DI Giles BoxSet

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  Yvonne closed her notebook and placed it in her bag, aware that she had a swab sample in there. she needed to get it to the lab. “?Thank you for your help today, Kelly. It can't have been easy for you to talk about this. I've filled in quite a few gaps with your information.”

  “It can't have been easy for you, either.”

  “I'm sorry?”

  “Seeing what you saw. I'm sure you've seen things I hope I'll never see.”

  Yvonne thought of the children and nodded. “It doesn't get any easier.”

  7

  When Yvonne got back to the station, she handed him her package to Dewi. “Can you get that to the lab, ASAP? Let them know that the DNA may not yield much. Probably too degraded, but I think that's blood, and I'd like to know if it is or not. I almost certainly couldn't use it in evidence but the results will tell me if I'm thinking in the right ball-park. I have a theory.” She pulled a face.

  “Where have you been all afternoon? Have you been back to the house?”

  “Why? Did you miss me? And yes, I went back to the house.”

  “Does Llewellyn know?”

  “Does he have to know?”

  Dewi grinned. He was getting used to his DI answering a question with a question. “No, I guess not.”

  “Great. Get that sample off for me, please, whilst you're still allowed to.” Yvonne grinned back.

  When Dewi returned, he had some paperwork for her. “This is why I was looking for you this afternoon, ma'am.”

  “Good work, Dewi.” Yvonne gratefully accepted the paperwork, spotting at a glance that this was the financial information she'd asked for on Ben Davies.

  “Ah, Yvonne.” DCI Llewellyn came around the corner, a stern look on his face.

  “Sir?” Yvonne straightened up.

  He handed her some papers. “I'm putting you on a rape case. Victim was attacked last night in Welshpool.”? He rubbed his forehead. “Unusual case. Very much looks like it was a carefully planned attack.”

  “But, sir, what about the Davies family deaths? I...”

  “What about them? We've had this conversation, Yvonne. There's nothing to solve. The case is officially closing.”?

  “But - ”

  “Someone was raped last night. I want you and your team to find the rapist.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  Yvonne and Dewi joined uniform officers who were comforting the girl. Dewi stayed outside of the interview room whilst Yvonne, a victim liaison officer, and the WPC who'd been with the girl throughout, went inside.

  The girl was petite, dark-haired and aged nineteen years. She sat in a paper suit, visibly shaken, bearing the scars of her ordeal everywhere: bruises, grazes and red welts. Yvonne immediately felt guilty about her earlier irritation towards working this case.

  “Good afternoon, errr...” Yvonne looked down at her paperwork. “Ms Pugh. Can I call you Tina?”?

  “Yes.” The girl nodded, and wiped her eye with the back of her hand, having long since stopped worrying about streaking her mascara.

  “I'm Detective Inspector Yvonne Giles. I work with CID. I'm going to find who did this to you, okay?”

  The girl nodded, her eyes focused on the table.

  “Can I get you anything? A cup of tea? Food?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I worked my usual shift and -”

  “I'm sorry, where were you working?”

  The girl looked up and her brilliant-blue eyes met those of the DI for the first time. “I work at The Castle Cafe in Montgomery.”?

  “Go on.”

  “I finished my shift and drove home to Welshpool. I'd organised to meet my friends at six-thirty pm, to go out in the town. We'd begun with drinks in The Angel, and intended ending up in The Lounge nightclub. The Lounge doesn't open until eleven pm so we were a bit tipsy by that time.”?

  “Define tipsy.”

  “Well, I'd paced myself. I'd had a couple of soft drinks, here and there, just to make sure I stayed sensible. I hate not being able to remember anything.”?

  “I see. What happened then?”

  “My friends were a little more drunk than I was and wanted to rush their drinks before the club. I needed the toilet and I didn't want to rush mine. In the end, I told them to go and I'd catch up. We didn't have that far to go.”?

  “So you were walking alone when you left The Angel?”

  “Yes. I walked quickly, but my friends had disappeared into the club.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I was grabbed from behind and pulled into the alley. He had gloves, dark clothing and a mask on. He smelled of soap. He raped me.”? The girl began crying again and Yvonne reached over and placed her hand on the girl's hands, looking over at the WPC.

  “Do we have swabs?”

  The WPC shook her head. “We think he wore a condom, ma'am. No trace of semen, but plenty of evidence of forced penetration. Forensics have the girl's clothes. We're hoping there'll be hairs or fibres on those.”?

  “And CCTV?”

  “The only CCTV pictures are useless. Too dark and grainy to identify someone so heavily disguised.”

  “Did he say anything to you?” Yvonne's attention was back on the girl.

  “No. Nothing.”

  “We'll do our very best to find him, Tina. I can promise that.”

  The girl gave a sob and was comforted by the support officer.

  8

  Late evening saw Yvonne pouring over Ben Davies' financial information. Next to her was the file DS McAllister had sent from West Mercia on the Bennett family from Maesbury March.

  She didn't know a huge amount about hedge funds but she'd need to apprise herself, and quickly. It appeared both Davies and Bennett had been accredited hedge fund investors, and had ploughed a lot of money into short-term investments, via a London hedge fund management firm.

  They had both liquidated longer-term investments prior to doing this. The DI knew she needed to speak to someone who knew more about investments than she did, as much of the information might as well have been written in a foreign language, but this could be crucial to working out what really happened and why.

  A quick Google search told her that you had to be worth a substantial amount – like over a million – to become an accredited hedge fund investor. The average Joe wouldn't qualify.

  In the last two weeks of his life, Ben Davies had lost around £50,000 alone, putting him even further into the red. In the last two weeks of his life, Robert Bennett had had nothing left to lose, borrowed or otherwise.

  She had a look at the brief info on the hedge fund management firm both men had used: 'Boxhall Investments'. There was a glossy pamphlet attached, which didn't telling her anything much, lacking as it was in the sort of substance Yvonne needed. Clearly, one had to talk to them to find out what they really did.

  Another firm they had in common was an independent financial adviser, 'Williams and West'. Their headquarters was in Newtown. She made a note of people to look up and, if she was able, interview.

  She was tired. Too tired to continue. It had been an emotionally draining day and she needed her bed. After a mug of hot chocolate, that's exactly where she was.

  She knelt down and plucked a couple of weeds from on the grave. Sitting on her heels, she perused the open-book headstone. Black letters on marble. The last testament to her father's existence. She added her flowers to those already placed there by Kim and her children. Her dad would have been fifty-five today.

  She mostly remembered him as the happy man of her childhood, hiding the sadder version of him in the deeper recesses of her mind. But she vividly recalled that version now: the lack of words, the frequent sighs, the hunched shoulders and the slowness of him. She imagined holding him tight. Holding and not letting go.

  Was that how Ben Davies and Robert Bennett were in their last weeks in this world, all slow and hunched and silent? Not if Kelly, Ben's neighbour, was correct.
Not only had he sought help, but he was planning on buying a barge. He'd been attempting to work it through. Had he suddenly just given up? Like her father did when he found out...

  Kim had been right, of course. Her mother, though selfishly having an affair, could never have predicted that their father would take the ultimate step. Yvonne wondered that if prior knowledge would have altered her mother's path.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by her mobile erupting in her pocket.

  “DI Giles.”

  “Ma'am, it's Dewi. We have a fibre in the rape case. It's not much, but it is a fibre from the attacker, we believe, as it was found on the girls undergarments and was not from any of her clothing.”

  “Well, that's a good result, Dewi, and may help if we find him. Have there been any other developments?”

  “Not yet. May have some more when you get back from leave tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Dewi.” She smiled as she hung up. She knew that Dewi had contacted her to check she was alright. She appreciated it, and was grateful they had a small piece of evidence in their rape case. That was something, at least.

  Deborah Ball looked flustered. She shouted something to her children, Yasmin and Michael. Whatever it was, they appeared not to be listening. He adjusted his position so that he could see the mother more clearly. Tony Ball was still at work. He put his binoculars down for a moment. His arms ached.

  It was nearly time. There they were, going about their daily routine, whilst he was experiencing the build-up: becoming more and more tense until he could no longer resist the urge to kill. They had no idea of the coming storm.

  He put the binoculars to his eyes once more. She'd disappeared. Where was she? He couldn't see her. He switched from window to window. She must be in another part of the house. No matter. He was familiar enough with her day. He was much more interested in her night.

  He watched the children play for a few minutes more. Watched Michael pulling his sister's hair and her screaming out. Watched her chasing him out into the garden and tripping over in the process. Deborah came out to order them to stop it, telling them they'd have to go inside.

  Her words either made no difference at all. They paused, only to resume once her back was turned. He put the binoculars back in his bag, took a long cold swig of coke, and left them to it.

  Back at Newtown CID, the dreaded news awaited Yvonne. They'd closed the Davies case. It was DC Callum who told her, five minutes after she entered the station. Yvonne went straight to Llewellyn's office.

  “Can we have a few more days on this, sir? I'm awaiting some forensic results.”

  “Yvonne, we have all the forensics we need on. More forensics, unless they provide conclusive evidence of another DNA, or similar, are not going to sway the super or the crime commissioner, to resource further investigation.”?

  Tony Ball yawned as he left the sofa to go answer the door. He checked the clock: eleven-thirty pm. He was bang on time. Tony appreciated that. You could rely on a man who kept good time, and god knew he needed people he could count on.

  “Come in.” The words had genuine warmth.

  “Where's the family?”

  “Fast asleep in their beds.” Tony took him through to his study. They'd be private there, at the back of the house. It was a good place to conduct business. He wandered over to the drinks cabinet. “?Want one?” He began pouring himself a single malt.

  “Not right now, maybe later.” The other sounded relaxed but firm in his refusal.

  “So, why the cloak-and-dagger stuff? Why come here so late?”

  “Did you keep it to yourself, like I asked?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “How about the wife?”

  “Even from my wife. No-one knows. Now, will you tell me what's going on?”

  “I think I may be able to help you out of the financial hole you find yourself in.”

  Tony stared at him. “Really? How?”

  “I've got access to some seriously good shorts. Word is, they are going to yield big time in the next few weeks. The time to invest is now.”?

  Tony sighed. “I have nothing. I'm massively in the red. Way beyond investing in anything, my friend.”

  “What if I were to tell you that I could fund you, at least initially? You could pay me back when you cash in.”?

  “You would fund me?”

  “I'm that confident in this trade.”

  “Insider info?”

  “Shhhhh...”

  “Hence the cloak-and-dagger, eh?” Tony took him in. He looked expensive and sleek as a panther, in casual black slacks and black jumper. He usually appeared business-like: a precisely knotted tie, an Italian-styled cotton shirt. The expensive weave of the jacket and trousers, or flash of purple silk, when he opened a jacket up. All of this set off with Italian leather shoes. He had the look of quality. Like he knew how to get what he wanted.

  “Could this get me jail time?”

  “Sometimes we have to take the plunge. Risk it all.”

  “I couldn't do that to my family.” Tony physically pulled back.

  “The chances of anyone doing jail time is minute. Most of all for you. It'll be my money we invest, initially. I'll take back my slice, we'll share the profit, and we can reinvest if we choose. Win win. Do you have a shotgun?”?

  “You know I do.”

  “Then get it.”

  Tony frowned. “Why do I need a shotgun?”

  “Look at me.”

  “I'm looking...”

  “What do you see?”

  “Well...”

  “I need to know you're with me one hundred percent. I need to know I can trust you and that you're up for the challenge. Go get the gun. Make sure it's loaded.”?

  Tony nodded, poured himself another whiskey, and went to fetch the gun from his gun cabinet.

  “Is it loaded?”

  Tony placed the loaded gun on the table, with a box of cartridges, thinking they may be going into the woods to shoot. “?It's loaded.”

  When the other turned the gun on himself, the ends of the barrels against his mouth, thumb on the trigger, Tony gasped in surprise.

  “It's okay. When I put this gun to my mouth, I know it's yours. I know it's quality and that it's well-maintained. I trust you implicitly. The question is, do you trust me enough, with a potentially very lucrative investment, and just a small element of risk?”

  “I do.”

  “Go ahead. Put the end of the gun in your mouth. Put your thumb on the trigger. Feel the adrenaline. Your heart racing. That's what this is about.”?

  Tony hesitated.

  “Go ahead. I did.”

  Tony turned the gun on himself, putting the end to his mouth, thumb on the trigger.

  “Can you put it in your mouth? That is the question.”

  Tony did just that. He was shaking, sweat beading on his forehead.

  The other moved in close. “See? You are capable.”

  Tony didn't see it coming. He was thrown backwards, over on his back. His blood and brain matter on the wall behind.

  The killer strode to the door to listen, one eye on the window – a possible escape route. Not a sound from the rest of the house. He put on gloves, took the gun from the dead man, and wiped the trigger clean, using the dead man's thumb to make a fresh print. He took out hospital-issue plastic over-shoes and put them on, proceeding upstairs to the bedrooms. There was enough separation between the rooms to lower the risk of the children waking. He'd known this from weeks of watching.

  He found the master bedroom and eased open the door, always ready to run.

  She stirred, pushing the sleep-mask up on her forehead, lifting herself in the king-size bed, adjusting in the darkness.

  “Robert?”

  He watched her for a second before letting off one barrel directly into her chest. She fell backwards and there was no further movement.

  He pulled the duvet right back and took out a plastic bottle, scooping up the little blood he could. He then
pulled the duvet back up, tucking it under her chin. He replaced the cartridge in that barrel and strode the long corridor, where he finished the children: one barrel each, removing the teddy bear and tiny blanket from them both as they slept. He needed the blood to pool so he could collect it in the atomiser, which he would top-up with a little water, to help it spray.

  He returned to the father, shaking the atomiser as he entered the room. He sprayed, liberally, onto Tony's shirt-front, after which he removed the over-shoes before leaving the room.

  Once in the garden, he avoided the Ball's one CCTV camera and took off the over-garments. He got into his car, driving with no lights until he reached the main road.

  Tony Ball had made it easy. He was a gambler. An addict. Easy prey for a man like him.

  9

  The phone purred for several seconds. Yvonne shifted her weight from foot to foot, chewing on her fingers.

  “Tasha Phillips.”

  “Tasha, I need your help.”

  “Yvonne?”

  “Hello.”

  There was a laugh on the other end. “What happened to, 'Hi, how are you? Sorry I haven't been in touch for a while?'”?

  “Sorry...”

  “It's okay. I'm joking. Are you alright?”

  “I'm alright, but a local family may not be if I don't stop a killer. If there is a killer, which there may not be. But I think there is.”

  “?You're making perfect sense.”

  “Sorry, again. I'm a bit fraught.”

  “I hear that. How can I help?”

  “Whole families are being murdered. Either by a stranger or by a male within the family - the father. As far as my colleagues are concerned, it's familial-murder. They're not looking for anyone else.”?

  “And you are?”

  “I think that a local family, and a family from across the border, were killed by a stranger. I also believe that both families were killed by the same offender.”?

  “What makes you think that?”

  “The crime scenes are too neat. Little children sleeping without toys or cuddle-blankets in their beds...I feel foolish now.”?