The Dee Valley Killings

by Simon McCleave

  ‘Miss Chivers ...’ Nick clicked his pen.

  ‘Carol,’ she corrected him.

  Nick didn’t know if she had ever been married. There were no signs that anyone else lived in the cottage and no evidence of kids or grandchildren.

  ‘Could you tell me your whereabouts on Sunday the ninth of December?’ Nick said.

  Carol came over and handed him a mug of tea. He noticed that the mug was chipped and stained. He might give the tea a miss.

  Carol went over to a paper calendar and looked at the date. ‘I was here. All day, by the looks of it.’

  ‘Can anyone verify that?’ Nick asked.

  Carol shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘You have three sisters, is that right, Carol?’ Nick asked.

  ‘Yes. I’m the eldest,’ she explained.

  ‘And they all live in the area, is that right?’

  Carol took her tea and sat down at the end of the table. ‘Yes. Isn’t this to do with all the stuff that’s been happening with my father? That’s why I thought you were here?’

  ‘I am looking into the phone calls and the prowler that your father reported.’

  ‘Good, good. He’s been scared to death. He has high blood pressure, so it’s been a nightmare for his health,’ Carol said as she wrapped her fingers around her mug. Nick noticed that she didn’t wear any jewellery, not even earrings.

  ‘Do you have any idea why someone would target your father?’ Nick asked.

  Carol paused for a moment as she sipped her tea. There was a faint look of something that Nick couldn’t pin down but also couldn’t ignore. ‘Please, Carol. You need to tell me anything that would help us in this investigation, whatever it is.’

  ‘My father is not a popular man. And he certainly wasn’t well-liked in the thirty or so years that he taught at St Patrick’s,’ Carol revealed reluctantly.

  The comment seemed to hang in the air for a moment. Nick wasn’t surprised but he had assumed that the Chivers family would close ranks regarding David’s past behaviour.

  ‘Why do you think that was?’ Nick asked, although he had a good idea what type of man David Chivers had been.

  ‘He was old-fashioned. And he was a disciplinarian. In his later years as a teacher, that approach was seen as outdated.’

  ‘Would you have described him as a bully?’ Nick asked.

  ‘No, not really. He was just a man from a different generation. He was born during the Second World War. That was a long time ago,’ Carol said defensively.

  Nick looked at his notes for a moment. Reading between the lines, Nick thought that David Chivers had been a bully and even violent with the students. If he had been like that with Harvey Pearson, it might explain Harvey’s scars, unhappiness and his confessed hatred of Chivers. It wouldn’t be a leap for Harv to have targeted Chivers out of revenge. Whether that had escalated to murder on Mount Snowdon was another matter.

  ‘We’re also investigating a murder that took place on Mount Snowdon on Sunday the ninth of December,’ Nick explained.

  ‘Yes, I saw something about that on the news, but I wasn’t paying attention. What does that have to do with my father?’ Carol asked in a worried voice.

  ‘The victim was a former pupil at St Patrick’s. Your father was his teacher and his housemaster. Harvey Pearson. It was in the early nineties.’

  Carol gave him a quizzical look. ‘Harvey Pearson?’

  ‘Did you know him?’

  Carol nodded. ‘Yes. That’s terrible. How awful.’ She was clearly shocked by the news.

  ‘How did you know Harvey Pearson?’ Nick asked.

  ‘My sisters and I all went to St Patrick’s. And we lived on-site too. It was one of the benefits of being a teacher there,’ Carol explained.

  ‘So did you know Harvey well?’ Nick asked.

  ‘Fairly well. He went out with my sister Claire for a year or two when they were teenagers.’

  The manhunt for Gates was in full swing. Every national newspaper was covering the unfolding story, and Ruth could feel the growing scrutiny and pressure they were all under. Gazing down at her phone, she looked at the Mirror’s headline: Killer On The Run – serial killer escapes in North Wales. How? Gates’s escape was a PR disaster for everyone.

  Ruth had arrived in CID at dawn. After a mountain of paperwork, a pot of strong coffee and two cigarettes, she had wandered down to Drake’s office. They were due to have an early meeting with Jones.

  Spotting Drake at his desk, she saw that he was looking into space and lost in thought.

  ‘Morning, boss,’ Ruth said as she tapped lightly at his door.

  ‘Oh, Ruth. Yes. Miles away,’ Drake said, sitting up and rubbing his hand over his face. He looked tired.

  ‘We’ve got a meeting with the super,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Yeah. Perfect start to the day,’ Drake said sardonically. ‘Give me five minutes, and I’ll be with you.’

  Ruth nodded. ‘Boss.’ She walked away, thought for a moment and then turned. ‘Are you okay, boss? It’s none of my business, and I’m not the world’s greatest detective, but you don’t seem yourself?’

  Drake paused. Ruth wondered if she had crossed a line. Drake was usually a closed book when it came to anything personal.

  ‘It’s Cathy,’ Drake said almost inaudibly. Cathy was his wife. ‘She’s had some tests and they think she might have breast cancer. Nothing definite yet.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, boss,’ Ruth said. No wonder it had been affecting him.

  ‘Could be nothing. But there’s a family history of it,’ Drake said.

  ‘It’s difficult not knowing,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Yeah, it is.’

  ‘If you ever need a chat, boss ...’ Ruth said with an empathetic smile. She meant it.

  ‘Thanks, Ruth. Appreciate that. By the way – the cock-up with Gates aside – you’re a bloody good detective,’ Drake said and then looked at his watch. ‘Better go see what Captain Marvel wants.’ The irony of the nickname wasn’t lost on either of them.

  THE MEETING WITH JONES was thankfully brief. He informed them that they had drafted the North West Air Support Unit in from Greater Manchester to scour Snowdonia. Their helicopters had ‘night sun’ equipment that could light up an area the size of a football pitch from seven hundred metres. The terrain of Snowdonia was tough and difficult to search, and both dog units and mounted police units were being used because they could search areas where vehicles couldn’t go. There was also talk of getting the SAS, who trained in in the area, to help track Gates down. According to Jones, it was the biggest UK manhunt since the Raoul Moat case in 2010.

  At eleven o’clock, Ruth made her way to Interview Room One. She was meeting Professor Jane Douglas, a criminal psychologist and profiler from Llancastell University. Professor Douglas had worked for many years at University College London’s Centre for Criminal Psychology and profiled criminals for various UK police forces.

  Ruth wanted to know if Gates’s next move could be predicted. His mind didn’t work in the same way as a rational person so she hoped Professor Douglas could provide an insight into where Gates would hide and what he would do next.

  With greying hair tied up in a neat bun, Professor Douglas wore a long camel-coloured cardigan and brown skirt. Presumably to hide the fact she was overweight, but it wasn’t really working.

  Ruth gave her all the background information that they had on Gates and showed her some of the interview he had given at Llancastell Police Station. She also mentioned Gates’s research and knowledge of Sarah’s disappearance, mainly because it had unnerved her so much.

  Douglas was a cold fish and keen to let Ruth know that she should be honoured to be benefitting from her considerable experience.

  ‘Why does Gates murder?’ Ruth asked. She needed to know, as she did for any criminal investigation, what the motive was. For Gates, it just wasn’t obvious due to his psychological make-up. Most crimes were motivated by rage, jealousy, revenge or mo
ney. She had already concluded that Gates’s motives were a complicated mix of psycho-sexual factors.

  ‘I would suggest that Andrew Gates has some internalised feelings of hostility, low self-esteem and self-pity. Despite his heterosexual marriage, his chronic inability to form social relationships and his frustrated, latent homosexual desires manifest themselves in these murders.’

  ‘So, Gates is homosexual?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Yes. But somewhere along the line, he has formed the idea that homosexuality is shameful, disgusting and even immoral. It’s likely that this stems from childhood. The murders resulted from a pent-up sexual aggression. He killed those men because he wanted to kill the source of his homosexual attraction to them. In killing them, he killed what he hated in himself,’ Professor Douglas explained.

  Even though Ruth had taken an instant dislike to Professor Douglas, her shrewd analysis of Gates, his psychology and motives was impressive.

  ‘What about the body we found almost intact on the sofa at his home?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘That’s about his desire and need to have power and control. Andrew Gates has had very little control or power throughout his life. The ultimate power is to kill, and the ultimate control is to possess the body, to do what you want with it. Mixed up somewhere in his psyche is a dangerous connection between sex and death. So he now gets huge sexual pleasure from controlling and then killing.’

  Ruth nodded. ‘He keeps the bodies so he can, for want of a better word, play with them?’

  ‘Effectively, yes. But there’s also a desire for companionship. Andrew Gates has kept his homosexuality a secret from the world for the whole of his life. That would have made him very lonely. In his head, having the company of a gay man, dead or alive, gave him some peace of mind, as well as the sexual thrill of the kill.’

  ‘Does that mean it’s likely that he will kill again?’ Ruth asked, although she thought she knew the answer.

  ‘Almost certainly. Andrew Gates is like any addict now. The compulsion to murder will be overwhelming,’ Professor Douglas said in a detached tone. That’s intellectuals for you, Ruth thought to herself.

  ‘So he will be hunting for another victim?’ Ruth asked. That would rule out Gates heading into the wilds of Snowdonia to hide. He would need to head for the centres of population and that was worrying.

  ‘Yes. He won’t be able to help himself. And he’s arrogant enough to go into towns, cities or any populated areas, not caring if he is caught.’

  ‘Anything else that might help us?’ Ruth asked. She was under increasing time pressure to find Gates.

  ‘His wife ...?’ Professor Douglas said as though the thought had just occurred to her.

  ‘Kerry,’ prompted Ruth.

  ‘Kerry. I suspect that he will try to make contact with her. She seems to be the only emotional bond he has ever made in his life. He probably doesn’t see her as his wife, but more like his child to be looked after and protected. He will worry about how she is going to survive and he will need to see her.’

  ‘We have round-the-clock surveillance on their home,’ explained Ruth.

  ‘That might not stop him. He thinks he is superior to everyone, especially the police. However, he seems to have made a connection with you.’

  This was unsettling news for Ruth. ‘Should I be worried?’

  Professor Douglas thought before answering, which did little to allay Ruth’s fears. ‘I’m afraid to say, yes, possibly. I am worried about the conversation you had with him about your missing partner. He seems to have taken an unnatural interest in you and your life.’

  ‘How might that manifest itself?’ Ruth asked, feeling anxious.

  ‘He might try to do something to get your attention.’ Professor Douglas looked at Ruth. ‘Or he might try to reach out to you directly.’

  HAVING DEVOURED A SANDWICH in about thirty seconds flat, Nick realised that he was only a mile or so outside Llanberis. As he slowed for the speed-limit sign, he could feel the bread sticking in his chest and massaged it. He swigged on his Diet Coke, which seemed to do the trick. Not that long ago Nick would have been swigging wine or vodka on a trip like this.

  However many times he came here, Nick loved this part of Snowdonia. The way the twin lakes of Llyn Padarn and Llyn Peris cut through the mountain range and then created the Llanberis Pass. The rolling, desolate landscape scarred with disused slate mines.

  As Shakin’ Stevens’s ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’ played on the radio, Nick looked at his Google Maps app. He had tracked down Claire Sinclair, formerly Claire Chivers, daughter of David and sister of Carol. She worked in the Llanberis Outdoor Education Activity Centre. Knowing that many people used Llanberis as a base for climbing Snowdon, it wouldn’t be a stretch for Claire to have extensive knowledge of the mountain.

  Nick soon found the busy activity centre, which was a hive of noise. Claire Sinclair was guiding and supporting a group of noisy teenagers in harnesses and an assortment of coloured safety helmets on high ropes and poles between a series of tall trees. He couldn’t believe that anyone would be up climbing trees and ropes in this weather.

  ‘Mrs Sinclair?’ Nick asked as he showed her his warrant card.

  ‘Yes?’ Claire replied with a smile. She was wearing a bright-blue safety helmet and had ropes around her waist and her gloved hands.

  ‘Bit chilly?’ Nick asked, gesturing to the teens who were shouting and laughing and generally having a great time.

  ‘We’re booked all year round,’ Claire explained with a smile. She was pretty in a cute sort of way.

  Nick asked her virtually the same questions as he asked her sister, Carol. And it was then that she threw a spanner into Nick’s growing theory about Harv’s murder.

  ‘Oh yes. I know exactly where I was on that Sunday. It was the day after my husband’s fortieth birthday bash. We were with all his friends and family in a pub in Wem, down in Shropshire.’

  Nick immediately knew that there would be plenty of witnesses, so that effectively ruled Claire out of being on Snowdon that afternoon.

  ‘But you do remember Harvey Pearson?’ Nick asked.

  ‘Yes, of course. Harvey and I went out for a bit when we were thirteen and fourteen. Nothing serious,’ Claire explained.

  ‘Had you seen him since then?’ Nick asked.

  ‘I bumped into him at a wedding a couple of years ago. He was very drunk and not making much sense. That’s the last time I saw him ... It’s so horrible that he’s been killed.’ Claire said as her brow furrowed at the thought.

  Back in the CID office later, Nick looked at a report that uniformed officers had taken from the third sister, Emily Williams, formerly Emily Chivers. She was a little vague about her whereabouts but thought that she had been Christmas shopping in Llancastell until six that evening.

  Feeling that the investigation into Harv’s death had stalled a little, Nick knew he needed to confirm the whereabouts of the final sister that day. However, as a hypothesis, it was looking like a non-starter.

  Nick was back to square one.

  CHAPTER 23

  By two o’clock, Ruth and the rest of CID had received the breaking news of Gates’s assault on Gwenda Chadwick in Carrog. Gwenda had a suspected fractured skull but had been conscious long enough to describe her assailant to uniformed officers. As soon as the metal cuffs on his wrists were mentioned, the officers knew it had to be Gates.

  Gates had got away with Ms Chadwick’s new white Volvo C90, along with her bank cards and phone. Everything was now being checked with a huge sense of urgency. Ruth could feel the growing tension amongst the detectives as they waited to see if, where and when Gates had used the bank cards or phone.

  Within half an hour, Ruth sat down with Superintendent Jones and Drake. Jones was portly and bald except for the silly wisps of hair around his ears. Since her arrival in North Wales Police, Ruth had seen Jones for what he was. An arse-covering, rank-climbing policeman who was often too frightened to make a decision until it was
too late.

  Drake shifted in his seat and picked up his coffee. ‘At least Gates is out in the open and moving. He’s far more likely to be spotted or make a mistake.’

  Ruth nodded. ‘Yeah, if Gates went to ground in Snowdonia, he would be bloody difficult to find.’

  Jones nodded but Ruth knew he wasn’t listening. ‘I know you guys are doing everything you can. And I have complete faith in both your abilities.’

  Drake shot Ruth a blank look but she knew what he was thinking. Jones would throw either of them or both under the bus if it would further his career.

  ‘I’m getting pressure from the chief constable,’ Jones continued. ‘He’s worried about the impact the escape is having on the public confidence in North Wales Police. The media office is being deluged.’

  Ruth knew that wasn’t the problem. Jones was ambitious and Gates’s escape was a serious blot on his career. It was on Jones’s watch, after all, and no one would care about the minutiae of how it had happened. That was the politics of modern policing.

  Ruth returned to her office to find that the National Police Air Service had scrambled a black and yellow pursuit helicopter EC145 from Hawarden Airport. Another helicopter was on its way from Manchester. Drake would coordinate the manhunt from Llancastell CID.

  Ruth looked at the map of North Wales on her screen and then sat back for a moment. She could feel the tension in her shoulders and her neck. She pushed back her shoulder blades to see if she could get rid of the stiffness. However, the spectre of Gates, his escape and his unhealthy interest in her life loomed ominously, as if physically weighing her down. Ruth widened the map on her computer screen and took a swig of cold coffee. She needed caffeine and didn’t care. If Professor Douglas was correct, Gates could head east from Carrog towards his home and his wife, Kerry. He could also have been travelling towards the towns of North East Wales. Going South or West would have just taken him into the sparsely populated parts of Snowdonia Park and that didn’t fit his MO. Ruth thought that Gates would avoid the A5 as it was a major route east. Therefore, Armed Response vehicles were trawling the other roads that came out of Snowdonia’s eastern borders. ANPR cameras were also being manned as they scrutinised traffic with the aid of computer recognition.