The Dee Valley Killings

by Simon McCleave

  Ruth approached Gates, who had been strangely quiet for an hour. She hoped that he had realised that his attempts at mind games were proving futile and that he had shut up. ‘Where are we going from here?’

  ‘Just up here, Ruth. About another two minutes and you’ll see,’ Gates said with excitement in his voice as if he was going to show them something spectacular.

  Nick shot Ruth a dark look and shook his head.

  Ruth saw that Gates was looking at the cigarette packet in her pocket.

  ‘I don’t suppose those are menthol?’ Gates asked.

  ‘No. They’re not,’ Ruth said, thinking that she wouldn’t give him a cigarette anyway.

  ‘Yeah, I only smoke menthol,’ Gates muttered under his breath.

  A moment later, they reached the summit of the quarry and the ground levelled out. Ruth could see in every direction for miles. She looked down at the other side and the endless stretch of lowlands towards the dark mountains. The drop was steep; it gave her vertigo just looking down.

  They stopped close to the steep rail-track. Glancing around at the stone buildings that surrounded them, Ruth looked over at Gates. ‘Here?’ she asked.

  Gates nodded and pointed over at a large stone hut that still had its roof intact. ‘Over there. In there.’

  Ruth turned to the SOCOs and gestured to the hut. They needed to go in first if it was a crime scene or there were remains. She stamped her feet, trying to get the circulation going in her frozen toes. It was a grisly wait as the SOCO team took out torches and disappeared into the darkness.

  Ruth watched as Gates shuffled to keep warm. He began to whistle a Christmas tune with a smile.

  Ruth and Nick shot each other a look. They both knew that they would gladly do Gates a lot of physical harm at the moment if they could get away with it.

  A SOCO came out of the slate hut and waved. There was something in there for them to see.

  Suddenly there was a commotion and Ruth spun to see Gates knocking PC Harris to the ground. Before anyone could react, Gates had sprinted away from them and towards the summit of the mountain and jumped. Gates disappeared out of view and vanished as if he had plummeted off the side of the mountain.

  Ruth’s heart sank. Gates had committed suicide before revealing all the locations of his victims. And it was her fault he had been out of the handcuffs. For fuck’s sake! she yelled in her head.

  Ruth, Nick and the other officers dashed to the precipice, assuming they would see Gates tumbling to his death down the mountainside.

  Instead, they saw that Gates had hit the steep wooden slope and was now skidding downhill on his back on the thick ice and snow. Oh my God! He’s getting away!

  Gates manoeuvred himself into a sitting position, his legs outstretched. With his hands still cuffed together, it was as if he was tobogganing down the hill.

  Ruth couldn’t believe her eyes. That exit route had not been on the risk assessment. Gates was escaping. She felt paralysed, wondering what to do next.

  Nick reacted first. He wouldn’t let a monster like Gates get away. He ran, launched himself into the air and hit the icy, wooden slope, banging his left elbow and back hard. Feeling the wind knocked out of him, he gasped for a moment as he skidded down on his back completely out of control. Straightening himself, he tried to sit up as he slid down at increasing speed. The scraping noise of his body and boots skating against the wood got louder as he sped up. He could feel every tiny bump and divot in his back, legs and behind. The ice-cold wind blustered against his face as he drew in breath. Such was the velocity that it was hard to take in air.

  Gates was about a hundred yards further down the slope and now close to where it levelled off at ground level.

  Wondering what Gates’s next move would be, Nick was buoyed by the thought that Gates’s hands were cuffed together, which should slow him down. At least in theory.

  Up ahead, Gates came off the end of the track, tumbled onto the snowy ground, picked himself up on his elbows and sprinted away, all in one seamless move.

  Shit!

  Thirty seconds later, Nick flew off the track at speed. He rolled over the uneven ground, clambered to his knees and then his feet, and gave chase. His back and elbows throbbed with pain.

  There was an old wire fence in front of them, and beyond that, a stretch of frozen heathland leading across to the snow-capped mountains and deep caves. Gates threw himself over the short fence and dropped heavily down the other side.

  ‘Stop! Police!’ Nick shouted to make sure that Gates was fully aware that he was now being pursued.

  Gates got up again and glanced back. He wasn’t fazed. Nick could see Gates was now getting into his running stride. He had the build and gait of a natural runner as he settled into a rhythm. This wasn’t good news.

  Nick arrived at the fence, stepped onto the mesh and scaled it easily. A snowy pathway led right and down through the heathland. Gates was running flat out and was already two hundred yards ahead. A dark green sign read: Public Footpath – Llwybr Cyhoeddus.

  Nick skidded in a shallow hole, twisting his ankle a little. No time to stop or slow. He would run it off. A fence with wooden poles and barbed wire to the left marked out a field where sheep ambled obliviously.

  Breathing heavily, Nick was sprinting at full pelt but not making any headway. Gates wasn’t slowing or tiring. He must be fitter than he looked.

  Crunching through the deepening snow, Nick felt it seep into his boots and soak his socks. He wiped the sweat from his eyes, which were now stinging.

  The rocky terrain at the foot of the mountains was only five hundred yards away, and Nick could already see Gates clambering up some rocks. His handcuffs didn’t seem to be impeding him in any way.

  A stretch of rusty steel fencing marked the end of the heathland. A weathered tractor was parked by stacks of hay bales and an enormous feed shed.

  Gates was nowhere to be seen. Where the hell is he?

  Nick sucked in air as his lungs burnt and his pulse thundered. His eyes scanned around looking for the smallest movement, but the icy wind and sleet hindered his vision. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes.

  Then a slight movement from higher up the rocks. A figure emerged from behind a boulder and then disappeared. Gates.

  Nick’s legs felt heavy as they slipped and lost their footing on the loose rocks leading up to the lower reaches of the mountain. Pulling himself up, Nick got onto the steep, icy pathway.

  The sudden noise of rocks falling two hundred yards above him brought his attention hard left. There’s the fucker. Nick could see Gates moving up ahead of him. Nick zigzagged around the boulder and rocks as he ran up the pathway and picked up speed. Surely the handcuffs would slow Gates down now they were going uphill?

  Nick’s boots were rubbing painfully and he could feel the sweat running down his back. He reached a level piece of ground and glanced around. Shit! Lost him again.

  Then he heard a metallic sound he didn’t recognise.

  Up ahead were steep, damp, moss-covered slopes that were partly hidden by the wild undergrowth. Along the wall was a dark opening, a rusted metal-mesh gate. It was the entrance to an abandoned slate mine. However, there was a small gap in the mesh at the far end. The metallic sound Nick had heard was Gates going through the fence.

  Nick saw the sign attached to the mesh fence. Keep Out! – Cadwch Allan!

  Following Gates through, Nick trod carefully down the rocky pathway that descended into darkness. He stared and squinted into the black. He clicked on his torch.

  Stopping for a moment, he craned his neck trying to listen for the smallest sound. Nothing.

  Flashing his torch ahead, he could see there were three possible routes down into the mine. There was also a rickety ladder that hung in the darkness. Which way had Gates gone?

  Trying to catch his breath, Nick stopped, his hands on his knees. He had no idea of where to go next.

  Gates had escaped.

  CHAPTER 20

 
; It was four hours later when Drake entered the incident room and everyone went quiet. They knew he was livid. Ruth had already spent a few minutes debriefing him on how Gates had escaped. However much she dressed it up, it sounded bloody incompetent. Someone should have spotted that there was a possibility of escape down the track. It should have been covered. Drake had avoided eye contact with her, which made it clear that he wasn’t happy. There also seemed to be something else troubling him. He just wasn’t himself. But at that moment, that was the least of their worries.

  ‘What a fucking shambles!’ Drake boomed, his arms folded aggressively. ‘The chief constable wants to know how we managed to lose a multiple murderer at the top of a mountain when he was handcuffed and surrounded by ten police officers. I had to tell him that I had no idea, because I don’t. And that makes me sound like a twat!’

  Ruth squirmed in her chair. Drake rarely lost his temper, and it made everyone uncomfortable. It was definitely out of character.

  ‘The media are all over it. We’ve even had comments from cabinet ministers.’

  ‘To be fair, boss, we didn’t know he would turn into Eddie the Eagle to get away,’ Nick said.

  Ruth winced. It was an ill-judged comment and there were a few seconds as the tumble-weeds rolled past.

  Drake gave him a withering look. ‘This is not a time for jokes, DS Evans. No one cares how he got away. We’ve managed to create the biggest manhunt in North Wales in living memory. We’re taking a complete hammering on social media. Frankly, I’m surprised that some of us, including me, have got jobs to come back to tomorrow morning.’ There was yet another prolonged silence. ‘By tomorrow, we will have Armed Response Units from Merseyside and Greater Manchester helping us. We also have two helicopters from South Wales with thermal imaging cameras to help search Snowdonia Park.’

  Ruth knew that Drake would expect her to find Gates. She was the SIO, and she was responsible for taking Gates out to locate his victims’ remains. She was in charge and she was therefore accountable. If there had been any chance of his escape, then she should have planned for that. She could not have foreseen the extraordinary way in which Gates had got away – it was like something out of a movie – but that didn’t matter. Gates was her responsibility, and if she didn’t get him back in custody, her career would be over.

  Drake had calmed a little as he sat on a table. ‘Right, Ruth, how do we get this bastard back?’

  Ruth went over to the computer and Gates’s face came up on the screen. ‘Andrew Gates, aged forty-five. Suspected of the murder of seven men in the Dee Valley area. Married to Kerry Gates. She has advanced multiple sclerosis and is unable to walk more than a few steps unaided. Gates will be worried about how she is coping without him, so we need round-the-clock surveillance on their home. Gates isn’t stupid, but his need to see his wife might mean that he tries to make some kind of contact. We will do that in shifts.’ Ruth clicked the mouse and a photo of the house at Pentredwr appeared. ‘Gates owns and has access to a property, number four Abbey Terrace, Pentredwr, which is where the remains of some of his victims were found. He’ll know that we’ll be watching that property. Gates has no money, so I need uniform to report any instances of shoplifting or theft in the area where he escaped, however insignificant they might be. Gates will have to steal if he’s going to eat. Luke?’

  Merringer looked through his paperwork. ‘As far as we know, Gates doesn’t have access to a phone or any other technology. If he has no money, he can’t get a phone unless he steals one.’

  ‘What about the threat to our wider community?’ Drake asked sombrely.

  ‘High. Gates has nothing to lose. He gets a thrill out of killing and he has no reason to stop. We have a criminal psychologist coming in from the university tomorrow morning, but I think she will tell us that Gates is a danger to the public, especially men.’

  ‘Ruth, liaise with the press office. I want a press conference first thing,’ Drake said. ‘I need him back in custody in the next twenty-four hours. No fucking excuses.’

  BY EIGHT O’CLOCK, RUTH and Sian were on the sofa together. They had had a couple of drinks and were sitting in comfortable silence after another taxing day.

  Ruth lay back on Sian, put her feet up on the long sofa and gave a sigh.

  ‘Better?’ Sian asked.

  ‘Much,’ Ruth answered, sipping at her gin and tonic. Even though she was trying to clear her head – or anaesthetise it with gin – she couldn’t shake off what Gates had said about Sarah. She was angry with herself for letting him get to her. It felt like a little worm that turned every few minutes, burrowing further into her head.

  ‘Doesn’t feel like Christmas yet, does it? Despite the decorations, the tree, the music,’ Sian muttered.

  ‘People don’t stop doing horrible things to each other just because it’s Christmas. If anything, it makes everything worse,’ Ruth said. There was always a big spike in crimes like burglary, robbery, domestic violence and assault over the festive period. And that meant police officers were even more stretched.

  ‘You haven’t said much about what happened this afternoon,’ Sian probed.

  ‘No.’ Ruth didn’t know if she had the energy.

  ‘You don’t have to talk about it.’

  ‘Silver Bells’ by Tony Bennett played quietly. The tinkling tune was incongruous with Ruth’s dark mood.

  ‘This music is pissing me off,’ Ruth admitted.

  ‘Shall I turn it off?’ Sian asked.

  ‘No. Just something less cheerful and cheesy. I know it’s bah-humbug, but I’m responsible for some bloody maniac being out there, so I’m finding being festive difficult.’

  ‘Oh, well, if you had told me, I would have brought my Smiths and Radiohead compilations,’ Sian said with an ironic smile.

  ‘You know what I mean.’ Ruth rolled her eyes in amusement.

  Sian wandered over to the Bluetooth speaker and looked at her phone to find something else. Soon the laid-back sound of ‘When The Morning Comes’ began to play.

  ‘Can’t beat a bit of Hall and Oates,’ Sian said as she dropped back onto the sofa.

  They sat in more silence as Ruth’s need to share what was whirring around her head got the better of her. A problem shared ...

  ‘It’s just ... Gates got to me,’ Ruth explained. ‘So now I’m angry at myself for letting him.’

  ‘I thought you would be used to all that crap?’ Sian said.

  ‘Yeah, me too. I’ve had old lags threatening all sorts, especially when I was younger. They were going to come and rape me and my mum. Cut my kids’ throats in their beds. Nasty pieces of work.’

  ‘So what happened today?’

  Ruth was uncomfortable talking about Sarah. Sian had been incredibly supportive and said Ruth should discuss how she felt whenever she needed to. However, Ruth knew it couldn’t be easy for Sian to discuss her feelings about a person who Ruth had told others was ‘the love of her life.’

  ‘Gates knew all about Sarah. What had happened, and how it had made me feel.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He’d been reading stuff online. Newspaper articles. If you google my name, that’s what pops up.’

  ‘I’m sorry. But remember, Gates knows nothing about you, the real you. He’s a very sick, unhappy and disturbed excuse for a human being.’

  Ruth nodded. She knew that was true, but it didn’t help.

  ‘I know. There’s something about Gates that gets under my skin. I’ve met killers who have murdered out of anger or for revenge. I’ve met people who have killed for greed or because they have terrible mental health conditions. With Gates, it’s the lack of emotion or motive that makes it so chilling. He just doesn’t feel anything.’

  NICK RUBBED HIS HAND through his beard as he settled back in an armchair and watched as Auntie Pat and his cousin Cerys chatted with Amanda, laughing and screeching. Even though he knew it was very early days, he wanted Auntie Pat and Cerys to be the first people to meet Amanda. They were hi
s family, and it mattered what they thought.

  The living room was small and a little cluttered. There were two adults and a baby in a two-bedroom miners’ cottage, so it would never be spacious. A white Christmas tree stood behind the sofa, and they had decorated the walls with gold and red tinsel. In a corner, brightly coloured toys, cars and little stuffed animals were stacked neatly. Nick’s baby nephew Alex was now fast asleep.

  When he and Amanda had first arrived, they had been ushered in and, for a moment, had watched him sleep in his white-painted cot. A moment of peace and joy that felt a little overwhelming. As they tiptoed quietly out of the room, Nick couldn’t help but wonder what Amanda would be like as a mother, and then told himself this was not rational thinking.

  Nick worried that he was being sucked into a relationship that was out of his control. He hadn’t dared tell his sponsor that he and Amanda were seeing each other. He had known sponsors to sack their sponsees for not doing as they were told or not doing the right thing.

  He caught sight of a picture of Auntie Pat and Uncle Mike on their wedding day tucked out of sight at one end of the mantelpiece. He hadn’t told Amanda about Uncle Mike or how he had died two years earlier. It was still a difficult subject for him to discuss.

  ‘Here you go, love,’ Pat said, handing Nick a cup of tea from a tray.

  ‘Ta,’ Nick said, taking the mug. It was hot.

  ‘Now, are you sure you don’t want anything, Amanda?’ Pat said as she took two small glasses of white wine for her and Cerys.

  ‘I’m fine. Honestly,’ Amanda said.

  ‘Go on ... We’ve got plenty of wine,’ Cerys said.

  ‘I don’t drink on school nights,’ Amanda said with a smile.

  They laughed.

  Nick raised his mug. ‘And every night’s a school night for me.’

  Cerys shot him a look and indicated Amanda.

  ‘Oh God, Amanda knows all about my drinking. We had to get that out of the way early on,’ Nick explained.

  ‘I don’t really drink anyway. Doesn’t bother me,’ Amanda said, looking at Nick. He knew it might not be the time to explain that they were both alcoholics.