The Anglesey Murders Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  ‘Yes. What do you want?’

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Alan Williams, this is Detective Sergeant Davies. Can we speak to Trevor Young?’

  ‘No. He’s at work.’

  ‘Is his mother here?’ Alan asked.

  ‘His mother is three-sheets to the wind,’ the carer said. Alan frowned, confused as the what that meant. ‘She has dementia. Advanced dementia. She doesn’t know who Trevor is, most of the time. What is this about?’

  ‘No need to worry about it,’ Alan said. ‘We’re just trying to talk to everyone who works in a security role on the island. He still works at Road King, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. He’s been there since it opened. I’ll tell him you called.’

  The door slammed closed and Alan sighed. He looked at Kim and shrugged. They walked away from number fifty-five to his BMW. She coughed and wiped her mouth with a tissue.

  ‘We’re going to the truck stop, aren’t we?’ she said. Alan shook his head.

  ‘We’re not going anywhere,’ he said. ‘Get in your car and go home. I need you on your game tomorrow. Get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.’ She tried to protest but he refused to listen. ‘Go home and that’s an order.’

  ‘Okay, okay. I’ll tell uniform to follow you there.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. It’s a busy place. I just want to look into his eyes. I’ll call you later. Get some sleep.’

  CHAPTER 72

  Kim called at the supermarket and picked up some paracetamol, wine, and a cottage pie. She had veg in the cupboard although cooking wasn’t top of mind. It had been a long week and her cold had wiped her out. Her reflection in the mirror looked ten years older than it should do. She was probably rundown by the long hours she’d been working. The case had taken a toll on her. Her eyes were sore, her throat was sore, and her head was aching. Alan was right, she looked like shit. Her bed was calling to her, telling her to climb in and sleep, like a siren calling a ship onto the rocks. She knew if she closed her eyes, she wouldn’t wake up until the following day.

  When she pulled up outside her terraced house, the windows seemed darker. The sun was fading quickly, casting shadows from the trees. A movement in the downstairs window caught her eye but when she focused on it, the shadows shifted as the boughs of the trees swayed on the breeze. The twigs curled and uncurled like skeletal hands waving a warning. A shiver ran down her spine and she felt uneasy. It was her cold giving her the shivers, what else could it be?

  Kim turned the engine off and opened the door. A cold breeze blew through her clothes, touching her skin with icy fingers. She grabbed her handbag and the shopping and walked to the front door. The houses either side were empty, holiday homes rented out through the summer. She welcomed the tourists when they came, and she welcomed the peace and silence when they went home. She craved the proximity of other humans in the dead of night. It was during the long dark hours that her fear of the dark came to fore. She’d been scared of the dark since being a child but had hidden it well as an adult. It was different when there were tourists next door. She felt safer despite there being a brick wall between them. Knowing someone was close by was a comfort. Sleeping alone had its downsides, especially if she woke up in the middle of the night when her mind was racing. Every creak and crack was an approaching predator or worse still, a ghost or phantom or zombie. The fear was completely irrational yet it was a fear and it was real. She was a seasoned detective in the daylight hours, a five-year-old girl at the dead of night.

  The door opened and she closed it behind her, dumping her handbag on the stairs. She carried the shopping into the kitchen and plonked it on the worktop. It was dark and gloomy. She switched on the lights and felt a chill. The central heating was on a timer but she’d narrowed the hours of operation to save money. She opened the boiler cupboard. Something sprang towards her and she jumped back. Her mop fell out and landed on her feet, making her gasp. She muttered beneath her breath, cursing herself for being such a wimp. Her heart was beating faster than it should. She couldn’t understand her anxiety. Was it working on the Anglesey murders or the copycat killer, or something else? She flicked on the boiler and turned up the temperature. It came on with a whoosh. She heard a bump upstairs and looked at the ceiling as if her eyes could penetrate it. It was silent again. There was nothing but the hum of the boiler.

  Kim emptied her shopping bag and opened the wine. It was merlot tonight. She poured a large glass and sipped it. It was nice but she could barely taste it because her nose was blocked. She filled up the kettle and switched it on. She was going to take a hot lemon drink and a glass of wine to the bathroom, shower and then crash on the bed and watch a movie for as long as her eyes would stay open. The kettle boiled and she ripped open a sachet of lemon powder and added it to a cup, pouring hot water onto it. It would be too hot to sip for a long time. She put her cottage pie in the fridge, resigned to not eating tonight. Food was not the priority. Sleep was.

  She reached the bottom of the stairs and switched on the light. Nothing happened. The bulb remained off. She swore and tried the switch again. Nothing. Upstairs was in darkness. Kim swigged her wine and stormed up the stairs. Her pulse was racing as she climbed into the darkness. She didn’t like it one bit. As she reached the landing her foot caught the top step and she tripped, trying hard not to spill her drinks. She lost her footing for a moment and only maintained her balance when her shoulder hit the bedroom doorframe.

  Kim used her elbow to switch on the bedroom light. She was going to step in when the urge to pee interrupted proceedings. The bathroom was to her left. She stepped inside and put the light on, putting her drinks down on the side of the bath. A smear on the mirror caught her attention and a sour smell tainted the air. She couldn’t wait—pulled her pants and knickers down and sat on the loo. The seat felt warm. Too warm. Much warmer than it should have been in an empty house. The smell was excrement. Someone had taken a dump on her toilet, recently. Very recently.

  There was someone in her house. She reached for her trouser pocket and felt for her mobile. It wasn’t there. She racked her brains but didn’t recall taking it from the cradle in the car. Adrenalin coursed through her veins and she prayed for her pee to stop. She listened intently but couldn’t hear anything. Was this just a case of her nerves on edge because she didn’t feel well? Her nerves didn’t warm the toilet seat or smell of shit. Burglars did that. She wiped herself and pulled up her clothes, moving slowly and listening, her senses on overdrive. A creaking floorboard made her freeze. She held her breath, frightened to let it out. The bathroom door was wide open. She could lock it and wait it out, hoping the burglar would flee in panic but something told her he wouldn’t. The window wasn’t wide enough to escape through and she would be trapped. Her sense of dread was immense. She felt sick. Her mind raced, looking for a plan.

  She reached over the bath and switched on the shower. It was four big steps to the top of the stairs and then she could bolt for the front door. She took a breath and closed her eyes. One, two, three, she counted in her mind and then she ran. She reached the top steps and cleared three without thinking, instinct driving her on. She was halfway down, then her heart stopped in her chest. Her mouth opened wide—a scream lodged inside. A man was standing at the bottom of the stairs, smiling. The smile was that of a mad man. It was Trevor Young. He was holding a large hunting knife in his right hand. She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to run back up the stairs. The sound of his footsteps behind her struck terror into her brain. She screamed although no one could hear her. He was only three steps behind her.

  CHAPTER 73

  Alan pulled into the car park at the truck stop. Across the road, a huge Premier Inn had just opened. The surrounding fields were full of sheep grazing and dotted with ancient standing stones. The truck park itself had about forty trucks on it. The barriers were manned by security guards. Two of them were chatting near the entrance. Alan approached them and they eyed him suspiciously. He flashed his warrant card and
they relaxed.

  ‘I’m looking for Trevor Young,’ Alan said. The men looked at each other. A silent communication passed between them.

  ‘He swapped his shift today,’ one of them said.

  ‘When is he back in?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask Rosie. She’s the gaffer.’

  ‘Rosie Lyons?’ Alan asked. ‘Is she still here?’

  ‘Yep. She’s the boss.’

  ‘Where can I find her?’

  ‘She’ll be inside running the show. If not, she’ll be in the office. Ask for her at the counter.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Alan said. He was tempted to ask about Young. But he had no grounds to ask and he didn’t want to spark off speculation among his colleagues. That wasn’t fair. The fact his father was a bad man didn’t mean he was. He walked inside the cavernous café. There was a pool table near the door. Two truck drivers were playing and drinking pints of beer. There were thirty or so diners and the place still looked empty. He approached the counter and spotted Rosie. He hadn’t seen her for a while but she looked the same—but older. Everyone looked older nowadays, he thought. She spotted him and her face lit up with a smile. ‘Hello, stranger,’ Alan said.

  ‘Hello, Alan,’ Rosie said. She came around the counter to speak to him. They hugged briefly and she kissed him on the cheek. ‘How many years has it been?’

  ‘Too many.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you in here before,’ she said. ‘Is this business or pleasure?’

  ‘Business. I’m looking for Trevor Young.’ He was purposely vague.

  ‘He swapped his shift. He’s been struggling lately with his mum being so poorly.’

  ‘When is he back at work?’

  ‘Is he in trouble?’

  ‘No. I just want to talk to him.’

  ‘Monday,’ Rosie said. ‘He’s got some holidays to take so I told him to take them. He’s got a new woman so I’m being nice. Do you want a coffee or something?’

  ‘I’ll have a tea,’ Alan said.

  ‘Sit down over there,’ she said, pointing to a quiet area. Alan went to the window and looked out. Rosie came over and put two cups on the table. ‘So, what’s the gossip?’ she said, smiling. She had an infectious smile.

  ‘Gossip? Some things never change, Rosie.’ He laughed.

  ‘You can’t beat a good jangle,’ she said.

  ‘You said Trevor has a new woman,’ Alan said.

  ‘Yes. Her name is Kim something or other. He’s been prattling on about her all week.’ She put her hand over her mouth and whispered. ‘I can’t remember the last time he mentioned a woman. I think he’s a virgin,’ she chuckled. ‘I suspected he didn’t like women for a while but then he asked me out, the cheeky bugger.’

  ‘I bet you were in there like a shot, not many virgins around here.’

  ‘I’m not that desperate, yet, cheeky bugger!’

  ‘Seriously though, I bet that was awkward,’ Alan said. The name Kim was echoing around his head. ‘What’s he like, between you and me?’

  ‘Odd,’ she said. ‘Very odd indeed. He’s polite enough and very reliable, just odd.’

  ‘Odd how?’

  ‘I thought he wasn’t in trouble,’ Rosie said. ‘Are you telling me fibs?’

  ‘No. He’s not in trouble. His name came up in something we’re investigating. I just need to chat to him. It’s nothing serious.’

  ‘Excuse me, Rosie,’ a waitress said, nervously.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Chef says if he doesn’t get a break soon, he’s going to die of exhaustion.’

  ‘Tell chef to stop being dramatic. I’ll get him covered in a minute.’ She turned back to Alan. ‘Sorry. I’ll have to get back, lovely to see you again. Call in and we’ll have a catchup.’

  ‘That would be great,’ Alan said. He stood up and headed for the door. Alan felt anxious. He didn’t know why. He dialled Kim’s number but she didn’t answer. She might be in the bath or asleep. Alan couldn’t accept either explanation. Trevor Young had been talking about a woman called Kim. It didn’t sit right. He got into the BMW and head towards town.

  CHAPTER 74

  Kim cleared the top of the stairs and sprinted for the bathroom. Young was seconds behind. She ran through the door and slammed it closed behind her, trying to lock it. Young barged the door with his shoulder and it opened six inches. The knife hand came around the door, slashing and stabbing at thin air. She screamed and tried to shut the door on his wrist, but he was too strong. She felt the pressure lift for a second and then he barged the door again. This time, it opened further. The knife was coming dangerously close to cutting her. She looked around for inspiration. He pushed the door hard and knocked her backwards. She staggered and fell into the bath, cracking her skull on the tiles. Blood flowed and lights exploded in her mind. The shower was still running, making everything slippery. She couldn’t get out. He was on her in a flash. The knife sliced the top of her right arm; burning pain seared her brain. Blood ran in the water towards the plughole. He stabbed again, this time the tip pierced her stomach above her hip. The pain was intense and she squealed. His weight crushing down on her was sapping her strength. She would die here, if she did nothing. Her hand grasped at nothing, desperate to find something to use as a weapon. She found her cup and she flung the hot lemon into his face. He cried out as the liquid scalded his face and he fell backwards, banging the back of his head on the toilet cistern. Blood trickled down the porcelain.

  Kim struggled out of the bath, arms and legs flailing wildly. She could hardly catch her breath. Young was stunned. He was on his back on the floor. His eyes were closed. Kim grabbed the wine glass and threw it at him. It caught him under the eye, causing a gash. He didn’t move. Kim looked for a second and ran for the door. She looked back. His eyes blinked open and focused on her. He smiled like a lunatic and jumped to his feet. Kim was at the top of the stairs when she heard him behind her. He roared in frustration. She used the handrails to support her as she sprinted down the stairs, taking them two at a time. The front door was in sight. Freedom was just a few yards away. She could outrun him and reach the street. Young stopped at the top of the stairs and grabbed the blade end of the knife. He threw it hard. It spun through the air and hit Kim between the shoulder blades. The blade penetrated deep into the muscle, between her ribs, and punctured her left lung. It felt like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer. Her knees buckled and she collapsed in a bloody heap against the front door. She reached behind her and tugged at the blade, pulling it from the wound. White hot pain zipped through her nervous system like lightening through a conductor. She felt blood flowing down her back.

  Young was on her like an animal, punching, kicking, and biting. He scratched her cheek with his nails. She felt his teeth on her neck. They pierced the skin and ruptured muscle. Kim screamed and pulled away, but he was frenzied and he was strong. He grabbed her hair and smashed her head against the door. There was a dull thud and she felt her brain bouncing off the inside of her skull. The pain was blinding. She screamed for help as he cracked her skull on the floor tiles. A deep gash opened up and blood ran into her eyes. He pulled her head up once more, higher this time. This time would crush her skull for sure. She twisted but couldn’t break free. He bit her ear and she could feel the gristle cracking. She lashed out and stuck the knife into his throat, under the chin. His eyes widened in shock. His muscles failed and he toppled forward, his own weight forcing the blade deeper, through his tongue and up into his brain. His body went limp and his eyes dulled. He stared at her accusingly. Kim felt her blood leaking from her wounds. She was weak. Her strength was completely sapped. She felt her grip on the knife loosen. Her eyes were heavy. She tried to move him but she couldn’t. Darkness descended and she lost consciousness.

  CHAPTER 75

  Jamie Hollins was brought from his cell into an interview room. Director of Investigations Harry Wallace from the National Crime Agency was sitting across the table. He was in deep conversation with anothe
r suit. Jamie nodded hello to his brief, an organised crime specialist called Ralph Gladstone. Gladstone’s client list read like a who’s who of regional gangsters. He sat down and shook hands with him.

  ‘Who is this?’ Jamie asked, gesturing to the suit.

  ‘Rupert Biggins from the Home Office,’ the man said. He looked down his nose at Jamie.

  ‘I want to make it clear, we’re not here to make deals or break any rules,’ Wallace said. ‘Anything you tell us today, will be considered and we will inform the judge you were cooperative at sentencing.’

  ‘You can stick consideration right up your ring-piece, Mr Wallace,’ Jamie said. ‘What I’m about to tell you will blow your head off and get you promoted so we either do this or we don’t.’ The sinews in his thick neck twitched like wire beneath the skin. ‘You can verify anything I say and if I’m lying, lock me up and throw away the key. If it’s the truth, I walk away from here and you’ll never hear from me again.’

  Wallace looked at Biggins. Biggins nodded.

  ‘You’ve got a major problem with our Albanian friends,’ Jamie said. ‘Agon Domi is the main man.’

  ‘We know that,’ Wallace said, deflated.

  ‘I should hope you do,’ Jamie said. ‘But do you know he’s been paying a senior police officer a percentage of their take for over ten years?’

  Wallace and Biggins looked on stony-faced. ‘I assume you have a name or is this a fishing trip?’ Wallace said.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Kensington, head of North Wales Drug Squad,’ Jamie said. ‘He was part of the north west’s Regional Organised Crime Unit and a senior officer for Titan. He’s been protecting them for a cut of their profits. I can give you bank account details, telephone numbers, dates, times, and associates.’