He skimmed over the names of people working for the de Northway family, and disregarded the details of a book that had been published about them and their involvement in the abdication crisis of 1936 and, when his mobile warned him of another message from Jenny, he completely ignored references to Crecrist Enterprises.
*
As Howick drove towards the first address on his list, his mind wasn’t on the deaths of Jane Jones or Ed Mostyn. He kept thinking that there must be some reason why the results of the sergeant’s exams hadn’t been published. All sorts of alternative scenarios were playing on his mind – but the worst always assumed that he’d failed and that the conversation with Drake afterwards would suggest that he should be looking elsewhere to pursue his career and that his talents weren’t suited to CID.
He shuddered at the prospect of uniformed work in Wrexham or Rhyl, policing the pubs and clubs at closing time, hauling drunks into cells and chasing petty thieves. He pressed the accelerator a little harder. Then he noticed his speed and slowed. He’d have to make his mark: even if he failed, he would still want to stay in CID.
The satnav warned him that he needed to take the next junction. After negotiating his way through various villages he eventually parked in the forecourt of a garage. He left the car and walked over towards the ramps, where two men were working on an old Ford.
Howick carded both men, who gave him lazy, disinterested looks. ‘Either of you Aled Williams?’
One of the men nodded towards the office. ‘He’s on his break.’
Howick pushed open the door. A woman gave him a toothy grin.
‘I want to speak to Aled.’
‘Aled,’ she shouted down the corridor behind her. A door slightly ajar opened and a tall man with a shock of blond hair emerged. He was wearing a one-piece suit smeared in oil and grease.
Once Howick had shown him his card Aled relaxed.
‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’
Aled motioned to the room he’d just left. Inside, another man – mid-fifties, greying hair and spreading paunch – was scanning the sports pages of a tabloid. He left when Aled said something in Welsh.
‘I’m investigating the death of Jane Jones. You were her boyfriend at one time. How long did you go out with her?’
‘Not long. I realised quickly enough what she was like.’ Aled had a strong Anglesey accent.
‘What do you mean?’
‘All over me one minute. Especially if it was in winter when the rich visitors weren’t here.’
‘Did you meet her family?’
‘Once or twice. They were odd too. I never could work out what her father was like. He’d stare at me as though I wasn’t there. Weirdo if you ask me.’
The door burst open and two mechanics appeared, but left when Aled said something in a tone of voice that clearly meant they weren’t welcome.
‘You should go and talk to my Auntie Vera. She can tell you a lot about the family. Stuff nobody else knows. Look, I liked Jane. But she was bad news. She was playing every man she could get. I’d heard she had an English boyfriend. One of those rich families in Rhosneigr.’
‘Where can I find Auntie Vera?’ Howick’s interest was piqued.
*
Without a postcode for the satnav Howick had to rely on the directions that Aled had given him. Howick had to reverse down narrow country lanes a couple of times on his way to the cottage where Vera Fraser lived. A small purple car was parked outside the garage alongside the house and there were neat flowerpots either side of the front door.
Howick heard the sound of chimes once he pushed the doorbell and moments later a woman appeared.
‘Mrs Fraser?’ Howick held out his card. ‘I’m calling about Jane Jones. Aled Williams told me you might be able to help.’
It was difficult to guess the woman’s age. Howick had expected someone in her mid-fifties from the implication in Aled’s description. But Vera had few wrinkles and she was slim, neatly dressed and had lively, clear turquoise eyes.
‘I don’t know how I can help.’
‘Aled thought you might know something about the family background.’
Vera ushered Howick into the house and he followed her into the small living room. It was perfectly decorated with pastel shades on the curtains and wallpaper to match.
‘Aled told me that you might know something about Jane’s family.’
‘I was in school with Mildred. She had a difficult time of things when she was a girl. She lost her own mother when she was young – twelve, I think. And then she got in with Ray. I didn’t think he was right for her. He was too like her father, overbearing and old-fashioned.’
‘He’s a lot older than her.’
Vera nodded. ‘Well, she had Ellen and Huw when she was quite young. He’s a strange one. Have you met him?’
‘No.’
Vera settled back in her chair, as if it pleased her that Howick hadn’t met Huw Jones. ‘Well, Mildred left Ray when Ellen and Huw were young.’
Howick wasn’t certain where the conversation was going but he doubted that he had the time to spend listening to the Jones family saga.
‘Mildred had a pretty bad time of things with Ray.’
‘He was violent?’
‘I can’t be certain, but she was frightened of him.’
‘What happened that made her go back to him?’
‘She became pregnant.’
At first it didn’t sink in for Howick. ‘So…’
‘Ray wasn’t the father.’
‘But why did she go back to him?’
‘She had three children to raise. She didn’t have a home. And he promised to change.’
Chapter 17
Drake found his way through the country lanes towards the cottages and parked near a small van. From the glove compartment Caren reached for the keys that de Northway had given Drake the week before. As they stepped out of the air-conditioned car Drake squinted at the sun reflecting off the sand. He loosened his tie and folded back the cuffs of his shirt.
It was a bright, clear day with the forecasters promising more warm sunshine well into September. He pushed a pair of sunglasses to the top of his nose. His shoes sank into the soft sand as he left the shingle and gravel of the car park. He laboured down towards the cottages. Caren took a few steps down the beach, but Drake stood, watching the sand stretch out in front of him. The pool looked wider now that the tide was in and he took a couple of steps towards the water. He contemplated taking off his shoes and paddling. The pungent smell of seaweed hung in the air.
He leant down and scooped up a handful of sand. He let it cascade through his fingers, watching the grains disappear back onto the beach. His thoughts turned to the investigation. There was still nothing to link the deaths together and if Drake couldn’t get some hard evidence established, he was aware that each death may well end up being investigated separately – maybe even by different teams.
The cottage door opened easily once he’d found the knack of adjusting the key in the lock. Inside, the thick walls kept the cottages cool. How had the last occupants made a living, Drake wondered. A chimney breast dominated the room, but the fireplace had been brushed clean. Two old chairs had been pushed against one wall alongside an old, very scratched table. In one corner a narrow door was slightly ajar and Drake could see the dark staircase beyond. Another door at the far end was firmly closed. The place had a damp smell. Caren kicked at the remains of the fire.
‘I wonder when there was a fire here last?’ she said.
Drake peered up the wooden staircase and beckoned her to follow. A small landing led into a bedroom at the rear of the cottage. It was clean and a lavender smell hung in the air, as though an entire can of air freshener had been emptied. A wooden bed dominated the room, but any mattress had long since disappeared. He stepped carefully back down the staircase, Caren following behind. It must have been a hard existence for a family living in such a place, Drake thought, recalling the simplicity of his gran
dparents’ home. Through the door at the rear was the back kitchen. He pulled open the wall cupboards and gazed into empty shelves. Hoping that he hadn’t wasted time, his train of thought was disturbed by the sound of movement from next door. He exchanged an inquisitive look with Caren.
After pulling the door closed behind them, they walked over to the adjacent cottage and nudged open the door that was already ajar.
‘Hello?’ Drake said.
A woman’s voice replied. ‘Who is it?’
A slim girl in her thirties, with thick red hair that cascaded over her shoulders, emerged from the back door.
Drake had his warrant card ready. ‘Detective Inspector Drake. I’m investigating the deaths of Ed Mostyn and Jane Jones. This is Detective Sergeant Waits.’
‘Rhiannon Owen.’
Inside, there were notice boards against all the walls with diagrams and illustrations and photographs of various birds. Tables covered with piles of paper and glossy folders lined the room. And, it was clean.
‘Are you here every day?’ Drake said.
‘No. I’m one of the project officers for the Anglesey Environmental and Wildlife Trust. We’ve got a contract to monitor the wildlife along the coast.’
‘How often do you visit the cottage then?’
‘It depends. A few times a week.’
‘Did you know Jane Jones?’
‘No, but I saw her pictures in the paper.’
Owen read the time on her watch. ‘I’ve got a group of students coming for a seminar. And…’
‘Does anyone else use the cottages?’
‘I don’t know, they all belong to the de Northway family.’
Owen had avoided any eye contact.
‘Do you get on with Somerset de Northway?’
Owen gave him a sharp look. ‘What do you mean?’
Drake moved towards the young woman, sensing uneasiness in her eyes. ‘Well, he’s quite a character.’
‘He can be a difficult person.’
Drake’s interest was aroused, so he stared at Owen. ‘Do you have a lot to do with him?’
‘As little as possible.’
Drake drew a hand over some of the folders on the table. ‘You don’t get on with him.’
‘At the start, when we first had the contract, he’d make excuses about visiting when he knew I was here. Every time, he’d make suggestions that got more explicit. Until I reported him to my boss. Nothing happened of course, but de Northway stopped calling. He must have got the message.’
‘What sort of suggestions?’
‘He’d ask about my social life, did I have a boyfriend, was I married.’
‘How long did it go on for?’
‘I can’t remember. Then he asked how many boyfriends I’d had. And it all got very repulsive.’
She folded her arms together.
‘Did you ever notice anyone in the other cottages?’ Caren asked.
Owen straightened. ‘I had to come back one night. I’d forgotten my laptop charger. And there was a light in the next door cottage and the sound of music playing, and voices.’
‘What sort of voices?’
‘There was a lot of giggling and laughing.’
‘Did you see who it was?’
‘No. And I didn’t stay around.’
‘When was that?’
‘A year ago, maybe.’
Owen looked at her watch.
‘When did you see de Northway last?’ Drake said.
‘This week.’
‘What… I mean, when?’
‘The day after Jane’s death. He was moving stuff out of next door. I stayed in here until he was finished.’ She gave a small shudder at the memory.
They left Owen and stepped out into the sunshine just as they heard young voices approaching along the sand.
Chapter 18
Drake made a concession to the informalities of working on a Saturday by not wearing a tie. His shirt had wide blue stripes and single cuffs. Sian’s insistence that they had to talk privately, without the girls in the house, had filled him with an apprehension that focusing on work only partly obliterated.
When he returned to the Incident Room Caren had arrived. She had her hair in a tight knot behind her head. Her smart white blouse caught Drake’s attention, it looked new or newly ironed certainly and was a welcome change from her usually crumpled appearance. Her jeans looked clean and she wore sensible flat-soled shoes. Winder sat alongside Caren, his feet on the desk, chewing something sweet judging from the sugar covering his lips. Howick straightened his loosened tie a fraction.
Drake moved the photographs of Mostyn and Jane together and stood back.
‘Do you think they’re connected?’ Howick asked.
‘Everyone is connected to each other in Anglesey, if you ask me,’ Winder said, dabbing the forefinger of one hand on his lips.
‘We keep an open mind,’ Drake said. ‘We haven’t found anything yet to connect them.’ He turned back to the board. Underneath Ed Mostyn were the photographs of Maldwyn Evans and Rhys Fairburn. He peered at them. ‘They’ve both got perfect motives to kill Mostyn.’
‘And their wives give them alibis,’ Howick said.
‘And then we have Somerset de Northway who keeps appearing on the scene,’ Drake added.
To one side of Jane’s image was the name ‘Tracy’ printed on an A4 sheet alongside the name ‘Julian Sandham’. They were individuals from very different backgrounds, but the suspicion grew that each was hiding something.
Along the bottom of the board were thumbnail images of the items found near Ed Mostyn. They still had to find out who they belonged to and they still needed more intelligence on Evans and Fairburn and as this thought process developed the first edge of desperation sharpened in Drake’s mind.
‘Mostyn and Jane Jones,’ Drake said out loud. ‘We haven’t got any details about Mostyn’s friends. And I suggest you call Dafydd Higham – he did Mostyn’s accounts so he’s bound to know if he had a laptop. Mostyn must have gone to the pub sometime or done something. Gareth, go and talk to Richie Mostyn again. He was Ed’s uncle and they lived near each other so he might be able to identify if the items the search team found belonged to Ed. And talk to John Hughes in the post office again. He likes the sound of his own voice.’
Drake looked over at Howick. ‘Do some digging around into Maldwyn Evans. And then get finished on going through Jane’s old mobile. And why would she keep an old mobile telephone?’
Nobody said anything.
‘Let’s go and see Tracy again,’ Drake said to Caren.
*
It took them longer than Drake expected to reach the small housing estate. Three boys were playing football in the street, but they stopped and gaped at Drake and Caren as they parked and got out of the car. They walked over to the front door and Drake pressed the bell. A few seconds passed before the door opened. Tracy looked older somehow, her skin a mellow grey; her eyes blinked hurriedly and she looked troubled.
‘We need to ask you some more questions,’ Drake said.
She stared over his shoulder towards the children before letting them in. She took them into the living room and stood, moving her weight from one leg to another while chewing the nail of the index finger of her right hand.
‘Can we sit down?’ Drake had already decided that a charm overload was needed, however difficult he may find it.
It was only after Drake and Caren had settled into the sofa that Tracy perched herself on the edge of a chair. Drake surveyed the crowded mantelpiece and cupboards, silently impressed that everything had such order.
‘We’ve spoken to Julian Sandham,’ Drake said. ‘Had Jane told you about her plans?’
Tracy nodded. Drake waited.
‘That Sunday night she was killed… She was different – happy I suppose.’
‘What time did you see her last?’
‘I can’t remember… But it was late. I saw her arguing with her brother.’
Drake interru
pted, his tone a shade too sharp. ‘Her brother was there?’
‘He’s a right creep.’ She shivered and ran her fingers up her forearms at the memory. ‘Sometimes we’d go swimming by the cottages. And he would be there – hanging around.’
It might be nothing, but Drake recalled the statement from Huw that he’d last seen Jane at Tyddyn Du.
‘She had savings that she bragged about. She was going away with him. She and Julian would have more than enough money, at least that’s what she said.’
‘Was she going somewhere on the night she was killed?’
Tracy shook her head, too quickly.
‘Julian has told us she was afraid of something. He’d been very concerned about her. Do you know what that could be?’
Tracy shook her head in short movements, like a small child in trouble. Drake leant forward slightly. ‘You know that Jane was pregnant, don’t you?’
Tracy spluttered. ‘Yes.’
Caren made her first contribution. ‘Do you know who the father was?’
‘She never told me…’
‘Do you have an idea?’
Tracy shrugged.
Drake continued. ‘It’s very important that we try and find out what was happening in Jane’s life. I’m sure there’s more that you know that might help us find the person who killed her. Julian said that they regularly went to the cottages near where they found her body. Is that true?’
‘Suppose.’
‘What went on there, Tracy? Was Jane being harmed at all?’
Tracy looked over at him, her eyes wide. Drake gave a smile of reassurance. ‘Who was harming Jane? Was it Mostyn or somebody else? If there was something going on, we need to know so it won’t happen again.’
‘It was supposed to be a secret.’ Tracy swallowed hard.
‘Tell me what was going on.’ Drake kept his voice soft.
‘It was the parties at the cottages a few years ago.’ She was grasping her hands together. ‘They made us do things.’ Tracy looked down at her feet.
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