by Conrad Jones
He turned out the light and closed the door, heading down the stairs to the front door. His coat was hanging on a hook. He picked it up and struggled into it, feeling the weight of his knife. His knife. The knife. He’d made a slit in the lining so that he could carry it comfortably and access it when he had the urge. He felt its energy travel up his fingers, through his bones, and into his bloodstream. It was a rush but it was weaker than it had been at first. His heartbeat quickened. There was a hunger in his soul and he had to feed it.
CHAPTER 34
Alan arrived home to a full house. The dogs performed their usual chaotic greeting before he let them out of the back doors. He could tell they hadn’t been out all day from the way they sprinted across the field, bumping into one another as they ran. Henry’s little legs were a blur as he struggled to keep up with Gemma. After a hundred yards, he gave up on the race to cock his leg on a tree. It made Alan chuckle.
‘Poor little bugger,’ Alan said to himself. ‘He must have been desperate. Don’t worry, boys, I’ve let the dogs out.’ No one replied. ‘Am I the only one who knows we’ve got two dogs?’ he said, filling their bowls with fresh water.
‘They’re your dogs,’ Kris said.
‘They’re your mother’s dogs, actually. She left them and you lot here and took the antiques because they’re valuable and don’t need feeding.’ Silence was the reply. ‘Have they been fed?’
‘I fed them this morning,’ Dan said, from the living room. Alan opened his bottle of shiraz while he watched Henry race off into the darkness, trying to catch up. The lads were unusually quiet and remained in the living room. He thought that was odd.
‘What are you three up to?’ he called out. They didn’t answer. He walked into the living room. ‘No one has asked me for money, yet.’ Jack and Dan were sitting on the settee, Kris was in the armchair. They all had a bottle of Tiger beer and there were three empties on the coffee table. ‘You’re all very quiet. What’s going on?’
‘Apparently you’ve been seen in town, searching the Caernarvon Castle and asking questions.’ Dan said.
‘I’m a detective inspector. I have to search places and ask questions.’
‘Funny.’
‘I’m not trying to be funny. It’s sort of what I do. It’s compulsory really,’ Alan said. ‘If I didn’t ask questions, they’d sack me.’ His sons stared at him, unimpressed. ‘I haven’t seen you so quiet since your grandad enforced a television and pocket money ban. He knew where to hit you the hardest.’
‘It’s not funny, Dad,’ Dan said. ‘We have to live here.’
‘I live here too,’ Alan said. ‘I’ve lived here a lot longer than you have and no one has had a problem with me being a policeman. I’ve got a job to do, so either tell me what the problem is or stop sulking.’ None of the boys spoke. ‘Come on, spit it out. What exactly is the problem?’
‘I went to buy some weed from my mate tonight,’ Dan said. ‘He won’t sell it to me.’
‘How is that my fault?’
‘Because you’re my dad.’
‘Tell them you’re adopted.’
‘You’re so annoying. Everyone in town is talking about you being at the Caernarfon Castle, tossing the place, and everyone knows you’re my dad. My mate who sells to us is crapping himself that you’ll arrest him.’
‘I haven’t just started being related to you. I’ve always been your dad and I haven’t arrested him yet.’
‘You aren’t listening. He’s panicking and won’t sell me anything.’
‘I see. This is an emergency,’ Alan said. ‘The presence of police officers in town has sent a shockwave through Holyhead’s underworld. Crime will grind to a halt and my sons can’t buy cannabis. Someone, call the cops.’ The boys looked at him stony-faced. ‘Hold on a minute, I am a cop. Panic over.’
‘It’s not funny, Dad,’ Dan said.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Very. It’s not funny.’
‘You’ve got a face like a smacked arse because you’ve run out of cannabis and that’s my fault?’
‘It’s not just Dan. I’ve texted my mate to see if he has any to sell us and he told me not to go anywhere near his house until it’s all over,’ Kris moaned. ‘Because of you, we’ve been excommunicated.’
‘I don’t think you can be excommunicated from a cannabis supply but that’s terrible. I’m so sorry. I can’t apologise enough,’ Alan said. He wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. ‘I never would have gone there if I’d realised the impact it would have on your lives.’
‘Be serious for once, Dad,’ Jack said.
‘Okay. I’ll be serious. You need to grow up, all three of you.’
‘That’s very useful,’ Jack said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Listen to me. I’m investigating four murders.’ He held up four fingers. ‘Not one, not two, not three but four murders. Two of the victims are police officers. The victims had wives and children and grandchildren and the killers are still out there.’ He shrugged. ‘Silly me for not thinking how the investigation might affect your cannabis supply. I must be losing my marbles. How inconsiderate of me.’
‘We know you have a job to do.’
‘Thanks for that but it was inconsiderate of me. Not exactly Dad of the Year material.’ He shook his head and sighed.
‘Sarcasm isn’t helping the situation.’
‘What would you like me to do, stop the investigation?’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Wait. I could steal some cannabis from the evidence room for you.’
‘Not helpful.’
‘I could throw myself off the breakwater?’ The boys looked at each other. Dan looked a little embarrassed. ‘Come on, boys. Four families are traumatised, their lives devastated, and you’re worried about buying dope.’ Alan shook his head. ‘Do me a favour and grow up.’
‘Sorry,’ Dan said. ‘I didn’t mean to sound flippant about what you do. I didn’t think of it like that. Everyone’s talking about it.’
‘Good. I hope they are. It’s a small town. News travels fast. Things in Holyhead are about to get uncomfortable for anyone dealing, no matter what they’re selling, weed or otherwise.’
‘What do you mean?’ Dan asked.
‘We’ve recovered hundreds of staged buys that are catalogued with dates and the names of the dealers who sold it. We’ll be investigating them. Every one of them.’
‘Are they from town?’
‘Not just town; all over the island.’
‘Why are you telling us that?’ Jack asked. ‘Shouldn’t that be secret?’
‘It will be all over the news tomorrow,’ Alan said. ‘We’re sending a message that we’re coming for them.’
‘Why would you warn them you’re coming?’
‘They’ll panic. People will start turning on each other very quickly. Just you wait and see.’ The boys looked at each other nervously. ‘You’d better hope your friend isn’t on that list but if he is, he’ll be charged.’ Alan sipped his wine and looked at them in the eyes one at a time. ‘You three think it’s a joke smoking weed every night and I get that. It’s no big deal. It doesn’t make you Pablo Escobar but what you fail to realise is that selling the stuff is a crime.’
‘It’s just cannabis. They’re selling it in Holland and Barret.’
‘That’s different and you know it. As far as we’re concerned, drugs are drugs are drugs and two undercover police officers have been abducted, tortured, and murdered by someone in the drug trade. They strung them up and burned their feet with a blowtorch and then tied them together and tossed them in the sea to drown. Can you imagine how frightened they must have been?’
‘I’ve said sorry,’ Dan said. ‘There’s no need to go on about it.’
‘I think there is every need to go on about it,’ Alan said. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. What did I say?’
‘You said, your supplier never runs
out and his cannabis is always good quality.’
‘It’s true. What’s wrong with that? That’s why we use him.’
‘It’s just a bit of weed, Dad,’ Kris said. ‘Don’t make a big thing out of it.’
‘Is it just a bit of weed?’ Alan asked. The boys frowned. ‘You said it’s always good. You’re thinking quality, I’m thinking quantity. I’m thinking supply chain,’ Alan said.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m detecting. I’m a detective. That’s what I do, detect.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘If your friend never runs out and the quality is consistently good, he either grows it himself, buys it by the ton, or he’s very close to the grower. Whichever it is, he’s likely to be a serious player.’ The boys looked at their bottles of beer. ‘So, in his case, it isn’t just a bit of weed, is it?’
‘Never thought of it like that,’ Jack said.
‘It’s not just “a bit of weed, dad”,’ Alan said. ‘It’s probably a shitload of weed. He could be growing warehouses full of the stuff. Your friend doesn’t just buy the odd batch from here and there, if he did, he would run out and the quality would vary. Possession of a bit of weed for your own use is very different to cultivating with intent to supply. About ten years difference. If he’s in that league, he’s in trouble.’
‘I never thought of where he gets it from,’ Dan said.
‘No, you didn’t. And let me tell you another thing. If your friends have cut you off because I’ve been seen in town in a forensic suit, they’ve got more to worry about than selling a bit of weed. My experience is people who scare quickly have got a lot to be scared of.’ He drained the glass and went back into the kitchen to refill it. The dogs had returned and were lapping thirstily at the water, tails wagging. Alan opened two tins of food and emptied them into their bowls, adding multicoloured biscuits to it. Gemma was drooling when he put it down. He walked back into the living room and the boys stopped talking immediately. ‘If I was in your shoes, I’d stay away from the dealers in Holyhead for a while.’ The boys nodded that they understood. He sat down and sipped his wine. ‘Now I want to turn my brain off. What time’s the football on?’
CHAPTER 35
Lloyd Jones drove through the tall gates, pulled up outside the boatyard and turned off the engine. They used the old workshops as a base for their operation. He grabbed the cocaine from under the driver’s seat and opened the boot latch. Ron Took came out of the workshop and closed the gates.
‘Leave them open, Ron,’ Lloyd said. ‘The others will be here soon.’
Ron opened them again. He walked to the car and opened the boot and rummaged in the tyre well. The vehicle rocked beneath his considerable weight. He lifted out the spare and opened a hatch beneath it, removing what was stored there. Ron was six-feet six and twenty stone. His hands made a pint glass look like a half. He was Lloyd’s cousin. They walked into the workshop in silence. Ron didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t find the words. They closed the doors and Ron put three handguns on the bench. Lloyd picked up a Glock seventeen and checked the magazine was full. He placed the magazine on the bench and blew down the barrel.
‘Are you a hundred per cent sure you want to do this?’
‘Your Auntie Nina has been kidnapped, Ron,’ Lloyd said. ‘What do you want me to do?’ He lowered his weapon and took out his phone. He replayed the video message.
‘I can’t believe this,’ Ron said. ‘They did this because you wouldn’t pay for a kilo?’
‘I paid for one and owed for another but it was shit. I told them I wasn’t paying for shit. What was I supposed to do?’ Lloyd protested. ‘I didn’t think they would kidnap my mother. The Albanians don’t play by the rules. They ripped me off with cut cocaine and then start kidnapping people when I complained. Who does that?’
‘Albanian drug dealers,’ Ron said.
‘Exactly.’
‘You said, you threatened them?’
‘I left a couple of poorly worded voicemails.’
‘Uncle Keith said you threatened to shoot them.’
‘I didn’t mean it literally.’
‘They took it seriously.’
‘I know that, Ron. You’re not helping,’ Lloyd said. ‘Whatever I said, they’ve crossed the line. I’m going after the bastards. Are you in?’
‘Of course, I am. How are you going to find them?’
‘You don’t need to worry about that,’ a voice said. ‘We’ve found you.’ They heard the sound of weapons being cocked. Ron looked around and held up his hands. Lloyd looked at the magazine and calculated if he could reach it, load and shoot before they shot him. ‘You could try to load that gun but then your mother would lose her head before you reach it. Put the gun on the bench, kneel down, and put your hands behind your head.’ The two men did as they were told. ‘Cuff them and get them in the van.’
CHAPTER 36
Jamie was standing in the window overlooking the harbour. The Irish Ferries ship, Ulysses had docked at the Salt Island berth and a seemingly never-ending stream of articulated lorries rolled off. He watched through binoculars as a car transporter appeared; it weaved along the dock and reached the customs area. Uniformed officers intercepted it and ordered the driver to take it into the customs shed. Jamie focused the glasses on Skinner’s monument, which towered above the town on a clifftop across the harbour. Next to the monument, three men watched the same vehicle from the darkness. They looked agitated that it had been stopped for inspection. Jamie wasn’t in the least bit worried. He paid a lot of money every month to make sure his shipments came through. Most of the dealers from the North-West relied on the big outfits in the cities for their supply but Jamie had quietly moved away from them years before. He didn’t need a supplier; he was the supplier.
His phone vibrated. He looked at the screen and shook his head.
Customs have stopped the truck
What part of, no communication until the transporter is clear of the harbour, did they not understand? He texted back.
Everything is fine. Carry on.
He watched the men across the harbour. They were smoking. He was certain they wouldn’t take their cigarette butts when they left. They were stupid and left a DNA trail behind them everywhere they went. Stupid. Brutal but stupid.
‘Why are we showing them where the gear comes in?’ Tony asked.
‘I don’t like dealing with them any more than you do but their money is as good as anybody’s.’
‘Are you not worried they’ll try to take us out and secure the supply line for themselves.’
‘All they know is we use the port. Nothing more. They’re stretched up here. London is their stronghold. They bring Afghan heroin in by the ton. High grade cocaine isn’t their speciality until now.’
‘If they’ve got London stitched up, why are they dabbling with coke up here?’
‘They’re buying quality gear from us, cutting it to shit and selling it on to the dealers in the city. Lloyd Jones went to Manchester and bought crap from them, that started off here. People will get sick of buying crap and a few weeks down the line they’ll stop cutting it and sell high quality gear and they’ll clean up. They’ll cut the legs from under the smaller dealers and take over. That’s how they operate. They can’t be trusted.’
‘So, they’ll need us for now.’
‘Yes, for now. Taking us out now would be like killing the golden goose but at some point, they’ll try.’
‘Of course, we won’t let it happen.’
‘They’re too far from home to be a threat to this operation, Albanian or not. The outfits in the cities will rally. It might take a while but they’ll send them back to London with a kick up the arse. In the meantime, we’ll sell them as much as they want.’
Jamie played down the Albanian threat. The biggest threat he had was the police were moving in, he knew that but their focus was on the flow of drugs out of the cities and into Wales, not the othe
r way around. They were running around bragging about the damage they’d caused to the supply chain through Operation Suzie but they fixated on the myth that the cities were the epicentre of supply and that was a fallacy. He brought more uncut cocaine into the country in a week than they moved in a month and he was distanced from it all. With Owen Collins on board, that took the number of garages working for him to eight, spread from the island along the coastline. His acquisition of a third taxi firm gave him more vehicles and more drivers. The month before, he bought two courier firms and three car dealerships. More vehicles he could use to give the appearance of legitimacy. Vehicles need cleaning, so he had set up six car washes to valet his vehicles. There would be no record of how many times each vehicle would be cleaned each week. Some of the vehicles would simply drive from one carwash to another. There would be an unlimited number of opportunities to process cash with impunity.