The Anglesey Murders Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  The Anglesey Murders…

  Unholy Island

  CONRAD JONES

  The Journey (May 2018)

  DI Braddick Series

  Brick

  Shadows

  Guilty

  Deliver us from Evil

  A Child for the Devil

  Dark Angel

  Alec Ramsay Series

  Nearly Dead

  The Child Taker

  Slow Burn

  Criminally Insane

  Frozen Betrayal

  Desolate Sands

  Concrete Evidence

  Thr3e

  Soft Target Series

  Soft Target

  Tank

  Jerusalem

  Blister

  18th Brigade

  PROLOGUE

  Liam stepped over the low wall onto the clifftop. It was too dark to see the surf crashing onto the jagged rocks hundreds of feet below. Out to sea, the South Stack lighthouse stood stoic in the foaming sea; its powerful beam penetrated the darkness for miles. He sipped from the whisky bottle and felt the liquid burning his throat. It was an expensive single malt he’d saved for a special occasion. What could be more special than finding out his wife had been cheating with his brother? That was pretty special. Being made redundant the following day was special too, especially as the firm had gone bust and he wouldn’t be paid his salary or any redundancy pay. If there was ever a more special time, he couldn’t think of it.

  Earlier, as his wife, Carla, walked out of the front door with his son and daughter and their suitcases, he’d made his mind up that he was going to kill himself. What was there to live for? Everything he loved had gone to live with the only family he had left. Wife, son, daughter, and brother gone in one breath, followed by the threat of financial ruin; he didn’t have many options. The thought of unemployment and being alone, without his kids, was devastating. He couldn’t go on. As he teetered on the edge of the cliff, his future played out before him. Divorce, repossession, bankruptcy, heartbreak, and despair.

  He gulped the whisky and took a handful of tramadol from his pocket, swallowing them greedily. Better to numb his body as much as possible. He was a coward, Carla said. She was right. He wanted to die but he didn’t want to feel the pain of impact on the rocks, nor did he want to feel the bitter cold of the sea or suffer the dreadful panic of drowning if he survived the fall. Numbness was the answer. He filled his mouth with tablets again and washed them down with whisky. He heard the sound of a car on the wind. The headlights pierced the night and he heard a door open and slam closed. Then he heard footsteps on the gravel path. Someone was coming towards him.

  Suddenly, he felt frightened. Frightened of falling over the edge, frightened of dying. Something inside him told him he had to pull up his big-boy pants and get on with it. Life was worth living. Was he the first man to feel the sting of betrayal? No, of course not. The wind rocked him and he could feel the fog of the drugs descending in his mind. He edged back from the abyss and held onto the low wall. The silhouette of a man appeared on the path. He walked towards him quickly. The car’s headlights picked him out against the dark sky. It was a common place for desperate people to contemplate life and death. Some walked away, others didn’t.

  ‘Are you okay?’ a voice asked from the darkness. Liam blinked against the lights.

  ‘Not really,’ Liam said. He swigged from the bottle again, almost draining it.

  ‘Are you thinking of stepping off the edge?’ the man asked.

  ‘Thinking about it, yes,’ Liam said. ‘At least, that was the plan. I can’t even do that right.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be too hard on yourself,’ the man said. ‘Life can be difficult sometimes. Death is a way out.’

  ‘I thought it was,’ Liam agreed.

  ‘You should embrace it,’ the man said approaching. He raised his right hand.

  ‘Embrace what?’ Liam asked, confused. The whisky was slowing him down. He tried to grasp the man’s hand.

  ‘Close your eyes and enjoy the ride,’ the man said. He shoved Liam hard in the chest.

  Liam staggered backwards. He opened his mouth to scream but the wind took it away. His arms grabbed at thin air as he toppled over the edge. It seemed like an eternity before he hit the rocks.

  The man waited and watched as the lighthouse illuminated the cliffs for a few seconds before it was plunged into darkness again. A wave swept the body from the rocks and sucked him beneath the surface. It was the first time he’d killed and it felt good.

  CHAPTER 1

  Detective Inspector Alan Williams parked near the top of the slipway at Trearddur Bay. The tide was high, and the rain was pelting down. He glanced at his passenger. Kim, his detective sergeant, was staring at the rain through the windscreen; her view was warped and blurred, like looking through melted plastic. Alan shook his head as the wind rocked his BMW. The storm was intense. Neither of them wanted to climb out of the vehicle. The wind was driving the sea against the rocks, pounding the shore, and sending huge waves across the promenade with awesome force. A wall of water hit the windows of the Black Seal, threatening to shatter them and swamp the drinkers and diners inside.

  ‘It’s packed in there,’ Alan said, wishing he was in the bar.

  ‘It’s always packed in there. It’s the best view on the island, especially with a large gin in your hand,’ Kim said. ‘There’s Barry with the lifeboat.’

  The orange clad lifeboat crew were gathered in the car park to Alan’s right and he recognised some of the men as the senior members of the station. One of them spotted his car and jogged over, holding the hood of his floatation suit over his head to stop the rain seeping in. Alan didn’t want to open the window to talk to him but did so anyway. The wind whistled through the small gap.

  ‘Jump in the back,’ Alan said, closing the window as quickly as possible.

  ‘Thanks for coming out,’ Barry shouted over the wind. The back door opened and he climbed in, accompanied by the gale. He slammed the door closed and shook the rain from his grey hair. Retirement from the service wasn’t far off. ‘We weren’t sure what we had at first but we are now.’

  ‘The call was a bit vague,’ Alan said. He had been at home, less than a mile away when the call came through. ‘What is it you think you have?’ The wipers struggled to clear the windscreen as the deluge continued.

  ‘It’s a double fatality,’ Barry said.

  ‘Double?’ Kim said. Barry nodded.

  ‘Are they fishermen?’ Alan asked, assuming anglers had been swept from the rocks again. He couldn’t imagine anyone had launched a boat in such weather.

  ‘We don’t think so. A wave watcher spotted something off the rocks at Craig-y-Mor this morning. We launched but couldn’t find anything.’ Barry pointed to a place beyond the dark rocks at the mouth of the bay. ‘The tide has brought them around the headland into the bay. One of them is wearing red waterproof trousers, so he’s quite visible. We spotted them from the lookout platform about half an hour ago but we can’t get to them until the tide turns.’

  ‘It’s rough out there,’ Kim said. She turned in her seat. Her wavy blond hair was tied back in a ponytail. ‘You sound certain they’re not fishermen.’

  ‘Yes. That’s why I phoned you. This isn’t an accident. They’re tied together at the feet,’ Barry said. ‘It’ll be a while before we can get them away from the rocks but it’s clearly a suspicious death.’

  ‘Tied together at the feet?’ Alan said to himself. He turned to face Barry. ‘That’s a first for me. Have you seen anything like that before?’

  ‘Similar but not quite like this,’ Barry said. ‘The way they’re dressed is bizarre. I’m not a hundred per cent sure but they
appear to be naked from the waist up and we think they’re missing some limbs. They both have wellington boots on.’ He shook his head and frowned. ‘The waterproofs made us think they might be seamen involved in a boating accident until we saw they were bound together. It’s odd to say the least.’

  ‘They wouldn’t lose their clothes in the water?’ Kim said.

  ‘Not like that. I remember we pulled two men out from near Rhoscolyn, about ten years ago. They’d been tied together, just like them. We couldn’t find out where they came from. The coast guard investigated a couple of big foreign tankers that had sailed through our waters but they were both from south east Asia with Asian crew. The men we pulled out were European; DNA said they were probably Iberian.’

  ‘What happened?’ Kim asked. Fine lines creased the corners of her green eyes despite the gallons of creams she’d applied. ‘Did they turn anything up?’

  ‘Nope. It was a dead end.’

  ‘Where do you think they were from?’ Kim asked.

  ‘I’ve got no idea,’ Barry said. ‘My best guess is they were from Spain or Portugal sailing a small craft, carrying something they shouldn’t have been carrying, probably from Morocco.’ He tapped his nose with his index finger. ‘Cannabis is a huge business and most of it comes in by boat. They were probably double-crossed by their buyers somewhere down the coast, tied up, and thrown overboard and their boat scuppered. No one knew they were here so nobody reported them missing. We’ll never know where they were from.’

  ‘Drug smugglers, eh? Makes sense,’ Kim said.

  ‘There’s nine-hundred miles of Welsh coastline, most of it is remote and unwatched,’ Alan said. ‘There’s all kinds of shenanigans going on out there that we’ll never know about.’

  ‘True,’ Kim said.

  ‘One thing I do know for sure is no one gets half naked, puts on a pair of wellington boots, ties himself to his mate, and jumps into the sea in a storm,’ Alan said, nodding his head.

  ‘You should be a detective,’ Kim said. Alan looked at her and smiled. She had an acidic sense of humour that he loved. ‘I’ll get a CSI team on standby.’

  ‘Yes please,’ Alan said.

  A knock on the driver’s window interrupted them. One of the lifeboatmen gestured to Alan to wind the window down. Reluctantly, he did.

  ‘There’s a call for you in the station, Inspector,’ the man said. ‘They’ve been trying to reach you on your phone.’ Alan checked his mobile, but the screen was blank.

  ‘Bloody phone signals. It’s like being on the moon here,’ Alan moaned. ‘I’ll be retired by the time they sort out the signal in the bay. Or chief inspector.’

  ‘Or dead,’ Kim said. ‘In the meantime, you’d better go and take that call.’ Alan frowned and shook his head. ‘Are you pulling rank on me?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m afraid so. Your legs are younger, and my knee is giving me gip again. I’d better stay here and keep a look out just in case.’

  ‘Just in case of what?’

  ‘In case something happens.’

  Kim shook her head and opened the door. She was greeted by an icy blast and a deluge of rainfall. Alan could hear her swearing beneath her breath as she ran towards the lifeboat station. He chuckled as he watched her. She stooped and ran against the wind.

  ‘What time does the tide change?’ Alan asked, looking at his watch.

  ‘She’s on the turn now,’ Barry said. ‘We’ll have to wait a little longer to recover them. They’re too close to the rocks. The wind will drop on the wane. We’ll be able to grab them in about half an hour.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it’s going to make much difference to them,’ Alan said. Barry’s radio crackled into life. The bodies had been caught by a riptide and taken out to open water. One of the smaller lifeboat ribs had secured the bodies to the boat and was dragging them across the bay towards the ramp.

  ‘They’re bringing them to the ramp now,’ Barry said. ‘Ten minutes at the most.’

  ‘Let’s go and have a look,’ Alan said. He opened the door and climbed out into the wind. Barry was right, it had dropped and changed direction. He fastened his zip to the neck and pulled up the hood, tucking his hands deep into his pockets. They walked to the ramp where all leisure crafts were launched from and waited for the lifeboat to return. A crowd of onlookers had gathered near the station, filming the recovery on their smartphones. The rib navigated the rocks with well-practised ease; the bodies left in the water, supported on floatable cradles to stop them breaking up. Alan could see they weren’t bloated yet.

  ‘They don’t look like they’ve been in very long?’ Alan said. He studied the bindings around the ankles. It was orange rope, the type used by trawlermen and yachters. The rope was strapped around both ankles and knotted tightly. ‘What do you think, Barry?’

  ‘They’re not nautical knots,’ Barry said. ‘They’ve been tied by someone who doesn’t know one end of a boat from another.’

  ‘So, we can rule out seamen.’

  ‘Yes. These knots could be unfastened easily on land but not in the water. They had no chance of escaping the rope once they were in the sea.’

  ‘They had no chance in this weather anyway,’ Alan said. ‘They’re both missing an arm. This one below the elbow and this one at the shoulder.’

  ‘The wounds to the arms are jagged,’ Barry said. ‘I think they’ve gone under a boat and been caught in the propeller.’ He turned one of them in the water. ‘There are more injuries here. This boy suffered before he went in. Look at his back.’ Barry pointed to a series of deep wounds that had been cleaned by the seawater.

  ‘Do you think a propeller could do that?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Propellers make a real mess, like the arms here’ Barry said, shaking his head. ‘The wounds to the back are too neat, too symmetrical to be from a boat. If you ask me, they’re knife wounds.’

  ‘So, he was tortured, then dropped into the sea?’ Alan asked. Barry nodded. He looked at the waves crashing in. ‘When did they go in the water?’

  ‘My guess would be yesterday,’ Barry said. ‘Certainly not much longer than that.’

  ‘If they were spotted at Craig-y-Mor this morning and then floated into the bay, where did they go in?’ Alan asked. Barry raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. He scratched his mottled scalp. ‘I’m not going to hold you to it. Just give me your best guess.’

  ‘The way the wind has been howling this week, I reckon they were put in on the Holyhead side of North Stack. The tides have brought them around the mountain, by South Stack, and then the rip carried them into the bay,’ Barry said.

  Alan looked at the man in the red waterproofs. His face was disfigured and bruised. The damage was done before they were put into the sea. It was obvious both men had been tortured before they drowned. They were both dark-haired and well built, probably in their thirties. Kim trotted over and stood next to him.

  ‘They’re quite fresh. White European,’ Kim said.

  ‘Yes. This one has a lot of tattoos,’ Alan said, looking at a full-sleeve. ‘Most of his ink are skulls and red rose designs, common in the UK.’

  ‘I can’t see any sign of a red dragon or any text in Welsh,’ Kim said. ‘There’s nothing to indicate he’s Welsh.’

  ‘I agree,’ Alan said. ‘What was the call about?’

  ‘We’ve got another body,’ Kim said.

  ‘In the water?’ Barry asked.

  ‘No,’ Kim said. She seemed distracted by the bodies.

  ‘Where is the body, Kim?’ Alan asked.

  ‘On the range near Porth Dafarch Beach,’ Kim said. ‘It’s a male, bound and beaten. Uniform are there and CSI are on the scene already.’

  ‘Three bodies in one day,’ Alan said.

  ‘No early dart for you today,’ Barry said.

  ‘It doesn’t look like it, does it,’ Alan agreed. ‘Are there any pockets in those waterproofs?’ Kim lifted the material to reveal a plastic zip. She undid it and looked inside, pulling out a soggy piece of
paper. ‘It looks like a receipt of some kind. Can you read it?’

  ‘No. The ink has smudged. I’ll bag it.’ She pulled a clear plastic bag from her coat and slipped the paper inside. She repeated the process on the other side. A soggy packet of Lambert and Butler tumbled out, along with a disposable lighter. ‘Those things will kill you,’ she muttered. She pulled the waistband of the waterproofs away from the body. ‘Armani underwear. They’re not cheap.’ Kim moved to the second body and looked inside the wellington boots. ‘Look here. They’re stamped with the size and where they were distributed.’ Alan looked over her shoulder. ‘Wylfa Power Station. They’re possibly local.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Alan said.

  ‘Why not?’ Kim asked.

  ‘There are so many subcontractors working on the new site. They’re from all over the country,’ Alan said. ‘Let’s see what forensics come up with. We might get lucky.’ He checked his watch and walked towards the car. ‘We need to take a look at our other victim before the rain destroys everything. Thanks, Barry, and say thanks to the crew.’

  ‘No problem. We’ll see the bodies are put into the van.’

  Alan ran back to the BMW and climbed in. Kim was a few seconds behind him. He switched the heater onto full blast to clear the windscreen and smiled. Kim blew on her hands.

  ‘Who called this one in?’ Alan asked. He pulled out onto the winding road which led to Porth Dafarch. It was a five-minute drive.

  ‘A dog walker,’ Kim said. ‘Uniform were there quickly and confirmed it’s suspicious.’

  They were quiet as they drove around the Cliff Bends. The sea was creating a vista that was impossible to ignore. Seaweed and debris littered the road on the lower stretches. As they approached Porth Dafarch, he pulled over onto a grass verge. He could see a white forensic tent about two-hundred yards across a hilly field. It was bending beneath the wind. Rock outcrops dotted the field covered in yellow mosses and spikey gorse. Sheep grazed lethargically, oblivious to the wind. Life on the range carried on as normal. Two police cars were parked further down a steep hill, close to the beach and there was a people carrier parked on the opposite slope near a public toilet block, a CSI van next to it. They climbed out of the BMW and walked towards a stone stile. Alan climbed over and waited for Kim on the other side, helping her down. She managed it with far more grace than he had. His joints were beginning to ache in symphony with each other. The right knee was painful if he walked more than a few yards but he refused to cause a fuss by going to a doctor. They walked into the wind towards the tent. They could hear the waves crashing into the cliffs just a few hundred yards further on and foamy spume floated on the wind. It was all part of living on a rock in the Irish Sea. The smell of the sea was powerful and made him feel like he belonged there. He couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. They were greeted by a uniformed officer and ducked into the tent. The odour of the dead engulfed them.