He spotted Lance’s BMW in one of the spaces reserved for the senior officers. He had no idea what car Glyn Newman drove; it was probably a Mondeo or a Vauxhall. When he reached the senior management suite Hannah gave him a tentative smile.
‘I’ve got a meeting with the superintendent.’ Drake stood by her desk.
Hannah nodded towards the door.
The pile of folders and files on the table by Lance’s side had doubled in size since Drake’s last meeting with him. He was certainly keeping himself busy, and Drake wondered whether Wyndham Price was matching his replacement’s diligence in the West Midlands. As Drake sat down he noticed how thickset Newman had become, his face and jaw puffy; spiders of burst blood vessels ran over his cheeks. He wore the same battered herringbone jacket.
Lance made eye contact with Drake first and then Newman. ‘This was a significant discovery. Why wasn’t Green on your radar?’
Newman didn’t flinch. ‘He’s obviously been very careful.’
‘Careful?’ Lance repeated, as though he were weighing up every nuance that the word implied.
‘This amount of Class A heroin makes him a major dealer. It must’ve come in through the port.’
Drake detected the slightest unease in Newman’s eyes.
‘And who is Sergeant Wallace?’ Lance said.
‘He acts as a liaison between Special Branch and the drug squad.’
Lance replaced the top of the expensive-looking fountain pen, placing it carefully on the table, before folding his arms. ‘And why was he at the crime scene?’
‘Because there was a connection to the port. There’s been so much terrorist activity through the port in the past, anything that might be related gets the attention of Special Branch. And with his background in the drug squad then it’s only right he should take an interest.’
‘It should have been cleared with myself as the SIO first. I want procedures followed to the letter.’ Lance spoke directly to Newman.
Drake nodded, appreciating the superintendent’s rigour. Procedures had to be followed, protocols enforced, especially if he wasn’t the SIO. The possibility of telling Lance about the unenviable reputation of Newman and the drug squad played on his mind. But that was a job for the Professional Standards unit in Newport, with officers who could smell the fear in a corrupt police officer from an adjacent room.
Newman had managed a smirk, which Drake hoped Lance would have noticed.
‘Of course.’ Newman sounded offhand.
Lance moved in his chair, unfolding his arms, bringing the meeting to an end. ‘I will liaise with drug squad. All the briefings from Ian’s team will be directed through this office.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Drake said.
‘I want regular formal reviews. Hannah will email you with dates and times. That’s all.’ Both inspectors pushed their chairs away from the table and left.
* * *
Caren got up as soon as Drake walked into the Incident Room.
‘When did you get back?’ Drake asked.
‘I tried to call you when I was driving back from Liverpool. There’s something you need to know,’ Caren said. Drake waved her into his office.
Caren sat, hair dishevelled, clothes crumpled even more than usual. Drake realised that she must have been tired after hours of travelling.
‘I spoke to Daz Green’s mother. She’s had no contact with him for years. Then I spoke with his sister. She didn’t react at all when I told her about her brother’s death. What she did tell me was that one of Green’s associates was a Terry Beltrami.’
Drake stopped fiddling with the column of Post-it notes and stared at her. ‘What?’
‘Tex Beltrami is John’s brother. I did a search on him—’
‘And, nothing turned up.’
‘That’s right. But then I spoke to DI Charnwood in Merseyside police and he’s one of their top-ten targets. The DI that nails him can retire early.’
Drake fingered a red Post-it note. ‘Let’s talk to Gareth and Dave.’
They walked out into the Incident Room.
‘Things have changed,’ Drake announced. ‘The CSIs called me earlier, after they discovered a pile of drugs in Green’s house. It makes him a major player.’
Howick was the first to respond. ‘Do the drug squad know anything about him?’
‘No, nothing.’
Howick gave a puzzled look. Caren raised her eyebrows. Drake could guess what they were thinking, but none of them had ever referred to the reputation that clung to the drug squad like a bad smell.
‘And we know that one of Green’s earliest associates was Terry Beltrami. So we concentrate on establishing the motive for killing Rosen. Maybe even Green was instructed to kill Rosen.’ Drake turned to look at the board behind him, his mind starting to compute the possibilities.
‘But why kill Green?’ Caren said.
Drake hesitated. ‘I know. Last night MC was waiting for me when I got home. He told me that he’d seen a Martin Valencia in Green’s house the night he was murdered.’
For a few seconds nobody in the team said anything. Winder was the only one who moved in his chair; it squeaked as one of the casters rolled along the floor.
‘We can’t rely on the evidence of MC Hughes, can we boss?’ Howick said.
‘Why don’t we just go and arrest this Martin Valencia?’ Winder asked, standing up.
‘Because MC won’t give a statement and if he did the CPS wouldn’t sanction a prosecution. Can you imagine MC being cross-examined? I’ve already spoken to Superintendent Lance who had Andy Thorsen with him. It’s simply not going to run. And with the drugs found in Green’s place, the investigation is changing completely. If there’s a drugs angle, the superintendent wants everything investigated before we make arrests. So we look at every single person of interest again: we go through everything a second time. It’s an ever-increasing web,’ Drake said, turning a paperclip he’d found in his pocket through his fingers.
‘And I spoke to Green’s next door neighbour today: he says Green had a girlfriend.’
‘Could be someone off the ferry,’ Caren offered.
‘Check it out tomorrow, Dave. Show him the crew photographs.’
Howick nodded energetically.
Drake’s mind darted from Rosen to Mandy Beal and then to Martin Valencia, hoping that he could find the connection. The thread that pulled everything together. He looked at his watch and, realising the time, abandoned the prospect of calling at his home before travelling to visit his parents. But the prospect of seeing his sister filled him with dread.
He was back at his desk when his telephone rang and he heard Newman’s voice. Even the sound of his nasal accent put Drake on edge.
‘I meant to tell you earlier, Ian,’ Newman said slowly. ‘Tom Vigo regained consciousness yesterday.’
Newman paused. Drake said nothing.
‘We took a statement of complaint that implicates MC Hughes. We’ve issued an arrest warrant, of course. Any idea where he might be?’
‘None and if I had—’
‘Of course. Happy days, eh? MC Hughes behind bars again very soon.’
The line went dead and Drake grasped the handset tightly. He stared at it, hoping that the anger at Newman would dissipate and then wondering where MC had got to. As soon as he replaced the telephone, it rang again and Drake snatched it, ready for Newman. But he heard Lance’s voice and the tension throbbing in his chest fell a couple of notches.
‘Andy Thorsen approves a second interview with Beltrami.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
For the first time that afternoon Drake felt pleased; he’d already been rehearsing how to tell Lance about Terence Beltrami. For now that could wait.
Chapter 24
A grey drizzle fell like a dirty net curtain as Drake drove to his parents’ farm. On his journey he skirted round the medieval castle in Caernarfon, accelerating past the narrow-gauge railway station and finding himself following a route he’d travell
ed hundreds, maybe thousands, of times before.
The mountains of Snowdonia caught the last of the sun as it set over Isle of Anglesey, before he threaded his way through villages of slate-roofed houses, low stone walls and narrow cottages. They could look sad and dreary, but in a few weeks’ time it would all look so different in the summer sunshine.
In the distance he could see the flat landscape of the Anglesey spreading into the horizon and the expansive beach and forest at Llanddwyn. He slowed as he drove down the track, but immediately felt uneasy when he saw an unfamiliar car, a year-old Audi, silver-blue with expensive alloy wheels, parked by the rear door. Realising that his sister had made good time from Cardiff he pulled up a little distance away from her vehicle.
His mother was standing by the open back door.
‘How is he?’ Drake asked.
‘Come in,’ she said.
‘Has the nurse been today?’
‘In an hour or so.’
‘I take it Susan has arrived.’
Mair Drake nodded. ‘She’s in the parlour with your father.’
There was a sense of inactivity in the kitchen that Drake found oddly unsettling. He had been accustomed to the bustle of a busy household, but his mother seemed distracted. There were two fruit loaves still in cellophane wrapping sitting on the kitchen table.
Susan sat next to Tom Drake and their conversation fizzled out when Drake walked in. They embraced without enthusiasm and exchanged pleasantries. Her journey had been long, the traffic busy and there’d been sections of the drive with no mobile signal that had annoyed her intensely, necessitating, she explained in exaggerated terms, that she had to make urgent calls when she arrived.
Drake guessed that his mother would have been responsible for the temperature in the room being a couple of degrees too hot. He loosened his tie and sat down.
‘I was telling Dad that we have to get as much help in the house as we can,’ Susan said.
His sister’s attitude compounded Drake’s feeling of suffocation in the small, hot room.
‘Mam can’t do everything,’ she continued, as though Tom Drake wasn’t in the room.
Drake glanced over at his father who said nothing, a blank, expressionless look in his eye, his gaze fixed on a point on the carpet by Susan’s feet. He listened with growing impatience to his sister who detailed how things should change and what had to be done. Eventually, Drake interrupted. ‘How long are you staying?’
‘A couple of nights. George can’t possibly cope on his own. As it is I had to make a freezer full of food for him and the children.’
‘And when are you going to be up next?’
Susan tried a world-weary look, as though she was solving everyone’s problems single-handedly. ‘I’ll let you know,’ she said, managing to sound dismissive.
Drake heard conversation in the kitchen, recognising the voice of the Macmillan nurse. Tom Drake’s eyes looked like they were only able to focus on the past – and as though they wanted nothing to do with the future.
* * *
Joe Birch enjoyed the sensation of fingering the calfskin wallet. There was something reassuring in its natural warmth. He flicked through the contents, wondering if two hundred pounds would be enough. Cash was king, he’d heard some business guru say on the television. In Joe’s business that was all he had. Mounds of it. But he kept himself discreet. His girlfriend had shares in a Chinese takeaway restaurant and each week cash would find its way through the till and into the bank accounts. She took a wage from the business, of course, and did some work on the books but it wasn’t demanding and she could please herself.
And on her days off she’d look after the terraced houses he’d bought and put into fictitious names. They had tenants that she needed to keep an eye on. Rent paid in cash of course. No cheques or BACS payments and definitely nobody on benefits. Since the new money-laundering regulations he’d decided to diversify his business interests: more small businesses with tills where people handled money. He’d even thought about a pub. He fancied himself as a publican.
Joe had three small cannabis operations. He’d learnt from his mates, who’d become too ambitious, that large scale meant more people and activity, which in turn meant the attention of the Wales Police Service. And he liked to think of them as operations – it sounded businesslike and professional. He had cover stories for all premises where lofts had been converted into hot houses, but even so he moved them around and he was always looking for new locations. Every week he handled over two thousand pounds in cash from satisfying the demand for cannabis in North Wales. And then he had the regular income from heroin addicts and the cocaine users.
Most weeks he’d help Martin Valencia with some discreet managing of his stock. Another bit of jargon he’d heard was ‘working more cleverly’ and he thought it described perfectly how he and Valencia did things.
Joe usually went drinking with his mates on a Friday and Saturday night, but it was a special birthday so a crowd were going to Llandudno to tour the pubs and the nightclubs. He stared at the clothes hanging in the wardrobe before choosing the dusty-pink Lacoste polo shirt. Then he found a pair of Lacoste chinos, recently dry-cleaned and pressed. In fact, nearly all of his clothes were Lacoste and the cash that had accumulated over the past month meant that he and his girlfriend could really do with another shopping trip. Maybe stay overnight in Manchester – take in a movie and eat in a swanky restaurant. His mother-in-law could babysit.
He pushed open the door of Chelsea’s bedroom but she was already asleep. He stepped over to her bed and knelt down to kiss her. Her skin felt warm and he smiled as she moved her lips slightly. Kieron, a year younger than his sister, had fallen asleep with his head on his favourite teddy bear. Joe moved it to one side and stood looking at his son. It had surprised him how much he enjoyed being a parent.
He heard the sound of a horn outside and padded downstairs. He kissed his girlfriend, curled up in front of the enormous flatscreen television with a bottle of chilled Prosecco and a large box of chocolates.
The minicab was a small van, already nearly full, and he squeezed into a seat by the door.
After half an hour, they reached Llandudno and headed for the first of the pubs where Joe fished out a wad of notes and ordered the first round. He never worried about buying too many rounds of drinks. He had enough cash to enjoy himself and provide a decent life for Marie and the kids. One of his friends had shown him photographs of his recent holiday in Florida and Joe had decided they’d have a decent family holiday next summer– the kids would enjoy a big pool.
It was gone eleven by the time they staggered towards the nightclub at the far end of the town. Joe should have gone into the toilet before leaving the restaurant where he’d eaten a thick steak so he excused himself from his friends, waving them on and telling them he’d catch them up.
He walked up an alley by the side of a guest house and unzipped his fly. A cloud of steam rose as he pissed onto the wall, being careful not to hit his three-hundred-pound loafers. He heard something behind him, but he was almost finished so he made a half-hearted glance over his shoulder. The last thing he heard was the gentle swish of a baseball bat.
Chapter 25
By the end of his four-hour journey Drake had convinced himself the trip was going to be a waste of time and that he was chasings shadows.
More smoke and mirrors.
Nothing seemed to fit. It was like building a sandcastle too close to the approaching tide. A wave would always come eat away at the edge.
Initially he thought he’d been given the wrong address as the sat-nav took him into an industrial estate. Then he noticed the car breakers and the flooring warehouse mentioned in the email with the directions. Behind a factory unit that made home-made yogurt, he turned into the car park of an anonymous building. After squeezing the Alfa into an available space he walked over to a door with an intercom. A large sheet metal panel hung on hinges next to the door and then Drake noticed the bars on the win
dows and the CCTV camera high up near the gutter.
Once he’d spoken into the intercom, the door buzzed open and a young woman escorted him through the building. There was sense of unnatural calm about the place, as though it were the paperless law firm where everything was done by emails. No telephone calls and chaotic meetings: just officers ploughing through paperwork in front of large computer screens. The woman knocked on a door and after a shout she pushed it open and Drake stepped in.
Bryan Adams was a tall man with broad shoulders and he pushed a large hand towards Drake.
‘Inspector Drake. Good morning. How was your drive?’
‘Slow, sir.’
‘I know, but isn’t the scenery wonderful? Not many people realise that driving through Wales is one of the best kept secrets.’
Drake approved of the order in Adams’s office. He had folders with neatly typed labels on the spines and books in cabinets all at the exact same distance from the edge of the shelf.
Adams sat down. There was a directness in his eyes that drilled into Drake.
‘How do you think Loosemore might be connected to your inquiry?’
‘He’s part owner of an aircraft that the murder victim flew. We’re doing background checks and his name came up. I know this could be a waste of your time.’
‘Initially our contact came through the Serious Organised Crime Agency, on a referral from the FBI no less. They had some intelligence about Loosemore being connected with the Mafia and their drug operation. SOCA didn’t want to get involved, so they passed it down to us. We set up this special unit to deal with large cases, mostly economic crime. We’ve got specially trained officers from all over Wales and accountants on secondment from SOCA. It became impossible to unravel all the strands of his financial empire. We had nothing to go on and I was getting pressure from the force accountants about my budget. It got to the point that we were going to close the investigation when we had a complaint, initially from local councillors, about a property transaction involving Lyfon Pharmaceuticals.’
Worse Than Dead Page 17
