by Conrad Jones
CHAPTER 10
Jamie and Tony parked at the back of the South Stack pub. It was a three-storey building built by the Victorians from red brick with a Welsh slate roof. They walked through the rear beer garden, where a handful of smokers were braving the falling temperatures to get their nicotine hit. The fragrant smell of cannabis floated on the breeze. It was the usual faces in the garden no matter what day of the week it was. They were all locals. It wasn’t the type of pub a tourist might wander in to. Some of them were casual acquaintances, some less than that yet most of them would boast they were regulars in Jamie’s pub and close personal friends with him. Being associated to him could offer protection, like a forcefield around you. ‘Don’t touch him, he’s one of Jamie’s mates.’
The truth was, they were piss-heads, every one of them, male and female—functioning alcoholics at best. Jamie was polite but he didn’t make a habit of befriending his customers as they usually had an agenda; especially as he sold drugs and alcohol, the two substances they desired the most. There were a few people in his employ he could trust but he generally kept himself to himself.
The beer garden locals greeted them with smiles and handshakes. He was cordial but made it as quick as possible. It was like Groundhog Day, same as yesterday and would be the same tomorrow. He was inside the pub in seconds. The dartboard and pool table were in use and there were about a dozen other customers dotted about. They all said hello. Jamie spotted the face he wanted to see and made a beeline for the man.
‘Have you paid your tab, Jenks?’ Jamie asked. His eyes narrowed; his face taut.
‘I was going to ask you for an extension until Friday, mate,’ Jenks said, turning white.
‘Drink your pint and piss off before I make you eat the glass,’ Jamie said. ‘If I see your face in here again before it’s paid, you’ll be drinking your food through a straw for the next six weeks, understand me?’
Jenks swallowed his beer and left like a scalded cat. No one said a word—the show was over. The bar was quite busy, so they walked into the lounge which was quiet. The barmaid brought two pints of Stella and placed them on the bar.
‘Thanks, Holly. Has Ronny been in today?’ Jamie asked. She shook her head. ‘That’s three days we haven’t seen him. He’s never stayed in for three days since he was a baby. Something is wrong.’
‘I’ll phone Steve and tell him to knock on his door,’ Tony said. ‘Steve is staying at his mums’ a few doors up the street. Ronny never locks the door.’ He made the call and instructed Steve to call in on Ronny. ‘He’ll give him a knock and call me back in ten.’
‘Have you been on your Facebook today?’ Holly asked.
‘No. I don’t need to because the first words out of your mouth are whatever bullshit is on there. Who needs to look when I’ve got you?’
‘I like to know what’s going on, that’s all,’ Holly said.
‘And what is going on?’
‘Lloyd Jones has been shooting his mouth off again. He reckons he offered you a fair fight and you didn’t turn up. Called you a chicken shit.’
‘Do you know what I have in my car?’
‘No, what?’ she asked, curious.
‘A great big bag of not bothered.’
‘Funny, Jamie. You’re going to have to shut him up. People are gossiping about you and Lloyd and they’re starting to talk about what happened to Paul Critchley.’
‘Nothing happened to Paul Critchley,’ Jamie said. He gulped from his pint. ‘He left town and he’s hiding under a rock, the scumbag.’
‘Lloyd is a prick. He doesn’t know when to be quiet. He isn’t going to let it go,’ Tony said. ‘If you need me to have a word, let me know. I’ll shut him up.’
‘Someone needs to,’ Holly said. She looked at Jamie with disappointment.
‘Listen, Holly, don’t look at me like that. If I reacted to every dick-head who has a pop at me online, I’d be in jail by now.’
‘I’m just trying to help.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re trying to cause trouble. There’s a big difference. Wind your neck in and mind your own business.’ Holly sloped off towards the bar, offended. ‘And stay off my Facebook, you, nosey cow.’
‘I was only trying to help,’ she protested. She vanished around the corner.
‘She means well,’ Tony said. ‘Even if she’s a nosey bitch.’
‘She could start a fight in an empty room. I’m trying to keep my head down, but Lloyd Jones is pushing my buttons. I don’t need a ruck with him just now. The prick needs to realise Paul Critchley is a grass and he’s gone to ground because everyone wants to kick his face in. Why is he so set on winding me up?’
‘You know the score,’ Tony said. ‘Paul is his cousin. You threatened to cut his tongue out and throw him off the mountain the day before he went missing.’ Tony shrugged and smiled. ‘You can see his point.’
‘Whose side are you on?’ Jamie said. ‘You’re supposed to be on mine.’ Tony laughed and patted Jamie on the back. His phone rang.
‘What? Are you sure?’ Tony said. Jamie looked at him confused. ‘It’s Steve. He’s saying he thinks Ronny is dead,’ Tony said, quietly. ‘He can see him through the kitchen window. He’s on the floor in a pool of blood.’
‘How does he know he’s dead?’
‘He said he’s grey and the blood has congealed. He’s been there a while.’
‘Shit,’ Jamie said. ‘How much of our gear has he got in there?’
‘Three kilos and a seventy-thousand in cash.’
‘Do you know where he hides it?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s sure the door is locked?’
‘Yes. It’s usually never locked.’
‘We need to break in, find the stash, and get out. We’ll phone the police when we’ve found it. Tell him not to touch anything until we get there.’
CHAPTER 11
Ronny Green was in his fifties and lived in his family home, left to him when his parents died. He’d been a joiner by trade, a very handsome man with a wicked sense of humour. Everyone loved Ronny. Sadly, in his later years, alcohol got its claws into him and he went downhill quickly. He couldn’t hold down his job and spent his days and nights in the pubs. His popularity never waned but he became vulnerable and didn’t like to say no. Some people took advantage of his kind nature, but the town’s locals looked after him. He was one of those characters that everyone loved.
‘Look, he’s there,’ Steve said. Jamie and Tony peered through the kitchen window. It was dark now but the kitchen light was on. They were in the back yard which had a high wall around it, topped with cement and broken glass. The neighbours couldn’t see into the yard. ‘I told you, he’s long gone. Look at the colour of him.’
‘Has he been attacked?’
‘I can’t tell from here,’ Steve said.
‘Open the back door, Tony,’ Jamie said. His face was like thunder. Ronny was much older but had been a good friend over the years. Jamie had known him since he was a boy and looked up to him when he was in his prime. He’d been a well-mannered man but was as tough as they come. No one messed with Ronny in his heyday. Jamie was gutted to see his friend lying dead on the floor. It felt like a kick in the guts. ‘I can’t believe he’s dead.’
Tony slid a jemmy under the lock and forced it. The doorframe cracked and the hinges creaked as it opened. The trio stepped inside gingerly as if Ronny may jump up and bite them. A stale sour smell hung in the air.
‘Don’t step in the blood,’ Jamie said. ‘The last thing we want is the police thinking one of us did this. He’s dead as a dodo.’ Ronny was grey, his skin taut, his eyes sunken and staring. He had dried blood around his nose and mouth. Jamie studied the body from as close as he dared. ‘It looks to me like someone has worked him over. His face is a mess.’
‘He doesn’t look bad enough to have died from a hiding, Jamie,’ Tony said.
‘His heart might have given up,’ Jamie said. ‘He wasn’t a well man.’
> ‘Who would hurt Ronny?’ Steve asked.
‘Someone looking for the stash,’ Tony said. ‘What other reason could they have?’
‘I don’t know but I’m going to find out,’ Jamie said. ‘Let’s have a look around. Where did he hide it?’
‘There’s a freezer in the utility room. It’s got a fake bottom,’ Tony said. ‘He fills it full of ragworms and tripe for fishing.’
‘I didn’t know he fished,’ Steve said.
‘He didn’t,’ Jamie said. ‘It was to put the police off if they raided the place. Find it. I want to have a look around upstairs.’
‘Okay.’
Tony headed to the rear of the house; Jamie went into the living room. The settee had been slashed to pieces, foam and springs protruded from every tear. The television was cracked, and an armchair had been tipped upside down and the bottom ripped open. He walked into the hallway and climbed the stairs slowly. There was blood smeared on the walls and the handrail. The bedrooms were open and there was a similar scene in each one. The mattresses were cut and ripped open, the drawers opened and tipped onto the floor. It was clear someone knew Ronny was hiding a stash for Jamie. He owned nothing of value himself. It looked like they’d questioned Ronny for the location of the loot and it was obvious he had held out. Jamie wondered how long for.
‘Jamie,’ Tony called upstairs. ‘We’ve got it. It’s all there.’
‘Right,’ Jamie said. Anger boiled in his guts. It was possible someone had hurt his friend before he died, still withholding the whereabouts of Jamie’s stash. He’d stayed loyal right to the end. If someone had hurt him, there would be retribution taken for Ronny. When he found out who had done it, they would wish they’d never been born. Things were coming to the boil and people were overstepping the mark. It was time to put them back in their boxes and teach them a lesson they would never forget. He walked to the top of the stairs.
‘Shall we call the cops, now?’ Steve asked.
‘Yes. I want you to tell them you saw him through the window and broke in the back door to help him but when you got in, you realised he was dead,’ Jamie said.
‘Can’t we just do it anonymously?’ Steve said.
‘No. The back door has been forced. I don’t want that to cloud the investigation. Call them and wait outside for them. They’ll ask you a few questions and let you go,’ Jamie said. ‘I’ll see you right for it.’
‘Are we going back to the Stack?’ Tony asked. ‘We need to put this gear away.’
‘Not yet,’ Jamie said. ‘I want you to go and pick up Lloyd Jones. Bring him to the yard. Enough is enough.’
CHAPTER 12
Alan and Kim walked into the Valley Hotel. It was an old coaching house on the A5, with a big restaurant and accommodation above. Outside was a kiddie’s play area the size of a football pitch. The drive to Wylfa Power Station was less than twenty minutes from there. It was the ideal place to stay for contractors. He had a hunch that’s what the Matrix officers would’ve posed as; workers from Wylfa or RAF Valley. They walked through the dining room into the bar. There were a handful of locals drinking and watching Sky Sports. One of them was Alan’s dentist, a South African man called Johan. He smiled and shook hands.
‘Afternoon, Alan,’ Johan said. ‘Are you having a late lunch?’
‘Unfortunately, not. We’re here on business. This is my DS, Kim Davies.’ Kim shook hands with him and smiled. Johan’s eyes lingered on her teeth a little too long. ‘Have you ever seen these men in here?’ Alan asked. Johan looked at the photograph and shook his head.
‘They’re not familiar to me,’ Johan said. ‘Who are they?’
‘We don’t know yet.’
‘I’ve heard there’s been a couple of murders over towards the Bay. Is this anything to do with that?’
‘Loosely,’ Alan said, being diplomatic. The barman approached. Alan didn’t know him. ‘A pint of Guinness and a half of smooth, please.’ The barman started pouring the beer. ‘Have you seen either of these men in here?’
‘No, but I only work one day a week,’ the young man said. ‘You want to ask Harry over there. He knows everyone around here.’
‘Thanks,’ Alan said. He paid for the drinks and passed Kim the pint of Guinness. She smiled and sipped from the glass. ‘Let’s go and speak to Harry. Excuse us.’ They moved away from the bar and Harry watched them approach. He had slicked back white hair and a Santa beard. Alan recognised him as a herder from the cattle market which had been closed for twenty-years. ‘Hello, Harry,’ Alan said. ‘I think you’ll remember my father, Peter Williams, from the cattle auction.’ The light of recognition flickered in his eyes. ‘I’m his son, Alan.’
‘Well, well, well. That was a long time ago. I remember you when you had hair,’ Harry said. ‘Is your dad still with us?’
‘No. He died ten years ago.’
‘He was a rogue in that auction,’ Harry laughed. ‘I remember him buying a Welsh dresser for thirty-pounds and no one could work out who’d bought it. He put the hammer down on his own bid and moved on so quickly, no one noticed.’
‘That dresser was still in kitchen when we sold the house last year,’ Alan said. ‘You have a good memory.’
‘Is your mum still here?’
‘No. I lost my mum and my sister, Audrey in the space of six months.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. I remember your mum. She was a lovely lady. Very softly spoken. I often teased your dad he was punching above his weight. And he was.’
‘He was,’ Alan said.
‘You haven’t come over here to reminisce,’ Harry said, putting on his glasses. ‘Let’s have a look at your photograph. I saw you handing it around at the bar.’
‘Thanks, Harry,’ Alan said. ‘Do you recognise these two men? We think they might have been contractors staying on the island somewhere.’
Harry studied their faces. He shook his head and took off his glasses. ‘They haven’t been in here,’ he said. ‘But I’ve seen them in town having breakfast.’
‘When?’ Alan said.
‘A few times over the last few weeks. They’ve been eating in the Empire Café near the cinema,’ Harry said. ‘They’re from the Liverpool area. Not Scousers but not far away. The Wirral maybe. I used to deliver that way when I was on the cattle trucks.’
‘I remember you driving them,’ Alan said. ‘Did they say what they were doing here?’
‘I can’t say they did but I tend to keep myself to myself.’
‘Did you see them talking to anyone in particular?’
‘It’s a friendly little café full of nosey buggers and they were friendly lads, chatted to everyone,’ Harry said. ‘They spent most of their time chatting to Eric Stott. You must know Eric. He ran the video and DVD shop in town for years.’
‘I know him,’ Alan said. ‘I remember his shop on Williams Street. I can remember renting Betamax videos from him.’
‘Betamax?’ Harry said. ‘Now you’re showing your age.’
‘I am. That was a long time ago.’
‘Speak to him. If anyone knows anything about them, it’s Eric. He asks more questions than Parkinson.’
‘Now you’re showing your age, Harry,’ Alan said.
‘Who’s Parkinson?’ Kim asked.
‘Drink your Guinness,’ Alan said. ‘Thanks, Harry. Nice to see you again.’ Harry nodded goodbye. Alan checked his watch. ‘The café won’t be open now but I know where Eric Stott used to live. He might still live there. Let’s go and speak to him.’ Alan felt his phone vibrating. The screen showed it was the station. ‘DI Williams,’ he answered.
‘Alan, it’s Bob Dewhurst.’
‘Hiya, Bob,’ Alan said. Bob Dewhurst was his opposite number in the uniformed division and a lifelong friend. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I thought you’d want to know I’ve just dispatched a unit to a house on Pump Street. It’s a suspected murder victim found in his kitchen by a friend who called around because he hadn’t been seen for a
few days. It’s Ronny Green,’ Bob said. ‘It looks like the place has been ransacked.’
‘Bloody hell. I went to school with Ronny,’ Alan said. ‘He’s connected to Jamie Hollins, isn’t he?’
‘That’s why I called. It’s too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?’
‘Yes. Thanks, Bob. I’m in Valley now. Tell your officers I’ll be ten minutes at the most. I want to take a look at this for myself.’
‘Will do.’
‘A man called Ronny Green has been found dead in his home,’ Alan said to Kim. ‘He’s a well-known guy who fell on hard times. The rumours are he was running errands for Jamie Hollins.’
‘Another drug related death,’ Kim said, shaking her head. ‘It sounds like your friend in Liverpool was right about a power struggle.’
‘It does. We need to get a grip on this before things get out of hand again.’
‘Again?’ Kim asked.
‘There was a time in the eighties when the town nearly turned itself inside out. Three small families went to war over the supply chain, mostly cannabis back then. This was way before your average islander could afford cocaine even if they could find any to buy. It took two years to settle down. Not a night went by without someone ending up in casualty. Windows were smashed, cars were trashed, relatives beaten senseless, and then three members of the same family were found in a burnt-out Capri near the quarry.’ Alan recalled. ‘That was the final straw. The chief constable of the day, a man called Elwyn Hughes called in help from Merseyside and Manchester. They arrested more people in a week than they had in the previous month. The courts were crammed with emergency sessions and twenty-nine people were jailed over two weeks. Things went back to normal for a long time although the underlying grudges are still there, bubbling beneath the surface.’ They reached the car and climbed in. ‘You might wonder why I’m telling you this, but it could be relevant.’