as possible.”

  Eifion’s mum opened the door and stepped back. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Thank you.” The DI gave her a nod before turning her attention to Eifion’s room.

  It was occupied by a bed, chest of drawers, TV and Playstation, and several stacks of DVDs and games.

  On the walls were posters, newspaper articles, and drawings in pencil.

  A laptop lay on the bed, and a small pile of magazines littered the floor next to it.

  His mobile phone lay on the chest of drawers.

  Yvonne examined the magazines while her sergeant switched on the phone.

  “Dewi?” Yvonne leafed through the pile. “He’s got a bunch of gun magazines.”

  He turned to her. “Has he?”

  “It looks like he’s a keen enthusiast.” She flicked through the top copy, finding several articles circled in blue marker pen. “He’s been highlighting gun adverts.” She frowned. “And underscored several lines in an article about criminals using the dark web to purchase guns.”