Worse Than Dead

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘Vicky, darling. Oh my God, are you there?’ Miranda shouted out.

  Silence.

  They heard the sound of a window squeaking open and Caren took the stairs two at a time. The first bedroom was empty but she pushed open the door of the rear bedroom and saw Robert James struggling with the sash.

  Chapter 37

  Drake sat opposite Rhodri Owens in the small interview room at the police station in Holyhead. He had a long, thin neck and a large Adam’s apple, which moved almost hypnotically every time he spoke. It had annoyed Drake more than he cared to admit that he’d missed the possibility that Green wasn’t responsible for stealing Rosen’s laptop.

  Owens was wearing a green T-shirt under a half-zipped sweater and, judging from the frequency with which he scratched his ear, then his jaw and finally his nose, Drake knew that he was nervous. Drake took more time than he needed to prepare, fiddling with the cellophane wrappers of the cassettes for the tape-recorded interview, searching through the file of papers and then glancing at his watch. It gave him a brief moment of pleasure when he noticed Owens’s gaze flashing around the room as he chewed on the forefinger of his right hand.

  ‘Interview at Holyhead police station. My name is Detective Inspector Ian Drake. For the purposes of the tape, can you state your full name?’ Drake looked over and saw a frightened, wide-eyed look on the man’s face, as he yanked away a piece of nail with his teeth.

  ‘Rhodri Owens.’

  ‘We want to establish the movements of everybody working on the ship on the morning Rosen was killed.’ Drake leant back in his chair and hesitated. ‘Can you explain what exactly your duties are?’

  Owens swallowed hard and gave Drake a rather pleading look.

  ‘I am one of the officers responsible for making sure that the ferry is loaded correctly. We check that the cars and lorries get to the right place.’

  Owens spent ten minutes explaining his job. Occasionally Drake had to cajole him for more details, until Drake had learnt about the health and safety regulations, the need to get the vessel loaded quickly and the pressures from the port manager to get the ship sailing on time.

  ‘But on that sailing you were a man short, weren’t you?’ Drake said, without taking his eyes off Owens.

  ‘Ah. I… don’t remember.’

  ‘Well, that’s what the first mate says.’

  ‘Must be right then. We get so busy.’ Owens was blinking again.

  ‘When would you normally be on the car deck?’

  ‘It depends.’

  ‘Roughly.’

  ‘Thirty minutes before sailing.’

  ‘And before that where would you be?’

  ‘It can vary. Eating or sleeping or in my cabin…’

  Vagueness – always a good sign of guilt, thought Drake. ‘And your cabin is G23?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Drake opened a layout of the ship on the table. He took the yellow highlighter, marking cabin G23.

  ‘Where were you on the day Rosen was killed?’

  The Adam’s apple moved up and down again.

  ‘I was in my cabin.’

  ‘And do you remember when you got onto the car deck?’

  ‘About the usual time.’

  ‘That’s not true, is it Rhodri?’

  Drake noticed a shadow crossing Owens’s face.

  ‘You were late, weren’t you?’

  Owens gave a brief shrug.

  ‘For the purposes of the tape, can you give a proper reply?’

  ‘I… can’t remember.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at this CCTV coverage to see if it will jog your memory.’

  Drake opened the laptop and as it booted up he noticed that the colour seemed to have drained from Owens’s face. Drake navigated to the relevant file and waited until the images filled the screen.

  ‘Can you see the timer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What time does it say?’

  ‘Seven fifty-five.’

  ‘And the ship sails at eight twenty.’

  Owens nodded.

  ‘For the purposes of the tape Rhodri Owens nodded his head in confirmation. I’ll now run on the CCTV coverage.’

  After four minutes – it felt like longer – Drake stopped the coverage, the image of Owens filling the screen.

  ‘That’s you isn’t it, Rhodri?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So the time is seven fifty-nine, which is twenty-one minutes before the ship sails. Let’s have a look at the next minute of the tape.’

  Drake clicked the machine into action. The screen filled with the images of Owens opening his hands, tilting his head, as if offering an explanation.

  ‘You were late, weren’t you, Rhodri?’

  ‘I suppose.’ Owens picked at his upper lip.

  ‘So you lied when you told me you were on the car deck at the usual time,’ Drake said, all traces of wanting Owens’s cooperation having disappeared.

  ‘It’s not easy to remember.’

  ‘What were you doing before you arrived on the car deck?’ Drake watched Owens leaning on the desk, his shoulders hunched forward. ‘You were lying when you told me you were in your cabin. You lied to me about when you arrived on the car deck and you’re lying to me now.’

  ‘It’s not what you think.’

  ‘I think you know all about Rosen’s death. Do you know that the sentence for murder is life imprisonment?’

  ‘I didn’t kill Frank… It was…’

  ‘Who was it, Rhodri?’

  Owens’s head slumped into his hands.

  ‘You went into Frank’s cabin, didn’t you?’

  Owens didn’t lift his head. Didn’t say anything.

  Drake continued. ‘You were the one that ransacked his cabin. You stole the laptop. The evidence is piling up against you being involved in Frank Rosen’s death.’

  ‘I never killed him. Never.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me again.’

  Owens lifted his head; Drake could see tears forming in the corner of his eyes. Owens took a long, deep breath.

  ‘It was a data stick. All they wanted was the fucking data stick.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘And the laptop. I had to check the laptop for them. It was something about Frank and what files he kept. I had to take out the hard drive and destroy it. That was all. There was no data stick. I didn’t know…’

  ‘I need you to tell me why and who else is involved.’

  By the end of the interview, Drake had recorded all the sordid background of Owens’s financial problems, which eventually, through a recommendation from Darren Green, led him to borrowing money from Martin Valencia. What he hadn’t realised was that it was never that simple. Soon enough Valencia had wanted favours, a certain lorry parked well away from the main activity of the car deck and the occasional word to Special Branch officers, encouraging their enquiries away from various vehicles.

  ‘Are you going to charge me with murder?’ Owens asked, his voice breaking.

  Drake left him in the small, hot windowless room.

  * * *

  The custody sergeant didn’t need much persuasion to agree that Owens be denied bail and charged with theft. Drake knew that he only had limited time available until he could either find evidence to link Owens to the murder or face a bail application that even a half-competent solicitor would win.

  Drake left Holyhead and headed east on the A55. Springsteen was on going down to the river, but before he got very far Drake switched the music off. It was one of the songs that made him feel morose and he started thinking about Halpin and the implication of his comments about Drake’s failure to make notes. He worried what sort of report Halpin would write, and whether Lance might read it. Maybe Lance would be transferred back to Southern Division before the sessions ended.

  He turned left off the dual carriageway, but before finding his way to RAF Mona for his meeting with Ellis-Pugh he parked up and rang the Incident Room.

  ‘We’v
e finished that work on the ship’s manifests,’ Winder said.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘All the lorries in Rosen’s lists travel over on the ferries, regularly.’

  ‘And what do we know about them?’

  ‘The cargo manifests vary. Electrical goods, toys, kitchen equipment, and so on.’

  ‘Any reports about MC?’

  ‘Nothing boss.’

  Drake could sense his chest tightening again.

  ‘Meet me at MC’s place in half an hour.’

  ‘Of course.’ Winder sounded puzzled.

  Drake pulled into the entrance of RAF Mona and parked alongside an old Ford Fiesta. Rays of red sunshine were beginning to scour the evening sky and Drake calculated that sunset was probably in less than an hour. Ellis-Pugh emerged from the building holding an envelope in his hand.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Drake said. ‘Thank you for waiting.’

  ‘Perfectly all right.’ Ellis-Pugh handed Drake the envelope.

  Drake extracted the sheets and scrutinised the various entries.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse me: we’ve got a Cessna arriving from the Isle of Man.’

  ‘Of course,’ Drake said, as Ellis-Pugh walked back into the building.

  In the distance, Drake heard the sound of a small light aircraft approaching. He looked up and saw an aircraft slowly descending, its wings pitching slightly in the evening turbulence. Sunshine reflected from the canopy of the aircraft as it made its final descent towards the runway. The pilot dipped the plane, the wheels squealed as the brakes were applied and the engine raced.

  Drake stared at the plane. A pilot and passenger were the only occupants. For some reason Drake walked down past the main building towards the runway. He watched the plane taxi, the engine now at a slower speed. He walked nearer again, knowing that he should be in his car, driving to MC’s house. The plane turned so that the main fuselage was in his direct line of sight. And then he saw the plane’s registration details and ran back to his car.

  Chapter 38

  ‘Do you realise the time, sir?’

  ‘I don’t bloody care. There is bound to be somebody, somewhere that can help. The civil aviation board or bureau or some public body that keeps a record of these things. Just get it done Dave. Drag somebody back to their office if you have to.’

  Drake didn’t remember the journey to MC’s house. He couldn’t put to rest the frustration that it had taken him so long to discover that the codes could be Rosen’s record of the aircraft he’d flown. He parked, with two wheels on the pavement, outside MC’s house and waited for Winder.

  He of all people should have seen meaning behind the numbers, should have been able to work out what was going on. But why did Rosen make this record? And MC was the only eyewitness they had to Green’s murder. More than anything, he had to find his cousin.

  Drake noticed headlights as a car pulled up behind his vehicle. Winder joined Drake standing on the pavement.

  ‘Any luck with Owens, sir?’

  ‘He coughed to the theft of Rosen’s laptop. And Valencia was looking for a data stick as well.’

  A single, yellow sodium light cast a pallid glow over the backyards and lanes behind MC’s house. Drake stood for a moment in the rear yard, disappointed that the darkness and the uncurtained windows meant the house was still empty. He tried the handle. It was still unlocked and they stepped inside. He hoped for any sign that suggested MC had been back, a mug with the remains of coffee or tea or a discarded takeaway, but once he’d looked around the kitchen he knew nobody had been there since his last visit.

  ‘Gareth, you go upstairs. Check through all the cupboards and drawers. There must be something.’

  ‘What are we looking for, boss?’

  ‘If I knew, I’d tell you.’

  Downstairs, in the room at the front, Drake sat on the sofa pushed against the wall. Across from him was a shelving unit, with slots for storage baskets and boxes. He got up and opened the first container, but it was empty. The second had a collection of DVDs which he absently moved to one side. The third was full of papers. Drake sat down and began flicking through the collection of bank and credit card statements, a P45 from the prison service, the insurance policy for MC’s BMW and letters he’d received in prison from Sylvie.

  Drake noticed that as the weeks passed Sylvie’s handwriting deteriorated to a narrow scrawl and the length of her letters shortened from two or three pages to a couple of paragraphs. It struck Drake how helpless MC must have felt, reading the letters, knowing what was happening to his girlfriend.

  At the bottom of the box there were invoices for a service to the BMW, printouts from a well-known sofa chain with prices for new furniture, and an invoice from an online electronics company. It was the description of the items sold – surveillance equipment – that caught Drake’s eye. He stood up, kicking the box, which spilled its contents onto the floor, and shouted.

  ‘Gareth, get down here. Now.’

  He heard Winder’s footsteps on the staircase.

  ‘MC bought surveillance equipment.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Gareth why would he need that sort of kit?’

  Drake thrust the invoice towards Winder. ‘Look at the details. Recorder and cameras.’

  Drake started to look around the room. ‘He must have some cameras hidden somewhere.’

  ‘Did he have anywhere else? Garage or his girlfriend’s place?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘He must have the recorder somewhere.’

  Drake marched out into the hallway, opening the small cupboard under the staircase. ‘Any sign of anything upstairs?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘Have you opened every single cupboard?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘Then go and do them all again.’

  Drake heard Winder crashing around in the bedrooms upstairs as he stepped into the kitchen. He should start on the cupboards, but instead he stood for a moment, staring out of the window. In the dim light, he saw the brief outline of the shed roof.

  He yanked open the back door and strode down the small path. Gripping the padlock in his hand, he hoped he could rip it away from the shed door without disturbing all the neighbours. He looked around the backyard for a piece of metal or something sharp that he could use as a lever, eventually continuing the search in the kitchen. From the back of a drawer he found an old kitchen knife, which he took outside, and, slotting it behind the clasp, began to pull and lever until he heard the sound of wood splitting. He gave the door a sharp kick, and the clasp and padlock fell limply to one side.

  He pulled the door open and made out the outline of an old bicycle and a couple of patio chairs. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness he saw a grey sheet covering a box in the far end.

  He reached down, removed the sheet and saw a small green light.

  * * *

  Drake stood immediately behind Flanagan who was sitting in front of the computer monitor, his jaw clenched. Caren came through the door into the Incident Room, her hair dishevelled and a harassed look on her face.

  Drake turned towards her. ‘So, what happened with Robert James?’

  ‘Miranda Church had a fit, that’s what happened. She went apeshit. Once she saw him in Vicky’s room she launched herself at him. Fists flying and kicking. I’ve only just finished in the hospital and I haven’t started an interview. She gave him a black eye and a broken nose and a cracked rib.’

  Winder laughed out loud.

  ‘Will he be okay to interview tomorrow?’ Drake said.

  ‘He’s insisting on using a family solicitor from Liverpool who can’t get here until mid-morning.’

  ‘Maybe James will want to make a complaint of assault,’ Winder said, a half-smile on his lips.

  Caren gave him a weary look and turned to look at the screen in front of Flanagan, who cleared his throat.

  ‘It won’t be long,’ Flanagan said. ‘H
e must have rigged up the camera to the recorder in the shed. That took some planning.’

  Drake squinted at the flickering monitor.

  ‘Did you see any cameras?’ Flanagan asked.

  ‘Where would they be?’ Winder squinted at the screen.

  ‘They’d be very small.’

  ‘Which means they could be easily hidden?’

  Flanagan nodded. The image of a room with furniture filled the screen.

  ‘That’s MC’s house. I’m sure of it,’ Winder said.

  A moment later MC walked into the room, directly into the line of the camera. He turned and looked towards the door. A figure walked in and Drake saw the smiling face of Valencia. Both men sat down, MC taking a chair with his back to the camera which must have been concealed high up on the wall. Valencia spoke first.

  ‘I hear you’ve been busy.’

  ‘Not as busy as your fucking toe rags.’

  ‘You mean Birch, of course.’

  ‘And Vigo. They supplied Sylvie when she was alive. It was those two arseholes that sold those drugs. And now she’s dead.’

  ‘But she was very grateful when she was alive. Very grateful. You get my meaning?’

  Drake could feel his pulse pounding in his neck, more loudly with every second that passed.

  ‘You won’t get away with this. Why did you kill Green?’

  ‘He’d become a problem. Just as you’ve become a problem.’

  The tension turned up a couple of notches.

  ‘I hate a grass.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Drake said.

  Valencia reached into his pocket and drew out a small pistol, which he pointed at MC.

  ‘On your feet,’ Valencia said.

  MC stood up.

  Valencia waved the gun towards the door. ‘You’re coming with me.’

  They watched as Valencia followed MC out of the room.

  For a few seconds nobody said anything. Drake rubbed a hand over his mouth. ‘We need to talk to Valencia,’ he said slowly.

  * * *

  Drake returned to his office but his desk was chaotic – people had dumped papers all over it – and he couldn’t think straight unless he could order it. Abruptly he stopped and thought about Halpin and his advice. He seized a folder of papers without checking its contents, hard enough in itself, and then he marched through the Incident Room towards the main corridors of headquarters. None of his team paid him any attention and then he found himself uncertain as to what he should be doing. So he walked briskly, determined not to make eye contact with anyone who passed him. The tension abated and, checking his watch, realised that he had managed to walk for ten minutes around headquarters, up and down three flights of stairs, without anyone noticing him.