‘And once again, we’ve been through that. I have employed a building company to work on that house. I have no control over who comes and goes at that house. Anyone could have brought those remains to flush away.’
‘You have no idea how those remains ended up being disposed of at your property.’
‘No. No idea.’ Gates was starting to get agitated. ‘Is that all? I really need to get back.’
‘No. Can you tell me why you were in Bar One Hundred yesterday?’
‘Yes. I was going to do some Christmas shopping. I went into the bar to have a quick drink before I started. I don’t think that’s breaking any laws?’
‘Can you tell me why you started a conversation with Detective Sergeant Evans in Bar One Hundred?’
‘It was very busy. There was a spare seat opposite him, so I sat down. I was being friendly.’
‘You told DS Evans that you were meeting someone.’
‘Well, I had made a very loose arrangement to meet an old friend. That’s all.’
‘And who is that?’
‘Brian Dawson.’
‘And he’ll confirm that, will he?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Gates said, shaking his head at his solicitor in disbelief again.
‘You said that DS Evans was very handsome and that your eyes had met across the bar. That doesn’t really fit with your story, Andy?’
‘I was joking, messing around. I have a strange sense of humour,’ Gates explained with a smile.
Before Ruth could comment on his ludicrous story, there was a knock at the door. Merringer looked at her as he opened the door.
‘Boss, you need to see this,’ Merringer said quietly but with a sense of urgency.
‘For the purposes of the tape, DI Hunter is leaving the room,’ Ruth said and followed Merringer outside. She wondered what the development could be.
Merringer clicked open a photograph on his phone. A man’s face: it was a white-blue colour and clearly dead. It was Stefan Olsen. ‘SOCO found a naked body sitting on the sofa in the annexe at Gates’s home address.’
Ruth had mixed feelings. Gates had murdered Stefan Olsen for no reason except his sexuality. It was chilling, especially with how Gates was behaving during the interview.
However, the discovery of Stefan Olsen’s body at Gates’s home address now meant that the evidence against Gates was overwhelming. She just hoped that Gates would now do the right thing and put the families of the murdered men out of their misery by revealing their identities and the locations of their bodies – or, as Ruth grimly remembered, what was left of them – to bring some closure for everyone.
Ruth pushed open the door and sat down again. ‘For the purposes of the tape, DI Hunter has now re-entered the interview room.’
‘Everything all right?’ Gates asked in an overfamiliar tone. It gave Ruth the creeps, but she knew she had him bang to rights now. Fuck him, she thought.
Ruth looked directly across at Gates. He looked straight back at her defiantly. ‘Andrew Gates, further to the charges yesterday, I am now arresting you for the murder of Stefan Olsen. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
There was a moment as Gates composed himself and then he smiled. ‘Go on then, surprise me, Ruth.’
‘The body of Stefan Olsen was found at your home address this morning. Can you explain that to me?’
Gates sighed as if to show that this was all boring him. He mimed zipping his lips and then raised his eyebrows arrogantly. ‘No comment.’
NICK SLOWED THE CAR as he entered Betws-y-Coed, a small town at the heart of Snowdonia National Park. In Welsh, it means ‘prayer house in the wood.’ Lying in the valley, the River Llugwy joined the River Conwy, and the town was picturesque and popular with tourists keen to explore Snowdonia. There were many outdoor activity shops catering for everything from caving to abseiling down waterfalls. It was also the gateway to Mount Snowdon.
Nick hadn’t been there for over a decade. He had trekked up to Swallow Falls. Rising amongst the towering peaks of Carnedd Llewelyn, the River Llugwy ran east and became a spectacular waterfall, Swallow Falls, with its foaming water falling 150 feet.
That morning, Nick had received some intel on David Chivers, the teacher that James Ferguson had mentioned when he spoke to him. According to the PNC and a uniformed officer, David Chivers had received anonymous phone calls and even thought he had seen someone at his home on several occasions. Nick didn’t know if there was anything to it.
Parking outside one of the many climbing equipment shops, Snowdonia GO!, Nick turned off the ignition. The town was quiet at this time of year. It was too cold and too dangerous to explore Snowdonia in any depth. Nick’s thoughts were drawn to Amanda. He couldn’t stop thinking about her and that worried him. He’d been in obsessive and co-dependent relationships and they had always ended badly. He knew he wouldn’t have the emotional strength to cope if what he and Amanda were doing were to finish like that. His priority had to be his sobriety.
Nick got out of the car. Today he was on police business and he needed to focus on that. The owners of Snowdonia GO!, Paddy and Christine Brennan, had been walking on Snowdon the day of Harvey Pearson’s murder. However, they had been out of the country for a few days and had only just seen the news and police appeals for witnesses.
Nick approached the shop, which looked squashed in a row of old, grey stone buildings. The windows were dressed with mannequins in brightly coloured climbing and walking clothing. There were posters of the snowy peak of Snowdon and other stunning parts of Snowdonia.
As Nick walked in, he could see the shop was empty. It was still early and there was a smell of fresh coffee. Paddy Brennan was over by the till putting out some stock on a nearby shelf. He was well into his fifties, with thick grey hair and a beard, but looked fit and trim.
‘Mr Brennan? DS Evans from North Wales Police. You spoke to our duty sergeant yesterday?’ Nick confirmed, showing his warrant card.
Paddy nodded and put down the box that he was carrying. ‘Oh yes. That’s right.’
‘Okay if I take a few details from you?’ Nick asked as he got out his notebook and pen.
‘Of course. Come and sit down. Can I get you a coffee or anything?’ Paddy said, gesturing for them to sit down on two stools either side of the till.
Nick was tempted but needed to get back to the station. ‘I’m fine, but thanks. I’ve got a note that you and your wife were walking on Snowdon on the afternoon of Sunday the ninth of December? Is that right?’
‘Yes. I think we set off about midday. We weren’t going to the summit, but my wife’s a keen photographer and there had been snow. She wanted to get some shots up there.’
‘Is your wife here?’ Nick asked.
‘No. She’s with our accountant today? Do you need to speak to her?’
‘We may do in the future. Can you remember if you saw anyone on Snowdon that afternoon?’
‘Yes, well, that’s why we rang. We didn’t know that someone had been killed up there that afternoon. It’s terrible. We’ve been in France for a few days so it wasn’t until we saw the local news last night that we realised we had been there. And we recognised the man in the photo,’ Paddy explained quietly.
‘You saw Harvey Pearson on Snowdon that afternoon?’ Nick fished a photograph from his inside pocket and showed it to Paddy. It was one of the photos of Harvey on Snowdon that Jack had taken on the day of his murder.
‘Yes. That’s him. He was walking with another chap.’
Nick showed Paddy another photograph. This time it was Jack Pearson. ‘Was this the man?’
Paddy nodded. ‘Yes. I think so. He was wrapped up and I think he had a hat on, but it looks like him.’
‘Did you speak to them?’ Nick asked.
‘Not really. I think we said hello. Nothing more than that.’
‘Was ther
e anyone else on Snowdon that afternoon?’
‘I seem to remember a man walking his dog, but that was at the beginning of the path.’
‘Could you describe him?’ Nick asked. It was the first lead they had got about someone else being on the mountain.
‘Sorry. He was in the distance. A red coat of some sort but that’s about it.’
‘Anything else?’ Nick asked. It wasn’t much to go on.
Paddy thought for a moment. ‘He was quite young, from what I could see. But he had a limp and walked with a stick. Like he had been injured.’
Nick scribbled this down in his pad. ‘Thank you. Did you see anyone else?’
‘We passed four girls going up there too,’ Paddy said, thinking back.
‘Girls?’ Nick asked.
‘Well, I say girls. I guess they were your age,’ Paddy said with a wry smile. ‘They were walking together and they were all wearing a lot of pink. I don’t know why.’
Nick frowned. It was a strange image. ‘Pink?’
‘Yes, pink. Pink scarves, hats and gloves. Maybe some other stuff. Anyway, they were laughing and seemed to be very jolly.’
Nick was thinking out loud. ‘Maybe it was a charity thing? Could that have been it?’
He was thinking of the runs for Cancer Research UK that he had seen where participants all wore something pink.
‘I’m sorry. I just saw the colour. But yes, it could well have been a charity thing.’
‘Did you speak to these women?’ Nick asked.
‘Again, it was no more than a hello. They just seemed to be in high spirits.’
‘And you were on Miners’ Track, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And can you show me where you saw Harvey and Jack Pearson, and then where you saw the women?’
Paddy nodded and gestured to the wall where there was a detailed map of Snowdon and all the different paths to its summit. ‘We saw the women just here. That’s the causeway over Llyn Llydaw. We saw the two men up here. You see that’s where Miners’ Track meets Pyg Track. It’s a bit loose underfoot from there on.’
‘And you are sure that it was Harvey Pearson that you saw?’
‘Oh yes. My wife and I recognised him as soon as we saw the photograph on the news.’
Nick thanked Paddy for his time and began to make his way back to Llancastell. He ran the hypotheses around in his head as he drove. Harv had been deliberately attacked and murdered on Snowdon. The strangulation showed that the attack was personal and targeted, not random. Harv was walking with his brother Jack. They had had a row and Jack had left to go home. At the moment, there was no reason to suspect Jack. He had no motive and Nick knew him well enough to know that he would not have killed his brother.
Also on the mountain that day were Paddy and Christine Brennan. There was no evidence to suggest they were anything other than witnesses. They had seen a group of four women, who had not been identified and had not come forwards to confirm they were on Snowdon that day. Nick felt it was unlikely that none of the women had seen the news of the murder. So what were they hiding? There was also the man in the red jacket walking a dog near the foot of the mountain. Where was he?
There seemed to be little in Harv’s life that provided an obvious motive for murder. Good job, divorced but a good relationship with his ex-wife and kids, no money problems and nothing on social media. The only thing that Nick could find was Harv’s sudden interest in his time at St Patrick’s boarding school. He had mentioned a reunion, but Harv had been very unhappy at St Patrick’s. He had identified an ex-teacher, David Chivers, as someone he wished to kill. Did the historical scars on Harv’s back and his miserable time at St Patrick’s have anything to do with Chivers? Why was Harv trying to track down Chivers and others from his time at St Patrick’s?
Someone had targeted Chivers in recent weeks. Could it be a coincidence that Harv was tracking Chivers down at the same time? Had Harv found him and been waging a hate campaign against him?
CHAPTER 15
Even though Gates was on remand, he was being housed on the Vulnerable Prisoners – or VP – wing, at HMP Rhoswen, close to the North Wales coast, alongside sex offenders, grasses, police officers, paedophiles, and any other high-risk inmates.
Gates was told he shouldn’t start in the induction wing as there were already fears for his safety. The VP area was known as the ‘fours’ as it ran across the whole fourth floor. Old-time prisoners, ‘old lags,’ called it ‘Fraggle Rock’ because ‘it was where the nonces, animals, fraggles, freaks and grasses’ were housed. Outside, in the main prison population, the VPs could fall victim to extreme violence such as ‘wetting up,’ also known as ‘jugging.’ A bucket or jug would be filled with boiling water and a pound of sugar mixed in to make a blistering syrup that stuck to the skin. The liquid was then thrown in the victim’s face and burnt the flesh away down to the bone.
Gates was worried since his case was breaking in the media. It wouldn’t be long before everyone in the prison knew who he was. Serial killers were big news. Serial killers were also fair game for attacks. Even though Gates knew that his crimes had been against men, there would be many violent prisoners who would love the notoriety of having attacked or even killed him. He was a freak.
Before Gates had even sat down in his cell, he had found a razor blade carefully positioned on his pillow. It was a welcome gift from a guard or a fellow inmate. An invitation for him to commit suicide. He already knew that there might be faeces, urine or ground glass in his food, especially if the prison’s general population had access to it.
During his trial, Gates would have to explain why he had killed his victims. He was looking forward to sitting down with true-crime writers and giving them a detailed account of his life and his crimes. However, in moments of self-awareness and self-analysis, Gates wondered quite how he had ever descended into such destructive psychopathy. He thought that somehow it came from the anxiety and fury of being left alone and a desperate search for sexual identity. Once he had killed for the first time, there was no going back. The high and the ecstasy was too overwhelming not to become addicted. Now he knew what the phrase blood lust meant – it was the perfect description. Perhaps they could use that for the title of my biography ...
Gates would have to explain his marriage to Kerry. He had always felt that he treated it like a game where he wore the mask of a doting husband. He had gone through the motions, said the right things, but it was true that he did care for her. At least he thought he did. He had no benchmark. Sometimes he doubted he could truly care for anything. Poor Heidi had been born just days after they got married. His mother had disapproved of Kerry being pregnant at the wedding, but Gates didn’t care about what she thought. She was a cold bitch.
After the wedding, Gates, Kerry and Heidi had gone on their honeymoon to a local holiday resort. On the second night, poor little Heidi had left them for ever. And, for a couple of years, their grief brought them closer and their love seemed to be real. It did to Gates.
Once Kerry became ill, she served the function of Gates’s childish need to please and look after someone. He felt like he was looking after a sick, innocent child. And that felt like love too.
However, if Gates was honest, he knew deep down what and who he really was. Maybe he had been born that way? Born with an innate evil nature.
As for why he killed, he knew that the men he had stalked and killed were all in great pain. He could tell from the time he spent with them. They were lost, confused and directionless. They were full of jealousy, rage and uncertainty. By killing them, he was releasing them from the pain of life. He could shed no tears for them or their families. He knew that wasn’t normal. Even now, he couldn’t see a time when he would feel any remorse. The ghosts of his victims never visited him when he was awake or when he was asleep, so he assumed that proved that they were now in a more peaceful place. It was a message from God.
Gates had spent the morning using a laptop in the IT area. T
heir use was highly restricted and there was no access to social media, gambling, pornography or anything sensitive or provocative. Any prisoners trying to access such sites would lose their computer privileges immediately.
Gates knew what he was looking for. He typed in Detective Inspector Ruth Hunter and a list of old newspaper articles came up on the search engine. Some of the articles were about Ruth’s career and the cases she had worked. However, Gates could see that the majority were about Sarah’s disappearance. The initial search to find her plus articles on the anniversary of her disappearance. Vanished – The Strange case of Sarah Goddard.
Gates smiled. He had hit the jackpot with DI Ruth Hunter.
An hour later, Gates sat in his single cell and clicked on the small colour television. For a while, the BBC national news reported dull political and foreign stories. Gates was eager to see if his crimes had made it onto the news agenda, but they hadn’t yet. He felt a bit disappointed but told himself that it wouldn’t be long before he had his day in the sun. There would be books about him. He could go on the shelves with Nilsen, Sutcliffe, Bundy and the Krays.
The BBC Wales news report then switched to shots of Snowdon and police officers in high-vis jackets scouring the paths and crags.
‘The search for clues continued on Snowdon today as police widened their search of the mountain. It was last Sunday afternoon that thirty-six-year-old Harvey Pearson’s body was discovered at the bottom of this ridge along Miners’ Track. The North Wales Police Force have said that they are now treating his death as a murder.’
Gates watched the news story with growing interest. On the television screen, the news ticker tape introduced a Detective Chief Inspector Drake as he was being interviewed outside Llancastell Police Station. ‘Mr Pearson’s murder is a tragedy for his friends and family. We are keen to talk to anyone who was on Mount Snowdon, or in or around the area of the mountain, last Sunday afternoon.’
The Dee Valley Killings Page 11