Against the Tide

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘Working.’

  ‘What time did you arrive at work?’ Drake flicked through his papers to the statement from the milkman.

  ‘The usual time.’

  ‘And when did Becky arrive that morning?’

  ‘Usual time.’ Llywelyn managed to sound impatient.

  ‘That’s not true is it? We had an eye witness that says the bakery was closed first thing. Just about the time Mostyn was killed.’

  Llywelyn straightened in his chair.

  ‘Okay. I was late in that morning. I overslept.’

  ‘Why did you give Becky the morning off?’

  Llywelyn folded his arms. ‘She only works part-time. There was nothing for her to do. I really need to cut her hours.’

  Drake looked over at Llywelyn. ‘Were you aware that Mostyn had made a will?’

  Llywelyn shifted his position on his chair. ‘He mentioned it.’

  ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘He said he was leaving everything to charity.’

  ‘And it would be fair to say that if Ed Mostyn died they wouldn’t agree to the sale of the land to the nuclear power company.’

  Llywelyn stared at Drake. Drake stared back. ‘So it would be in your interests to make certain that Ed Mostyn never changed his will.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘If Mostyn had threatened to sell the land straightaway, there would have been nothing you could have done to prevent the development of the nuclear power station.’

  ‘There’s so much more we can still do.’ Llywelyn leant over the table towards Drake. ‘We haven’t started with public opinion and getting everybody on the island to oppose this development.’

  ‘Do you accept that the land owned by Mostyn and his sister is crucial?’

  Llywelyn sat back and hesitated. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t know enough about it.’

  Trying to be clever, good sign.

  Drake flicked to his notes of the conversation with Higham and then looked directly towards Llywelyn. ‘Did you have an argument with Ed Mostyn in which he threatened to sell?’

  Llywelyn blinked and then averted his eyes. ‘Ed could be an obnoxious bastard. He thought he could control everybody. And, yes, one occasion he did say something like that. He often said things that he didn’t mean.’

  ‘But if he had agreed to sell the land that would have ruined all your plans.’

  Matilda Spencer plonked her notepad on the table. ‘Is that a question, Inspector? Because it seems to me that you’ve got very little evidence.’

  Drake gave her a brief glance, toying with the possibility of telling her that this was his interview and he would conduct it in any way he saw fit.

  ‘If Ed Mostyn had agreed to sell the land with his sister it would have ruined your life’s work. Destroyed everything that’s important to you. Would you agree?’

  ‘I wouldn’t kill if that’s what you mean.’

  Drake extracted a forensic report from his file. ‘We found a fork at your property. A normal garden fork.’ He pushed over a photograph. ‘Does this belong to you?’

  ‘Looks like mine.’

  Drake looked over at Spencer and thought he detected a worry pinching at the crow’s feet around her eyes. ‘Do you use the fork regularly?’

  ‘Occasionally.’

  ‘You remember when it was last used?’

  ‘How the hell would I?’

  ‘Is it used for gardening?’

  ‘It’s a garden fork, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘Can you remember when you last used it?’

  Spencer interrupted again. ‘I hope this is relevant, Inspector.’

  ‘I can’t remember. No idea.’

  Drake turned to the papers again. ‘And can you confirm you own the wellington boots we recovered from your property?’

  Llywelyn stared at the photograph. ‘Never seen them before.’

  ‘The fork and the boots have been recently cleaned, wouldn’t you say?’

  Llywelyn peered at the image. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Have you cleaned the fork recently?’ Drake raised his voice.

  ‘I’ll wash it after it’s been used, if that’s what you mean.’

  Drake sat back and took his time composing the next question. Then he glanced at Spencer and Llywelyn. ‘We’ve had a forensic analysis of the fork and boots completed. There are two areas of bloodstains. The blood on the wellingtons matches Ed Mostyn’s blood type and the blood on the fork is a match to Rhys Fairburn. Can you explain how their blood found its way onto your garden fork and boots?’

  Chapter 39

  ‘He denied everything.’ Drake stroked the handle of the china cup with his thumb and forefinger. Although he’d had heard dozens of denials during his career, sometimes a shred of doubt managed to wriggle its way into his mind. It was like an itch at the bottom of his back, difficult to reach but demanding attention.

  ‘There is first-hand direct evidence. And he had a clear motive for killing Mostyn,’ Andy Thorsen said in his usual deadpan manner.

  Price sat next to Thorsen around the conference table, nodding severely. ‘It’s only a matter of time before he coughs.’

  Drake didn’t share the superintendent’s optimism. Llywelyn’s denials had been genuine enough and vociferous. And there had been what appeared to be real shock and disgust when Drake had challenged him about the death of Jane Jones.

  Drake reached over and poured himself another coffee from the cafetière on the tray.

  Thorsen replaced his cup on the saucer and pushed it towards the middle of the table. ‘We’ve got the mobile telephone that connects him to Fairburn so we’ll charge him with the murder of Ed Mostyn and Rhys Fairburn.’

  ‘And Jane Jones?’ Drake said.

  Price spoke first. ‘I want you to go after all of her friends again. We know that she jilted Llywelyn for Julian Sandham. That must have been difficult. Sandham is everything that Llywelyn hates. He is English, wealthy and privileged – probably supports the nuclear power station. And we know that Llywelyn has a violent temper. So when she confronts him – tells him it’s over, the red mist descends.’

  ‘That’s how I see it too, Wyndham,’ Thorsen said, tidying his papers and readying to leave.

  ‘It’s only a matter of time, Ian,’ Price added. ‘Once he realises that he’s going down for two murders he may as well cough to the other. It might not even add to his sentence. And his brief can at least say that he cooperated.’

  Thorsen stood up and reached for a linen jacket folded over the back of the nearby chair. ‘Thanks, Wyndham. Good work.’

  Price turned to Drake. ‘I’ve arranged sandwiches and a round of drinks for your team in the Ship and Anchor.’ He looked over at Thorsen. ‘Are you going to join us, Andy?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Thorsen left without further explanation.

  ‘Mr Personality, eh?’ It was the first time that Drake had heard Price criticise the Crown prosecution lawyer.

  *

  During the brief journey from headquarters he had decided to keep his visit to the public house brief. The paperwork could wait – now he could spend more time with his girls. He strode over to the entrance, passing a group of young girls tottering on high heels.

  He heard his mobile ringing and dipped a hand into his jacket pocket.

  ‘DI Drake.’

  ‘Is it true, Inspector, that you’ve made an arrest today?’ Headley said.

  Drake hesitated. He should have pressed ‘end’ immediately.

  ‘It’s people like you who give journalism a bad name.’

  ‘I’ve had it from a very reliable source.’ Drake turned on the ‘record’ function of his handset as Headley continued. ‘Is it true that it’s all connected to the power station? This will be an enormous story. Any chance of an off-the-record chat? I’ll make it worth your while.’

  Drake smiled as he pressed ‘end’, certain that Headley’s editor would have something to say about th
e journalist’s last remarks.

  Inside the pub he made his way to the end of the bar and found Winder sitting by a table, already halfway through a pint of lager. Howick was eyeing the clingfilm-covered sandwiches and bite-sized pork pies that a young waitress had delivered. She gave him a brief smile and then disappeared back into the kitchen, returning moments later with a container full of crisps. Caren walked up to them as Drake dialled Sian’s number. He walked away from the table a couple of metres.

  ‘I’ll call round later and take the girls out.’

  ‘What’s that noise?’

  ‘I’m in the Ship and Anchor.’

  ‘Celebrating?’

  ‘Sort of. I’ll take the girls to see my mother later.’

  He heard a sharp exhalation of breath. ‘Don’t be late bringing them back.’ She rang off just as Drake saw Price striding into the bar wearing a blue fleece over his uniform, the regulation tie discarded. They sat down around the table.

  Caren had already pulled back the clingfilm and started eating a ham sandwich. Price lifted a glass by way of a toast. ‘Well done. At least Llywelyn is behind bars.’

  The superintendent demolished a round of sandwiches, finished his pineapple juice and then left, allowing the conversation around the table to relax. Drake excused himself, fished the mobile out of his pocket and called his mother. She sounded delighted with her unexpected visitors and Drake was equally pleased with her offer of a meal. It was a short drive to the house that he had called home for many years. Helen and Megan were excited at the prospect of an evening with their nain but seemed less so at spending time with their father. The journey passed slowly. Questions enquiring about what they’d been doing in the holidays were met with monosyllabic replies, and a sullen mood overtook him. What did fathers do with their children on access visits? Where did they go? What did they talk about? An improvement in his father–daughter skills was badly needed, Drake concluded.

  He reached the top of the drive to the smallholding and hesitated for a moment, looking down at Caernarfon Bay and beyond towards Anglesey. Thickening grey clouds passed over the island onto the mainland, promising rain. He pulled the car to a stop outside the backdoor and watched his mother emerge, hugging Helen and Megan as they ran over.

  ‘You look tired,’ Mair Drake said, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

  ‘I’ve been very busy.’

  ‘How are things?’ She cupped his chin with both hands.

  ‘It’s been so busy at work. I haven’t had time to think.’

  Inside, the smell of rosemary and sage filled the warm kitchen. Immediately Drake found himself relaxing and he yawned. It was a familiar aroma that took him back to the certainties of childhood. It had taken him several visits before he’d become accustomed not to expect his father to be there.

  ‘You go and sit down,’ his mother said. ‘Helen and Megan can help me with supper.’

  He walked through into the sitting room and lifted the supplement of an old Sunday newspaper. He had no idea what was going on in the outside world, hadn’t seen the news for days. He sat down and tried to read but his eyelids were heavy. Within seconds he was fast asleep.

  Chapter 40

  Drake returned to headquarters after watching Llywelyn leering at him from the dock as he was remanded in custody by the magistrates’ court. A nagging worry still tugged at his mind, which he put down to tiredness and the knowledge that he had a mountain of paperwork to complete.

  He stared at the chaos on his desk. There were overtime logs that needed to be signed off, reports to the finance department about the budget for the investigation. He hadn’t read any of the fifty or so emails from the Police Federation, mostly related to the ongoing campaign about the latest threats to police pensions. Price had sent him an email from the Independent Police Complaints Commission asking for their formal response to the treatment of Somerset de Northway’s daughter Judy Somerville, who worked for Daniel Jessop.

  Drake printed off the various forms and began searching for the notes that had been made during the interview. Howick could be overzealous and, with his impending promotion, perhaps he’d been rather too enthusiastic. He picked up the telephone and punched in Howick’s extension.

  ‘I need a word,’ Drake said.

  Moments later there was a knock on the door and Drake waved the young officer in. Drake motioned to one of the visitor chairs. ‘I need to talk to you about Judy Somerville. She’s made a formal complaint about the nature of your interview.’

  ‘I thought she might.’

  ‘I’ve got to respond to the IPCC in Cardiff.’

  ‘There are only two members of staff in Jessop’s firm. So it’s really odd that a file went missing.’

  ‘They must know everything that goes on.’

  ‘All Jessop does is sort out the affairs of dead people. And he writes wills. But mostly he goes sailing.’

  ‘It must have been a bit chaotic for them to have lost a file?’

  Howick pursed his lips. ‘It all seemed well organised.’

  ‘What did she say when you challenged her about the file?’

  ‘She just repeated what Jessop told you. There had been a breakin and the alarm had failed. Money had been taken from the cash box and files had been strewn all over the floor.’

  ‘Had any other files been taken?’

  ‘Not so far as they were aware. The accountants had just finished an audit.’

  Drake read again the complaint form completed by Somerville that was flickering on his monitor. ‘She says you were aggressive and grossly rude. Specifically, she says you made her feel like a criminal.’

  Howick raised his hands and then opened up the palms in despair. ‘You’d told me to be careful. I went round and round in circles asking whether she had been involved in making the will, whether she’d ever met Ed Mostyn. I don’t think I was aggressive or rude.’

  It was shaping up to be a complaint that would take a disproportionate amount of his time. He began composing bland phrases that might satisfy the IPCC without being an open admission of guilt.

  Howick stood up. ‘Anything else, boss?’

  Drake looked at the notes again. ‘Who were the accountants by the way?’

  ‘Dafydd Higham’s firm. Small world.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is…’

  Already Drake was beginning to think that it was too small for another coincidence. His throat tightened slightly and he focused on the initial conversation with Daniel Jessop. He didn’t recall the reference to accountants and certainly no mention of Dafydd Higham. He put Judy Somerville’s papers onto the far corner of his desk and reached for his notebook. Flicking through the pages quickly, frustration built when he couldn’t find his notes of the discussion with Jessop. He was rushing – that’s when mistakes happen, he thought, so he slowed until eventually he found the relevant record – auditors, Jessop had said auditors. He gripped the notebook tightly, cursing to himself.

  The earlier reservations about everything he had done in the case resurfaced. It struck him that Higham had been a ghostly presence throughout the case: related to Ed Mostyn, the accountant for Rhys Fairburn, Maldwyn Evans and Somerset de Northway. What other connections exist that we haven’t discovered? Drake wondered. Perhaps Higham was even involved with the others and the young girls in the cottage. Drake fisted his right hand and banged it on the table very slowly.

  Motive. There always had to be motive – money or revenge or hatred.

  Drake stood up abruptly, walked over to the door of his office and yanked it open. Three sets of eyes turned to face him. ‘Who saw that woman who suggested Mildred Jones had an affair?’

  ‘It was me, boss,’ Howick said.

  An idea was forming in Drake’s mind. ‘What was her name again?’

  ‘Fraser.’

  ‘Did she tell you who the other person was?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you ask?’

  ‘Not at the time.’

 
‘Send the address to my mobile.’ He turned to Caren. ‘You drive.’

  Drake punched the postcode details into the satnav and watched as the machine told him the journey would take fifty-three minutes.

  ‘Dafydd Higham gets everywhere in this inquiry. Even into Jessop’s office. So, what if it suits him to make certain that his wife inherits after Mostyn?’

  Caren was in the outside lane touching ninety miles an hour, the lights flashing on the car. ‘So he had to get rid of the will.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Drake dialled a number into his mobile. ‘We need to check a couple of things.’

  The call rang out far longer than he expected. Every unanswered ring pulled on an already heightened tension until very soon he might curse. But then he heard Enid Evans’s voice.

  ‘Detective Inspector Drake, Mrs Evans. I need to ask you something.’

  ‘What?’ There was an angry edge to her voice.

  ‘Your son mentioned that Dafydd Higham was helping your husband with the land.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did he mean?’

  She paused. Drake could hear her breathing. ‘Maldwyn was going to give him some money.’

  The tension pulling at his chest subsided. It was exactly what he’d suspected.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Drake looked over at Caren. ‘Higham had done a deal with Maldwyn Evans for a slice of their proceeds. And he probably did the same with Fairburn.’

  Caren blasted the horn at a car dawdling in the outside lane.

  Drake found the number for Rhys Fairburn and a brief three-way conversation between him, Ann and her mother told him what he had already guessed.

  ‘Crooked bastard,’ Drake said.

  ‘But why did he kill them – well, Fairburn anyway?’

  ‘He has access to all their computers. He’s their accountant. So he sees all their personal papers. And the photographs of all the girls involved. And that included Jane.’

  ‘But the files were password protected.’

  ‘I know, I know. But…’

  Drake’s mind raced. ‘Mostyn had the images on his laptop; we know that much, even though we don’t have the computer itself. Higham must have seen them – they probably weren’t protected.’