One of the men pointed the shotgun into the air and fired a warning shot.
BOOM!
A cacophony of sound and movement as birds scattered from the surrounding trees and escaped up into the dusky sky.
‘Stay there, Thomas! Please!’ Rachel bellowed. This was his last chance.
For a moment, Thomas stopped and looked back at them from beneath his black hoodie. Then he quickly scrambled over the gate and continued to run.
‘Now what?’ Simon gasped.
‘No more warning shots. We need to stop him getting away,’ Rachel said sternly. ‘I don’t care how we do it.’
Rachel didn’t like to think about ‘the leavers’ and what had happened to them. But it was part of God’s plan to save them. She thought Thomas understood that she was trying to save him. The Book of Revelation said that those who didn’t believe would find themselves burning in a lake of fire. Is that really what he wanted? She couldn’t let that happen to anyone that she loved.
As they reached the steel gate they saw that the field on the other side led down to a fence and, beyond that, a railway track that went east to west. Thomas was now only a few yards from the fence.
Rachel turned to the tall, thin man with the rifle. ‘Shoot him.’
The man nodded, lifted the rifle, aimed and then shot.
CRACK!
The sharp sound of the gunshot reverberated across the whole landscape.
Fully expecting to see Thomas drop, Rachel instead saw him continuing to run.
‘You idiot! Shoot again!’ Rachel snapped, getting frustrated.
CRACK!
From somewhere, Rachel could hear a rumbling noise, like the growl of thunder in the distance.
What on earth is that? she wondered as her attention was drawn, across the fields to her left, towards an approaching train.
As she watched, Thomas stepped onto the track and looked left. He stopped for a moment. The train was thundering towards him. Walking gingerly over the tracks, he glanced left again.
It’s going to hit him! But if that’s God’s will ... she thought. For a moment, Rachel prayed that Thomas would be hit by the train.
‘Come on!’ she shouted at the men as they raced towards the fence.
She watched as Thomas got to the other side of the railway track with only seconds to spare. The train roared past, obscuring their view.
As Rachel, Simon, and the other men approached the fence, the passing train had now completely blocked their view of the fields beyond.
‘This can’t be happening!’ Rachel snapped as she hit the metal fence out of frustration. ‘He’s going to get away. Have you forgotten what that means?’
The train was carrying huge coils of industrial piping. Wagon after wagon went by with no end in sight.
Come on! Come on!
Rachel looked left, willing the train to pass so they could continue.
As the final wagon rattled past them, Rachel peered into the darkness. Thomas was nowhere to be seen – he had vanished.
They had lost him.
CHAPTER 2
DI Ruth Hunter of the North Wales Police stood beside a burger van in a lay-by on the A5 towards the eastern edge of Snowdonia. Her partner, DS Nick Evans, was buying them coffees.
It was mid-February and still freezing cold. Stamping her feet, Ruth fished a ciggie from the packet inside her coat pocket. Shielding the lighter from the battering wind, she lit the cigarette and took a deep drag.
Bloody lovely.
The light of the day had virtually faded and the ridges of the Snowdonia Mountains were suffused with undulating patterns of pink and purple light. It was stunning. Even after three years in North Wales, Ruth could still be overwhelmed by Snowdonia’s beauty. She had even started to remember the history, myths and legends that Nick had regaled her with since her transfer from Peckham CID in South East London. She knew that the ridges she was gazing at were the Berwyn Mountains where the Welsh had fought the English in some kind of battle and won. It had something to do with Owain Glyndŵr and one of the King Henrys.
‘Here you go, boss,’ Nick said, handing her the coffee in a large plastic cup.
She noticed that Nick looked tired and a little drawn. With a newborn baby, it was to be expected.
‘As I always say ...’ Ruth said with a grin.
‘Drink it while it’s hot otherwise you might taste it,’ Nick said with a smile.
‘I know London has its drawbacks, but right now I would kill for a flat white and a chocolate Tiffin,’ Ruth admitted as she puffed her ciggie.
‘Tiffin? What the bloody hell is a Tiffin?’ Nick groaned.
‘Like a chocolate brownie, you peasant,’ Ruth teased.
‘I’ll take all the caffeine and sugar I can get at the moment,’ Nick said.
Nick had a baby daughter, Megan, who was nearly six months old. Ruth was her godmother and Megan’s christening had been a magical day. She had been named after Nick’s cousin who had died in tragic circumstances a few years before Ruth had arrived in North Wales.
‘You’ve got a baby. What did you expect?’
‘I’m so tired I feel like I’m wading through soup,’ Nick admitted.
‘Not sleeping through yet?’ Ruth asked, taking a final drag of the ciggie.
‘I’m trying. But I’m only getting about five hours a night,’ Nick said with a knowing smirk.
‘Not you, you berk! Megan,’ Ruth said, rolling her eyes.
‘Berk? Another one of your retro insults to go along with plank, wally and plonker,’ Nick said with a smile.
‘You forgot pranny! So, is Megan sleeping through?’
‘She’s not sleeping at all,’ Nick replied, fishing the car keys out of his pocket. ‘It’s making Amanda a bit demented.’
‘That’s a bit strong. It’s a massive change for all of you. I’m sure she’s gonna be okay.’ This wasn’t the first time that Nick had mentioned Amanda’s mental state. It was beginning to worry Ruth a little.
‘I suppose so,’ Nick said.
Ruth looked at him. ‘ Would it help if I had a chat with her?’
‘Actually, yeah, that would be good. If you don’t mind,’ Nick admitted, looking relieved.
Ruth stubbed out the cigarette and took one last look at the fading light over the mountains before getting into the car. It was like one of the picture postcards that she used to buy when she was a kid – before everyone used Instagram instead. Ruth had spent most of her childhood holidays in North Wales with family, away from the concrete estates of South London, SW11. But now it was home.
Nick started the engine, pulled out of the lay-by and rejoined the A5. He clicked on the car stereo again and the new Green Day album started to play.
Ruth reached over and immediately turned it down. ‘I’ve given Green Day a chance, but I think we need to listen to something else, Nick.’
‘What, Spandau Ballet’s Greatest Hits?’ he snorted.
‘Oi! I’ve got a very eclectic musical taste, thank you very much,’ Ruth protested. Nick was a music snob and his rock music was not her thing at all.
‘Listening to old Stevie Wonder albums doesn’t make you eclectic,’ Nick said with a grin.
‘Oh, sod off, music snob,’ Ruth said, smiling.
‘And I’m not listening to the new Kylie album again, just because it was recorded in Nashville and has a slight country edge. It’s not exactly like The Black Crowes going bluegrass about a decade ago is it?’
‘The Black who?’ Ruth asked, watching Nick roll his eyes in satisfaction of winding him up.
The Tetra radio in the car crackled. ‘Three-six, three-six. This is Dispatch. Over.’
Ruth clicked the radio. ‘Dispatch, Dispatch. This is three-six. Go ahead. Over.’
The computer aided dispatch, or CAD, operator continued, ‘Three-six. We have reports of gunshots at Solace Farm in Ffestiniog. Over.’
Ruth looked over at Nick.
‘It’s about fifteen minutes f
rom here,’ Nick explained.
‘Three-six. Received. We’re en route. Any uniforms in attendance? Over.’ Ruth asked.
‘Dispatch. Negative. Uniformed officers en route. ETA twenty minutes. Over.’
‘Three-six. Our ETA is ten minutes. Will advise on arrival. Out.’ Ruth said and hung up the radio.
‘I said fifteen minutes,’ Nick said with a frown.
‘And I’ve seen the way you drive,’ Ruth quipped. ‘Could be pheasant shooting?’
Nick shook his head. ‘Not at this time of year.’
Nick hit the button and the lights and sirens came on – the ‘blues and twos’, so called because of the flashing blue lights and the two-tone sound of the siren.
He looked over at Ruth and grinned. ‘Hey, she’s the fastest hunk of junk in the galaxy!’
Ruth felt herself jolt back in her seat as Nick stamped down on the accelerator.
‘What are you talking about?’ Ruth asked as she grabbed hold of the seat.
‘Han Solo? Star Wars?’ Nick replied with a frown.
‘Erm ... geek,’ Ruth said, muffled under a cough.
As Nick hammered along the A5, Ruth inspected the sat nav looking for the best approach to Solace Farm.
‘Solace Farm? It’s not your average name for a farm around here, is it? Sounds a bit hippy-ish?’ Ruth observed.
‘Yeah, I remember hearing about it as a kid. I think some weird cult lives up there,’ Nick said with a frown.
‘A cult. Like the Moonies?’ Ruth asked.
‘The ‘Moonies’? I thought they were those sock puppets that lived on the moon?’ Nick said.
‘That was the Clangers!’ Ruth chortled.
‘I think they were Christians up at Solace Farm. A boy in my class, his mum was a proper ‘God Squad’. She went and lived up there. Everyone said they were a bunch of weirdos. That’s all I can remember,’ Nick explained.
‘Well as long as we don’t have another Waco on our hands, eh?’ Ruth said, thinking back to the TV footage of the siege of David Koresh’s religious sect in Waco, Texas, in the early 90s. It had been a tragedy, with women and children dying in a fire.
‘God, no. I don’t think they’re like that,’ Nick said.
‘The turning is up here on the right. Then it looks like it’s a mile or two down a track to the farm,’ Ruth explained.
The road ahead was pitch black.
Clouds had completely covered the moon.
All I can see is dark outlines of bushes.
Ruth peered into the darkness looking for the turning.
Where is it?
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a hooded figure shot out of the hedgerow and across the road in front of them.
Oh my God!
Nick slammed on his brakes. ‘Jesus Christ!’
As the figure ran, it looked behind - as if it was being chased.
Ruth was thrown forward.
She watched in horror as the figure tried to run across the other lane.
It was instantly hit by a van coming the other way and tossed high into the air.
‘Shit!’ Ruth gasped as they finally came to a halt on the road. Her shoulder was red-hot from the friction of the seatbelt against her collar bone under the force of braking.
Flinging open the door, Ruth jumped from the car and sprinted up the road to where the figure lay twisted on the ground. The air was filled with the smell of burning rubber and the sound of the car’s siren.
Looking down, she could see it was a boy in his mid-teens. He was wearing a black hoodie that he had pulled up over his head. He was completely unconscious ... or worse.
Nick arrived a few seconds later. ‘I called for an ambulance. And uniform.’
Ruth looked back at the boy. He had blood coming from his mouth. More worryingly, he also had blood trickling out of his right ear; Ruth was no doctor, but she knew that wasn’t good.
‘I think we need the air ambulance,’ she said.
A voice came from nearby. ‘He just came out of nowhere.’ The van driver, visibly shocked and shaking, looked over at them.
‘It’s all right mate. You couldn’t have done anything,’ Nick reassured him.
Ruth checked to see if the boy was still breathing. He was. She put her fingers to the artery in his neck to check for a pulse.
‘Can you hear me?’ Ruth asked. ‘You’ve been in an accident. Can you hear me?’
No point. He’s unconscious.
The pulse was there but it was weak.
Ruth looked up at Nick. ‘He’s alive but only just.’
We need to ID the victim, Ruth thought, going through procedures in her head.
She carefully delved into his jeans pocket. His injuries were serious and they needed to let the boy’s family know what had happened as soon as possible. She found a small wallet and a wad of papers folded together.
Nick indicated to Ruth the dark tattoo he had on his right forearm. ‘Boss.’
Ruth could see the tattoo featured an ornate cross with the name Thomas underneath it.
‘Thomas,’ Ruth said, as the area was suddenly lit up by the lights of the paramedics arriving.
Bloody hell, that was quick. Thank God! she thought.
Ruth and Nick stepped back from the boy as the paramedics rushed in. The female paramedic looked at Ruth.
‘We were on the way back when we got re-routed,’ she explained, and then gestured to the boy. ‘It might be his lucky day.’
The paramedic leant down and helped her male colleague to work on the boy.
As they moved away, Ruth looked at the wallet and opened it. Inside was an old bank card which she took out. ‘This bank card expired last year. It just says C Roper.’
‘So what’s with the Thomas tattoo?’ Nick asked.
‘Maybe the card is stolen,’ Ruth said as she unfolded the wad of papers that she had found in the pocket of his jeans. They were prescriptions, and there were seven of them.
‘Are they all for him?’ Nick asked.
‘No. None of them are for him,’ Ruth said as she thumbed through them.
Nick looked at them. ‘Painkillers and tranquilisers. Oxycodone, Tramadol, Diazepam.’
‘All of which can be sold on the black market,’ Ruth said. She knew the market for prescription drugs such as these was growing.
‘Definitely. Two quid or more for a pill. And those are for boxes of forty,’ Nick said.
Ruth approached one of the paramedics. ‘How is he?’
‘Not good. Critical,’ the paramedic replied. ‘I’m going to call for the air ambulance.’
‘Okay. Thank you,’ Ruth said as she went back to Nick.
‘Boss, why the hell did he just come running out like that?’ Nick asked.
‘I thought it looked like he was being chased,’ Ruth said.
Nick nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought.’
They were on the same page as usual.
The paramedic came back over. ‘The victim’s got an injury across the top of his shoulder. I’m ex-army and I think it looks like it was caused by a bullet. It’s just a flesh wound but that’s what it looks like.’
Bloody hell! A bullet?
‘A shotgun?’ Ruth asked.
The paramedic shook her head. ‘No. It was caused by a high velocity rifle of some kind.’
Ruth exchanged a look with Nick – she didn’t like the sound of that.
CHAPTER 3
By the time Nick got to the local shop, it was nearly nine in the evening. As he wandered the aisles, it was hard to shake off the image of the teenage boy being tossed high into the air by the van. Why had he run straight into the middle of a busy road? Why was he looking back as though he was being chased? Why had he been shot? And why did he have lots of prescriptions for painkillers and tranquilisers? Nick wondered if he worked for a gang selling prescription drugs on the black market. Was that why he was being chased and shot? A deal gone wrong. Dealing on someone else’s turf. The accident had happened i
n the middle of nowhere though. The main drug gangs in North Wales were on the coast or in Llancastell.
Walking past the alcohol section, Nick realised that it had been months since he had even registered the very fact that he was an alcoholic who had no interest in alcohol. That was clearly a bloody miracle. He could now walk past fridges and shelves of booze with no fear. It was only a couple of years ago that he would come into this very shop at eight o’clock in the morning for bread, milk, eggs and other bits and bobs. And then, like clockwork, he would say ‘Oh, and I’ll have a bottle of that vodka. You know, for later.’ As though this was an afterthought. The grim reality was that the vodka had been the only overwhelming thought he’d had since he opened his eyes. And it wasn’t for later. It would be swigged as soon as Nick got into the car to take away the shakes and sweats before he went to work. What an utter relief it was to be in recovery and to have found AA. And of course, to have found Amanda at an AA meeting.
Nick returned home, with the joyful expectancy of seeing his baby daughter, Megan. He couldn’t wait to watch her sleeping, gurgling or smiling. Everything she did seemed magical. However, there was also a slight apprehension. He feared how he might find Amanda. The birth had been traumatic for her. She had haemorrhaged and almost died from the blood loss. And since they had brought Megan back from the hospital, Amanda’s moods and emotions had been worryingly volatile. She seemed to go from lethargic and crying to utter fury in a matter of seconds. Nick’s Auntie Pat told him to be patient. Some kind of ‘baby blues’ or post-natal depression was very common. She had suffered from it herself.
Wiggling the key in the lock, Nick opened the front door quietly in case “his girls” were asleep. The house smelled of talc, baby lotion and fresh washing. It smelled incredible and his spirits were immediately lifted.
Walking into the kitchen, he put his keys and phone down on the table and went and put the kettle on. He was gasping for a cup of tea.
A few seconds later, Amanda appeared and gave him a forced smile.
‘You okay?’ Nick asked.
Amanda nodded but didn’t say anything as she slumped at the kitchen table. Nick guessed from her pyjamas and dressing gown that she hadn’t managed to get dressed. Hey, who was he to judge? He used to wet himself on the sofa!
The Solace Farm Killings: A Snowdonia Murder Mystery (A DI Ruth Hunter Crime Thriller Book 7) Page 2
