Dead Guilty

by Helen H. Durrant

  The news surprised Calladine. He didn’t have Sean down as the type to use a knife. “Fingerprints?”

  “We’re working on that. It’s got a long narrow blade. Someone’s had a go at cleaning it but we’ll test it against Sean and Frankie’s blood. It could be the murder weapon. Also, the car isn’t registered in Sean Barber’s name. I presume the plates are false. We will look at the VIN number and see what we get.”

  “Thanks, Julian, interesting information. I’ll have a word with his mother about the car when we get back. See what she knows.”

  * * *

  The Welsh countryside was impressive. Green rolling hills that swept down to the wide estuary below. The sands around Borth were golden and flat. The weather was fine, with only a light breeze blowing across the low dunes.

  “You can see right across the estuary,” Ruth said, binoculars in hand. “Over there, at the point where the River Dovey runs down from the hillside is Dovey Junction railway station. Way back in Victorian times an entrepreneur tried to bridge this estuary and failed, so they had to go all the way round.” She looked up. Calladine’s eyes had glazed over. “It’s a fascinating story!” She punched him playfully. “It brought industry and the railway to this part of the country. If you ever get the chance, take a ride along the Cambrian coast from Dovey Junction to Pwllheli. The views are beautiful.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’ve been here before, you said?”

  “Yes birding. We stayed in a little hotel in Borth. I’ve walked all over these sands.”

  “Do you know this address?” He handed her Alice’s notepad.

  “Brickyard Cottages?” She looked around at the expanse of sand and estuary. “All that industry I talked about meant Borth grew — it needed a railway station for starters. That required builders and they need bricks.” She pointed. “See that white farmhouse over there?” Calladine followed the direction of her finger and nodded. “That was once the old brickyard. There is a row of cottages at the back. I’m guessing it’s them.”

  “What’s the farm called now?”

  “Dovey Farm.”

  “It was the owner of that farm who let the cottage to Annie and Billy.”

  Ruth put her binoculars back in her bag. “There’s just one problem. How do we get over there without them spotting us?”

  * * *

  Calladine and Ruth decided to chance being seen. They pulled into the farm car park. A middle-aged woman was returning from walking a couple of dogs. She called to them in Welsh.

  “Bore da, I helpu chi?”

  “That means, good morning, can I help you,” Ruth translated for Calladine’s benefit.

  “Do you speak English?” Calladine asked, showing the woman his warrant card.

  “Yes, of course. I’m Delyth Hughes. I own this farm and the land around here.”

  “We need to find the couple who recently rented a cottage from you. You spoke to one of my colleagues yesterday.”

  “The Jones family? Yes, I know them. They took on number five, the cottage on the end of the row there.”

  “Are they in?” Ruth asked.

  “I’ve just walked past and the car is still there. I’d say you’re in luck.” Delyth left them to it.

  “We’ll walk round,” Calladine told Ruth. “If we approach from the back, then hopefully they won’t see us.”

  “They’re hardly going to do a runner.”

  “We don’t know that Billy isn’t the killer,” Calladine reminded her. “Until we know different, we go carefully.”

  Chapter 28

  As the two detectives approached the rear of the cottage, they could see little Sophie Alder playing on the lawn outside.

  “Despite all our theories, seeing her safe and well is a huge relief,” Ruth said.

  “Led us a merry dance though, didn’t they, Annie and Billy?”

  The pair accessed the garden by a small gate in the fence. Ruth waved at the child and gave her a big grin. Sophie went running inside, no doubt to find her mother.

  “What d’you want?” A male voice boomed from behind them. It was Billy Alder. He was carrying an axe. “I’m chopping wood for the stove,” he explained, throwing it to the ground.

  “We need a word with you and Annie. Is she here?” Calladine asked.

  Billy didn’t look happy but nonetheless he led the way inside. The place was sparsely furnished, nothing like the luxury Annie Alder was used to.

  She was in the kitchen, clutching Sophie. She went paled when she saw the two detectives.

  “We’ve done nothing wrong,” she said at once. “I had to do it this way or Rick would have killed us both.” She put Sophie down and instructed the child to go and play in her bedroom. “You have no idea what he’s capable of. Richard is nothing like people think, and now that he’s got Pennington at his side, he’s even worse.”

  “Tell us, Annie. Tell us the truth about your husband,” Calladine pressed her. “If we are to help you, we need the full picture.”

  “There’s a lot I could say, but it boils down to one fact. Rick is a dangerous man, and Pennington is every bit as bad as he is.”

  “If you want us to help you, we need more than that. We need details. What do you mean by dangerous? What has he done to make you believe this?”

  “I can’t tell you,” she said. “We’re safe here, but if Rick finds out that I’ve spoken to you, he’ll find us.” She dipped her head. “He’ll come after us and it won’t be pretty.”

  “You have to trust us,” Ruth said. “We won’t tell anyone where you are.”

  “You won’t have to. You write reports, your senior officers know what you’re up to, where you’ve been.” She gave a hollow laugh. “I don’t trust anyone. Particularly not the police.”

  Calladine thought that was an odd thing to say.

  “We can protect you all. Find you a safe house. Help us and no one will find you, we promise,” said Ruth.

  “This was a safe house, until you found us. I can’t take any more risks. Not while Rick is glued to Pennington.”

  “You think Pennington is dangerous too?”

  “Let’s just say that since they’ve been together, Rick has changed, and not for the better.”

  “Has he known Pennington for long?” Calladine asked.

  “A year, no more. I’ve no idea where or how they met. I have asked Rick, but he won’t tell me. He’s closer to him than to his own brother.” She glanced at Billy, who remained silent.

  Ruth moved closer. “Something has happened, Annie,” she said gently. “It’s Frankie, and I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

  “Had an accident, has she? The way she drives that car of hers it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  There was no other way but straight out with it. “No. I’m afraid Frankie has been killed. Murdered. That’s why we’re here. We’re trying to find the person responsible.”

  Annie froze, then her face crumpled as she burst into tears. “Why would anyone hurt Frankie?” she sobbed. “I don’t understand. She’s my sister. I need her.”

  “I’m so sorry, Annie. We are investigating and we will find her killer soon.”

  Annie glowered at Ruth. “You say that, but here you are chasing after us, not back at home chasing her killer.”

  “We had to come. We needed to tell you what happened.”

  Annie nodded in resignation. “Yes. Of course. Sorry.”

  “Did you know Frankie was pregnant?”

  Annie’s eyes widened at this news. “There hasn’t been a man in her life for a while.”

  “Well, there was someone. She was about ten weeks, does that help?”

  “How did she die?” Annie asked, ignoring the previous question.

  “She was stabbed.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence as Annie sobbed.

  “When did you get here, Billy?” Calladine asked, turning to the man.

  Billy scowled. “I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re getting at.”


  “Surely you can’t suspect Billy! He wouldn’t harm anyone!” Annie shouted. “And certainly not my sister.” She thought for a moment. “Have you asked Rick? He never did like Frankie. She got on his nerves. She went on and on at him about what he did to me . . .” She looked at them both. “When Rick loses it, he’s a wild man. Nothing would surprise me.”

  “Has he ever hurt you, Annie?” Ruth asked. She was thinking about the bruise on her cheek.

  Annie’s hand went to her cheek, as if reading Ruth’s thoughts. “Yes. He’s had a short fuse lately. Frankie always took my side and Rick didn’t like that.”

  “Proof of when you got here would clear this up,” Calladine told them. “You see, we know that Frankie sent you a text threatening to tell Richard what your plans were. You’ve just told us you didn’t want him on your tails while you were making your escape.” He paused. “As it stands, you have a motive for wanting Frankie dead. Keeping your whereabouts a secret, for example.”

  There was doubt on Annie’s face. “Frankie said a lot of things. She gets drunk, flies off the handle. But she didn’t mean any of what she texted. She knew the score with Rick. She knew I had to leave.”

  “Couldn’t you have simply asked him for a divorce?” Ruth asked.

  “I did. I pleaded with him, but he refused. And he promised I wouldn’t get a penny or access to Sophie if I walked out. That just isn’t fair! I worked damn hard helping him to get that business up and running. I wanted that money because I’d earned it.” Annie sighed. “Billy came away with Sophie and me two days ago. He didn’t harm Frankie. Neither of us could do that.”

  Billy spoke. “Here, take these and do all the checking you want.” He handed Calladine a couple of petrol receipts. They were dated and timed the day before Frankie’s murder.

  “Most garages have CCTV, so it shouldn’t be hard to check. Plus, Mrs Hughes will confirm what I say.”

  Calladine turned to Annie. “Apart from your husband, who would want to harm your sister?”

  He saw Annie and Billy exchange a look. From the expression on Annie’s face, it was obvious that she knew a lot more than she was saying.

  “Tell us what you know, Annie,” Calladine pushed. “Frankie isn’t the only person this man has killed. We have to stop him before he strikes again. All we need is a name.”

  “I can’t,” she sobbed. “You won’t get him, anyway. He’s untouchable.”

  “Tell us, Annie,” Ruth urged her. “Who do you think killed Frankie? She was your sister, you owe it to her to tell us.”

  “I can’t. He’ll kill us.”

  “Who will? Richard?”

  Annie stood up and turned her back on them. “Please go. I daren’t say anymore.”

  “What makes you say he’s untouchable?” Calladine persisted.

  “Because he’s got people to watch his back.”

  “What d’you mean, Annie? Are you talking about Pennington?”

  “I can’t help you. Please go. Please leave us alone.”

  “That’s not good enough,” Calladine said firmly. “If you suspect someone then you have to speak out. Refuse and I’ll arrest you here and now for obstruction.”

  Annie Alder turned to face him with cold eyes. “My husband and Pennington. That’s who killed Frankie. They have secrets, the way they make money for starters. Frankie saw through them and Rick couldn’t stand her. She was always making trouble for him.”

  “Do you have proof?” Ruth asked.

  Annie shook her head. “No. And I’m not saying anything else. I’ve said too much as it is.”

  “You will have to make the funeral arrangements for Frankie, so you risk Richard finding you anyway,” Ruth said. “We can help, but you have to help us in return.”

  “I’ll get Joanne to make the arrangements for me. I’m not saying anything else. It’s too dangerous, and I’ve got Sophie to think of.”

  There was nothing they could do. Annie had a fixed expression on her face and it was clear they would get no more information out of her. It was frustrating. Calladine wanted to know why she thought her husband was a murderer. They had no proof or any reason to believe that. He decided to leave it for now, but they’d have another go tomorrow before they left.

  “Okay, Annie,” he said calmly. “But you will speak to us. Your safety depends on it.”

  * * *

  “Where’re we staying, then?” Calladine asked Ruth once they were back in the car. They had decided to stay over and try again with Annie the following day.

  “There’s the hotel in Borth I told you about. Great breakfast, lovely views, and a well-stocked bar.”

  “Sounds the business. D’you think they’ll have rooms?”

  “I know the owner, Bethan Thomas. The birding group have stayed there in the past. You drive us back to Borth and on the way I’ll give her a ring.”

  The hotel was everything Ruth had promised. Old and quaint, but very comfortable.

  “Knew it would be fine,” Ruth said as they checked in. She nudged Calladine and pointed at the range of whiskeys behind the bar. “We’ve had many a good night in here.”

  He was impressed. “I need to make a few calls. I’ll meet you back down here for dinner.”

  One of the calls was to Rocco. Calladine wanted to make sure he had the information he’d requested on Sean Barber’s car. “Julian made the initial enquires but I want you to dig a bit deeper. Where did Sean get that car from? There was a knife strapped under the driver’s seat. Sean may or may not have known it was there. If he did, he could have had it with him when he was stabbed, and the killer then put it there.”

  “We’ll get on it, guv. We’ve also had the forensics back on Frankie’s murder. They’ve found a match on the database for the foetal DNA.”

  “Do you have a name?” Calladine asked.

  “Conrad Stokes.”

  It was something of an anti-climax. He’d half expected it to be Billy Alder. The name Stokes meant nothing to Calladine.

  “There’s more, guv. Forensics proved that the killer stabbed both Frankie and Sean Barber. They found faint traces of Sean’s blood in Frankie’s wound. It must have been close to the hilt of the blade. But tests on the blade are ongoing, as you know. With luck it’ll prove to be the murder weapon in both cases.”

  “Good, just as we thought. Just wish we knew who Stokes was, then we might make headway.”

  “Already on it,” Rocco said. “Stokes is on the system. He’s some big-time Glaswegian villain. Used to be responsible for most of the organised crime up there, particularly drug dealing. The Scottish police were very helpful, they sent a profile and a photo. I’ve emailed them to you. It’ll make interesting bedtime reading. The photo was taken a decade or so ago. According to the Glaswegian force, Stokes has been out of circulation for a while.”

  But Calladine couldn’t wait. He took the laptop from his bag and fired it up. “Have you seen much of Birch today?” he asked the DC.

  “No, guv. In fact, I don’t think she was here. Thorpe’s being a pain. Doesn’t want to leave the office if it can be avoided.”

  The hotel had Wi-Fi and Calladine accessed the email from Rocco. Seconds later an image of Stokes filled the screen. “I don’t know him. Mind you that’s some beard he’s got, and his hair’s quite long. Wonder what he looks like spruced up? Drugs you said? He could be behind the current drug problem we have. In fact, he could be our ‘Street.’ You’ll have seen Sean’s notebook — the problem is bigger than we thought and that takes some organising. Stokes is an old hand according to the profile.”

  “Do you think he killed Frankie and Sean Barber, guv?”

  “He has to be our number one suspect. What with the drug link, and the fact that he’s the father of Frankie’s child, so he knew her.”

  “What next?” Rocco asked.

  “I want another crack at Annie and Billy. Annie is holding back on us. But at least we can put Billy on the back burner for now.”

  “You
think she’s scared of her husband? Not the Richard Alder we know though, is he?”

  “She hasn’t spoken of anyone else,” Calladine said. “Any further information turns up, let me know at once.”

  Calladine ended the call. If Stokes was their man then the two murders may have nothing to do with Richard Alder or Giles Pennington, despite what Annie thought.

  * * *

  The dinner Bethan Thomas provided was every bit as good as Ruth had promised. Comfortably full, the pair retired to the bar.

  “I’ve not been to this part of the world before,” said Calladine. “It’s quite a find, particularly if you fancy a bit of peace and quiet.”

  Ruth smiled. “Not when the birding group’s here it isn’t. And not just us — word gets out about a sighting and the twitchers travel from miles away.”

  “Bethan does well out of you lot then.”

  Ruth changed the subject. “The team got anything yet?”

  “The father of Frankie’s baby is a man called Conrad Stokes, from Glasgow. He needs finding and bringing in.”

  Ruth nodded. “Do you think this Stokes could be ‘Street’?”

  “I was thinking that too. But all we know for sure is that he’s a drug dealer.”

  “Talking about babies,” Ruth said. “How’s Zoe doing?”

  Calladine took a swig of his whiskey before replying. “She’s fine. You know, looking forward to the big event.”

  He coughed and looked away. Discussing Zoe, in view of what he knew about Julian, could become a problem. Ruth was bound to notice the difference in the man and wonder what the reason behind it was. Calladine could do without the speculation.

  “I know something,” he admitted. “A secret for the time being, but it won’t stay that way for long.”

  “About the baby?” Ruth was intrigued. “Go on, you can’t leave it like that. What secret?”

  “It’s about the baby’s father.”

  Calladine saw Ruth’s face light up. “You know who he is, don’t you?”