After the main course Annie ordered a tiramisu she described as her favourite. All Drake could think of was that it made a change from his former wife who would have turned her nose up at a fat- and sugar-laden sweet. He determined for the rest of the evening he wouldn’t make any comparisons.
A waitress looked disappointed when they declined her offer of coffee. When Annie suggested she make coffee at home his pulse almost stalled. His lips dried, he hesitated. ‘If it’s not too much trouble, that’ll be lovely.’
Too much trouble. How idiotic that sounds, Drake thought.
Annie lived in one of the terraces overlooking the Menai Strait in Felinheli. Drake followed her down into the marina development and parked behind her. He had assumed that many of the houses would be holiday homes but it was October and lights burned from the windows of a few of the properties. On the top floor she led him onto the balcony overlooking the Strait and they watched as two ribs made their way into the harbour. A Welsh Dragon flag flickered in the light evening breeze from a flagpole in the adjacent house.
‘It’s a fabulous location,’ Drake said.
‘I loved the place when I first saw it.’
Back inside Annie fiddled with a machine on the worktop. Eventually she produced two mugs of coffee. They sat down on a comfortable sofa. Drake wanted to kiss her. Feel his lips on hers, run his hand over them, pull her hair away from her face. Slowly unbutton her blouse.
An embarrassed stiffness invaded the space between them. They didn’t say very much. Drake couldn’t find the right words.
‘How is your coffee?’ Annie said.
‘It’s fine.’
Drake regretted his reluctance to move closer to her along the sofa. But he sensed he would have been welcome. He finished the coffee, thought about making excuses, thought how natural their relationship had become.
She reached over and kissed him firmly. Her lips tasted of sweet coffee. It sent a powerful bolt of emotion through him, reminding him what he had missed. Now he kissed her back, strongly, with a passion and fervour he thought he had lost.
When they broke off he gazed into her eyes. She smiled. He smiled back. He reached a hand to touch her face – it was a moment to treasure. One of many to come, Drake thought.
A sound filled the room and for a brief moment they both ignored the insistent ringing of a mobile telephone.
It had to be Drake’s. He wanted to throw the damn thing into the Menai Strait.
He got up and found his jacket.
He recognised Winder’s voice. ‘We’ve found Carol, boss.’
‘Where?
‘She’s in hospital. She’s been assaulted tonight by Michael.’
Drake turned to look at Annie. He wanted it to wait until the morning. She gave him a nervous smile.
‘You need to see her, boss. She’s been telling the officers about Harry Jones.’
Drake sighed. ‘I’ll meet you at the hospital.’
Annie joined Drake, placing a hand on his arm.
‘I understand. Really I do…’
Drake didn’t allow her to finish. He kissed her intensely and then left.
Chapter 28
Drake parked in a disabled parking slot – he was on police business and he doubted many disabled patients would be attending hospital late in the evening. After a revolving door reduced his pace momentarily he hurried down the deserted main corridor but ignoring the lifts, he took the stairs to the ward. Winder stood waiting for him outside, a bottle of water in hand.
‘Sorry to disturb you, boss,’ Winder said.
Drake brushed away the apology although it did occur to him whether Winder knew where he had been.
‘The uniformed lads in Bangor were called to an incident a couple of hours ago. Apparently, Michael arrived at the house where Carol had been staying. He was pissed up to the eyeballs and was in a fighting mood.’
‘So, what happened?’
Two nurses and an orderly appeared from one ward pushing a patient on a trolley, ventilators strapped to his face. They ignored Drake and Winder and hurried towards the lifts.
‘Michael broke into the house and assaulted Carol. The medics think she may have a cracked rib as well as a fractured cheek. Once the uniformed lads found out who she was they realised we wanted to speak to her.’
Drake nodded. ‘You did the right thing, Gareth. Let’s go and talk to her.’
Winder pushed open the door and they passed two small bays with half a dozen patients in each, mostly fast asleep. At the nurses’ station in the middle of the ward Winder stopped and nodded towards a tall woman with tightly cropped blond hair.
‘This is Detective Inspector Drake.’ The nurse gave Drake a polite nod. Winder continued. ‘We need to speak to Carol Parry.’
‘Don’t be too long. She really needs to get some sleep.’
Luckily Carol had a room to herself. Drake pushed the door closed. There was little sign sleep was imminent as Carol was playing on her mobile telephone. Drake recognised her face from the CCTV in Harry’s office. Carol had large, seductive eyes, and a well-proportioned face with good bone structure. Even dressed in a hospital nightgown she looked attractive.
Winder pushed over a stiff plastic chair for Drake and both officers sat down, looking at her.
‘We’ve been searching for you,’ Drake said.
Carol gave an ineffective shrug. ‘I want to make a complaint about Michael assaulting me. He should go down for what he did to me.’
‘I want you to tell me what you know about Harry Jones.’
‘Have you found who killed him?’ Carol sounded too matter-of-fact.
‘Were you having a relationship with him?’
‘Yeh, suppose so.’
‘Tell us about your relationship.’ Drake moved forward slightly in his chair.
It flustered Carol. ‘He’d take me out sometimes. We’d go to that fancy hotel.’ She waved a hand in the air to some point in the distance. ‘We would have a nice meal then… And you know what.’
‘What?’ Drake wasn’t going to make it easy for Carol.
‘Well…’
‘You would have sex with him.’
She gave Drake a coquettish smile.
Drake lowered his voice. ‘I’m only interested in knowing exactly what happened one particular day when you were with Harry in his office.’
Carol gave him a puzzled, almost disappointed look, as though she were expecting him to ask for more lurid details about their relationship.
Drake nodded at Winder who produced from a folder a set of still photographs of Carol and Harry. He handed the first to her.
‘Is this you?’
Her eyes opened wide. ‘Where the hell did you get this?’
‘Harry Jones had a CCTV camera recording everything that happened.’
‘The dirty bastard.’
‘This particular day when you called to see him you were interrupted.’
Drake showed her various static images of Harry and her until it was clear she was inside the cupboard at the far end of Harry’s office.
‘Why did he tell you to go inside the cupboard?’
Colour drained rapidly from Carol’s cheeks. ‘He said he wouldn’t be too long.’
The next pictures were of Richard Perdue and Harry Jones.
‘Do you know this man?’
Carol shook her head.
‘Have you seen him before?’
‘No.’
‘It’s very important you tell us as much as you can remember about what happened that day.’
Her earlier bravado disappeared. She blinked away the tears, glancing over at Drake and Winder.
‘They argued. They argued a lot. I don’t remember everything that was said but I do remember this guy threatening to sort out Harry. He was going to get his friends and nobody would get the better of them. All sorts of stuff like that.’
Drake looked over at Winder, pleased he was busy noting everything down in his pocketbook.
‘I want you to remember precisely what was said.’
Half an hour later after a lot of cajoling and repetition Drake was satisfied he had a clear record. Now Carol did look as though she should be sleeping. There had been explicit threats to Harry’s life from Richard Perdue, a promise to bring his friends to sort him out in due course. Drake sensed the decision to arrest him would be a formality. Wolfgang and Penny Muller’s lying could wait.
‘How did Harry react afterwards?’ Drake said.
‘I don’t know. But we were supposed to go out that day and he made excuses.’
‘Did he seem frightened?’
Carol dipped her head. ‘Yes, I suppose he did.’
‘Why did Michael assault you?’
‘Because… He thought we were an item… you know going out.’
‘Do you have a regular boyfriend, Carol?’
She picked up her mobile and started playing on the screen again.
‘I’ll make arrangements for an officer to get you to sign a formal statement in due course.’ Drake stood up; the plastic chair squeaked against the floor.
‘Is Michael going to be charged?’
‘It’ll be up to the officer dealing with the case.’
‘Bloody well should be.’
‘You need to get some sleep, Carol.’ Drake opened the door.
‘What did you make of her, boss?’ Winder said as they made their way out of the ward.
‘I think she was telling the truth.’
‘I wouldn’t like to be her boyfriend. You’d have no idea what she was getting up to.’
Both officers took the stairs down to the ground floor then made their way back to the front entrance. The night air chilled Drake’s face. Winder went off towards his car and Drake glanced at his watch, realising by now Annie would be safely tucked up in bed.
His eyes burned, his skin felt greasy, an ache twinged at the bottom of his back.
He needed a good few hours’ uninterrupted sleep, so he went home.
Chapter 29
The following morning Drake was parked near the newsagents, working on the Sudoku puzzle in the newspaper, when his mobile rang. Feeling pleased with himself for managing three squares quickly he studied one particular line as he answered.
‘Drake.’
‘Operational control room, Inspector. We have the reports of a suspected homicide.’
‘Send me all the usual…’ Drake then realised he had to pay the call more attention. ‘Suspected murder? Is there a body?’
‘Yes, Inspector. A Frank Smith.’
‘Frank Smith,’ Drake yelled. He threw the paper to one side. ‘What are the details?’
A few seconds later he punched the postcode into the system. When the voice down the telephone gave him the address at the end of the call – the slate museum – he knew he needn’t have bothered.
Drake’s mouth dried, anticipation frantically developing in his mind. He crunched the car into first gear, checked his rear-view mirror and accelerated away.
He called Sara.
‘I’ve just heard, boss. Is it the same Frank Smith as our witness?’
‘I was thinking the same. I don’t know yet. I’m on my way – check the status of CSIs and I’ll see you there.’
Drake didn’t wait to hear Sara’s response.
He flashed his car headlights and blasted his horn at a car dawdling in front of him. The elderly woman driver pulled into the side of the road and he powered on to the junction he needed, ignoring an irate man who jerked his middle finger when Drake cut across him.
He reached the A55 and hammered the car into the outside lane. He sped through the tunnel under the Conwy estuary, thankful that the traffic lights at the roadworks in the mountain tunnels near Penmaenmawr were kind to him. By the time he approached the turning for Llanberis he had spoken to Superintendent Price, who confirmed their meeting would be postponed, and to Sara, again to confirm the CSI team were en route.
Tearing down the road towards the slate museum he almost mowed down three walkers who had strayed into the middle. More gesticulating and angry faces followed him.
A uniformed police officer stood by the entrance to the museum building. He ran over to Drake once he had parked. Drake recognised Chris Newland from the morning that Harry Jones’s body had been discovered. ‘It’s over here, sir.’
Newland pointed towards a building some distance away.
Another uniformed officer stood by the door of the old structure, its windows grey and its roof sagging.
‘Apparently this was a building they used up until a few years ago. A lot of the machinery is still there but the place is unsafe,’ Newland said as he joined Drake heading towards it.
The second officer pushed open the doors. The smell of decaying wood, grease and oil filled Drake’s nostrils. To his right was a rickety wooden staircase, several of the risers missing. The staircase led up to a platform supported by wooden posts that stretched out to the far end of the building.
Drake noticed two figures inside a makeshift office against the wall to his left. Movement stopped as they turned to peer out and gaze over at Drake.
Newland said. ‘He’s at the far end.’
The officer led Drake along a path marked out with faded yellow paint. On one side were crates of different-sized slates, some sitting on large slabs, others with shards of slate propped up against them. Ancient tools and hammers and sledgehammers littered an area to Drake’s right. The place had an abandoned feel as though it expected to be busy but nobody knew what to do with it.
As they approached the office, Newland lowered his voice.
‘These are the two members of staff who made the discovery.’
‘I was told the victim is Frank Smith.’
‘One of them recognised him.’
A man in his forties wearing a blue overall left the office ready to talk to Drake but Drake raised a hand. ‘Please wait inside. I’ll come and speak with you in a minute.’
The man kept his mouth open, and then retreated back to the office, a hurt look on his face. He sat down with the youngster inside.
Newland led Drake to the far end of the building. There were heavy machines that Drake guessed had been used to split and cut enormous pieces of slate. In an age before forklift trucks dozens of men would have been needed to lift and carry such items. In the middle of the floor was a piece of machinery with enormous wheels and a withered leather belt.
Newland stood and pointed down at the lifeless body.
It was a man in his early twenties, although Drake could only guess his age from his slim build and lack of facial hair. A blue Welsh slate had severed the man’s neck. Drake’s stomach churned at the sight of blood splattered over the scene.
‘It looks like he fell from the platform above us, sir,’ Newland said.
Drake looked up at the gaping hole in the platform, pieces of slate scattered on its surface. To his untrained eye Drake could see the rotten timbers.
‘Who has access to this building?’ Drake asked aloud, not expecting Newland to answer.
‘Apparently it was part of the museum until a couple of years ago when they closed it down.’
Drake took a step back, away from the immediate prospect of being decapitated by a falling piece of loose slate. He gazed around the scene where the body lay. What was this young man doing in an old disused building?
He paused and looked up again – pushing him off the top would have been easy. His head smashed on the heavy machinery below and a loose slate dropped to finish him off. Forensics would have to comb the place, searching for evidence, fragments, anything that might suggest who else had been present.
On impulse, Drake retraced his steps to the entrance and staircase. Newland followed him. Drake snapped on a pair of latex gloves and ascended the staircase, grabbing one of the handrails as he did so. The whole thing shook with his weight.
‘Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?’
‘Tell me when t
he CSIs arrive.’
At the top Drake reached a section of platform that led across the building. He tried to picture what had made the victim walk along the rickety construction. At the end of the first section that balanced above the office area he heard the faint sounds of car engines stopping and raised voices outside. He turned right towards the fateful section of the rotten timber decking. It creaked in protest. He paused for a moment.
A few hours ago a man had likely stood where he was now. Why? He had fallen to his death but was it an accident? Or made to appear like one? He couldn’t look down; it was too dangerous.
He heard Sara’s voice from the entrance and gingerly retraced his steps, testing the occasional section of timber. She stood at the bottom of the staircase as he descended, Newland by her side.
‘The place is a death trap,’ Drake said. ‘Come over here.’ He nodded towards the far end of the building. He led Sara to the spot under the platform and she gasped. ‘Christ Almighty. Looks like something out of a Schwarzenegger film.’
‘Let’s talk to the members of staff who found the body.’
Sara followed him back to the dilapidated office. The older man had the complexion of a dirty pavement slab and a developing paunch. A white T-shirt under his overall was translucent with age. The youngster alongside him looked completely lost.
‘Who found the body?’ Drake said.
‘I’m Dan, Inspector,’ The older man said. ‘Luke made the discovery. We came in here this morning looking for an old piece of equipment. The curator wanted to use it as part of a demonstration for a documentary being filmed about slate mining over the centuries.’
‘What is this place?’ Sara asked.
‘A lot of men worked in here years ago. But then the place couldn’t be repaired economically and it was closed. Now it’s used mostly for storage.’
‘Was the building secure?’ Drake said.
Luke nodded. ‘I was the first one here. I opened up.’
‘And were you the first to see the body?’ Sara said, in a soft voice.
Luke choked back the nausea.
‘It is important you remember everything you can about what you first saw.’
‘He was lying there. A piece of slate through his fucking neck.’
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