The Dee Valley Killings

by Simon McCleave

  ‘Good for you. I know it’s early days, but I’m impressed, Nick,’ Drake said, looking directly at him.

  ‘Thank you, boss.’

  ‘It’s not easy. I had to watch my brother-in-law drink himself to death because he just wouldn’t admit he had a problem. He was only forty-three. Brilliant barrister, three kids. Horrible,’ Drake said.

  Drake rarely talked about his family, and Nick felt privileged that he had shared it with him.

  ‘It doesn’t discriminate,’ Nick said.

  ‘No ...’ Drake said grimly.

  Nick gulped down the rest of his coffee. He had felt tired all morning and hadn’t been sleeping well. Whenever he went to bed, he couldn’t get the image of Harv’s body in the mortuary out of his mind. He had been to many PMs and he had seen more than his fair share of dead bodies. But Harv was a mate, and the more he discovered about him, the more it seemed like he had a troubled childhood. Nick knew he had to be cold and dispassionate to do the job properly. He had to ‘cultivate a heart like a swinging brick’ as one of his instructors had told him and the other trainees at the police training college.

  ‘You think Gates has anything to do with Harvey Pearson’s murder?’ Drake asked, getting down to business.

  ‘No, boss. Gates is grandstanding. Now he’s in custody, he wants as much attention as he can get,’ Nick said.

  Drake nodded as he tilted back in his large office chair. ‘I agree. I don’t know how he knew some of the details of Harvey Pearson’s death, but everything we know about Gates’s MO is different. And killers like Gates don’t just change their MO on a whim. They have a purpose and a method that they stick to. So I agree, he’s lying to get media attention.’

  ‘Isn’t Gates going up Snowdon today?’ Nick asked.

  ‘DI Hunter is taking him up there this afternoon. I want you to meet them, and I want you to go through every detail with Gates. I want to rule him out of the Harvey Pearson case by the end of the day if we can,’ Drake said.

  ‘Yes, boss,’ Nick said.

  ‘What happened with David Chivers?’ Drake asked.

  ‘Someone was trying to freak him out in recent weeks. Abusive phone calls and he saw someone lurking outside the house,’ Nick said.

  ‘What do you think?’ Drake asked.

  ‘Chivers seemed genuinely scared. And looking at Harvey Pearson’s computer, he had tracked down Chivers and got his address,’ Nick explained.

  ‘Harvey Pearson was targeting David Chivers? Why?’ Drake asked, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Something happened at St Patrick’s boarding school in the early nineties. Harvey got a rugby scholarship there. However, everyone knew he hated it. He changed overnight. You could see it when you spoke to him. He was just quiet and not himself.’

  ‘And David Chivers taught at St Patrick’s at that time?’ Drake asked.

  ‘Yeah. Do you remember from the PM, Harvey had historical scars all over his back?’

  Drake nodded for a moment. ‘So, we think David Chivers was beating and possibly abusing Harvey Pearson while he was at the school?’

  ‘There’s no evidence, but it certainly feels like that, boss. Harvey told a friend that he had seen Chivers in a supermarket car park and that if he ever saw him again, he would kill him. Next thing, Harvey is telling everyone that he’s organising a St Patrick’s reunion and is tracking down ex-pupils and old teachers.’

  ‘Which seems very unlikely from what you’ve told me.’

  ‘Exactly. Harvey tracked down Chivers for a reason.’

  ‘How does this connect to Harvey Pearson being attacked on Snowdon? I assume that David Chivers is kicking on a bit?’ Drake asked.

  ‘Oh, yer. David Chivers wouldn’t be able to get up Snowdon or attack anyone. I went up Snowdon yesterday to the murder scene. Harvey was six foot four, sixteen stone and physically fit. The walking track is some distance from the edge of that ravine I don’t think there’s any way one person got him and dragged him over.’

  ‘Multiple attackers, which fits with DI Hunter’s theory?’

  Nick nodded. ‘Yes, boss. And it’s a bit of stretch, but Chivers has four daughters in their thirties and forties.’

  ‘And we’re looking for four unknown females who were on the mountain that day and haven’t come forwards,’ Drake said, thinking out loud.

  ‘It feels unlikely, but at the moment it’s all we’ve got,’ Nick said with a shrug. If he was honest, four middle-aged women going up Snowdon and murdering someone who was terrorising their father sounded like a weak theory.

  ‘Right, find the daughters. Let’s see if they have an alibi,’ Drake said.

  RUTH FINISHED HER CIGARETTE and tossed it out of the car window as it started to snow. Merringer flicked on the windscreen wipers as large flecks landed on the glass. Gates had told her that the first place he had buried remains was Llidiart-y-Parc, beside the River Dee and beneath the Berwyn Mountains.

  ‘Perfect weather for Christmas time, wouldn’t you say?’ Gates said as he gazed out of the window.

  No one said anything. There was a stony silence.

  Gates wasn’t perturbed. ‘I grew up around here, Ruth. Having snow at Christmas isn’t that unusual in Snowdonia. It really makes Christmas, especially for kids. But you’re not from up here, are you?’ Gates waited for a response, but Ruth wasn’t interested in making any conversation. ‘That’s right. You’re from South London if I remember correctly. Peckham. Actually, Peckham Rye, isn’t it?’

  Ruth felt uncomfortable. How did Gates know that? Was it one of his informed guesses? However he knew, she didn’t want him to have any information about her.

  ‘You see, Ruth, I’ve been reading up about you. That’s the thing about being on the VP wing at Rhoswen. They give you access to laptops during the day. You can’t use social media. And porn and gambling are out. But you can use Google to do some research.’

  Merringer glanced at Gates in the rear-view mirror. ‘Just shut up, Gates. No one’s remotely interested in your bullshit.’

  ‘You say bullshit, but the funny thing is that me and your Detective Inspector Ruth Hunter have far more in common than you would think.’ Gates nodded and frowned as if he was trying to remember something. ‘The fifth of November 2013, wasn’t it?’

  Ruth felt her stomach lurch. It was the date that Sarah had gone missing. She took a breath but tried not to show it. Gates would use what he had found to get into her head. Criminals had done it to her before, but no one had ever used Sarah’s disappearance to get to her. She knew she couldn’t let Gates see that she was reacting.

  ‘That must be a date that is etched in your mind for ever, Ruth? And that’s why we’re the same, you see? We both know the pain of being left. The agony of not knowing why someone has gone. No answers. No resolution. That’s what happened to me. My father left me and I can barely remember him. Then my taid. Dropped dead in front of my eyes. Just like that!’ Gates clicked his fingers loudly and it made Ruth jump, though she managed not to show it.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Ruth asked in an as composed a voice as she could muster.

  ‘All in good time, Ruth. Now, what were we talking about?’ They slowed over some potholes and Gates looked outside. ‘Just here. This right-hand turn.’

  Merringer turned from the main road and they made their way down a narrow track towards the River Dee. On the left was Carrog Station Camp Site, which Ruth could see was deserted. On the other side were rusted, corrugated-iron sheep pens and a long steel gate that had been padlocked.

  ‘But Sarah just disappearing that day and never seeing her again. I don’t know how that must have made you feel. Something like that must eat you up inside. You must lie at night wondering what happened to poor Sarah. Is she dead or is she alive? Was she kidnapped by someone? Did she have an accident and lose her memory? Or did she just leave you and didn’t have the courage to tell anyone? Who knows? Will you ever know? The same thing happened to me. My Dad left one day and just never came b
ack. No-one said anything to me. It’s impossible to live with. Isn’t it, Ruth? In fact, there must have been times when you didn’t want to carry on living. I know I didn’t. When the pain was just too much to bear? Was it like that for you?’

  Ruth felt the emotions twist inside her. She felt sick, but she also wanted to turn round and punch Gates in the face until he was unconscious.

  PC Harris glared at him. ‘Another word from you, Gates, and I’m going to really hurt you.’

  ‘That’s not very friendly. And I think that would count as police brutality.’ Gates smiled at him.

  ‘Not if this car has to stop suddenly and you face-plant straight into the metal on the back of that seat,’ Harris growled.

  ‘You’re very good-looking, officer, did you know that?’ Gates smirked and sat back for a moment.

  Ruth didn’t want the argument to develop or Gates to feel that he had had any impact on anyone in the car. ‘It’s fine, PC Harris. The sad thing is no one is listening.’

  ‘Yes, it’s fine, PC Harris,’ Gates mimicked.

  The car slowed as the dry-stone walls and stark hedgerows gave way to barren fields. To the right, the swollen waters of the River Dee drifted downstream. The far bank was about six or seven hundred yards away and as the engine quietened, the noise of the powerful river could be heard. The water was high and the bottoms of several large trees on the banks were now submerged.

  ‘Andy, you said that you buried your first victim, Darren Parnell, down here?’ It pained Ruth to use his name and be polite, but she knew that she needed him to know that his mind games had not affected her at all.

  Gates had given information to Ruth about all of his victims. It had been chilling to see the names of seven young men whose lives had ended so horrifically all in Gates’s meticulous handwriting.

  Darren Parnell was a twenty-three-year-old barman from Llangollen who lived on his own. Gates had befriended him at the Mill pub. He was originally from Dunfermline in Scotland and police had informed his parents. They didn’t hear from Darren from one month to the next so they had no clue that he had disappeared, let alone been murdered.

  ‘Yes. That’s right. We’ll have to walk over to the bank for me to show you exactly,’ Gates explained.

  Ruth didn’t want Gates pulling any tricks. Nor did she want Gates dragging himself and PC Harris into the icy depths of the Dee where they would surely die. ‘How far from the bank?’

  ‘Thirty, forty feet, I guess. It was very dark when I was down here.’

  The four vehicles ground slowly to a halt and stopped.

  Ruth clicked her police radio. ‘Central from three-six. We are at target location one, over.’

  ‘Received three-six,’ Central replied.

  Uniformed officers positioned their car across the road and one of them stayed to redirect traffic. Police dog handlers went to the back of the van, opened it and brought up two large German shepherd dogs who immediately began to strain at the leash. The SOCOs began dressing in white protective suits and unpacking the trays and forensic bags that they might need.

  As they turned to walk towards where Gates thought he had buried Darren Parnell’s remains, Gates shot Ruth a look that seemed to become an imperceptible smirk. Ruth didn’t react. She wouldn’t let herself.

  Ruth watched for the next fifteen minutes as uniformed officers and SOCOs dug at the surface of the earth, which was covered with patches of light snow.

  ‘You never forget your first, that’s what they say,’ Gates said out loud to no one in particular. ‘Poor little Darren. I think I was a father figure to him. He was a long way from home, and I think he was lonely. Darren wasn’t going to contribute much to mankind. Nothing of any significance. And I think Darren knew that, which is why he was so sad.’

  The wind picked up a little, but the snow had stopped. Out of a nearby tree, a bird flapped its wings noisily and caught Ruth’s attention. It was enormous – two feet in length with wide, brown wings. She thought it was an osprey but she might have been mistaken. For a moment, Ruth wondered if Sarah was buried somewhere like this. An unmarked grave that only one individual knew about.

  The chief SOCO looked up and waved from where they were digging. ‘Boss. Got something.’

  ‘You’re looking for bright-blue plastic bags,’ Gates said.

  The chief SOCO heard Gates’s comment, looked at Ruth and nodded.

  They had found Darren Parnell.

  CHAPTER 19

  Llancastell Police Station had received a call from Harvey Pearson’s workplace, Halo Technology. They had accidentally opened Harvey’s locker during a revamp of the changing rooms and there were personal items in there. They thought the police should know.

  Nick was greeted at reception by the head of HR, Mandy, who was young and full of energy. Too much bloody energy and cheerfulness, Nick thought to himself. Halo Technology was blazoned in red across the wall as was the italic subtitle Digital Business Solutions and a slogan that promised, We deliver what you need.

  Mandy showed Nick the men’s changing room, showers and toilets and took him over to the row of lockers. Mandy explained that employees could keep possessions and clothing in them. There was a gym up on the third floor for employees.

  ‘This is Harvey’s locker,’ Mandy pointed solemnly.

  ‘Thank you.’ Nick took purple forensic gloves from his pocket and squeezed his hands into the tight rubber. He had brought an evidence bag with him.

  ‘Do you need me to wait with you?’ Mandy asked awkwardly.

  ‘No, no. I’ll give you a shout when I’m done,’ Nick replied with a kind smile.

  The locker door was open, and it was about four feet high with space for hanging shirts and suits. There were shelves to one side.

  Nick took a small torch and peered inside. A smart blue polo shirt hung from a hanger. There was deodorant and aftershave on one of the shelves. Beside that, some shampoo that promised to ‘cover grey hair.’ Nick smiled to himself. That was Harv. Vain until the end. He remembered being in the pub with him and Jack and putting on Carly Simon’s ‘You’re So Vain’ on the jukebox. Jack and Nick had sung the song to Harv as they swigged their pints and laughed.

  Nick was struck by the sadness that had crept up on him. They were such carefree, innocent days. That’s how he remembered them.

  At the bottom of the locker was a navy Ralph Lauren gym bag. Nick took it out and unzipped it carefully. Inside were some clothes that were black and navy. There was a black hoodie.

  As Nick fished around more he found something. He pulled out what he thought was a black ski hat. As he unfolded it, he saw that it was, in fact, a black balaclava.

  CLENARTH QUARRY WAS the location of the Gates’s next victim. It had begun as a terraced and open slate pit working from about 1868, with the arrival of the railway. Later, the slate mining moved underground. As Ruth looked up at the long twisting pathways, she could see the quarry was located on the south side of the Dee Valley above Carrog.

  The police convoy had stopped in the gravel parking area at the foot of the mountain. Cupping her hands, Ruth lit a ciggie as she watched Nick pull up and park alongside them.

  ‘That’s it. Suck in all that fresh air,’ Nick quipped as he got out.

  ‘Drake send you to keep an eye on me?’ Ruth asked with a smile. She was always glad to see him.

  ‘Something like that. If we get to Snowdon, we need to grill Gates and rule him out as Harvey’s killer,’ Nick explained.

  ‘Okay ... Gates claims the next victim is at the top of here,’ Ruth said, gesturing up the steep track with a withering look.

  ‘Great ... Finish off your cancer stick, and we can get going, eh?’ Nick said with a grin.

  Given the steep climb, Ruth had been advised that it was dangerous for Gates and PC Harris to climb the hillside handcuffed together. Gates had been uncuffed from Harris and now his hands were cuffed together in front of him. He had protested that if he fell, he would have no way of breaking his
fall. No one was interested. Part of Ruth hoped that Gates did fall and break his neck. His relentless mind games had taken their toll, and she just wanted the day to be over. However, she also knew how important it was for the families to find out what had happened to their loved ones.

  As the uniformed officers, SOCO and dog handlers assembled, Ruth gazed upwards. It looked like a steep walk and the wind was whining and blustering around her face and ears.

  ‘Right. Let’s go, everyone,’ Ruth shouted loudly.

  The pathways were covered in frost that crunched under their feet. The surrounding bracken was frozen and white. Sheep moved away as they passed by. The winter sun disappeared behind the dark clouds that loomed in from the west and the temperature seemed to drop almost instantly.

  Ruth and Nick walked together as the track widened, but the noise of the wind made conversation almost impossible.

  Ruth stopped for a moment to get her breath, gazing down at the Dee Valley below them. Thickets were dotted across the rolling countryside and brown paths and tracks dissected the snowy ground. The River Dee itself snaked smoothly through the middle of the valley floor, its bends and straights looking almost symmetrical. It was such a peaceful, tranquil place, Ruth thought. And yet their task was so hideous and full of pain and destruction.

  The muscles in her calves were starting to ache a little as they continued their ascent. Up ahead of them, a line of derelict stone quarry buildings bordered the path. A rusted metal track marked where the loaded slate had been carried up and the then empty carts sent down to the quarry to be refilled. It was embedded in a slope of wooden slats that plummeted down the hillside, dropping hundreds of feet. Ruth thought that it looked like the slope of a ski jump she had seen on television for the Winter Olympics. It was covered with ice and snow and looked terrifying.

  A pair of peregrine falcons hovered together on the air currents looking down on the group’s progress. The birds turned, banked away to the east and disappeared out of sight.