A Time to Kill

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘The boss said you’d call,’ Sioned said, joining Drake. ‘We’re going to start lunch soon. It can get really busy.’

  ‘I’m in charge of the Harry Jones inquiry and I need help to find someone.’

  ‘I can try. Everyone is talking about it and now with the second murder, it’s terrible.’ Sioned lowered her voice. ‘Nobody likes Fiona Jones very much. I think she’s a bit stuck-up.’

  From an envelope Drake pulled out the photograph of the girl they had to trace.

  ‘We need to find this girl.’

  Sioned gazed at the figure. ‘Lots of people come in here. She looks sort of familiar. She might have been here on a Thursday evening for the Pie and Pint Night. It’s always rammed because it’s so cheap.’

  Sioned stared at the girl again and frowned.

  ‘We could ask some of the other staff.’

  Sioned jerked her head at Drake for him to follow her as she eased herself off the stool. ‘They’ll be having a sandwich before lunch service – you can ask them all.’

  A group of four girls and a youth in his early twenties sat around a table eating a plate of sandwiches while intermittently dipping into a bowl full of crisps. Only one of the girls looked up at Drake while two of the others played on their mobiles.

  ‘This is Detective Inspector Drake.’ Sioned’s announcement got their attention.

  Chewing stopped and five pairs of eyes fixed on Drake.

  ‘I’m investigating the murder of Harry Jones and we need to talk to this girl.’

  The first girl gave the image a cursory glance. The second took more time but the third quickly passed it on until it reached the man at the end who dropped his mobile onto the table. He stared at it and then dipped his head, squinting his eyes.

  ‘She’s been in a couple of times.’

  ‘Do you know her name?’ Drake hoped he was hiding the urgency in his voice.

  ‘Sorry. But you should talk to Emyr. He was with her.’

  The man got back to texting. Now Drake raised his voice. ‘This is a murder inquiry. Where can I find Emyr?’

  The man sneered.

  ‘What’s your name? I need to know the name of anyone who obstructs a police inquiry.’

  ‘All right. Fuck’s sake. He lives down near the old mill.’

  ‘I think you can come with me and give me directions.’

  He squirmed in his chair. ‘What and miss my shift?’ He glanced over at the bar. ‘I’ll get the sack.’

  Drake gave him a weak smile. ‘Then I want an address and a number.’

  The man snatched at the mobile and frantically scrolled until he found a number he dictated to Drake. He gave semi-garbled instructions for the property where Emyr lived. ‘Can I go?’

  ‘Off you go,’ Drake said.

  The girls exchanged amused glances as he scurried off.

  Drake hurried out to his car, leaving Sioned frowning at the door of the pub. His annoyance turned to anger that the sergeant in charge of Llanberis and his officers hadn’t been able to trace Emyr, and he composed the outline of an email complaining and demanding an explanation. He shot past a junction across from a dilapidated building and, remembering the instructions to turn right, he braked hard. The road took him down a narrow track that eventually widened by a bridge; a rusty telephone kiosk stood near an old property tucked onto the bank of a river.

  He pulled the car into a weed-infested driveway. The main door was slightly ajar. He called out – no response. Drake thought about calling the mobile number he’d been given but when he heard music he shouted Emyr’s name.

  He pushed the door open and ventured inside.

  Thick walls and small rooms with limited headroom gave the place an oppressive feel. A parlour had two small windows opposite each other; a log burner filled the room with a dry, warm heat. By its side were piles of logs.

  The sound of a television drifted in through the open door in the corner. Drake assumed Emyr was the man playing a videogame on an enormous screen hanging on the wall. He gave a start when he saw Drake and jumped to his feet.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  Emyr peered at Drake’s warrant card. He had small eyes and a blotched complexion.

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

  ‘What about him?’

  Emyr stood now, feet apart. Drake needed this man’s cooperation and having him strutting like a prizefighter wasn’t going to help. Drake sat down, resting an envelope on his knees. ‘I believe you may be able to help.’ Drake nodded at the chair Emyr had vacated. Emyr shrugged before sinking back into it, allowing his legs to splay like a man sitting on the toilet.

  A softening-up question first: ‘Did you know Harry Jones?’

  ‘Yeh, sort of. Everyone knew HP. He gave me some jobs years back.’

  Drake pulled out the photograph and handed it Emyr. ‘Do you recognise this woman?’

  ‘Might do. Is she in trouble? Fuck me – you don’t think she killed HP do you?’

  ‘You were seen with her in the Fox and Hounds.’

  Emyr gazed at the photo. Drake leaned forward. ‘I need a name, Emyr.’

  ‘Where was this taken?’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘It’s Carol.’

  Progress. He needed an address or at least a contact number.

  ‘Where can I find her? Do you have her mobile number?’

  Emyr still stared at the girl. ‘Was HP shagging her too?’

  The youngster knew more about Carol than he was letting on, and Drake wondered how he might get him to cooperate.

  ‘Is she your girlfriend?’

  Emyr guffawed. ‘She stood me up. We were supposed to meet up one night last week but she never showed up. Made me feel like a right fucking lemon.’ Emyr continued. ‘Harry couldn’t keep his hands off anyone. If it had a pulse it was fair game. He was shagging that German bloke’s bird wasn’t he?’

  Drake didn’t stop Emyr, sensing more to come.

  ‘That’s why Fiona smashed her car up wasn’t it?’

  ‘So tell me what happened the night you were stood up by Carol.’ Engaging Emyr might help him volunteer Carol’s number.

  ‘I saw Harry. Him and that German. He was shouting like someone demented.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Last week.’

  Drake leaned forward. It had already been almost two weeks since Harry had been killed so he needed an exact date. ‘Can you be more precise about when?’

  Emyr shrugged before a recollection triggered a response. ‘I missed Man Utd’s FA Cup fixture to see her. I got back here in time for the second half.’

  Drake reached for his mobile and googled the Premiership side’s fixtures.

  He had to read the date twice before it sunk in. It was the evening that Harry Jones had been killed. He gazed over at Emyr. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve been following Man Utd since I was a kid.’

  Drake focused on what else Emyr had told him. He had to take this slowly, getting to the truth. ‘What do you mean “that German”?’

  ‘It was that fucking German. I saw him in the car park having a go at HP.’

  ‘Wolfgang Muller?’

  ‘Yes, he’s a real shit-bag.’ Emyr spat out the reply.

  ‘Did you hear what they said?’

  Emyr shook his head. ‘They were too far away.’

  ‘Describe what happened.’

  ‘They were fucking arguing, like I said. Muller shoving him around.’

  ‘Did you see Muller leaving?’

  Now Emyr sounded confident. ‘I left. I was getting nervous.’

  ‘How well do you know Wolfgang Muller?’

  He hesitated again, chewing his lower lip. ‘He’s a gangster, I hate him.’

  Drake was intrigued. ‘What has he ever done to you?’

  ‘He beat me up last year. I haven’t done anything to him, absolutely fuck all.’

  ‘Then why did he assault you?’<
br />
  ‘He broke Frank’s arm. I heard the bloody crack. Just because Frank tried it on with his daughter. He found us one night drinking by the lake; that’s when he assaulted Frank. He landed up in hospital, for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Did you report this?’

  ‘Did I fuck. Who would believe us?’

  ‘What’s your friend’s name again?’

  ‘Frank Smith.’

  ‘I’ll need a statement from you and your friend.’ Drake reached for his mobile, ignoring the scornful look on Emyr’s face.

  * * *

  Sara spent most of the morning tracking down the right contact at the Metropolitan Police who could access intelligence about Richard Perdue. Being passed from one person to another frustrated her and made her realise the challenge of working in an organisation as large as the police force that covered London.

  The reports she had read, that Inspector Drake had circulated after his discussion with a senior officer from the Midlands police, emphasised the violent background of Richard Perdue’s associates. Major organised crime wasn’t a significant part of the work of Northern Division of the Wales Police Service and she liked it that way.

  The first officer she spoke to soon had her checking back over her records. ‘We’ll need an address. We can’t do anything without an address. Or at least a borough.’

  His birth certificate recorded the event in the London Borough of Hackney, so she started with that address. A search of the electoral roll soon turned up the Perdue family. She followed the records until she produced a list of three addresses, and she called her contact again.

  ‘Well, you’ve been busy.’ Chris had a thick cockney accent. ‘Let me see what I can do. I’ll get back to you.’

  His accent reminded Sara of the students from London studying with her at university. They all had an inflated opinion of their self-importance and spoke a couple of decibels too loud, as though Welsh people were hard of hearing and a little backward.

  Sara sat back in her chair. There was progress, of sorts. Drake’s cryptic message to her mobile earlier that morning about visiting Llanberis suggested he was preoccupied. Recently she had noticed the occasional flash of humour and a grin when he read text messages, all of which were out of character.

  Winder was busy staring at some CCTV footage he had uncovered. Instead of his usual enormous mugs of tea or coffee he had been sipping constantly on a bottle of water and running his hands over his face and shaved head. Sara dismissed it as an affectation that helped him concentrate. But it kept him quiet and that suited her. He could be quite the most annoying man and it surprised her how his girlfriend found him attractive.

  She didn’t have to wait long until her inbox pinged into life with an email and several attachments. She read about the Perdue family having been a source of considerable interest to the serious crime divisions. Sara couldn’t follow the differing titles of the various divisions but she guessed the Metropolitan Police was the subject of constant reorganisation.

  The Perdue family was suspected of being involved in drug dealing and several robberies but from behind the facade of a respectable public house and six Chinese takeaways they frustrated every attempt to acquire the evidence to bring a case to court. An Inland Revenue inquiry into their businesses proved to be a dead end too.

  A reference to their business interests in Southend-on-Sea caught her attention. A Google search told her the seaside town was a mecca for retirees and commuters alike. It had a famous pier and lots of amusement arcades. And businesses that thrived on cash – ideally suited for money-laundering.

  It took another hour to track down the right contact at the police force covering Southend-on-Sea. She had to follow another protocol, this time for a Jamie who had a strong Geordie accent.

  ‘I’ll need a full name, date of birth and an address in our force area,’ Jamie said.

  Sara dictated the details.

  ‘Give me a minute.’ Sara became increasingly frustrated at chasing Richard Perdue around Southern England.

  Sara heard the sound of breathing on the other end of the telephone and luckily he was as good as his word. ‘You’re in luck. I’ve got some details I can send you. And I know a DS who might help you.’ Sara straightened in her chair, encouraged she could actually talk to a serving police officer about Richard Perdue. ‘Hang on, I’ll put you through.’

  The line went dead for a moment, no sound. She didn’t have to wait long. ‘Detective Sergeant Clawton. I understand you’ve spoken with Jamie about the Perdue family.’

  ‘He’s a person of interest in a double murder enquiry. I want to build some background.’ Sara tried to sound professional, matter-of-fact.

  ‘I’m retiring next month, and one of the biggest regrets of my career is that I was never able to prove anything against the Perdue family. They’ve had their noses in all sorts of shit. But they were clever enough or maybe lucky enough to keep themselves out of trouble.’

  ‘Did you meet Richard Perdue?’

  ‘Of course I did, man and boy. It certainly feels that way. I was a young constable when he and his family muscled their way into some of the businesses in Southend. Occasionally Richard Perdue would lose his temper and crack a few heads together. But there were never any complaints. Nobody would say a word against them. I reckon Perdue was some sort of psychopath or he’s got some personality disorder. Once he gets a bee in his bonnet there’s no stopping him. People left Southend because they were frightened of him, good people, people who lived here all their lives – and then they up sticks.’

  Clawton was clearly venting his spleen. Sara glanced at the clock on her screen wondering how long she had been talking with him. He gave a heavy sigh down the telephone line. ‘And another thing – Mr and Mrs Perdue senior died in very odd circumstances. We couldn’t prove anything – the forensic analysis was inconclusive. And Richard Perdue had an alibi. But we reckoned he was behind their deaths. Our informants told us his parents had objected to the way he managed the business. There were blazing arguments. And that all stopped when they died.’

  ‘Can you send me the details? It might be very significant,’ Sara said.

  ‘I have no doubt it is knowing Richard Perdue,’ Clawton said. ‘You should check out the Southend-on-Sea Observer. They ran a campaign to give the case lots of publicity. All helped by some discreet disclosures by the investigating team. We hoped that somebody might come forward but the thing was a complete waste of time. Richard Perdue moved away after a couple of years. Thank Christ for that.’

  * * *

  Drake ran over the car park taking the stairs to the Incident Room two at a time and pushed open the door, letting it bang against the wall. Three pairs of eyes followed him to the board.

  ‘I’ve just spoken to someone who can identify the mystery woman from the CCTV.’ Drake jerked a finger at the blurry image. ‘Apparently her name is Carol and I have a mobile telephone number for her, but it keeps ringing out.’

  ‘How did you trace her?’ Sara said.

  ‘It’s a long story. But the person who identified her is also an eyewitness to seeing Wolfgang Muller and Harry Jones arguing on the night Harry was killed.’

  Winder whistled under his breath.

  Luned nodded sagely.

  ‘And the same eyewitness has evidence of Wolfgang Muller’s temper. Muller assaulted Emyr – the eyewitness – and a friend of his.’

  ‘Why the hell hasn’t he come forward already?’ Sara sounded suspicious.

  ‘Muller lied to us about when he last met Harry Jones and now we’ve got direct evidence he has a short fuse.’

  The team waited for him to continue.

  ‘Gareth and Luned – we need to talk to Carol. I want full triangulation reports on her mobile telephone. I want to know where it is, now, yesterday and who she’s been calling. All the usual stuff. And one of you talk to Michael – I don’t think he was telling us the truth about knowing Carol. What other progress have you made?’


  Winder responded. ‘Do you still want me to interview the financial adviser?’

  Drake shook his head. ‘We need to find Carol.’

  Luned responded. ‘I’ve been putting together some background about Glyn Talbot and the extended family of Harry Jones. I should have it finished tomorrow.’

  ‘Good. Anything promising?’

  ‘The families have been around a long time. My mother even knew Harry Jones faintly when she was younger. And she’d heard of the Talbot family. There was some gossip years ago about bad feeling between them. But there was a lot of feuding historically between some of the villages going back decades.’ Luned sounded matter-of-fact.

  A developing snicker crossed Winder’s face, presumably about Luned’s reference to her mother knowing Harry Jones, but good sense prevailed and he smothered it. A simple jerk of Drake’s head told him an update was wanted.

  ‘Nothing yet from the CCTV, boss. But there aren’t many cameras in that area.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Drake sounded exasperated. ‘So, concentrate on the cameras offering coverage of the routes into the Llanberis. We need to know how Muller got there.’

  Sara again. ‘Are we going to talk to Wolfgang Muller?’

  Drake turned to face Muller’s photograph. ‘Dead right.’

  Chapter 24

  Drake arrived at headquarters before seven the following morning. He spotted Wyndham Price’s glistening blue Jaguar; reaching superintendent rank required early mornings, late evenings and little social life. Perhaps he had reached that stage already, Drake thought. He didn’t want to be the sort of grey bureaucrat Price had become. Not even a luxury car would be compensation for so little family life. He shook off his rumination, got out of his Mondeo and walked quickly up to the Incident Room.

  Drake exchanged pleasantries with Sara and Luned. He smarted at the acrid taste of the instant coffee Winder produced. Pinned to the board was a plan showing Wolfgang Muller’s home address with the various roads leading to it. Drake had finalised preparing for the arrest late the previous evening. Now he took a few moments to summarise everything again. ‘Sara and I will take him to the custody centre in Caernarfon. We can hold him for twenty-four hours, which gives the search team time to execute the warrant.’