The Anglesey Murders Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  I thought about moving the Landy but there was nowhere to hide it. I didn’t think that it would matter either way. I climbed out of the Land Rover and opened the back door. Pulling the rear passenger seat forward, I took the Mossberg from its hiding place, before opening the boot and grabbing the petrol and my bag of shotgun cartridges. Holding the loaded shotgun made me feel much less vulnerable. The Mossberg had become my only true friend in recent months. It was always there when I needed protection and its power was undeniable. Those who threatened me to the point of me raising the gun invariably died. Its justice was brutal, swift, and deadly.

  I locked the Landy and headed for a gap between the concrete blocks, walking towards the disused buildings. The wind was biting through my clothes and it carried the scent of pine trees with it. I shivered as I walked along the slate shingle track. I could hear the river in the distance as it made its way down the Conwy Valley to the sea. The rocks, waterfalls and whirlpools created a comforting splashing sound which travelled on the night air. The road widened into a huge rectangle the size of a football pitch, probably the turning space for articulated lorries many years ago as they ferried massive slate blocks away from the quarry to feed the construction industry after the war. To the left a mountain of slate rocks climbed towards the tree line and on my right the ground sloped away towards the tree-tops, which clung to the riverbanks. The buildings in front of me looked dark and foreboding. The windows looked like eyeless sockets daring me to approach them. Enter at your peril, rattled around my head. Keep out. Trespassers will be shot, sprung into my befuddled mind; both warnings which I read a thousand times in comic books from the ‘70s. Their meaning back then was almost hilarious, yet forty years on, alone in the dark, hunting Angels, it wasn’t funny anymore. I looked up and the chimney stack seemed to grow in height as I neared the buildings, standing like a silent slate sentinel guarding the quarry from intruders. I held the Mossberg tightly, took a deep breath and walked towards them.

  CHAPTER 17

  When I reached the buildings, I looked at the main entrance and saw that the massive wooden doors were protected by a rusted metal grill secured to the brickwork with padlocks the size of a melon. I walked to the left and passed three arched windows which were shuttered and protected by similar metalwork grills. There was no access to the front of the building, so I walked on, stumbling over lumps of slate and clumps of weeds. I was beginning to think that winging it might not have been the best idea. My mindset was so mixed up that I didn’t really have a plan, but I persevered and retraced my steps. As I passed the main doors, I heard the familiar humming of rotor blades coming from the north. The noise seemed to grow and then fade. The mountains and trees blocked my view of the helicopter, but I knew it was up there and would take just a few minutes for it to reach the skies above me.

  The windows to the right of the door were fastened in the same fashion. I pushed on and reached the end of the building, before taking a path which led to the rear. A coil of rusted barbed wire blocked my progress and although it was dark, I could make out further rolls of razor wire beyond the first. If I tried to pick my way through, it would cut me to ribbons before I’d made more than a few yards. I couldn’t risk an injury which would need stitching, or a rusty wound which would become infected later on. Hospitals and doctors were beyond my reach. I had to find another way. I walked back the way I’d come and decided to try the second smaller building on the left. It was an unusual shape and from my position, there appeared to be no doors or windows in the front elevation. As I neared the building, I understood why.

  A road ran from the turning area to the side of the building, which was in fact a cutting shed and loading bay. There was a large opening on the far side which allowed articulated trailers to reverse into it, so that custom sized slate blocks could be loaded. From the side it looked like a low one-storey building. It was an illusion created by being built into the slope. The road snaked around the building and then dipped beneath it; hence it couldn’t be seen from where I’d parked the Landy. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best shelter on offer. I had no idea how far away Williams lived, or if he would come at all, but I had to act on the premise that he would arrive sooner rather than later. Encouraged, I jogged towards the loading bay entrance, which was nothing more than a gaping black maw beneath the building. The road twisted in a sharp u-shape and dropped down steeply. I slowed my pace as I reached the incline, gravity pulled me down the slope where the darkness reached a new level. I literally couldn’t see a thing. I had no choice but to try to use the light from the screen of the mobile. I took it out and pressed the menu button. When the screen illuminated, so did a button on the side of the device. The button read ‘Torch’. I pressed the button a powerful beam of light illuminated the building. God bless JCB for making a mobile which was used by farmers, builders, and contractors the world over. Someone somewhere was throwing me a lifeline. Using the phone as a torch, I entered the loading bay with renewed hope.

  The road stood a metre below the loading platforms which ran on either side from the front opening, all the way to the rear of the building. Stone steps cut into the platforms on both sides, allowing access for the Landy drivers to supervise their loads. I took the steps to my right and climbed up. On the platform, the torchlight revealed tracks which would once have guided an overhead crane. The crane itself had been stripped, along with all the other scrap metal left behind when the quarry closed. At the end of the platform, wooden stairs climbed up to another platform which supported a supervisor’s office. The office spanned the loading bay, three wide windows, long devoid of glass, allowed a panoramic view of the operation below. Plywood hoardings covered the office windows now. If the stairs were intact and I could remove the hoardings, it was the perfect place to observe the Niners if they fell for my trap. From there I could see them and cover them with the Mossberg.

  My first instinct was to position myself in the office and wait for them to arrive, but the more I thought about it, the more it looked like a dead end with no escape should things go wrong. With that thought in mind, I climbed the ancient wooden staircase. The smell of wet rot drifted to me and the steps had the spongy feel of decay. Each step brought a different creaking sound and the threat of plunging through the wood onto the concrete below hung heavily in my mind. I placed my feet carefully, testing the strength before transferring my weight. Progress was painfully slow but rushing now could end up with me lying helpless with a broken limb, a rat caught in my own trap. I counted thirteen steps to the landing. The door to the office was made from wood; three panels of plywood separated by thicker bars. The handle was missing, either broken off or removed on purpose to deter intruders. The floorboards on the landing groaned as I neared the door. I pushed it with the flat of my right hand and it moved slightly. A heavy barge with my right shoulder rattled the door in its frame and a second blow split the rotten frame near the lock. The door clattered against the wall as it flew open. The torchlight revealed an empty room, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling timbers. A strip light dangled, only one end attached, the wires exposed, and the smell of damp and decay pervaded the dank air inside. The right-hand side of the room was exposed brickwork; the left side was stud wall with the three boarded windows. I stepped inside towards the nearest window and instantly felt that the floorboards were different. I realised too late that decay had won the battle with the timbers and my right leg disappeared through the floor.

  CHAPTER 18

  My right leg went through the wood to the knee. I could feel warm blood trickling down my shin and there was a burning pain coming from a graze above the ankle. I lurched forward and had to let go of the gun and the petrol. The floorboards groaned beneath my weight and I could hear fragments of wood hitting the loading bay below. I held my breath and waited for the noise to abate before trying to pull my leg free. I placed my hands palms down on the floor and pushed upwards. The wood cracked beneath me and I dropped through the widening hole to my chest. Debris cl
attered into the loading bay and I grabbed at thin air as I came to a painful stop; only my arms and shoulders preventing me from following it. My legs dangled freely as I desperately tried to find purchase on something underneath me.

  My breath came in gasps, fear and adrenalin forcing my body to fight my predicament. I looked over my shoulder and twisted my body around slowly. Grabbing the door frame with my left hand, I nudged the shotgun and petrol gently through the doorway onto the landing and then tried to pull myself up. I needed both hands to budge a few inches. A loud crack from behind me stopped me struggling and a low groan followed as the tortured wood settled again. Seconds felt like hours as I held onto the door frame. I took a deep breath and pulled with all my strength. My chest came free of the rent in the floor and with a few kicks of the legs, I was lying breathless face down in the doorway. The office floor creaked loudly, and a fifteen feet section simply dropped away from the structure. With the support gone, the front wall snapped and followed the floor into the loading bay, crashing and splintering into dozens of pieces. I got to my knees, grabbed my gun and the petrol and sprinted for the staircase. As I reached the third step, the remaining sections of the office gave up the struggle to stay intact. Gravity proved to be stronger than the rusted screws and corroded nails and it ripped free of the walls, hurtling onto the loading bay below. A choking cloud of dust and debris filled the cutting shed and the clatter of timber against concrete deafened me.

  I jumped three steps and then leaped the last three, landing in a bruised heap on the platform. I sat up, tired and aching all over, as the clamour quietened. Giving up and walking away into anonymity suddenly became attractive; more attractive than anything before. I’d had enough. As I got to my feet, resigned to making it to the Landy and driving over the mountains away from this madness, I heard engines approaching. Tyres crunched the slate shingle near the quarry gates, at least two vehicles, maybe three. I listened in the darkness as the engines laboured and then fell silent. I couldn’t see if it was the police or the Niners but something inside told me that it was the latter. They were here and I didn’t have a clue what I was going to do next.

  CHAPTER 19

  I ran to the entrance and peered around the edge. Three sets of headlights illuminated the main building and the chimney stack. I could hear voices on the wind, three men, probably four. Their silhouettes shifted from one vehicle to another. One walked over to my Land Rover and peered into the driver’s window. There were more words exchanged, some in Welsh, but not all. Then there was an angry exchange, raised voices, finger pointing, angry aggressive tones and then a punch was thrown. As one man fell onto the shingle, another made to help him while the others tried to kick him while he was down. More angry voices and finger pointing and then the two attackers seemed to calm down momentarily. They chatted and argued for a few seconds and then they looked towards the buildings. I needed them in the cutting shed. I wasn’t sure what I would do when they were there, but I knew something would come to me. I took the lid off the petrol canister and poured half the contents onto the huge pile of rotten wood which only minutes ago was the office. Taking a disposable lighter from the bag of shotgun cartridges, I set fire to the wood. The flames jumped quickly from one piece to the next and as the fire met a petrol-soaked section, it ignited it with a resounding whoosh. The wood crackled and pieces of burning embers shot into the air. Smoke began to fill the vaulted roof space as the flames climbed higher towards the ancient roof beams.

  I ran back to the arched entrance and looked over the loading platform. The Niners were three hundred yards away and I knew that they couldn’t see the entrance to the cutting shed from their position, but they would see the glow from the flames. They turned and ran to their vehicles. I could hear some of their words drifting to me. I heard ‘bat’ and ‘hammer’ and then their headlights were switched off. They were coming; four men carrying weapons of varying descriptions. I ducked low and ran up the incline away from the cutting shed. Crouching as I ran, I hid behind the side of the building where I could see them approach, but they couldn’t see me. As I watched them, something important sprang into my messed-up brain. How would I know which one was Williams?

  As I watched them walking across the shingle turning space, I tried to decipher as much information as I could. Two of them held torches. One of them was much taller than the others and he was well built. He was carrying a baseball bat. The man next to him had a screwdriver; a very big one and his nose was bleeding. He didn’t look comfortable at all, in fact, he looked like he was shitting his pants. One held a claw hammer in his right hand and a carving knife in his left. They all had beer bellies that pushed against the material of their coats. I envisioned their guts hanging over their pants like droopy muffin tops. I guessed that the man with the nosebleed was Hughes, purely because I’d told Williams he was a grass, but I didn’t see which one had hit him and to be honest it didn’t matter. I couldn’t afford to kill anyone until I knew who Williams was. The four men walked in silence and rounded the bend at the top of the incline. They looked at each other as they saw the flames inside the cutting shed.

  ‘Harris.’ The tall man shouted. The others looked at him again for guidance. ‘Harris.’ He called again.

  ‘Let’s take a look inside,’ nosebleed man suggested. ‘He might be hurt.’

  ‘Shut your mouth, Hughes,’ the tall man snarled. He waved the bat close to his face. ‘If he’s right and you have blabbed to the police, I’ll shove this bat up your arse and set fire to it. Do you understand?’

  ‘I haven’t told the police anything,’ Hughes replied angrily although he looked very frightened. ‘Harris is a fucking liar. He always has been.’

  Bingo. Now I knew who was who. Or so I thought. It wasn’t the first time I’d been wrong.

  CHAPTER 20

  Geraint Hughes was fuming as he stormed down the incline towards the entrance. An orange glow illuminated the approach road and the interior of the cutting shed and thick grey smoke poured beneath the top of the arch. The accusations against him had infuriated him and had already cost him a bloody nose. Much worse would follow if he didn’t clear things up.

  ‘Harris, you gobshite,’ he bellowed as he entered the loading bay. ‘What the fuck are you playing at?’ A moment’s hesitation and he disappeared into the building.

  ‘What do you think?’ The tall man asked the man to his left. ‘Do you think Geraint is a grass?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think yet,’ the smaller man stepped into the light. Holding just a torch, he seemed the least dangerous of the men, yet he had an aura about him. He wasn’t armed and he didn’t look nervous or scared like the others. ‘Follow him and see what’s going on. Bring Harris and Geraint out here.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ the tall man hissed. ‘I’m not going in there.’

  The smaller man just glanced at him but there was malevolence in his eyes. Whatever silent message passed between them, the taller man lowered his gaze and walked towards the building. ‘You too, Rob.’ He turned to the remaining Niner. The man didn’t argue or question the command. He followed the others into the cutting shed. As I watched him from the shadows, his eyes scanned the area. He seemed suspicious as he looked around him one way and then the other. His focus passed over me twice, but I knew he couldn’t penetrate the darkness. He shuffled his feet and for a moment, I thought he was going to about turn and leave, but he headed into the shed instead. There was only one way in and one way out. I had them where I wanted them.

  Breaking cover, I ran for the top of the incline and bent double to see what they were doing. The fire at the rear of the building was radiating heat and light and the glow warmed me as I approached the entrance. The four men stood peering beneath the fragmented wood, looking for signs of their friend underneath. They looked at each other, confusion and anger etched into their faces.

  ‘Your fat friend is dead,’ I shouted to get their attention. The men spun around to face me; weapons raised instinctively. Th
ey had fear and surprise in their eyes. All except one. ‘His pervert of a wife will be spilling her guts to the police by now, but Harris is fish food.’ They eyed the shotgun and backed away as I approached. ‘Harris told me that Geraint Hughes is the master of your sinister tribe,’ I lied. They looked from one to the other nervously. Hughes looked especially nervous. ‘That’s you, right?’ I pointed the gun at the man with the bloody nose.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He shook his head and his fat jowls wobbled, making him look like a turkey. ‘I’m not in any sinister tribe.’

  ‘Why would you call it that then?’

  ‘Call it what?’ Hughes looked confused.

  ‘A sinister tribe.’

  ‘That’s what you called it,’ he mumbled but his face told me that he’d realised his slip up.

  ‘Your average man on the street wouldn’t know that the word ‘sinister’ isn’t a description, but we know that, don’t we?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he looked at the floor as he spoke.

  ‘Well that’s a shame.’ I took another two steps towards them. They edged backwards but the heat from the fire was too intense for them to move much further. ‘I only want Geraint Hughes, so which one of you is Hughes?’

  Three of the men looked at Hughes. Hughes looked shocked that they would give him away so easily. I couldn’t fathom why he was so surprised. They were all lying paedophile scum, so in my mind expecting them to be trustworthy was ludicrous. ‘I’m Geraint but I’m not the temple master,’ his face drained of colour as he spoke. He knew that Williams and the others would despise him for his treachery, despite the fact that they’d just betrayed him. ‘I’m no one.’