‘So, bring me up to date?’
‘A body of a man called Ed Mostyn was found on the beach near a village called Four Mile Bridge. He makes a living from digging bait. He was up really early. Somebody decided to impale him to the mud with his own fork.’
‘Angry wife? Jilted girlfriend?’
‘It’s probably somebody very determined.’
‘And very cold-blooded.’ Price straightened in his chair, leant forward and stared at Drake.
‘And how have you been since your father’s death?’
‘It’s not been easy.’
‘I want you to know that I read the report from the counselling service.’ Price stopped, as though he were uncertain exactly what else he should say. ‘How are you coping?’
Drake didn’t want to tell Price that since his father’s death things had got worse. The WPS would want to know that he was getting better; that he was managing his compulsions and that the intrusive thoughts that drove them were abating. The counsellor had warned him that after his father’s death he might feel his obsessions worsening.
‘My mother’s still grieving and the family are only coming to terms with things slowly,’ Drake said, without answering Price.
‘It’s important for me to know that I can rely on you. If there are more difficulties then… well… I don’t need to spell out the alternatives.’
Drake could feel a bead of sweat forming on one side of his temple.
Price continued. ‘If you need support from the counselling service or if the WPS can be of assistance, then you must ask. And I want you to know that you can talk to me whenever you feel it appropriate.’
Drake was unaccustomed to the sensitive touchy-feely response from Price – it was obviously something he had learnt in the West Midlands. Price fumbled with the papers on his desk and hesitated, as though he was searching for something.
‘I’ve had a call from Assistant Chief Constable Osmond.’
Drake immediately thought it was about the counselling and his pulse beat a little faster.
‘He’s heard about the death of Mostyn.’
Initially Drake was relieved, until he wondered why an ACC was interested in a routine case.
‘He explained that Mostyn owns land needed for the nuclear power station.’ Price paused to look over at Drake.
‘That’s right. But I only spoke to the power company’s representative this morning.’
‘Well, our political masters are obviously well informed. The case needs to be handled carefully and with the utmost circumspection. His exact words.’
And we don’t normally, Drake thought.
Price continued. ‘There’s a special adviser going to be here next week.’
‘Special adviser—’
Price held up a hand. ‘I don’t know any more. Looks like somebody in both the UK and Welsh governments wants to be kept informed.’
Price stood and for a moment Drake remained seated, all clarity smothered by the reality that political interference was the last thing he wanted.
Chapter 7
Drake woke early after another night of poor sleep. He exchanged the barest of conversations with Sian before leaving for headquarters. A distance had grown between them that the long hours he was working made wider. Sian’s announcement that she wanted to work full time had left little room for discussion and meant that Helen and Megan spent more time with their maternal grandmother than Drake would have liked.
On the drive to headquarters he listened to a discussion on the radio about the latest energy policy and how fracking was going to reduce bills. He fidgeted with the controls of the radio and retuned it to the Welsh station, wanting to ignore the programmes dominated by news about England. There was a report about a Mid-Wales football team, a subject that left him cold so he switched it off as he arrived at headquarters and parked the car.
Which radio channel does a special adviser listen to? Drake thought, as he marched over to his office.
He was the first to arrive and the Incident Room was quiet. His office had the sweet smell of furniture polish still drifting in the air. The bin had been emptied and the monitor wiped clean. The photographs of Helen and Megan stood by the telephone and once he’d sat down he moved them a couple of centimetres. It was the comfort of an established routine that made his obsessions tolerable – at least to him. He paused for a moment, hoping that the inevitable interference from Cardiff wouldn’t make his work any harder.
He heard the thump of the Incident Room door against a wall before he heard the voice of Winder, deep in conversation on his mobile. Drake got up and wandered out of his office. Winder dropped a bag of pastries onto his desk and then started giggling down the telephone before noticing Drake and stopping abruptly, explaining to the caller that he had to go. Since a recent conversation with Winder about his timekeeping the young officer was one of the first to arrive and the comments that Caren and Howick often made about Winder playing computer games until the early hours had been less frequent. It occurred to Drake that Winder had a new girlfriend, but the opportunity to ask him was lost when Howick breezed in.
‘Good morning, sir.’
David Howick wore a white short-sleeved shirt, a fraction too big in the collar and a grey suit, its jacket folded neatly over his right arm. His straight brown hair was combed into a neat parting. After failing his sergeant’s exams a period of disappointment had followed, during which his attitude and appearance had deteriorated, but now he was back to looking neat and tidy.
‘Dave,’ Drake said, before walking towards the board just as Caren arrived.
Pleasantries exchanged, Drake stood before his team, having pinned to the board the names of persons of interest, maybe even possible suspects.
‘Ed Mostyn was killed from massive blood loss caused by an injury to his neck. He owned a piece of land jointly with his sister that he was refusing to sell to a company that wants to build the new nuclear power station on Anglesey. And his refusal was preventing two other adjacent owners, a Maldwyn Evans and Rhys Fairburn, from selling their land.’
‘How much were they offering?’ Howick asked.
‘Evans and Fairburn stood to make half a million,’ Drake replied. ‘Although Mostyn’s sister, Joan Higham, said that they were only going to make a few thousand.’
Winder let out a brief whistle. He had his hand in the bag of pastries, fiddling around for his breakfast, and Drake regretted not having reprimanded him about his eating habit when he had the chance. ‘Why the hell didn’t he want to sell?’
‘His sister thinks it’s political and she blames Gwynfor Llywelyn, an anti-nuclear activist, for persuading Mostyn not to sell.’
‘Where do we start, boss?’ Winder said, before biting into a Danish pastry.
Drake gave him a dark look before continuing. ‘I’m going to see Maldwyn Evans with Caren later this morning. I want the house-to-house finished today. And then get started on background checks on Evans, Fairburn and Llywelyn.’
‘And John Hughes? Caren said. ‘The man who found the body.’
Drake hesitated. ‘Yes.’
‘Is he a person of interest?’ Howick asked.
‘Might be.’
‘He’s one of these know-it-all characters,’ Caren said.
‘He did mention a Somerset de Northway as well,’ Drake added.
‘Sounds like someone from Downton Abbey,’ Winder mumbled through a mouthful of food.
‘Who?’ Howick said, sitting up in his chair.
‘De Northway lives in Crecrist Hall and is an early riser. He was in the post office when John Hughes was delivering the paper to Richie Mostyn. So we know he was around. But first I want to work on these other names.’
Drake thought about mentioning the special adviser but decided against it. ‘Let’s keep this simple. There’s somebody out there who knew or guessed that Ed Mostyn would be out digging bait and they had motive enough to kill him.’
*
It was earl
y afternoon before Drake and Caren found number thirty Trem-y-Mor. It was a small bungalow in a cul-de-sac in Llanfairpwll, the village nearest to one of the bridges over the Menai Strait. The concrete roof tiles of the house had yellow streaks and down one valley the lead was stained green. The neighbouring bungalows had the same worn-out feel of properties that needed money spending on maintenance.
Drake opened the door, pleased to be out of the car, having convinced himself that the farmyard stench from Caren’s vehicle would stick to his four-hundred-pound suit. He strode up the path towards the front door and rang the bell. From inside he heard a woman’s voice. It sounded old and the face that appeared at the door confirmed Drake’s first impression.
‘Detective Inspector Drake and Detective Sergeant Waits,’ Drake said. ‘We’re investigating the death of Ed Mostyn. Are you Mrs Evans? Is your husband in?’
She was short – no more than five feet four – with auburn hair that hadn’t seen a hairdresser for months. There was a tired look in her eyes.
‘Enid Evans, come in.’
Standing in the small hallway Drake could feel the heat of the house envelop him. It would only be a matter of time before he’d have to unfasten his shirt collar. The dry, pungent smell of old skin lingered in the air.
Caren turned up her nose as they walked through into the sitting room. Maldwyn Evans struggled to his feet. He wore a faded sleeveless sweater, despite the warmth, and a grey tie with navy stripes. Every window was closed, there were piles of magazines on the table in the middle of the floor and a paper rack overflowing with fading copies of the local newspaper.
Evans was a couple of inches taller than his wife, with small hands and a narrow chin. His skin was a pallid colour, as though the constant heat in the house had dried it so that every healthy fibre had been destroyed.
‘I believe you knew Ed Mostyn.’
Evans nodded, very slowly, as if he was pondering the meaning of every letter.
‘Maldwyn went to see him,’ Enid said.
Evans held up his right hand in a regal fashion as though he were commanding his wife to be silent. ‘He wasn’t going to sell the land,’ Evans said. His thin reedy voice complemented his frame perfectly.
‘Without Ed and his sister agreeing to sell their land you stood to lose a lot of money,’ Drake said.
‘I went to see him. I wanted to tell him about my circumstances.’ Evans managed to roll every vowel and emphasised the ‘r’ that made him sound like the old farmers Drake remembered from his childhood, who hardly ever spoke English.
‘You wanted to get him to sell the land?’ Caren added.
Evans nodded again.
‘What did he say?’
‘He laughed at me,’ Evans said. His eyes stared at Drake, a stare that said more than any words.
‘Is that causing you a financial problem?’
Evans rocked back and forth for a moment. ‘This bungalow is owned by the bank, as is all of my farm.’ Evans then stared through the window. Evans’s skin pulled tightly against his chin as he talked. ‘Some of the land is rented out but it doesn’t cover the interest. If the land is sold we might be able to clear the debt and keep this place. You can get all the details from Dafydd Higham, my accountant.’
‘Did you argue with Ed when you met?’
Evans leant forward slightly. ‘What do you mean?’
Drake wanted to ask what exactly was difficult about the question. ‘An eyewitness has told us that you had blazing row with Ed Mostyn. Told him that you’d fucking sort him out unless he sold the land. And that he didn’t deserve to live and that he was a disgrace to his family. Is that true?’
Evans shook his head slowly. ‘I never shout at people.’
There was a moment’s silence before Enid spoke. ‘Ed Mostyn was an evil man. He wanted to destroy us. And our family and everything.’
Drake looked again at Evans who had closed his eyes.
‘Where were you on the morning that Ed Mostyn was killed?’
‘I was in bed. Of course.’
Enid Evans nodded her confirmation without being asked.
*
Drake had just reached the car when the telephone rang.
‘Boss.’ He recognised the sound of Howick’s voice. ‘We’ve just arrested two girls.’
‘What?’ he reached for the handle of the car door.
‘They were making a scene outside Mostyn’s place.’
Caren was already sitting in the car.
‘What did they want?’
‘Complaining about Mostyn. Seems he had lots of girlfriends.’
‘Take them to the station in Holyhead. We’ll be there in half an hour.’
Drake looked at his watch– the conversation he’d promised to have with Sian that evening would have to wait. He stepped away from the car and dialled Sian’s mobile, his mouth drying around the edges as he composed another apology.
‘Don’t tell me,’ Sian said. ‘Something’s come up.’
‘I need to go and do two interviews in Holyhead. I—’
The line went dead. Drake stood for moment before tucking the mobile telephone back into his jacket. The afternoon was hot and he tried to remember what Megan and Helen were doing that evening. Perhaps the girls had some activity that he should have attended but he simply couldn’t remember. Sian had said something at breakfast but his mind had been a blur.
He couldn’t understand how day-to-day occurrences could disappear into a haze while his focus on each vital ritual was pin-sharp. If only he could work out how to reverse the situation, at least his domestic life might be simpler.
He pulled the car door closed behind him. Caren gave him a brief smile and for a second he speculated what she might have heard and what she thought might be happening. Even Drake knew how gossip could travel around Northern Division. From underneath his jacket on the rear seat he pulled out the day’s newspaper and found the Sudoku page.
‘Gareth and Dave have arrested two women in Mostyn’s house.’
Caren gave him a puzzled look.
‘We’ll go to Holyhead and do the interviews.’
Caren started the engine and drove towards the main road. ‘So what did you make of Evans, sir?’
Drake’s mind was already on the bottom rectangle of the puzzle.
‘What century was he in?’ she continued.
‘Bit old-fashioned, maybe.’
Caren turned onto the A55 and accelerated west. ‘He was really odd.’
Drake let his eyes slide down and then across the columns. Relaxation inched closer as he solved two squares.
‘Maybe losing all that money drove him off his head,’ Caren continued.
‘He looks too weak to have used that piece of timber.’
‘But he could have used the fork.’
Drake tapped the pencil on the side of the paper. Caren signalled to overtake a line of trucks all with European number plates. Soon they were speeding over the causeway into Holyhead, past the closed aluminium smelter, and on through the town towards the police station. The narrow streets and one-way system took them away from what remained of the shops that the large out-of-town supermarkets hadn’t killed off.
After parking they stood by the rear door, staring up at the CCTV camera monitoring their movements. Soon enough the door opened and Caren led the way into the custody suite. Before his promotion to CID, Drake had been a custody sergeant at Holyhead, dealing with the daily grind of drunk drivers, petty thieves and drug dealers. But instead of walking through into custody they took the stairs to the canteen, where Howick and Winder were nursing half-empty mugs of tea. A couple of community support officers sat at the far end and two road traffic officers maintained a loud conversation about the fortunes of Liverpool Football Club.
‘Coffee, boss?’ Caren asked.
Drake looked over at the counter, hoping that he could see a decent brand of coffee but all he could see was a large metal tub with a tall spoon protruding from the top. ‘No th
anks.’
Drake pulled up a chair opposite Howick.
‘So, what happened?’ Drake said.
Caren arrived at the table and sat down.
‘These girls arrived at the house as the search team were finishing. They demanded to be let in. Then they got mouthy and Sergeant Brown called us. Only then they got worse and we had to arrest them.’
‘What was their explanation?’
‘One of them is an ex-girlfriend. She said that Mostyn had promised her some jewellery. She was going to search in the cupboards in the kitchen. And then she demanded access to look for her old clothes.’
‘Where are they from?’ Caren asked.
‘One of the villages in the middle of the island,’ Howick said.
Winder turned to Drake. ‘You’ll need to see them both together, boss. They’ve both got one hell of an attitude.’
Drake read the time on his watch, knowing that there was little chance of him getting home for a calm mature conversation with Sian. Instead he had to interview two women who’d probably curse and lie.
‘Let’s go,’ he said to Caren.
‘Do we treat them as suspects?’ Caren said, as they walked down the flight of stairs to the custody suite. She continued, answering her own question, an annoying habit that Drake had become accustomed to. Yet in an odd way he was finding it comforting. ‘But we’ve got nothing to suggest that they had anything to do with the murder.’
Drake stood in front of one of the interview rooms and turned to Caren. ‘Have you got your notebook?’
He straightened his tie, adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and unbuttoned his jacket, before turning the handle of the door. Both girls sat by the table and gave Drake hard defiant stairs when he entered.
Drake checked his notebook. ‘Which one of you is Donna Jones?’
The smaller of the girls with neatly cut blonde hair responded. ‘That’s me.’
Against the Tide Page 5
