Drake’s mobile vibrated in his pocket. He was tempted to ignore it until he had finished with Fiona Jones, but he reached for the telephone and read the message. Urgent – please contact area control, murder investigation pending. Drake stood up abruptly.
‘I’m sorry, we need to leave. I’ll get another officer to contact you in due course.’
Drake and Sara left a distressed Fiona Jones standing at the front door, her arms folded in front of her.
Drake jogged down to his car thrusting his mobile to his ear.
‘Detective Inspector Drake. What are the details about the homicide?’
‘A body has been discovered near the old Quarryman’s Hospital in Llanberis.’
Drake stopped and stood, scarcely believing what the detached voice from area control had actually said. ‘Llanberis?’ In the distance Drake made out the chimney pots of the historic building perched on a ledge overlooking the lake.
‘Yes, Inspector. I’ll send you the details of the officers at the scene.’
Drake glanced towards the house, but Fiona had gone inside. He turned to face Sara. ‘I think that photograph of Harry Jones might be useful. There’s a report of a body.’
Chapter 3
‘A body has been found near the old Quarryman’s Hospital.’ Drake waved a hand in the air, pointing in the general direction of the densely wooded hillside on the opposite side of the lake.
He yanked open the car door, and it took just seconds to clip their seatbelts in place before Drake floored the accelerator. The Quarryman’s Hospital had long since stopped treating patients and was now part of the sprawling slate museum, a popular tourist attraction. He passed the Llanberis Lake Railway terminus on his way to the museum car park.
‘Do you think it could be Harry Jones?’ Sara said.
Drake made no reply; he had been thinking that exact thought since leaving Fiona Jones. If it was Harry Jones, a routine missing person inquiry would become a murder investigation.
He glanced out of the windscreen at the massive gaping wound in the mountain where slate had been extracted from the Dinorwig quarry and exported all over the world. The various inclines and piles of slate waste and discarded buildings were the only record of activities that once employed thousands of men.
Drake turned left and approached the entrance of the museum. A uniformed officer waved at him and pointed to a place for him to park.
Tourists milled around, coats shrugged onto shoulders, cars locked, rucksacks threaded over arms. Some glanced over at them as Drake and Sara made their way across the car park, the occasional worried frown on their faces. Others stood on the station platform ready for the narrow-gauge train, and others wandered off to the slate museum nearby.
‘Chris Bell, sir.’ The young officer had pimples and a pallid, frightened look. ‘The staff at the hospital found the body. It was dumped behind the building.’
The sound of police sirens filled the air as two more cars arrived.
Two uniformed officers from each car ran over to Drake and Sara.
Drake scanned the various faces. ‘I want a full perimeter established. Nobody gets anywhere near the hospital.’
Heads nodded.
Drake raised a hand towards a footpath that led around the side of the lake. ‘There’s an outcrop over there that leads to a staircase that goes up to the hospital building. One of you go to the top and make certain you stop anybody coming through the forest passing the possible crime scene. Tell them to retrace their steps.’
‘A train is due to leave in the next ten minutes,’ Bell said, clearly wanting Drake to make a decision.
The likelihood of the killer being on the train taking passengers to the end of the lake and back again was remote. But he had a crime scene to secure, a murderer to catch. He couldn’t take chances.
‘Get down and tell them to stop the train. Record the names and addresses of everybody, no exceptions. And get more officers down here straightaway.’ Drake turned to Sara. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
They made their way to the track from the car park up to the hospital. Drake grimaced silently as the gravel and dirt covered his recently cleaned black brogues. And the hems of his trousers would be filthy, so he picked up his pace, blanking out worries about his clothes.
They’d been walking for a couple of minutes when Drake’s mobile rang.
He recognised the voice of Mike Foulds, the crime scene manager from headquarters.
‘Where are you, Mike?’
For the first time in any of his murder inquiries, Drake had been near to the scene when he’d received the initial call. The first twenty-four hours of any case was crucial. But would that make any difference when the crime scene investigators were the key to securing evidence? Even so, it gave Drake a powerful sense of being close to the killer.
‘I should be with you in fifteen minutes.’
Drake turned to Sara. ‘CSIs are on their way.’
Drake hurried on and soon he saw the gable of the hospital. Three people stood outside, anxious faces, nails being chewed.
A uniformed officer emerged from a small enclosure behind a ground-floor annex that abutted the main building. Behind him, Drake noticed several large wheelie bins.
‘Over here, sir.’
Drake strode over towards him. ‘Constable Chris Newland, sir. The body’s over there in the corner.’
Drake edged his way around two wheelie bins, a wooden pallet propped against a side wall and various flattened cardboard boxes.
He stopped as he reached the end, taking everything in. He blanked out the whispered voices behind him, the murmurings of animals and birds in the forest stretching high above him. He scarcely registered Sara’s presence by his side.
The body of a man lay discarded and dumped in a bloody mess. His sweater, stained a deep crimson, suggested he had either been stabbed or shot. The leather jacket looked expensive, the check lining once a delicate buff check now smeared with blood.
‘Is it…?’ Sara said.
‘Give me the photograph.’
Sara passed it over and Drake gave it a long look before stepping nearer the corpse. He held it out and glanced back and forth until he was satisfied.
He stepped back. ‘No question, the face matches.’
‘So we’ve got another trip to see Fiona Jones.’
Drake gave Sara a sharp look, uncertain if he sensed any criticism in her voice. Had he been too short with Fiona Jones? Now he was investigating a murder and his questioning of Fiona Jones would be quite different. She had appeared evasive, but was it more than confusion and raw emotion? Was the report of her husband being missing part of an elaborate ploy? They’d be finding out a lot more about Fiona Jones in due course.
He tilted his head back towards Jones. ‘There’s probably identification on the body. So we’ll wait for the CSIs to do a search.’
Sara nodded.
‘In the meantime let’s go and talk to the person who found him.’
Drake retraced his steps to the gable of the building. The body’s location, in the far corner of the bin enclosure, suggested the killer had lured his victim there. But why was Jones in such an isolated spot? Had he met his killer for a prearranged rendezvous? Or had this been a spur-of-the-moment killing? And if so, why? Their second discussion with Fiona Jones would be quite different from the first, Drake concluded.
He walked over with Sara to Constable Newland, the uniformed officer standing with three people who Drake guessed were the staff of the Quarryman’s Hospital.
Drake spoke to the officer. ‘Who found the body?’
‘Lisa Parry, sir.’ Newland tilted his head at the older woman at the end of the group. Her short curly hair covered an unruly, disorganised face. She sniffed loudly and blew into a tissue.
Drake felt the chill of the early October air. ‘Let’s go inside. It’ll be more comfortable.’ Drake turned to Newland. ‘Just make certain nobody gets anywhere near the crime scene and tell me when the CSIs
arrive.’
The tepid warmth of the hallway in the Quarryman’s Hospital barely took the edge off the autumn temperature. But the worried faces Drake had seen outside relaxed once they were in a familiar environment. He looked at all three in turn. ‘Who was the first to arrive this morning?’
‘I’m the manager,’ the man said. ‘I was here first, about 8:30.’
‘Did you see anything unusual?’
‘No, I don’t think so—’
‘Did you notice anybody else, anybody at all? Early-morning walkers, people taking a stroll, walking the dog?’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t pass anyone. I never do at this time of the year.’
‘Have any of the bins been moved?’
‘I don’t think so.’
He turned again to Lisa. ‘Tell me how you found the body?’
She blinked nervously, shot a glance at the older man and pursed her lips.
‘I was taking some rubbish out to one of the bins – it’s one of my jobs. We’ve been cleaning one of the store rooms and there was lots of old paper and cardboard. And every morning we empty the bins from the day before.’
She paused, composing herself.
‘I took out some cardboard first and then I took out the black bin bags. I was going to the furthest wheelie bin. That’s when I saw his shoe. I couldn’t believe it.’ She put a hand to her mouth, the horror of the memory still raw.
‘Tell me exactly what you remember.’
Lisa stared at Drake. ‘There was blood… And he didn’t move. I just knew.’
‘We’ll need to take detailed statements from you in due course.’ Drake struck a helpful tone. ‘Sergeant Morgan will take down telephone numbers and addresses. If you do remember anything unusual you must contact us.’
Three heads nodded in unison.
‘Do you have CCTV?’ It was a standard question, but Drake had no realistic expectation the place would have any.
‘No,’ the manager said. ‘We’re only a small museum.’
Drake stepped towards a table by the entrance and opened the pages of the visitors’ book. He read the last two entries; a husband and wife from Rotherham thought the place ‘magical’, a woman from Wisconsin had jotted down ‘such a valuable historical record’.
‘Will we be able to open today?’
Drake glanced at him. ‘Of course not, this is a crime scene. We’ll need all your fingerprints in order to eliminate you from the inquiry.’
Now he gazed at three frightened faces.
Drake left the building with Sara and stood for a moment checking his messages. Mike Foulds had been caught up in the same traffic they had experienced earlier. It would be another ten minutes before he’d arrive. Drake made his way over to the ancient red railings that topped a wall in front of a lawned area. He and Sara looked out over the lake.
‘Why was he killed here?’ Sara said.
‘He must have been meeting someone he knew.’
‘Like his wife?’
‘We treat her as a person of interest for sure.’
They both knew that most murders were committed by someone known to the victim.
Drake continued. ‘I got the feeling she was hiding something. Something about Harry or their marriage. We’ll need to tread carefully when we speak to her again.’
A vehicle approached up the roadway, its engine straining in low gear. Drake and Sara retraced their steps to the officer standing wide-legged before the bin enclosure. The scientific support vehicle parked and Mike Foulds jumped out, followed by another investigator.
‘Good morning, Mike.’
‘You got here pronto.’
‘We were in the area.’
‘Really?’
‘We were dealing with a missing person report—,’
‘And you think this body is that misper?’
Drake shrugged. ‘I need you to examine the body for identification.’ Drake motioned for Foulds to follow him towards the crime scene.
Once they reached the bin enclosure Foulds climbed into a one-piece white suit and snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Expertly he dug through all of the pockets in the leather jacket before turning to the trousers. He got to his feet holding a wallet that soon produced a driving licence and a bank card.
‘Harry Jones,’ Foulds announced. ‘Is that who you were expecting?’
Chapter 4
Drake sat in his car while Sara trooped off to organise two coffees from a mobile counter that had ‘Genuine Italian Coffee’ emblazoned in large letters on a banner above it. As she queued, the prospect of her second conversation with Fiona Jones filled her thoughts. Sara blamed Drake’s earlier impoliteness with Fiona on his irritation at being allocated a missing person inquiry. Reaching detective inspector inevitably meant a certain disdain for routine police work, and Sara resolved to take a greater part when they returned to break the bad news to Mrs Jones. Although Drake was her senior officer and vastly more experienced, Sara was convinced she could make a meaningful contribution and put Fiona Jones at ease.
Sara was becoming accustomed to Drake’s idiosyncrasies. The occasional rudeness and intense silences had been difficult to fathom out and she had realised from the way he organised his desk how he obsessed about things.
She reached the counter and ordered a flat white and an Americano for Drake.
Returning to the car, she handed Drake his drink.
‘Thanks.’
‘Do we go and see Fiona Jones straightaway?’
Drake nodded but didn’t say anything.
‘Did you see all the antiques in her house? They must be worth a fortune.’
Drake eased off the top of his drink and gazed down at the surface. Sara immediately thought how fussy he could be about coffee. She had seen him leave dozens of half-filled mugs, sometimes even pushing them away in disgust.
‘She reported him missing very quickly.’ Drake used a tone that suggested he wasn’t looking for a reply.
‘What are you thinking, boss?’ It struck her as normal that a loving wife would report her husband missing even after such a short period. But they were paid to be suspicious.
‘We need to find out everything about Harry Jones. And about his wife too.’
Sara sat finishing her coffee as Drake made various telephone calls. He used formal, clipped terms as he spoke to his superior officer, Superintendent Price. Drake was more informal with operational support when requesting a mobile incident room and additional officers to be made available. Finally, he organised a family liaison officer for Fiona Jones.
‘Do we wait for the pathologist to arrive?’ Sara said.
Drake paused. ‘Not this time, let’s go and speak to Fiona again.’
Once Sara was back in the car after disposing of the plastic coffee mugs in a nearby bin they retraced their short journey to Fiona’s home. Sara worried if she would ever get used to breaking bad news, whether it ever got any easier.
Before he tapped on the door Drake hesitated for a moment, composing himself. The door opened abruptly and Fiona Jones stared at them, wide-eyed.
‘What is it? Have you found him? You’ve only just left.’
‘May we come in?’ Drake said.
Fiona stood in the doorway, her gaze darting from Drake to Sara frantically trying to read their faces. ‘Tell me, tell me now.’
Drake lowered his voice. ‘We need to speak to you inside.’
He stepped over the threshold, forcing Fiona into the house. Sara followed him into the same room they had occupied earlier. A painting on the wall caught her attention – she saw the familiar signature of the late Sir Kyffin Williams, a well-known Welsh artist, guaranteed to be worth tens of thousands of pounds.
Once they were sitting down Drake cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid we have some bad news. We found a body this morning near the Quarryman’s Hospital. The identification from a driving licence confirms it’s your husband.’
Fiona blinked furiously, her eyes watering.
<
br /> ‘There must be some mistake.’
Sara read the despair on the woman’s face; it wasn’t the look of a murderer. It was incredulity and a vain hope this was all a bad dream.
‘I am most terribly sorry,’ Sara said, moving towards Fiona along the sofa they shared. ‘Is there someone we can call to be with you? A family member, perhaps. We’ve already arranged for a specially trained family liaison officer to be with you later.’
Now the tears and sobbing began as the terrible realisation struck home.
‘My sister,’ Fiona croaked. ‘Please call her. My mobile is in the kitchen.’
Sara found it easily enough on the shelves of an old Welsh dresser. Finding a glass, she filled it with water before returning to Fiona who gratefully drank half before fumbling with the mobile and scrolling to her sister’s number. Eventually, Sara spoke to her, telling her she was needed urgently.
‘Mrs Jones, we do need to ask you some questions about your husband,’ Drake said.
Fiona nodded.
‘Do you know of anyone who might want to kill him?’
She doubled up in anguish as though someone had kicked her hard in the midriff. The word kill upset her. Sara wanted to shake Drake. At least he could have been a little bit more sensitive.
‘Did he have any enemies?’ Sara added.
‘He ran a shop, and he was involved in all sorts of things, and he was on the parish council. I hardly ever saw him.’
Drake continued. ‘Where was his shop?’
‘In the village. Michael works for him.’
‘We’ll need the address. And when we spoke earlier you mentioned a council meeting. Do you know the name of the secretary?’
Fiona looked up and gave Drake a blank look. Sara sympathised with Fiona’s anguish so she decided to seize the initiative before Drake asked a tactless question about Fiona’s whereabouts the evening before.
‘Mrs Jones.’ Fiona moved her gaze to Sara. ‘We have to establish your husband’s movements last night so that we can get a clear picture of where he had been and who he was with. As part of that process we need to know where you were last night. It’s just the routine inquiries we have to make.’ Sara tilted her head and smiled at Fiona.
A Time to Kill Page 2