The Anglesey Murders Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  Alan smiled and waved goodbye. ‘Hello,’ he answered the call.

  ‘Alan, it’s Bob here.’ Bob Dewhurst was the Inspector in the Holyhead uniform division, which now consisted of four officers. Caernarfon was the headquarters, where the main body of officers were stationed.

  ‘Hello, Bob. Are you calling about a body found at Bryn Celli?’

  ‘You’ve heard already?’

  ‘Pamela Stone just had a call to attend.’

  ‘I see. How is it going there?’

  ‘We’re looking for a raving lunatic who thinks he’s a vampire.’

  ‘A vampire in Lanfair.p.g. That’ll bring the tourists in.’

  ‘Joking apart. He’s a nutcase. We need to lock this one up today.’

  ‘Oh dear. That bad?’

  ‘Yep. That bad. The good news is the killer has left DNA all over the body. We won’t have any issue identifying him when we get a suspect.’ Kim walked in, followed quickly by Gwyn and two uniformed officers. She looked concerned. ‘I’ll call you back in a few minutes, Bob,’ Alan said, hanging up. ‘What are you so excited about?’

  ‘You were right about the newspaper. The paperboy is a seventeen-year-old called Mathew Hudson. He turned up for work this morning and completed his round.’

  ‘Except, he missed out Mabel Jones, which is a coincidence we can’t ignore,’ Alan said. ‘Have you got an address?’

  ‘Yes. He lives up the road at forty-four. I’ve called for back-up.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And another thing. He buys vampire comics.’

  ‘Does he now? That’s interesting. Good. Let’s go and talk to him, shall we?’

  ***

  Janet Hudson opened the front door and was surprised to see police officers in her garden. Some of them were heading down the path to the backyard.

  ‘Mrs Hudson?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Janet was suddenly frightened. ‘What is this about?’

  ‘Is Mathew at home?’ Alan asked. ‘We need a chat with him.’

  ‘Mathew?’ she asked, confused. ‘Why do you want to speak to Mathew?’

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Kim said, trying to calm her nerves. ‘We just need a chat.’

  ‘I know a lot of police officers. I’m a nurse at Bangor A&E,’ Janet said, shaking her head. ‘The police don’t come knocking on the door asking to talk to a teenager unless he’s done something wrong. What has he done?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Alan said. ‘We want to talk to him about his paper round. That’s all. There’s been an incident further down the road. We think Mathew delivers there and might have seen something.’

  ‘Which house?’

  ‘Number three.’

  ‘Old Mabel’s house?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘She’s been murdered,’ Kim said.

  ‘Oh, my goodness me,’ Janet said. ‘Poor Mabel.’

  ‘You didn’t answer my question. Is Mathew home?’ Alan interrupted. ‘We really do need to speak to him.’

  ‘No,’ Janet said. ‘I was on a nightshift last night and his bike was gone when I got home. He must be out somewhere.’

  ‘Where does he store his bike?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Against the back wall. We have a shed, but he never uses it, lazy bugger he is, sometimes,’ Janet said, trying to smile.

  ‘Ask your men to check the shed, please, Gwyn,’ Kim said. Gwyn nodded and headed for the snicket between the houses. She could hear him calling to the other officers.

  ‘Where is he likely to be?’ Alan pressed.

  ‘He goes out on his bike for hours on end. He could be anywhere.’

  ‘Think about it, Mrs Hudson. It’s important. Where do his friends live?’

  ‘He doesn’t really have any friends. None that he would go and visit.’

  ‘Where does he talk about when he’s been out riding on his bike?’

  ‘Nowhere really. I don’t ask him. He gets defensive if I ask him where he’s been. That’s teenagers for you.’

  ‘There must be somewhere special. What are his interests, where would he be? Think, Mrs Hudson.’

  Janet frowned and touched her bottom lip. Her fingers were shaking a little. A thought came to her. ‘He’s been researching some archaeological sites on the island for a history exam at college. But he hasn’t mentioned going to see them – he’s just been looking at them online, you know?’

  ‘Has he mentioned any burial chambers?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Yes. He was talking about Bryn Celli yesterday,’ Janet said. She saw the detective’s expression change for a fraction of a second. ‘Do you think he’s done something wrong?’

  ‘We don’t think anything at the moment. Until we speak to him, we’re just making enquiries.’

  ‘You’re lying to me. I can see it on your face. You think he’s done something to Mabel, don’t you?’ she asked, her voice cracked. ‘He’s a good boy. Please tell me Mathew hasn’t done anything to Mabel.’

  ‘I’ve told you, we don’t think anything yet, Mrs Hudson. Do you mind if we have a look around his bedroom?’ Alan asked. His expression was deadpan now. Janet sensed there was more to this than a few questions about a paper round. Her eyes darted from one officer to another. The corner of her right eye twitched nervously. ‘It would be a big help if we could.’

  ‘Don’t you need a warrant or something?’ Janet asked.

  ‘Not if you invite us in,’ Alan said. ‘But if you want me to go away and get a warrant, I’m happy to do that. We can be back in a few hours but then we’d have to arrest Mathew and interview him formally.’ Janet shook her head and bit her lip. There was pain in her eyes. ‘We don’t know if Mathew is in trouble or not, but we do need to find out one way or the other.’

  ‘Okay,’ Janet said. ‘Come in.’

  Gwyn returned from the back garden, slightly out of breath. ‘There’s a bike in the shed.’

  ‘Does he only have one bike?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Janet answered. ‘It’s dark red.’

  ‘The bike in the shed is dark red,’ Gwyn said.

  ‘I think we’d better check his room, don’t you?’

  CHAPTER 7

  Alan walked into the Hudson home. It was tidy and well kept. Air fresheners wafted the scent of pine around the hallway and stairs. Janet allowed Alan and Kim inside and then closed the door.

  ‘Just you two,’ she said. ‘I don’t want muddy boots trampling through the house. I’ve just hoovered. Mathew’s room is at the top of the stairs, first left but he’s not there. I grabbed some dirty washing earlier. He must have walked to wherever he is.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hudson,’ Kim said. ‘We’ll be quick, and we won’t make a mess.’

  ‘Good. And stop calling me Mrs Hudson. I haven’t felt like Mrs Hudson since Mathew’s father pissed off with the next-door neighbour. Mathew was only two. He doesn’t even remember his dad. Call me Janet.’

  ‘Okay, Janet.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what you think he’s done?’

  ‘Top of the stairs on the left, you said?’ Alan said, ignoring her question.

  ‘Yes. If there’re any dirty dishes up there, I’ll kill the messy bugger. I’m constantly on at him to bring his plates down; I’ve just got his dirty washing and thought I’ll check under the bed for dishes later. You know what it’s like?’ she said to Kim. Kim nodded that she did, although she didn’t. Alan was halfway up the stairs. ‘Do you want a tea or coffee?’

  ‘No. Thank you,’ Kim said. ‘We’ll be in and out in no time.’

  Alan opened the door and was met by the familiar odour of teenage boy. It was an unpleasant mixture of body odour, cheap aftershave, and pizza. The curtains were closed, and the light was off. He made his way across the room to the window and opened the curtains. Daylight illuminated the room. It was compact but tidy; Janet Hudson was a sharp housekeeper and strict single mum. The walls were covered in posters, not ba
nds or film stars, just vampires and satanic images. They weren’t horrific or violent; they were dark and beautifully drawn. Some of them were clearly comic covers and film promo, blown up to poster size. The Vampire Hunter; The Vampire Diaries; Interview with a Vampire were some he recognised. There was a recruitment poster for the Church of Satan, stating ‘Satan wants you’. Next to it was an image of the female goddess, Baphomet; written below it in calligraphy, Order of Nine Angles. It rang alarm bells in Alan’s mind, but he couldn’t place where he had read it before.

  ‘This all fits,’ Kim said.

  ‘It’s certainly more than an adolescent crush on the undead,’ Alan agreed.

  ‘I’m no psychiatrist but this is verging on obsessive. How far do you want to go?’

  ‘Don’t open any drawers or the wardrobe. We don’t want to blur any lines or compromise evidence. I’ve seen enough to know we need to bring him in and speak to him,’ Alan said, looking at the dressing table. A decorative imitation skull had a black candle on top of it. Melted wax had hardened in knobbly rivulets several inches thick. A pentangle was carved into the forehead. He leaned forward for a closer look. There was grey hair melted into the wax. The smell of burnt human hair drifted to him.

  ‘Look at this,’ he said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Grey hair burnt into the wax.’

  ‘Do you think it belonged to Mabel?’

  A murmur made him look around. Kim had heard it too. It was like a child giggling. She was looking into a canvas rucksack which had been left open on a chair.

  ‘There are bloodstains on the underside of this flap. It’s fresh,’ she said, looking at the source of the noise, suspiciously. There was a muffled sobbing sound coming from beneath it, like a kitten mewing. Then it changed back to an evil sniggering sound. Alan knelt next to the single bed and lifted the valance sheet. Kim knelt and lifted the other end. They peered into the darkness underneath it. Eyes peered back at them. ‘You must be Mathew,’ she said. The boy’s face was pale and drawn. His eyes were blank and staring. ‘Why don’t you come out here and talk to us?’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ Mathew said.

  ‘You can. We won’t hurt you.’

  ‘No. I really can’t come out there.’

  ‘Why not?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Because the sunlight will turn me to dust.’

  ***

  Alan left the room and went onto the landing. Janet Hudson was halfway up the stairs, listening anxiously.

  ‘Is he there?’ she asked. Her hand was over her mouth. ‘Little bugger, making me look like a liar. He never puts his bike away.’

  ‘He’s hiding under the bed,’ Alan said. ‘Perhaps you can convince him to come out.’

  ‘Mathew!’ she shouted, climbing the stairs. ‘Get from under the bed this minute. What the hell are you playing at?’

  ‘He thinks the sunlight will turn him to dust,’ Alan added.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Janet sighed. ‘He’s vampire mad. Vampire this, vampire that, vampire the chuffing other. He’s gone too far this time.’ She walked into the bedroom and peered under the bed. ‘Mathew. There are two detectives here and police officers are in my shed. I suggest you pull yourself together and get out here, right now, before I lose my temper.’

  ‘I can’t. I’ve turned.’

  ‘You’ll turn when I get my hands on you, silly bugger,’ Janet said, desperately trying not to shout in front of the detectives. ‘If you don’t come out here, I’ll move this bed and heaven help me, I’ll drag you out.’

  ‘Close the curtains,’ Mathew said, meekly.

  ‘Mathew. I won’t ask you again.’

  ‘Close the curtains and I’ll come out.’

  Alan walked to the window and closed the curtains. He nodded to Janet that she should try again.

  ‘The curtains are closed. Now, stop playing silly beggars and get out from under there. I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.’

  A shoe appeared first, then another, then a hand and arm, and then his head. He looked up sheepishly. Alan leaned over and offered his hand to pull him up. Mathew stood and blushed. He blinked and shielded his eyes.

  ‘There’s a gap in the curtains. The sunlight is hurting my eyes.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Janet snapped. Alan jerked the curtains open wide. Mathew looked horrified; as if he’d tried to kill him. Then disappointment crept into his eyes. ‘There you are. Now, I don’t want to hear any of that vampire rubbish in this house again. Am I making myself clear?’

  ‘Sit down, Mathew,’ Alan said. Mathew looked confused and sat on the bed.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Mathew asked. His eyes were dark at the centre. They seemed to pulsate.

  ‘We need to ask you about your paper round.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘You didn’t deliver a newspaper to Mabel Jones this morning.’ Mathew looked at his shoes. ‘Why was that?’

  ‘I did deliver her paper,’ Mathew said, calmly. ‘I always deliver her newspaper. Who said I didn’t?’

  ‘We didn’t find it,’ Alan said. He watched Mathew thinking. Let him think. If he’s lying, he’ll trip himself up.

  ‘Maybe she threw it out,’ Mathew said, looking up. His expression was challenging, almost aggressive. ‘Did you check her bins?’

  ‘No. Not yet but we will.’

  ‘It must be there somewhere. Maybe you’ve overlooked it.’

  ‘Maybe we have. What time did you deliver it?’

  ‘Around nine o’clock. Same time every day.’

  ‘The problem we have is that she couldn’t have thrown it out, Mathew, because she was murdered in the early hours of this morning, but I think you know that already.’ A thin smile touched Mathew’s lips. The corners twitched as he tried to mask his amusement. ‘Do you think it’s funny?’

  ‘Mathew!’ Janet said, shaking her head. ‘Don’t you dare laugh.’

  A smirk appeared on his face. Alan ignored his arrogance and pressed on.

  ‘There’s grey hair burnt into your candle here,’ Alan said, pointing to the skull. ‘Your mum doesn’t have grey hair. Whose is it?’ Mathew shrugged but didn’t answer. ‘And there’s blood on your rucksack. Where did that come from?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Mathew said. ‘Should you be searching my room without a warrant?’

  ‘Your mum allowed us to take a look around, so we don’t need a warrant.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ Mathew said, sarcastically. ‘That was a really smart move.’

  ‘Don’t you give me any lip, young man. You’re not too big for a clip around the earhole.’

  ‘Why did you think the sunlight would turn you to dust, Mathew?’ Alan asked. Mathew shrugged and smiled. His eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘Do you think you’re a vampire, Mathew?’

  ‘No. Of course, not.’ His eyes seemed glint with darkness. He smiled again. ‘Do you think I am?’

  CHAPTER 8

  She watched as the police swarmed through the village, knocking on doors, stopping vehicles to speak to the occupants. They were busy bees buzzing about trying to find the murderer. She’d seen it all before and she hoped to see it again, sometime soon. Detectives brought Mathew Hudson out of his home with a blanket over his head. It wasn’t to hide his identity; it was to calm his anxiety. His mother was next to him, holding his arm. The poor kid wouldn’t know what had hit him when they began questioning him. He was weak in the arm and in the head; so disappointing. She’d hoped he would avoid capture for much longer. There was more havoc to wreak. It wasn’t the time to take her eye off the ball. She’d told him to run and hide and wait for her to reach out to him. Hiding in his own bedroom wasn’t what she meant. The young fool.

  She was standing in the Pringle Mill café, watching them work. It was a raised position giving her a complete view of the street. Her coffee was cold now, but she finished it anyway. It tasted foul. She checked her watch and looked at her phone. The map showed the burial chamber at
Ty Mawr was five minutes away. There were eighty-nine prehistoric sites on the island, including burial chambers, standing stones, burial cairns, and a henge. She didn’t know which one to go to next; not that it mattered. The information she needed would come to her; it always did. She believed in the knowledge of the ancients who had built the sites, moving stones weighing tons without machinery. It was an impossible task, yet they did it with an unbelievable knowledge of astrology and geometry. How could they have known what they did? They had help, that’s how. Help, not from another planet but from another dimension. She could sense their strength, unlike the rest of society. Society was too distracted by their smartphones and televisions to sense anything. She despised society; the mundane society of careers, families, mortgages, and taxes before death. They didn’t live, they existed until death returned them back into ashes. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The mundane people did not know the significance of the stones and the chambers; only the enlightened had a clue. The stones were the key, pointers to where energy could be syphoned and used for what it was intended. The energy was evil. It was intended to control the weak and strike terror into their hearts. Mathew Hudson had felt its power, but he wasn’t strong enough to deal with the consequences. Every action has a reaction. The power had burnt out his mind and stunned him into inaction.

  She watched as the detectives drove by with Mathew and his mother in the back seat. It wasn’t a marked police car, so he hadn’t been arrested. It was much more likely they’d taken him in voluntarily. The blanket had been removed, the sunlight touched his skin and he hadn’t turned to dust. It must have been very confusing for him after all the promises she’d made. He turned his head and looked at her. Their eyes met for a moment. She felt his fear; he felt her power. The BMW drove past the mill and stopped at the junction to the slip road, which would take them onto the A55 and across the bridge to the mainland. She stood up and walked out of the café.

  The sound of crunching metal and breaking glass broke the silence. She looked towards the junction, at the source of the sound. A white van had pulled out and stalled and a blue Nissan had ploughed into the side of it. Both drivers were out of their vehicles, pointing fingers and shouting at each other. The BMW was blocked in. She saw the detective climbing out and approaching the drivers. He appeared to be calming the situation. The back door of the BMW opened and a woman exited the vehicle and got into the driver’s seat. She reversed away from the junction and parked at the side of the road. The driver’s side back door opened, and Mathew Hudson sprang from the car and sprinted towards a drystone wall, which separated the pavement from the fields. He vaulted the wall like an Olympic hurdler and was out of sight in a copse of trees before the police officers knew what was happening. His mother climbed out of the vehicle and collapsed in tears, shouting his name over and over. She smiled at the sight of her grief. Maybe he wasn’t as weak as she thought. The police officers ran to the wall, mobile phones in hand, panic in their faces. Mathew was gone and he knew the fields, the woods, and the trails that linked them. She climbed into her car and started the engine. A marked police car sped by, lights flashing, sirens blaring. They would try to find Mathew, but they would fail. She could feel it in her bones.