‘Let’s go,’ Drake said.
Chapter 46
The following morning Drake couldn’t remember whether he had dreamt the night before. It was a Saturday and Sian was sleeping by his side, the gentle rhythm of her breathing breaking the silence of the spring morning. He turned over and saw the time: seven-twenty, surprised that he’d woken so early. He still felt tired. His back ached and there was an aftertaste of burger in his mouth.
He slipped out of bed; he had to coordinate the interviews with Valencia, Jade Beltrami and Newman. It was going to be another long day.
In the kitchen he turned on the kettle and stood listening to its gurgling sound. Upstairs the floorboards groaned and he heard Sian’s footsteps on the stairs.
‘Are you going in this morning?’ she said, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘Only I hoped you’d be able to come with me to this charity lunch and auction.’
‘I’ve got interviews with Valencia and Jade Beltrami.’
‘Can’t you spare an hour even?’
‘It’s going to be difficult.’
She sat by the table and let out a lungful of air. ‘It’s taking you over, isn’t it?’
He poured water, just off the boil, over coffee grounds.
‘I never see you. And when you are here it’s as though you’re not with us at all.’
He stepped over towards her, slid two mugs onto the table and then returned with the coffee pot. ‘It’s been difficult, I know. But with the arrests last night things should be wrapped up now.’
‘We’ll see.’ Sian poured coffee and avoided his eye.
* * *
Drake drove to headquarters, wanting to believe that the malaise in his mind was just post-arrest blues, that once he had the interviews finished, charges laid, and court dates fixed he’d feel better. Caren had arrived already and he parked next to her estate car. He walked over to headquarters and through the main building to the Incident Room.
Caren was sitting by her desk and Drake sat by Winder’s, knowing that the junior officer wouldn’t be prompt on a Saturday.
He looked over at the board.
‘Custody sergeant told me that Jade Beltrami’s gone to pieces. Kept sobbing and whimpering,’ Caren said.
‘Have they had solicitors making contact yet?’
‘Don Hart was on the telephone first thing.’
Drake nodded at the name he recognised. ‘Who does he represent?’
‘Valencia.’
‘Figures,’ Drake said. ‘I bet they’ll feed Jade to the wolves. You know how it is.’
‘Must have been inconvenient when Rosen wanted out.’
Drake nodded.
Caren continued. ‘They had to find another flyer quickly.’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me if she wasn’t involved right from the start – don’t forget those references she forged for Rosen and Green.’
‘But Valencia took a hell of a risk flying over to Ireland. If his name was on the passenger list, then Special Branch would have picked it up right away.’
Drake sat upright as soon as she mentioned Valencia. ‘I didn’t see his name on any of the lists.’
‘Are you sure?’
Drake got to his feet. Reaching into a filing cabinet he pulled out a binder with the carefully filed sheets from the flying club. He checked them all, realising that Valencia’s name was nowhere.
‘He could have gone on the ferry,’ Caren said as he reached the last page.
Drake nodded. ‘Only one way to find out.’ He strode over to his office and called O’Sullivan.
‘Ian. How’re doing? Connors is having the fucking time of his life in Mountjoy jail.’ O’Sullivan started laughing.
‘I need a favour,’ Drake said.
* * *
Drake returned to headquarters after wasting three hours interviewing Newman. He blanked all of Drake’s questions without even opening his mouth. Not even a ‘no comment’. He refused all offers of water or tea or coffee. He just sat and said nothing, occasionally exchanging glances with his solicitor.
Drake knew there’d be more interviews and that by the beginning of the week Newman would be remanded in custody. To a prison cell. Segregated from ordinary prisoners for his own safety, sharing a cell with an equally vulnerable criminal. Maybe a paedophile or a wife beater.
Ordinarily Drake’s patience would have run thin with a prisoner failing to cooperate, making a no-comment interview, but he took oblique pleasure in realising the sort of treatment Newman would receive in custody.
He bought a sandwich from the canteen and in the kitchen started the meticulous process of making coffee. Even while measuring the grounds, and counting the minutes, he convinced himself that Sian’s criticisms were unfair. He took the cafetière back to his room and sat down. The columns of Post-it notes had been repositioned to one side, and an apple placed nearby. He checked his mobile, then his email, to confirm that there was nothing from O’Sullivan. Instead of feeling pleased that they had three suspects already in custody he could only concentrate on the notion that there was a missing piece of the jigsaw.
He’d managed a couple of mouthfuls of coffee by the time the telephone rang.
‘You were right Ian,’ O’Sullivan said.
Drake put the unfinished sandwich down on the plate, and waited.
‘Special Branch never check the arrivals at the airport. The forms are emailed through from Special Branch in Holyhead and after that; fuck knows what happens to them.’
‘And?’
‘Yes. I’m coming to that.’
Drake glared at the phone, as though it itself was getting in the way of his progress.
‘The man from the airport can identify Valencia as a passenger on a couple of the flights. He remembered the fancy cream suits.’
‘Send me everything you have,’ Drake said, before slamming the phone down. His pulse had increased: he knew what they needed to do. He shouted over at Caren and she appeared at the door of his office. ‘You were right about the passenger lists. Valencia wasn’t on them but he was on the flights.’
‘What! How did that happen?’
‘The lists sent to Special Branch were doctored. The information was wrong. Damn. I should have seen that. And it was Meirion Ellis-Pugh who sent all the forms in. So he must’ve been involved.’
‘Do you know his address?’
Drake looked at his watch. ‘Better than that. I know where he is.’
He snatched his car keys and then, unfolding his jacket from the wooden hanger, left the office, his sandwich unfinished.
* * *
‘Do a search,’ Drake ordered Caren, as he accelerated out of the car park.
Caren looked blank.
‘On the phone. For Ellis-Pugh. He was on the BBC recently about his daughter.’
Caren tapped the instructions into her phone.
‘Nothing so far.’
‘Bloody hell, it must be there. Has to be. Try the news channel.’
‘That’s what I am trying.’
‘Try it again.’
He left the outskirts of Colwyn Bay, as the soothing tones of Ellis-Pugh’s voice came back to his mind.
‘Got it.’
‘Well what does it say?’
‘It’s a long piece and there’s some video footage too. I… Sophie Ellis-Pugh diagnosed with high risk neuroblastoma… Last week the family reached their £250,000 fundraising target to pay for the immunotherapy treatment… specialist treatment in the US begins on Monday…’ Caren read aloud about the operation Sophie needed. ‘That was a month ago. There’s a picture of her here. She looks very ill.’
Drake guessed that money from the pocket of Valencia had discreetly been fed into the fundraising campaign. And he only briefly thought about the practicalities of tracing money to the bank account of a hospital in the United States that treated terminally ill children. It wasn’t going to be his problem.
Drake parked outside the front door of the hotel and marche
d through the main entrance with Caren, before noticing a sign for the charity function that pointed to the ballroom at the rear.
He pushed open the door and strode into the high-ceilinged room. He caught sight of some television celebrities, a couple of local assembly members and various businessmen. Drake scanned the room. He saw the puzzled look on Sian’s face as he and Caren walked towards her.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said.
‘Is Meirion Ellis-Pugh here?’
‘He left about an hour ago.’
‘Did he say where he was going?’
‘He was going to catch his flight I think.’
‘Which airport?’
‘Manchester. What the hell is wrong?’
Drake turned and rushed for the door, knocking over chairs as he left.
* * *
‘I think we should call the airport police,’ Caren said.
Drake was driving hard in the outside lane, flashing the headlights and blasting the horn at dawdling drivers. Caren was right, but his thoughts kept returning to the image of Jade Beltrami’s face in the meetings with Aylford and Parry. It was the last one where he had mentioned the Blue Parrot and he could see the smirk and the contempt in her face. He may as well have killed Maguire himself. She’d made certain he was annoyed and once she learnt that they knew the Blue Parrot was involved they had Maguire killed.
‘The airport police, sir,’ Caren repeated, loudly.
It broke his concentration.
‘Of course. Call them.’
Caren reached for her mobile. Drake sped on until eventually he was on the motorway, with only half an hour to the airport. He prayed for clear traffic and listened to Caren by his side dictating the details of what they knew. Meirion Ellis-Pugh. She gave a description. Age, 54. Destination, US, but she didn’t know where.
‘Connecting flights?’ Caren said. ‘We don’t know. Just get an alert out to all the departure desks for them to notify you if he tries to leave.’
To their left as they sped along a long, straight section of motorway was a chemical plant, white smoke drifting out of tall chimneys. Drake saw the signs for the junction in the distance, no more than a mile away, to Liverpool John Lennon airport.
‘What if he isn’t going to Manchester at all?’ Drake said.
‘He can’t suspect anything?’
He slowed the car and pulled into the inside lane.
‘He’s very careful. There’s probably nothing to link the fund for his daughter to Valencia. Small enough donations to pass unnoticed and then a friendly bank manager who’s supportive and sympathetic and isn’t surprised when large amounts of cash come into the account.’
‘But why take the risk?’
‘Desperation. His daughter needs specialised treatment and the only place is the US. All he has to do is complete the forms for Special Branch inaccurately.’
‘He knows that if Valencia’s name is on them the SB would be bound to pick it up.’
‘So he tells Sian and anyone else that wants to listen that he’s going from Manchester. Just in case.’
Drake flicked the indicator switch. ‘If he’s in Manchester the police there can deal with him. Call Liverpool airport.’
Five minutes later he was crossing Runcorn Bridge and following the narrow road towards the outskirts of Liverpool. He battled as he drove with a clawing frustration, as he stopped at numerous traffic lights until eventually they saw the lights of John Lennon Airport. He accelerated towards the main entrance and braked hard. After slamming the doors closed they left the car and ran inside, dodging suitcases and trolleys.
The departure desks stretched out ahead of them in the main hall. Drake ran over the concourse, his heart hammering in his chest. People with luggage were in his way, shuffling in zigzag lines towards the desks.
Caren followed him towards the first of the departure desks – a flight for Alicante was scheduled for departure in an hour. Drake stood for moment, breathing heavily. Producing his warrant card he pushed his way past the protests of the security staff and walked down along the departure desks, peering at the faces of the waiting passengers.
Next were various flights to Poland. Nothing. The queue for the flight to the south of France was smaller and he heard French accents.
He hadn’t reached halfway down the departure hall when he thought the saw Ellis-Pugh. The man was the same height, same bald patch, but when he turned he wore thick spectacles and a thick bushy beard.
Drake marched on.
A feeling that it had been a complete waste of time clouded his thoughts. He turned to Caren. ‘Anything from the police in Manchester?’
She shook her head.
They passed a handful of passengers for a flight to an airport in one of the Baltic countries. At the far end a larger crowd was forming and Drake saw the departure details for two flights to Ireland. Easy for connection to the US.
He slowed, trying to concentrate and focus on spotting Ellis-Pugh. Over the public address system a woman’s voice announced the boarding for a flight to Frankfurt. They could very easily have missed Ellis-Pugh already.
Then, in the middle of the crowd, he saw him.
Drake stopped, his breathing returning to normal.
Ellis-Pugh was pretending to read a magazine, but sneaking a glance from under a baseball hat on his head, a small holdall by his feet.
He raised his head slowly and looked at Drake. His lips twitched and he nodded briefly.
Chapter 47
Drake looked at his watch for the third time in five minutes; Caren was late and he was annoyed. And his annoyance hadn’t been helped by the conversation he’d had with Sian the previous evening. She’d explained in a clear, logical way that the time was right for her to work full time in the practice and that it was the right time for them as a family. She made comments about his work-life balance and that he needed to prioritise more time for the family. How exactly he was going to achieve that with her working full time wasn’t clear. This time, it was his home life that was crowding into his office one and it was stopping him from thinking clearly.
Caren appeared at his door, breathless. ‘Sorry I’m late.’
He mumbled a reply, got up, and picked up his car keys. ‘We need to leave.’ Caren seemed more cheerful than usual and he even noticed that she looked tidier than normal.
Drake buzzed down the window a couple of inches and let the spring air rush over his face as he drove down to the A55. He turned westwards. The traffic was light.
‘Did I tell you that Alun has got a job with a local company?’
Drake realised that this news must account for her high spirits.
‘When does he start?’
‘Straight away. More or less. He’s got one trip to Poland and then he’ll be back.’
‘Does he enjoy all this driving?’
‘He doesn’t like being away.’
They reached the turning for Mold in good time and headed down the hill towards the crown court.
‘Dave has booked a couple of weeks off to study for his exams,’ Drake said.
‘I know. He told me.’
‘Do you think he’ll pass?’
‘His wife’ll divorce him if he fails.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Dave thinks so.’
Drake pulled into the car park. A camera crew was standing by the main entrance. They watched as a prison van reversed towards the prisoners’ entrance. Inside the main building it was cool and they passed witnesses and lawyers waiting for cases. Drake tugged open the door of the court room and they sat down. Andy Thorsen nodded a greeting at Drake. A pulse of anticipation ran through the court when the judge entered.
Drake looked over at Valencia, searching for any emotion in his eyes as the court clerk read out the three counts of murder: first Rosen, then Green and finally MC Hughes, but Valencia stared straight ahead. Forensics had proved that the gun Drake had taken from Valencia had killed MC, which meant he was going down for a l
ong time even if they might have difficulty proving Valencia had conspired to kill Rosen and Green.
Drake watched the prosecution barrister lean back against the wooden bench. Occasionally he consulted his papers, as he addressed the judge in clear, persuasive terms as to why Ellis-Pugh should be denied bail. That, with the ongoing nature of the inquiry into the drug-smuggling operation, the interests of justice would not be served if Ellis-Pugh was released. The judge frowned when he suggested Ellis-Pugh might abscond.
Two prison officers stood at either end of the dock; Jade Beltrami sat next to Ellis-Pugh and stared at the floor. Valencia was wearing a dark suit and a carefully knotted tie. When he’d emerged into the dock from the cells below he’d given Drake a dark, intense glare.
The barristers for the three defendants stood up in turn, each adjusting their gowns and wigs before starting. Drake could tell by the way the judge narrowed his eyes at each that they’d have been better off saying nothing.
Drake looked over at John Beltrami sitting at the opposite end of the court building, arms folded, listening to every word. Valencia sat in the dock staring at the judge and then the image of Valencia pointing the gun at MC crowded into Drake’s mind. Drake’s mind drifted back to MC’s funeral the day before, to the small cemetery in Llanberis under the trees and the spring breeze blowing in the faces of the mourners.
Drake had knelt down and scooped up a handful of fine clay. He’d straightened and opened his palm. He’d watched as some of the fine grains had fallen through his fingers. They had felt dry and chalky against his skin. With a single jerk of his hand he’d thrown the dirt into the grave and it had clattered over MC’s coffin. A young girl had supported Auntie Gwen who had stood, tears filling her eyes, by the side of the minister conducting the funeral.
He felt someone prodding him, turned, and noticed Caren on her feet with the rest of the courtroom. The judge rose and left, and the prison officers bundled the three defendants down towards the cells.
‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever be able to trace the money,’ Caren said, as they left the building.
Worse Than Dead Page 30
