by Conrad Jones
‘As sure as eggs are eggs.’
‘And someone here done them in and chucked them in the sea?’ Lloyd asked, thoughtfully. ‘That’s hardcore.’
‘It’s hardcore all right. It’s also a red rag to a bull. The coppers will be swarming all over this island until they put someone away for this. Killing one copper is madness, killing two is off the scale. The thing to remember is whoever did it, is out there and we don’t know who they are. You need to keep your head down and eyes open. If you see anything out of the ordinary, get a message to me at the Stack. Likewise, if I hear anything of interest, I’ll get a message to you.’ Jamie offered his hand. Lloyd hesitated for a moment and then shook it. Jamie folded the knife and handed it back to him. ‘Keep that on you, just in case.’ Lloyd nodded and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘Give Lloyd a lift home, please, Tony.’
‘No worries,’ Tony said.
Jamie watched them leave. He heard the van start and saw the headlights come on. The gates were opened by his men and Tony drove away down the mountain. He flicked the lights off and climbed into his Range Rover. The feeling of being watched was overwhelming. It was with him constantly. He didn’t know if it was paranoia caused by too many anabolic steroids or if it was something different. Paranoia was the constant companion of any drug dealer, the good ones anyway. The shit ones didn’t care. Most of the small dealers on the island did it to feed their own habit. Jamie didn’t touch the shit because that’s what it was, shit. It turned people into heroes and overconfident idiots. Most of them wouldn’t see danger coming because they were too off their heads to see it. Jamie couldn’t see it yet but he could sense it. Danger was close by, very close indeed.
CHAPTER 18
The briefing room was packed. The entire team was back from their investigations. Simon and Kerry had been the last to arrive, their journey the longest. Alan felt a little subdued following his conversation with the senior officers from neighbouring forces. He understood the investment made in a three-year investigation but it threatened to hamper their murder case. It was likely that certain key players would feature in both investigations. Explaining the boundaries to his detectives, without compromising Operation Thor, would be difficult. There were undercover officers placed deep inside the supply chain and they were vulnerable. It was vital Thor was kept a secret for their safety regardless of securing prosecutions. His major concern was the involvement of the NCA. The threat of the Albanian gangs moving to grab power in the area was a real one and that would be very bad news for the island. Anglesey relied on tourism financially and a drug war could have a dramatic effect. Pulling bodies from the sea wasn’t conducive to attracting tourists.
‘Okay, everyone,’ Alan said, calling the room to order. ‘I want to wrap this up quickly for today so you can go home, get some sleep, and be fresh for the morning. Once the forensic results start coming in, we’ll all need to be on our game.’ A murmur of approval rippled around the room. ‘Matrix have revealed the identity of our victims. Mike Jarvis and Patrick McGowan were following a lead into the dealings of an Albanian outfit who are moving north from the London area. We don’t know what they were investigating or who was involved but they’d been here for a number of weeks so it must have been a solid lead. What we have to take seriously is the mention of an Albanian gang operating along the supply corridor. They’re ruthless to say the least. I don’t see them having any problems killing police officers if they discovered they were undercovers, so as it stands, they’re now top of our list of suspects. It answers a lot of questions as to who would have had the stomach to carry this out and dump the bodies in plain sight. We’ve got a lead that Jarvis and McGowan may have been staying somewhere in town, Kim and I will follow that up in the morning. Apart from that we’ve got several sightings across the island which don’t amount to much. Keep knocking on doors, there’s a vehicle somewhere and their belongings are probably in a hotel room.’ He turned to Alice. ‘Where are we with Kelvin Adams, Alice?’
‘We recovered the murder weapon from the range, guv,’ Alice said. ‘It’s a standard clawhammer, probably from B&Q. There’s hair and skin on it. Pamela Stone is rushing it through for prints.’
‘Great,’ Alan said. ‘What about the other DNA results?’
‘She’s saying tomorrow at the earliest.’
‘Good.’
‘Simon, what do you find out from the employers?’
‘He was a model employee with no axes to grind and we have a copy of his email on his hard drive. Tech are checking through it now.’
‘Good. Anything else?’
‘Apparently, he sat next to a colleague called Glen Price. They worked together on new projects,’ Kerry said. ‘Price phoned in sick on the same day Kelvin was murdered. We paid a visit to the Price home on the way back and Mr Price was very evasive, refused to answer any questions at all. We’re back there at ten o’clock in the morning and we’re going to squeeze him.’
‘Excellent,’ Alan said. ‘There’s something about Kelvin Adams we’re missing, keep digging and we’ll see what comes up. Was there anything else?’
‘The Prices live in a substantial property and own expensive cars, guv, and I’ve asked for financial reports to be pulled,’ Simon added.
‘Good work, everyone,’ Alan said. ‘Anything that comes up, I need to know it immediately. Go straight to the island in the morning, we’ll meet the same time tomorrow evening for an update.’
CHAPTER 19
Bob Dewhurst was sitting in his armchair sipping a single malt while watching the news. Eileen had gone to bed early with one of her e-readers. She kept misplacing them, buying a new one then finding the old one. Bob reckoned she was the proud owner of at least four Kindles. They kept her entertained and she loved to read. It was her favourite pastime. Whatever made her happy was okay with him. He planned to read more when he retired at fifty-five—two years away but until then, he didn’t have the time or concentration span. It only seemed like yesterday when he was a fresh-faced probationer, walking the beat in Holyhead. The high street was thriving back then, the pubs were full and employment was high. That was before joining the Common Market. The EU quotas took the trawler fleet away and the town went into decline. It was like a different town now. Market Street was nothing but charity shops, bookies, and boarded up businesses. He’d lived through its decline and didn’t envisage a recovery in his lifetime.
The landline rang, which was unusual at that time of night.
‘Hello, the Dewhurst residence,’ he joked.
‘Sorry to phone you at home, Bob,’ sergeant Baker said. ‘But I think you’ll want to hear this.’
‘It’s not a problem. What is it, Scott?’
‘We had a call from a lady in Valley, Mrs Hindley, reporting her husband Brian, missing. She said he’s always home by six-thirty, without fail and he’s not rang to say he’d be late and he’s not answering his mobile. She said he’s a creature of habit and she’s very worried. Apparently, he walks around Penrhos nature reserve most days, so I sent a patrol and his car is there but there’s no sign of him. They’ve walked all the paths with torches in case he’d taken ill but they’re clear.’
‘He could have walked into the sea,’ Bob mused. ‘I’ve lost count of how many suicides choose that spot. Are there any mental health issues?’
‘I asked if there’d been any problems but she said he’s fit and healthy. He’s a retired postman with a passion for seabirds. That’s why he goes to Penrhos so often.’
‘He’s not pissed in a pub in town?’
‘He doesn’t drink.’
‘Ah, that puts a different slant on things,’ Bob said. ‘We can’t do anymore tonight if they’ve searched the paths. It doesn’t sound good to me.’
‘Nor me, that’s why I rang.’
‘Who’s running the dayshift tomorrow?’
‘Sergeant Lee.’
‘Send her a message telling her I’ll draft in a couple more units to conduct a
thorough search. I’ll be in for eight. Fingers crossed, he turns up.’
‘Fingers crossed, see you tomorrow.’
CHAPTER 20
Alan stopped at Valley Spar on the way home. He bought a pepperoni pizza and a bottle of merlot, conscious that his breath stank of whisky that morning, no matter how many times he brushed his teeth. Chewing gum and mints didn’t mask it either—it came from the gut. There were a lot of top brass milling about the corridors of Caernarfon station and since Operation Thor had been revealed, there would be more of them sniffing around. The North Wales force was under the same financial pressure as the English forces and each senior officer jealously studied other department budgets. The cost of Thor would run into the millions and there would be some who would question the return on investment. Detective Chief Inspector Hunt from Matrix had claimed the operation would unequivocally dismantle the drugs supply from the North-West, down the North Wales corridor. Alan thought that was a ridiculous objective, simply because it was unachievable. It would cause a power vacuum and nothing more. Operation Suzie had wiped several crime organisations off the map but had it stopped the supply? Of course not. Nothing could. As long as there were narcotics being manufactured, there would be customers for them. There were many on the force who favoured legalising drug manufacture so that it could be taxed and regulated. Alan was a firm believer that the war on drugs was a war they could never win. There would have to be a paradigm shift in the way it was tackled before anything changed.
He mulled things over as he drove. There were no clear lines of enquiry to follow, only maybes. He arrived home and climbed out of the car. The living room light was on and the dogs were standing on their hindlegs, scratching the glass and barking hello. Dan and Jack were sitting on the settee, laughing at the dogs. He wasn’t expecting Jack to be back from Bangor until the weekend. The electric being on was a bonus. He remembered he owed Dan twenty pounds and he mentally kicked himself for not taking some money out of the cashpoint as he’d promised. He opened the front door and the dogs sprinted down the hallway to greet him. Henry grabbed his trouser leg in his teeth and shook it enthusiastically.
‘Henry, you nutcase,’ Alan said, trying to shake him off. ‘Jack, call the dogs in there for a minute while I sort myself out, please. I can’t get in the door!’ Jack called them but they ignored him and continued to mob Alan. ‘One word from you and they do what they want.’ He laughed. ‘Not exactly the dog whisperer.’ He went into the kitchen, opened the wine, and poured a glass. ‘What are you doing home?’ he called from the kitchen.
‘I’m skint,’ Jack said. ‘I need to eat and wash some clothes. Where else can I go?’
‘I don’t know,’ Alan said, shrugging. ‘Don’t they have foodbanks in Bangor?’
‘My rent is due and I need a sub until the end of the month,’ Jack said from the living room.
‘The end of the month?’ Alan said. ‘Which month?’ He sipped the wine and let the dogs out of the back door. They bolted across the field and vanished into the inky darkness. A halfmoon glistened so clear it could have been made of silver. The star-studded vista never failed to impress, no matter how many times he looked at it. He absorbed the beauty for a minute or two and then he went into the living room. The boys looked more alike every day. ‘There you are. I like you to look me in the eyes when you’re robbing me of my hard-earned cash. How much do you need?’
‘I owe two hundred, dad,’ Jack said.
‘I didn’t ask what you owe. How much do you need?’
‘Two hundred.’
‘I thought you’d say that.’
‘There’s no point in not asking for enough, then asking for more later on.’
‘Heaven forbid,’ Alan said, analysing his logic. ‘I’ll transfer it now.’
‘While you’re at it, can you transfer me the twenty you owe me, please,’ Dan said. ‘Unless you have cash.’
‘No cash,’ Alan said. ‘I wonder if this will ever end. How old are you all and at what age do you become self-sufficient?’
‘Stop moaning and send the cash, please,’ Jack said.
‘Oh, I’m moaning now. Sorry about that. When are you all leaving home?’
‘I have left,’ Jack said.
‘That’s debatable. You might not be here physically every night but you’re still a burden on my meagre earnings.’
‘It’s tough out there, dad,’ Jack said. ‘I don’t think you appreciate how hard it can be.’
‘Don’t say things like that in front of your brother,’ Alan said. ‘Or he’ll never leave.’ He sipped his wine. ‘Are you still working at the Octagon?’ Alan asked, changing the subject.
‘Thursday and Saturday nights,’ Jack said. ‘I do a set, midnight until four. It’s the busiest time. I’m the main event nowadays.’
‘Ask for a pay rise then. You’ll be able to pay your own rent.’
‘That’s how I got the sets in the first place. The last guy asked for a pay rise. He didn’t work there again.’
‘Have you thought about getting a proper job where you work all week, like a Monday to Friday, nine till five type of job?’
‘No.’
‘Is that your considered reply?’
‘Yes. I like working at the club.’
‘It’s a terrible place. I remember being in uniform and having to do one weekend a month policing outside. There were fights all the way up the high street. It was a pain in the arse.’ Alan said. ‘It used to be the venue to go to, back then. Is it as busy as it used to be?’
‘Nowhere near, dad,’ Jack said, shaking his head. ‘Most of the pubs on the high street are open until silly o’clock in the morning and there’s no entry fee. We charge a tenner on the door. I’m not sure why anyone comes in at all.’
‘On a serious note,’ Alan asked. ‘Have you noticed any changes in the setup lately?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not sure. Nothing specific, just changes. Who does the security?’
‘Funny you should ask that,’ Jack said. He sat up straight as he spoke. ‘A couple of weeks back, three of the regular doormen from Bangor didn’t turn up and they haven’t been back since. They’re using agency staff from Liverpool and the manager is pulling his hair out.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s spent twenty years trying to keep the Liverpool security firms out of Bangor—reckons they’re bad news and come hand in hand with their own drug dealers and he’s not far wrong.’
‘What do you mean?’ Alan asked, slurping his wine.
‘I’m noticing the same faces acting shady, hanging around the toilets and chillout rooms. If I can see it, anyone can but no one is challenging them. The doormen have got to be in on it.’
‘What’s the manager doing about it?’
‘Shitting his pants, basically. He’s been staying in the office most of the night. I reckon he’s been threatened.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘He’s an arse but he’s always been shit-hot on drugs being sold in the club. He knows the customers are taking coke but he’s always made sure it’s not inside. The other thing is, I’m hearing a lot of people moaning about how shit the coke is.’
‘You’re not talking about the liquid type of coke, regular or diet, are you?’
‘No, Dad. It’s a dance club. People are off their heads on cocaine.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve heard the lads in my digs talking about it too. Apparently, the gear being sold at the moment is crap.’
‘I’m hearing the same thing,’ Alan said. ‘You haven’t heard anything about any foreigners trying to muscle in have you?’
‘No. I can’t see anyone moving the blokes from Liverpool,’ Jack said. ‘They’re all nutters.’
‘Unfortunately, I don’t think being a nutter will be enough to stop them if they want to move this far north.’
‘Are they that bad?’
‘Worse, son,’ Alan said. ‘Much worse than bad. Unless your doormen can stop a bu
llet.’
CHAPTER 21
The sun was trying to break through stubborn grey clouds as night brightened into day. Seagulls were circling the mudflats, squawking noisily. Bob Dewhurst had gathered thirty uniformed officers to perform an initial sweep of the Penrhos nature reserve. It was a wooded area spotted with duck ponds on the edge of the sea. Brian Hindley’s family and friends were gathering on the car park. They’d volunteered to carry out a wider search if the initial sweep failed to find Brian. Bob’s fear was that Brian was lying in the undergrowth dead or dying or had stumbled into a pond and was facedown floating in the water. Bob didn’t want the wife or daughter stumbling across his corpse. It was frustrating for the family. Being told they couldn’t help to look for their loved one was contrary to their instincts but they seemed to understand the police had procedures to follow. Bob had a bad feeling about the search. Men of that age rarely disappear.
The car park was situated between the sea and the wooded area of the nature reserve. That stretch of sea separates Anglesey from Holy Island and it’s bridged by a causeway, known locally as the cob. The nature reserve wasn’t vast and Bob knew the initial sweep of the paths and bordering areas wouldn’t take long. The resident burger van had opened for business and the volunteers were devouring bacon butties and gallons of tea and coffee. It would keep them occupied while the police search was done.
Bob split his officers into two teams of fifteen. One team took the left path and the other team took the right. They moved painstakingly in lines through the trees, scouring the undergrowth and bushes, marking anything of interest. He checked all the ponds himself but there was no sign of anyone floating. The teams met up where the paths met at the closest point to the sea, there was a narrow stretch of rocky mudflats between the path and open water. Bob looked across the sea towards Church Bay. It was a sheltered inlet; picturesque but the tides were deadly. To his right, a narrow tunnel allowed the water to flow under the cob into the ‘Inland Sea’ when the tide came in and out. The force of the water at that point was frightening and no one could swim against it or away from it. Bob knew if Brian Hindley had wandered too far across the mudflats and been caught out by the turning tide, he could be in the Irish Sea by now. If he’d been sucked through the tunnel into the Inland Sea, they would find his body at low tide. It all depended if the tide was in or out when he went into the water. If he went into the water at all.