The Anglesey Murders Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  The Jeep was already hooked up to the boat trailer and I opened the rear door and looked into the back. There were two camouflage jerrycans. I tapped them with my knuckles to see if they were full. They were. I opened one and sniffed the fuel inside. It was unleaded of some description. The Jeep had a diesel engine, so I knew the jerrycan were for the rigid’s engine. That begged the question as to why Joseph needed more fuel. When we studied the maps, he had told me that it was approximately sixty-two sea miles, past Bardsey Island and the Lleyn Peninsula, over Caernarfon Bar and into the Straits. There we had to decide whether to risk the twenty-six sea miles of rough seas off South Stack or risk sailing through the treacherous Straits to take thirty-five sea miles on the sheltered route past Puffin Island. Both choices sounded dodgy to a landlubber like me. He said that with the wind behind us and right tides we could make it there and back on a full tank but if we had to sail into the wind against the tides, we’d triple our fuel consumption. I had to assume that he was erring on the side of caution by taking more fuel. Our preparations were nearly ready. Happy that I’d done all that I could do, I went upstairs to the living room to wait for Joseph to return.

  CHAPTER 33

  I found my way around the dozens of polished kitchen cupboards and made myself a brew. Everything had a place. The tins were stacked neatly in lines two high resembling supermarket shelves rather than a single man’s home. I found the cutlery drawer after opening five others and wasn’t surprised to see the knives and forks lined up symmetrically. The tin opener had its own slot next to the teaspoons which were stacked on top of each other facing in the same direction. Everything in the house indicated that Joseph had an ordered mind. I felt like putting a few forks into the knife section and turning some of the spoons around the wrong way. If I’d known him better, I probably would have done and put some of the beans into the tinned pea line just to top it off. It would drive him bananas. Now wasn’t the right time to play practical jokes on the only ally I had. Maybe there was some of the old me left after all.

  I opened a tin of tuna and tipped the brine into the sink. The stainless steel looked flawless. I drowned the pink meat in malt vinegar and ate it from the tin with a teaspoon. I remember being enthused with anticipation. I actually felt like I was on a level playing field at last instead of being one man hunted by many. Not only were my adversaries legion, they were disguised, camouflaged to look like ordinary people. Now I had the advantage of a well-trained killer on my side and I knew where they would be. At least I had a good idea where they would be. I took my lunch and flopped in front of the plasma, turning the news channel on.

  Images of the fire from the night before were interspersed with shots of Nant-y-Col campsite the farmhouse and the barns were nothing more than smouldering black rectangles against the green of the land. The silo stood defiantly untouched by the inferno. Yellow crime scene tape flapped in the sea breeze. Then came an old photograph of me, followed by a series of artists’ impressions of how I may look now. Most of them looked like a four-year-old had drawn Mr Potato Head with glasses on and a variety of hats and facial hair. They may as well have been looking for Uncle Fester in a trilby and shades. Although the search was centred literally just miles down the road, I felt safe where I was. Hiding under their noses was as good as being a hundred miles away. They would think that I was miles away and I relaxed and waited patiently.

  Joseph’s laptop was on the table in front of me. I thought about checking his email to see if there was any news on the ping, but I didn’t like to betray a trust. I pressed return on the keyboard and the screen displayed his email homepage. He hadn’t logged out, so I didn’t think it counted as a betrayal if I just peeked at his new mail. It was empty. Nothing new had come through. In the in-box, there was one message. I opened it and read one line.

  Number is out of service. No trace.

  That was all it said. I was a little disappointed but not desperately. My thinking was that Fabienne had told me to go to the stones because she wasn’t far away from there. The fact that the ley lines intersected there had convinced me. I was playing my best guess and what did I have to lose, anyway? If she was there, game on. If she wasn’t, I would live to find her another day. It was all just educated guess work, common sense and as I thought about things again, something occurred to me. Joseph told me that there had been no reply about the phone. I read the email again. Joseph had read it before he left. He told me himself that the ping gave you the location of the mast closest to the mobile when it was last used. If that was the case, then you would still get a location, it just wouldn’t be current. Either I was misunderstanding the process, or someone was lying about the results. Either way, Joseph had lied about receiving it.

  I couldn’t think of a way of replying to the email without blowing my whereabouts, but I had to know if that phone was in service. Being a straightforward type of thinker, I grabbed Joseph’s landline, dialled the prefix 141 to hide the number and then rang the mobile number. After two rings, it was answered. Nobody spokes, but the breathing sounded laboured and male.

  ‘Are you on the Island?’ I couldn’t think of what to say, so I was vague.

  ‘Who is this?’ the voice asked. He sounded very upper class beyond a public-school accent. This man was nobility.

  ‘Is Fabienne there yet?’ I thought asking directly might make him think that I knew who he was. It didn’t. He hung up. I looked at the telephone and then looked at the screen. I dialled it again and it clicked to a deadline. No voicemail, no engaged tone just static. Whoever replied to Joseph had lied, but why did he tell me that there was no reply? Maybe his contact did not want to break the law and so pretended there was no result, or was there a more sinister reason? I mulled it over and wondered what Joseph would say when he returned. I wanted to trust him, but this deceit threw me.

  I was anxious to get going and frustrated by the delay, but I knew that going to sea without enough supplies was suicide. I wouldn’t have thought about the return voyage, but Joseph obviously had more confidence than I did. He was right of course, because if we did survive the encounter which wouldn’t go unnoticed by the inhabitants and the authorities, then there truly was no escaping the island. The sea was the only option. I flicked over the news and looked for another channel. The BBC was focusing on a drone attack which had wiped out the Syrian leader and his entire family. The Americans were denying any knowledge of the attack and British radar posts on Cyprus tracked the drone from somewhere north of Turkey. It looked like all hell was about to break loose somewhere else in the world. Funny, but it didn’t seem as important as my predicament at the time. There was a dull thudding sound in the distance. The double glazing muffled the sound, but I’d heard it often enough to know it was a helicopter.

  I jumped off the settee and walked over to the patio windows. Sliding them open, I stepped out to listen. I heard the noise much clearer this time. Then there was another more frightening noise. It was the crackling rattle of automatic machine gunfire in the distance. I guessed it was coming from the town somewhere. My mind ran through a hundred reasons why there would be a gunfight in the resort but none of them sat right with me. A trigger-happy policeman? A bank robbery? Terrorists in Barmouth? Someone thought they’d found the armed fugitive and opened fire?

  A plume of white smoke spiralled into the air close to the fairground and all appeared to return to normal. At least from where I was standing. The dull thudding began again, this time it was coming from the north; from the farm below Nant-y-Col. A police helicopter came into view, a buzzing dot on the landscape. It was above the shoreline about five miles away from the town. I stepped back inside, an involuntary response to the sight of the aircraft which had hounded me so much. Even the most powerful binoculars couldn’t see me, even if they did know where I was, and they didn’t. It still made me nervous. I watched it flying towards Barmouth beach. Then there was another helicopter coming from a different direction. It flew from the river heading for the area whe
re the smoke had been. It was a much smaller craft and I assumed it was a television crew looking for some aerial shots of any unfolding developments. They must have filmed the scene at the farm and the shots of the campsite.

  I stepped back into the house and flicked back to Sky News. The banner headline described the pictures as breaking news. At first, I couldn’t make out what had happened but as the helicopter circled the scene, my stomach tightened into a sickening knot. White smoke drifted from a crippled vehicle which I recognised almost immediately. Three armed police units blocked the exits and entrances to the funfair. Crowds of onlookers were being held back by uniformed police and the surrounding roads were cordoned off. A helmeted figure lay sprawled on the ground bleeding profusely from the chest. A dark puddle was spreading beneath his twisted body. A weapon was abandoned on the tarmac a few yards away from the prone figure. There was a second helmeted person crouched behind a large quad bike, cowering against the machine trying desperately not to get shot. Smoke billowed from the engine block.

  I knew immediately it was the quad that I’d left on the playing fields. The police must have known that I’d escaped on Bryn’s quad and then spotted it travelling along the road somewhere in the resort. I couldn’t explain the rifle until the camera zoomed in on the scene. It was a paintball gun. They were kids causing a nuisance on a dumped quad, probably shooting cars on the estate with luminous paint balls. It would have been fun until the police spotted them. They must have recognised the quad, caught a glimpse of a weapon and hey presto, they thought it was me. After a long chase off the estate, through the town into the funfair a teenager was dead. I felt the air leaving my lungs as I slumped onto the settee. Another example that everything I ever touched turned to shit. Midas turned things to gold, and he moaned about it. He would have had good reason to complain if he lived in my shoes for a day and everything he touched turned to shite.

  I sat there and watched the police move in and arrest the cowering figure. They cuffed the fugitive on the ground and then roughly removed the helmet. A dark black ponytail fell out and a teary teenage girl was unveiled. Nobody looked very pleased at all. I guess they were hoping that the body on the ground was me. I wondered how long it would take them to take off the helmet or look for ID. I thought that would be the ideal time to leave but there was still no sign of Joseph. His mobile was switching directly to the answering machine. The incident in town would have caused major traffic jams, so although I was anxious to leave, I wasn’t overly concerned that he hadn’t returned. The Sky News clock told me it was 2 p.m. I watched the incident every hour for the next four hours by which time, I was very concerned. Joseph still hadn’t returned, and I had to make a choice as to the reason why.

  Either he had decided that he couldn’t risk his life on a doomed crusade or something very bad had happened to him. I dialled his mobile number once more and the answering machine kicked in again. Had he just been stuck in traffic; he would have called. I decided to go without him. I had no choice. Once again, I was alone but this time I felt no sadness at the concept. This time I was ice cold inside, numbed to the very core of my soul.

  CHAPTER 34

  I took a few moments to gather my thoughts. Joseph had planned the mission meticulously. All I needed to do was follow the plan. My instinct began to prickle me that whatever had happened to him was connected to the email he’d denied receiving. I was also aware that whoever he had contacted would probably be aware of where he lived. If I was going to implement his plan, then I needed to move quickly. He told me that his contact was ex-military. I’d made it this far by the skin of my teeth but tackling commandos wasn’t top of my bucket list. It was going dark outside, so I switched on the lights and left the television on to make it appear as if someone was home.

  I took the mobiles, the laptop, the map and the compass and headed for the stairs. Although I knew the island like the back of my hand, I thought I might need them. When I reached the landing, I glanced down the hallway to the bedrooms. Despite knowing that the house was empty, I tiptoed down the hall to Joseph’s room. The door was ajar, but the curtains were closed, blocking out the light. I could see the shadowy shapes of a double bed and a dressing table on my right. The room was empty. I knew it was empty, but I felt the need to check, anyway. The light switch was to the left. Nudging the door open slowly, I checked behind it. There were no commandos, no vampires, nothing but a black towelling robe. My nerves were on red alert.

  I switched on the light and made a cursory glance of his room. It all seemed in keeping with the rest of the house. I walked around to the far side of the bed and opened the bedside cabinet. There were two sets of keys, three paperbacks and a packet of tissues. The keys were marked, Jeep and Rib. It was a good start to my search. Underneath the bed yielded nothing but some fluff. I opened one of the curtains and checked outside. The garden was as immaculate as the house. A neatly trimmed lawn swept around the rear of the house to where the rock face met the garden. The borders had been dug with clinical precision and the shrubs were all pruned to the same height.

  Happy that there were no assassins creeping through the grass, I searched the wardrobe. Nothing but freshly dry-cleaned clothes and polished shoes. The en suite bathroom looked like it belonged at an ideal home exhibition and I’d almost given up on finding anything when I looked at his pillows. One side was slightly higher than the other. For a man who lived inside a geometrically ruled house, that was out of character. I lifted the offending pillow and smiled. The Glock-17 had a reassuring feel to it. I hoped that I wouldn’t need to get close enough to need it, but it was a welcome addition to the team.

  I ran things through in my mind as I made my way to the garage. The lights were burning brightly, and everything was as I’d left it. I picked up one of the nail bombs and placed it gently into the storage box as if it was made of eggshell. Joseph had reassured me that the explosive gel was safe until it was sensitised, but I found it impossible not to be afraid of it. The remaining two devices fit snugly next to the first and once I’d clicked the lids onto all three boxes, I loaded them into the rigid beneath the boards which formed the middle bench seat of the boat. I had shotgun shells, 9mm bullets and three bombs. Not quite the traditional tackle recommended by the coast guard to be taken on to an outboard dinghy off the coast of Barmouth, but essential to my task all the same.

  I opened the back door of the Jeep and took out the two jerrycans, placing them into the rigid on opposite sides, to balance the load. I strapped them down and then set about looking for waterproofs. Joseph had said he had plenty of sets, but I couldn’t see them anywhere. I looked behind the Jeep and there was a grey metal locker screwed to the far wall. Inside there were five sets of florescent orange waterproofs. I should have known that they would be stowed away neatly somewhere. Putting them on over my clothes was harder than it looks but I struggled into them, eventually. I thought back to the photograph of Joseph next to his boat. He’d been wearing a hat. On the shelf above the waterproofs was a vinyl baseball cap. I pulled it on to complete my seafaring disguise and with that, I felt ready to go. I unlocked the driver’s door and took a deep breath. There wasn’t much room between the Jeep and the wall, and I turned sideways to climb into the Jeep. I was about to step up when the automatic door whirred into life. Either Joseph was back, or someone else had his remote.

  CHAPTER 35

  I ducked down beneath the window and peered underneath the Jeep. Joseph’s dark blue Jaguar pulled into the empty bay and the garage door rattled closed behind it. Instinct told me to wait where I was. I heard the car door open and then a second, followed by a third. Two sets of legs climbed out of the passenger side, neither belonged to Joseph. I couldn’t tell if he’d exited the driver’s side.

  ‘Nice place, Joey,’ a voice said sarcastically.

  ‘Thanks,’ Joseph replied flatly. He had brought people back in his car. I couldn’t work out what was going on.

  ‘Very nice indeed,’ the accent wasn’t local.
‘How’s the boat running?’

  ‘She’s fine.’

  ‘Looks in good shape for the winter coming.’

  ‘Let’s cut the shit, shall we,’ Joseph replied. His tone was flat but there was aggression in his voice. ‘You don’t give a fuck about my boat so don’t pretend that you do.’

  ‘Okay, Joey calm down. Where’s the nutcase?’ The first voice asked.

  ‘The television was on when we drove up.’ Joseph sighed. ‘He’ll be upstairs.’

  ‘Lead the way,’ another voice said gruffly. ‘I can’t wait to meet this psycho.’

  I thought about what they’d said and the tone of Joseph’s voice. He sounded as if he was under duress, but I couldn’t help but think he’d turned me in. I had no idea who the other men were, but I knew they weren’t here to wish us well on our mission. I had to assume at that stage that they were police. Whoever they were, I couldn’t leave as planned and I really needed to go, so I had no choice but to confront things head on. I reached inside the Jeep and grabbed the Mossberg.

  ‘What’s going on, Joseph?’ I aimed the shotgun over the bonnet. The three men turned quickly to face me. The strangers aimed automatic pistols towards me with two handed grips and a wide stance. They were either police or military. ‘Have you turned me in?’

  ‘Hands up, Joey,’ growled a wiry built man. Joseph made towards the door but one of them trained their weapon on him. He had a dark flattop, greying at the sides. ‘Over here, on your knees.’