‘What?’ Price looked puzzled.
‘Lies on the whispering wind,’ Drake murmured. ‘It’s Moxie.’
Around the table the atmosphere changed from exasperation to expectation and they moved imperceptibly in their chairs.
Drake looked winded. He put his head in his hands.
‘It’s Moxie,’ he repeated.
Glances were exchanged around the table.
‘The bastard … he’s a … ’ he faltered. ‘The fucking bastard. It’s Moxie. Led Zeppelin is his favourite band,’ he explained. ‘Stairway to Heaven’ is his all-time favourite track. He plays it everyday. I always remember him telling me that years ago. And that phrase – the whispering wind – is in the lyrics.’
With two quick steps Drake returned to the table. He looked down at Price, knowing they had no time to spare. ‘We need to find Moxon. Now.’
Caren was already out of her chair. Price picked up the telephone, asked for the Traffic Department and barked an order.
‘I’ve got two officers travelling west. Get a patrol car and two outriders to clear traffic. Now. And I want an ARV deployed.’
He threw the handset down onto its cradle. Drake pushed open the doors from Price’s office. They raced down the stairs into reception, passing the astonished stares of the reception staff. Outside, they saw two outriders and a patrol car – lights flashing, siren blaring – leaving headquarters. Drake and Caren hurried towards the Armed Response Vehicle and, once inside, they heard the sound of Area Control clearing a frequency direct to Price’s office.
Drake yanked the safety belt from behind his shoulder and thrust the clip tight until it fastened securely. He glanced over at Caren as she fumbled with the safety belt, the car already in motion.
The driver swung the car down towards the A55 and gathered speed – cars and lorries had been swept to the inside lane and hard shoulder like pebbles in the face of an advancing tide, some with hazard lights blinking.
The comment made by Dr Fabrien as they left Price’s office came flashing back to his mind. If he had a grudge against everyone he’s killed …
If Moxon had a grudge against West, it was possible, just possible, he had a grudge against Walker and Sian. He called Price.
Then he pushed the speed-dial for Sian’s surgery. The receptionist told him she was busy.
‘Put me through. Now!’ he screamed.
‘What’s wrong?’ Sian asked.
‘It’s Moxie. Definitely. You and Rhys might be at risk. Lock the surgery doors. I’ve already sent two armed officers. They will be with you in minutes.’
He heard her gasp. ‘What about the girls?’
‘There are two armed officers on their way to the school now.’
‘Ian, I’m scared.’
‘Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.’
They reached the tunnels at Conwy faster than Drake had ever thought possible. The road was clear; the traffic dawdled in the inside lane. The Armed Response Vehicle changed down through the gears and as it emerged on the opposite side of the estuary, the driver hurtled the car to over one hundred and twenty miles an hour until he had to slow for the tunnels through the mountains.
After the second mountain tunnel the ARV drove straight over a mini roundabout, throwing Drake and Caren around in the back seat. Then the car had a clear run, and far in the distance, Drake thought he caught sight of the motorcycle outriders.
Patrol cars sat waiting for the ARV as it negotiated the off-ramp and circled a roundabout, tyres screeching. Within minutes, they’d arrived at Moxon’s house. The motorcyclists had already established a perimeter. Drake and Caren dragged on bulletproof vests and jumped out of the car, following the two Armed Response Vehicle officers – weapons in hand – as they ran to the front door.
Bile gathered in Drake’s throat, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his collar seemed to tighten around his neck.
‘Open the door,’ he yelled. ‘Break the fucking thing down.’
Both officers took turns to kick at the door, the casing splitting under the pressure before the door flew open. The ARV officers streamed into the house, shouting warnings as Drake and Caren followed. Drake stood in the lounge, where there was a musty, stale smell, as though nobody had cleaned for months. He saw a film of dust on the top of the television, pictures of Beverley along the mantelpiece and, in pride of place, the stereo system. The two armed officers returned to the lounge, leaving Caren to rummage through the empty bedrooms.
‘Place is deserted, sir.’
Before he could reply, his mobile rang. He frowned when he didn’t recognise the number.
‘Drake.’
‘What lies on the whispering wind?’
His lips went dry, his throat tightened. ‘Moxie.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Your place.’
‘You won’t be long then.’
The line went dead and for several seconds Drake stared at the mobile in his right hand. Caren walked into the room and stood behind him. She waited until he regained some composure.
‘Well, what did he say?’
‘What lies on the whispering wind?’
‘We know that. Man talks in riddles.’
Drake ran his finger along the racks of CDs that stood alongside the hi-fi system. There was a complete collection of Led Zeppelin CDs, Pink Floyd, The Pretenders and Queen. He pressed the ‘on’ button on the CD player and the LCD display lit up. He leant down, pushed the open button and a small tray appeared. He placed his forefinger through the hole in the centre and picked up the CD. Led Zeppelin 2.
Moxon’s voice replayed in his mind. And then he knew that Moxon wasn’t far. He was on the bridge.
Drake rushed out of the house, yelling instructions to the armed officers.
‘Britannia Bridge. Now.’
The outriders roared off and they retraced their steps to the A55. The road was silent as the car accelerated towards the Britannia Bridge. Drake leant forward, urging the vehicle on, as the car sped down the outside lane, passing scores of cars lined up on the hard shoulder. The radio crackled into life, telling them about an incident on the bridge.
The ARV jolted to a halt. Drake jumped out, crossed over the central reservation and walked down towards the bridge. He watched as Moxon moved towards the handrail and then Drake broke into a steady jog. Moxon placed his stab jacket over a Samaritans call box and threw his tie on the tarmac. He clambered up onto the handrail overlooking the sea three hundred feet below. Drake was running now, his heart pumping, tearing deep into his chest. He got closer and closer. Then Moxon turned towards him.
‘Moxie!’ he screamed.
Drake’s lungs wanted to explode.
‘Moxie!’ Louder this time.
He stopped within a few of metres of Moxon and bent double, his chest heaving.
‘You’ve taken your time,’ Moxon said.
‘What …’ Drake gasped.
Moxon turned towards him and gave a sneer, then his eyes closed and he seemed to relax. His legs were leaning against the rail. It was one small step upwards to the top of the crash rail or a small step down to the pavement below. Drake tried to calculate if he could grab Moxon but quickly dismissed the idea.
‘You have no idea,’ Moxon said.
‘Come down from there and we’ll talk,’ Drake said, between deep breaths.
Another sneer.
‘What it was like waking up in the middle of the night. Screaming. Hearing his voice over and over and over in my mind.’
‘Bev wouldn’t want this.’
‘I forgave her of course. Now he’s paid.’
Drake’s breathing slowed. He moved a step closer.
‘No further,’ Moxon said.
‘We can talk about this.’
‘Like we could talk about everything, Ian. Your obsessions and rituals and Sian and the children.’
The resentment dripped out of Moxon.
‘Why the bottles?’ Drake asked, wanting
to shout at Moxon. Scream at him that he had no right to involve Megan and Helen.
‘Your perfect life. Wife a doctor and a BMW and the sports car.’
‘Beverley …’ Drake said before Moxon shouted at him.
‘Don’t you fucking mention her name.’
‘Come down from there.’
‘As if you know. Living in your bright shiny world.’
Drake moved another step nearer. Moxon raised a hand and then pointed his finger at Drake and narrowed his eyes.
‘No fucking closer.’
Drake’s breathing was returning to normal and he saw two officers approaching from the other end of the bridge, unseen by Moxon. The high-visibility jacket on the telephone box fluttered in the breeze.
‘We can get you help,’ Drake said.
‘Like the help I got from that bastard Johnson.’
‘That was in the past.’
‘Nobody’s going to help me.’
‘Come down. We can talk.’
‘Nobody helped Bev either. Called himself a doctor – that West should be ashamed. Let her die.’ Moxon’s voice broke up and he adjusted his footing.
The officers walking along the pavement had neared.
‘Moxie.’
Moxon turned his head. Drake looked deep into Moxon’s eyes but there was nothing there except blackness, an emptiness he had never seen before. An officer approaching mis-timed his step over the kerb edge and Moxon turned abruptly to see both officers approaching. He turned to look at Drake, the hatred evident in his face.
He took one step upwards and perched on the top rail before looking down at Drake.
‘I don’t know how you can fucking live with yourself.’
He stretched out his arms above his head and pushed his body gently forwards. For a fraction of a second, the body hung motionless in the air before he disappeared from view.
Epilogue
Friday 25th August
Drake sat at his desk, stacked high with papers, a sudoku half-finished from the morning newspaper, trying to concentrate on work. He glanced over at the photograph of Sian and Megan and Helen taken on their holiday in the south of France that now seemed a distant memory. He smiled to himself as he recalled the moment he took the photograph, after the girls had emerged from the swimming pool, the high temperatures evident from the bright sunshine.
He fiddled with a biro before rearranging some of the files into neat bundles. He found his mind wandering so he got up and adjusted the open window behind him. The sky was a clear blue and the temperatures hot and balmy, just as the forecast had predicted. The previous evening, when Drake told Sian he’d booked a half day off and then suggested a trip to the beach, she had given him a curious look that turned into a warm smile. He sat down heavily and, as he pulled the chair towards the desk, Caren knocked on his door. He motioned her to sit down, pleased at the interruption. Caren held up a newspaper.
‘Have you seen the headlines?’ she asked.
Drake shook his head and she handed him the paper. There had been rumours about Harrod, of course, but now it seemed official.
Local Building Construction Company Collapses – 230 jobs lost.
He read the article and spluttered in astonishment at the quote attributed to James Harrod who blamed ‘market forces’ and a ‘downturn in the economy’ for the demise of his empire.
‘There’s nothing here about the pending court case,’ Drake said.
‘The CPS told me yesterday that Dixon is likely to offer a guilty plea to the assault charge,’ Caren said.
Drake put the newspaper down and smiled broadly.
‘That’s brilliant. It makes it awkward for Harrod to deny any involvement. That sounds like a result to me. Harrod’s business collapses and he’s going down for assault.’
Before Caren could reply Price was standing behind her in the doorway. The visit was unplanned and immediately Drake worried that something unforeseen had cropped up that would ruin his plans for the day. Caren left, and Price pushed the door closed and sat down.
‘Family well?’ Price said.
‘Very well, thank you, sir,’ Drake said. ‘I’ve booked a half day off today. I wanted to take the girls to the beach before the end of the summer.’
Drake could see from the averted eye contact and Price’s twitching that he had something on his mind.
‘How was your holiday?’
‘The weather was hot, as you’d expect,’ Drake said, darting another glance at the photograph.
‘Going walking next month in the Pyrenees. Try and work off some of this flab,’ Price said, patting his paunch.
Drake fell silent and waited, wondering what Price had on his mind.
‘Ian. I know this business with Moxon was tough for you. You’d been friends for years.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘It can’t have been easy. And I want you to understand that we want to be supportive.’
Drake moved in his chair. He had no idea what Price was getting at. Price cleared his throat and looked Drake in the eye.
‘The powers that be think it best if you have some counselling. You know, to help you over the Moxon business. Help you deal with the whole sad affair. It might be for the best.’
Drake sank back into his chair, relieved it wasn’t something more serious.
‘Why … I mean, when is it supposed to start?’
Price visibly relaxed, obviously pleased that Drake had agreed.
‘Some time next month. Good. That’s settled then. I’m pleased we’ve had this chat. Did I tell you about Laura Harrod?’
Drake shook his head.
‘She’s reapplied to join the service.’
Drake raised his eyebrows.
‘Straight into the shredder of course.’
And with that he got up to leave. At the door he turned back to look at Drake.
‘Where are you going today?’
‘Llanddwyn beach.’
‘Better get going then.’
Drake drove home with all the windows down and let the warm air fill the car. After hurriedly changing and finding all the buckets and spades, they left the house. The memories of his recent journeys along the coast were still fresh in his mind. Drake knew that Moxon would have covered this route, returning home to his empty house every day while all the time allowing the hatred to build in his mind until the poison had done its worst. He approached the bridge, on impulse drew into a lay-by, and parked next to an articulated lorry with Polish plates, its curtains drawn.
‘Something I need to do,’ he said to Sian, who looked puzzled.
He strode over the grass verge onto the bridge and walked to where Moxon had stood by the crash barrier. Cars and lorries hurtled past him over the bridge. He stood and stared at the ground and then, moving closer to the edge of the bridge, looked out and down into the waters below. He felt the salty breeze on his face and watched as seagulls floated on the wind. Everything about the investigation came crowding back into his mind – the numbers and the songs and his own rituals. And, if he had been a better friend to Moxon, could things have been different? There had been four deaths and perhaps, just possibly, he could have prevented West’s death. And maybe Price was right about the counselling, but the prospect was daunting. Standing alone on the bridge, he realised how Moxon must have felt once Beverley had died. Moxon had lost the one thing he cherished more than anything.
He turned and walked back to the car, saw Sian standing by her open door, peering in his direction, the worry etched on her face. He ignored her questions about why they were there. Instead, he leant over, held her face in his hands and then kissed her on the lips.
Stephen Puleston
Inspector Drake Mysteries
If you enjoyed Brass in Pocket then you can download the first three chapters of the second Inspector Drake novel Worse than Dead free of charge from my website, please click on this link - http://www.stephenpuleston.co.uk/inspector-drake/worse-than-dead/
Also by Stephen Puleston
Inspector John Marco Thrillers
If you enjoyed the Inspector Drake novels then you can read the first three chapters here.
Speechless
Chapter 1
Grey clouds drifted over the early-morning sky as the city stirred. Looking out over the Bay I warmed to the prospect of my first day off in a week: lunch with my parents, which meant my mother’s ravioli con funghi, enquiries about my health and complaints that I didn’t visit enough.
Yesterday’s unread supplements sat on the worktop behind me, and two tickets for Cardiff’s Premiership game against Chelsea that afternoon were propped against the Gaggia coffee machine, which made a comforting hissing sound. After the match I’d have dinner with Trish, tell her about lunch and roll my eyes, describing my mother’s comments and then we’d return to the flat and freshly laundered sheets.
It promised to be a typical Sunday until Boyd rang.
‘Boss, there’s a floater in the Taff.’
‘Who’s the duty inspector?’
‘Detective Inspector Hobbs and he’s investigating a rape in Grangetown. He told me to ask for you.’
‘Is there nobody else?’
‘Sorry, boss.’
I fumbled for a pen in the drawer under the worktop before tugging at a piece of paper from a notepad and writing down the details.
‘The ambulance and the fire brigade are on their way,’ Boyd said.
‘When will they arrive?’
‘Half an hour.’
I looked at my watch and knew that after the body had been fished from the Taff and the formalities concluded in the morgue I’d be at my parents’ home in good time for lunch.
I was chewing on a piece of toast and watching the espresso dribbling into a cup when my mobile rang. Trish’s number appeared on the screen.
‘Missed you last night, John.’
‘And me you,’ I said. ‘But I was so tired I couldn’t walk straight. Your mum okay?’
‘Yeh, she’s fine. Are you still all right for later?’
‘I’m looking forward to it. But I’ve just had a call about a body in the Taff.’
‘I thought you were off duty?’
‘So did I but I should be finished mid-morning. How about coming with me for lunch?’
Brass in Pocket Page 30
