Dead on Your Feet

by Stephen Puleston

  Drake led Valerie Reed to one of the conference rooms and waved a hand at a chair around the table. The red dress she wore seemed to float around her and the high heels gave her legs a sculpted appearance.

  ‘We are investigating the murder of Gloria Patton.’ Drake sat down; Valerie did the same.

  Valerie nodded. ‘It’s all very sad.’

  Drake continued with his preamble. ‘Jeremy’s name came up as a person of interest because work he submitted to the Orme Arts Festival was rejected by her.’

  Valerie tilted her head and gave Drake a concerned look. ‘Yes, I know. He was very surprised and angry, poor thing. It affected him really badly.’

  ‘We’re looking into everybody associated with Gloria Patton and her life. So I need to be able to establish Jeremy’s movements on the night Gloria Patton was killed.’

  Valerie crossed her left leg over the right knee and smoothed the folds of her dress as she did so. ‘That’s easy. We were together during the evening and…’ she paused. ‘All night.’ She lowered her voice just a notch, making it even huskier.

  It confirmed what Ellingham’s neighbour had told him.

  ‘How long have you been in a relationship with Jeremy Ellingham?’

  ‘Almost two years now.’

  ‘What do you do for a living, Miss Reed?’

  ‘I’m a graphic designer. I have my own business, which means I can work from home.’

  ‘What does that work entail?’

  ‘I design letterhead and brochures.’

  Nothing to link her conclusively to either murder, Drake thought.

  ‘I’ll need your contact details, Miss Reed, in case we have any more questions for you.’

  ‘Of course,’ Valerie purred, before dictating her number.

  ‘And your address?’

  ‘You can reach me at Jeremy’s place.’

  Drake’s mobile buzzed and he fished it out of his jacket pocket, sending Superintendent Price’s call to voicemail; he would return the call once he was finished. Realising that Ellingham had an alibi for Patton’s death and knowing he had other priorities that morning, he cut the interview with Valerie short. Winder or Luned could be delegated to take a more detailed statement. He stood up.

  ‘Thanks for your time.’

  From reception, he watched her leave headquarters. He rang Price, who sounded business-like. ‘I’m going out this morning. But I want an update when I’m back this afternoon. I want the latest on these two murders. Are they connected, Ian? Have we got some insane serial killer stalking the streets?’

  Drake was accustomed to the occasional rant from his superior officer.

  Price didn’t wait for him to reply. ‘Call Hannah to arrange a time.’

  After Price finished the call Drake took the stairs to the Incident Room and noticed the inquisitive glances from Sara and Winder; Luned stared at her computer monitor.

  ‘Jeremy Ellingham’s girlfriend was waiting in reception.’ Drake walked up to the board. He moved Ellingham’s photograph to one side, rearranging the various images. ‘She confirmed what Ellingham’s neighbour told us.’

  ‘Does that mean he’s no longer a person of interest, sir?’ Sara said.

  ‘I still want a full background check but he’s got an alibi.’ He peered at the other faces. ‘Let’s concentrate on Buckland and Geraint Wood.’

  Drake turned back to the team, looking over at Winder and Luned. ‘Did you make any progress with the house-to-house near Hopkin’s place?’

  ‘Nothing, sir,’ Winder said. ‘He just seemed normal, a single middle-aged bloke. Some of the neighbours knew him quite well. Others were nodding acquaintances only.’

  Drake continued. ‘The housekeeper says he had lady friends that visited him. She saw someone leaving one Saturday morning. So concentrate on identifying who they might be.’

  * * *

  An hour later Drake and Sara were heading towards the council offices in Llandudno. It occurred to him as he drove that he should explain to Sara his suspicion that Huw Jackson might be the person named by Geraint Wood. But it meant sharing with her personal details about his family. And that wasn’t easy. In any event he had nothing to confirm Jackson was implicated so Drake decided to say nothing about him.

  They drove on to the council offices where Drake parked near the old rambling building that stood overlooking the West Shore beach. In the distance, Drake could see Conwy Castle and the medieval town alongside it.

  Drake showed his ID to the receptionist, asking for the manager of the human resources department. Moments later a woman emerged into reception, a fierce but frightened look on her face. She was mid-forties, with short, shocking-turquoise hair. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘We need to establish the identity of some people who work for the council.’

  She led them through a maze of corridors until eventually she reached an office. A small metal plaque on the door said ‘Principal Officer’. She sat at her desk, pointed to two chairs in front of her and started clicking with her mouse.

  ‘What information did you want?’

  ‘Does the council employ someone called Maxwell?’

  ‘Christian name?’

  ‘That’s his Christian name, we don’t know the surname.’

  She squinted at the screen. ‘There’s a Maxwell Owen in finance.’ She scribbled down the contact details. ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘Jackson – that’s probably the surname.’

  Drake expected an inquisitive glare, querying how he knew. But the woman just kept on clicking. ‘There are two. Huw Jackson works in the economic development and public support department. There’s a Jane Jackson in environmental health.’

  She dictated the contact numbers for each of the employees named. After thanking her they made their way back to reception where Drake spoke to Sara. ‘We’ll start with Maxwell Owen.’ At least it meant he could postpone having to explain to Sara about Huw Jackson for a little longer.

  One of the staff dialled Maxwell’s direct number and Drake heard her explaining that two police officers wanted to speak to him. She rolled her eyes at Drake and Sara as she listened to Maxwell. Eventually she said, ‘I think you’d better come down to reception.’

  Maxwell was well over six feet tall with an enormous thick beard. His thin blue shirt strained at the bulk around his shoulders, arms and stomach. There were large damp patches under his armpits and a tang of sweat and body odour. Drake and Sara followed Maxwell to a nearby conference room that was hot and airless. Maxwell fiddled to open a window, then sat down across the table from Drake and Sara.

  ‘We’re investigating the death of Gloria Patton,’ Drake said.

  He nodded. ‘What’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘I understand the council support the Orme Arts Festival.’

  ‘The council support a lot of things.’

  ‘Just tell me about your involvement with the festival.’ Drake knew he sounded irritated. He wanted straight answers, quickly.

  ‘I was the finance officer. We told Gloria exactly the extent of the financial support we could give. We’re not a charity, Inspector. She had to manage our grant and then get match funding from other bodies in order to make the festival a success.’

  ‘How often did you meet with her or the committee?’

  ‘I met her once and she was really difficult. You should talk to the officer who actually coordinated the grant.’

  Drake waited for Maxwell to confirm who was responsible.

  ‘Huw Jackson did all the groundwork.’ Apprehension at the prospect his brother was involved filled Drake’s mind. Maxwell continued. ‘He attended all the meetings. But once she had my name and my email address, I got bombarded with copies of minutes and business plans. It was nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Do you remember when you actually met?’

  Maxwell rolled his eyes. ‘I would have to check. I can’t possibly remember that sort of detail. Speak to Huw about her.’

  D
rake nodded.

  Maxwell reached for the telephone on the table. ‘I’ll call him now. Then perhaps you’ll leave me in peace.’

  Drake and Sara listened to Maxwell tracking down Huw Jackson to the office of a colleague. ‘There are cops from the WPS here who need to speak to you. Get down here now. I’ve got work to do.’

  Maxwell stood up. ‘You can wait here. Hopefully he won’t be long.’

  After Maxwell left, Drake had to say something to Sara. ‘I know this Huw Jackson. We met on Saturday.’

  Sara tilted her head to one side, raising her eyebrows. But Drake paused, got up and walked around the desk staring out of the window, letting the fresh air cool his face. They didn’t have to wait long until Huw entered.

  ‘Hello, Ian. Nice to see you again.’

  Drake returned to sit alongside Sara as Huw took the seat Maxwell had vacated.

  ‘I heard about Rhisiart Hopkin last night. It was on the news this morning. Are you involved in that case? It’s terrible.’

  ‘I wanted to speak to you about Gloria Patton.’

  ‘Do you think both deaths are linked?’ Jackson leant forward over the table. ‘I met him a couple of times and he was a really nice man. Have you any idea who killed him?’

  ‘The WPS are going to be issuing a statement later today about his murder.’ Drake used a formal dismissive tone and continued. ‘I understand you were responsible for coordinating with Gloria Patton about the Orme Arts Festival.’

  ‘I administered the council’s grant.’

  ‘Would the festival have survived without the council’s contribution?’

  ‘Unlikely.’

  ‘When did you see Gloria Patton last?’

  Jackson hesitated, averting his eyes. ‘Last week. We had a meeting. It was… unscheduled. She wanted to see if the council was prepared to increase its contribution.’

  ‘What was the reason for that?’

  ‘She mentioned financial problems around the cost of setting up the various exhibits. Getting the artists to agree fees, etc.’

  Sara stopped scribbling in her notepad and looked up at Jackson. ‘So what did you say?’

  Jackson raised his eyebrows. ‘That there was no chance of any additional funding.’

  ‘We’ll need to see any documents that you’ve got relating to the festival.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll send them over.’

  ‘And all the emails and correspondence from the council.’

  Jackson nodded. ‘Her paperwork was pretty chaotic. The festival was supported by one of the local councillors. He thought it would raise the profile of Llandudno, develop the art scene. Bring in more visitors.’

  ‘Did you agree?’

  ‘Not up to me, Ian. The business plan Gloria submitted initially was completely inadequate. We had to send it back to her, suggest amendments.’

  Drake peered over at Jackson. It was an odd sensation knowing this man was his half-brother. Sian’s exasperated comments from the day before, challenging him about Jackson’s authenticity, raised doubts in his mind.

  ‘So what was the nature of your relationship with Gloria Patton?’

  Jackson frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just that. Did you meet socially?’

  Jackson crossed his arms over his chest. ‘We did meet a couple of times away from either the formal setting of the council offices or her gallery. They were minuted, of course.’

  ‘Where did you meet?’ Drake’s voice sounded sharp.

  ‘In the one of the cafés in town—’

  ‘Did you ever meet her at her home?’

  ‘No, of course not. Don’t be absurd.’

  ‘Did you know where she lived?’

  Jackson paused again. Drake barely knew this man, but instinctively he wanted to trust him, despite there being something evasive about his replies. The fact they might share the same father didn’t mean he was going to treat him to any less scrutiny than any other person. They needed a complete picture of Gloria’s life and Jackson knew her. It was a matter of finding out how well.

  ‘I’ve got her address somewhere I suppose. What are you trying to establish?’

  Sara butted in. ‘We need to learn everything about Gloria and anything you could tell us about her might help.’

  Jackson glared over at Sara. ‘Well, quizzing me about her isn’t going to help. Do you think someone connected to the council or the festival had anything to do with her death?’

  ‘We’re looking at everyone who had contact with her. It’s routine.’ Sara’s emollient tone managed to make Drake’s interrogation sound plausible.

  Abruptly Drake stood up. ‘Send everything you’ve got to us, Huw.’

  Jackson scanned the details on the card that Drake thrust at him. Drake left with Sara and trudged back to his car. The whole meeting had disturbed him. He found himself on edge. He liked order and Jackson’s wish to get to know him better, meet the family, was unnerving.

  They reached Drake’s car. ‘You gave him a hard time, sir. Do you suspect he might be involved?’

  Drake pointed the remote at the car. It thudded open.

  ‘I thought you knew him?’

  Drake jumped into the car and looked over at Sara. No point delaying the inevitable.

  ‘I met him Saturday for the first time. He claims to be my half-brother.’

  Drake read the stunned look on Sara’s face easily enough.

  Chapter 15

  Drake appeared more sullen than usual as they drove away from the council offices. He cursed a couple of times at dawdling cars even though they were still in the thirty miles per hour speed restriction limit. Sara grabbed hold of the door handle tightly when Drake shot out in front of a car on a roundabout near the junction for the A55. Something was troubling Drake, so she decided on the direct approach.

  ‘So you didn’t know Jackson might be your brother until Saturday?’

  Drake glared through the windscreen, his eyes narrowed. Sharing this information must have been difficult, Sara thought, but he had no alternative.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. It has all come as a surprise. My father had…’ Drake blasted the car horn at a van ahead of them on the slip road. Then he floored the accelerator. Heading east on the dual carriageway he slowed as they reached the speed restrictions near Colwyn Bay before speeding up again. A few minutes passed silently, Sara wondering what else she could say, until Drake indicated for the business park and the area office of the bank that employed Rhisiart Hopkin.

  Sara pondered what it might feel like to discover you have a half-sibling you knew nothing about. It might be quite interesting, rather exotic.

  Expensive German saloons, all under two years of age, filled the car park. Drake found a slot for visitors and switched off the engine. He turned to Sara. ‘It has all come as a surprise.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘We don’t know anything about Jackson really.’

  ‘Do you think he is involved with Gloria Patton in some way?’

  Drake looked perplexed, as though he was struggling to find an answer.

  Sara continued. ‘He did sound evasive. Perhaps he had a relationship with Gloria and she threatened to tell his wife. Is he married?’

  ‘Widowed.’

  Sarah frowned. ‘Then we treat him like a person of interest, someone to help in the inquiry. But if he is involved, why the macabre crime scene?’

  Drake reached for the door handle and left the car. The business park was a modern collection of purpose-built offices. Sara followed him towards the building the bank shared with a marketing agency that occupied the ground floor. They took the stairs to the first floor. Workstations filled the open-plan office with employees staring at flickering screens. A woman nearby looked over before leaving her desk and walking over to them. The bank’s logo was stitched into the fabric of her cream blouse, and her skirt, a neutral blue, matched the corporate colour scheme.

  ‘Can I help?’

  Drake flashed hi
s warrant card; Sara did likewise.

  ‘We have a meeting with Roger Finch.’

  ‘Please wait – I’ll tell him you’re here.’ She tilted her head at the upright visitor chairs behind Drake and Sara. They sat down and waited. Sara wondered if every bank had offices as anonymous as this one. She looked around and saw the woman who had spoken to them deep in conversation with a man who shot an urgent glance at them. Moments later, he strode over, carrying various files and sheaves of paper.

  Roger Finch had a healthy stock of red hair. He kept it fashionably short, the edges of his hair trimmed close to the skin. Finch peered down at them after they stood up. Sara noticed the vigorous handshake he gave Drake before he did the same to her.

  ‘Come this way.’ He waved over to a door with ‘Conference Room’ in large letters printed on a stainless steel sign. Inside, the room was cool, the cream walls bare. Finch gestured at the plastic chairs surrounding the table. Drake ran a finger along the table’s surface before sitting down.

  ‘This is the most dreadful news about Rhisiart.’

  ‘How well did you know him?’ Drake asked.

  ‘He was a work colleague.’

  ‘And away from work? Did you know anything about his private life?’

  ‘Very little.’ Finch pushed a buff folder over the table. ‘This is a copy of his personnel file. It has all the relevant details on Rhisiart.’

  ‘Does he have any family?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Drake reached over and flicked through the paperwork. It gave Sara an opportunity to ask her first question. ‘Who were his closest work colleagues?’

  ‘This is a small office. We all knew each other quite well.’

  ‘But you don’t know anything about his family.’

  Finch shrugged. Sara persevered. ‘Did he ever discuss his personal life? For example, did he mention whether he ever went to football games, support a particular team?’

  ‘Sorry…’

  ‘Does the bank have any connection with the Orme Arts Festival?’