‘This must cost a pile to maintain.’ Caren looked up at the main building of the hall.
‘De Northway will go out of his way to tell you that his family has been in this area for three thousand years. And even so they can’t pronounce the simplest Welsh name.’
Drake strode over to the front door and pulled on a knob set into the middle of a recess sculpted from the stone pillar. Caren could make out a booming voice inside and then a shout. She half expected to see a butler open the door wearing a stiff white shirt and tails ready to announce that his lordship was indisposed. Instead de Northway appeared. The red trousers he wore had lost all sense of shape and he had a bold Tattersall checked shirt with a brown woollen tie.
‘Inspector Drake. And what can I do for you today?’
‘This is Detective Sergeant Waits.’
De Northway scanned Caren slowly from head to toe, as though he were licking her and it made her skin crawl. He turned back into the hallway. Caren followed Drake inside. It was cold and barren. The atmosphere was oppressive, similar to Ray and Mildred Jones’s farmhouse, but a world apart. A world separated, not only by money but by culture. It would have been impossible to imagine Mildred and Ray being comfortable in the company of Somerset de Northway.
‘Somerset, I need you at once.’ The voice sounded feminine, just.
‘Let’s go through into the library,’ de Northway said, without hiding the irritation in his voice. As they left the hallway Caren heard the source of the booming voice.
A tall woman with a flowing skirt that billowed around wide hips appeared through an open doorway. The skin around her chin was loose but Caren could tell she had been fine boned once. Her steely grey hair brushed her shoulders. She stood looking at Drake and Caren.
‘I didn’t know you had company. There’s a problem with the water main.’
‘This is Detective Inspector Drake. They’re here about that ghastly business with Mostyn and Jane Jones. My wife, Catherine, Inspector.’
‘Ah, yes, dreadful. How can we help?’ Catherine said. It was more of an order than a question.
‘We’re going into the library. Are you going to join us, darling?’ de Northway said.
‘Of course, of course.’
Drake skirted around the room deliberately idling alongside the photograph on the tabletop still covered in fine dust. Casually he paused. ‘That’s Maldwyn Evans, isn’t it?’
‘Cambrian Club do a few years ago. The club celebrated thirty-five years. Wonderful dinner. One of the best.’
‘I should recognise the others. But…’
De Northway caught the bait easily enough. ‘That’s Rhys Fairburn.’
Drake had already recognised him.
‘And who is the other man?’
De Northway was enjoying himself. ‘And that’s Aiden Hawkins.’ He pointed to the man at the end of the group with a stern look. ‘He was in the regiment with me. Of course, you should know him – recently appointed to the bench. Damn fine judge too.’
Drake glanced over at Caren before mumbling. ‘Of course.’
Caren sat alongside Drake on an old sofa. The edges of the rug in front of the large open fireplace were frayed, the material lying in curling loops. Catherine found a packet of cigarettes from a box on the coffee table and after the first lungful let out a deep crackling cough.
De Northway sat down next to his wife and announced, ‘Inspector Drake suspects I killed Ed to get the cottage back.’
Catherine took another drag of her cigarette and blew a mouthful into the air. ‘It would give us the most perfect motive for his murder.’
Drake stared at her.
‘But I’m afraid we disappoint you. We have nothing to do with his death, especially if it’s linked to that poor girl,’ de Northway said.
He sat back, looking down his nose at Drake.
‘And I understand you have a planning application on land adjacent to Tyddyn Du and Ed Mostyn’s property for a solar farm.’
‘It’s the way of the future. Green energy. Gets my vote all the time.’
‘I need to ask you about the cottages. Are they used regularly?’
‘Of course not.’
‘We have eyewitnesses who told us that they’ve regularly seen people use the cottages, nearly always at night. Who has keys apart from you?’
‘The keys are kept here and there’s only one set. What are you alluding to?’
Caren cleared her throat, uncertain whether she really should contribute.
‘We have one witness who tells us that the cottages were used for sex.’
Catherine snorted, then her whole torso shook before a cough rattled free.
‘And I must ask you about another allegation about parties that you hosted here over the years.’
Catherine blew out another lungful of smoke. ‘Nothing like that going on any longer. Not since poor Somerset had problems with his prostate. Whatever you’ve heard is probably absolutely true. I had a very powerful libido years ago, Inspector and Somerset and I understand each other fully.’
Caren darted a glance at Drake. There was a mixture of disgust and then surprise in his expression.
‘And why did you move furniture out of one of the cottages the day after Jane was killed?’
De Northway stood up abruptly. ‘What do you mean? What on earth are you insinuating?’ He walked to the end of the sofa and turned to Drake. ‘Well, you can go and rot in hell. It’s types like you that’s the cause of this country going to the dogs. We haven’t got a police state.’ He lifted an arm and pointed towards the door.
*
Winder spent the rest of the afternoon chasing round the side streets of Amlwch, the town nearest to Cemaes, in a vain attempt to find a milkman. He tried the number repeatedly but eventually gave up, convinced that he had the wrong number. Visiting various shops drew a blank and calling at the police station and asking very officer if they knew the identity of the milkman earned him odd stares.
He called at bed and breakfast premises and then at one of the hotels that finally gave him a business card for Underwood’s business. Winder almost screamed out of frustration when he noticed that the number he’d been given earlier was wrong. He scrambled for his mobile and punched in the correct number.
Then he cursed out loud when a voice began, ‘I’m not available. Please leave a… Hello, who is this?’
For a moment Winder thought it was part of the message. ‘It’s Detective Constable Gareth Winder, Wales Police Service. I need to talk to you.’
‘Why?’
‘I need to speak to you, Mr Underwood.’
Winder jotted down the address and the post code that he punched into the satnav. A few minutes later he was parking behind the milk van. He almost ran up the drive to the front door of Underwood’s home.
The door opened without Winder having to ring the bell. ‘What’s all the panic about?’
Underwood was still in the pale white T-shirt. He had deep brown bags under both eyes that Winder put down to sleeping at odd hours. The prospect that Underwood had nothing constructive to add would mean the complete waste of a day. Winder didn’t relish explaining that to Drake.
‘I’m investigating the death of Ed Mostyn and Jane Jones.’
‘What’s that got to do with me?’
‘You have a regular milk round in Cemaes?’
‘Yes. But I don’t…’
‘Can I come in?’
Half an hour passed as Winder asked the same questions he’d asked all morning. Underwood was yawning frequently by the time Winder got to his last question.
‘We know that Ed Mostyn was friends with Llywelyn who runs the bakery—’
‘He’s a jerk.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘He doesn’t like me. Doesn’t like anybody who’s English if you ask me. But I still take him milk every morning.’
‘I’m just wondering if you saw Mostyn there the night before he was killed.’
‘No,
sorry mate. The place was all closed. Usually I see a light in the morning or something but the place was dead so I left the milk outside.’
Winder took in a long breath, wanting to hide the eagerness in his voice. ‘Can you be certain?’
‘I’d recorded the first Manchester United game of the season the night before. I was going to watch it before getting some sleep. All this working nights buggers up your life.’
Chapter 25
The following morning Drake arrived early at headquarters after a stilted conversation with Sian when she had asked him, with typical objectivity, about the arrangements for ‘the move’. He had reassured her that he was collecting the keys to his flat that afternoon.
He dragged a chair over to the board and stared at the photographs of the Cambrian Club dinner. Rhys Fairburn, Somerset de Northway and Judge Aiden Hawkins all looked jovial, probably drunk, Drake thought. He wanted to convince himself that it was only a matter of time before he could find the right motive for one of them to have killed Jane.
Fairburn and de Northway had a motive for the death of Mostyn, but then Drake faltered with nothing to implicate Judge Hawkins. And there’d be other Cambrian Club members, all well respected in the community. He looked over at Gwynfor Llywelyn’s image and the certainty that the killer was among the dinner-suited men in the photographs evaporated. He stared at them, wondering what secrets they could share. Back in his office he opened a notebook and made four columns. At the top of the first he wrote the name ‘Mostyn’ and beneath it the names of the men in the photograph found in his cottage. Then he repeated the exercise for Evans and Fairburn and de Northway. He sat back and rubbed his eyes, as though that might help him see some hidden meaning. He doodled wavy lines between the names of all the men involved. It was the sort of gesture designed to help him think. They’d have to interview Fairburn and he would have to notify the sergeant in the SOCP team. And maybe de Northway was the ‘English voice’ Tracy had mentioned. Despair crept into his mind that they might never find the killer.
Caren was the first to arrive and she peered into his room. He waved a hand and she pushed open the door.
‘I want to review everything before we interview Fairburn.’
‘Have you thought that there might be two killers?’
‘It’s possible but for now let’s concentrate on Fairburn.’
He looked again at the names on the paper. Two of the men were dead and there was enough evidence to charge Fairburn with historic sex offences but this time he wasn’t going to take any risks.
Drake sat back and decided that the rest of the morning had to be spent reviewing everything. Caren drifted back to her desk.
He opened a new page on his notepad and scribbled means, opportunity and motive under Mostyn’s name. There was a clear list of people with a motive, some easier to add to the list than others. After scribbling the names of Evans and Fairburn he stopped, ballpoint poised ready. He simply wrote somebody else but it made no sense, so he scribbled it out and added girls and then the word laptop. Then he added Cambrian Club?
He googled Cambrian Club and wasted enough time to make himself feel guilty. Then he found Dafydd Higham’s number and made the call.
‘Is Mr Higham expecting your call?’ the receptionist cooed.
‘No, but I’m sure he’ll speak to me.’
Soothing music played in the handset before he heard Higham’s voice. ‘Inspector Drake, how can I help?’
‘You’re still the secretary of the Cambrian Club?’
‘Yes.’
‘I need a list of the Cambrian Club members.’
‘Of course. Can I send them to you by email?’
‘Thanks.’
Once Drake had given him the right email address he rang off, dismayed that Higham seemed so disinterested in the murder inquiry into his brother-in-law’s death. Winder appeared at his door and Drake waved him in.
‘You won’t believe this, sir. I found a milkman in Cemaes who delivers to Llywelyn every morning and guess what, on the morning of Mostyn’s death the bakery was empty first thing.’
‘Can he be certain?’
‘It was the night after a Manchester United game on the television, which he’d recorded. I did double-check.’
‘Well done, Gareth. That puts Llywelyn back in the frame. We’d better talk to that girl who works for him. Where is Dave?’
‘He went back to Rhosneigr. He still had a couple of witnesses to see.’
‘Good, good. Review later then, once he’s back.’ His mind was already computing what else needed to be done.
Drake then started a Google search.
Judge Hawkins produced a lot of entries, mostly summaries of his career with references to his army service before his elevation to the bench. An image of Hawkins, dressed formally in breeches and holding white gloves with his wife alongside the high sheriff, was the first search result Drake found.
Then he imagined what Price would say if he suggested interviewing Judge Hawkins. What possible justification do you have? Drake could almost hear the incredulity in Price’s voice. He’d be right of course. He stared again at the word laptop, deciding that starting at the beginning was as good a place as any. Mostyn’s girlfriend had alleged he had photographs of young girls on his laptop. They’d been sent to Evans but seemingly no further. Drake shook off the feeling that it was impossible to think of Evans and Mostyn being the only two involved in the paedophile ring.
He walked through into the kitchen, flicked on the electric kettle and reached for the ground coffee granules from the cupboard. He had the container in his right hand. He thought about his rituals. Then about Sian and the girls. He replaced the tin and made instant instead.
Returning to his office, he knew the specialist officers would have to take over the historic sex abuse allegations, but for now it was his case. It made him realise that he should discuss the protocols with Price, but a nagging doubt pushed it to the back of his mind as he turned to the box of papers belonging to Evans on the floor of his office.
It was full of bank statements and piles of correspondence with the bank. He tried in vain to find the accounts for Evans’s business, realising that after his death the inquiry into him had fizzled out, his concentration suddenly focusing on the possibility that they might have missed something. He was certain that Howick should have been responsible for getting the records.
Glancing at his watch, he realised he was late, so he grabbed his jacket and strode out of his office. Caren was poring over the computer on her desk. ‘We need the accounts for Evans’s business. I’m going out for couple of hours. Check with Dave and then contact Inland Revenue and get them to email copies.’
‘Of course, boss,’ Caren said, as he turned and left.
*
It had been years since Drake had rented a flat and his recollection of the formalities bore no resemblance to the mountain of paperwork that the agents insisted was necessary. He sat on the visitor’s chair as the lettings manager tapped away on her keyboard. The name badge pinned to the lapel of her navy jacket said Jackie P. Hallam alongside the corporate logo of the estate agency office. What did the P. stand for – Paula or maybe Patricia? On the other side of the office two women sat by desks, both busy on the telephone, both explaining about various available properties in loud and positive terms. They all had the same navy blue jackets, white blouses and name badges.
‘I’m really sorry about all this paperwork,’ Hallam said.
Drake folded his arms and adjusted his position on the chair, uncertain whether she really was.
‘The credit reference search is fine. And we’ve had all the necessary references from your employers.’
Hallam gave him a brief smile and for the first time he thought about what exactly the reference would have said. Had it said something about his personal circumstances? He recalled the inquisitive look from the human resources manager when he’d given her the necessary form to complete.
�
�I have the paperwork from the deposit company.’ Hallam tucked an A4 sheet into a plastic folder and handed it to Drake. Then she began a long explanation of how the deposit would be held by a third party until the tenancy was at an end. ‘I’ll need to go around the property with you so that we can check the inventory.’
Hallam reached into a drawer, found two sets of keys and left her desk. Drake followed her out into the afternoon sunshine. It was a short drive to the block of purpose-built flats in the middle of Colwyn Bay. Hallam walked around the flat with Drake, ticking off all the furniture and appliances that had been included. She hesitated by the door.
‘When are you moving in, Ian?’
‘Tomorrow, I hope, if I can get everything organised.’
‘Where are you from originally?’
‘Near Caernarfon.’
‘That’s a lovely part of the world.’
Drake checked his watch; he was late for a meeting back at headquarters. ‘Are we finished? It’s just that…’
‘Of course.’ She held out the keys. ‘Where were you stationed before you moved to Colwyn Bay?’
Drake took the keys. ‘I’ve been based here in Northern Division for over ten years.’
Hallam stood for moment as though she were expecting Drake to continue. ‘If you have any queries, please give me a call.’ She smiled as she left.
He walked through each room of the flat wondering how his life had come to this, debating the practicalities of where Helen and Megan would sleep when they came to visit. Eventually he closed the door behind him and drove to headquarters, trying to refocus his mind on the investigations.
*
The first thing Drake noticed was the image of Catherine de Northway pinned to the Incident Room board. He guessed that Caren was responsible, just as she had been in sharing the details of de Northway’s social life with Howick and Winder judging from the smirk on their faces.
‘Any progress in Rhosneigr?’ Drake said to Howick.
‘There are lots of witnesses who saw Huw Jones. And some who saw him arguing with Jane.’
Drake raised an eyebrow. ‘So Tracy’s evidence is corroborated. At least that helps.’
Against the Tide Page 18
