Devil's Kitchen_An Inspector Drake Prequel Novella

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘Are you thinking that she could have walked up to the Devil’s Kitchen using this route?’ Caren said.

  Drake paused. He heard the sound of a telephone ringing somewhere in the building and then someone shouting and the creaking of the floor above him. Even the fluorescent light flickered more brightly that morning. He had missed something. It had been obvious – any half-competent detective should have seen it.

  ‘What’s making you link her to the deaths?’ Caren said.

  ‘She wasn’t wearing a jacket even though she was shivering.’

  Caren nodded. ‘And she had a rucksack. She might have hidden the jacket inside.’

  Drake stared at the map again. He had to see for himself, he had to make certain. ‘Let’s go.’

  Caren gave him a startled look but followed him out of the Incident Room. They reached Drake’s car and Caren stood for a moment looking at him over the roof.

  ‘There’s nothing to connect her to either Jack or Denise Trainor.’

  Drake had wanted to ignore the obvious weakness in the logic propelling his mind ahead. He had to chase down every loose end. It was his first case, for Christ sake; it was expected of him.

  ‘And even if she was on the mountain we’ve got nothing to suggest she killed them.’

  Drake nibbled on his lower lip. ‘Call Lauren Holt. I want to know the names of all of her sister’s past girlfriends.’ He yanked open the door and jumped in.

  The satnav calculated that the journey should have taken forty-three minutes but Drake did it in thirty-four thanks to hammering the car in the outside lane, breaking all the speed limits and flashing at various cars who quickly moved to one side. Sunshine broke through the autumn clouds as they skirted around Llanberis. Bright columns of light reflected on the choppy surface of the lake to their left. When Drake reached Nant Peris he slowed and parked. It was a small hamlet with an old chapel and a few houses he guessed were holiday homes.

  ‘What now, boss?’ Caren said.

  ‘Ask around the houses if they saw any walkers on the morning the Trainors were killed.’

  ‘But there—’

  ‘Nobody would walk up this road unless they were heading for the path for the Devil’s Kitchen. It’s too narrow.’

  Drake headed over to the public house. He pushed open the door and heard the sound of a vacuum from the rear. Small tables and stools were pushed against the benches that lined the walls, and wood panels dominated the bar area. He called out and walked through into the back of the pub. Eventually he found a woman who gave a start when she saw him. ‘Who are you?’

  Drake had his warrant card ready. ‘Detective Inspector Drake. Were you working last Monday morning?’

  She shook her head. ‘I only work weekends.’

  ‘Where’s the owner?’

  ‘Upstairs. I’ll give him a shout.’

  Drake followed her through a door and then up a narrow staircase. She shouted out to a Mr Dobbs who appeared at the top of the stairs, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

  He peered down at Drake who repeated his introduction.

  ‘I’m investigating the murder of Denise and Jack Trainor.’

  Dobbs waved at Drake to join him and he led the way to an office at the front of the building. The room stank of cigarette smoke and stale whisky.

  ‘Who did you say you were investigating?’

  ‘The deaths on the mountain earlier this week.’

  Dobbs nodded. ‘Somebody mentioned it the other night.’

  ‘On Monday morning did you see anyone walking past the pub?’

  ‘It was bin day.’

  Drake tempered his impatience. ‘I want to know if you saw someone walking up the road. What time would you have been up?’

  ‘Always early on a Monday.’

  ‘What time would that have been?’

  ‘Before seven. I try to make certain I get the bins out.’

  ‘We made a public appeal for anyone who might have seen someone with a red walking jacket.’

  ‘Lots of them.’

  Drake heard a loud coughing behind him and a woman about Dobbs’ age – mid-fifties – appeared in a large purple dressing gown. ‘What’s the problem?’ She had a broad Merseyside accent, nothing uncommon among the publicans of North Wales, Drake knew.

  After repeating all the relevant details he looked at Mrs Dobbs. ‘Where were you on Monday morning?’

  ‘I was helping him with the bins.’ She sat down heavily and the chair groaned underneath her. ‘Come to think of it I do remember someone walk past. I remember her because it was so cold. I’ve served her in the pub a couple of times.’

  Drake’s hands tightened uneasily. ‘Could you describe her?’

  ‘Not really. Mousey sort of appearance.’

  Drake barged out towards the stairs and almost fell down them in his haste. Outside he searched for Caren and when he noticed her, he bellowed. Startled, she turned and he waved for her to return to the car. Inside he was scrambling through his papers for an address.

  ‘She was here on Monday morning.’

  Caren caught her breath. ‘How …?’

  ‘The landlady of the pub.’ He fired the engine into life and he turned the car round in a screech of tyres before heading back for Llanberis. Drake threw the file of papers at Caren. ‘Find Mary Hall’s address.’

  Caren fumbled with the papers as her mobile rang. ‘Caren Waits.’

  When Caren asked for the names of Denise Trainor’s girlfriends he guessed she was talking to Denise’s sister. ‘Are you certain?’ Caren raised her voice.

  Drake gave her a sudden glance.

  ‘Thank you.’ Caren looked over at Drake. ‘You were right, boss. One of her girlfriends was a girl called Mary Hall.’

  Drake braked hard and indicated for the first junction for Llanberis.

  Hikers in backpacks milled around. Drake found the side street and parked at the bottom. ‘Are you sure, boss?’

  A moment’s hesitation clouded his mind. He reached for the door handle. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

  Drake jogged up to the bungalow set back behind two large griselinia trees. At the end of a path of broken flags he thumped on the door. He paused but there was no reply. He jabbed at the doorbell with little effect and then turned to Caren. ‘Round the back.’

  A flimsy wooden gate had a padlock attached to it. Drake gave it a kick and it flew open. Behind him he heard Caren talking to a neighbour. He got the gist of the conversation: the neighbour thought Mary Hall was at home. Drake rattled the back door but it was locked. He strode around the property and peered through the frosted glass of a bathroom. Alongside it were large French doors. He gazed in at the unmade bed and a half-finished mug of tea or coffee on the bedside table. He tugged at the handle and the door slid open. He called out and then stepped in, Caren by his side.

  He drew a hand across the top of the hot radiator as he walked towards the door. Beyond it was a hallway and they scurried down towards the front door. He guessed it was the curtained room he had seen from outside. The room felt muggy. In a far corner a small table lamp burnt brightly; a bottle of pills lay upturned beside it and in a chair lay the comatose body of Mary Hall.

  Drake rushed forward and felt for a pulse.

  ‘Call the ambulance,’ he shouted.

  Chapter 11

  14th October

  10.29 am

  Drake stared over at Mary Hall. The doctors had decided that she was fit enough for interview but Drake had his doubts. Her skin was the colour of three-day-old snow and it looked like a make-up artist had been hard at work drawing thin dark lines under her eyes. Drake gazed down at the various photographs that he had arranged on the table in the interview suite at headquarters. They showed the inside of the sitting room at Mary’s home from every conceivable angle. Drake recalled his astonishment once Caren had yanked open the curtains. They had stared in disbelief at the walls covered in photographs and the occasional newspaper clipping of Den
ise Trainor. Interspersed were poems and draft love letters that Mary had composed but never sent. He recalled Caren’s description of the room as a shrine to Denise Trainor.

  By Drake’s feet was a holdall that contained a jacket recovered from Mary’s home. The solicitor sitting next to Mary had a notepad perched on his knee and he turned a cheap ballpoint through his fingers.

  ‘Do you know why you’re here?’ Drake said.

  Mary nodded, but she was expected to explain so Drake added, wanting to make certain he did everything correctly, ‘Please explain for the tape why you’re in police custody.’

  ‘It’s because of Denise,’ Mary whispered.

  ‘Can you speak up for the microphone?’

  Mary cleared her throat. ‘It’s about Jack and Denise.’

  ‘Denise Trainor was killed in Cwm Idwal near the Devil’s Kitchen on Monday 29th September.’

  Mary nodded as a tear rolled down her left cheek.

  ‘We were going to get married.’

  Drake paused. He looked over at her and saw the pain and anguish in her eyes. Mary gazed straight at him. No averted eye contact, nothing to suggest she would lie.

  ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

  Mary brushed away a tear. ‘I saw him murder her. I was sitting on top of the rocks on the footpath down to the cwm near the Devil’s Kitchen. He was standing next to her as she was taking a photograph. His rucksack was by his feet.’

  Mary stopped; her voice broke slightly. ‘He pulled out a knife …’

  Caren made her first contribution, keeping her voice soft. ‘Did you see him kill Denise?’

  Mary nodded before giving Drake and Caren a detailed description of Trainor stabbing Denise. She barely stopped for breath as she explained about her love affair with Denise Trainor that years of separation had not dimmed. A chance meeting had made both women realise that they still loved each other. Confession was certainly good for Mary who relaxed visibly as she unburdened herself. There was an indisputable mixture of relief and guilt as she described Trainor approaching her near the top of the Devil’s Kitchen, and all the comments from Denise about the desolateness of her marriage had come to haunt Mary as she watched him approach.

  ‘I pushed him,’ she said. ‘He got up and I rushed towards him. I wanted to … I don’t know what I wanted…I wanted Denise back more than anything. Then he laughed at me. He told me his wife could never love someone like me.’

  ‘Did you want him dead?’

  ‘He kicked me and then I lashed out and he fell.’

  Mary glanced over at her lawyer and for a moment, Drake wondered if she’d confess to murder.

  ‘He got up and lunged for me but I kicked him again and he lost his footing and fell. He fell over the rocks and then … It was terrible, he screamed. I never wanted him to die. I just wanted Denise.’

  Drake sat back composing his thoughts, glancing briefly over at Caren. She had an intense frown on her face.

  ‘After he fell what did you do?’

  Mary buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

  ‘I clambered down to Denise and held her in my arms … She was so cold.’

  ‘You wore a red jacket?’

  Mary nodded.

  ‘Did you put it into your rucksack?’

  She nodded again.

  Drake reached down and lifted the holdall onto the table. He opened the zip and drew out the red walking jacket inside. ‘Is this your bag?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And is this your jacket? The one that you wore in Cwm Idwal.’

  Mary caught her breath as her shoulders drooped. ‘It’s mine.’

  Drake sat back and looked at Mary. She was a suspect in a murder investigation so the usual procedure would be to challenge every part of her story, examine every detail for any flaw, any suggestion that she wasn’t telling them the truth. But she just looked sad. A woman whose whole life and future happiness had disappeared on the top of Cwm Idwal on an autumn morning.

  ‘Why did you go to the Devil’s Kitchen that morning?’

  ‘I knew she’d be there. She and Jack would go there frequently. He had proposed to her there. I just wanted to be near her.’

  It sickened Drake to think that Trainor had returned to where he had proposed to his wife only to kill her. But there seemed no other explanation. Mary replied without hesitation to Drake’s question about her relationship with Denise, leaving Drake convinced she was telling the truth. After an hour Drake glanced over at Caren who had not made one interruption, and she gave him a brief rueful smile.

  ‘What will happen now?’ Mary darted a glance at her solicitor.

  ‘All the facts will be considered by the Crown Prosecution Service. They will decide what charges you might face.’

  21st October

  09.29 am

  Drake had arrived early for work knowing that a decision on the prosecution of Mary Hall was due that morning. Sian had been mollified by him taking two days off the previous weekend. Caren hadn’t arrived when he walked into the Incident Room. The board was still in place and that feeling of uncertainty had gone. It was like being back in school – he had passed the test, dispelled the doubts about his work.

  He made his way over to the senior management suite and waited. He could hear the muffled sound of conversation behind the door and wondered who was with Price. Soon enough he found out as he shook hands with Andy Thorsen, a Crown prosecutor, sitting at the conference table.

  ‘Good morning, Ian.’

  ‘Andy.’

  ‘The CPS have made a decision to proceed against Hall for manslaughter only. Based on her background and everything that went on we didn’t feel there was any prospect of proving her intention to commit murder.’

  ‘Do her lawyers know?’

  ‘Not yet. Do you think she will plead guilty?’

  Drake paused. He was certain she would. Mary felt guilty enough about her infatuation with Denise. Her suicide attempt was evidence that Jack’s death had torn her apart.

  ‘I think so. Her only defence would be that it was an accident.’

  Thorsen shook his head.

  ‘What sort of sentence will she get?’ Drake said.

  Price replied. ‘She’ll do a few years inside.’

  Thorsen cut in. ‘Congratulations on the investigation, Ian. You and Caren did well.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Drake returned to the Incident Room. Caren sat by her desk, her hair tidy and her blouse neatly ironed.

  ‘Manslaughter,’ Drake announced.

  Caren smiled. ‘It makes sense. I spoke to Lauren Holt earlier. She met Malcolm Brown last weekend. Apparently they got on well and they will keep in touch.’

  ‘Good,’ Drake said as a team of civilians filed in, explaining that they wanted to dismantle the board. He waved his consent.

  By mid-morning he had caught up with paperwork and Caren had appeared with two mugs of coffee. He gave his mug a surreptitious worried glance at the state of the coffee inside. It was time to buy a cafetière for work he decided. It seemed the only option to get a decent coffee. Drake stood up to stretch his legs. He looked over at the wide expanse of parkland lined with bare trees, passers-by on the pavement in the distance with jacket collars drawn up to their chins. Establishing the truth at the end of any inquiry always made him pleased, but in this case it was tinged with sadness that Mary would face several years in prison. He knew she wouldn’t plead not guilty and face a trial. She would accept her punishment, which would be for a judge to decide. Now his work was done.

  ‘Doing anything this weekend?’

  For a moment, Caren looked nonplussed. ‘Ah …’

  Drake answered his own question. ‘I’m going to take the girls to the zoo tomorrow.’

  ‘That’ll be nice.’

  He glanced at his watch. It was almost lunchtime. It was Sian’s half-day and he knew she’d be back at home after lunch. The prospect of two hours alone with his wife before the children arrived home
brought a smile to his face. ‘Let’s knock off early.’

  Caren smiled. Once Drake’s desk was neat and tidy he scooped up his coat and left his coffee.

  ~~~~~~~~

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  Devil’s Kitchen

  by Stephen Puleston

  This book copyright © Stephen Puleston

  First edition published 2016 by Stephen Puleston

  The right of Stephen Puleston to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

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