by Conrad Jones
‘Very,’ Joss said. ‘What do you think this is, a scene from Scarface? This is Anglesey not LA. You need to get a grip.’
‘You need to be careful,’ Igor warned.
‘Or what?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Hector rasped. He was becoming more irritated.
‘You need to calm down, mate,’ Joss chuckled. The Russians looked at each other confused. ‘You need to listen to me,’ Joss said. ‘You’re the buyers. I’m the seller and I’m not intimidated by you. The gear belongs to me,’ he said, pointing to himself. ‘And you need to remember that. There’s been a delay and I’ve apologised for that but don’t come to my island and start with the big bad gangster’s act. I won’t be bullied by you or anybody else. I’ll sell this shipment to whoever I want to and if you’re not careful, you’ll be leaving this island with nothing but fond memories.’ The men looked at each other, red-faced and frustrated. ‘You look pissed off. Please feel free to be as pissed off as you like because it isn’t going to change the facts. Someone tried to steal my shipment. The shipment I’m selling to you and by the look on your faces, you need this gear yesterday.’ The men remained silent. ‘Am I right?’ Igor nodded slowly.
‘We have made promises to our customers. You know how this works, Joss. We’re disappointed. Delays damage our reputation.’
‘Delays happen sometimes and as long as they’re not contrived, everything is fixable.’
‘What do you mean, contrived?’ Hector asked.
‘If the delay was planned by me, to rip you off somehow. If the delay was contrived so that we could cut your product to make more money. Then the delay would be unacceptable. This delay was not contrived, and I could not avoid it. There’s a leak somewhere, either in your operation or mine.’ The men looked offended. ‘It’s probably mine.’ They relaxed a little. ‘There’s a way you can take the shipment back to Manchester with you today.’
‘Today?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do we do that?’
‘Get on the phone and organise a driver you can trust and a vehicle transporter big enough the take two or more vehicles.’
‘What is this, a joke?’ Hector asked, scowling.
‘No joke. I’m going to sell you two vehicles and you’re going to buy them and take them somewhere you can dismantle them discreetly. It should take no more than half a day. I’ll give you detailed instructions on how to take them apart. You’ll have your shipment and no one but me knows where it is. Your journey back will be safe with no danger of another outfit hitting you. Someone wants it badly, but they don’t know where it is. This is the safest quickest way to transport the product without being attacked or bothered by the police. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.’ Igor stood up and spoke to other men in Russian. They grumbled, but they seemed to be in agreement.
‘Take us to the shipment now.’ Igor held out his hand.
‘No.’ Joss shook his head. ‘Organise the transporter and I’ll tell you where and when we’ll exchange. That way, the only chance of a leak is from my end and only I know where the gear is.’
‘Okay. Who do you think tried to steal the shipment?’ Igor asked. His demeanour had changed. ‘A foreign outfit?’
‘No. They were locals.’
‘Are you concerned?’
‘A little, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.’
CHAPTER 22
Mathew was exhausted. The adrenalin was losing its power. His muscles were stiff and tired. He used the shower for the second time and rifled through the wardrobes for a new set of clothes. The jeans were a little baggy, so he found a belt and threaded it through the loops. He took Phil Gould’s wallet, keys, and mobile phone. The PIN number was simple to remember, and he’d given it up without too much fuss. There was enough money in it to keep him going for a while. At least until they were found or reported missing. Their kids were away for two weeks with their grandparents, so no one would be turning up at the bungalow unexpectedly. Phil had told him all he needed to know. He jibber-jabbered for a long time, trying to prolong his life but he couldn’t stop the inevitable. Mathew was fascinated by the things he’d said; his desire to live was impressive or at least, it had been. The upshot was that he could leave in their vehicle wearing a hat and sunglasses and as long as he didn’t try to cross a bridge to the mainland, he could stay at large on the island and have some more fun. He wondered what the police were doing to catch him. It was more morbid curiosity than concern. He didn’t care if they did catch him. There was nothing to fear. What would they do? Lock him up, safe and warm in a cell. It wasn’t the end of the world. He intended to enjoy his freedom until that happened.
Mathew went down the hallway into the living room. He switched on Sky News and turned up the volume while he went into the kitchen to make a brew. The Gould family bought decent coffee. That was a bonus. He opened the backdoor and had a cigarette, leaving it open to let some fresh air in. He listened to the newsreel while he made his drink and searched the cupboards for a biscuit. Chocolate Hobnobs; classic. Probably the best biscuit of all time. He heard his name and grabbed the cup, biscuit between his teeth, and trotted back to the living room. The newsreader had a stern expression on her face as she explained that the police were looking for him in connection with the murder of an elderly lady, whose name they were withholding until the family could be informed. Good luck with that one. She had no family. He’d heard that a hundred times when he delivered her newspaper and it was part of why she’d been chosen. There was no one to miss her. He didn’t mind feeding on her energy and removing her from the planet because no one would miss her; he cared a little then. Not that it mattered now. He’d gone past the caring phase. The news stated the police were carrying out house to house searches of properties in the Llanfair area. The map shown incorporated the Newborough area too, which was where he was. That was a shame. He could have stayed there for a few nights, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Moving on was the only valid option.
He turned off the television and closed the curtains, moving from room to room, turning off the lights and closing all the doors. The bungalow would look uninhabited from the outside, hopefully. In the cloakroom, he found a baseball cap and some shades. He put them on and checked in the mirror. They made him look older. He took the billhook and opened the front door, locking it behind him; a sense of loss ran through him. It was sadness. Leaving them behind made him sad. He wanted to take them with him and in a way, they always would be. His mind drifted as he started the engine and steered towards the gates. A police car came into view and slowed as it approached the entrance to the Gould residence. It indicated that it was turning onto the property. Mathew avoided making eye contact with the driver, waved a hand casually and pulled out; he pretended he wasn’t flustered and had nothing to hide but inside, he was flapping. There was too much to do before he was captured. He watched in the rear-view mirror as the police turned into the driveway of the Gould property; he accelerated as they went out of view. Suddenly, he remembered that he’d left the kitchen door open.
CHAPTER 23
Joss opened the door to the unit and was greeted by the sound of music blaring. He could smell weed. That was a good sign that his welders had turned up. They didn’t do anything without thinking about it over a spliff. If they weren’t so good at their trade, he would’ve sent them packing years before, but they were the best around; best on the island anyway. He walked into the office and turned the music down. They looked at him as if he’d taken a dump on the desk.
‘We’re listening to that,’ Naz moaned. His long ginger hair was tied in a ponytail at the back of his head. He took a deep drag of his joint. ‘Classic Floyd, man.’
‘It must sound better when you’re stoned because to me, it’s shite.’
‘How can you say such a thing? The lyrics are mind blowing.’
‘Your mind was blown a long time ago.’ Joss took two sets of keys from the wall. ‘Right. I need one of you to help me put two of
the Defenders onto a trailer and the rest of you can bugger off home for the day.’ They looked at each other and shrugged. ‘Okay. Let’s do this another way. Naz is coming with me on double time. You lot go home and have a paid holiday.’
‘Double time?’ Naz asked.
‘Double time,’ Joss nodded.
‘What are we doing?’
‘Taking two Defenders to the garage at Four Crosses, dropping them off and then having steak and chips and a few pints in the pub across the road.’
‘Is that it?’
‘That’s it.’
‘I can do that for double time,’ one of the welders, known as Spike, said, sarcastically.
‘You should have volunteered at the time.’
‘I didn’t know it was a jolly.’
‘Tough titty,’ Naz said. ‘I’m game. Let’s go.’
‘Which two Defenders are you taking?’ Wacky asked. He was rolling a cigarette from a shiny tobacco tin. ‘The new ones?’
‘No. They’re going to the US when they’re finished. We’re taking the two from round the back.’ Whacky raised his eyebrows and nodded. ‘Are you lot going to piss off home or what?’
‘I’m not going home. She’ll have me decorating or cutting the grass. I can’t be arsed.’
‘Stuff that. I reckon we go to Gleesons and talk about it.’
‘Good plan.’
The welders got their coats and bags and exchanged a few expletives. ‘See you bright and early tomorrow,’ Joss added as he escorted them out through the front door. They got into their vehicles cheerily and zoomed off in a convoy, which was heading for Gleesons, a popular pub on the high street in Holyhead. Their improvised day off with pay was going to be messy, that was for certain. Joss checked the street up and down for anything unusual, but all appeared to be normal. He locked the door and went back into the office. ‘Go and fetch the trailer and bring it around the side door,’ he said to Naz. Naz frowned. ‘Just do what I asked please. Then I want you to move the two Defenders from round the back, up the road to the other unit. Leave one there and then drive the other one to the Four Crosses. I’ll meet you there.’
‘Why am I taking them to the other unit first?’
‘Because I asked you to.’
‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I have my reasons. Just do it, please. I’ll see you at Four Crosses and buy you a steak.’
‘The others are in Gleesons.’
‘Okay. We’ll skip the steak.’
‘Pain in the arse,’ Naz muttered.
‘It will take half an hour tops,’ Joss said. ‘The quicker you get going, the quicker you can join the other muppets in the pub.’
Naz lumbered off to the back of the unit and Joss heard the engine of the tow truck fire up. The trailer was shunted up to the side doors and Naz went to the rear car park to move one of the Defenders. Joss loaded the two new ones onto the trailer and waited for Naz to drive off towards their other site. When he was out of sight, Joss locked the unit and jumped into the tow truck. He drove through the Morrawelon housing estate, towing the mule vehicles behind him. There was no time to investigate who was leaking information. He’d called the Russian’s bluff, but they weren’t to be underestimated. If he crossed them, he would end up embedded in a motorway bridge or at the bottom of the harbour. This was a daring ploy. Taking a million-pound delivery alone to a handover with a ruthless outfit was not the best practice, but it bypassed disloyalty. No one could leak the details of the shipment as only he knew where it was. His relationship with the Karpovs had been professional and Igor liked him. He had to put faith in that and complete the deal, even if it wasn’t exactly how they’d planned it. Adapt to survive; that’s what it was all about. Once the money was in his offshore bank, he could relax and take fewer risks. The Land Rover business was profitable but there was plenty of room for expansion. He would use the drug income to finance the legitimate side of the business.
As he drove along London Road, towards the A55, he noticed Wacky parked at the side of the road. He was talking on his mobile and looked agitated. The hairs on Joss’ neck stood on end. Wacky was usually the first one in the pub. He was up to something.
CHAPTER 24
Bob Dewhurst had been a uniformed officer for as long as he could remember. He’d never seen a murder as bad as the Mabel Jones case. All leave had been cancelled and every man, woman, and dog had been summoned to work. The island was on lockdown in the search for Mathew Hudson. He was a wrong ’un. His actions had rocked the tranquil island and attracted the best and worse press coverage. Bob looked towards the mainland. The majestic peaks of Snowdonia dominated the skyline, towering above the slopes which ran undulating to the blue waters of the Straits. There was a dusting of snow on the higher summits. The air was so clear he could see the steam train snaking up her. In contrast, the rich greens and golds of Newborough forest stood out against the backdrop of a glimmering sea. It was a jaw-dropping vista, no matter how many times he’d seen it.
‘Not a bad view,’ April said, following his gaze.
‘You never get tired of looking at it,’ he said, smiling. Bob was partnered with April Bifelt , a PC from Holyhead. April was driving from property to property, working through a list of residential and holiday homes. They turned a tight corner when they saw a Renault people carrier pull out of a driveway. The driver waved as they passed each other, and Bob had a shiver down his spine. Something made him feel uneasy. The vehicle recognition software remained silent. The Scenic was taxed, insured, and registered to a Philip Gould. The age stood out. Philip Gould was thirty-five, but the driver appeared younger, although it was difficult to tell for sure. A baseball cap and sunglasses hid his features from a passing onlooker.
‘Did you get a look at the driver?’ Bob asked. He knew he needed to wear his glasses all the time but was stubborn and only put them on when he was reading small print. Eileen would tut and roll her eyes when she saw him squinting at something.
‘Yes; a quick one, why, something wrong?’
‘I don’t know,’ Bob muttered. ‘Something and nothing. Let’s carry on.’
April turned into the driveway and brought the vehicle to a halt outside the bungalow. They looked at the building and then looked at each other.
‘Looks empty.’ Bob checked the paperwork. ‘It’s on the holiday home list. Maybe that was the owner and he’s closed up and gone home.’
‘If it was, we just missed him,’ April said. She grabbed a clipboard and ran her finger down the list. ‘We can cross this one off the list. Shall we go on to the next one, sarge?’
‘Hold on a minute. It won’t hurt to take a quick look around. If I was Hudson, I’d be looking out for empty properties,’ Bob said. He opened the door and climbed out. A chill breeze touched him.
‘What’s up?’ April asked, noticing his concerned expression.
‘I’m not sure. I’ve just got a funny feeling in my guts.’
‘Eileen been making her curries again?’
‘I’ll tell her you said that. Knock on the front door,’ Bob said, looking into the trees surrounding the bungalow. The wind blew making the boughs sway; the leaves rustled and flapped, catching the eye. There was movement everywhere which made Bob uneasy. April walked towards the bungalow. Bob looked in the living room window and tried to peer through the gap in the curtains. It was dark and dingey. His eyes adjusted to the gloom. He could make out dark smudges on the wall at the far side of the room. All the doors to the room were closed. April knocked and rang the bell, but no one answered. Bob sensed the bungalow was empty. It was an expensive house, in its own grounds, well maintained; not the type of home were dirty marks on the wall would be tolerated. They would be wiped clean or painted over quickly. Bob walked towards the kitchen window, but the blinds were drawn. ‘I’m going to take a look around the back.’
‘Okay, sarge,’ April said from behind him. Bob flinched, not expecting her to be so close.
‘Bloody hell,’ h
e said. ‘Don’t creep up on me like that.’
‘I didn’t creep. I sneaked.’
‘Whatever it was, don’t do it. My heart was in my mouth.’
‘Sorry, sarge. Something got you spooked?’
‘It might be something or it could be nothing.’
‘What could be? I’m not following.’
‘There are marks on the living room wall.’
‘Marks like what, exactly?’
‘Dark smudges as if something has been smeared on the wall.’
‘Like blood?’
‘Yes. But I can’t be sure.’
April’s expression changed. She took out her baton and nodded. ‘Let’s take a look, shall we?’ April moved smoothly and quietly. She took the lead without a murmur. Bob admired her spirit. There was no question of equality with the new generation of police constables. They earned every ounce of respect. She stopped at the corner and peered around. ‘The back door is open.’
‘That’s odd.’
‘No one closes up and leaves the back door open. Better call it in, sarge.’
‘Not yet.’ Bob thought carefully. He looked into the trees again. They were the perfect place to hide and wait for the occupants to leave. ‘We’ve got hundreds of properties to check. There might be someone in there. I want to make sure before we call the cavalry.’
‘Okay. You’re the boss.’ April moved towards the doorway and checked inside and behind the door.
‘Hello. This is the police,’ she called. ‘Is anyone home?’
The faint smell of cigarettes hung on the air. Bob flicked the light on and walked towards the living room door. He drew his own baton and opened it, looking each way as he entered. April switched on the lights and the dark smudges took on a more sinister form. They appeared to be what they were; blood.
‘Let’s see what we’re dealing with,’ Bob said.
They reached the hallway door together and paused before moving on. There was blood on the hallway carpet. Lots of blood. Bob opened a bedroom door. It was clean and tidy and unoccupied. He gestured to the next one. The blood was thicker at the base of the door. April twisted the handle and pushed it open. They looked inside. It was difficult to make out the shapes in the dark, but the smell of death was thick; the coppery smell of blood mingled with excrement. Bob reached inside and switched on the lights. The carnage was clear to see yet difficult to decipher. Mrs Gould was sitting up in bed, the quilt pulled up to her chest. Her head leaned on her left shoulder at an awkward angle; her neck broken. She was staring with dead eyes at something they couldn’t see. Her right hand was closed, her forefinger pointing. It was obviously staged. They took one step inside and looked to their right. The wall was daubed with letters and symbols, which meant nothing at first glance. Mr Gould was nailed to a wardrobe door, which had been removed and positioned against the wall. He was crucified upside down, his limbs in the shape of the cross. His eyes were open wide, his mouth twisted in a silent scream. Bob was going to speak, but he felt a massive blow to the back of his head, and he fell forward onto his knees and crumpled onto the carpet. His senses were filled with the scent of blood as he lost consciousness. April saw him fall and was stunned and confused. She turned to look into the eyes of a young man. He was smiling.
