The Anglesey Murders Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  ‘Are there fireworks up there, Bren?’ He growled.

  ‘A few but nothing illegal, George,’ Bren muttered. They were obviously on first-name terms, which was the norm in a small Welsh village.

  ‘I’ve warned you about keeping shit up there,’ the officer hissed. ‘I’ll ask you this once and once only and if you lie to me, Bren I’ll not be able to help you. Understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I righted myself slowly while they bickered. My story about the fire would only last for so long when they realised that there was no smoke billowing out of the roof. The pressure in my skull eased as I repositioned myself. As I edged inch by inch towards the back of the shop, I could hear them arguing.

  ‘Are there any explosives up there?’

  ‘There are some fireworks and some gunpowder.’

  ‘Gunpowder?’

  ‘Yes, for making ammunition,’ Bren shrugged. ‘I’ve been pressing my own bullets for my.22.’

  ‘You idiot.’ the officer snapped.

  ‘I’ve got a license for it, George,’ Bren whined. ‘I only use it for rabbits.’

  ‘He’s moving.’ Sade pointed out.

  ‘He’s the least of your worries, Sade,’ the officer said walking to his vehicle. ‘Get back to the bridge now!’ he shouted. He opened the car door and climbed in, gunning the engine as he reversed it toward the bridge. I decided that Bren’s confession was a bonus ball for me. Reaching into the haversack, I took out a flare. I snapped the top and it ignited with an intense red flame. I heard Officer George shouting something as I tossed the flare into the hole in the tiles. When I looked inside the attic, the flare was fizzling away harmlessly on the floor, but the smoke would help my predicament. I dropped two more ignited flares and the loft was filling up with coloured smoke. I noticed that one of them had set fire to a cardboard carton the size of a large suitcase. The Chinese writing on the box made me suspect that it could be full of fireworks or flares or better still, gunpowder. Orange flames licked up the side of the box and spurred me into making a move. I kept my back to the tiles which was difficult with the haversack on and shimmied sideways across the roof to the rear of the building like a huge crab. The gap between the rock and the roof was less than five feet. I looked back and the smoke was pouring from the building. It was black and acrid, and it was beginning to choke me. A siren approached from the north and I knew that was where the fire station was situated. I contemplated climbing down, but it was futile. The police officer and Bren would be more than enough to restrain me. If I jumped for the rock face, I would grip and climb or fall and break my neck. The rock was criss-crossed with tree roots from the woods above and I had a good chance of gripping something. My decision-making process was interrupted when a huge bang deafened me.

  It echoed across the village and along the valley. A section of roof simply exploded upwards in a shower of multicoloured sparks. Slate shards whistled skyward through the air like a thousand sharp daggers and as the old adage says, ‘what goes up must come down’. I would be cut to ribbons or blown to bits if I stayed where I was. I had no choice. Despite my fear of heights, I jumped.

  CHAPTER 12

  I slammed against the cliff, my hands grasping desperately for a tree root to hold. My left hand found nothing but air, but my right clutched something solid. My feet kicked in the dark, looking for a toehold. I slipped three yards down the face before my left grabbed something of substance. I dangled against the wet rock and looked up. The summit seemed a long way away from this angle and the muscles in my arms were already feeling the strain of my weight. I didn’t have the luxury of looking down. I knew that my stamina would only last for so long. I reached up and grabbed a thick root and then used my feet to take my weight, pushing myself a yard closer to the top. The police officer kept his torchlight on me as I climbed and, on several occasions, I swear that he illuminated hand holds above me. I would never have made that climb in the dark. I was amazed that Officer George held his torch on me all the way to the top. Whether he was keeping me in sight or helping me to find hand holds so that I didn’t fall, I’ll never know but there was no doubt that it helped me on the climb. Whatever his reason to help me, I was grateful yet confused. Maybe he didn’t want me to fall and create a month of paperwork for him, or maybe he was sympathetic to my plight. I think that saving Constance touched a few hearts. Who knows? If I ever meet him, and there’s a good chance I will the way things are going, I’ll ask him.

  Because of him, my climb up the rock face was not as traumatic as it could have been. Stone outcrops and tree roots acted as a natural ladder and I was safely in the tree line before the fire brigade arrived. When I reached the top, I took one last look back to see Bren dancing around like a lunatic with his head in his hands. Sade was closely behind him swinging well aimed kicks at his fat backside.

  As I watched them, a series of small explosions launched another section of the roof hurtling through the air before a final enormous blast blew the top off the building. I chuckled to myself, ‘that must be the gunpowder,’ I thought. At least any evidence of Bren’s illegal weapons would be incinerated, and he would be in the clear once the insurers paid out; as long as they didn’t find out that he’d been storing fireworks. Still, they were his problems, not mine.

  There were no roads behind the tree line. I knew the area well enough to know that the police couldn’t drive up and cut me off. If I kept walking up the steep ridge through the trees to the north for two miles or so, I would reach Miners’ Bridge. As long as I kept the river to my left, I would find it without any problems. I debated walking down the steep hill to the other side of the river and then crossing in the darkness at a shallow point to get the Landy, but the water level was too high and the village would soon be flooded with policemen and armed units looking for me. Going back for the Landy and my gun was not an option. I would have to head north and make the most of the equipment I had. The police would never guess that I was heading deeper into the forest. They would be expecting me to return to a vehicle in the village somewhere. I had to stick to the plan. There were two hours left before David Harris would turn up at the remote bridge across the Llugwy.

  The sound of sirens echoed down the valley and I caught the odd flash of blue light through the dense forest every now and again, but their attention was centered in the village. The ground was boggy, and the going was slow until I found a tourist trail which ran parallel to the river and then my pace increased. Forty minutes on, I felt safe enough to turn on the lantern and it wasn’t long before I stumbled across a weathered wooden signpost which pointed down the hill. ‘Miners’ Bridge’ 500 yds.

  I headed down the path to the top of the gorge where the wooden bridge spanned the river. The gushing water below was almost deafening as I neared the river. On the right of the path was a handrail fitted to fence posts, to help walkers navigate the steep incline to the bridge. The bridge is narrow and fixed at an acute angle making it difficult to use. It sways and the wood creaks when you walk on it. There is only room enough for one person at a time to cross and it’s so steep that the user must hold both handrails as they climb or descend. Although I was twenty feet above the thundering river, spray was splashing my face making the wooden boards on the bridge treacherous to cross. Only an idiot, or someone with an urgent need to traverse the Llugwy, would try to cross the bridge in the darkness with the water level so high and that’s what I was banking on.

  I set the haversack down on the ground at the base of a tree and hung the lantern from a low branch. I took out the rolled ponchos and slipped the black one over my head, pulling up the hood and adjusting the face mask so that only my eyes were showing. Looking around, I found a branch at head height and hung the second poncho from it. I walked to the top of the bridge and looked back. With the lantern light behind it, it appeared as if someone was standing near the tree. It was far enough away for the viewer not to be certain if the form was real or not, and all I needed was for my prey to hesitate
for a moment and my job would be done.

  Taking the wire snare, I opened the noose and spread it on the forest floor where the bridge met the mountain. Rotting vegetation provided the perfect material to hide the wire, even the sharpest eyes would struggle to see it in the dark. I found a stick about three inches thick and wrapped the tail of the snare around it, making a sturdy handle with which to pull the noose tight when the victim stepped into the circle of steel. I slipped the mace into the pouch which was on the front of the poncho and then looked around for a makeshift weapon. My eyes fell on the metal handrail next to the path and after half a dozen kicks to one of the posts, a section broke free. A three feet section of metal pipe was no substitute for a sawn-off shotgun, but that was all that I had to hand. I took the flares from the haversack and placed them on the ground. I lit a cigarette, sat on the bag and waited for my prey to arrive. I didn’t have to wait long but when he arrived, I had a nasty shock.

  CHAPTER 13

  From my elevated position, I could see the path which ran along the top of the gorge on the opposite bank. Half a mile to the left, the path snaked right through the forest and met the main A5 road that ran through the village. A stone-built style and a small footpath sign were the only indication that the bridge was there at all. Thousands of tourists must have driven by the path without ever knowing of the Miners’ Bridge existence. To the right the gorge climbed steeply through a series of staircase waterfalls for a third of a mile before it met the enormous Swallow Falls.

  The only safe way to the bridge was from the road to the left. Harris would have to use the path and he would need a torch. I would see him ten minutes before he got near to the bridge. I tossed my cigarette into the night and a beam of light caught my eye in the distance. I wasn’t sure if it was a passing vehicle but then there it was again. At first, I thought the mist from the river may be blurring my vision, but it soon became apparent that there were two torches weaving along the path on the far side.

  I thought for a moment that maybe it was the police, but they would send more than two officers down a secluded forest path if they were hunting a killer. It had to be Harris but who had he brought with him? It must be another Niner, or why else would he bring someone? I thought about the messages which I sent to him and remembered that I hadn’t told him to come alone. That was a silly mistake. I’d taken it for granted that he would come alone, but I should have known better than to assume anything. They were pack animals drawing strength from the depravity of others. My mind raced as the torch lights flickered along the path. Could my plan work against two men or was it time to withdraw and wait for another day? They could only cross the bridge one at a time, but if they were armed, then I was as good as dead.

  The river roared and my brain pounded against my skull as I weighed up the options. The torches were less than a hundred yards from the stone steps which led down to the foot of the bridge on the other bank. It was now or never. The noise of the water seemed to grow louder, and I thought it was a trick of my imagination until the humming noise grew clearer. A single beam in the sky above the village answered my question. It was a police helicopter. It hadn’t crossed my mind that they would send up a search craft and that was another stupid mistake. If they widened the search from the village, their heat sensors would pick up my shape in the forest, no matter how dark it was. Turning back was no longer an option.

  The torches were level with the steps and one of them began to descend. I darted to the lantern and set the timer, grabbing a flare as I ran. The forest floor softened my footsteps and my movements were masked by the roar of the water and the dense trees. I snapped the top off the flare and tossed it high into the trees. Running in the opposite direction, I hid behind a tree and gripped the handle of the snare. Harris and his associate saw the flare and they stopped on the steps and pointed to it. I heard his raised voice over the noise of the water and when his friend answered him, it sent a shiver through my body. It was the voice of a woman. She had a local accent and I had a terrible feeling that I recognised it. I thought it could belong to the woman who I’d spoken to on the telephone, his wife.

  My heart was beating rapidly, and my hands began to shake. I didn’t know if it was the aftereffects of the blow to my head earlier, or the fact that one of the Niners was a female. It wasn’t such a shock to think that there would be females involved in their sick games, but killing a woman wasn’t in my plan. I didn’t have a clue how this was all going to pan out, but it was too late to think of a second option. One of them stepped onto the bridge and began to climb up the steep incline. Wooden struts were screwed to the planks to act as grips for passing tourists to plant their feet. I looked around the tree and saw that the woman was coming first, David Harris close behind her. The lantern switched on and the shadowy figure of the poncho appeared by the tree deep in the woods.

  ‘Over there.’ I heard her shout. She was nearly at the top of the bridge now.

  ‘I can see, just keep moving will you,’ Harris called back. Standing over the gushing torrent which was thundering down the gorge was making him nervous. She took two more steps and was on the mountain right in the middle of the snare. I needed her to move. The lantern switched off and she froze. I should have set it with more of a delay. It spooked her. ‘Move will you, I want to get off this bridge,’ Harris growled.

  ‘Why have they switched the light off?’ she asked nervously. ‘I don’t like this, David. I’m not coming again after this.’

  ‘We can’t just walk away, she won’t let us, now move please.’ He raised his voice at the end of the sentence, and she stepped out of the snare as Harris stepped into it. ‘I don’t like heights at the best of times… what the fuck?’

  Harris shouted and cursed as I yanked the snare. The steel wire contracted quickly with a whistling sound, as it tightened around his ankles. I pulled hard, stepping back three paces and yanked him off his feet. He fell heavily onto his elbows and grabbed at the wire with both hands. Metal teeth in the steel made loosening it impossible and the wire cut painfully into his flesh. Mr and Mrs Harris screamed in unison as he thrashed about in the darkness. I ran over to him and sprayed mace in his face, disabling him further. A gurgling sound came from his throat as the stinging gas made its way into his airways and he clutched at his eyes trying to stop the pain.

  Mrs Harris was frozen to the spot in terror, as I raised the canister and blasted her with the mace. She collapsed onto the floor in a crumpled heap, gasping for breath, saliva and snot running from her chin.

  ‘You fuckingshsh basshtard.’ Harris slurred. His speech was barely translatable as his larynx constricted. ‘I’ll fushking kill youshsh.’

  ‘Shut up and listen to me,’ I grabbed his hair and pulled his face up toward me. The gas on his skin made my eyes sting and I pulled away a little. ‘What’s in your bag, David?’ I turned him over onto his front. A canvas haversack was laden with bulky items. ‘Don’t tell me, are they your toys when you play at worshipping Satan?’ I pulled his hair back again and I could see the fear in his eyes. ‘You silly, sad fuck. Do you know what happened to Max Blackman, David?’ I used the straps on the haversack to heave him closer to the edge. His eyes widened in horror at the mention of the dead Niner’s name. ‘I strung him up in his own living room and watched him choke.’

  ‘Pleaseshh don’t kill messhhhh,’ he hissed; mucus dribbled from his nose in thick rivulets. His fat cheeks wobbled, and his eyes streamed with tears.

  ‘I won’t kill you,’ I said looking into his eyes as I took his mobile phone from his coat pocket. Relief crossed his face and he half smiled. ‘When they find you, they’ll think that your wife did it. Can you swim?’ I reached for the metal pipe and brought it down hard on his face. His nose splattered and his front teeth splintered. His lower jaw hung at an awkward angle, shattered by the force of the blow. I lifted his feet up to my chest and heaved him over the edge. His bloated body hit an outcrop ten feet above the raging water and then bounced into the torrent o
f water, disappearing in seconds. The contents of his haversack would tell the police who he was and what he was.

  Mrs Harris was sniffling on all fours. I don’t think that she was even aware that her husband was drowning in the Llugwy. There was a dilemma here that I had to figure out. She had a rucksack too, which I thought was nice. His and hers, how quaint.

  ‘Here, grab onto this,’ I passed her the section of metal handrail. ‘Hold it and get up.’ She looked up and nervously grabbed the pipe. ‘Both hands, it will be easier.’ I ordered.

  She was shaking as she tried to find the strength to stand. A huge flash of light deluged the bridge, illuminating the forest. I ran beneath a tree and looked up. The police helicopter was a few hundred feet above us and although I wasn’t directly in the light, I knew that the thermal imaging cameras would have picked me up.

  ‘This is the police, stay where you are.’ The loudspeaker boomed. ‘I repeat, stay where you are.’ Torch lights pierced the night to my left where the stile met the road. I turned and looked up the mountain towards the village at the way I’d come, and a dozen beams pierced the trees in that direction too.

  ‘Well I guess we’re both fucked now eh, Mrs Harris,’ I leaned against the tree and laughed aloud. ‘I can’t wait to see their faces when they look in your bag. They’ll have you banged up for the Critchley farm murders by tomorrow morning.’

  She looked at the pipe in her hands and then looked up at the helicopter. The torches on the far bank were moving quickly and I could hear their voices over the noise of the water. I took another look up the hill and the first silhouettes were visible through the trees. I was trapped for the second time that night.

  ‘Did you hear David squealing like a bitch when I threw him over the edge?’ I goaded her. I needed her to react. ‘What was it like sharing a bed with a fat pedophile all those years?’