The Anglesey Murders Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  ‘Impressive isn’t it?’ Mathew said. Dull metal flashed in the light and a devastating blow to the side of her head switched her brain off.

  CHAPTER 25

  Joss drove across the cob which is the stretch of causeway that joins Holy Island to Anglesey. The sea to his left was flat and calm; several hues of blue glimmered in Church Bay, darkening towards the Skerries islands. Despite being miles out to sea, the light house was clear against the blue horizon. He stopped at the traffic lights in Valley and turned left, heading towards Cemaes Bay. A couple of cars overtook him; he checked behind. The rear-view mirror showed the road behind was clear. There was no one following him. He sighed with relief and called Igor, giving him directions to the meeting point at Paris Mountain. It was the site of an old copper mine, which was operational from the seventeen-hundreds but was now abandoned and the surrounding area had become a place of interest to visit. The craters and crevices gouged from the rocks gave it the appearance of the surface of the moon and the crumbling towers gave it the air of desolation. It was a popular site for tourists, photographers, and locals alike, but it also had quiet areas where he could conduct their business unseen, while having the peace of mind that people were close by. He could complete the handover remaining reasonably safe. As he drove through the villages along the way, he could see the derelict tower on top of the mine in the distance. It would only take twenty-minutes to reach and another ten to prepare the vehicles to be transferred from the trailer. Swapping them onto the buyer’s transport should take another five minutes at most.

  The drive was quiet, pleasant in fact. Green slopes ran down to crystal clear sea and the sky was a vivid blue. Summer was on the way and the mornings were starting earlier each day; the evenings becoming longer. It was a busy time on the island and beyond into Snowdonia; tourists visited all year round, but summer was the peak time. The mountains and beaches had a magical aura around them, attracting millions but today, he hoped Paris Mountain would be quiet. He was beginning to feel confident again when his mobile rang. It was Igor.

  ‘Igor. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Have you seen the news?’

  ‘No. I’ve been busy,’ Joss said, irritated.

  ‘The police are monitoring and searching vehicles crossing the bridge.’

  ‘Which bridge?’

  ‘Both. There has been a murder and they’re searching for the killer. We can’t risk transporting the shipment by road.’

  ‘It’s the only way, Igor. This is an island.’

  ‘There’s an airport, isn’t there?’

  ‘There is but you can’t fly a Land Rover Defender. They don’t have wings.’

  ‘Don’t ridicule me. I am not stupid. The product needs to be removed from the vehicles as we originally agreed.’

  ‘Shit!’ Joss hissed. ‘I don’t need this right now.’

  ‘Do you think we do?’

  ‘No. Of course, not.’

  ‘What about a boat?’

  ‘If the police are monitoring the bridges, they’ll be watching the ferries too.’ Joss pulled over and turned off the engine. He needed to think. ‘I’ll find a way to remove the gear. But once it’s out, getting it off the island will be your problem.’

  ‘We can deal with that. Just get me the product and do it today.’

  ‘It might be tomorrow,’ Joss said, racking his brains for a plan.

  ‘Today. I’m beginning to lose my patience.’

  ‘Fuck your patience, Igor. It’ll be ready when it’s ready. I’ve told you before not to threaten me.’ The Russian remained quiet, but Joss could feel the menace. ‘Give me twelve hours and you’ll have your product.’

  ‘Twelve hours it is. Don’t let me down.’

  Joss ended the call and thumped the steering wheel. He scrolled through his phone until the number he wanted came up. It connected immediately.

  ‘Hello, Tacla Taid transport museum,’ Anwen answered; Anwen was his cousin and close friend.

  ‘Anwen, it’s Joss. I need your help.’

  ‘Hello, Anwen, how are you? I haven’t seen you for a while or called or sent flowers or chocolates,’ Anwen said, sarcastically.

  ‘Sorry. I should have said hello properly but I’m having a really bad day.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ her voice softened. ‘Are you in trouble?’

  ‘I could be if I don’t deliver on a promise I’ve made.’

  ‘Deliver what? Is this illegal?’

  ‘I need to use your maintenance bays for a few hours.’

  ‘What on earth for?’ she said. ‘You own the biggest workshop on the island.’

  ‘I can’t go there today. There’re some competitors making things difficult for me. They’re watching the units.’

  ‘Is this anything illegal, Joss?’

  ‘You know I can’t lie to you, Anwen.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means don’t ask me any questions and I won’t tell you any lies.’

  ‘You’re a nightmare,’ she said, unsure what to say. ‘Is this anything to do with drugs, Joss? I hear the rumours, you know.’

  ‘I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. The museum is closed, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I’m having some work done outside. It will be closed for a few weeks.’

  ‘All I need is your workshop for a few hours and access to your Land Rover tools. I’ll be gone before you even know I’m there.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Now. I’m on the way.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Joss. Do you think I’m a complete pushover?’

  ‘No. I think you’re my favourite cousin and my bestie and you love me.’

  ‘I’ll open the doors. Text me when you reach the gates.’

  ‘I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘If I get into any trouble helping you out, you’ll be sorry.’

  ‘You won’t. I promise.’

  ‘I’ll see you shortly.’

  ‘Okay. Thank you. Love you,’ Joss said. She hung up and he called Naz. Naz answered on the second ring. ‘Naz,’ Joss said. ‘Turn around. Don’t go to the Four Crosses.’

  ‘What?’ Naz moaned. ‘I’m nearly there. Where are you?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Have you heard the news?’

  ‘About the vampire murders?’

  ‘I don’t know what they’re calling them. What are they saying about the bridges?’

  ‘They’re stopping traffic looking for some nutter who killed an old lady in Llanfair. There are police cars all over the island.’

  ‘Turn around,’ Joss said. ‘I need you to head for Tacla Taid.’

  ‘The museum?’ Naz asked. ‘What am I going there for?’

  ‘Because it will be closed.’

  ‘Are you stoned?’

  ‘No. They’ve got a Land Rover collection and we need their tools.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think you’ve lost your marbles. We’ve got hundreds of Landie-tools at the unit.’

  ‘We can’t go back to the unit. Not yet anyway.’

  ‘Does someone in town know there’s gear at the unit?’

  ‘Something like that. Don’t speak to anyone about this, just get there. I’ll be half an hour.’

  ‘Joss,’ Naz said, concerned. ‘What are we going to do at the transport museum?’

  ‘We’re going to dismantle two Defenders.’

  CHAPTER 26

  Alan and Kim walked into the operations room at Holyhead police station. The search for Mathew Hudson was in full flight; the net cast around the south-east coast of the island. Earlier, a call from the station had sounded vitally important; Alan decided that they needed to return. The station was virtually empty; only a skeleton crew remained.

  ‘Hello, Richard,’ Alan said, greeting the officer who had called them. He was part of the team gathering data on Mathew Hudson. Richard Lewis had been an English teacher in a different life, before joining the force. His hair was silver and spiked; his cheeks full and ruddy. He smiled a
lot and sung to himself, much to the annoyance of his colleagues. His first language was Welsh, and he had developed the habit of adding ‘io’ to the end of people’s names.

  ‘Alanio,’ he said, in greeting. ‘And the lovely Kimio. How are you both?’

  ‘We’re good, thanks. What have you got for us?’

  ‘We sent Hudson’s laptop off to the lab and it didn’t take long to get into it. They’ve pulled some very interesting stuff from the hard drive. I thought you’d want to see it for yourself. It shines a very different light on what you’re dealing with. I’ve made a few calls investigating what we found and gathered some information from other forces that you’ll want to read. It’s very disturbing.’ Richard pointed to a stack of paperwork. ‘They’re recent cases from Merseyside and Cheshire. It’s pretty heavy reading, to be honest. I thought it was all mumbo-jumbo at first glance but there’s definitely some substance behind it.’

  ‘Behind what exactly?’ Alan asked. He looked confused.

  ‘Sorry. I’m rambling on ahead of myself.’ Richard took a breath and composed himself. ‘Hudson was visiting a site belonging to a group known as the Order of Nine Angels or O9A for short. A quick Google search brings up pages and pages on them.’

  ‘That rings a bell.’

  ‘They’re a satanic cult. They’ve been linked to several murders recently and dozens of disappearances.’

  ‘Weren’t they linked to the cannibal murders in Liverpool a few years back?’ Alan said. ‘Stanley Towers springs to mind?’

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ Kim said, rolling her eyes. ‘I remember that. They found body parts in the drains, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘There was a woman running it all,’ Alan said, agreeing.

  ‘That’s the one. What was the woman called?’

  ‘Fabienne Wilder,’ Richard said. ‘They sectioned her and sent her to a secure mental unit, and she escaped a year later.’

  ‘How do you escape a secure unit?’ Kim asked.

  ‘I’ve read the reports and she simply disappeared. There was no evidence of a breakout. She had help on the inside. Two members of staff disappeared at the same time. Apparently, Wilder is a very influential woman.’

  ‘I read about her. She’s a charlatan,’ Kim said. ‘She latches onto vulnerable wealthy men with promises of sex and then bleeds them dry.’

  ‘That’s what the Press made of it. I thought the same about the O9A, bunch of nutters, but they’re huge and they’re organised. Look here.’ Richard typed on his laptop. ‘Websites, twitter accounts, Facebook profiles, chat rooms, millions of followers on social media. They can’t all be nutters. They genuinely believe in what they’re doing. Hudson was spending a lot of time in the chatrooms talking to other members up until three months ago.’

  ‘What happened three months ago?’

  ‘He started chatting with one member in particular but the techs can’t tell us what they were talking about.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She’s listed as an admin but she’s more than that. They think they were using a portal on the website which would take them onto the dark web where they can’t be traced. They can tell us when he visited the site and when he logged out but not what he was talking about with her.’

  ‘Her?’ Alan said.

  ‘The profile is Baphomet. When I looked her up, she’s the Devil. It’s also the profile used by Fabienne Wilder.’

  ‘You’re kidding me,’ Alan said. ‘Is it the same woman?’

  ‘We don’t know but whoever is using that profile to communicate with the members, knows enough about the site to take them through a portal to the dark web. If it isn’t her, it’s someone high up in the organisation.’

  ‘Okay. That makes sense,’ Alan said. ‘What have they got on her so far?’

  ‘The techs have identified her as the website founder. She added most of the content which is staggering. Millions of people are reading this stuff on a daily basis. It would take an individual, years to read all this content.’

  ‘Which is what, exactly?’ Alan asked.

  ‘They’re an idiot’s guide to Satanism. There are detailed instructions on recruitment of other members, how to conduct ceremonies, which prayers to use and when to use them, how to cast curses on your enemies, and my personal favourite, how to select and sacrifice victims.’

  ‘Sacrifice?’ Kim said. ‘I don’t like that word. It makes it sound like we’re back in the dark ages.’

  ‘I think Hudson is doing just that.’ Richard pointed to an online calendar. ‘There are dozens of dates in the calendars on the sites, which advocate bloodletting, blood drinking, and cannibalism. She clearly had an influence on Mathew Hudson.’

  ‘So, is he acting on the content he’s read, or do we think she’s pulling his strings directly?’ Alan asked. He scratched the red growth on his forehead.

  ‘Pulling strings, pushing buttons, whatever it is, it explains what he thinks he’s doing. This website, Wilder and the other people on it may have been the catalyst that set him off but once he committed the first murder, he’s been the one with blood on his hands.’

  ‘You were right, Alan. You said you didn’t think he was orchestrating it himself,’ Kim said. ‘This backs up what you were thinking.’

  ‘It does to a degree,’ Alan said, nodding. ‘What exactly are this group about?’

  ‘I don’t understand the question,’ Richard said.

  ‘What do they want?’

  ‘I don’t think they want anything,’ Richard said. ‘There’s tons of content on there about living life outside of society’s rules. They call us the mundane and we’re only useful as victims. Some of the chatrooms actually encourage murdering random people who won’t be missed. Targeting sex workers and the homeless seems to be their method of choice. When you read between the lines, they’re very serious about their lifestyle choice. Fabienne Wilder rants about creating chaos and spreading fear and evil among the mundane. Mathew Hudson has got a screw loose somewhere, but he’s swallowed their rhetoric hook, line, and sinker. It looks to me like he’s on a mission to create chaos, just like their website says.’

  ‘Okay, we know what is driving him and we know who is encouraging him. If he is doing this to impress Wilder and the other nutters, he’s going to want to go online and brag about it, isn’t he?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Probably,’ Kim agreed. ‘He was arrogant when we spoke to him. If he’s a narcissist, he’ll want to impress Wilder and her cohorts and bask in their praise.’

  ‘Where will he do that?’ Alan asked.

  ‘On their website and most likely, directly to her,’ Richard said, pointing to the profile. ‘We can watch and wait for him to communicate with her but if she takes him onto the dark web, we can’t see what they’re saying.’

  ‘Great. If he does go online, can we trace where he’s communicating from?’

  ‘We can certainly narrow it down.’

  ‘Could he mask his location?’

  ‘It would be easy to cover his position if he’s technically minded. He could hide where he was logged on from if he thought it was dangerous to communicate but why would he?’ Richard said.

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘He’s got no idea that we hacked into his laptop therefore he has no idea that we know about O9A. I think we’ll be able to pinpoint where he is, no problem. If he communicates, that is.’

  ‘Okay. Good work, Richard. Let’s hope he does and soon.’

  CHAPTER 27

  Bob Dewhurst woke up with a banging headache, unsure where he was. Panic set in when he remembered what had happened. They’d entered the bungalow, found the bodies, and then someone blindsided him. He was in grave danger but couldn’t move freely. His eyes flickered open, trying to focus but his vision was blurred. Pain racked his limbs. He was lying face down on the carpet; hands behind his back and he couldn’t move. Bob looked around frantically for any sign of his attacker but there was no sign. He had to assume it was Martin Hudso
n who attacked him. The crime scene was definitely the work of one sick puppy and there weren’t many of them on the island. He realised instantly that April wasn’t there. He wanted to call out her name but instinct and training told him not to. She’d been next to him when they were attacked, and Hudson may still be nearby. He tried to move but his hands and arms were crippled with cramp. His cuffs had been fastened to his wrists. He twisted his head as far as his neck would allow him to. His legs were bent at the knees; his feet were tied to his hands with his belt. He was hog-tied and vulnerable. If his attacker returned, he was helpless. Helpless was a terrifying place to be; he had to do something about it and quickly. He fumbled at the belt blindly; his fingers numb. The buckle was positioned on his right ankle; it was digging into his skin painfully. He pulled at the leather tab with his finger and thumb, but it wouldn’t budge. His circulation was restricted and there was little chance of loosening the belt. He wriggled to his left and looked around desperately for inspiration. There was congealing blood everywhere.