by Conrad Jones
He watched until it finished and they switched to the weather and then he sniffed the cushions one at a time. One of them was lower than the others—the place she favoured when she watched the television in the evenings. He pushed his face deep into the material. Her perfume was heady, like Poison, or Alien. They were easy to identify because they were so potent. They didn’t suit everyone, but they would suit her. He turned the television off and walked into the kitchen. The fridge was a vision of a health-conscious adult. Juices, smoothies, and yogurts. No wonder she was so lean. Her muscles looked toned. He was looking forward to feeling them, squeezing them, and biting into them until the skin broke and her blood filled his mouth. That would be beautiful. He opened the cupboards, one at a time and then closed them again before opening the next. Clean and tidy. Well organised and functional. She was all those things and so much more. His fascination with her was growing. The closer it came, the more intense the emotions. His heart was pounding as he left the kitchen and climbed the stairs.
The bathroom was still warm from the shower she’d taken. There was condensation on the tiles above the bath. The toilet seat was down. She’d put bleach around the bowl. The smell was powerful. He breathed in deeply through his nose. Her deodorant hung in the air. He closed his eyes and walked along the landing into her bedroom. The door was open. He stopped in the doorway and sniffed. This was going to be so erotic. He put his hand on the knife and felt his fingers tingle before he stepped inside. She wouldn’t be back for hours and hours, but he was more than happy to wait. He took out the knife, a roll of duct tape, and some handcuffs and put them onto the dressing table. He fastened the handcuffs to the headboard and imagined her there, thrashing and twisting, fighting against him until she became exhausted and succumbed to his greater strength. It would be painful; so very painful, yet it would be exquisite. He stood in front of her wardrobe, pulled down his trousers, and looked at himself in the mirror.
CHAPTER 65
When Alan arrived at Caer Rhos farm, Gareth Pinter was being pulled out of his Land Rover by armed police. His wife was in the passenger seat, screaming and shouting. Uniformed officers opened her door and tried to get her out. She was flailing about like a lunatic, and one of her shoes flew across the yard. Her language turned the air blue. Spittle shot from the corner of her mouth as she struggled against the officers. Gareth was the opposite. He didn’t struggle at all. His expression was that of a condemned man on the way to the gallows.
‘I don’t think I’ve heard a woman swear like that,’ Kim said, shaking her head. She opened her door and climbed out. ‘I’ve certainly never heard so many c-words in one sentence.’
‘She’s a Holyhead girl,’ Alan said. ‘You don’t mess about with Holyhead girls. They’ve got hearts of gold until you cross them.’
‘Are you talking from experience?’
‘Yes. When I was a young man growing up here, most of my girlfriends were far tougher than me and much better fighters.’
Alan looked at Kim and smiled. He could see cases in the boot of the Land Rover.
‘Looks like Gareth and Mrs Pinter were off somewhere,’ Kim said. ‘And I don’t mean Tesco.’
‘Let’s hope there’s something here we can use,’ Alan said.
They walked over to the first barn. Officers forced the lock and slid the doors open. Inside was a huge green tractor with a wooden trailer attached to the rear. Next to it was a little red van. They walked over to it. Alan opened the door and took out a clipboard. It was a laundry list and an invoice for the Caernarfon Castle.
‘This is our red van from the laundry.’
‘And they’ve left hard copies of invoices for us,’ Kim said. ‘I think most of it will be done online. Have they got any tablets or laptops with them?’ she asked, turning to the uniformed officers behind her. One of them nodded and held up a computer bag. ‘Give it to the CSI and asked them to rush it through.’
‘Okay, guv.’
Alan looked around and couldn’t see anything else relevant. Most of it was agricultural equipment that looked to be in mint condition. So good, it probably hadn’t been used. He walked to the next barn. Officers opened the locks and pulled up the roller shutters noisily. Inside were three quad bikes. They were huge. Not the type people ride on the road.
‘That’s a beast,’ Alan said. He looked at the engine capacity. ‘A thousand cc. These machines would carry a house.’ At the back, he spotted they were fitted with tow-bars. ‘How far do you reckon it is from here to the cannabis farm?’
‘About five miles to the west,’ Kim said. ‘It’s grazing land all the way. You could tow everything you need to build it behind these things without ever going near a road. It’s so remote, no one would notice.’
‘No one did,’ Alan agreed.
‘When we came in, did you notice the other polycarbonate buildings across the fields?’
‘I did,’ Alan said. ‘I think we should have a look, don’t you?’ he said, climbing onto one of the quads.
‘Get another officer and follow us please, sergeant,’ Kim said to a uniformed officer. She climbed onto a second machine and they started their engines. The uniformed officers climbed onto the third machine. ‘We’re going to look at the other buildings across the fields,’ she shouted over the noise. The officers nodded and followed as they pulled out in convoy.
The quads made easy work of reaching the other buildings and Alan decided he wanted one for himself although he had no idea where he would go on it. As they neared the structures, the polycarbonate sheds were bigger than they looked, and they were deceivingly long. When he turned the engine off, the hum of electricity became audible and the smell of cannabis was wafting on the breeze. Kim smelled it too and looked at him. Then she looked towards the bottom of the mountain and pointed to more sheds.
‘There are three more over there,’ she said. ‘Let’s make sure these are what we think they are then we can drive over and look at them.’
‘Okay,’ Alan said. He climbed off the quad and they approached the first building. The door was padlocked. ‘There’s a toolbox on the back of that quad.’ A uniformed officer opened the toolbox and routed through, coming out with a pair of bolt cutters. He snapped off the padlock and opened the door. ‘You might as well open them all, please,’ Alan said. He stepped inside and put his hand over his nose. ‘This is skunk. It stinks.’
‘This is as big as the one we found yesterday,’ Kim said. ‘And there’s another five. No wonder they were trying to launder the money. I bet they couldn’t get rid of it fast enough.’
They walked down the main aisle that ran between the plants. The plants ranged in size. Tallest at the back, almost ready to harvest, younger at the front. It was an impressive set up.
‘How many people would you imagine it takes to tend these plants?’ Alan asked. ‘Imagine when it comes to harvesting the buds. It must take five or six people. There are seven sheds and thousands of plants so who works here?’
‘I imagine it’s done at night and they harvest continually, which would negate the need to have lots of people working here. I don’t think they’ll harvest all the ripe plants at the same time. They do it daily and keep a steady production going. If you did it that way, you could do it with three, maybe four people. The irrigation is automated, the lights are on timers. It’s low maintenance.’
‘Let’s get CSI in here. They might find some prints and tell us who works here.’
He walked to the rear of the building but there was nothing to see but plants, plants, and more plants. The smell was making him queasy. Alan made his way to the front door and then walked into the second building. It was the mirror of the first, as was the third.
‘Why bury Critchley on your own land?’ he asked, Kim.
‘Critchley was an informer. He might have threatened to expose this. Although I wouldn’t have buried him on my own land.’
‘You wouldn’t, but not everyone is as savvy as you,’ she said. ‘No one would have
found these farms if it wasn’t for Jarvis and McGowan. Maybe they genuinely believed he would never be found. Critchley’s body has been there a long time. It wasn’t planted recently to incriminate Pinter.’
‘I can’t help but be sceptical about how we found this. It was as if we were led to it.’
‘Guv,’ one of the uniformed officers interrupted them. ‘You should see this.’
Alan and Kim walked behind him until they reached another door at the side of the building. The lock had been snapped open. They looked inside. A rusted metal bar ran from one side of the room to the other, just below the ceiling. It was bolted in at each end. Two pairs of handcuffs hung from the bar; the bracelets stained dark brown with dried blood.
‘Jesus,’ Alan said. He imagined Jarvis and McGowan hanging from them. A grid was fixed to the floor at the centre of the room and a hosepipe was attached to the wall. ‘They’ve hosed the place down.’
‘I think Pamela Stone will confirm this is where they were interrogated, do you?’
‘I don’t need her to confirm it but I’m sure she will. We’ll nail the bastards with this. They’ll go away for life.’
‘Who are they, guv?’
‘I’ve got a good idea who works here, and you can’t work here and not know what’s going on.’
CHAPTER 66
Detective Chief Inspector Kensington wasn’t happy. He felt like they’d been forced to pull the trigger prematurely on Operation Thor. DI Alan Williams had run roughshod over their entire case. He’d driven a coach and horses through the lower echelons of the organised networks to find his cop-killers. His strategy had worked. He put pressure on the minor players at the bottom and the house of cards collapsed. The arrests at Caer Rhos appeared to be going well. The killers of Mike Jarvis and Patrick McGowan were cannabis producers on an epic scale. The Matrix officers must have got too close, so they were questioned to see what the police had and then murdered. He was glad DI Williams had captured them but during the investigation, the body of Paul Critchley was found. It was recovered from the same farmer’s property, but it incriminated Jamie Hollins for murder. Alan Williams wanted to arrest him as part of their investigation but gave Operation Thor the option to arrest him first. It meant they had to act quickly. Whoever killed Paul Critchley was almost a secondary priority.
‘We’re all in place, sir,’ the coordinating officer said over the radio.
‘Go, go, go,’ Kensington said. He was anxious. It was the culmination of years of undercover work and millions of pounds of public funding for which he would either get a kick up the arse or a pat on the back.
✽ ✽ ✽
Jamie was looking out of the window of his flat, above the South Stack pub. He wasn’t surprised to see the arrival of the police in great numbers. Armed police entered the building through the front and rear entrances, followed by uniformed officers and detectives. Three evidence vans pulled up on the car park next to pub, and a CSI team parked across the road. He sipped his tea as the armed officers moved noisily through the pub. He heard heavy footprints on the stairs. There was only a minute or so to act. He took out his phone and texted Tony John although he had a feeling Tony would be handcuffed in a police car already. They would take all his employees in first, squeeze them for information and offer them a deal to squeal on their boss. He didn’t think anyone would take a deal, no one would dare. Getting a shorter sentence wouldn’t help if they were dead. It was better to say nothing, take your punishment and live. Prison was a dangerous place, especially for a grass. They didn’t live very long. The door burst open and the storm troopers charged in, screaming at him to kneel and put his hands up. Jamie sipped his tea first and smiled, then he kneeled. The officers were shouting at the top of their volume.
‘Can you stop shouting, please?’ Jamie asked. ‘I can hear what you’re saying and you’re giving me a headache.’
‘You’ll have more than a headache if you give us any of your shite, Hollins,’ the lead officer said. Another officer was reading him his rights. ‘We’ve been waiting for this for a long time. You’re going down, sunshine.’
‘I’d like to make my phone call, please, officer,’ Jamie said. ‘I need to call my solicitor. I’m afraid I won’t be saying anything until I’ve spoken to him.’
‘You’re going to need more than a solicitor to help you. You’ll need a magician.’
‘I don’t need a magician, but I will need to speak to Superintendent Wallace from the National Crime Agency. He’s the only one I’ll speak to.’
‘What are you talking about, Hollins? He’s nothing to do with this investigation. You’ll be interviewed by the officers in charge of this operation. You’re not in charge anymore, sunshine.’
‘Neither, are you. I’m afraid, I won’t be saying a word until Superintendent Wallace has heard what I have to say. There’re higher powers than North Wales Police.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes. The National Crime Agency are.’
‘You’re a smart arse, Hollins, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘The NCA are calling all the shots these days, you boys are just the plod to them. Dibbles with a big stick and a big mouth but you control nothing.’
‘Shut up.’
‘I won’t be shutting up anytime soon. So, I suggest you speak to your superior; that will be Detective Inspector Kensington and tell him you’ll need to get in touch with Superintendent Wallace as a matter of urgency.’ Jamie smiled. ‘You’ve only got twenty-four hours to hold me and the clock is ticking, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.’
✽ ✽ ✽
Owen Evans was trying to change the oil in a Renault. The drain plug was rusted solid and he was trying every trick in the book to shift it. Drilling it out was the last resort but it wasn’t what he wanted to do. Daisy was working on two of Jamie’s cars in the other bay. The radio was on, the kettle was on, and it was warming up outside. Summer was on the way and summer made everything better. He could spend time with the wife and kids, making the most of the beaches and coastal paths. Just when it seemed life was taking a turn for the better, three police cars and two vans screeched to a halt outside. Owen stood open-mouthed as armed police officers exited their vehicles and trained their weapons on the two mechanics. He was confused at first until he looked at Daisy, but Daisy was texting like a maniac. This was Jamie Hollins’ fault. There was no doubt about it. He’d never done anything illegal in his life and yet policemen were pointing nine-millimetre pistols at his head. What else could it be? The police officers were screaming at him to put down the wrench and kneel. He closed his eyes and wished he was somewhere else and then did as they said.
‘Owen,’ Daisy shouted over the melee.
‘What?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Daisy said, smiling. ‘They won’t find a thing.’
CHAPTER 67
Lee Punk was peddling his bike as fast as he could. His missus wasn’t talking to him again but there was nothing new there. She hated what he did for a living but he didn’t hear her moaning when she was in the supermarket with a trolley full of food and drink or buying shoes on eBay. Bringing up children was an expensive hobby and where else could he earn a living? He was forty-something with a nose ring, tattoos, and dreadlocks. His benefits covered the rent and electric and not much more. To eat and clothe themselves and their kids he needed to work, and his profession was acquiring good quality weed and selling it to his regular customers at a profit. It was illegal but it was honest. He didn’t rip anyone off, and he didn’t steal from people or hurt anyone. There were plenty of traditional careers that were far more unsavoury than what he did. Politicians for one; bunch of dishonest lying toe-rags. At least he didn’t lie to anyone, except the police of course, and the missus. Sometimes, she wound him up and got above herself. He was a good man trying to do the best by his family. She needed to show a bit of appreciation.
He checked his watch and swore beneath his breath. There was a lot to do today.
He’d promised Gareth he’d harvest sheds two and three. They were ready to be cut. He liked harvest days. Gareth would weigh what they harvested and pay him, never thinking Lee had kilos of skunk in the lining of his coat and his bike frame stuffed full of cannabis leaves and stalks. Some people loved smoking them. Gareth classed it as waste that he pulped and threw away, so Lee would rescue whatever he could sell.
As he cycled past Llaingoch Primary School, he noticed the first police car in the distance. Then he saw a second and a third. He turned off the road and took a footpath which skirted the farm on its way to Rocky Coast. The path led to an asphalt road, which climbed to a knoll where he could see over the farm. He stopped and felt sick. His heart sunk to his feet. The farm was crawling with police and CSI teams. Plants were being dragged from the sheds and thrown into the back of trucks like rubbish. They had no idea of the care which had gone into nurturing those plants or what their value was. Idiots. He was watching his livelihood go down the toilet. It was sickening. He wondered if Gareth had been arrested or if he’d managed to skip before they were raided. He had a few of the uniformed boys on the books to warn him of any raids, not that he could do much apart from vanish. They couldn’t move the volume of plants they had. If they were raided, they ran, simple as that. It was always the gamble. They’d had fifteen years without a single blip and not a sniff of the police suspecting anything. Gareth’s uncle Will had started it all off, all those years ago when he started renting out lodges on the farm. One of the tourists, who came regularly, was a cannabis grower from Manchester. They became friendly and he educated Will in setting up a grow. It was so remote, they built up the farm shed by shed until it was producing tons. Over the years, Will had buyers all over the country and they made money.