by Conrad Jones
‘How have you acquired this information?’ Biggins asked.
‘Because I like to know what’s going on around me and make sure that I know everything about my enemies, Mr Biggins. I do my homework. You should do yours. Mr Gladstone has a memory stick in his possession which contains everything I have on DCI Kensington. Obviously, I have copies which I can leak to the press if at any time you try to shaft me. Are we clear?’
‘Let’s see what you have,’ Wallace said.
Ralph Gladstone reached into his pocket and handed over a memory stick. Wallace took it and opened the door. He was gone for ten minutes before he returned. He closed the door and sat down.
‘It appears to be genuine,’ he said.
‘It is genuine,’ Jamie said. ‘Now, about the Albanians. Agon Domi has an industrial unit in Irlam, Manchester. You will find him and most of his associates there. They store automatic weapons and grenades in a void beneath the fridge in the kitchen. Their drugs are stored in a wall-space behind a shelving unit next to a desk he uses for paperwork. Their money is in a safe behind the desk. Only Agon has the code.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘Reconnaissance. I do my reconnaissance. I pay people to give me information. Here’s a beauty for you,’ Jamie said, smiling. ‘Agon Domi took Jarvis and McGowan to Pinter’s farm, tortured them, and chucked them in the sea. And he killed Paul Critchley.’
‘What?’
‘You’ll find text messages from him to this number on his phone records,’ Jamie said, writing the number down. ‘Check the number. It was one of the phones Critchley used.’ Jamie sat back in his seat. ‘I’m not a detective but I would say whoever buried your undercover officer’s gear where you found it, also buried Critchley, wouldn’t you?’
‘It’s likely,’ Wallace agreed.
‘Mr Gladstone told me you recovered DNA from cigarette butts buried with their belongings,’ Jamie said. Wallace shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Okay. You didn’t know that, did you?’ Wallace shook his head. ‘It doesn’t match anyone in the system because they’re not in it. Kensington had their details removed. Test Agon and his cronies, and you’ll put them at the scene.’
‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Positive. I’m giving you the proof. On top of that, I’m prepared to state Agon Domi told me in confidence that he did those officers.’
‘And you’d testify to that?’
‘Not in open court but if my identity is hidden, yes.’
‘Why are you giving him up?’ Wallace asked.
‘Simple, I don’t like the bastard.’ Jamie leaned forward. ‘There’s a workshop there. Underneath a workbench near the window is a hatch which leads to the basement. Agon has a thing about dissolving people in barrels of acid. If you’re really lucky, there might be a couple of his latest victims in there. Lloyd Jones and Ron Took are still missing. They’re probably still alive because Lloyd owes him money. If they are, they’ll be in that basement. I guarantee it.’
‘That will take a few hours to organise,’ Wallace said. ‘I’ll need an address and an idea of the opposition we’ll encounter.’
‘No problem,’ Jamie said. ‘Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.’
CHAPTER 76
SIX WEEKS LATER
Alan parked on the driveway and turned off the engine. The dogs were going ballistic against the glass. Kim walked into the living room and waved through the window. She had an apron on, which made him laugh. Her attempts at cooking tea had been apocalyptic. She cooked lamb chops on one side, leaving the other side raw and bloody and her beef curry was like spicy charcoal. He had been polite and tried it, then ordered a takeaway. She was trying because she was bored. Being on sick leave was driving her insane. He walked to the front door and she met him in the hallway and wrapped her arms around him. She kissed him on the lips and it felt nice. More than nice, it felt right. It felt like something he’d missed for a long time and he glowed inside. Nearly losing her had been the catalyst to tell her how he felt about her. He loved her, simple as that.
‘Have you had a good day at the office?’ Kim asked. He laughed and squeezed her. ‘Ow!’ she cried. He let her go quickly. ‘I’ve been stabbed you, clumsy bugger.’
‘Sorry, I forgot,’ Alan said grimacing.
‘You forgot I was stabbed?’
‘No. I forgot it still hurts.’
‘Don’t forget again,’ she said, kissing him.
‘Will you two get a room,’ Dan said, coming out of his room.
‘I have got a room,’ Alan said. ‘It’s next to the bathroom but I actually pay for mine. It’s called a mortgage. You should get one.’
‘I’ve just got one, actually,’ Dan said. He hugged his dad and walked into the kitchen.
‘Did he just say he’s got a mortgage?’ Alan asked Kim.
‘Yes. He told me earlier,’ she said.
‘Bloody hell,’ Alan said. ‘Where is he going?’
‘Go and ask him.’
Alan walked into the kitchen. Kim followed him and poured two glasses of red wine. His consumption of whisky had stopped when Kim came out of hospital. He had done it himself without any prompting from her and he felt better for it. She said staying at his house was temporary so Alan could look after her while she recovered but she was still there.
‘Where are you going to?’ Alan asked.
‘I’ve bought a house on Holbern Road,’ Dan said. ‘It’s a five-bedroom at the top of the street.’
‘One of the old guest houses?’ Alan said.
‘Yes. When Jesus was still alive.’
‘Five bedrooms. At least you can put your brothers up when they fall out with their girlfriends,’ Alan said. ‘Kris will be made up.’
‘I’m hoping to be there in a month or so. You can help me paint it, if you like.’
‘I’m busy that day,’ Alan said.
‘Funny,’ Dan said. He emptied a tin of beans onto a plate and stuck it into the microwave. ‘I heard from Lee Punk today,’ he said.
‘Oh really. How is he coping?’ Alan asked, sipping his wine. He felt a twinge of guilt, which was odd. Locking up your son’s friends wasn’t pleasant.
‘Okay. He said his missus has been to see him and she’s said she’s not leaving him, so he was buzzing. And he got to see the kids.’
‘What has his solicitor said?’
‘He’s looking at five years, probably be out in two. Gareth is looking at twelve depending on the DTO. How does that work, Dad?’
‘They estimate how much money was made from crime and ask for it back. If they can’t or won’t pay, they convert it into jailtime and add it to their sentence. Trouble is, there’s no parole on DTO time.’
‘We won’t see him anytime soon,’ Dan said. His beans dinged and he took them out. ‘Lee said Jamie Hollins is looking at twenty-years. Is that right?’
‘I haven’t heard anything about Operation Thor since the SIO was arrested.’
‘Has Kensington been charged yet?’ Kim asked.
‘They’ve charged him with everything they can think of and some more. His arrest has thrown every conviction he’s ever been involved in, into question. There will be appeals left, right, and centre going back decades.’ Alan sipped the wine again. ‘It brings the entire operation into question. I’ll be surprised if everyone arrested in Thor isn’t released on appeal.’
‘Even Jamie Hollins?’ Dan asked.
‘They’ve seized his properties and gone through the motions, but we’ll have to wait and see. Apparently, it was his information which led to GMP arresting the Albanian mob for killing the UCs and recovering Lloyd Jones and Ron Took. Who knows what will happen?’ Kim looked at him and shook her head. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Hollins had been very smart. Very smart indeed. ‘What is that smell?’ Alan asked. ‘Something is burning.’
‘Oh shit,’ Kim said. She opened the oven and a cloud of black smoke spiralled skywards. Alan and Dan laughed. She too
k out a charred lump of smoking substance. ‘Steak and kidney pie, anyone.’
‘Where’s the takeaway menu?’ Alan said.
Epilogue
Holly Jones was watching the news and eating scrambled eggs and bacon. The item was covering the murder of a couple in Cambodia. Glen Price, a British man and his Thai girlfriend were found stabbed to death in a beach hut in Sihanoukville—a beach resort in the south. According to the reporter, Price had left the country with his long-term girlfriend, Stephanie Mortimer, but she’d been homesick and left him after a few months. They played an interview with Stephanie as the one who got away. She came over as a nice lady, very smart. They were pitching the story as a mystery as Price had been wanted by the police for the murder of his wife and a colleague and he’d allegedly stolen money from an Albanian organised crime gang. She thought it sounded like he was a sleaze bag who got what was coming to him. Everything comes out in the wash, it always does. She took another forkful of breakfast and chewed it, washing it down with a mouthful of coffee. Her phone rang and the screen showed a withheld number.
‘Hello,’ she answered.
‘Holly. It’s Jamie.’
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Okay. I’ve been watching your Facebook to see if you post anything. I thought you might get a mobile smuggled inside.’
‘I’m not in jail Holly but I can’t tell you where I am because you’re a grass.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You’re an informer.’
‘Don’t be stupid. You know me.’
‘I thought I did.’
‘I don’t know why you’re saying that.’
‘Because I told you I was storing gear with Owen Collins at his garage.’
‘So what? You told me lots of stuff.’
‘But I wasn’t storing gear there. It was a test, you see?’
‘No.’
‘I needed to know who was leaking information to them. The Dibble raided the place and searched high and low, but they didn’t find anything because there was nothing there. There never was.’
‘I don’t know what you mean, Jamie.’
‘You were the only one who knew. You told the police. You’re a plant.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You know what happens to a grass, Holly.’
‘I’m going to hang up now and if you call me again, I’ll call the police.’
‘Call them,’ Jamie said. ‘I’ve got away with murder before, I’ll do it again. See you soon, Holly.’
THE END
Author notes
In the early 80s, Alan John Williams started dating my sister, Kath. They were married and brought up 3 sons, Kris, Dan and Jack, who have grown into men, that I’m proud to know. Alan quickly became a close friend to myself and my brother Tim and was more like a brother than an in-law. Alan died in 2018 and we all miss him. Writing, The Anglesey Murders is my way of keeping him around for a while. It makes me feel closer to his memory. I’ve kept his character as close to his as I can and I think he would smile if he read it.
We’ve lost some good friends along the way. Tony Doutch is one of them. He was my best friend as a teenager and he’s often in my memories. Reading through the edits, he’s weaved into the story without me realising it. That happens sometimes when you’re in a creative bubble. Fiction and reality merge into the pages. I miss Tony so it’s okay he’s in there.
Any likeness to anyone else is purely coincidence.
ANGLESEY MURDERS
Book 2
A Visit from the Devil
CONRAD JONES
Copyright © 2019 Conrad jones
All rights reserved.
ISBN:9781697300260
CHAPTER 1
The bungalow was in darkness apart from the dull glow of the table lamp she had in her living room. Waste not want not. Electricity costs money, her husband Norris used to say. ’You’re burning pound notes leaving lights on. Mabel Jones had lived there for over sixty-years. Her memories were ingrained into the bricks and mortar of the walls. The bungalow and her, had grown old and fallen into disrepair together. Life had gone by in a flurry of highs and lows, dragging her along through the turmoil. She gave birth to her children in that bungalow but lost both of them to meningitis. Their deaths were a hammer blow, from which she never recovered. Their loss meant life became pointless; her heart was broken. Norris was her rock and he tried to support her through the pain, but it was impossible. They tried to have another child, but she couldn’t carry one full term and after a series of miscarriages, they gave up. Life went on until Norris was diagnosed with prostate cancer; it was a short and brutal battle, which he lost. Norris died and the years seemed to go by in a flash, until one day, she realised she’d grown into her nineties alone.
She knew she wasn’t long for this world and she’d outlived her expectations by twenty-years or more. Her dwindling lust for life had left her completely when Norris died. It had been eighteen years since, yet she was still there, plodding on through the mundane years. She was almost disappointed when she woke in the morning. Her bones ached and she was weary of life. Every day blurred into the next; each a monotonous replay of the day before. Days became weeks; weeks became months; months became years. Even eating became a chore.
The only human contact she had was with the meals-on-wheels lady and the paperboy. They chatted and were friendly enough, but they couldn’t get away fast enough, barely exchanging more than a couple of sentences with her before making excuses to leave. Still, she enjoyed their brief encounters and looked forward to seeing a friendly face at the door. Life was lonely for Mabel. All her family and friends were dead. There was no one to visit her, no one to call her on the phone and sadly, no one would attend her funeral. She was completely alone.
Mabel folded the newspaper and checked her crossword puzzle. It was correct, even if some of the spellings might be askew. No one would know if she made them fit. She put the paper in the kitchen before sitting in her armchair. Mabel switched the television over. She wanted to watch the new Line of Duty; something which had brought her much joy. The program started and she turned up the volume; her hearing wasn’t the best anymore, but she had no close neighbours to bother. She could set it as loud as she liked. The television was her only pleasure, despite her hearing. It was because her hearing was poor that she didn’t hear the sound of glass smashing in the kitchen. The intruder cracked a panel in the back door and reached inside to unlock it. He knew she wouldn’t hear him coming. She always watched the television with her back to the kitchen door. He could hear the television blaring as he opened the door, stepped inside, and put his bag onto the kitchen table. Light from the living room flickered and danced on the ceiling, reflecting from the television screen. He unzipped the bag and took out the dagger. The handle was wrapped in hide, hewn from a goat; its blade was dull and pitted by age. He closed his eyes and muttered a prayer. Mabel didn’t hear his voice mumbling in the kitchen, nor did she hear him tiptoeing into the living room and sneaking up behind her chair, although she sensed a sudden chill in the air. She pulled her cardigan closed and fastened the buttons. A shiver ran down her spine and the stench of decay filled her nostrils. She was about to turn around when the first blow of the dagger struck. Confused and frightened as to why someone would do such a terrible thing, it didn’t take long for the darkness to surround her and claim her for its own.
CHAPTER 2
Rob Evans brushed another layer of soil from the skull. The earth was damp, and the air was unwholesome. It was like breathing in dirt. The bone was yellowed and cracked. There was a hole in the skull; probably the cause of death although he couldn’t be sure yet. It was too early to tell. He was part of a team excavating the burial chamber at Bryn Celli; a passaged tomb with a mysterious pillar in the centre of the chamber which was carved with serpent-li
ke designs. No one was sure why the stone was there, who put it there, or why the serpents had been carved into it. Rob had heard several stories as to who had built the chamber five thousand years ago and why they went to the lengths of placing the pillar there, but none of them added up. Some were more believable than others and some were pure nonsense. The truth was, the secrets had been passed from generation to generation, corrupted by time before being forgotten completely. No one knew the real meaning of the carvings, but he could make an educated guess. He’d seen serpent carvings all over the world and all but a few represented evil. Even the Old Testament recorded serpents as vessels for evil. The serpent in the Garden of Eden was sent to tempt Eve and signified something much eviler than just being a snake; the serpent carvings generally represented the Devil.
‘Rob,’ Claire Hart shouted him. Her voice sounded a little panicked. ‘Can you come here a minute, please?’
‘Hold on a second,’ Rob said, trying to stand up. His back was stiff from bending down and his knee pads weren’t preventing the ache which spread from his thighs down to his ankles. There were times when he thought he was too old to be at the coalface of archaeology. His joints would be less painful behind a desk, reading studies and agreeing or disagreeing with them but the truth was, he loved the thrill of uncovering the past. What he didn’t love were the university students they gave him to help dig. Students like Claire Hart. They would call him over every thirty seconds, disturbing his work and putting unnecessary pressure on his spine. ‘What’s the problem?’ he called down the passage. ‘This time,’ he muttered beneath his breath.
‘I’ve found some footwear.’
