The Anglesey Murders Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  ‘I hope that really hurt,’ I said to myself. I heard my voice and it didn’t sound like me. I felt relieved that I’d shot her before she could pitch her incendiary through my window. It hadn’t occurred to me at that point how I would explain the charred remains in my garden of a woman who had recently accused me of assault. If the Nine Angels were right in their belief that you gain the strength of your victim if you look into their eyes when they die, then I was 1-0 up at that point.

  Even now, years on, I feel nothing but contempt for her. I hope she gets everything she prayed for from her dark lord and that she burns in his hell for eternity. I leaned against the window frame as the adrenalin dissipated and I allowed my small victory to blind me from any other danger. I said that they wouldn’t come in ones, and they didn’t. I was still gloating when the bathroom window smashed and the Staffie went ballistic on the landing.

  CHAPTER 19

  Officer Knowles

  I ran for the bedroom door, slamming fresh shells into the shotgun. I nearly spilled them onto the carpet in my panic. I should have realised that the warden had made it too obvious that she was in the backyard. She’d virtually announced her arrival to me and the dog. She was acting as a diversion so that I wouldn’t see someone else climbing on top of the balcony walkway. She’d drawn my attention away from the easiest access point. The kitchen had a walkway outside, which gave access to the flats further along the building. If you stood on the walkway, the window ledge was at knee height, and with the glass smashed it was a simple case of stepping into the house.

  As I reached the back-bedroom door, I heard the Staffie go into attack mode. It sounds like a sports car going into top gear. Her growling drops an octave or two as she launches into an attack. Evie Jones bears the scars of being a fighting dog in her younger years, and had we not taken her from the rescue home they would have destroyed her because of her aggression towards other animals.

  I heard her snarling change tone as she attacked the intruder, and there was a cry of pain as she latched on to a limb. I could hear her thrashing about in the bathroom and there was a tearing sound of material and flesh. A guttural growling noise came from her throat. A man’s voice was cursing in a language I didn’t recognise. I reached the door and flung it open.

  Officer Knowles was wearing a balaclava, but I immediately knew that it was him. The lights were on and I could see his eyes. I would recognise them anywhere. When he saw the shotgun in my hands, his eyes widened with fear and he found the strength to break free of the Staffie. If he had done his homework at the police station, he would have known I had had a shotgun licence for ten years. Evie fell away, bounced off the toilet and attacked again. She attached her teeth to his right hand. He was holding a Beretta and somehow, she knew that he meant to do me harm with it. The Staffie was swinging from his arm as he thrashed about, but she wouldn’t let go. I aimed the shotgun at him, but he was spinning around too much for me to take a shot without hurting Evie.

  Knowles stumbled through the bathroom door onto the landing, and I stepped back quickly, hoping that he would fall to the floor and drop the weapon. He panicked and swung her body against the banister rail. The blow winded Evie Jones and she crashed to the floor as Knowles raised his gun and blindly squeezed off a round. Blood poured from his arm and splattered up the wall and I could see that there was a ragged tear in his forearm. A flap of skin the size of a cigarette packet was missing. I made a mental note to buy her some lambs’ liver as a reward – if we made it through the night.

  Knowles fired again and the bullet smashed into the doorframe, splintering the wood and showering me with shards. I fired at the ceiling, blasting Artex and plaster all over us. I wanted him to run away from the Staffie so that I could shoot him. He ducked and stumbled in the darkness towards the top of the stairs, and as Evie readied for another lunge, I tripped over her and the shotgun roared again. A large hole appeared in the bathroom door, but thankfully she was unhurt. There was one cartridge left in the Remington, and without taking aim I fired from the hip. The shot sprayed the landing with deadly lead pellets, some catching Knowles in the shoulder. The force slammed him into the wall, leaving bloody smears on the magnolia, and he squealed like a girl as he threw himself out of the way.

  Evie Jones was up on her feet snarling like a pit bull, but I couldn’t risk her being shot by the Beretta as she ran down the stairs. The burglar alarm sounded as Knowles hit the sensors, and I grabbed her collar as she set off in hot pursuit. She licked my hand as I shoved her into the spare bedroom and shut the door. I could hear her running onto the bed and hurling herself at the door. She wanted to finish what she’d started, but I had to think for both of us and keep her out of the line of fire.

  I loaded three new shells into the shotgun and looked over the banister. As I did so, a bullet whistled by my ear and crashed into the ceiling above me, showering me with more plaster. It crossed my mind that if my partner had returned home and seen the bullet holes, she may have believed what I had been saying. I heard Knowles moving into the back room, which meant that I could make it down the stairs. Then it dawned on me that the electric box was in the dining room and I could hear him fumbling about. He was going to kill the lights.

  I was halfway down the stairs with my back pressed against the wall when the lights went off. I stopped suddenly and backtracked up the stairs with my head down. The street lights on the car park provided a dull yellow glow through the curtains and they would silhouette me if I ventured downstairs. I would have been a sitting duck if I had carried on.

  I crouched down next to the baluster, my breathing laboured and beads of sweat trickling into my eyes. There was silence for a few moments, then muffled thuds and raised voices drifted through the walls from next door. It wasn’t the first time I’d woken up the neighbours, but this time would be the one that they’d remember the most clearly. I wasn’t sure what to do, but Evie’s protestations gave me an idea. Despite the street lights it was dark at floor level all the way down the stairs, and she was much faster than me. I reached for the bedroom door handle and let her out.

  She didn’t hesitate. She knew where he was, and she pelted out of the bedroom towards the stairs. As she reached the top of the landing, I fired a shot over the banister towards the dining-room door. It blasted a huge chunk of plaster off the wall and I heard Knowles gasp in the darkness as wood and plaster hit him in the face. I heard her padding on the carpeted stairs and then her claws scratching the laminate as she reached the hallway at the bottom. I replaced the spent cartridge and followed Evie Jones at full tilt. Turning the power off is not a good idea when a Staffie is on your case. She could see in the dark far better than Knowles could. Bull terriers were bred for their aggression and Evie Jones is at the extreme end of the scale. They’re powerful fighting dogs and fear nothing, especially if their loved ones are under threat.

  I didn’t have a clue where Knowles was hiding and every piece of furniture became a bunker that he could shoot from, but Evie Jones knew exactly where he was. She ran snarling into the back room, and I heard Knowles shouting. There was a muzzle flash as he fired wildly into the darkness and then a scream as she latched on to her target again. As I turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, I could see him thrashing about wildly. The flames in the backyard were dying down, but they illuminated the room enough for me to see him. The Staffie had him by the right calf, and as much as he kicked her, she wasn’t letting go. They don’t let go. I watched him point his weapon at Evie and my jaw clenched tightly at the thought of a bullet hitting her. There was no choice but to take him down.

  In a split second, I shouldered the shotgun, aimed carefully and pulled the trigger. I aimed for his upper central mass, knowing that at that distance the deadly spray wouldn’t hit the Staffie. The roar of the shotgun drowned out her snarls for a second, but she didn’t relent from her attack. The blast knocked Knowles off his feet onto his back and the Beretta clattered across the wooden floor. Evie saw the opportuni
ty to switch her attack to his head. I could hear his muffled screams as she ripped at the soft flesh of his face. It sounded like he was drowning. Pointing the shotgun at his legs, I picked up the pistol and left her to it while I switched the power back on. Evie had ripped the balaclava from his head.

  With the lights on I could see that Knowles was in trouble. He was mortally wounded. Blood was pooling from beneath him; the lead shot had mangled his insides. It took me a while to calm Evie enough to release her jaw. A fellow Staffie owner had told me that a sharp smack on their anus is the only way to encourage them to release. It didn’t work. When I finally pealed Evie Jones off his face, she’d ripped a ragged hole where his nose and upper lip should be and his left cheek was hanging like a piece of raw steak, exposing his teeth and gums in a macabre grin. I bundled her into the kitchen under protest and shut the door. She sat next to her water bowl and wagged her tail as if she knew that she’d done something good. If only she knew just how important it was.

  When I returned to Knowles, he was crying like a baby and his breathing sounded laboured and wet. His chest hissed every time he took a breath as air leaked through the holes in his punctured lungs. The shotgun blast had smashed his ribs and ripped holes in his vital organs. There wasn’t much time left for him. He looked at me, his eyes pleading. ‘Help me,’ he hissed. Crimson air bubbles appeared where his nose once was.

  ‘You’re a bit fucked up.’ I snorted. I took a deep breath to calm myself and wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. I knew that the police would be on their way and I didn’t have long. I put the shotgun over my shoulder and smiled. I had nothing but contempt for him. There was nothing inside me but hatred. If Fabienne was right, then he was a rapist of men, women and children. He had threatened me and spat in my face. He sprayed me with pepper spray and kicked me unconscious. I was betting that he ran over Peter too. ‘I guess what goes around comes around,’ I said. In a morbid way I found his situation very sad; how had it come to this?

  ‘Help me,’ he hissed again. He had no lips, so it sounded like helppsssssh me. Blood dribbled from the side of his mouth and it reminded me of a scene from Saving Private Ryan. At this point, I may have been able to claim self-defence, but then again, I doubted it. If he stayed alive long enough to tell them otherwise then they would lock me up until a jury decided if I had used reasonable force to protect my home. Looking at Knowles and watching the flames flickering outside, ‘reasonable’ was not an adjective which sprang to mind.

  ‘Help you? You came to my home to kill me.’ I said. ‘What should I do, call you an ambulance? Or do you want a couple of ibuprofen out of the cupboard? I don’t think so, do you?’

  ‘Please help me; I’ll make them leave you alone.’

  I thought about that for a moment. There was nothing that I wanted more than being able to return to my boring old life, but I didn’t trust him. He didn’t look like he would survive the journey to hospital and what were the chances of him sticking to his side of the bargain? None. Something told me that he couldn’t stop them anyway. How could one man influence an organisation founded on evil? ‘Why would I trust you?’

  ‘I can get you money.’ His words were slow in coming and his chest was spurting blood as he breathed. He hissed like a punctured inner tube in a bowl of water.

  ‘Stuff your money,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ I said slowly, thinking as I spoke. ‘If you tell me where and when you meet with the Niners, I’ll call you an ambulance before I leave. Otherwise, I’ll let the Staffie back in to finish eating your face before we go. What do you think of that?’ I figured that if I could pinpoint where they met then the police could wait for them and arrest the entire nexion, which would vindicate me and allow me to return to the normality that I so desperately craved.

  He shook his head and tried to cough. Blood sprayed from the rent in the middle of his face. He groaned in agony. ‘They’ll kill me,’ he said.

  ‘They’re the least of your worries,’ I took the Remington and aimed it at his left ankle. His eyes widened in terror and I asked him again. ‘Where do they meet? You’re going to die anyway. All you have to do is decide how much of you there will be left to put in the coffin.’ I looked out of the back window at the smouldering remains of the beach warden. ‘I don’t think your friend will fill an ashtray, to be honest. Now, where do you meet?’

  The Staffie howled in the kitchen and I knew we were pushing it. The next-door neighbours would have called the police when they heard the first gunshots and saw the flames in the backyard. The burglar alarm was blasting too. The only reason the police weren’t there already was the fact that firearms had been discharged. The regular patrols would be standing back from the scene until they could deploy an armed response team. If any of the armed police were Niners I was a dead man.

  As I aimed the Remington at his leg, Knowles closed his eyes and cried. Each sob forced a bloody mist to rise from the holes in his chest. I felt no pity; his tears only served to anger me. I squeezed the trigger and the shotgun kicked. Knowles screamed as his foot flew across the room and landed with a splat in the far corner. A black hole appeared in the laminate flooring and blood from his stump poured into it. He grasped his thigh, lifted his leg and stared wide-eyed at his missing boot. His body heaved and an unearthly scream echoed through the house. ‘Fussssck yousshhh, you’rssse a deassshd man.’

  ‘Look who’s talking,’ I answered. ‘Where and when do they meet?’ I pointed the shotgun at his remaining ankle. His eyes were wild and panicked. He knew I really didn’t care how much pain he was in. He stopped being a human being when he came to kill me. Blood bubbles were grouping around his exposed teeth. I reckoned his lungs were filling with blood and he wasn’t long for this world. ‘I’ve got at least five minutes by my reckoning. This is your last chance.’

  ‘Fuck you.’ he hissed in agony.

  He closed his eyes as I squeezed the trigger again. His remaining foot slithered across the laminate at high speed and stopped against the skirting board. Knowles screamed even louder and it was like music to my soul. ‘Does it hurt?’ I asked as I replaced the used shells. ‘I’m going to blow your knees off, then your hands, elbows, and so on until you die, or you tell me, so it really is up to you.’

  ‘No,’ he screeched. The prospect of more pain broke him.

  ‘Stop. Brunt Boggart, they meet at Brunt Boggart Farm near Benllech,’ his voice was a whisper now.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Three days before the full moon.’

  ‘Are you telling me the truth?’

  ‘Yessssh,’ he whined, but I didn’t believe him.

  ‘Are you telling me the truth?’ I asked again. He blinked and looked upwards. I wasn’t sure if that meant that he was lying or not, but I wasn’t bothered either way. I squeezed the trigger again and blew his right knee to smithereens. Blood and bone sprayed across my face and splattered the ceiling. Knowles wailed and I liked his pain. I heard sirens in the distance and knew it was time to go. I aimed the barrel below his waist and put one of the remaining shells into his groin, which ripped off his genitals and left a gaping bloody hole between his legs. His body twitched and bucked, but his agony had no impact upon me.

  ‘That one’s for Fabienne Wilder,’ I said. Then I fired the other shells into his lower face and blew his head clean off. It rolled across the laminate and thudded against the brick hearth. ‘And that one is for Peter.’

  A second and then a third siren spurred me to move. I needed to know what was going on outside before I could make any decisions. If the armed response units were already surrounding the building, then I would muzzle Evie Jones and we would walk out together and take our chances with the judicial system. I wasn’t about to take on a siege of armed police. I ran upstairs and peered through the front bedroom curtains.

  Two patrol cars were blocking the entrance roads onto the car park and a third was parked in the lay-by to my left. A uniformed officer was talking to a gagg
le of my neighbours who were dressed in a mishmash of pyjamas and tracksuits. There was no sign of an armed unit. I sprinted to the back bedroom and looked outside. There was one uniformed policeman stopping traffic coming down the roads at the side of the flat. The roads were dead at that time of night and a lone taxi which he had stopped did a three-point turn and went in search of another route. The exit road from the caravan site where the truck was parked was clear, and it was hidden from view by overgrown hedges.

  I ran downstairs and grabbed what we needed. Knowles’s body stunk of excrement. The cloying smell of blood filled my senses. The scene was horrific, and as I looked at his dismembered body parts scattered across the room, it was blatantly obvious that Knowles wasn’t shot and killed in self-defence. Forensic officers would look at the evidence and establish that he’d been debilitated by a shotgun blast and suffered a sustained attack from a dog before being systematically tortured, prior to the final lethal shots being fired to his head. I had watched enough episodes of CSI to know that, despite being attacked in my own home, reasonable force was not used. In fact, it looked like a mad man had been let loose. A court would crucify me and in hindsight, so they should. I had lost my mind.