The Anglesey Murders Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  ‘We’re doing our best to do just that,’ Alan said. He walked up the hallway and into the master bedroom. ‘What’s the timeline on this?’ The scene was the stuff of nightmares. It was clear that Mrs Gould had suffered a prolonged and frenzied attack. The exposed flesh that he could see was covered in bite marks.

  ‘They were killed hours apart,’ Pamela said. ‘Twelve to eighteen hours. Mr Gould was tortured and killed before he was nailed to the wardrobe door. A small mercy at least.’

  ‘That was done as an afterthought?’ Alan said, to himself. ‘He staged the bodies. It’s theatre. The crucifixion fits in with the satanic motive but it’s as if he feels like he needs to impress, don’t you think?’

  ‘Impress who?’

  ‘I don’t know but I can make an educated guess,’ Alan said. ‘Fabienne Wilder for a starter.’

  ‘But how would she know?’

  ‘The scene is staged, right?’ Alan said. ‘I’m sure it’s not for our benefit. Maybe he’s taking pictures. They like to take pictures. Their websites are full of them.’

  ‘That’s how they caught a lot of them from the Stanley Towers case, wasn’t it?’ Kim asked. ‘They videoed some of the murders, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yes,’ Alan said. ‘That’s what I’m thinking. I bet Hudson has seen others uploading their handywork and he wants the limelight and credit for his.’

  ‘If he has taken images, he’ll want to show them off sooner rather than later,’ Kim said. ‘He’s going to want to upload them to the O9A website as soon as he can. I’ll call Richard Lewis and tell him to keep eyes on them.’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Alan said nodding. They exchanged worried glances. ‘He’s taken April somewhere where he can take his time and take lots of pictures.’

  ‘He might be thinking of streaming it live for the other nutters to watch,’ Kim said. She took out her phone and walked out of the bedroom. The stench was making her queasy. She called the operations team at Holyhead. The clock was ticking for April Bifelt .

  CHAPTER 30

  Mathew could hear a helicopter in the distance. The news on the radio said the police were looking for a Renault Scenic driven by a teenage male by the name of Mathew Hudson. They warned the public not to approach him as he was armed and extremely dangerous. That was good advice, he thought. He knew he had to get off the road quickly. The police would set a perimeter around the area and close in; it wouldn’t take them long to realise two of their officers were missing. He had only driven a few miles when he drove past the transport museum; he noticed a tow truck with two Defenders on-board driving through the gates. The driver glanced in his direction. Mathew liked the museum, especially the American cars. They were shiny and full of chrome. He wondered if he would ever go there again; it was a strange thought, but it also brought a sense of reality with it. A pang of regret touched him inside. Things had changed. Fabienne had changed him and his life was no longer his own. It was hers. He’d given his soul to her for love and in return she promised him nothing but pain and chaos; burning in her hell was what he wanted as long as she was there. His mundane life was over. There would be no more school, no more life with his mum, no more visiting museums, no more paper round; all the normal stuff was gone. The regret passed very quickly. It was time to grow up and cast off the childish shackles of being a normal adolescent. There was nothing normal about him anymore. Someone on the radio had called him a monster. He liked that.

  The museum faded from the rear-view mirror and as he turned the corner, the old Geurtjens horse farm came into site. It had been a thriving stable once, schooling, breeding, and trading horses from all over the UK. He couldn’t remember what happened, but he recalled his mother wittering on about disease. Disease killed the animals and bankrupted the business. The farm was repossessed by the banks; no one wanted to buy a farm with disease in its history. It had been left empty for as long as he could remember; he’d explored the abandoned buildings years before.

  He turned onto the bumpy narrow track, which led to the farm. There was the main house, a stable block of twenty or more cots, a huge barn, and a bunkhouse which had been used by visitors.

  The barn doors were open, and he steered toward it. The helicopter was coming closer and he looked up as it came from the direction of Llanddwyn Beach. The mountains dominated the skyline to his left. He drove the car inside and parked up, putting the handbrake on and turning the engine off. The helicopter was directly overhead now, but he was safely hidden. He took out the phone he’d stolen from Mr Gould and scrolled to the gallery, smiling at the depravity he had created with his own hands. It was visceral, gory, and beautiful. He felt pride burning inside him. Fabienne would be so pleased and he wasn’t finished yet. There was more to come; so much more.

  CHAPTER 31

  Joss unloaded the Defenders and they put them on the hydraulic ramps, which were used to maintain the exhibits. Anwen watched from the doorway. She was anxious about what her cousin was up to. He had always been a Jack-the-lad type with a knack for attracting trouble, but he had a heart of gold and a charming smile which could melt the heart of most females, including hers. Family and friends were always putting him down. The latest rumours among the family from Holyhead suggested he’d drifted from the periphery of the drug business to the core. The spate of arrests a few years before had left a void and Joss seemed to have come into a lot of money following the police investigation; he bought his house in Trearddur Bay for close to half a million. Joss claimed the Land Rover business was making a fortune, but others were sceptical. There was no doubt about the quality of the vehicles they produced. Several had been featured in magazines but some of the locals were unconvinced that Joss was a legitimate businessman; some didn’t like seeing people succeed. They could be quick to cast aspersions on how they’d achieved their success.

  Anwen knew how hard it was to build a successful business from scratch and find happiness doing it. She’d had her doubters when she set off on her dream to open the museum, but she shied away from negative people and made her own life on the island. Joss had supported her all the way, even importing her first batch of American vehicles. All that said, she didn’t like drugs and she didn’t like people who did. She loved him but she didn’t love what he’d chosen to become.

  ‘How long will this take?’ she asked. Not that it mattered, but that wasn’t the point. She wanted them gone as quickly as possible.

  ‘I’m not sure. We can usually strip one of these down in half a day if everything comes apart as it should.’

  ‘Half a day?’ Naz said. ‘When was the last time you dismantled one?’ He shook his head at Anwen. ‘It takes a lot longer than that, especially with him helping. He can’t remember which end of the spanner to use.’

  ‘It takes longer than that because you’re stoned most of the time,’ Joss said, irritated. ‘Today, we’ll be working flat out with no joint breaks so, as I was saying to my favourite cousin, it will take us about half a day if we can crack on.’

  ‘What’s in them?’ Anwen asked.

  ‘In what?’

  ‘In the Defenders, stupid. You’re not taking them apart for fun so, what’s in them?’

  ‘Cocaine,’ Joss said, shrugging. ‘There’s no point in me lying to you. There’s a million pounds worth of powder in the chassis.’ Anwen put her hand over her mouth in shock. ‘That’s why I can’t go back to the unit. There’s an outfit trying to take this shipment from me. If that happens, I might as well throw myself off the bridge.’

  ‘A million?’ Naz said, whistling. ‘I could go down for a very long time just for being here.’

  ‘Shut up, Naz.’

  ‘I’ll be expecting a bloody big bonus for this. You stick your double time up your ring-piece. I want a decent bung.’

  ‘Shut up, Naz,’ Joss said. Anwen was shaken. He could see her panicking inside. ‘You’re not helping at all.’

  ‘You brought a million pounds worth of class-A drugs into my museum,’ Anwen said, shaki
ng her head. ‘You’re a cheeky bastard at the best of times but this takes the biscuit.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have come here unless it was a matter of life or death. There are police all over the island. If I don’t hand over this shipment in the next twelve hours, I’m fish food.’ He put his hands on his hips and sighed. ‘Listen to me, Anwen. We’ll strip them down and take the drugs and be gone before the morning. I’ll leave the Defenders here and you can get your mechanics to put them back together and put them in your collection and I’ll never darken your doorstep again. No one will ever know we’ve even been here.’

  ‘I know you’ve been here,’ Anwen said.

  ‘Why don’t you go out and then if anything happens, I’ll say we broke in because I knew you weren’t here.’

  ‘I don’t want to go out while there’s a nutcase on the loose,’ Anwen said. ‘Have you heard about April?’

  ‘Yes,’ Joss said. ‘I heard it on the radio on the way here.’

  ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘It’s difficult to take in, to be honest. Do you see much of her these days?’

  ‘Not as much. She works shifts nowadays but we talk on the phone once a week at least.’

  ‘She’s a tough one. She’ll be okay.’ Joss shrugged and pointed to the Defenders. ‘Are you going to bugger off while we take these apart?’

  ‘No. I’ve got a better idea.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’ll help you strip them down. It will be quicker with three pairs of hands. The quicker you’re gone, the happier I’ll be.’

  ‘Okay,’ Joss said, smiling. Relief flooded through him.

  ‘I’ll keep the Landies and there’s a Corvette Stingray I’ve had my eyes on for a while,’ she said. She stared into his eyes but didn’t show any expression. ‘Buy me the Corvette and you’ve got a deal.’

  ‘A Corvette Stingray for using your tools?’ Joss said, smiling. ‘And you said I’m a cheeky bastard? Must run in the family.’

  CHAPTER 32

  Mathew walked around the farmhouse. Memories came flooding back. He remembered his mother taking him for a riding lesson. There was a very tall man, who seemed like a giant at the time. His name was Adrian and he rode a huge grey horse. He also remembered falling off his horse during the lesson, breaking his nose. They took him into the farmhouse and gave him lemonade. He could see the images through the haze of time and time hadn’t been kind to the farmhouse. The ground floor was boarded up; metal shuttering covered the windows and doors. That was a good thing, he thought. If he could break into one of the doors without making too much damage, the house would look like it was secured from the outside; the last place a fugitive could be. If it appeared to be secured and uncompromised, the police would never think he could be inside. The vehicle would be a problem. He would have to move the Renault to throw them off the scent for a while; everyone was looking for a Scenic; it was marked now. He couldn’t drive anywhere in it; the island was sealed off. They would pick him up in minutes. He was surprised he’d got this far and didn’t want to push his luck. If he remembered correctly, there was a deep pond near the woods that bordered the farm where he’d been fishing with an uncle when he was much younger. He couldn’t remember which uncle he was; one of his mother’s many suiters. They were all called uncle-something-or-another. There had been Uncle Colin, Uncle Dave, Uncle Dewy, Uncle Steve, Uncle Pete, Uncle Simon, Uncle Paul, Uncle Norman and the list went on and on. As he got older, he realised they weren’t his uncles at all. Some of them were nice to him; they had to be, or Mother wouldn’t be giving them what they wanted in her bedroom. Creaking bed springs were what gave it away; the rhythmical squeaking of her bed told him when an uncle was staying the night. The memories ran through his mind. He sometimes wondered if his childhood experiences had formed his character as a young adult. Had the succession of uncles damaged him in some way? Were they the reason why he’d become a monster? No, absolutely not; he couldn’t blame them. They hadn’t affected him emotionally, one way or the other. He heard their bedroom antics but couldn’t care less if his mother was being pounded to dust by them. That was the truth. He hadn’t cared then or now. Not really. Not in a deep meaningful way. Not at all, if he was honest. He had emotional attachment issues and couldn’t care less about her then or now. Nothing mattered to him but Fabienne. He had a purpose now and that was creating anguish and chaos and he was very good at it.

  He approached the back door which was covered by a slate porch. The perforated metal boarding was screwed to the frame. The screws were weathered but still silver and shiny and would be easy to take out. He jogged back to the barn and opened the passenger door and flipped the glovebox open. It was full of paperwork and tourist guides. He felt around and found a small toolkit. Inside was a selection of screw heads. He picked out the Philips and attached it to the driver. April was quiet until he closed the door, then she started kicking the doors. Mathew shouted angrily.

  ‘Make another sound and I’ll kill you here!’

  April went quiet and Mathew ran back to the house. Five minutes later, the screen was loose on one side. He pulled it away from the door and kicked at the lock. The frame was dry and warped and it splintered at the first attempt. He pushed it open and went inside. Mr Gould’s mobile had a torch function and he shone it around the room. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, but the kitchen was intact. There were plates and cutlery on the table and pots on the stove; the contents were green mould, as if the family were in the middle of preparing and eating a meal when they were evicted. It was a moment frozen in time. A layer of dust covered everything. He turned on the tap and the pipes rattled as cold water flowed. There was plenty of pressure. That was a bonus. He was thirsty and could still taste blood in his mouth. It always left an aftertaste which was unpleasant; salty and metallic. Leaning over the sink, he slurped from the tap and gulped it down. The sound of the helicopter returning overhead disturbed his thoughts. He needed to get her inside quickly, secure her and then he could relax. His eyes were tired but then it had been a busy few days and a hectic few nights; nights he would remember for all his life. Nights everyone would remember. His legacy would live on like Jack the Ripper, John Wayne Gacy, and the like. Their notoriety had lasted for generation after generation. He would be remembered for centuries and so would the reason he killed. It would inspire more followers for Fabienne and the O9A. His name would be revered by them.

  Mathew walked around the farmhouse, room by room. It was a big dwelling with four bedrooms, three bathrooms, two living rooms, and best of all, a cellar; all the furniture, fixtures, and fittings were still there. The cellar had wine racks that were well-stocked. He didn’t know much about wine, but he knew he liked it. That would help him to sleep, no problem at all. The middle bedroom was the biggest and wasn’t as dusty as the others. The bedding in the others had a damp smell to them. He would put her in one of them and secure her until he’d had a rest and some wine. When the time came to play with her, he wanted to be strong and energised. This was going to be better than all the others put together. She was a police officer, a person of authority. Her energy would be far greater than Mabel or the Goulds. She would be powerful, and he would feed on her and take that power for his own. Her blood and her flesh would make him stronger and he wanted to be able to show Fabienne and the others what he was capable of. They would be so proud of him; they would be surprised by how far he was prepared to go for her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. Everything he did was with her in mind. His plan was made.

  The helicopter moved north, and he crept out of the kitchen and ran to the barn. There were rotting bales of hay piled in one corner and it still smelled of horses. He hunted around until he found some rope, which was covered in cobwebs; it would come in useful for restraining his guest. He opened the boot and April cowered against the bulkhead. She blinked against the daylight. Mathew held up a carving knife, which he’d taken from the kitchen. April began to shake.

  ‘Be quie
t and don’t do anything stupid, understand?’ April nodded; her bottom lip began to quiver. ‘You must be as stiff as a board. I’m going to get you out of there,’ he said, as if he was doing her a favour. His voice was boyish and calm, yet his eyes were cold and dark. Very dark. ‘Please don’t struggle. I don’t want to hurt you.’ He sounded sincere. ‘Not yet anyway,’ he chuckled at his joke, but April couldn’t see the humour in it. His smile was that of a person with a damaged mind. ‘Don’t look so worried and don’t listen to me,’ he said. ‘I’m just playing with you. Let’s get you inside and make you comfortable. It’s going to be a long night ahead.’ His eyes focused on the knife for a moment as if he was wondering why he had it in his hand, then his vision cleared, and his expression became stern. ‘If you struggle or scream, I’ll have to cut you. Do you understand me?’ April nodded that she did, and his expression softened again. ‘Good. Like I said, I don’t want to hurt you.’ He reached inside and pulled April out. Her muscles were cramped, and it was a struggle. He seemed stronger than he looked. She stood on trembling legs and watched her captor. April could feel his eyes moving over her body and it made her cringe inside; he was nothing but a pubescent boy yet the look in his eyes said different. She let him guide her out of the barn and across the farmyard to the house. All the time, she searched the horizon for any sign of life, anyone she could scream to but there was nothing but green wilderness. When she reached the door, she stopped and resisted. She didn’t want to enter the house. If she allowed him to take her inside, the chances are she wouldn’t see the light of day again.

  ‘I’m not going in there,’ she said, pulling away from him. She ran a few steps, but her legs were weak. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back.

  ‘Don’t struggle,’ he snapped. He put the blade to her neck. ‘Or you die right here and now in a puddle of your own blood.’ April saw the faces of her children flashing in her mind. She had to remain calm if she was to see them again.