Circus of Nightmares: Death is the Ultimate Illusion (The Anglesey Mysteries Book 2)

by Conrad Jones

  ‘Okay,’ Carlos said, emptying his glass. He put on is coat. ‘Nice talking to you, Cheryl.’ Cheryl scowled in disgust. ‘Have you gone off me already?’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Cheryl said. ‘I didn’t know you were perverts.’

  ‘We’re not perverts,’ Claus protested. Carlos took him by the arm and guided him away from the table. The locals glared at them. The atmosphere was almost flammable. The slightest spark could set it ablaze. The policemen flanked them until they reached the doorway. The door serviced both the barroom and the lounge, which were separated by the bar. The staff could serve both sides and see all the pub. They reached the doorway and one of the younger customers walked out of the gents. He threw his pint at the brothers. The stinking liquid hit Claus square in the face, stinging his eyes. It took only a second to realise he had pissed in the glass.

  ‘Dirty pikeys,’ the man said, laughing. A scuffle broke out. The brothers covered their heads and the policemen ushered them out of the pub onto the road, which was on a steep hill.

  ‘That’s disgusting! What is wrong with these people?’ Claus shouted when they were outside. ‘That man has pissed on me!’

  ‘Calm down,’ sergeant Gerrard said.

  ‘What have we done for this to happen?’

  ‘No one is accusing you of anything yet,’ sergeant Gerrard said. Some of the locals followed them outside to listen to what was said. They lit cigarettes to justify being outside. ‘Finish your cigs and go back inside.’ The locals shrugged and ignored the order. The situation was volatile ‘Let’s start with your names.’

  ‘I’m Carlos Vincentia.’

  ‘I’m Claus Vincentia. We’re brothers.’

  ‘Have you seen these two women today?’ sergeant Gerrard asked, showing them an image of the sisters. Look carefully. ‘This is Tiffany and this is Michelle.’

  ‘I don’t recognise them,’ Carlos said, shaking his head. He looked at Claus. ‘I’ve never seen them.’

  ‘Me too. I’ve never seen them,’ Claus agreed. He looked at the floor. ‘You should arrest that man who threw piss at me. That is assault.’

  ‘You’re both lying,’ the sergeant said. He showed them the image of them in the Albert Vaults. ‘This is you at lunchtime today.’ The brothers looked shocked that he had the image. ‘We’ll try again. Have you seen these two women today?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything else. We haven’t done anything illegal,’ Carlos said. ‘Arrest me and get me a lawyer. Say nothing, Claus. They can’t do anything to us. I know our rights.’

  ‘Listen to me. A young woman is missing and we need to speak to everyone who has been in contact with her today and that includes you two. It’s not difficult. Answer my questions and we can rap this up quickly.’ Carlos folded his arms. ‘Do we need to do this the hard way?’ the sergeant said, shaking his head. ‘Get a van down here,’ he said to his colleague. ‘We’ll do this at the station. The locals are getting fisty. Take them in and lock them up until the DI has spoken to them. We can’t mess about here. The locals will beat them to death if they think they’re responsible for the Branning girl going missing.’ He turned back to Carlos. ‘Empty your pockets,’ the sergeant said. Carlos shook his head. ‘Empty them or we will do it for you.’

  ‘Turn him upside down, sergeant,’ one of the locals said. ‘I’ll do it if you want me to. Fucking pikey.’

  ‘Do you want us to talk to them?’ another asked. ‘We’ll get the truth out of them. Fucking perverts.’

  Sergeant Gerrard stepped closer to Carlos and reached for his arms. Carlos butted the sergeant on the nose. Sergeant Gerrard grabbed him, stunned by the pain but Carlos shook him off. He ran down the hill before the other officers could react. He reached a stile and vaulted a drystone wall, which led into fields that ran all the way to the quarry and the mountain beyond. One of the sergeants grabbed Claus and cuffed him before he could run. The other gave chase but Carlos was younger and fitter and more motivated. He disappeared into the darkness, hidden by thick gorse bushes and rocky outcrops. In less than a minute, he was gone.

  Chapter 20

  Bob and his officers turned as many volunteers back from the breakwater as they could. Some were too incensed to be calmed down. He tried to talk sense to them but sometimes common sense is overruled by emotions. A few of the most stubborn men ignored their advice and ran off towards the Rocky Coast, which would take them to the base of the mountain and the quarry park. Without torches, it was a reckless trek at the best of times. The fog had descended and visibility was down to ten yards or so making it more treacherous. Bob and the other officers were powerless. If members of the public wanted to walk along the coast, they couldn’t stop them, reckless or not. There were too many people milling about to control them all. They formed smaller groups of three or four and split off in different directions. Thankfully, most of the people had listened to what Bob had said and headed back towards the Newry where there was streetlighting. They could satisfy the urge to help by searching the water’s edge in relative safety. Rumours were spreading like wildfire and tempers were running high. Michelle Branning was a popular young woman from a popular family on a big estate in a small town. Community spirit is a powerful tool in times of trouble and strife and the community was mobilised. The male members of the Branning family had convinced Tiffany and her mother to go home and wait for news. It was dark, foggy and freezing cold. Tiffany was suffering from exhaustion and the after-effects of alcohol and drugs. Drugs she hadn’t ingested willingly. The police said they wanted to test her for Rohypnol to confirm her suspicions that she had been spiked. Samples of hair and urine were taken. The rest of the family joined the search. Finding Michelle was their number one priority. They joined the others searching the coastline.

  Bob could hear the lifeboat trawling the marina, down near the McKenzie peer but he couldn’t see it. Their job would be made harder by the thickening fog. As they walked past the ruins of the Soldier’s Point Hotel, a shout went up from somewhere further down the road to his left. Another voice joined it. They were calling for help. It sounded as if it was coming from the jetty at Porth-y-felin House. Bob and several uniformed officers jogged in the direction of the voices. It was slow progress. The path was pitted with rocks and potholes and the grounds around the old mansion were littered with rubbish and junk. Fly tipping in the area was rife. They navigated several large pieces of furniture, a bath and a huge pile of building rubble. Their torches were the only lights available. The streetlights across the marina were merely a yellow glow in the mist. The voices called out again. This time they were closer. Bob found the path which led down to the jetty where the RAF used to anchor their rib. The Marine Core Unit had used Porth-y-felin house to accommodate their rescue crew where they could train on the sea, protected by the breakwater. He was concerned about the condition of the jetty. It had been many years since the unit operated there. Another call for help came from the fog; it was close. He shone his torch and picked out three figures down near the water. It was rocky there, covered in seaweed and cockles, which made it lethally slippery to walk on. The cockle shells and limpets were like broken glass on the skin. A fall there would be very nasty and if one of them fell, manoeuvring an injured male up the slope to safety would be difficult.

  ‘Who is that?’ one of the men shouted.

  ‘Police. Sergeant Dewhurst,’ Bob called. ‘What have you found?’

  ‘Over here,’ one of the men shouted. ‘We’ve found her.’

  Bob made his way to the water. He slipped and fell forward. His feet went into the sea and the icy water numbed his skin. The water was up to his knees. He reached out to stop himself from falling. The shells cut his hands and ripped a fingernail. He tried to stand but slipped again and gashed his shin.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ he muttered. A colleague grabbed his elbow and steadied him, helping him find purchase on the rocks. ‘Thank you,’ Bob said. ‘Bloody seaweed is lethal.’

  ‘Are you alright?’ one of the men a
sked.

  ‘I’m fine. Where is she?’ Bob asked, composing himself. The other officers pulled him to safety. Their expressions were grim. No one spoke. Bob could see a body in the water. It could have been a child. Michelle Branning was a tiny woman. She was floating face down in the water.

  ‘We didn’t want to touch her,’ one of the men said. ‘She’s snagged on the rocks we think. The tide is going out but she’s not moved an inch. We think she’s snagged,’ he repeated, nervously.

  ‘Radio it in,’ Bob said. One of the officers made the call. The atmosphere was solemn. Bob took a deep breath to settle his nerves. It was the outcome no one wanted. The condition of the victim indicated she hadn’t entered the water voluntarily. ‘Okay lads,’ Bob said. ‘Leave her to us now. We’ll get her out of there,’ he added. The men reluctantly moved back from the water. ‘I’m going to ask you to keep this to yourself for a few hours. We’ll need to make sure her mother and family know we’ve found her before it leaks out.’ The men nodded. One of them was visibly upset. ‘I don’t want her to find out from Facebook,’ Bob added. ‘Let’s show the family a bit of respect and keep it quiet for now.’

  ‘Fucking bastards,’ a volunteer muttered. ‘It’s those fairground men. They have done this.’

  ‘We don’t know anything yet,’ Bob warned.

  ‘Yes. We do. One of them spiked her sister.’

  ‘We don’t know what happened to her, so let’s not jump to conclusions,’ Bob said. The torchlight was enough to determine the body was undressed from the waist down. Her long blond hair floated around her head like a fan.

  ‘She’s got no pants on,’ the man protested. ‘It’s obvious what they did to her. Bastards.’

  ‘I know how you feel but we have to be absolutely certain of the facts before we start pointing the finger at anyone. Keep this to yourself.’ The man nodded but looked angry. ‘Get yourselves home safely,’ Bob said. Sirens neared. He could see two patrol cars and an ambulance heading from the Newry, their headlights piercing the fog. The men who found her climbed over the rocks and made their way up the moss-covered steps. Bob could hear them talking angrily between themselves. There was no way they could keep it quiet. News that Michelle had been found would circulate rapidly. Bad news always did. They were near the gateposts when the emergency vehicles arrived and picked their way through the debris as close as they could to the jetty. The lifeboat appeared from the mist, its engine idling as it approached the body. The crew released the body from the rocks with boat hooks and pushed her towards the waiting policemen. Bob and his men pulled her in. A body bag was handed down and more officers helped to bring her up onto the jetty.

  Alan and Kim had arrived by car and they knelt down to get a better view. They looked at the body in silence. There were signs of sexual assault, bruising and scratches on her thighs and wrists. Her eyes were open, staring and lifeless. Seaweed clung to her earrings. There were dark bruises around her throat and thumb marks beneath her chin.

  ‘She’s tiny,’ Alan noted. ‘She could have been strangled with one hand.’

  ‘There’s a crowd of locals coming up the lane,’ an officer shouted. ‘They’re not happy.’

  ‘Hold them back,’ Alan said. He gestured to the ambulance crew. ‘Let’s get her out of here. I don’t want them to see her like this.’ Officers helped to move the body and seal her ready for the forensic team.

  ‘How do you want to play this?’ Kim asked.

  ‘We’ve got three suspects. Carlos Vincentia is our prime suspect and according to sergeant Gerrard, he’s running in the direction of the quarry.’

  ‘Why run if you’ve done nothing wrong?’ Bob asked. One of the ambulance crew was tending to the nasty wound on his leg.

  ‘Who knows,’ Alan said. ‘He might have had a pocket full of Rohypnol and panicked.’

  ‘There’s no sign of her on the CCTV,’ Kim said. ‘I think she was taken from the cubicle, forced between the toilet pods and taken away from the fairground that way. If she was spiked, she would have been compliant and confused. She wouldn’t have made a fuss.’

  ‘Okay. So, the attacker followed her to the toilet and the drug took effect. So, it was an opportune moment and he decided to take her. That makes sense,’ Alan said. ‘She ended up in the water here, which means she went into the water on this side of the marina, probably near the boatyard?’

  ‘Definitely,’ Kim agreed.

  ‘No doubt about it,’ Bob said. ‘If she was put in from the Newry, she would be by the McKenzie pier.’

  ‘So, if she was drugged and taken from the fairground, where was she assaulted?’ Alan asked. ‘He must have taken her somewhere.’

  ‘One of the apartments?’ Kim asked.

  ‘It will be easy enough to find out who lives there and rule them in or out but I’m ruling them out for now,’ Alan said. ‘What if she wasn’t taken by a local?’

  ‘There are a lot of people about,’ Kim said. ‘Undressing her needed some privacy.’

  ‘What about a boat,’ Alan said. ‘The boatyard is packed with empty boats. There are thirty or forty yachts out of the water at any one time. It’s easy to get into them.’

  ‘The yachts are too high,’ Bob said. ‘Without ladders, he couldn’t bundle a drowsy female onto a yacht and it would be too risky to make her climb. The cruisers are much lower and don’t have a keel.’

  ‘Okay, let’s get the cruisers searched,’ Alan said. Kim nodded and made the call, instructing the boatyard to be searched. There were angry shouts from the lane behind Porth-y-felin house. ‘We need to get that crowd dispersed.’

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ Bob asked, pulling his trouser leg over the dressing. ‘Good job. Thanks,’ he said to the paramedic.

  ‘Bring in the suspects. Carlos Vincentia will be cold and hungry and he’ll be frightened,’ Alan said. ‘He has to stop running. At some point, he will make his way to one of the main roads, so put a unit in Llaingoch and another up at South Stack in case he makes it over the mountain. My money says he will realise there’s nowhere to go unless he wants to swim to Ireland. We need to put a lid on this. I don’t want a crowd of pissed-up vigilantes attacking the fairground looking for him. Claus Vincentia is in custody. Bring David Prost in too for his own safety. We’ll interview all three of them as suspects. We’ll need officers on the Newry to quell any retaliation.’

  ‘Okay,’ Bob said. ‘I’ll organise men at the fairground.’

  ‘Let’s get her body out of here,’ Alan said. Michelle was loaded into the ambulance and police officers escorted the vehicle through the angry crowd. Questions were shouted and accusations made but no confirmation was given. The crowd were quietened and some of them drifted away. Whatever the outcome, the search was over. All hope of finding Chelle alive was gone. Alan and Kim went back to the patrol car. ‘Go home and get some rest,’ he said to Kim.

  ‘Bad day, eh,’ Kim said.

  ‘Today will go down in the annals of history as possibly the shitiest Sunday on record.’

  ‘Aren’t we going to speak to Claus Vincentia?’

  ‘He’s drunk,’ Alan said. ‘I don’t want anything he says being thrown out of evidence because we didn’t give him chance to sleep it off. Let him sweat overnight. Go home and get some sleep and we’ll go at him fresh tomorrow.’

  ‘What about you?’ Kim said.

  ‘I need a large whisky, a shower and a few hours sleep,’ he said. ‘I don’t see tomorrow being any better than today has been to be honest. In fact, it will probably be worse.’

  Chapter 21

  Len Jobson stopped for coffee at McDonalds at Abergele. He grabbed a cheeseburger and small fries and ate them in a few bites. He was hungrier than he thought. His mind was racing. There were things to do and not much time to do them. The clock was ticking and he was running out of time on this planet. He still had his strength although it wasn’t anything like what it used to be. His muscle wastage had been distressing. He could see it in the expressions o
f everyone he met. Shock, horror, surprise, sadness and pity. The pity was the worst. He had been a strong man with a powerful physique. For those that had known him, it was visibly shocking to see him so thin. It was one thing knowing someone was ill but another to see them wasting away before their eyes. It was more obvious for those he didn’t see regularly. His decline was more acute to those who remembered him in his heyday. In his prime, he would eat two steaks in one sitting and bench press his own bodyweight for eight sets. His strength had been God given. God gave it to him and God had taken it away. Fuck him. He’d given him a son and taken him too. There was nothing Len could do about that but the reality was that someone had snatched Leo away. Another human being or human beings had murdered Leo and his girlfriend and stuffed them into a barrel and dumped them in a pond, where they should have remained for the duration of time. Whoever was responsible for their murders would soon be acutely aware that their bodies had been discovered. They might panic. They might not. They might believe enough time had gone by for them to remain anonymous, hidden in the shadows of the past. There would be a ripple of fear running through them, no matter how cool, calm and collected they were. Hopefully, the ripple would turn to a tsunami of anxiety, wondering if they had left clues to their identity behind. Leo’s killers would not get the opportunity to live with the peace of mind that their victims would never be found. They had been found and now Len was going to find them and his retribution was going to be biblical. Len vowed he would bring vengeance for his son. He would sort that one before he bowed out for good. He had to act before the cancer sapped all his energy completely. He felt enthusiastic for the first time in a long time. It had taken five long years to get a sniff of what had happened to Leo. There had simply been nothing to go after but now he had a direction to go in. Better that that, he had a name. A name he knew well. Koresh.

  A tap on the window made him jump. He nearly spilled his coffee. His right hand went to the switchblade he carried on his belt. It was an instinctive reaction for a man in his profession. Detective Inspector Gill Robinson gestured for him to open the window. He shook his head and half-smiled, his finger on the button. The glass retreated into the door and the cold night air rushed in.