A Time to Kill

by Stephen Puleston

  Fiona shook her head. Drake paused, unnerved by her indifference. Was it behaviour she expected from Richard Perdue?

  ‘You don’t seem surprised. Have you met Richard Perdue?’

  Another shake of the head. ‘I think Harry was afraid of him. I don’t think he wanted to do business with him any longer.’

  ‘We need to know what sort of business he was doing.’ Drake lowered his voice. ‘It really is important, Fiona.’

  ‘I don’t know. I wish I could tell you. But it’s not going to bring Harry back, is it?’

  Drake drank more of his coffee after nodding to Sara for her to continue. Hopefully she’d have more luck asking Fiona about the mystery woman recorded on the CCTV from Harry’s office.

  ‘I want to ask you about this person.’ Sara pushed a static image over the table.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘We were hoping you could tell us. This is a printout from the CCTV coverage.’

  Fiona inspected the photograph. She made a good job of hiding any recognition, Drake concluded. He didn’t notice any flicker of acknowledgement in her eyes.

  ‘Were you aware your husband was having a relationship with this woman?’

  Again, Fiona’s eyes didn’t flicker; her face didn’t respond. Drake glanced over at Sara; her puckered brow told Drake she shared his frustration.

  ‘He…’

  Drake wanted to butt in but decided against it when Sara moved her empty coffee cup to one side and lowered her voice. ‘It must be difficult, Fiona, but it is important if you can share with us as much information as you can.’

  ‘Harry was a good husband.’

  Now Sara drew a long breath. ‘On the afternoon that he died we understand he was in a local supermarket where he bought flowers and a bottle of wine. Do you know who that was for?’

  ‘I don’t think I can add anything else.’ Fiona sat back, threaded the fingers of both hands together, and gazed at the floor.

  Drake stood up. ‘We may need to speak to you again, Mrs Jones.’ He nodded at Sara, trying to hide his annoyance, and left the kitchen. On the driveway he stopped and turned to Sara.

  ‘She’s hiding something.’

  ‘It could be she wants to blank out the truth about her husband.’

  ‘Or else she killed him.’

  Drake’s mobile rang as he started the car and he fished it out of his jacket pocket.

  ‘Drake.’

  ‘Area control. You’re needed at a possible crime scene. There are reports of shots being fired.’

  Chapter 13

  Drake didn’t wait for the anonymous voice to give him instructions or tell him the postcode. He tossed the handset at Sara and slammed the car into first gear.

  ‘There’s been a report of gunfire at the bomb storage facility.’

  ‘Christ, is anyone hurt or—?’

  ‘I don’t know. Armed officers are en route.’

  Drake flashed his lights and sounded the horn at a car dawdling in front of him. He overtook and luckily the road was clear and he raced on.

  The tyres screeched as he pulled into the junction for the bomb storage facility. He parked next to a marked police car. Two uniformed officers stood talking with a civilian.

  The younger of the two looked relieved when he saw Drake walking up to them.

  ‘This is Colin Paterson, sir.’ The officer glanced at a forty-year-old, slim built, ashen-faced, wearing jeans and a fleece top under a red hiking jacket.

  Paterson nodded at Drake.

  ‘Has anybody been injured?’ Drake said.

  ‘No, sir,’ the same officer replied.

  Immediately Drake felt relieved. ‘So, tell me what happened?’

  ‘I was getting set up down there.’ Paterson threw a glance over his shoulder. ‘I’d been commissioned by this website to take photographs of abandoned and out-of-the-way places in Wales. Apparently, people like to explore them. Gives them a buzz, that sort of thing.

  ‘It’s a hell of a scramble to get down. I had my tripod and my camera and various lenses. I had taken a few images from the far end – the graffiti on the front of the buildings makes a great image. I decided to move over towards the entrance and that’s when I heard someone moving. I could swear I heard breaking glass.

  ‘I thought it was somebody poking around. There are photographs of the place all over Facebook. I even thought that another pair of hands might help with some special effects.’

  Paterson paused for a moment, clearly shaken. ‘Someone shouted at me. Telling me to get out.’

  ‘Was it a man or woman?’

  Paterson shrugged.

  ‘Can you remember exactly what was said?’

  ‘It was something like “leave me alone”. At first I thought it was a bit of a joke.’ Paterson stopped.

  Drake heard a police siren in the distance and guessed the armed response vehicle was approaching. Drake turned back to Paterson who sipped from a bottle of water. ‘What happened next?’

  ‘I carried on. I took some photographs on the outside and walked over to the tunnel entrance. Then the voice shouted “fuck off out of here” and a second later there was a shot and a bullet flew past my head. I was petrified. So I picked up my rucksack and ran. I scratched my hands scrambling out of the place.’ He held out bloodied and bruised hands.

  ‘How many shots did you hear?’

  ‘I can’t be certain. Two, maybe.’

  Paterson took another mouthful of water. ‘What’s going to happen to my kit? My camera is worth three grand.’

  Paterson’s equipment would stay exactly where it was, at least for the next few hours. The siren grew louder now and moments later a Series 5 BMW swept into the car park throwing up a cloud of dust as it braked. Two officers emerged; each nodded at Drake and Sara. It took them seconds to get their semi-automatic carbines readied before they joined Drake.

  * * *

  Once the armed response unit declared the place safe Drake scrambled down the rocks and gravel followed by the CSI team that had arrived while the armed officers finished their search. His brogues could be scuffed or, worse, scratched and it would mean cleaning them carefully before he could wear them again, so he took his time finding careful footholds.

  At the bottom, he dusted off his trousers vigorously. Trees clung to the side of the facility and weeds thrust their way through the concrete at his feet. Along one side was the remains of a narrow-gauge railway that headed off into the tunnels that led underground. At the far end arched concrete sections identified where the Royal Air Force had stored their ordnance during the Second World War. Street artists had been busy daubing the walls with words and letters in a dozen colours.

  ‘Why would someone take a pot shot at a photographer?’ Sara said. She had managed to negotiate the screed of loose gravel more successfully than Drake. Behind her the two crime scene investigators dumped their bags of equipment by their feet.

  ‘No wonder he was terrified.’ Drake surveyed the surroundings. ‘It’s pretty desolate around here.’

  ‘Why would someone try and frighten him off?’

  ‘We could easily be looking at an attempted murder here.’

  Sara nodded.

  ‘Let’s take a look around,’ Drake said.

  The Ministry of Defence must have simply dumped the waste rock they had just scrambled down in a vain hope it would keep out trespassers. Rocks and gravel hit the ground behind Drake as Colin Paterson was the last to join them. More colour had returned to his cheeks.

  Drake imagined the place as a whirlwind of activity in the war with ordnance arriving for storage deep in the bowels of the mountain. Now it was forlorn, neglected, ignored by its owners for decades. As he neared the entrance he could see a tripod and camera equipment standing upright, presumably where Paterson had left them. A shoulder bag with a bottle of water pushed into a side compartment lay to one side.

  Drake turned to Paterson. ‘I need you to remember everything that happened here.’


  Paterson gave a nervous twitch before turning his head and nodding to an area behind his equipment. ‘I was over there when I started taking photographs.’

  ‘Show me,’ Drake said.

  They followed Paterson and when he stopped they turned to look back in the direction of the tripod and over towards the entrance of the tunnels. ‘I took quite a few low shots from here. This is where I first heard the sound of movement. I didn’t pay it much attention at the start.’

  Paterson moved a few steps and paused, looking around as though he was smelling the atmosphere. ‘I took some images from here, I changed my lens, added some filters hoping I could get more character into the photographs.’

  ‘Did you hear anything while you were standing here?’

  Paterson frowned. ‘No, it was quiet.’

  Back at the camera and tripod, Paterson reached up a hand, but before he could touch the camera, Drake raised his voice. ‘Don’t touch anything.’ Paterson looked over, shocked. Drake nodded at one of the investigators who dumped his bag by the tripod’s legs before snapping on a pair of latex gloves and starting the process of dusting for fingerprints.

  ‘Was it here that you heard the shouting?’

  Paterson nodded. ‘And the sound of breaking glass.’

  ‘Where did the sound come from?’

  Paterson didn’t reply; he motioned with his head unconvincingly towards the entrance where the railway tracks disappeared underground.

  ‘You stay here,’ Drake said to Paterson. He nodded for the second crime scene investigator to follow him and Sara. They walked over and peered down into the tunnel. Drake took a few steps inside.

  ‘What are we looking for, boss?’ Sara said.

  ‘There were two shots. So if he used a rifle there is a chance he didn’t collect the empty shells.’

  It was easy to imagine the place being an attraction for children, drunks or even someone sleeping rough, but Drake couldn’t ignore the fact that Harry Jones’s death had been linked to his support for the redevelopment plans for the site. Was the firearms incident today mere coincidence or did it hold more significance to Harry’s murder?

  ‘But Harry Jones was killed with a revolver.’

  ‘I know, but…’

  Drake and Sara made their way slowly down underground, kicking the occasional stone and plastic bottle to one side, and as the light faded, a murky gloom wrapped itself around them. Eventually they used their mobile telephones to illuminate the concrete at their feet.

  ‘Do you think we should get a full search team?’ Sara said.

  Drake stopped, drawing himself straight from the artificial crouched position he’d adopted to scan the floor.

  ‘Two shooting incidents in Llanberis within a week of each other is too much of a coincidence.’ Drake held up his smartphone, illuminating the walls. He caught the faint whiff of charcoal. Local kids would probably use the place for an impromptu barbecue, Drake thought.

  The crime scene investigator was already a few yards ahead of Drake and Sara when he stopped and knelt. He scrambled in his bag for a pair of latex gloves. ‘There’s some glass over here.’

  Drake and Sara hurried over and saw the fragments of a bottle lying next to some shrivelled-up cardboard. But once they focused on the concrete at their feet, glass shards glistened in the dirt.

  ‘We’ll need a full search team.’ Drake cast a glance further down into the darkness and then back over his shoulders. ‘The shooter could still be here hiding in the bowels of this place. And we can’t rule out a connection to Harry Jones’s death. So, we treat this place like a crime scene.’

  Retracing their steps Drake squinted against the sunshine as they emerged from the tunnel. The wall of screed and rock seemed the only way out so there was a chance he was right about the shooter. Finishing a call to operational support formally requesting a full forensic search team, he turned to the armed officers.

  ‘I’ll need you to stay. The shooter could be hiding somewhere inside.’ He jerked his head at the tunnel entrance. Both firearms officers tightened their grip on their weapons and nodded.

  Drake strode away, Sara and Paterson following behind him. He emerged at the top and repeated the dusting down of his trouser hem. Drake made his way back to his car. Little had gone according to plan that day. A firearm had been discharged and he needed to establish who had pulled the trigger. It meant Harry Jones’s killer was too far ahead of them and that only hardened the tightness in Drake’s chest, a sign of his inner frustration.

  He started the engine and headed for the A55 and back to headquarters.

  * * *

  Sara draped her jacket over the back of her chair and slumped down, gratefully accepting Luned’s offer to make coffee. Drake had gone straight into his room clutching his mobile phone in his hand. Something had amused him from the message he’d received as he had smiled broadly, ignoring Sara’s presence.

  Sara had stopped Winder mid-sentence when he enquired about the events earlier that afternoon – he’d have to be patient. Sara wasn’t going to repeat herself for his sake. Luned returned with coffees and a plate of digestive biscuits. Quickly Sara demolished one before starting on a second. She paused and drank a mouthful of coffee. She was about to start an explanation when Drake emerged. He reached the board and faced the team.

  ‘There was a shooting earlier today in the bomb storage facility.’

  Winder and Luned nodded, both eager to hear what had happened.

  ‘Anybody injured, sir?’ Winder said.

  ‘No, thankfully.’

  ‘Is it linked to the Harry Jones case?’ It had taken a while for Sara to become accustomed to Luned’s accent. It reminded Sara of actors from S4C, the Welsh television channel, which she watched occasionally hoping to brush up on her Welsh language skills.

  ‘I don’t like the coincidence of two shootings in Llanberis in a matter of days of each other. It’s not the Bronx, after all.’

  It struck Sara that Drake’s attempt at humour was unusual. She took another mouthful of coffee and waited for him to continue.

  ‘There’s a full search team there at the moment. We’ll be treating it as an attempted murder. So, let’s hope there’ll be some forensics.’ Drake glanced over at Winder. ‘In the meantime, have you had any luck with chasing down more information on Perdue?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to a couple of the intelligence lads.’

  Sara guessed that meant a long lunch or at the very least several hours away from the Incident Room.

  ‘He’s featured a lot in a number of previous inquiries. There was a spate of burglaries of large detached properties in isolated spots several years ago. He was implicated in handling some valuable pieces of furniture but nothing could be proved. Since his conviction he’s been very careful.

  ‘What I did learn, boss,’ Winder continued, ‘is that some of the items we recovered from the lock-up owned by Harry Jones were stolen from stately homes all over the Midlands and the West of England.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’ve made contacts with the serious crime teams in three forces and they’ve promised to get back to me soon as possible.’

  Drake cast a glance at the board behind him. ‘So, it looks like Harry Jones was connected with some heavy players. How did he fall under our radar?’

  Sara had finished her coffee, and the benefit of the hot drink and two digestives invigorated her.

  ‘We need to look in more detail at the development of the bomb storage facility,’ Drake said. ‘Tomorrow we’ll talk to the objectors at the meeting the night Harry Jones was killed and then to the Big Thrill Company who are behind the proposal.’

  ‘Do you think there’s a connection, boss?’ Winder sounded puzzled.

  ‘I don’t like coincidences.’

  Drake’s comment didn’t invite a response from any of them. For a few seconds he stood staring at the board before his mobile bleeped. Sara paid it more attention than she would have normally, and Drake hurried a
way, looking energised, pleased with himself.

  She wasted no time in hanging around the Incident Room any longer than she had to. Several routine emails were deleted and invitations to various training courses earmarked for discussion with Drake once the inquiry was over. Most detectives wouldn’t have bothered to accompany crime scene investigators in the bomb storage facility and it was typical of Drake to spend that extra time.

  Sara followed Winder and Luned out of the building exchanging small talk as they walked over to their cars. Once home she went straight for the bedroom and changed into her running kit before doing some warm-up exercises on the patio outside while deciding on the length of her run. It always helped her clear her mind, unwind effectively and ensure she had a decent night’s sleep.

  Chapter 14

  Harry Jones’s death had shaken Luned Thomas. It was a little too close to home for her liking. Her mother had been born in Llanberis and she remembered visiting the village as a child. She had found it difficult to detach herself from the community and look at the events through the prism of her training as a police officer. In the days after the killing she had dwelled on the circumstances, waking at night, the investigation invading her thoughts. It hadn’t helped that a few weeks earlier she had visited the Quarryman’s Hospital with her nieces from Adelaide.

  Being familiar with the location of a murder makes it more real, Luned thought. Her mother had called her the same evening as the news broke about Harry Jones, and Luned had wanted to sound cool and professional but her mother’s rising anxiety had played on her mind.

  Yesterday she had spent far too long tracking down the lawyers who had prepared Harry’s will. At first, they had refused to speak to her. After telling an aggressive-sounding secretary that it really was important, she had to listen to a lecture from a pompous lawyer explaining that he would need Fiona’s written instructions.

  That morning she detoured via Llanberis on her way into work to get Fiona’s signature, before visiting Fiona’s mother to confirm all the details of the woman’s alibi for the evening of Harry’s murder.