A Time to Kill

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘The DCS from Birmingham is sending me a briefing memorandum. Once we get that we’ll pay Mr Perdue a visit.’

  Winder piped up. ‘I’ve had confirmation that the supermarket assistant where Harry bought the wine and flowers is working today. I was going to interview her later.’

  Drake nodded, his mind still thinking about Richard Perdue.

  Luned looked up. ‘And Harry Jones has a lot of cash going through his business. He was making regular deposits into the bank. Perhaps he was laundering money.’

  ‘We’ll need more details. Talk to one of the lads in economic crime – maybe they can assist.’

  ‘A copy of Harry Jones’s will arrived, sir,’ Luned added. ‘And I’ve put together a spreadsheet of the properties he owned.’

  ‘Anything of interest?’

  ‘One is owned jointly with a woman called Nancy Brown.’

  Drake focused his attention on Luned. It was another new name associated with Harry Jones. ‘Do we know anything about her?’

  ‘Nothing. And I haven’t been able to find a telephone number for her.’

  ‘Where is the property?’

  ‘It’s in a village outside Bangor.’

  Drake glanced at his watch. It made sense to see Nancy Brown, unravel another loose end in the life of Harry Jones.

  ‘Give me the address and I’ll go and see her.’

  Sara stood up and reached for her jacket, but Drake held his hand up.

  ‘You stay here for the rest of the afternoon. I’ve got a commitment later in Bangor so it suits me to go over there.’ He glanced over at Winder. ‘And email me the supermarket details – I’ll call there too.’

  Drake ignored Sara’s disappointment and went over to his office. He left headquarters after emailing an updated progress report to Superintendent Price.

  Thick grey clouds covered the sky as Drake drove over to Nancy Brown’s home, but it was dry and the traffic was light. Despite the weather he smiled to himself. He felt like a teenager on a first date, but he was in his mid-forties, divorced with two daughters, harbouring piles of letters from lawyers about the financial arrangements – and it was the first time in twenty years he had a date. He worried what she might think of him, what she thought of police officers. Anxiety took over as he brooded over the possibility that his texts had been taken out of context. Surely he’d made it clear he wanted to see Annie Jenkins again not simply to learn about the history of the North Wales slate quarrying industry.

  Imagining what Helen and Megan might say filled him with conflicting emotions. Was it apprehension? Or fear at what they might say and how they might react. A doubt crept into his mind that he was doing the right thing. A grudging acceptance replaced it, though; he now had to move on with his life, even if the tone of the lawyer’s letters made him feel guilty. Sian’s secrecy about her plans for the previous weekend forced him to realise she was making her own way in life, forging new friendships. Even so, he still fretted about who she was with.

  Drake struggled to find the address where Nancy Brown lived. The postcode appeared to be inaccurate as it led him off down a narrow country lane. A tractor followed him towards a farmyard where Drake planned to turn round but when the tractor stopped and the driver got out and trudged off into a field Drake despaired – he would be late. He jumped out and ran off into the field, shouting after the driver but to no avail. The man vaulted over the gate into another field and Drake broke into sweat as he hurried.

  Eventually he caught up with the man near an old barn.

  ‘Who are you?’

  Drake’s breathing was laboured. ‘You’ve blocked me in.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The tractor.’ Now he produced his warrant card. ‘Just move the bloody thing.’

  Back in his car Drake switched off the satnav and threw it into the backseat. He was hot and sticky and hoped that he could calm down before seeing Annie. First, he had to speak to Nancy Brown.

  Retracing his steps back to the main road he asked a man walking his dog for directions, who pointed to a house that Drake had passed once already – no number or name – and Drake cursed silently. He parked nearby and walked over. A silver Vauxhall Astra stood in the drive – six years old, alloys, recently cleaned judging from the absence of dirt around the wheel arches.

  Drake didn’t have long to wait after he’d pressed the doorbell.

  ‘Nancy Brown?’

  ‘Yes.’ The woman gave Drake a puzzled frown. She inspected his warrant card carefully before he replaced it in his jacket pocket. He could see the realisation in her eyes about the purpose of his visit.

  ‘May I come in?’

  Nancy led him into a comfortable sitting room at the front of the house. The furniture looked modern. Nancy sat down and waved towards a sofa. Her chestnut hair fell loosely over her shoulders and Drake guessed that she was in her early fifties, although her sagging jaw line, vertical lines over her upper lip and the heavy crow’s feet suggested age had been unkind to her.

  ‘I’m investigating the murder of Harry Jones.’

  Nancy blinked rapidly. Drake stared over more keenly now. She looked grey, a sad gloomy grey, the sort of grey a death in the family causes.

  ‘Can you tell me the nature of your relationship with Harry?’

  ‘I was his common-law wife.’

  Drake hadn’t heard this description for several years. It was meaningless, of course, having no legal effect, but obviously it gave Nancy a false sense of respectability, Drake thought. She might well have used partner or girlfriend or maybe even mistress. What would Fiona think about Nancy’s revelation? She’d probably stonewall them if they asked her.

  ‘So, tell me about your relationship with Harry Jones?’ Drake struck an emollient inquisitive tone.

  ‘We lived together.’

  Ordinarily he would have challenged such a bald statement, knowing that Fiona Jones had a respectable life as Harry’s lawful wife in a substantial home in Llanberis with antiques and valuable paintings on the wall. Nancy Brown was another part of Harry Jones’s life they needed to understand.

  Nancy found a handkerchief from her bag and blew her nose noisily.

  ‘I can’t believe he’s gone.’ Nancy gazed down at her lap. ‘How did he… I mean, did he suffer?’

  ‘There are some things I can’t discuss with you. Could you tell me a little more about your relationship with Harry? I need to establish everything I can about his background. And I’m sure you can help.’ Drake smiled.

  Nancy squinted over at him. ‘He bought me this house. He would come and… visit me.’

  For a moment Drake regretted Sara wasn’t with him. He could only imagine her reaction to Nancy Brown. Would it be incredulity or disgust?

  ‘What do you do for a living?’ Drake said.

  Nancy’s mouth fell open and she looked over at Drake astonished. ‘I… Harry… would look after me. I mean he paid for everything.’

  Drake paused, before deciding that ‘kept woman’ would be a better description for this middle-aged lady.

  ‘How long have you been in a relationship with Harry Jones?’

  She changed her position on the chair, clearing her throat at the same time, giving her the chance to compose herself.

  ‘It will be fifteen years next month.’

  ‘Fifteen years,’ Drake said, unable to hide the amazement in his voice.

  Nancy pouted. ‘We loved each other.’

  Drake continued. ‘When did you see him last?’

  Nancy gathered her thoughts together. ‘It was a couple of days before he was killed.’

  Drake stared over at her. ‘Where were you on the night Harry was murdered?’

  Nancy didn’t look up but fixed her gaze at a spot on the carpet at the far end of the room. ‘I was here all night, watching television.’

  Suspicion invaded Drake’s mind. Everything about her domestic arrangements was odd but was it enough to justify his suspicions? He glanced at h
is watch; the tractor fiasco meant he had little time to spare and he didn’t want to be late meeting Annie.

  ‘Did you know anything about his business?’

  Nancy shook her head.

  ‘Did he ever discuss his family? His wife?’

  ‘I never wanted anything different.’

  ‘We’ll need to take a detailed statement from you in due course.’

  Nancy nodded. ‘What’s happening? I mean, have you found who killed him? I don’t know what’s going to happen next.’

  Drake threaded the fingers of both his hands together. There was something rather sad about Nancy Brown and the whole set-up with Harry Jones. But was there more to this woman? Harry was her only source of income so why would she kill him? Suspecting her made no sense. But Drake was paid to be suspicious. ‘I suggest you get some legal advice.’

  Nancy Brown choked back the tears.

  Drake got to his feet. ‘Thank you for your time. I’ll get one of my officers to come and take a statement from you.’

  Outside Drake sat in his car digesting what he had learned, thinking how much more they had to discover about the mysterious Harry Jones.

  Chapter 16

  Drake arrived early at the restaurant. He parked and sat in the car for a few moments looking out over the Menai Strait. A yacht, sails furled, was taking advantage of the north-bound current. A young couple in their twenties, in skinny jeans and colourful tops, sauntered past hand-in-hand exchanging a new-lovers smile. He reached for his mobile telephone and found the messages he’d sent Annie. He could still remember the warmth of her smile, the way her eyes lit up. The first message suggested they might meet for dinner. He had even added he was keen to learn more about the history of slate mining in North Wales. It made him cringe. Texting had a certain anonymity that didn’t replace the intimacy of a nervous telephone call or a face-to-face request for a date. When he read the second and third messages again he smothered the urge to drive off, to send her another message that he had been called away.

  It was too late to change his mind.

  He was old enough to deal with the embarrassment.

  Glancing in the rear-view mirror he decided to discard his tie, too formal-police-officer mode. Nobody wears ties any more in restaurants, Drake reassured himself. Wanting to make certain he arrived before Annie, he left the car and made his way to the entrance.

  A girl with an enormous pair of spectacles checked his name off a list. When Drake explained that Annie had yet to arrive she asked him to wait by the bar. He sat on a wooden stool and surveyed the tables. Scanning the few other diners, Drake realised that even tie-less he was overdressed. He ordered a beer, scrutinising the menu without paying it much attention.

  What was the protocol for the greeting? Should he take the initiative and kiss her on the cheek? Or was that too forward? And at the end of the evening? Another thing that troubled him was whether it should be a kiss on both cheeks. Brits only did one, Drake concluded, although his sister had adopted the continental habit of kissing on both.

  He would have to tell her about Helen and Megan, of course. Did he tell her about his marriage or Sian? He hoped he could find a way without blurting it out. Halfway through a glass of beer he realised he was drinking too quickly. Nerves had torn to shreds the small talk he had been rehearsing for the past few hours. A barman looked over at him clearly hopeful of another sale, but he ignored him.

  Drake scrambled to his feet as he saw Annie walking towards him.

  She beamed; he smiled back.

  The sleeveless red dress fitted flawlessly; a discreet bangle hung from a chain around her neck. Drake could only guess at the time Annie had taken with her make-up because she looked sensational. Drake found himself staring at her. She spared him the trouble of deciding on the right protocol by placing a hand on his right arm and giving his left cheek a glancing kiss.

  Annie pulled herself onto the stool next to Drake and crossed her legs, displaying a perfectly proportioned amount of well-toned thigh.

  ‘Have you been waiting long?’

  ‘No, I haven’t been here long. Just enough for a mouthful of beer.’ Drake reached for his glass, hoping he didn’t sound too nervous.

  A waiter came over to tell them their table was ready, and Annie followed him towards a table in the window looking out over the Strait. Drake noticed the modest heels that accentuated her legs. They exchanged small talk as they read the menus, exchanging comments about the selection of starters, remarks about the various main courses.

  ‘Have you been here before?’ Annie said.

  Drake seized the opportunity. ‘About a year ago. I brought my daughters here with my mum.’

  A sense of achievement came to his mind. He had told her early about Helen and Megan. Now he’d have to deal with her questions.

  ‘How old are your daughters?’

  ‘Helen is ten and Megan is eight. I’ve been separated some time.’

  ‘It must be lovely having children.’

  ‘Do you have any family?’

  ‘No. I’ve been too busy with my career I suppose.’

  A waiter appearing at their table brought the conversation to a natural close.

  Drake settled on the liver pâté – one of his favourites – while Annie chose an assorted seafood starter. Gradually his tension relaxed as small talk came easily enough. She smiled broadly, laughed at his occasional lame jokes and he realised she was treating it as a proper date. Her move to Bangor was recent. A professor at the history department had died earlier in the year, which meant a reorganisation that allowed them to advertise for a new lecturer. Her interest in the slate mining communities of North Wales made the role a perfect choice.

  ‘I wanted a change from Swansea University,’ Annie said, running a granary roll around the edge of her plate.

  ‘Have you worked at Bangor before?’

  Annie shook her head. ‘After graduating from Oxford I returned to Wales and I did a PhD in Cardiff.’

  Drake couldn’t remember meeting a doctor of history before.

  ‘What did you study at university?’

  It pleased Drake that she automatically assumed he had studied before joining the police force – although not all senior officers were graduates.

  ‘I read international politics at Aberystwyth.’

  Annie did a double-take. ‘Really? That’s a very well-thought-of department.’

  He could see her mind thinking, why join the police force?

  A waiter returned to their table to clear away the empty starter plates and she leaned forward.

  ‘Did you always want to be a police officer?’

  Drake couldn’t recall when he last discussed with anyone his educational achievements or his decision to join the Wales Police Service. It felt refreshing, as though he was rebooting his own personality, adding to it, making himself more relevant. He enjoyed it.

  ‘Are there a lot of police officers in your family?’ Annie continued.

  ‘My parents ran a smallholding near Caernarfon, although my father is dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry, he must have been quite young.’

  Drake reached out to move his knife a few millimetres.

  ‘He died of cancer. It was all a shock and very sudden. After leaving university I wasn’t certain what to do. Some of my friends went to work in public relations or for various political parties. I suppose I wanted to make a difference, I know it’s a cliché, but I wanted to help catch the bad guys.’

  A waiter returned with steaks and bowls of salad and French fries.

  Drake and Annie took a brief hiatus from gathering information about each other, at least for a couple of mouthfuls.

  ‘My grandfather ran a farm in Carmarthenshire,’ Annie said.

  She shared with Drake details about her family in an unhurried, unforced way and Drake relaxed, enjoying listening to her. Her father worked as a civil servant with the Welsh government and he was retiring in three years. Annie rolled her eyes when
she added that having her father at home would drive her mother mad.

  Drake polished off his steak, regretting how quickly the evening was passing.

  He finished a second glass of beer while Annie drank a glass of Merlot. The waiter cleared the dishes and then returned with the dessert menu. Drake shooed him away, telling him to return in a few minutes.

  ‘Do you enjoy being a policeman?’

  It wasn’t a question Drake had asked himself for years.

  ‘I enjoy the challenges. I don’t enjoy all the paperwork and form-filling and politics that goes with the job.’

  It struck him that so much of what he did was routine.

  ‘It must be terribly exciting when you get a murder case. Have you found out who killed Harry Jones?’

  An innocent enough question: his mother would often ask them.

  ‘We are pursuing our usual lines of inquiry.’

  Annie giggled, covering her mouth with a hand. ‘You sound like someone from one of those television crime dramas.’

  Drake blushed and stammered a reply. ‘I’m sorry… you trot out the same replies.’

  Annie excused him with a tut-tut. ‘I understand.’

  ‘So, tell me why Llanberis is so interesting for historians.’

  Annie’s face lit up. ‘The slate mining industry had a massive impact on the history of North Wales. At one point the Dinorwig quarry employed thousands of men. There are some lovely walks around the inclines and the tracks where the men worked.’

  ‘I went up there years ago as a boy.’

  Annie gazed over at him open-eyed. ‘You must go again. I’ll organise to take you one weekend.’ She smiled at him. ‘I can show you the Anglesey barracks where men stayed during the week.’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘It’s amazing,’ Annie continued. ‘To think there is a huge hydroelectric scheme in the middle of the mountain. And they were thinking of establishing a second one in the old Glyn Rhonwy quarry before the plans for that adventure playground.’