by Conrad Jones
‘Bullseye,’ Baz said, excited.
‘One hundred and eighty,’ his companion laughed.
The men jogged down the slipway. Baz shone his torch at the crumpled body. He stepped closer but there was blood all over the face. The man was unrecognisable.
‘Is he dead?’
‘Yes, he’s dead,’ Baz said. ‘We need to get out of here before anyone else comes along.’ He checked around to see if they’d been seen. ‘Let’s go. Quickly.’
****************************************************
Richard Lewis arrived at the boatyard. The Newry was quiet now. He could see Fred Garret, the marina manager pacing up and down, arguing with someone on his phone. Several detectives were chatting to a group of uniformed officers near the gates. The marina consisted of a H shaped block of apartments with retail units beneath them. There was Langdon’s bar, a sailing shop and a newsagent with a café in it. They were all in darkness. Lights burned in a couple of the apartments, reflecting from the dark sea. The waves appeared black like oil. The buildings were built on the water’s edge. Behind them was the boatyard where vessels were stored out of the water. The heart of the boatyard was a cavernous stone-built workshop, tall enough to fit even the biggest yachts inside. It was a skeleton now, a shadow of its former self, having burnt down a few years before. Only the walls and metal roof beams remained. The insurance company were delaying payment for whatever reasons they could come up with to delay paying for the rebuild. A lot of the tools lost in the fire could never be replaced. They were handmade by the craftsmen who had worked there a hundred years ago, building boats from timber that had been prepared and cured for months. Those skills had been lost to fibreglass and moulded plastic production. Richard remembered going there with his friends after school to watch the boat-builders work. It felt like a long time ago. He climbed out of the car and headed towards Fred Garret.
‘Good evening, Fred,’ Richard said, sensing it wasn’t a good evening at all. Fred was having a shit evening.
‘Good evening?’ Fred muttered. ‘It’s the middle of the night. Why couldn’t this wait until the morning?’
‘Forensic evidence degrades quickly,’ Richard said. ‘This is now a murder investigation and as such, it takes precedence over the time of day, I’m afraid. We have reason to believe Michelle Branning was brought to this side of the marina and sexually assaulted before she was murdered. We’re in the process of eliminating the residents in the apartments and we need to search the boats that are out of the water to rule them out or in as the case may be.’
‘You want to search the boats?’
‘Yes.’
‘They’re not my boats,’ Fred argued. ‘They are not my property. They belong to private owners.’
‘I appreciate that and the problems it might cause, but we need to look at them anyway.’
‘Have you got any idea what you’re asking?’ Fred paced up and down again. ‘The insurance company are being arseholes about the workshop fire and the boats lost in the storm. I can’t just let you lot break into our yachts without the owners’ permission, looking for whatever it is you’re looking for. They won’t pay out as it is.’
‘Calm yourself down,’ Richard said. ‘The way I see it is our killer walked down here with Michelle and found somewhere by chance. It was an opportune moment, which means, he found a boat that was already open or he broke into one, in either case, we don’t want to break into anything, it will already be open,’ Richard said, shrugging. He smiled. ‘What we’re looking for could be in one of those boats but we don’t have to break anything to find it. We will not do any damage at all. Do you understand?’
‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ Fred said. ‘That’s okay. What do you need from me?’
‘We think the yachts are too high to access from the ground, so I need you to show us all the cruisers and fishing boats that can be climbed onto easily,’ Richard said. ‘Have any of them been worked on recently and may have access ladders fixed in place?’
‘Follow me. This way. They’re all over here.’ Fred walked towards the boat storage area. A vast patch of the shore that had been concreted. It was like a graveyard for vessels of all shapes and sizes. They loomed above them in the darkness. Some were broken, some were old and needed repairing. Others belonged to individuals who had bought them as a toy. A floating gadget to impress their families and friends. “We have a yacht on Anglesey. We have a yacht but we have no fucking idea what’s involved in its upkeep or how to sail it and the last time we went on it; it rained all day and was so windy we could hardly stand up. The kids hated it and never want to go again.’ Like any toy, their owners tire of them eventually and keeping them in the water is expensive so, they have them stored with best intentions to re-float them one day. Others belonged to dead people.
‘I used to play down here as a kid,’ Richard said. ‘Some of those boats were still there back then. They’ve never moved.’
‘You’re right.’
‘I’ve been in the sea more than some of them,’ Richard joked.
‘Some of the vessels closest to the sea wall have been there for donkey’s years, their owners passed away,’ Fred explained. ‘We try to contact relatives but as soon as an outstanding bill is mentioned, they don’t want to know. We keep the cruisers over there,’ he said pointing. Richard counted seven vessels. Next to them were bigger fishing boats.
‘Over there, ladies and gentlemen,’ Richard said. The officers moved towards the vessels with torches. It didn’t take long for a boat to be identified as a possible crime scene.
‘This one is open.’ A uniformed officer was standing on the deck of a white day cruiser. It was being painted. A set of wide wooden ladders was fixed to the bow.
‘This could be what we’re after,’ Richard said. ‘Come down from there. Don’t contaminate it.’ He took his torch and pointed it through a porthole. There was a small galley kitchen and dining table and a seating area with padded bench seats, which converted into a bed. There was a pile of clothing on the table, jeans, UGG boots, a belt and socks. He could see a pair of black knickers on the floor. ‘Bingo,’ Richard said. ‘Get me a forensic team down here,’ he ordered. ‘This is where Michelle Branning was assaulted.’ He called Alan to give him the news.
Chapter 23
Monday Morning
Lottie woke up, made a coffee, added oat milk and rolled a cigarette. She slumped on the settee and put her feet up. Her muscles were stiff and aching. She needed a hot shower to loosen her up. It was still dark but she could hear the camp stirring into life. An engine started and a dog was barking, then one of the Mathew’s kids started crying. The family were three trailers away but she could hear him like he was outside the door. That kid was always crying. His mother said he was teething but he was five. Lottie hadn’t had any children but she knew five-year-olds didn’t teeth. She put on the news and turned up the volume. The lead story was the discovery of a couple at their holiday home in Rhosneiger. It was being described as a robbery homicide, possibly connected to serious organised crime. There were several victims as yet unidentified and they were appealing for anyone who knew a woman called Mary Adams from the Cork area of Ireland. They posted her passport photograph. Lottie nearly spilled her coffee.
‘No, no, no,’ she muttered. She reached for her mobile and dialled Liz. After a dozen rings, Liz answered in tears.
‘Have you seen the news?’
‘Yes,’ Liz sobbed. ‘She wasn’t in her trailer this morning and I knew something bad had happened to her. I was hoping she would be in her bed when I woke up but she’s dead. Oh, poor, poor, Mary.’
‘Have you told anyone?’ Lottie asked.
‘No.’ Liz sniffled. ‘I’ve only just seen it on the news.’
‘Come to my trailer now,’ Lottie said. ‘We need to contact the police before they trace her back here. If we contact them first, it won’t seem suspicious.’
‘I hate that man and everything to do with him,�
� Liz said. ‘I told you he was bad news. He struts around like he’s Jesus Christ, pretending to be helping the poor but he’s nothing but a crook.’ She choked a sob. ‘I warned her to stay away from him.’
‘It’s too late now,’ Lottie said. ‘Come over here. We need to get our stories straight.’
**********************************************
Alan was woken by the phone. Not his mobile, the landline, which confused him as it never rang. His mobile was on silent ensuring he would get at least a few hours unbroken sleep. He hadn’t left the landline off the hook, which was a schoolboy error. His initial reaction was to tell whoever was calling to fuck off, turn over and go back to sleep but he realised it was probably important. It was always important. It was rarely good news, that was a fact. He answered the call. The duty sergeant had been left with two pieces of bad news by the nightshift and so, he felt it important enough to call him. Alan needed a pee. Once upon a time, he would have been able to wait until he’d spoken to him but not anymore. His bladder was a bully.
‘Morning sir,’ the sergeant said. ‘Terrible news about the Branning girl.’
‘It’s not the outcome we wanted,’ Alan agreed.
‘Shocking it is. I’ve known the family since before she was born.’ He paused. ‘I was at her christening.’
‘Have you spoken to the family?’ Alan asked.
‘They’re devastated,’ he said. ‘They’re a close family. Families can be broken by things like this. We’ve seen it more times that I wish to mention, haven’t we?’
‘We have.’
‘Anyway, back to business. I have a couple of pieces of news left by the nightshift officers. They said to ring you at eight o’clock if you weren’t here already.’
‘Eight o’clock?’ Alan said. ‘Oh shit. I set my alarm for six.’ He checked his phone. ‘I’ve turned it off,’ Alan said. ‘You’re going to have to wait a minute. This phone is attached to the wall and the wire doesn’t stretch to the bathroom.’
‘Right you are,’ the sergeant said. ‘We don’t want you making a mess. I’ll hang on here.’
Alan went to the bathroom. The window was open and it was freezing. He grabbed his dressing gown from the back of the door and struggled into it. His knee was sore today and he rubbed it as if rubbing it would make it better. It didn’t. Empty toilet rolls were stacked along the window ledge in an ever-decreasing triangle four rows high, built by one of the boys to remind him to buy some. The boys had been home for a few days, miraculously timed so they all descended at the same time. Jack was back from travelling in Vietnam, Kris had had a row with his missus and Dan was decorating his own house and didn’t like sleeping with the smell of paint. The fumes gave him a headache. They exhausted his limited stocks of toiletries in the space of twenty-four hours and the kitchen had been ravaged as if a plague of locusts had descended and devoured his food. Still, it had been nice to see them all together. The memories of the bungalow as a family home, the boys still children, the log-burning fire roaring and Kath in the kitchen cooking something hideous, were bittersweet. The past was such a happy place yet thinking of it made him sad because it was gone. He peed, flushed the loo and went back to his phone call, wrapping the gown tighter. His memories were swept into a dark recess in the corner of his mind for now. He picked up the phone.
‘Okay. I’m back. Sorry about that.’
‘No problem at all. I’ve been asked to relay that David Prost was not in his caravan when officers went to bring him to the station last night.’
‘Oh, that’s not good.’
‘Apparently, his pickup truck was gone, so they assumed he might have gone somewhere to work, picking up parts or to tow a vehicle but when they called back this morning, he still wasn’t in and there’s no sign of his vehicle.’
Alan had the sinking feeling he was in the wind. What would make him run was anyone’s guess. Michelle Branning had been raped and murdered and only a guilty man would run following a routine visit from the police. But what was he guilty of?
‘I’ve put an alert out on his plates.’ He paused. ‘I don’t want to jump the gun but is he a suspect in the Branning case?’
‘He’s a person of interest,’ Alan said. Not sure if he was a suspect or not. He was still debating it. ‘His cousins certainly are.’
‘I’m asking because I would be in Ireland by now,’ the sergeant said. ‘If it was me on the run, that is.’
‘Good point. The circus is booked to sail over on Friday. Extend the alert to the port,’ Alan said. ‘Ask them to check if that truck travelled overnight.’
‘Will do.’
‘What is the second nugget of bad news?’ Alan asked.
‘Unfortunately, we have another incident which took place in the early hours of this morning,’ the sergeant said.
‘What happened?’
‘Trevor Branning, Michelle’s uncle,’ the sergeant said. ‘We found him this morning on the quarry road under the farmer’s bridge. Someone dropped a block on his head. Crushed his skull and fractured his neck. His ID, wallet and phone are on him, so he wasn’t robbed. He’s in the ICU at Bangor. The doctors are saying it’s touch and go.’
‘What do we know?’
‘We know he was out looking for Michelle. Bob Dewhurst says he saw him last night heading down the rocky coast towards the quarry. He was with a couple of others but it was foggy. Apparently, they got split up. The others are safe at home but Trevor must have reached the quarry and then headed back towards town along the quarry road.’
‘Have the family been told?’ Alan asked.
‘Yes, but not until after his wife reported him missing. She was flapping because the rest of the family were home and Trevor wasn’t. They knew Michelle had been found, so she feared the worst.’
‘When did she report him missing?’
‘About half an hour ago.’
‘Get someone to go and see her at the hospital,’ Alan said.
‘Will do.’
‘Has he said anything?’
‘Nothing. He hasn’t regained consciousness.’
‘Who would be on the quarry road at that time of night to drop a block on his head?’
‘I’ve got no idea,’ the sergeant said. ‘My money is on the Vincentia man. Sergeant Gerrard said he was last seen heading in that direction.’
‘Of course, he did,’ Alan said, thinking. It didn’t add up. ‘Who is at the scene?’
‘Chod Hall. He was asking if you wanted to have a nosey before they clean up?’
‘Tell him I’ll be there shortly,’ Alan said. ‘I want to have a look at it.’
‘Will do,’ the sergeant said. ‘Shall I let them know you’re up and about and on the way in?’
‘Let who know?’
‘Kim Davies and Richard Lewis are waiting to interview the Vincentia brother.’ He paused. ‘They have some interesting footage from the landlord at the Albert Vaults. I don’t know the details but it’s good news I believe.’
‘Okay. Tell them to carry on,’ Alan said. ‘I want to go to the quarry first. I’ll be there in half an hour.’ Alan thought for a second. ‘Has Pamela Stone finished at the boatyard?’
‘She took the entire vessel to their warehouse facility at Caernarvon,’ the sergeant said. ‘Fred Garret is doing the war dance apparently.’
‘I bet he is,’ Alan chuckled. ‘Why does she want the entire vessel?’
‘She said it’s something to do with the decking being porous?’
‘Of course,’ Alan said. ‘Porous decking. What other type is there?’
Chapter 24
Kim and Richard went into the interview room. Claus Vincentia was sitting at the table, flanked by a very professional looking brief. Kim had no idea who he was. His suit was the price of a two-week holiday at least. They sat down and went through the legal requirements. Claus looked washed out and tired. Dark circles underlined frightened eyes. His night in a cell hadn’t refreshed him one bit, nor had it washed away
the stink of stale ale. He looked like he needed a good hot shower and a toothbrush. The introductions were made for the camera and the tape.
‘Henry Graff,’ the brief said, speaking for the camera. His accent was indiscernible. Probably public school educated, Kim thought. Expensive. Everything about him was expensive. Too expensive for a travelling mechanic to afford and definitely arranged by someone they were yet to encounter. Claus had been snoring all night and his brother had his own problems, so neither of them had arranged representation. Whoever arranged for Henry Graff to be there, had money and influence. ‘I’ll be representing Claus and his brother Carlos and their cousin David Prost until we can assign them a solicitor each from our practice. If any charges come to fruition this morning, I’ll advice my clients and their representatives accordingly. I have a few colleagues who fit the bill.’ He scribbled on a note pad while scrolling on his iPad. Graff had fired the first warning shot across her bows, letting them know his firm was formidable. ‘So, it’s just me for now.’
‘Just you is fine, Mr Graff. Carlos assaulted a police officer, so that will be a section eighteen but he’s on the run and we can’t find David, so there’s no rush to wheel out the big guns just yet,’ Kim said. ‘Keep your powder dry for now.’ She smiled. ‘However, I must say that was very impressive. I can imagine an inexperienced detective quaking in their boots listening to that.’ She smiled again but Graff ignored her jibe. ‘Before we begin, I need you to know that we’ve recovered CCTV footage from the Albert Vaults. The coverage includes the time your client and his relatives entered the pub, until they left.’ The brief nodded. Kim turned to Claus. ‘Do you understand what I’ve just said?’
‘Yes,’ Claus said. ‘You said you have CCTV from the pub. I’m not worried. We didn’t do anything wrong.’
Kim placed photographs of the Branning sisters on the table. ‘This is Michelle Branning and this is her sister Tiffany,’ she said. ‘Do you recognise them?’
‘Yes. I recognise them. I met them briefly yesterday,’ Claus said. He pointed to Tiffany. ‘We bought her some shots because it was her birthday. Is that a crime?’