by Conrad Jones
‘Buying someone a drink is not a crime but adding Flunitrazepam to it is,’ Kim said. She waited for a response but Claus folded his arms and remained silent. ‘Flunitrazepam is a drug commonly used in date rape cases.’
‘I don’t know what that is,’ Claus said, staring at Kim, his expression defiant. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’
‘Really,’ Kim asked, frowning. ‘You’ve never heard of Rohypnol?’ she said. ‘Roofies, ruffles, Mexican Valium, the forget-me-pill. Do any of them ring a bell?’
‘No. I don’t to need to drug women,’ Claus said, irritated.
‘Tiffany Branning was tested last night and she has residual traces of Flunitrazepam in her blood,’ Kim said. ‘The results of tests on her hair will confirm it.’ Claus blushed. ‘We think you added the drug to her drink.’
‘I didn’t do anything like that,’ Claus said. ‘Maybe somebody else put it in her drink. It’s a busy pub. They had been in other pubs before they met us. Anyone could have done it. You’ve picked on us because we’re travellers.’
‘I’m showing your client a sequence filmed by the CCTVsystem at the Albert Vaults, which covers the inside of the public house, specifically the seating area where Claus and his brother were sitting,’ Kim said. Claus looked shocked. The colour drained from his face. She pressed play on a digital monitor which was fixed to the wall. The footage showed Tiffany Branning turning away from the three men to her left to talk to her sister. The sisters were giggling about something. Carlos could be seen leaning over to sprinkle a white powder into her drink. Claus stirred it with a cocktail stick. Kim stopped the recording. ‘That is your brother Carlos adding a white powder into Tiffany’s drink and that is you making sure it was dissolved.’ She paused. ‘What do you have to say about that, Claus?’
‘In light of this evidence, I need a word with my client,’ Henry Graff said, removing his spectacles. ‘Don’t say another word, Claus.’
‘You can have a break,’ Kim said. ‘Before you do, watch this.’ She started the recording again. ‘The footage showed the sisters standing up, taking cigarettes from Tiffany’s handbag and walking out of shot as they went outside to smoke. Claus leaned over and added white powder to Michelle’s drink. ‘That’s you adding Flunitrazepam to Michelle Branning’s drink.’ Claus blushed darker this time. He slumped down in his chair. ‘To bring you up to date, Michelle Branning was raped and murdered yesterday afternoon. Her body was recovered from the marina last night.’ She watched the brief turn white. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Claus closed his eyes and shook his head.
‘I didn’t rape and kill anyone,’ Claus protested. ‘This is crazy.’
‘Please don’t say anything at all, Claus,’ Henry said. ‘A break is required, detective. If you don’t mind.’
‘We’ll leave you to it for five minutes,’ Kim said. She smiled and shrugged. ‘I’m going to have a coffee. Would either of you like one?’ she asked. Claus and his brief shook their heads but neither of them answered.
**************************************************
Alan parked his BMW in a passing point on the quarry road. It was a hundred yards from the farmer’s bridge. Uniformed officers were manning a cordon and crime scene tape fluttered wildly in the wind. It wouldn’t last long. The wind was becoming stronger. Chod Hall waved to him from the farmer’s bridge. The injured man had been removed but the block was where it fell. A kidney-shaped patch of congealed blood stained the grit and gravel. Alan walked up the slipway and greeted Chod with a handshake. Chod was a DS with talent. His analytical skills and powers of observation had earned him a secondment with Greater Manchester Police. He worked in their murder squad for two years before deciding he wanted to move back to the island.
‘This has me baffled,’ Chod said, pushing his dark hair from his face. ‘You can see where the block came from, there’s a gap in the wall over there and you can see where it ended up but there’s no way one man moved that block. Arnold Schwarzenegger couldn’t pick that up and carry it from there to there. It doesn’t make any sense at all.’
‘I agree,’ Alan said. ‘There was more than one person up here.’ He looked at the banks on either side of the road. Some of the grass to the right was flattened. ‘There look,’ he said, pointing. ‘Let’s have a little wander.’
The detectives walked along the bank to the flattened grass. A path had been trudged from the road, up the bank and into the fields beyond. From their elevated position they could see tracks leading across the field, skirting the marshland and heading into the next field. The gorse and grass had been flattened and there were footprints in the muddy patches.
‘Two or three sets of footprints?’ Chod said. ‘I’m saying three.’
‘I agree,’ Alan said, nodding. ‘They knew where they were going,’ Alan said. ‘It was pitch black and foggy last night. Even with a torch it would be difficult to navigate across that field yet they did it and avoided the marsh. They have local knowledge.’ Alan pointed to the drystone wall. ‘They knew if they followed the boundary wall to the next field, they would stay dry. The next field leads over to Porth-y-felin.’
‘They were definitely locals,’ Chod said. ‘I was told there was bother at the Victoria Inn last night, wasn’t there?’
‘Yes. Sergeant Gerrard went to interview brothers from the fairground about the Branning women. He was butted and the culprit ran across the fields. Those fields over there. He would have come in this direction.’
‘So, he could have been followed by locals from the pub?’
‘Followed or chased more like it,’ Alan said. ‘If there was a vigilante mob hunting Carlos Vincentia in the dark, they’ll be bragging about it somewhere. Wait for the pub to open and find out who was in there late last night. There may be some names that will jump out at you.’
‘I will do,’ Chod said. ‘I’m going to walk across the fields to Porth-y-felin following their tracks. They will have been in a rush.’ He pointed to the muddy patches. ‘It would have been hard going in the dark. They may have left something behind.’
‘I’ll get uniform to pick you up outside the Vic,’ Alan said.
***************************************************
Carlos Vincentia had spent an uncomfortable night in a garden shed. He slept under some potato sacks and a plastic tarpaulin. His head was banging and he was thirsty. There was nothing in the shed of any use to him. It was daylight and the fog had lifted. There was no cloaking device to be had. He would be clearly visible wherever he went. His phone was dead. The battery was shit and he’d used what little charge he had trying to get David to pick him up. The problem was David didn’t know where he was and he couldn’t tell him because he didn’t know either. David sounded squirrely. He was a first-class pussy. The police had been to the caravan and it had sent him off at a tangent. The police were working blind. They had nothing, stumbling around in the dark trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. The sisters had been on a pub crawl through town. Anyone could have spiked them. No jury on the planet could convict them of drugging them. The police were looking for a patsy to crumple under the pressure and admit to it. That wasn’t going to happen while he had breath in his body.
Carlos opened the shed door and tried to get his bearings. He was on the edge of a housing estate at the bottom of the mountain. Behind him, about a mile away was the sea. He had come from that direction in the safety of the dark. It wasn’t an option to go back that way in the daylight. He needed somewhere to rest up, eat and drink, charge his phone and make contact with Claus. The situation wasn’t ideal. It was a mess but it wasn’t irretrievable. They would be on the move on Friday and it would all be behind them. If he could avoid the police until then, everything would be fine. His boss would be furious that they had attracted the attention of the police. Bronski didn’t like the police and they didn’t like him. There was always something dodgy going on around Bronski. He sold fuel and Carlos was sure he sold a lot of other stuff too. There
was always a bag of skunk spare when he arrived. He would tell them to enjoy it as a thank you for all their hard work. One time it was a bag of flake, well over a gram. It was the best coke he had ever snorted. He asked Bronski if he could buy some more of it and Bronski flipped, ranting about not being a drug dealer. It was a gift and nothing more. Bullshit. Carlos was aware of some of his dealings but he knew it was just the tip of the iceberg. They would have to keep their indiscretion and the resulting police involvement to themselves. There was no way Bronski would find out unless someone told him and they weren’t about to do that. Keep your mouth shut and say nothing about nothing. That’s what Bronski always said when he was paying them a bonus. Bronski was touchy about the police. He said it was because he was of Russian origin and that the British police hated Russians. Carlos wasn’t sure if they did or if they didn’t but he didn’t want to piss him off. Bronski wasn’t the kind of guy you wanted to piss off.
Carlos ventured a few yards from the shed and looked over the garden fence. The houses were all detached with fields behind them. There was washing hanging on the line next door and some of the bedroom windows were open. A dog was barking nearby. He tiptoed along the fence to the kitchen window and peered inside. It was empty. The worktops were clean and tidy and the table and floor tiles were spotless. In the corner was a walking frame. The owner was probably old. He ducked low and moved to the lounge window. The curtains were open and he could see through the room to the driveway at the front of the house. He couldn’t see a car. There was no sign of life. He crept back to the kitchen and checked the back door, trying the handle. It turned but the door wouldn’t budge. There was a mortice lock below the handle, so there was probably a key on the other side. Most people leave the key in the lock. He checked around and kept low as he ran back to the shed. There was a spade hanging on the wall. That would do the trick. He took it and went back to the kitchen. Leaning the spade against the wall, he knocked on the door and waited.
************************************************
Jane Orange was cold and wet but too scared to move. The thing that had visited her in the night told her if she opened her eyes, he would cut them out. She knew he had gone but the fear had not left with him. The urge to urinate had been so intense, she couldn’t stop it from happening. The mattress and her nightdress were soaking wet and cold on her skin. She wanted to open her eyes and go to the bathroom, shower and put on, fresh clothes but she was too frightened. The bedding would need to be changed and the mattress turned. If Malcolm knew what she’d done, he’d be disgusted. She was disgusted with herself.
The thing that had woken her was inches from her face. She could smell its breath, feel his warmth on her skin. When she’d stirred from her sleep, he had spoken to her. He said such disgusting things to her. So vile that they could never be repeated. Just thinking about what it had said made the tears stream down her cheeks once more. What he said he would do to her if she ever spoke to the police was inhumane. Beyond evil. He knew her son’s name and the names of her grandchildren and he swore he would hurt them too. All the time he spoke, she had kept her eyes screwed tightly closed. Her chest was so tight with fear she couldn’t release her breath. Her muscles began to cramp but she didn’t move. Not even an inch. Not even when its hands travelled beneath the quilt touching her, squeezing her in places no woman should be touched involuntarily. His voice would stay in her head for the remainder of her life. She would take it to the grave. The sensation of his face so close to hers and the incessant whispering had made her feel as if she would die right there; her heart would burst from fright. The evil things it wanted to do to her made her sick. They were feelings that would never fade. Could never fade. They would scar her deeper than any knife could have. They had cut into her soul. She had suffered the most traumatic few hours of her life and for what exactly? Malcolm and his effing ego.
She opened her eyes but didn’t move. Her beathing was shallow and fast. She could feel her heart beating in her chest, like the bass drum in a marching band. Was it still there, waiting for her to move? Jane looked left and right as far as she could without moving her head. Nothing bad happened. She turned her head and looked around the bedroom. It was empty. There was no sign of the malevolent being that had been there last night, yet she could feel it. The memory of his touch on her skin made her want to vomit. She threw off the covers and ran to the bathroom. A stream of puke hit the porcelain and splattered across the seat. Her chest heaved again and her stomach was emptied of the nervous bile. The taste in her mouth was acrid and stung the back of her throat. She felt as if her heart was about to explode.
Eventually, she couldn’t remember how long, the panic subsided and she removed her nightgown. There were tiny scratches on her breasts. His fingernails were sharp like nails. The tips rough and uneven. She looked in the mirror and saw more scratches on her thigh. The sensation of him touching her, whispering, taunting, threatening, the disgusting words he used, the overwhelming evil that radiated from him swamped her senses. She felt her knees buckling and she folded onto the tiles next to the bath. It was five minutes before she felt strong enough to stand and turn on the shower. She waited for the water to reach temperature and climbed into the cubicle. The water touched her skin like warm silk washing away the filth on her. She rubbed shower gel onto her skin until the bottle was empty but still didn’t feel clean. The hot water soothed her nerves and calmed her a little. She used a bottle of shampoo to wash her entire body again. And then she washed it again.
Half an hour later, she felt recovered enough to get out and dress herself. She wrapped her hair in a towel and went back into the bedroom. Her nerves were on edge, her senses ultra-aware. Fear still gripped her soul. Could it have all been in her imagination? The scratches said no. It had happened. It had been there. She saw her mobile on the bedside table and picked it up. She wanted to call the police and tell them she’d been threatened and her family had been threatened and she’d been touched. Assaulted. Touching without permission was assault, wasn’t it? She wanted to ring them and tell them. She wanted to ring Malcolm and tell him what a stupid stubborn arsehole he was and that this was all his fault. Councillor effing Orange and his effing crusades. One effing ridiculous crusade after another. This was his fault but she knew she could never phone the police and she could never tell Malcolm what had happened. He said he would come back and she believed him. She went into her phone with shaking fingers. A photograph was still open, taken on her camera. She stared at the image, mouth open, tears flowing down her cheeks. It was a selfie. The flash had made her skin look deathly pale. Her eyes were screwed tightly closed and the expression of sheer terror was etched into every line on her face. The face next to hers belonged to a clown. A very evil looking clown with crooked teeth and dull emotionless eyes. It was smiling. Jane dropped the phone and ran from the room. This time she didn’t make it to the toilet before she vomited.
*****************************************************
Kelly Williams had hardly slept. She made a pot of tea and turned on the news. That was a mistake. The local station was full of the gruesome find at a house on Rhosneiger beach. The images of the house were taken from the exact spot they had been standing when she’d first seen the woman at the window. The camera zoomed in on the balcony. The window had been boarded up with shuttering, which looked ugly against the rest of the building. She shook her head as the details were revealed. Four dead in the basement, two as yet unidentified. It was suspected to be linked with serious organised crime. What is that? Serious organised crime. As opposed to what exactly? Not very organised crime. Unorganised crime. Not so seriously organised crime. What was the difference? Whoever was responsible for the murders, organised or not organised was a fucking nutter. She had seen his face and looked into his eyes and she could confirm he was a nutter. And she could confirm he hadn’t been alone. So, there was actually a bunch of fucking nutters working together. Whether they were organised or not was irrelevant,
she was frightened.
The news changed to the rape and murder of Michelle Branning. Kelly shook her head and closed her eyes. She knew Michelle and Tiffany. They were ten years younger than her but she had met them socially a few times. They were typical Holyhead girls. Bubbly and confident. Loud and proud, fun until the fun stops and then beware. Mess with one at your peril. The thought two young women could go out to celebrate a birthday and end up with such a tragic ending was incomprehensible. Kelly felt for her family and friends, especially her mam. She would be destroyed. The news of her murder made her twice as anxious as she was already. She felt more vulnerable than she had ever felt. Everything felt like it was fragile and could shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment.
The online encounter with a murderer had unsettled her. Her mind had been in turmoil ever since. She had to do something but there weren’t many options open to her. She could stay put and do nothing and hope it all goes away but that was like burying her head in the sand. It was unlikely that this would be the end of the matter. Women falling to their death from a balcony in a small Welsh village tended to attract attention. This one certainly had. The news bulletin was nearly half an hour long and they were promising an hour long special to be broadcast after the evening news. This was a huge news story and the culprits would be sitting watching it, planning how to avoid being captured. Removing any witnesses would be high on their list.
Kelly couldn’t see how the men would get away with what they had done. They had threatened her into silence but there would be other witnesses out there. People must have seen them coming and going from the house. She still wasn’t sure how they had got her mobile number but she had a good idea it was something to do with Jack. The electricity being turned off was concerning. It could only be done from close quarters. She went to the front door and unlocked it. Her heart was beating faster than it should. She opened it and checked the street for anything out of the ordinary. What that was, she had no idea. It looked the same as it always had but now it was frightening. Every nook and cranny, doorway and alleyway had become a hiding place for a murderer. A murderer who had taken a picture of her daughter outside her mothers’ home. She couldn’t think clearly. Doing nothing and waiting wouldn’t solve the problem. It wasn’t an option.