Tasha manoeuvred the pages so that she could read them. “I think this will be a self-assured individual in the age range of thirty-five to fifty years old. Most likely large in stature or, if short in height, they will be muscular - possibly working out at the gym, working the land or involved in otherwise manual work such as building work. They will know the night life in Newtown, and the surrounding area, well. So, they will spend a lot of time either out drinking in town, or else be employed within the night-life scene - perhaps as a bouncer.
“The individual will most likely be charming, able to strike up a conversation with strangers easily. They may be wrestling with gender identity, or with their sexuality. I think it’s likely they own property in the area, or else have access to property or land, where they will have a shed or lock-up at their disposal. I believe the unsub will have gotten to know his victims before killing them, and has a fetish for water and the act of drowning - most likely gaining sexual satisfaction from the act of drowning, itself, i.e. the specific control given to them by drowning and then reviving their victim numerous times. This unsub will most likely be using water to torture victims prior to their deaths.”
“So, you think they’re abducting the victims and holding them somewhere?”
“Yes, I do. It’s the only way they would be able to have the prolonged control over life and death that they find so stimulating. Yes, they could carry out that controlled drowning-reviving cycle whilst at the river, but the risk of discovery would be that much greater. I rather think that, for the most part, at least, the river is used merely for disposal and as a cover for their crimes.”
“We could start investigating lock-ups almost immediately.”
“One more thing, this person seeks notoriety. This may be from online peers or from more public places. I had a thought that the chalked numerals may be for some group they are involved with, such as an online water-fetish group. Something of that nature. If it’s a more public fame they seek, you can expect them to up their game since the DCI went so public with denouncing ‘The Pusher’ theory. If this unsub was loving the media attention, he’ll do something, imminently, to get it back.”
Yvonne stared at the psychologist, the implication dawning on her. “So, someone will die again very soon.”
“It’s possible, even likely.” Tasha nodded.
“My normal response would be to up patrols in the town centre. I don’t know if I can arrange that, now we are not officially investigating these deaths.” Yvonne pursed her lips.
“What about getting them on some other pretext?”
“Hmm.” Yvonne nodded. “I’ll think of something.”
“So, what about your suspects? Do you have anyone in the frame for these crimes? Someone we can examine against the profile?” Tasha took a mouthful of wine.
Yvonne nodded and reached for her notes, picking them up so she could read them out.
“There are three men I’ve had concerns about. The first is Rob Davies. He’s a student at the college in Newtown. Twenty-two years old, tall, lean and toned. He seems mild-mannered, when sober, but has been described as loud and arrogant when he’s had a few drinks. He had a run-in with James, the night James disappeared.”
“And James was the first victim?”
“Right. He has access to allotments sheds and greenhouses. Doesn’t fit the profile in terms of age, though.”
“Okay, well, the unsub may not fit the profile in every regard. He does tick a few boxes, so we won’t rule him out, yet. Who else?”
“Geoff Griffiths. He works as a barman at the Sportsman. I think he also works for other bars, when they are short-staffed. That is, if he’s not working at the Sportsman. He’s tall, broad and thirty-five years old. A bit gruff, but appears to keep the bar in order and sorts out any trouble on his own. The Sportsman doesn’t have security. By all accounts, he keeps himself to himself outside of work. Used to be a maths teacher until he went off on long-term sick leave, and then took offered redundancy two years ago. A pupil at Newtown High School had accused Griffiths of attacking him. He was ultimately found not guilty. The boy was suspected of hurting himself to get Griffiths in trouble, because of a grudge. Griffiths was one of the last people to see both James and Lloyd alive. I am not aware of his having a lock-up but we haven’t been to his home. It’s something we can check out.”
“Sounds like a reasonable candidate.” Tasha nodded. “Who’s the third on your list?”
“Clive Jones. He’s a farmer, well-muscled and of medium height. Forty-five years old. He works outdoors a lot and has a ruddy complexion. He’s used to being out and about on the land. He’s a bit rough around the edges - got a reputation for being prickly. He dresses up in a shirt and tie to go out in town, every Friday and Saturday night. This coincides with the nights the young men go missing. He had a heated altercation with Lloyd, the night he went missing. There was a stand-off between the two sets of friends.”
“Another good candidate. How are you going to check them out? Especially, now the DCI has called you off?”
“I’m investigating a hit-and-run death of a young boy. I’m desperate to get it solved. The parents need closure and Callum needs justice. We’re checking out a lot of vehicles in the area. I may be able to link this in with that investigation, somehow.”
Tasha nodded. “Good idea.”
34
Halliwell
Chris Halliwell blinked in the darkness, unsure of where he was. Struggling to focus his eyes, and still coming round, he wondered why he was having difficulty breathing. It didn’t take long to realise he was restrained, and the wide band over his chest was what was inhibiting his upper body movement. Was he in hospital?
On attempting to move, he soon realised that it wasn’t just his chest that was restrained. He was unable to move any part of his body, aside from his head. His mouth was also, mercifully, free.
He shook his head, trying to remember how he had gotten into this situation. He was in a dark room, but could see a chink of moonlight coming through the curtains of a small window to his left. He was covered in a white sheet and, when the moon was uncovered by clouds, could make out a little of the room and its contents. It appeared to be an attic. Although he could make out vague shapes, he couldn’t focus enough to make out what those shapes were. His head swam, and he set it back down, taking as deep a breath as he was able, given the weight of the restraints.
He frowned in the darkness. His car had broken down. Someone had come to help. His daughter. He needed to get to his daughter.
“Help!” he called into the darkness. “Please, help me…somebody?”
The sound of feet on wooden stairs.
“Hello?” He listened hard, sweat beading on his brow and upper lip. He licked it off, the saltiness strangely comforting. “Hello?” he called, again. His heart thudded in his chest and he could no longer hear anything save the blood in his ears.
A figure appeared in the room. He must have come up from below. Chris blinked in the half-light, trying to make out a face.
“Do you need water?”
He recognised the voice. He pulled against his restraints, the effort tightening his jaw. “I need to see my daughter. I have to get to the hospital.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your daughter.” The words were delivered coldly matter-of-fact.
“No. No, you don’t understand. She’s very ill. She’s in the hospital. Please…”
“She’s not at the hospital.” He was standing at the foot of the bed.
“Wait, what? But I had a phone call.”
“I called you.”
It took a moment to register. “This was a trap?”
“And you fell right into it. How does that feel, PC Halliwell?”
“What do you want with me? I can’t tell you anything. We are told stuff on a need-to-know basis. I can’t give you inside information on anything.”
The dark figure shrugged. “I don’t remember asking you for inside information.”
> “Then, why?” Chris narrowed his eyes, in an attempt to improve their focus on the figure.
“Sport.”
“Sport? I don’t understand.”
“I like Watersport. You’ll understand when you wake up tomorrow. Your head will be clear and you’ll know exactly what is going on.”
“I need the toilet.” Chris fought against his restraints.
“Then, go.”
”What, here?”
“Well, you’re not going anywhere else.”
“You can’t keep me here. It’s a serious offence, kidnapping a police officer.”
“Good job no-one knows I’ve kidnapped you then, eh?”
“They’ll be looking for me. My DI will-“
“Your DI thinks you’re at the hospital, with your daughter. And she’s probably sound asleep right now. She’s not about to do anything, is she?”
“Look, please…” Chris closed his eyes, laying his head back on the pillow. “Tell me what you want from me.”
The figure came closer, holding a small bottle of water to Chris’s mouth, for him to drink. “All will become clear, tomorrow.”
35
A dawning realisation
During coffee break, at CID, Yvonne checked her mobile, hoping for a missed call or a text message from Chris Halliwell. There was none. It had been almost forty-eight hours since she had last seen him. She hoped his daughter was alright. She placed her mobile back in her bag.
“Everything okay?” Dewi eyed her, head tilted to one side.
Yvonne sighed. “I’d hoped to hear something from Chris by now…about his daughter. I’m just hoping everything is alright. But, the longer we spend without communication from him, well…I’m just fearing the worst.”
“It may not be bad news. He’ll be spending time holding his little girl’s hand and reassuring her. Contacting us is probably the last thing on his mind. He’ll be in touch soon, I’m sure.”
She knew this was Dewi’s attempt at comforting her and she was grateful to him. But, something in her gut niggled away. Something didn’t feel right and she couldn’t shake the unease enveloping her.
“Dewi, I’d like to visit Clive Jones again today. Want to come?”
“Sure. What we looking for?”
“Officially? We’re looking at his vehicle. Unofficially, I’m hoping to find out his movements, the night Kenny disappeared.”
“Right you are, ma’am. I’ll drive.” He looked down at her shoes. “Probably best change into wellies.”
They found him mucking one of the cow sheds. Yvonne put a hand on Dewi’s arm, to halt him, as they stood near the entrance. She walked over to the nearest metal railings and leaned against them, observing.
Clive Jones was engrossed in his work, throwing down fresh hay in the pens where the calves would later be. He still hadn’t noticed their presence. He seemed relaxed.
The DI gave Dewi a nod and then walked forward to greet the farmer.
He appeared startled, as he sensed their presence. “What the? Oh, it’s you, again.” He went back to his sweeping. “I haven’t got time to do this now.” He scowled.
“To do what?” Yvonne asked, head tilted to one side.
“Talk to you lot. I suppose you’ve come about the car in the top field.”
She shot a look at Dewi. “What car?”
He looked up from his sweeping, his eyes searching hers, as though suspecting her of trying to trick him.
“The burned-out car in the top field.” He hawked deep in the back of his throat, spitting it out to the side.
The DI flinched. “I didn’t know there was a burned-out car in the top field. What car is it?”
“I dunno what car it is. It’s all burned, like. Looked like a four-by-four. Small.”
“Whose is it? Is it yours?”
“Nope.”
“Can we see it?”
“Help yourselves.”
“When did you find it?”
“Last night. I was up feeding the sheep.”
“Was it still alight?”
“No flames, if that’s what you mean. But, it was smoking. The fire had finished. If you ask me, someone had poured petrol on it and set it alight.”
“Why would they do that?” Yvonne narrowed her eyes at him.
“Joy riders, I guess. Stole a car to get home and burned it to destroy the evidence. It happens. Probably teenagers.” He shrugged.
“We’ve been looking for a small four-by-four, in connection with a hit-and-run death, near the school. You know anything about that?”
“I saw it in the paper. Felt sorry for the kid.” He grunted the words, as though they were said grudgingly. Showing emotion was clearly something that Clive Jones was not used to.
“Why didn’t you call it in?” Dewi asked.
“I was going to later today. I didn’t realise it was urgent. Hell, there was a car burned out and left on my land for years, before. I didn’t notice anyone feeling that was urgent. And, nobody wanted to help get it shifted. I don’t see the point in telling the police, if they don’t do anything about it. No-one bats an eyelid round here. Kids get away with murder.” He threw his broom down. “If you wanna see it, I’ll take you up there now. We’ll take the Landrover.”
36
Burned out
There were still small tendrils of smoke drifting up from the wreck, occasionally. As Clive Jones parked up the Land Rover, Yvonne jumped out. Dewi quickly followed.
“They did a good job on this, didn’t they?” She could see that the insides were completely burned out, as she moved in closer.
“Smells like accelerants.” Dewi placed the tips of his fingers to the metal. “Cold. The fire’s been out a while. Looks like a silver Suzuki.” Dewi sighed. “O4 reg. This could be the vehicle we’ve been looking for. Maybe, whoever ran over and killed Callum Jenkins torched the evidence.”
“Wait a minute.” Yvonne frowned. “Didn’t you say that Kenny Walters drove a silver four-by-four?’
“Of course.” Dewi smacked himself on the head. “This could be Kenny’s car. It still hasn’t been found.”
Dewi phoned for a vehicle check. His eyes shone as he turned to the DI. “It’s Kenny’s car. It’s definitely his vehicle.”
“And it’s also a suspect vehicle in the hit and run. Call it in, Dewi. Get SOCO and uniform up here as soon as practicable. This place needs to be cordoned off.” She turned towards Clive Jones. “We must ask you to return to your farm and wait to be questioned. This vehicle is potential evidence in two deaths. We must ask you not to enter this area again, until given the all clear by us.”
“I’ve got work to do-“
“So have we, Mr Jones. So have we.”
“Before I go, I don’t know if it’s connected, but someone scraped the gate up there with their car. At least, that’s what it looks like to me. They left red paint on it.”
“Really? Did it happen that night?”
“Can’t say for sure, but it wasn’t there before. It may have happened since.”
Yvonne ran up to take a look. It definitely looked like a vehicle had been backing up towards the gate, possibly to turn their car around, or park up.
“Thank you,” she said to the farmer. “I’ll be down to speak to you, shortly.”
After he had disappeared, Yvonne and Dewi took a few pictures, whilst waiting for further police and forensics to get there. The ground beneath the car was scorched, and the inside had been reduced to ash and melted frames.
“There’s a large metal gateway over there.” Dewi pointed to a farm gate. Designed to allow animals to move into the road, on their way to other fields.
“What’s the road up there, Dewi? Is that the Dolfor road?”
Dewi nodded. “Near enough. It’s actually part of the link road which runs between Dolfor and LLanbadarn Fynydd.”
“The road leading to the moors? Where we thought Kenny may have met his abductor?”
“Right. Killer could ha
ve driven the vehicle down here, torched it, then gone back up to his own vehicle and driven away. And, Clive Jones is right. It wouldn’t be the first vehicle to have been vandalised and left in this way. So, he wouldn’t necessarily have felt it was urgent to tell us about it.”
“Dewi, he may have been the man who torched it.” The DI pursed her lips. It was then, she saw it. Chalked onto one of the wooden posts holding the gate. The Roman numeral for five. She ran over to it, quickly followed by Dewi.
“Ma’am?”
“Look, number five. Kenny was number five.”
“Number five?”
“The fifth victim of our water-fetish killer. I’m now more convinced than ever that that is what we are looking at. I don’t know if this vehicle is linked to the hit-and-run, but I strongly believe this is linked to the drowning of Kenny Walters. Safeguard this scene, Dewi, until the others get here. I’m off to interview Clive Jones.”
“Alone?” Dewi raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve got mace and cuffs if I need them.” She winked.
“I’ll ask for someone to join you.” Dewi nodded, reaching for his mobile phone.
“Clive Jones, you have the right to remain silent…” Yvonne recited the mantra to the farmer, who sighed and shook his head.
“Am I under arrest for telling you about a burned-out car?” He threw his cap down onto the large and battered oak kitchen table.
“Where were you, four nights ago?” Yvonne cast her eyes around the old farm kitchen. It had a certain charm, despite needing a good clean and a thorough update.
“Last Saturday?” Clive Jones kicked off his boots. His thick socks had a ripe smell, and his big toes poked through holes. His toenails needing cutting.
Yvonne’s eyes travelled back to his face. “Yes, Saturday night.”
“Well, that’s easy. I was out in town.” He rubbed his back and reached for an old whistle kettle.
“Can anyone vouch for that?”
DI Giles BoxSet Page 84
