The Anglesey Murders Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let go of my hair!’

  ‘Behave yourself and get inside.’

  He pushed her head down as they entered the kitchen and then he stopped and sat her down on one of the chairs. ‘Are you thirsty?’

  ‘Yes,’ April said, nodding.

  He took a glass from a cupboard, rinsed it out and then filled it with water.

  ‘You must be thirsty,’ he said, putting the glass to her lips. April gulped it down. Her eyes darted here and there, taking in the surroundings. She was searching for anything she could use to improve her odds and some way to escape. There had to be a way. She emptied the glass.

  ‘Can I have some more, please?’

  ‘I can see what you’re thinking,’ Mathew said. He wagged a finger in her face. ‘You’re looking for a way out. I don’t blame you. You must be frightened.’ He thought about it for a moment. ‘I would be frightened, if I was you but there’s no going back for you.’ He smiled. ‘We’re in this together now. We’ll make history. Our names will be mentioned together for decades to come.’ He looked very serious. ‘You’re going to become part of something far more important than you can imagine. Far more important than the mundane life you’ve left behind.’

  ‘I don’t want to leave my life behind, mundane or not, and I don’t want to become part of anything to do with what you’re doing, Mathew.’

  ‘You’re already a part of it. There’s no going back now.’

  ‘I have a family, Mathew. I have a husband and four beautiful children who need me.’ He looked away as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘Don’t ignore me. You can let me go now and walk the other way. My children need their mother.’

  ‘I’m not interested.’ He grabbed her arm. ‘How do you have four children at your age, anyway?’ he asked frowning.

  ‘I’m older than I look.’

  ‘You need to buy a television and stop bonking.’ He laughed at his joke but appeared embarrassed by it. ‘Sorry. That was rude of me. Come on, officer, let’s get you upstairs and get you comfortable.’

  ‘Don’t call me officer. My name is April, Mathew.’ He looked away. ‘Please, call me April,’ she said, shaking him off her arm. Her voice sounded alien and reedy; she didn’t recognise it. She was stronger than that, yet she sounded like a weak frightened woman. She was frightened, but she needed to sound strong. ‘I have four children at home, and they’ll be waiting for their mummy to come home.’ Mathew stopped pulling her arm for a second. The pupils of his eyes narrowed, and he focused on her face for the first time; looking at her, not through her. ‘I’m a mother of four, Mathew. You don’t need to do this. Let me go and I’ll go home to my children and you can find a way to get off the island.’

  ‘I can’t get off this island. It’s too late for that.’

  ‘You can do anything if you put your mind to it,’ April said. ‘If you lie low for a few weeks, they’ll have to call off the search. I’m a police officer, I know how this works.’

  ‘Then what, smarty pants?’ he said, sarcastically. ‘Go home, back to college, back to my paper round, get a job?’ He snorted. ‘I’ve left that world behind.’ He pointed at her. ‘And, so have you.’ He shook his head but there was doubt in his eyes.

  ‘For the sake of my children, please let me go. There’s a picture of them on my phone. Take a look, if you like. They’re beautiful and innocent and they don’t deserve to lose their mother at that age. Not like this, Mathew. Don’t take their mother from them.’

  ‘You want me to turn your phone on, don’t you?’

  ‘I didn’t know you’d turned it off. How would I?’

  ‘You must think I’m stupid,’ Mathew said, shaking his head. He grabbed her arm at the elbow and pulled her up from the chair. ‘Move,’ he snapped. ‘Telling me your name and giving me the sob story about your kids. Very clever, April but not clever enough.’

  ‘I’m not trying to be clever. I want to see my children again.’

  ‘I’ve read about this and seen it on the telly.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Saying, “Don’t call me officer, call me April”. It’s supposed to humanise you so that I see you as a woman not a police officer.’

  ‘I am a woman, Mathew. I’m a wife and mother first; being a police officer is what I do for a job. It doesn’t define who I am.’

  ‘Shut up.’ He pulled her harder. ‘You’re playing to your abductor’s sense of humanity. Well, I haven’t got one anymore.’

  ‘You’re as human as the next person,’ April lied. She didn’t believe that for one second. ‘You can pick and choose who lives and who dies. Let me go home to my children.’

  ‘Children this and children that,’ he said. ‘Call me April in the hope he sees you as a human being and not an object. You can stop your game now. I’m not listening.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m doing. I’m not playing games. Let me go, Mathew. I need to go home to my children.’

  ‘You underestimate me. I’ve watched Special Victims Unit.’ He frowned. ‘Do you watch it?’

  ‘No. I’m a mother so it upsets me. I see enough grief in real life, Mathew.’ He ignored her. ‘I’m not playing games. Are you listening to me?’

  ‘You can learn a lot from programs like that and I’m not falling for your tricks.’ He continued to ignore her and marched her to the stairs. She struggled. He put the knife to her neck and forced her up them. ‘I’ve told you to stop struggling. Now, you need to listen to me. I’ve seen and read that stuff a hundred times and I’m not falling for it, so pack it in. You probably don’t even have any children,’ he said, looking into her eyes. The doubt was still there. ‘You look too young. Have you really got children?’

  ‘Yes, I have children and I’m not trying to trick you. I have four, who I love very much.’

  ‘I don’t care. I’m not listening.’

  ‘I’m not going to shut up. My husband is Casey and I want to go home to them. Please don’t take me away from them. Let me go. Please.’

  ‘You’re wasting your time, really,’ Mathew said. ‘I feel no guilt, no shame, no remorse, no empathy for you or your brood.’

  ‘You’ve got some issues, Mathew, but it’s not too late.’

  ‘Issues?’ he said. ‘I don’t think I have issues. I’ve changed. I’ve picked a different path. I’ve become a monster and it feels good.’

  ‘I don’t believe a young man like you from a good home doesn’t feel sympathy for a child.’

  ‘Well, you’re wrong.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to your mother and she’s a lovely lady and she’s heartbroken that you’re in trouble. Think about her and my children.’

  ‘Shut up. I don’t care about her or you or your children.’

  ‘You must feel something, Mathew,’ April said, trying to keep calm. He pushed her into a bedroom and threw her onto the bed. April cried out. Mathew fastened her ankles together and then tied them to the bedframe. Her hands were cuffed painfully behind her. ‘Please, Mathew. Think about what you’re doing.’

  ‘You’re right, actually.’ He stopped. ‘I do feel something,’ Mathew said, smiling thinly. ‘I feel hate and rage. Rage like you’ve never seen before. I don’t know where it comes from but it’s as if I’m not alone. As if others are here with me. You’ll see it for yourself.’

  April looked into his eyes and saw nothing in them. It was like looking into the depths of hell. He finished tying her up and stood up to admire his handywork. His expression was deadpan. There was no indication of what he was thinking.

  ‘I have no idea where it comes from,’ he said again, shrugging. ‘I start by being close. Very close.’ He leaned on the bed and put his face next to hers. His nose was touching her ear. She could feel his breath on her skin. It made her nerves crawl. She turned away as far as she could, but she could smell his breath; it stank like rotten chicken. He licked her ear and pushed his tongue inside. She could feel the tip moving, warm and wet, deep in
her ear; she wanted to vomit.

  ‘Stop!’ April cried, trying to twist away, but the rope held her. ‘Please stop. You’re disgusting!’

  ‘I am disgusting but I can’t help myself,’ he said pulling away. ‘And it gets worse; so much worse.’ He grabbed her chin between his finger and thumb and turned her face to him. ‘One minute I feel calm, but eager to be close and almost loving but then the rage takes over and I do terrible things; things I’ve never imagined as possible. I don’t know where the ideas come from. It’s as if I’m not even there; like someone else takes over.’ He held her face and kissed her cheek. ‘Do you understand?’ April cried and shook her head.

  ‘I don’t want to understand,’ she murmured. ‘I want to go home to my children. Please, let me go.’

  ‘You will understand. I’ll help you to. We won’t be disturbed here. I’ll take my time and we can go on the journey together.’ The sound of the helicopter was growing louder. ‘I can hear them coming again. Can you? I’ll have to go and get rid of the car and secure downstairs before we begin. Get some rest.’

  Mathew let go of her face and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. She heard a helicopter overhead and the sound of a key being turned in the lock. Her emotions were mixed. She was relieved he was gone. His presence made her feel sick with fear. The fact that he was coming back sometime soon made her heart beat so quickly she thought it would explode. She wriggled against her bonds and looked around the room. It was dark now the door was closed. Shadows shifted around her and the darkness was suffocating. She had to get out of there before the madness of Mathew Hudson was unleashed on her.

  CHAPTER 33

  Joss and his makeshift crew worked for four hours nonstop before Anwen called a coffee and toilet break. Naz went outside for a cigarette. He walked among the exhibits admiring them, rolling a smoke as he went. Joss had told him there was to be no smoking weed today but Joss could go and stick his head up his arse and whistle ‘Land of my Fathers’. Joss had suckered him into a massive deal which he didn’t mind but he wanted a decent bonus for that and if he wanted a spliff while they worked, he would have one. Joss was a good boss to work for as long as you didn’t let him get all his own way. Naz hummed a tune as he walked; he was excited about the money which would be coming his way. He had his eye on a new trike; easier to ride when you’re stoned. There’s less chance of toppling a trike, on the way home from the pub, drunk. Joss would be paying for that and a new paint job. He wanted skulls and roses. Lots of skulls and lots of roses.

  Naz stepped on-board a London double-decker bus. It smelled of leather and polish unlike the last bus he’d been on in London, which smelled of vomit and urine. He climbed the spiral staircase to the top deck and sat down on the backseat while he smoked. The view from the top deck was amazing. He could see the top of both bridges, the stately home at Plas Goch and across the Straits to the mountains. The joint calmed him down and he felt chilled as he looked around. Movement on a farm in the distance caught his eye. It looked like a Renault being driven across the fields towards some woods. Probably a farmer taking haybales out to his animals or something like that. He heard Joss shouting his name and swore beneath his breath. Joss shouted again, calling him a lazy bastard. He was always calling him a lazy bastard which was a joke coming from a man who spent most of his life sitting on his fat arse. Naz stubbed out his spliff and put the remainder into his shirt pocket for later.

  ‘I’m coming, I’m coming!’ Naz shouted. ‘Can’t a hardworking man have a cigarette in peace,’ he moaned. As he took a last look around, the Renault disappeared into the trees.

  ***

  Mathew drove the Scenic across the field and down a single-track lane through the trees. His memory of being there before was sketchy, but it wasn’t long before he saw the sun reflecting from water. The pond was further into the trees than he remembered. He steered a path of least resistance towards it. The Renault snapped low-hanging branches and flattened saplings with ease. When he reached the edge, it became clear that no one had been there to maintain the banks of the fishing piers for many years. The edges of the pond were overgrown with nettles and brambles and the wooden piers had rotted and fallen apart, half in the water and half out. No one had fished it for years. He stopped and climbed out, leaving the engine running. The tree canopy above was green but sparse. It didn’t offer much in the way of camouflage. It wasn’t the best spot to dispose of a vehicle, but it was all he had; there wasn’t any other option open to him. If he did nothing and the police arrived at the farm, they would find the vehicle in the barn and that would prompt a search of all the buildings; then he would be stuffed. Dumping it made sense from every angle. He walked back to the Renault and leaned inside, selecting drive on the gearbox. He took off the handbrake and stepped back quickly; it lurched into the brambles, over the edge, and down the bank into the pond. The front wheels and the bonnet disappeared beneath the water with a loud splash but then it stopped, snagged in the undergrowth. Water flooded the engine and white smoke poured out of the exhaust before it spluttered and died. Mathew felt anger rising in his guts. He felt incensed that his plan hadn’t worked. Nothing was going to plan. It felt like the elements were working against him. He walked towards a dead tree and began snapping the branches from it, placing them on top of the Renault to hide it from above. He pulled up clumps of moss and ferns and piled them across the roof. Brambles and nettles stung his hands, but he persisted until the vehicle was mostly covered. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best he could do for now. He could hear the helicopter in the distance. Looking towards Holyhead mountain, he could see it hovering over the Rhosneigr area. They must have expanded the search, he thought. Good. The wider it was, the less chance they had of stumbling across the farm. He was hiding right under their noses.

  He leaned against a tree and sat down to take a breather. Fabienne came into his thoughts and his pulse quickened. She would be so proud of him. He had to show her what he’d done. It was time to upload his pictures to the O9A website. He felt butterflies in his stomach at the thought of what they would think when they saw them. There would be speculation at first; people asking if they were real or Photoshopped. Then they would search and see the news stories about him. Then they would see that he’d become the real deal; not just bragging and bullshitting on a chatroom forum but actually going out in the community and causing anguish and panic. Mathew Hudson was a fugitive, the suspect in a series of terrible murders, and now they would have to believe it; there was no denying it. He’d achieved more than most of them would in an eternity. It was so exciting. He could imagine the look on Fabienne’s face. She would be so proud of him. She would begin to love him as much as he loved her. He took out his phone and cursed as he looked at the screen. No service. Nothing was simple. Why didn’t things just go to plan?

  Mathew was gutted but undeterred. The light was beginning to fade now. He glanced in the direction of the museum. The top of a red double-decker bus glinted in the fading sunlight and an idea popped into his head. He’d been to the museum many times and he’d uploaded his photographs on their Wi-Fi. If he got close to the site, his phone would automatically connect to it again. Then it occurred to him that it wasn’t his phone. It was Mr Gould’s. He kicked the tree and felt anger rising again. There was a slim chance that the Gould family had visited the museum at some point and used the Wi-Fi. He took a breath and marched through the trees, avoiding the open fields between him and the farmhouse. The helicopter could return at any time and he didn’t want to be caught in the open. He knew they would catch him eventually, but he wanted time with the policewoman. She would be the best so far; his prize but she would have to wait. She could come to no harm while he indulged himself by sharing his gruesome gallery online. He was dizzy with excitement as he stumbled through the dense undergrowth. His toes were stubbed, and his ankles were scratched but he kept on walking. The billhook made short work of branches and bushes and he chopped a path through them. He ke
pt focused on the bus, heading in that direction. It was less than a mile away although the terrain made it feel like ten. As the light faded, his mobile rang. He looked at the screen. It was a local number; he knew it was the police trying to make contact. He panicked and turned the mobile off. They were looking for him, guessing that he had taken the phone from the Gould house. His mood darkened with the fading light. He wouldn’t be caught that easily.

  ***

  ‘Did you hear that?’ Naz said, gesturing to the radio.

  ‘What?’ Joss said.

  ‘The newsreader said the police are looking for that nutter who’s killing people in the Newborough area,’ he said, excitedly. ‘That’s here.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He said they think he’s driving a Renault Scenic.’

  Joss thought back to when they pulled into the museum. The image in his mind was a Scenic; the driver wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap. ‘And what?’

  ‘I’ve just seen one on the farm to the south, driving across the field,’ Naz said. ‘I thought it was odd. Farmers drive Landies, not Renaults.’

  ‘Which farm did you see it on?’ Anwen asked.

  ‘I was on the top of the bus. It was the one through the trees looking towards the Straits.’

  ‘That was a horse farm, but it’s been abandoned for years. There shouldn’t be any vehicles on there at all.’

  ‘I saw one passing when we were turning in here,’ Joss said. ‘That must have been him.’

  ‘They said he’s got April hostage,’ Anwen said. Her face looked flushed and angry. ‘That could be him and he might have April with him. We need to phone the police.’

  ‘Have you forgotten why we’re here?’ Joss asked. He pointed to the Defenders. ‘The last thing we need is the police crawling all over the place.’

  ‘What are you worried about, he’s not in here, is he, stupid?’ Naz said. ‘If I tell them I saw the Scenic across the fields on the next farm, they’re hardly likely to come bursting through the doors of the museum, are they?’