by Conrad Jones
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Your uncle set up a company, Sundown Property Management, which is registered at Caer Rhos farm.’
‘That’s not a crime, is it?’
‘That company owns the Caernarfon Castle and Cemaes Laundry Services. Jarvis and McGowan got too close, probably by mistake. So, you removed them from the picture,’ Alan said. Gareth looked at his hands. ‘Tell me you don’t launder your money through the company.’ Gareth looked at Gilly Someone. She whispered in his ear.
‘No comment.’
‘Making a no comment interview now won’t do you any favours in court,’ Alan said. ‘If you didn’t kill them who did?’
‘No comment.’
‘Okay. We’ll leave it that for now,’ Alan said. ‘Interview terminated. Let’s have a word with Lee Punk Roberts, shall we?’
Gareth smiled and yawned, stretching his arms above his head. Alan felt like punching him in the face but resisted the temptation. It was all front. Underneath the bluster, he was shitting his pants.
✽ ✽ ✽
Alan and Kim were waiting in the interview room when Lee Roberts was brought in. Lee was a bundle of nerves. His brief was a local duty solicitor who looked way out of his depth. Kim was taking the lead on his interview but a sniffle had turned into a full-blown head cold. She wasn’t feeling one-hundred per cent. Lee was chewing his nails when he sat down. Alan introduced everyone for the tape and nodded to Kim.
‘Are you nervous, Lee?’ she asked. He looked at her as if she was an alien. ‘There’s no need. Just be honest with us and you’ll be fine.’
‘Wouldn’t you be nervous?’ he said. His hands were shaking. ‘This is the second time you’ve locked me up and I’ve not done anything.’
‘That’s not strictly true, is it?’ she said, sniffling. She wiped her nose with a tissue. ‘You’ve been cultivating tons of cannabis and selling some of it in the pubs in town.’
‘That’s all I’ve done. I water some plants and make sure they’re growing properly. Do I look like I’m making millions out of it?’ he moaned. ‘I ride a push bike for God’s sake. I admit selling a bit of weed here and there but I haven’t done anything else. I’m just a working bloke trying to make a living.’
‘Okay, Lee. We take your point. How long have you worked for Gareth Pinter?’
‘I worked for Will before he got sick,’ he said. ‘Gareth’s uncle. He was a top bloke. I worked for him. He took me on about fifteen years ago when no one else would give me a job. I worked the farm. He had sheep and cattle back then.’
‘When did they start growing cannabis?’
‘About the same time. That’s why he took me on, you see. I was growing a couple of plants in my loft and my weed had a good reputation in town. Will approached me one night in the George and told me he was going to plant a grow. A big one. He reckoned he had a customer in Manchester who would buy as much as he could grow. And he said he needed someone who knew what they were doing with the plants. He said he’d been asking around and people were saying my weed was the best. So, I said yes, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ Alan said, nodding.
‘It’s all right for you,’ Lee said. ‘Your parents had money, and they made sure you went to school.’ He pointed his finger. ‘I remember you. And I know your sons, too. You had a good education, I left school with nothing. I did what I did to feed my family, so don’t sit there judging me.’
‘I’m not judging anyone,’ Alan said. ‘I was being quite genuine. If I’d been in your position, I probably would have done the same. A job is a job and you had a talent for it.’
‘Are you taking the piss?’ Lee asked.
‘No.’
‘He isn’t taking the piss, Lee,’ Kim said. ‘So, fifteen years ago, you started tending the plants for Will Pinter and selling some of it in town?’
‘Yes. It was good stuff and I had a steady supply. Will sold it to me at cost. But it wasn’t much. I only ever sold enough to pay the bills and keep the wife happy. I just want a quiet life.’
‘Tell me about why they call you Worzel,’ Alan said.
‘What?’
‘The tattoo on your arm. And the nickname.’
‘I was a punk when I was young. So, I was a bit scruffy in the eighties. My mates used to call me Worzel. You know what it’s like here. The name stuck. But I preferred Punk, so it wore off over the years.’
‘We interviewed a lot of the cannabis sellers in town. They all gave your name,’ Kim said. ‘They all said you supply them.’
‘So, what? I’ve not denied selling it. They will say my name because most of them buy from me, including your lads,’ Lee said, shrugging. Alan nodded and smiled. Lee didn’t understand his reaction. ‘Your lads buy weed from me.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ Alan said. ‘Buying it to smoke in a cigarette is different to growing it in sheds as big as a football pitch, Lee.’ Lee looked frustrated. ‘What we’re asking you about is the big league. You and your boss are at the top of the tree.’
‘I’m not at the top of anything,’ Lee said, shaking his head.
‘I think you’re underestimating yourself,’ Alan said. ‘Our investigation identifies you as the main supplier of cannabis in Holyhead. You’re the hub between the farm and the smaller dealers.’
‘What does that mean?’ Lee asked. He looked defeated.
‘Don’t worry about that for now. You sold cannabis to Mike Jarvis and Patrick McGowan on six occasions,’ Kim said. ‘We have them recorded in evidence.’
‘So what?’ Lee shrugged again. ‘I’ve admitted selling weed. They approached me in a pub and asked me for weed, so I sold it to them. I didn’t know they were Dibble.’
‘You are the link between them and your boss, Gareth Pinter,’ Alan said.
‘What are you talking about?’ Lee blushed.
‘You sold dope to undercover officers.’
‘Yes. I’ve admitted that.’
‘Did you get suspicious of them and tell your boss about them?’
‘No,’ Lee said. He shook his head. ‘I didn’t give them a second thought.’
‘You’re lying,’ Kim said. ‘I think you saw them snooping about town, going from pub to pub buying from different people and you realised what they were up to. So, you told Gareth.’
‘Bollocks,’ Lee snapped. ‘I didn’t say nothing to Gareth. I never say anything about selling weed to Gareth because he gets funny about it. He’s paranoid that I’m telling everyone where I get it. I tell everyone it comes from Liverpool. I’ve never talked to Gareth about it. We hardly talk at all, to be honest. He’s an odd bloke but he leaves me alone to do my job. He pays me on time and doesn’t give me any shit but that doesn’t mean we’re mates or anything. I tell him nothing.’
‘Someone did,’ Alan said.
‘Well, it wasn’t me.’
‘Did you notice them around town, apart from when they bought weed from you?’ Alan asked.
‘Notice them, like what?’
‘You know. Town is a small place, most of the pubs are locals, used by the same people, week in and week out. You’d notice new faces, especially faces who had bought cannabis from you.’ Lee shook his head. ‘Especially people from away. The pubs are empty nowadays, you would notice them, wouldn’t you?’
‘I noticed them around a few times. So what?’
‘You noticed more than that,’ Alan said. ‘You noticed them buying from other people, didn’t you?’
‘I might have. So what?’
‘People rarely buy from lots of different dealers, it’s too risky. You thought it was odd and became suspicious, didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t think about it, to be honest. I don’t care what anyone else does.’
‘You did think about it,’ Kim said. ‘You did notice, and you told someone what you’d seen. You discussed them with someone.’ Lee didn’t answer but he blushed again. ‘You feel guilty, Lee, don’t you?’
&
nbsp; ‘Guilty about what? I haven’t done anything.’
‘You feel guilty because you said something to someone that got those men killed.’ She let it sink in for a few seconds. Lee started to sweat. ‘They were hung up and tortured on the farm where you work, Lee. It won’t take much for a jury to agree you’re involved in their deaths. You’re an accomplice in three murders.’
‘Are you mad?’ Lee asked. ‘I didn’t kill anyone. I wouldn’t do anything like that. I’m not a bad man.’
‘Maybe not. You don’t come across as a killer,’ Kim said. ‘Someone else did the actual killing so, tell us who you talked to about them?’
‘I didn’t talk to anyone about them.’ Lee was panicking. It was obvious he was frightened. ‘I didn’t say anything to anyone.’
‘We don’t have time to waste, Lee. This is your last chance,’ Alan said. ‘You noticed them about a lot and you noticed them buying different drugs from different people. You were suspicious, so you told someone about it. Who did you talk to about them?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You’re going to go down for murder, Lee,’ Alan pushed. ‘Do you want to see your kids growing up through prison bars when they visit you?’
‘Jamie Hollins,’ Lee said. He was wringing his hands. His bottom lip was quivering. ‘I talked to Jamie. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just said they were odd.’
‘What did Jamie say?’ Kim asked.
‘Nothing. He told me not to worry about it.’
‘Did you ever talk to Jamie about the farm?’ Alan asked.
‘Yes. Sometimes. I trusted Jamie. He never told anyone anything I said.’
‘Did he ever come to the farm?’
‘A couple of times when Gareth and his missus were on holiday. He said he was thinking about setting up a farm on the mainland. I showed him around a couple of times and showed him the setup, how the lights and irrigation work,’ Lee said. His eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry those men were killed but I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t know that would happen, honestly.’
‘Interview terminated,’ Alan said. ‘That’s enough for now. Thank you.’ They stood up and left the room. Lee looked distraught—his solicitor looked bamboozled. They walked down the corridor and up the stairs in silence. Alan believed Lee had nothing to do with the murders, even if he’d inadvertently fingered the undercover officers. It was one of the hazards of the job. Staying undercover in a small town was impossible.
‘How are you feeling?’ Alan asked.
‘I feel like shit.’
‘You look like shit.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re very welcome.’ He patted her on the back. ‘Go home, have a hot toddy and get some sleep.’
‘I’m all right.’
‘You’re not all right.’
‘I believe he didn’t tell Gareth Pinter, do you?’ she said, changing the subject.
‘Yes. I do.’
‘Alan,’ a voice shouted from behind them.
‘Yes,’ he replied, turning around. A uniformed sergeant beckoned him.
‘There’s an Eric Stott on the telephone, says it’s urgent.’
Alan thought about saying he was busy. It wasn’t a lie. He was busy but as he said earlier, it was arrogance to ignore local knowledge. ‘I’ll be there now,’ he said. ‘I’ll follow you in a minute. Finish up and go home and get some rest.’ Kim nodded and walked on. Alan went to the reception desk and picked up the landline. He could hear Eric’s booming laugh on the other end.
‘Hello,’ Alan said.
‘Hello,’ Eric said. ‘Let me go somewhere quieter.’
‘Okay, no rush.’ He heard his electric scooter whirring.
‘That’s better,’ Eric said. ‘I’ve been following the Peter Moore copycat story in the news.’
‘There’s plenty of it to follow,’ Alan said. ‘I’m not sure how much of it is true but there’s plenty of it. How can I help you, Eric?’
‘You might think I’ve lost my marbles, but an old rumour came back to me this morning. It might be nothing but I just felt I needed to tell you,’ Eric said, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone. ‘Do you remember the Trudie Watkins case?’
‘Yes. A young girl raped and murdered. The killer was an Iraqi illegal with mental health issues. You’re going back a bit there, Eric. Why are asking me about that?’
‘Because they asked for all males between seventeen and sixty to volunteer their DNA. Do you remember?’
‘Yes. I remember that.’
‘Did you work the case?’
‘No. I was seconded to the Met for four years. The wife wanted to try living in the big city.’
‘How did that work out?’
‘Just another nail in the coffin,’ Alan said. A twinge of sadness touched him. ‘Tell me about this rumour.’
‘Okay. There was a rumour going around at the time that a security guard from the Road King truck stop had a hit on the database,’ Eric said. ‘But it wasn’t the killer’s DNA. Not that killer anyway.’
‘I’m not following you.’
‘The rumour was, his DNA matched as a close relative to another killer.’ He paused. ‘But not just any killer—a serial killer. Peter Moore.’
‘He was his son?’
‘That was what they were saying. His mother said Moore raped her.’
‘How true was this rumour?’ Alan asked. On the face of it, it didn’t mean a jot but the skin on the back of his neck began to crawl. Something rankled. ‘Where did it come from?’
‘It came from a detective sergeant who lived in Rhosneiger. He’s dead now. I checked.’
‘How did you check, Eric?’
‘Facebook,’ Eric said.
‘Have you mentioned this to anyone else?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Please don’t, Eric. Not until I say it’s okay.’
‘Okay.’
‘What was the man’s name?’
‘Trevor Young. He lived with his mother on Newry Street for years. I think he still does.’
‘And he’s a security guard at the truck stop?’ Alan asked. He knew they wore dark uniforms, not unlike the police.
‘Yes. He’s worked there for years. Proper little Hitler by all counts. He’s not very well-liked—not many friends, if you know what I mean.’
‘Thanks for the information, Eric,’ Alan said. He felt his pulse quickening. ‘It’s very important this doesn’t leak out. I know I can trust you to keep this quiet for now, can’t I?’
‘Of course, you can.’
‘Thanks again,’ Alan said. He hung up and thought about the news. Being related to someone didn’t mean anything yet all the alarms in his head were ringing.
CHAPTER 70
Alan walked into the operations room, a puzzled expression on his face. Kim spotted him and made him a cup of tea, taking it to his desk. She went back to the kettle and made herself a lemon drink laced with paracetamol. He thanked her and sipped it. She stirred her lemon and waited for him to settle before speaking.
‘What was so urgent?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Alan replied. He turned to face her. ‘You look awful, go home.’
‘I’ll drink this and see how I feel. Tell me what Eric said.’
‘He was reading the newspaper this morning, when he remembered a rumour from years ago.’
‘I love a good rumour,’ Kim said. Alan told her what Eric had remembered.
‘You’re joking?’
‘No. He was a direct hit to Peter Moore. Trevor Young is his son.’
‘Our Peter Moore has a son?’ she asked, taking it in. ‘I wouldn’t have thought women were his thing. I had him down as a homosexual with mental issues.’
‘Maybe he was. The mother claimed she was raped. In the cinema, where she worked for him.’
‘That fits with his profile,’ Kim said. ‘Rape would be right in his psyche.’
‘She kept it a secret for years. Trevor Young didn�
�t know who his father was until the DNA test hit and he was interviewed by detectives. The detective who interviewed him was from Rhosneiger but I don’t remember him. I was in London back then. Anyway, he blabbed and the rumour spread but it was years ago and it died off just as quick as it started.’
‘Look him up on the PNC.’
‘I will. You look him up on social media and see if we can get an image. If we can, give it to Alice’s team and tell them to doublecheck all the images they’ve collected to see if he’s on any of them,’ Alan said.
‘Okay.’ Kim checked Facebook. ‘He has a profile but it’s inactive. I’ve got a picture though.’
‘He looks like Moore without the shit moustache,’ Alan said.
‘Why is it shit?’ Kim asked. She frowned. ‘Have you ever had a moustache?’
‘I have,’ Alan said. ‘My brother-in-law, Tim, used to call me, Alan-half-tash.’
‘Why did he call you that?’
‘I have absolutely no idea.’
‘I’ll send this to Alice. You do know we’re getting excited about a very creepy coincidence, don’t you?’
‘Yes. That’s what I thought. It has no bearing on our case, yet I think we should speak to him, just for peace of mind.’
‘We most definitely should,’ Kim agreed. ‘Do you have an address?’
‘No. Somewhere up Newry Street.’
‘Newry Street,’ she said, surprised. ‘My car is parked on Newry Street.’
‘That’s probably how she got the job at the cinema. It’s a hundred yards up the road.’
‘I’ll get the number,’ Kim said, searching the Internet. ‘We should go there right now.’
‘I think so too,’ Alan said. ‘I’m not sure if it’s not just morbid curiosity but something is niggling at me. We don’t have anything to get a warrant, we’ll just have to wing it. Get Bob to send a uniformed patrol to park in the street, just in case.’
CHAPTER 71
Alan knocked on number fifty-five Newry Street. Kim was standing to his right and an unmarked police car was across the road with three uniformed officers inside. Another was positioned at the rear, just in case. He didn’t expect any fireworks but he had no warrant and needed to bend the rules slightly. There was no answer. He knocked again and looked through the letter box. There was movement upstairs. He saw thick calves at the top of the stairs and closed the flap before they could see him spying. The door opened and a ruddy faced carer looked at them, annoyed at being interrupted.