The Dee Valley Killings

by Simon McCleave

  ‘Mate, I’m so sorry about Harv,’ Nick said holding out his hand. They shook hands and hugged. Seeing Jack really brought home the fact that someone had killed his friend Harvey. The sharp clarity of that fact shook him for a moment.

  ‘Sit down. Do you want a cup of tea or anything?’ Nick asked, regaining his composure.

  Jack simply shook his head. He had shaved his hair since the last time he had seen him, back in the summer. He was tanned and handsome, and Nick guessed that he had been off travelling somewhere. That was Jack. A free spirit, and that’s what Nick liked about him. ‘So you were with Harv on Sunday?’ Nick asked, getting out his pen.

  Jack nodded. ‘Yeah, I was.’

  ‘What happened, Jack?’ Nick asked as he shook his head and let out an audible sigh.

  ‘I’d promised him we’d go up Snowdon before Christmas. It’s something we did together a couple of times a year.’

  Nick nodded and waited for Jack to elaborate. When he didn’t, Nick asked, ‘So what happened?’

  ‘That’s the thing. I don’t know. We had a row, and I stormed off. I went back down, got in my car and went home. When I didn’t hear from him, I assumed it was because he was still pissed off with me,’ Jack explained.

  Nick felt a slight relief from Jack’s explanation. He had feared there had been a fight and that things had got out of hand. He had seen Harvey and Jack’s fights before and there were no holds barred, especially when drink was involved. On Harvey’s stag do in Dublin, Jack had a made a joke about Harvey’s fiancée. Harvey broke his nose and spent the night in a garda cell.

  ‘What did you row about?’ Nick asked.

  ‘Stupid stuff. Mum’s not well. He wanted me to be around more to help out.’ Jack seemed overwhelmed by grief again. ‘I just thought he’d fallen or something.’

  ‘I’m sorry, mate. It does look like someone killed him, though,’ Nick said.

  Jack screwed up his face as if he was trying not to cry. Taking a deep breath, he blew out his cheeks. He was clearly struggling with what had happened.

  ‘Who? Who would have killed Harvey?’ Jack looked distraught at the idea.

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’ Nick was as baffled as he was.

  ‘I should have been there, Nick. I left him and now he’s dead. He’d be alive now if I hadn’t gone off. I could have protected him.’

  ‘You can’t blame yourself, mate. We’re going to get the bastard that did this to Harv, okay?’ Nick reassured him.

  Nick gave him a few moments. He could see how upset and guilty Jack felt.

  Jack nodded even though Nick could see he was still coming to terms with it. There would be moments when it just wouldn’t feel real.

  ‘Where did you find him?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I can’t tell you that. It’s an ongoing investigation. Sorry, mate.’ Nick felt awkward that he was having to be official.

  ‘Come on, mate. It’s me, Nick.’ Jack looked at him.

  Nick paused. ‘There’s a ridge about a third of the way up Miner’s Track. He was at the bottom of a ridge there,’ Nick explained and glanced at the interview room door. ‘But I didn’t tell you that.’

  ‘Miners’ Track? We weren’t even on Miners’ Track.’ Jack was clearly confused.

  ‘Maybe he came down that way? Did you see anyone that day? Anyone you knew or recognised?’ Nick asked.

  Jack shook his head, ‘No. No one. Weather wasn’t great so it was quiet.’

  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary? Anything, however small, could help us.’

  ‘No. It was quiet. Couple of other walkers, but I couldn’t tell you who they were or what they looked like.’ Jack shrugged.

  ‘What about Harv? Was he okay? How did he seem?’ Nick asked.

  The key to who murdered Harvey would lie somewhere in what was going on in his life. Money problems. An affair. Business partner. Ex-wives and step-dads.

  ‘He was all right. You know what he’s like. Everything’s a fucking joke,’ Jack said. And then Nick saw that Jack had caught himself using the present tense, and the grief came again. ‘You know ...’

  Nick nodded as he turned the page of his notebook. ‘What about Linda? The kids?’

  ‘Linda’s been living in Marford with the kids and her new fella. Been about eighteen months, two years maybe. Sometimes that would fuck him off. But he got used to it.’

  ‘Anything else in recent weeks? Anything that was different? New friends or a girlfriend? Money stuff?’ Nick asked.

  Nick saw that something had occurred to Jack. ‘Actually, he’d been on one of those old school websites. For St Patrick’s.’

  St Patrick’s was a very old-fashioned boarding school near the North Wales coast. Harv had won a rugby scholarship there but had never settled.

  Nick frowned. ‘He hated it at St Patrick’s, didn’t he?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘Yeah, I didn’t understand it. He was trying to track down some old friends and some of the teachers. It didn’t make any sense when he told me.’

  Nick frowned as he took in this information. Tracking these people down, after all these years, seemed completely out of character.

  What was Harvey doing looking back into his past? Nick wondered.

  IT WAS DARK BY THE time Gates left the small annexe at the back of his house. He had been doing some work. A little project that he couldn’t tell Kerry about. She wouldn’t understand. Well not yet.

  Bless her cottons. She doesn’t understand me and all my eccentricities, Gates thought as he went down the path.

  Turning on a small torch, Gates heard the noise of an owl hooting from the darkness of the trees. It spooked him. He turned the handle of the back door. It was still loose. He needed to get some screws to tighten it.

  Making his way through the back door, he noticed that one of the pans he had left simmering was now boiling over. He turned down the heat and then checked the carrots that were boiling on the next ring. Perfect. He was cooking dinner, as he did every night. He couldn’t complain though. It was therapeutic, and it calmed him after he had worked so hard all day. Kerry loved his stew. It was just like his mother had made, although he didn’t tell Kerry that. They hadn’t got on when she was alive so there was no point raking up the past.

  ‘Fancy a drink, love?’ Gates called to Kerry. He had left her tucked up under a blanket on the sofa, watching TV. It was time for The Chase on ITV, which was their favourite. Sometimes Gates let Kerry answer the questions before he did because it made her happy.

  ‘No, no, I’m fine,’ Kerry called back.

  ‘Go on. A little one. I’m having one and I don’t want to drink on my own.’

  ‘Oh, all right then.’

  ‘Good girl,’ Gates said. He smiled to himself as he took two wine glasses from the cupboard. Holding them up to the light, he checked they were clean. He grabbed the cold bottle of pinot grigio from the fridge and then reached into the medicine cabinet. Pulling out a strip of red capsules, he took one and broke it in half, tapping the white powder delicately into a glass.

  This late-afternoon ritual gave Gates a warm glow inside. The nitrazepam and the alcohol would keep Kerry relaxed and half-asleep for the rest of the evening. That’s how he liked her to be. Docile was the word, wasn’t it? Compliant? Particularly tonight as Gates wasn’t sure if he needed to go out later.

  Before dicing up the beef for the stew, Gates went into the downstairs cloakroom. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and smiled back at himself. He was handsome. Film-star looks. His mother had told him that daily. She told him that his eyelashes were like those of a beautiful girl. He pouted for a second at his own reflection.

  He wanted to splash his face with water so he removed his tinted glasses and again surveyed his reflection. There it was. The scar across the lid of his left eye. He often forgot about it as the frame and tinted lenses of his glasses hid it from view.

  He cleaned his glasses with a soft hand towel and put them back on. Stepping back i
nto the warmth of the kitchen, Gates went back to the cooker. All systems go, he thought to himself. He then took Kerry her wine.

  ‘There you go, my love. I’ve left my watch in the annexe. I’ll be back in two minutes.’ Gates didn’t enjoy lying to her but he felt too compelled to go back. Something was making him anxious.

  Kerry smiled. ‘I don’t know what you do over there. You seem to spend more and more time there, and less time here.’

  ‘Sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Put The Chase on and I’ll be back in a minute. Promise,’ Gates said, squeezing her shoulder gently. It did make him feel guilty that his latest project was becoming so time-consuming.

  Gates returned to the kitchen, went to the large pot boiling at the back of the cooker and removed the lid. A cloud of thick steam rose and at once misted his glasses. He couldn’t see a thing. Grabbing his shirt, he cleaned his glasses again.

  Now that the steam had cleared, he could see that the human head inside was cooking and reducing down nicely. The black hair on top of the man’s skull swished and moved in the boiling bubbles of the water, which was now permeated with human fat. It looked a bit like black spaghetti, Gates thought to himself.

  And the smell. What did it remind him of? Pork. A pot roast, that’s it. He gave a faint smile of amusement. He had done his research. Boiling a human head reduces it to about a third of its original size. That made it easier to get rid of or keep if Gates decided that’s what he wanted to do. It’s what Dahmer and Nilsen had done. He had read all the books.

  Unbolting the back door, Gates slipped out and stood smoking a menthol cigarette. Kerry didn’t like him smoking. When he had finished, he headed over to the annexe. Coming into the empty lounge, he glanced into the large mirror at the other end of the room. There he was.

  The reflection of Stefan Olsen’s face staring back at him. Stefan had a beautiful face. Except the eyes. His dead eyes had glazed over and were now colourless. Such a shame. They had lost their dark chestnut colour. It was annoying. Why did that always happen?

  Gates walked over. Stefan Olsen’s naked body was sitting in an armchair facing the fireplace. He had already removed his lovely hands with a hacksaw.

  ‘Stefan, I would love to light a fire for you. I know it’s chilly in here, my love. But you’re safe here,’ Gates whispered.

  That afternoon, Gates had stripped and washed Stefan in the bath. He had powdered him in talc. He had examined every inch of his body, even rolling him over. Gates noticed how elated he felt to have such control over this beautiful body. A body that was now his possession. He ran his fingers over it, marvelling at the power and sexual excitement that killing now gave him.

  CHAPTER 7

  As Ruth entered CID Major Incident Room One, she noticed that, although it was still early, the room felt clammy and airless as the heating was on full blast. The sky outside was grey and formless, the room buzzing with chatter and the odd boom of male laughter. There were the usual wind-ups and piss-takes. Ruth had seen it all before. Every single murder case – and there were very few in Llancastell – added energy and anticipation to the incident room. Now it looked like there might be several. Around a dozen CID officers sat talking and preparing for the morning.

  She glanced over at the two large whiteboards that had been set up. At the centre of one was a photo of number four Abbey Terrace, Pentredwr, which was Andrew Gates’s house where the remains had been found. There were also detailed sewage, water and drain plans that had been obtained from Welsh Water. She hadn’t worked on a case of discovered remains for a long time. It was always very grim.

  The other whiteboard featured a photo of Harvey Pearson, smiling at the camera on Snowdon. His name and address were written in blue marker to one side, date of birth, 7/5/1983, plus the approximate time and location of his death: Miners’ Track, Mt Snowdon – 4 pm, Sunday 9 December 2018.

  Ruth watched as Nick entered the room and settled himself. She spotted him looking over at the boards and the central photo of his old school friend. It reminded her of what an old Sergeant always told her about the job. You just never know what’s coming down the pipe. Lives changed or were ended in a split second. That’s what Ruth still found so hard-hitting about being a police officer: how the victim’s relatives’ or friends’ lives were irrevocably changed too.

  Ruth took a breath as she dwelt on this thought before watching DCI Drake as he manoeuvred to address the morning briefing. Drake gathered his files and then took a swig of strong black coffee. ‘Good morning, everyone. I am sure that some of you are aware of the developments at number four Abbey Terrace, Pentredwr yesterday. The owner of the property, Andy Gates, called officers when he found what turned out to be human remains blocking the sewer in his back garden. Ruth?’

  Ruth stood up. There was a slight touch of nerves as the room listened to her. She went over to the whiteboard. ‘Number four Abbey Terrace is unoccupied at the moment. Gates is renovating the house to use it as a rental property. If you look at these plans of the underground pipes, the main household drains for numbers one, two, three and four, all feed into the municipal sewer pipe here. So even though the blockage was found in the garden of number four, it could be that the remains came from any of those houses. Forensics are inspecting the household pipes of each house for significant levels of human DNA in the hope that we can narrow down the remains to one of those houses. Everyone who has access to any of those four houses is a suspect at the moment. Luke, what about the builders at number four?’

  Merringer nodded and looked at his notes. ‘Gates emailed us last night with the name of the building company. A Dai Morris Builders from near Corwen. Mr Morris gave us a series of dates and times that the builders were there. He will also send over a list of names and numbers of the all the workmen who have been to Abbey Terrace. He had seen the news and put two and two together. He was at pains to stress that there were at least two or three workmen at the property when work was being carried out.’

  Ruth nodded. That’s what she liked about Merringer. Thorough, methodical and clear. ‘Thanks, Luke. Let’s start with standard background checks on them all. Then upgrade to enhanced if anything is flagged up.’ The standard check would show up any spent and unspent convictions, cautions or final warnings. As the SIO, if Ruth decided escalate to an enhanced check that would reveal any further information held by local police that was considered relevant.

  Ruth gave Drake a look to say she had finished for the moment.

  He stood up again, hand casually in his pocket. ‘The main concern here is that SOCO believe the body parts belong to more than one victim. We’re waiting for Forensics to confirm that and get DNA so we can see if we can make a match. I’ll avoid using the dreaded phrase “serial killer” at this stage. It’s premature. And I don’t want to hear anyone else using it.’ Drake moved over to the photo of Harvey Pearson. ‘Nick, what’s happening with the murder of Harvey Pearson?’

  ‘Boss. I’ve interviewed his brother Jack. He claims that they were walking up Snowdon together. They had a row, Jack went home and knew nothing of his brother’s death until his mother rang him,’ Nick explained.

  ‘What do you think?’ Drake asked.

  ‘This might be a conflict of interest, boss, but I’ve known Jack Pearson since I was ten. He’s a peace-loving hippy. The idea that he shoved his brother down a ravine, went down and strangled him, and then dragged and hid his body behind a rock.’ Nick shook his head. ‘He hasn’t got it in him to hurt anything. And he was close to his brother.’

  Ruth could see that Nick was still caught up in the emotion of what had happened.

  ‘Any other leads?’ Drake asked.

  ‘We’re trying to find anyone else that was on Snowdon that day. Someone must have seen something. Also looking into Harvey’s life but there’s nothing at the moment that’s worth pursuing,’ Nick explained.

  ‘Okay, everyone. Can we do the usual checks? Social media, bank accounts, work colleagues,’ Ruth said looking ar
ound the room.

  ‘I’m going to his flat today,’ Nick said.

  Drake nodded. ‘Good. Okay, any other business for today?’

  Sian looked up from a file she was holding. ‘Boss. The missing person we’re looking at, Stefan Olsen, who was last seen in Bala.’

  Drake finished his coffee. Although he didn’t say it, a missing person was the least of his problems today.

  ‘I went to see his wife yesterday. She gave us his laptop voluntarily, so I gave it to Tech to have a look. Stefan Olsen had been using a gay dating site that’s hosted in North Wales, U’veGotMale-dot-com. The Tech boys have hacked into his recent activity and emails. He emailed a friend to say that he had a blind date on Saturday night and had used a dating site to get it. I’m thinking it’s the same one.’

  ‘And no one’s seen him since?’ Drake asked.

  ‘No, boss. He’s vanished.’

  ‘Okay. Go to where the site is hosted. Look at his account. See who he was talking to and who he arranged to meet,’ Drake said.

  AS NICK PARKED OUTSIDE Harv’s apartment block, on the edge of Llancastell’s town centre, the sky was bleached white with clouds tinged with grey. Closing the car door, Nick pulled the collar of his coat up as the sharp wind cut against his face. It was at this time of year he was glad he had a beard.

  A moment later, he saw Jack standing outside the entrance. Jack’s face showed he was struggling with what had happened to his brother. Who could blame him? Nick had felt like that when he had lost his cousin Megan several years ago. It had shaken him to the core.

  They shook hands and hugged and went into the apartment block that was modern and tastefully decorated, aimed at professionals in the area.

  Harvey’s flat was on the first floor. Once they were in, Nick asked Jack to wait in the kitchen so as not to potentially contaminate the rest of the flat. It could end up being a crime scene and might need forensic examination. Wandering the tidy apartment, he looked for anything that could shed any light on what had happened to Harv and why.