The Anglesey Murders Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  CHAPTER 9

  Pamela waited for two members of her team to arrive before entering the chamber. They had to bend to avoid cracking their heads on the ceiling at the rear of the tomb. Uniformed officers had cleared the area once it was confirmed there was a body underneath, before calling her team. As they approached, the stench of decay became more concentrated. She knelt next to the body and opened her case. Her colleagues followed suit.

  ‘Let’s take the soil from six inches around the body and bag it up in case we need to analyse it later. It won’t be any use unless the plastic is compromised but let’s plan for the worst and hope for the best.’

  The soil was loose, and the body was exposed quickly. Pamela examined the victim. It was a young male with a beard and a top-knot hairstyle. His hands and feet were bound with wire, the metal had cut deep into the flesh around the wrists and ankles. He had struggled. That was clear. The plastic blurred the view, but she could see a deep gash beneath the left ear. It ran beneath his chin out of her view. She was certain his throat had been cut from ear to ear.

  ‘Rigor has long gone,’ Pamela said. ‘Looking at the decomp, I would say he’s been here for a week or so?’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘When did the archaeologists start their dig?’

  ‘Two days ago, in the main chamber. A student started to dig here this morning.’

  ‘That explains why he wasn’t found earlier.’

  ‘I think he was moved soon after death and laid on his right side. Look at the post-mortem hypostasis here.’

  ‘There’s a pentangle cut into the back of the left hand,’ Jilly, her colleague, said. ‘But I can’t see the right hand.’

  ‘There are symbols carved into the back, but I don’t recognise them.’

  ‘This looks ritual to me,’ Pamela said.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘My second one today.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really,’ Pamela said.

  Where was the other?’

  Llanfair.p.g.’

  ‘Do you think they’re connected?’

  ‘It’s too early to say for sure.’

  Jilly raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t ask you to commit. I asked you if you think they’re connected.’

  ‘It’s impossible not to,’ Pamela admitted. ‘I want to move the body in the plastic. We’ll unwrap him in the lab, agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  Pamela felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She had a strong feeling the murders were connected and the sense that the killer wasn’t finished yet.

  CHAPTER 10

  Mathew Hudson didn’t stop running for forty-minutes. Sweat was running into his eyes, making them sting. His legs were scratched and bleeding from running through brambles and climbing through a barbed wire fence, but he’d kept running. It was only when he had to vomit that he stopped. The spasms kept coming but there was nothing in his stomach. Each time he retched, it nearly choked him. He leaned against a tree and sucked in air and waited for the nausea to pass. When he felt like he could breathe again, he checked the fields and woods behind him. There was no one giving chase on foot and he’d taken the paths that stayed away from the roads, so they couldn’t track him in cars. He was safe for now, but he was baffled as to how the police had come to his door so quickly. How had they known it was him? He thought back to his movements that morning. His memory was blurred. The events of the previous night had left him reeling. Adrenalin coursed through his veins affecting his judgement. All he had to do was maintain the same routine. Had he inadvertently missed Mabel’s newspaper and brought the spotlight on himself? If he had, it was done on autopilot. Maybe his instincts had taken control and made sure he avoided the scene of the crime. He had no memory of making a conscious decision to miss her delivery. Not that it mattered anymore; they knew it was him.

  Fabienne had told him everything would be all right and that they would be off the island and hundreds of miles away before the police had a sniff of him. She’d said their paths were meant to cross and that he was at a crossroads in his life. He could follow the life of the mundane or take the dark path and live life to its limits. She said she would guide him, but he had to prove his worth to her. Did she lie to him? Was he stupid? Had Fabienne betrayed him? The questions were bouncing around his mind. They always had since he was old enough to know his own mind. He had never been happy in his own skin; not until he met Fabienne online. The day was etched into his memory. He’d been in a chatroom on a site belonging to a group, the Order of Nine Angels. They called themselves Niners and seemed to be the same as him and he often visited it, talking to other people with mutual interests. Some of them were dark; very dark indeed. Their words oozed evil and he was in awe but a little bit frightened. Fabienne approached him and took him through a portal where they could chat privately. She was in charge; he sensed it immediately. He was hooked from the first moment. Fabienne told him things about himself that he’d always known but suppressed. She explored his dreams and desires and sucked him so deep into the cosy darkness that he could no longer see the light. It was where he belonged. She’d encouraged him, brought him on through the levels, shown him text and script that only true Niners had access to. Finally, he felt he belonged. She educated him as to who and what he really was, and he knew quickly that he had fallen in more ways than one. He loved her so much it hurt. That was the truth. He was besotted with her and he would do whatever she asked of him. Anything. All she asked from him was chaos.

  It was growing cold. Clouds covered the sun and the temperature dropped quickly. The sky was dark over Snowdonia. The summit was hidden, and an icy breeze swept the island; rain was on the way. He needed to find shelter, food, and water before nightfall came. He had a few hours yet. The muscles in his thighs were cramping. He had to keep moving before he seized up completely. In the distance, he could see the green of Newborough forest and the blue of the sea beyond. The forest would provide a good hiding place for now and there were several holiday homes between him and the sea. Most of them would be empty at this time of year and some of them would have stocks of food in the cupboards and freezers and the beds would be made. Keeping warm and dry was his priority until he could think of a way forward. He needed to speak to Fabienne, but the detectives had taken his mobile; she would have the answers. Until then, he had to avoid capture. Mathew checked the fields and woodland for signs of movement. Everywhere was quiet and still. He took a deep breath and ducked low, keeping out of sight as he made his way toward the forest. The rain came and dampened his spirits further. Doubt began to prick his conscience. He saw Mabel Jones in his mind’s eye; her eyes were glassy and staring, accusing him. He’d never felt so alone in his short life.

  CHAPTER 11

  Alan and Kim parked at the crossroads at Llanddaniel Fab. He scanned the fields through binoculars which he kept in the boot of the car. The fields to his right were crisscrossed by stone walls and spotted with thick clumps of bracken and ferns. There was plenty of cover to hide in. To his left, the woods along Brynsiencyn Road were thick and impenetrable to the eye. Mathew Hudson could be anywhere, walking through the trees or cowering behind a rock. There was no way of seeing him from the roads if he was intent on staying hidden. The force helicopter was tied up on an operation in Chester and there was no enthusiasm from headquarters to launch a huge manhunt on a hunch that he was still in the area. It was a powerful hunch, granted, but still a hunch. If the forensic evidence backed up what they suspected, things would be scaled up, no doubt. Mathew Hudson couldn’t drive. He was frightened and on the run with no friends to speak of and only his mother as family. Leaving the island under those circumstances was virtually impossible for a teenager. He couldn’t cross the bridges without being picked up on CCTV and the Straits were too deadly for all but the strongest swimmers to reach the mainland. Containing the area and making sure Mathew couldn’t break through their perimeter was all they could do for now. His phone rang. The screen
showed it was Bob Dewhurst.

  ‘Hello, Bob,’ Alan said, using hands-free. ‘Any news?’

  ‘We’ve searched the Hudson home and gardens and recovered a bag from behind the shed. It contains a very old knife with a bone handle, bound in some kind of animal hide. It’s definitely ceremonial and it’s covered in blood.’

  ‘Good. Mathew Hudson doesn’t care about forensics, that’s obvious. Keeping the knife backs it up. He doesn’t care if he gets caught and that makes him very dangerous.’

  ‘They’re going through his laptop at the moment. There’s a lot of weird stuff on there. This kid is disturbed.’

  ‘His mother mentioned he was doing a course at college.’

  ‘English and history at Llangefni.’

  ‘I want to send someone over there to talk to anyone in his class but send a couple of officers there today and find out if the students have a locker.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll send someone there now. Is there any sign of him?’

  ‘No. He’s in the wind but he can’t get far. We’ll find him. He needs to eat and when he does, we’ll be there waiting.’

  ‘Call me if you need anything.’ Bo said. The call ended.

  ‘It’s a waiting game now,’ Alan said to Kim. ‘Let’s get on, shall we?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kim put her seat belt on and sighed. ‘I feel like such a bloody fool.’

  ‘You and me both,’ Alan said. ‘If it wasn’t for the RTA, Hudson would be safely locked up in a cell. There’s no point in beating yourself up. He’ll crawl out from under his rock soon enough.’ He pulled the BMW onto the road and switched on the headlights. The light was starting to fade. They were close to the burial chamber at Bryn Celli, where the second body was found and decided to head there, despite the fact the body had been removed.

  Pamela Stone was overseeing the processing of the area around the burial mound. Her technicians were carrying out a fingertip search in ever increasing concentric circles. Their work was nearly done.

  ‘How’s it going, so far?’ Alan asked.

  ‘The victim was bound with wire, had symbols carved into his skin and then at some point, his throat was cut.’

  ‘Ritual?’

  ‘We think so.’

  ‘It’s very close to Llanfair.’

  ‘It is. Too close to be a coincidence. If they’re not connected, I’ll be stunned.’

  ‘Was he killed here or is this the dump site?’

  ‘My first impression was he was dumped here post-mortem but the more I look around, the less likely that is. There’re no drag marks out here to suggest he was brought here but there isn’t enough blood in the chamber to suggest he bled out in there, either. It’s an odd one, to say the least.’

  ‘So, you think he walked in here?’ Kim asked, confused.

  ‘I genuinely don’t know yet,’ Pamela said. ‘I know he wasn’t dragged here and there’re are no footprints approaching the chamber that are deep enough to say one or more persons carried a body. The ground is relatively soft. There would be deep imprints if a substantial weight was moved across the open ground here.’ She shrugged and pointed to the entrance. ‘Maybe he came here with the killer and was attacked inside the chamber. There’re deep wounds around the wrists and ankles, so he struggled but the lack of blood in there is baffling me.’

  ‘Could it have soaked into the ground?’ Alan asked.

  ‘We would see where it soaked away.’

  ‘What do you suggest happened?’

  ‘If I had to put myself on the spot, I would say someone took the blood away with them.’

  CHAPTER 12

  Joss saw the bat striking Jeff and heard a loud clunking sound echo through the unit. He saw Jeff collapse and watched as four men in clown masks piled through the door. There were too many of them to be a hero. He instinctively ducked behind a Corvette, peering through the glass. It was the stuff of nightmares. Two of them were carrying sawn-off shotguns. One had a nine-millimetre Glock, the other held the baseball bat. They were silent and moved swiftly. They closed the door, searched Jeff for the keys and locked it behind them; then they dragged him, unconscious, through the reception and into the vast workshop.

  ‘Joss Jones,’ one of them shouted. He closed the adjoining door and sealed off any escape. ‘Joss.’ There was no reply. ‘Joss Jones.’

  ‘Where is he?’ one of them hissed.

  ‘Joss Jones. Don’t make me come looking for you!’

  ‘What if he’s run out of the fire exit?’

  ‘It’s always locked.’

  ‘Check it.’

  ‘He’s got to be in here somewhere. Find him!’

  The men fanned out and ran chaotically between the vehicles. Joss stayed low and slipped beneath an old Jeep, lying on his back. One of the men ran past a second later. He was so close, Joss could hear him breathing heavily, as if he was unfit. A heavy smoker or an asthmatic, maybe. The footsteps thudded away, and he crawled from under the Jeep, panicked but focused on not being caught. Whoever they were, they weren’t here to buy a car. They’d come to steal his shipment. Only Jeff and himself knew the details. How they knew about it and who had told them didn’t matter. It would be irrelevant if they found him. He needed to hide and wait it out.

  He slithered across the oil stained concrete towards the storeroom. It was always locked and could only be opened by entering a code into a keypad. The door was twenty yards to his right. It was too far to make a run for it. He would have to close the distance carefully and quietly. If they found him, they would torture him to find the whereabouts of the drugs and then kill him; he had no doubt about that. They couldn’t risk leaving him alive and give him the chance to find them. He heard footsteps coming his way and rolled underneath a Ford Mexico. It was a shell, the doors removed and seats missing. The intruder stopped; his boots clearly visible to Joss. They were black leather and fastened above the ankle. There was a distinctive metal clip on the laces. The men were calling to each other in hushed tones. At least one of them had a local accent; he was from Holyhead, not the island. There’s a distinct difference. The chances were, he knew them or knew of them, but he didn’t recognise their voices. Anger and frustration were becoming more present in their tone as they searched for him.

  ‘Have you checked the toilet?’

  ‘Yes, and the kitchen. There’s no sign of him.’

  ‘Is the fire exit definitely locked?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve checked it.’

  ‘Search the vehicles.’

  ‘What, all of them?’

  ‘Yes. All of them.’

  ‘There must be fifty cars in here. No one mentioned there being so many vehicles,’ one of them snapped.

  ‘Stop bickering and get on with it. We need to find him and find him quickly.’

  ‘He must be in or underneath one of these vehicles. There’s nowhere else to hide. All the keys are on that board there.’ The key-board was a large wooden rectangle with a hundred brass hooks screwed into it. The keys hung from them, each one labelled clearly. ‘Check them all.’

  The man nearest to the Mexico turned slowly, knelt and peered underneath it but Joss was gone.

  CHAPTER 13

  Mathew Hudson hid behind a wide oak tree and studied the bungalow. He’d come across it half an hour earlier. It was surrounded by trees and not visible from the road. There were high gates and a long gravel driveway. The occupants appeared to be loading cases and bedding into a people carrier. There were three bikes hooked to a rack on the back. All the doors and the boot were open while the family worked. There were two adults and two children, toing and froing with armfuls of belongings. It looked like they were packing up to leave. He waited patiently for the task to be completed. When the vehicle was packed, the children kissed their mother and climbed into the backseat. Their father closed the door and kissed his wife, hugging her. They were too far away for him to hear what they were saying but he had the impression that the woman wasn’t leaving with her family. That was disap
pointing. He’d invested a lot of time and wasted daylight in the hope they would soon be on their way home and their property would be empty and warm. He was hoping to raid the cupboards for food. Hunger pains cramped his insides. The people carrier pulled away as the rain began to pour. Mathew shivered against the cold and thought about Fabienne. He wondered where she would be and what she would say. She would tell him to follow his instincts and break the shackles of the mundane. Everything he’d been taught as a child was a lie. The constrictions of civilised society didn’t apply to those who chose to walk the left-hand path. There were no rules, only life. She would tell him to live his life as he pleased for the short time he was on this planet. The brightest suns burn the fastest. Burn fast and bright; like a firework, she often said to him. Leave nothing but pain and devastation behind you and your memory will live on. Her words steeled him against the cold. He waited for the woman to go back inside the bungalow before moving.