‘There’s a performance in Conwy Castle. It’s private, invitation only. Not my cup of tea.’
‘Who’s going to be present?’
Jackson reeled off various names: the members of the arts festival committee, councillors and local politicians. It was a collection of the great and the good associated with the festival. Before he finished, Jackson mentioned one other name, a name Drake recognised.
‘Did you say Milos Fogerty?’ Drake said slowly.
‘Yes, he’s flying in from Vienna. The committee were delighted he was going to attend.’
A knot of bile spun around Drake’s stomach. Drake dredged his memory for the comments Milos Fogerty had made about Ellingham: ‘utterly unsuited to being an artist’ and ‘his criticism of Ellingham’s work was harsh, brutal even’.
‘Thanks, Huw.’ He tried to sound calm. Ending the call, he turned to Sara.
‘We need to get in Conwy Castle. Now.’
Drake hammered the car along the narrow country lanes back to Conwy. He had to slam on the brakes to avoid colliding with a tractor, which meant the passenger side wheels careering into a shallow ditch. Sara grabbed hold of the car door before he accelerated away.
‘He’s going to kill Milos Fogerty. He’s big in the art world. Fogerty tutored him at art school. Ellingham hated his guts apparently.’
‘Why would he want to kill him?’
‘Because he’s fucking mad. It must be the last part of some perverted show.’
Another car came round a blind corner. The wing mirrors of both cars clipped each other with a loud crack.
‘But it’s in the middle of the castle. Other people will be there.’
‘He’d have thought of all that.’
Drake had to stop a fourth murder, another person killed by this madman. But what if Fogerty had already been injected with the same muscle relaxant as Patton and Sanderson? ‘Call an ambulance or one of those paramedic cars to the entrance of the castle. Tell them it’s a matter of life and death.’
Sara fumbled for her mobile.
They reached the outskirts of Conwy where the traffic thickened. Drake blasted the car horn, flashed his lights. Most of the cars cowed to one side and allowed him through. Occasionally a bad-tempered driver raised a middle finger, gesticulating angrily. ‘Get that guy’s registration number,’ Drake said. ‘We’ll report him after this is finished.’
Sara did as she was told.
They dropped down past the town walls and through one of the old gates. There was little prospect of overtaking any traffic in the narrow street so he curbed his annoyance. Near the castle he drove the car diagonally onto the pavement over double yellow lines and sprinted to the entrance.
He had to hammer on the door to gain the attention of an assistant in the office. Barely concealing his anger, he pressed his warrant card against the glass. ‘Just bloody well open the door.’
The flashing light of a first response vehicle was reflected in the window. He turned as it parked and he paced over to meet the paramedic who jumped out. ‘What’s the emergency?’
‘Have you got oxygen in the car?’
‘Yes. Why, is there someone unconscious?’
‘How many bottles have you got?’
‘Two.’
‘Get them out now and follow me.’
Drake legged it up to the entrance and confronted a uniformed attendant. He drew himself up, about to deliver Drake a lecture. The inspector pushed him to one side. ‘You can’t come in, it’s a private function.’
Drake ignored him and grabbed a printed castle guide as he passed the ticket desk. He ran over the footbridge towards the castle and then raced up the path to the ruins of the main gate. Drake stood for a moment catching his breath. In one corner at the far end of the courtyard a group stood talking around a table underneath a pergola that was held rigidly in place with tent poles and guide ropes. ‘This way,’ Drake said to Sara and the paramedic.
They sprinted over. Drake recognised Marjorie and Julie from the committee. He caught his breath as he reached them. ‘Have you seen Milos Fogerty?’
Both women scanned the group. Then their brows furrowed. ‘He was here a minute ago,’ Marjorie said. ‘Once the performance had finished I saw him talking to the mayor.’
Drake turned his back on them and surveyed the castle layout before frantically opening the castle plan and staring around, trying to get his bearings. He spotted a uniformed guide and marched over to him.
‘We’re looking for a room or a space. Somewhere private where a man could be killed.’
The guide turned a sickly colour. ‘Well… that could be a lot of places.’
‘Quickly. Show us.’ Drake thrust the sheets of the castle plan at him.
‘The Prison Tower behind us has been refurbished but the Chapel Tower…’ He gestured to the far corner of the castle. ‘… is probably the most likely.’
‘We’ll have to split up.’
‘I’ve done a first aid course, boss,’ Sara said.
‘Good, you take the Prison Tower. And take one of the oxygen canisters.’ Drake turned to the paramedic. ‘You’re with me.’
Drake turned to the guide again. ‘When did this performance finish?’
He managed a frightened sort of croak. ‘Not long, five minutes maybe.’
They still had time, Drake thought.
‘Let’s go,’ Drake said.
Drake jogged towards the site of the drawbridge between the Outer Ward and Inner Ward as Sara headed with a stunned-looking guide for the Prison Tower. Heading down a passageway, Drake could see the bridge over the estuary ahead of him. He darted into a walled enclosure, seeing an entrance at the base of the Prison Tower.
He ducked his head to avoid the thick lintel.
The room had a display cabinet but nothing else.
He turned on his heels and almost barged into the paramedic following him.
‘Upstairs,’ Drake gasped.
He quickly retraced his steps until he found a steep staircase that took him to the first floor of the Prison Tower. When he entered the thick castle walls the temperature dropped. The atmosphere was damp and clammy. His footsteps echoed over the wooden floor but the room was empty.
Despair that they were running out of time to resuscitate Fogerty clawed at every nerve in his body.
His mobile rang. It was Sara. ‘No sign of him, boss.’
‘He’s got to be somewhere.’
‘He might have taken Fogerty out of the castle.’
The possibility had occurred to Drake but he didn’t want to consider it. ‘Someone would’ve seen him, surely,’
‘I’ll call you when I finish in the tower.’
It had given Drake a valuable few seconds to gather his breath. Drake turned to the paramedic who was breathing heavily. ‘Let’s go.’
He spotted the narrow passageway and headed up the staircase. It wasn’t designed for easy access or for carrying oxygen around easily – Drake sensed the paramedic behind him struggling. The castle stairwells had been designed so that right-handed swordsmen defending the castle were able to wield their weapons against attackers. Ellingham was probably long gone by now and even if he came down he wouldn’t be wielding a sword. Probably a syringe, just as deadly as a sword, Drake thought.
He yanked on the rope hanging from the circular wall to heave himself up the stairs more quickly. The first room they reached was empty apart from a few pieces of old furniture. From a narrow window he gazed down over the town. Cars were threading their way towards the bridge. He returned to the stairwell and bounded up to the next floor. There was no sign of Ellingham or Fogerty. ‘Where the bloody hell has he gone,’ Drake said aloud. Sweat dripped down his armpit. He loosened his tie and undid his shirt button.
Ellingham knew the place was going to be empty today, Drake thought. Nobody would disturb him.
Drake hauled himself further up the narrow staircase to the top floor, his heart hammering. Time was marching on, sec
onds turning into minutes. Time was running out for Fogerty.
Drake found renewed energy as they reached the top. He looked inside and caught his breath.
Strapped to a wicker lounging chair was the limp body of a man in his early fifties. Drake rushed over, followed by the paramedic who immediately searched for a pulse. Drake stood back, scanning the room, and found the camera tucked out of reach above an old fireplace.
He cursed, looking around for a chair, anything. He dragged over a heavy, wooden upright chair towards the fireplace and jumped up, yanking the camera away from the wall. He dropped it onto the floorboards and smashed it with his right heel. The paramedic was busy administering oxygen but when he turned, Drake recognised the wary frown on his face.
Chapter 41
Two paramedics rushed past Drake as he reached the lawned area near the entrance. He watched Mike Foulds and two crime scene investigators hauling boxes of equipment into the castle.
‘Well done,’ Foulds said.
‘I hope you find some forensic evidence this time.’ Drake sounded unconvinced. Foulds hurried away and Drake turned to Sara. ‘We need to find Ellingham.’
‘Where would he go? How could he possibly hope to get away with this?’
‘He believes that Milos Fogerty is dead, so he’ll be building an alibi.’
‘Somebody will have seen him here, surely.’
Huw Jackson’s comments came to his mind. Ellingham had made excuses about not attending the performance. What did he mean? He must have been planning to be somewhere else. Drake reached for his mobile. He tapped in the details of the Orme Arts Festival and found the programme of events.
‘He’ll be nearby,’ Drake announced.
He read the brief mention of the private opening performance and then reference to a film being shown that afternoon. Drake’s pulse hastened. He knew exactly where Ellingham was going.
‘There’s a film being shown in the one of the cinemas in Llandudno Junction,’ Drake said as he jogged towards the exit.
‘That’s going to be his alibi?’
‘Not if we have anything to do with it.’
A dozen uniformed officers milled around the pavement outside. Drake shouted over at them to stop any further traffic crossing the bridge. Three of them galloped over the road, raising their arms at the oncoming vehicles. It meant Drake and Sara had a clear road across the estuary. It was no more than a mile, Drake thought. Ellingham wouldn’t have used a car and walking would have been too slow. Drake drove off the pavement with a thud, ground the gearstick into first and accelerated hard for the bridge. Drake knew the cinema complex well; he and the girls had been there frequently. He reached the roundabout on the eastern side of the estuary, flashing at oncoming vehicles, and swung the Mondeo around and then up towards an elevated section and down to his left and the car park.
Sara announced after searching her mobile telephone. ‘It’s a French art film: “genre defining”, whatever that means.’
Cars disgorging families visiting the cinema for the afternoon matinees and the restaurants nearby delayed Drake’s progress. He slowed to a crawl but it only increased his anxiety. Drake double-parked near the cinema.
They headed inside, warrant cards at the ready. Two members of staff blocked their way before they reached the door. ‘I’m sorry, sir. You can’t go in now.’
Drake pushed his warrant card into the man’s face. ‘Get the lights on. Now. This is official police business. There’s a killer inside.’
Using the word killer did the trick. An ashen-faced usher spoke into an intercom as Drake hauled open the door. Seconds later the lights inside flickered on and voices started mumbling protests. Heads moved, peering towards the rear. Drake started down one aisle, Sara the other.
Drake scanned the audience, some on their feet blocking his view. Others were milling around in the aisle ahead of him. The film continued to run on the screen. It occurred to Drake that if he was wrong it was an embarrassing waste of his time. His pulse pounded in his neck and he had to move slightly to his left to see more clearly the faces around him.
As he looked over at Sara she shook her head and carried on checking the people passing her.
Drake’s chest tightened as he noticed Ellingham chatting to a woman, as though he had few cares in the world. He smiled, rolled his eyes, joked and looked towards Drake.
Drake’s gaze met his.
Ellingham froze. He turned and in a moment Drake had lost sight of him. Gesturing to Sara, Drake pushed his way through the crowd. But Ellingham was nowhere to be seen. Sara was by his side now.
‘He was here right enough. He made a run for it when he spotted me. There must be an exit through the toilets.’ Drake nodded at the illuminated signs above a door. ‘Do a search for him. I’m going outside.’
Sara sprinted down the aisle as Drake jostled through the audience and the people assembling in the foyer. Outside he ran round to the rear of the building. A door flapped ajar, Drake jerked it open. The empty passageway led into a service area full of napkins and paper towels and toilet rolls.
He raced back to the parking area. For a fraction of a second, he contemplated the possibility they had missed Ellingham. More cars were arriving. He craned to spot the man, walking, running, anything.
Drake started off towards the main road, reached a pizza restaurant and paused; he caught his breath then set off again, scanning every car, every parking slot. His mobile rang; it was Sara. He pushed the handset to his ear. ‘We’ve lost him.’ Drake sounded desperate. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’ve just left the cinema.’
Drake jogged towards the roundabout on an elevated section, furious Ellingham might have given them the slip. He reached the road. He put his hands on his knees, drawing in deep lungfuls of breath.
If Ellingham had been able to make good his escape he might be heading east into England or west for the port at Holyhead. Drake looked over at the stationary cars on the slip road emerging from a large supermarket. One car in particular caught his attention. It was small and red and the driver was looking down at his feet.
Sara joined Drake. He pointed at the car. ‘There he is.’
Cars accelerating off the roundabout prevented Drake from running towards Ellingham’s vehicle and he had to watch helplessly as Ellingham left the car and raced away. Drake and Sara ran after him on the other side of the road, hoping they could cross as the traffic thinned.
But Ellingham was a lot fitter than Drake imagined and he raced ahead towards the bridge for Conwy. Once Drake and Sara were on the same side of the road they sprinted after Ellingham. A stitch burnt in Drake’s side. Sara kept up with him but she slowed.
Suddenly, Ellingham disappeared from view. Moments later Drake reached the section of the bridge where he last saw Ellingham. He peered over the railings and watched as the figure ran onto a path by the side of the estuary. It was a drop of ten or twelve feet. Drake hesitated.
‘He’s gone down to the river,’ Drake shouted at Sara, gesticulating downstream.
Then he clambered over the railing.
‘It’s a big drop, boss…’
Drake let go and fell clumsily, scratching his palms as he broke his fall. He took a couple of seconds to compose himself before running after Ellingham. The footpath took him under the road bridge and then underneath the adjacent railway bridge. A train rattled overhead. In the distance, Ellingham ran towards the nature reserve that occupied a spit of land on the estuary.
Drake picked up speed and the gap narrowed. But Ellingham’s figure disappeared so Drake increased his pace. Moments later he saw Ellingham fiddling with the rope tethering a small wooden dinghy.
Drake was within a few yards when Ellingham realised how near he was. He jumped into the dinghy and reached over for the outboard motor. But Drake was too close. He launched himself at Ellingham. Both men crashed into the bottom of the dinghy. Drake, breathless but determined, had the advantage. He turned the man over onto his face.
Moments later, he saw Sara on the bank. She threw him a pair of handcuffs.
He snapped them onto Ellingham’s wrists and sat down in a heap, slowly gathering his breath.
‘Jeremy Ellingham, I’m arresting you for murder…’
Chapter 42
Drake arrived at the area custody suite after a fractious half an hour in accident and emergency. A nurse had warned him the wait would be three hours to see a doctor. Her attitude had soon changed when he explained why he had to be seen immediately. His wounds were promptly cleaned and dressed and after twenty minutes he was driving to the area custody suite.
A message reached his mobile – Fogerty conscious and out of danger. Relief washed over Drake and he shared a slow smile with Sara who was standing with the custody sergeant.
‘Fogerty’s going to pull through.’
‘Great news, boss. Rhian Ellingham is in interview room three.’
‘Let’s see what she has to say.’
Rhian Ellingham sat cowering behind a table: blond hair drawn into an untidy bun behind her head. She wore her green nurse’s uniform. She had a round, kindly face, her gaze following Drake and Sara intently as they sat down. It wasn’t an interview under caution, not yet. Drake wanted her cooperation so he smiled.
‘Why am I here?’ Rhian stretched out a trembling hand to a plastic beaker of water and took a sip.
‘I’d like to ask you some questions about Jeremy.’
‘What has he done? I’m sure there’s been a mistake.’
No mistake: three deaths.
‘Where do you work in the hospital?’
‘In theatre.’
‘Have you always worked there?’
Rhian ran her tongue over her lips. ‘I was in accident and emergency for five years. But it got too much for me.’
Drake nodded. ‘Did you ever discuss your work with Jeremy?’ Drake leant forward. ‘Did you discuss treatment procedures? You know, how the doctors deal with patients needing anaesthetics.’
‘No, never… I mean… I don’t remember… Perhaps I talked about work sometimes. What is this all about?’
Dead on Your Feet Page 27
