Blood Lost

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  A knock sounded on the cell door.

  Callum poked his head round. “Ma’am, Mr Owen’s solicitor has arrived.”

  “Thank you, Callum.” Yvonne rose with the help of her cane. “Ask custody to bring Mr Owen and his solicitor to interview room one.”

  “Did you harm the Harries family?” Yvonne saw no point in wasting time.

  “You don’t have to answer that.” Lloyd’s solicitor tapped his pen on his papers. “Mr Owen is here to answer charges to do with the criminal damage. Unless there are grounds to suspect him in any other crimes, I think we should concentrate on that?”

  “A family has gone missing and your client is on film, damaging their car. I think I have every right to ask him if he had something to do with their disappearance. His offence shows malign intent towards them at a time when most people are expressing fear and concern for their safety.”

  “There are extenuating circumstances. No-one else lost a court battle against the Harries’s, over land they believed belonged to them.”

  Yvonne sighed. “Would your client be willing to answer the question?”

  “I know nothing about their disappearance.” Lloyd mumbled. “And that’s the truth.”

  “Do you need to see our CCTV footage?”

  “My client is admitting responsibility for the damage. I’m assuming you won’t be objecting to bail?”

  “We’ll bail him until court, but he’d better be on his best behaviour.”

  “He will.”

  23

  Renewed search

  Yvonne rapped the DCI’s door, holding her breath to listen.

  “Come in.”

  “Sorry, sir, can I have a word?”

  Chris Llewellyn put down his pen and glasses. “Sure. Come and sit down.” He rose from his chair to help her, pulling up an extra seat.

  “Thank you.” She eased herself into it, grateful of the chance to take the weight off.

  “How are you? How’s the missing persons case progressing?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I need manpower.”

  “For?”

  “For a thorough search of the land and property of Lloyd Owen, the farming neighbour of the Harries family.”

  “You suspect he’s involved with their disappearance?”

  “I don’t know. What I am sure of, is that he has persisted in harassing the family, ever since the courts sided with the Harries’s over their disputed land. Owen has continued these acrimonious behaviours even while the family are missing. Uniform picked him up for damaging one of their vehicles. He’s bitter, and that’s potential motive. He’s put himself in the frame. We see no signs that the family are active. Their bank accounts lie untouched. We still haven't found the pickup. Either the family drove that truck to a place unknown, or the attacker did. Lloyd Owen has land and outbuildings where he could hide the truck and family. Uniform completed a cursory search, but not a thorough one. I’m asking for a warrant to take the place apart, land and buildings.”

  “And you’re clear we’ve got enough grounds for the warrant?” The DCI tilted his head, his expression soft as he searched her face.

  “Our CCTV footage proves Lloyd Owen damaged the Harries's vehicle. Also, Michael Harries's notebook describes the harassment they were experiencing daily. That should be enough for the court to grant a warrant.”

  “I see. How many officers do you think you’ll need?”

  Yvonne grimaced. “Thirty? Perhaps, we could get away with twenty, if we could hang on to them for a day or two longer,” she added, on seeing his pained expression.

  “How long will you need them for?”

  “If we’ve got twenty officers, they can do it in about three days, tops.”

  “Okay, I’ll speak to the super and get back to you ASAP.”

  “Thank you, sir. Appreciate it.” She readied herself to get up.

  “How are you, now?”

  “Good, thank you.” She nodded for emphasis. “It’s getting easier all the time. My movement is better and better and the aches are steadily reducing.”

  “How are the therapy sessions going?”

  She thought of Dr Rainer, and how rude she had been to her. “I need to try harder.” She gave a wry smile. “Dr Rainer has the patience of a saint.”

  He chuckled. “I bet you give her a run for her money.”

  “We'll go back to the Harries’s and search again. I can’t shake the feeling we’ve missed something.”

  “Forensics are just about finished there, but they've left the house taped up. You must still log yourself with scene watch, however. I’ll make sure there are officers present.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  ❖

  The place was silent. Eerie. She pulled her coat tight around her, as the cold, dank air penetrated her clothing. Her feet crunched away from the car.

  Snow lay several inches thick on the ground and was still falling from darkened, fluff-filled skies.

  She stood for a moment, looking up at the soft, wide flakes, mesmerised.

  “It might be a white Christmas, ma’am.” Dewi was at her side. “I might put money on it.”

  She smiled. “You won't get good odds, not after this.”

  “I’ve got the suits.” He passed her a paper one and overshoes.

  Behind them, they heard the sound of police vans arriving, carrying the poor souls who would spend countless hours combing the area and taking Lloyd Owen’s farm apart.

  The farmer waited for them on his driveway, hands on his hips.

  She couldn’t see, but could imagine the scowl on his weathered features.

  “Come on,” she called to her DS. “Let’s get inside.”

  They signed their names with the officer on the door, putting their overshoes on before going in.

  The DI moved through the hallway into the kitchen where the table lay littered with the remains of the family’s breakfasts. Half-eaten eggs and bacon. The remains of cups of tea, the contents separated.

  “I think we can assume that whatever happened to them, started here.” Dewi sat down on the chair Michael had occupied, his morning paper still open at the article he’d been reading.

  She nodded. “Whatever it was, it didn’t end well.”

  “So, I’m sitting here, reading my paper and we’re all eating. The door goes.”

  Yvonne watched as he developed his ideas.

  “I get up.” Dewi stood. “I leave my paper behind, because I assume I’ll be back in a few moments to continue reading and eating.”

  “Go on.” She folded her arms, forehead creased.

  “I walk down the hallway and open the door. I know the person because I let them in.” He turned to Yvonne. “I’m assuming the caller hasn’t got a weapon, because he uses a candlestick, belonging to the family to hit Michael.”

  “Right, and he’s wearing gloves, or he’s got his hands up his sleeves.” She nodded.

  “But, if it’s Lloyd Owen, why do I let him in? He’s been doing my head in for years. I don’t even want him in my house, let alone anywhere near my family.”

  “Okay… What if he’s telling you he’s sorry, wants to call a truce?”

  “Is that likely?”

  “No.”

  “That’s right. It’s not what I imagine Lloyd would do, either. So, unless he’s standing there with a shotgun, he’s not coming in and disrupting our breakfast.”

  Yvonne frowned, thinking of the officers working Lloyd’s farm. “All right, let’s start again. We’re eating breakfast and there’s a knock at the door. You go answer it and it’s Clive, your business partner.”

  “Yes, I let him in. We’ve got important decisions pending. I tell him it has to be quick because we’re in the middle of breakfast. Now, it would make sense I let him into the lounge.”

  “Because?”

  “Because, it’s business and I would keep it separate from the family.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “
I take him through to the lounge.”

  Yvonne followed her DS, eyes drawn to the red-brown spatter on the wall, its direction of travel, up and towards the door. The rawness of it knotted her stomach. “He tells you he wants this deal with Germany and begs you to reconsider and sign the contract.”

  “I tell him, no. We’ve had this conversation. I’m not changing my mind.”

  “There is a heated exchange. He picks up the candlestick, still wearing gloves because he hasn’t taken them off.” She imitated the actions. “He brings it up to the side of your head, knocking you backwards and to the side. He hits you again. This time you go down. Then what? Your wife and son run in here, wondering what is going on? In this scenario, Clive has to attack them otherwise, Will is all over him, aided by his mother. Except, we didn’t find blood from either Will or his mum.”

  “Maybe, he pulled a knife, lifting me, semi-conscious, from the floor. Knife to my neck, he gives them orders to get to the pickup. They do as he asks because they’re afraid he will kill me. He gets Will or mum to drive and barks orders from the back.”

  “But, then fills in a contract the next day, nice as you like, and signs Michael’s signature, knowing it’s all going to come back on him as soon as someone finds the family missing.”

  “It doesn’t work, does it?”

  Yvonne shook her head. “I don’t think it does.”

  Dewi frowned. “So, I’m eating my breakfast. The door goes. I go answer it and it’s Earl Casey and his thugs.”

  “Okay…”

  “He’s after my son, Will. He’s got a weapon. They tell me they want to speak to Will, now.”

  “You persuade them into the lounge and tell them you’ll get Will, but you’re hoping you can calm the situation and find out what they want.”

  “They insist on seeing Will and I begin a fight. I go for the candlestick, but one of the other lads gets it, first and hits me with it. They grab onto me. There are enough bodies to bring me and my wife and son under control.”

  “You are most likely unconscious or semi-conscious at this point.”

  “Right, and my wife and son won’t do anything that risks making it worse for me. They do as they’re told. They make Kate or Will drive the pickup. Two gang members climb into the back with me. One of them goes in the front with Kate and Will. Another gang member drives the vehicle they arrived in.” Dewi puffed out his chest, a smile lighting face. “What do you think?”

  “That’s a more workable scenario, but we didn't find Earl Casey’s prints here and eliminated the rest of the traces. So, unless they’re all wearing gloves, it doesn't work. Also, there was no evidence of a sustained fight. They disturbed little in the lounge. What if nobody came to the house? You’re sitting there reading your paper, Kate is finishing her breakfast and making small-talk with Will. What happens to make it all go pear-shaped?”

  “Will and I argue.”

  “Or he has a psychotic episode. We know he was on anti-psychotics, what if he wasn't taking them, or was using something on top? Perhaps, he had used again.”

  “I get up to calm Will down.”

  “But the argument continues.”

  “We go through to the lounge. Argument gets out of hand. Kate shouts at us to tell us to calm down. Will hits me.”

  “Or, Kate hits you. Perhaps the argument was with Kate, all along, and Will hits you when it gets out of hand.”

  “Will and Kate panic.”

  “Why don't they take you to a hospital? Perhaps, they’ve killed you. They’re scared.”

  “It’s still difficult to imagine why they wouldn’t contact the police.”

  “Yes.” Yvonne nodded. “I like the Earl Casey scenario best. Is the tail still on Ashley Brennan?”

  Dewi nodded. “It is.”

  “Keep it on. Why have I not had feedback yet?

  “I’ll speak with the lads, find out what’s going on.”

  “Thanks, Dewi. Get on to forensics. I want everything they have as soon as they can release it.”

  As they left the Harries house, the DI could hear Lloyd Owen shouting something at the officers who were searching his barns. A part of her felt sorry for him. He’d spent the best part of fifteen years consumed by the fight over what he considered to be his land. She doubted he would ever have a normal life. Not now.

  “Don’t feel too bad about him.” Dewi read her thoughts. “He’s brought this on himself.”

  They drove back to the station in a subdued silence, both lost in their own world.

  24

  County Lines

  Will's nerves were tauter than overtightened strings on a guitar. He felt like throwing up.

  Pete was loving it, Scarface and his minions, treating him like ‘the man’. He couldn’t see they only wanted to use him and his flat.

  Will hated helping them get a toehold in Pete’s place, now filled with packets and scales and money and smoke and empty beer cans.

  “Got any more beers?” Dreads directed at Simm as he lit up a spliff, checking the phone, when another text came in. “It's another one,” his mouth curled as he looked triumphantly at Scarface.

  "Tell them where to come." Scarface stabbed an open lock-knife into the table.

  Will felt tight across his shoulder blades. He wanted out. He rose to his feet.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Scarface nodded to Dreads, who rose to block the door.

  “You don’t need me. I’ve got to get home.”

  “No, you don’t.” Scarface pointed the knife tip in his direction. “You stay until I tell you can go and that won’t be until we finish here, got that?” He slashed the knife towards Will.

  Will could imagine the weapon being pressed into his throat. He sat down.

  “You’re a big boy, now.” Scarface sneered at him. “You don’t need no mummy and daddy telling you what to do. You've got to man up, or you won’t get anywhere in this world.”

  Will hated him, but feared him more. He kept his mouth shut.

  Each time the doorbell rang, Dreads was the one who furnished the goods and collected the spoils which Scarface added to the collection.

  Now and then, the latter would count the money, like he needed reassurance it was still all there. Will noted that Scarface had used none of the contraband, himself, neither had he consumed any alcohol, unlike Dreads, who had snorted several lines and drunk several beers, in the time they’d been there.

  Will looked across at Ash. He appeared just as enthralled as Pete. Except, Ash had a need. His week's supply. He was there to earn it. He was the one who weighed each portion and bagged it up.

  Supplies were running low. Only two, of the eight large packages, remained unopened. Another dozen callers, and they’d be down to one.

  Will knew it would be hours before he could leave for home. He’d listened to enough of the blood-filled tales being told in the house. If he believed them, this gang had seen, and perpetrated, more than their share of vicious and bloody violence. To hear them talk, they’d littered their road with the bodies of their victims.

  The clanging ringtone had him jumping out of his chair. It wasn’t the usual one. This was different. He knew it.

  Dreads answered, his face darkening. He cast a serious glance at Scarface. “They’re on the move.”

  Scarface nodded. “Put the scales into the bags along with the spares.”

  With military precision, the gang cleared up within moments.

  “You,” Scarface addressed Ash. “Stay with him.” He pointed at Pete. “You’re just visiting and you,” he scowled at Will. “Take those packages and get them out of here. Make sure you hide them good. We’ll be back for them. Lose them and you’ll get disappeared.”

  Will looked at him, wide-eyed, his legs unmoving.

  “Piss off!” Scarface kicked at him.

  Will grabbed the packages and fled. He heard the gang leaving behind him as he hurried along the pavement, the packages under the front of his hoodie, wanting to run, b
ut not daring to draw attention to himself. The sweat poured off his nose. Every passing vehicle stopped his heart. Was it the police?

  He kept his hood up and his head down, hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, supporting the packages through the material. He hated them there. Wanted them gone.

  He ducked down through an alleyway and into the next close. That’s when he saw the skip.

  It was half-full. He reached down and pulled back a piece of old carpet before checking around and pulling the packages from his hoodie. He stowed them inside the carpet before dropping it back.

  “Oi, you, trying to nick something from my skip?”

  Will swallowed, his heart thumping. He turned to see the middle-aged man in tracksuit bottoms and a stained-white t-shirt, who strode towards him.

  Will ran for it and didn’t stop until the silence satisfied him the man wasn’t following.

  Panting hard, he got to the bridge over the footpath at Nantoer, the passageway which would take him onto the main Newtown to Llanidloes road, where he would get a bus.

  The sound of sirens behind him had him stumbling into the gutter. Several officers got out of the vans and grabbed hold of him, still breathing heavily.

  A stop-and-search yielded a small amount of cannabis. Although not evidence of dealing, it was enough for taking him to the station.

  ❖

  “Did they find anything?” The DCI asked her.

  Yvonne was in the middle of typing up notes and statements. She shook her head, running her hands through hair already mussed. “No. Not a thing. No sign of the family, or their pickup. Not on the land, or in Lloyd’s house or outbuildings. I don’t think he’s had anything to do with them going missing.”

  The DI could see him examining the dark lines under her eyes. She was aware they made her appear ten years older than her age. She waited for him to say something.