Drake came over and looked into her office.
‘We’ve got something!’ he said excitedly. Drake was unusually energised. He was normally the epitome of calm but the national scale of the manhunt was getting even to him.
Ruth sat up and looked at him. ‘What is it?’
‘Gwenda Chadwick’s car was fitted with a GPS tracker. We’ve got a location on the car. It’s been stationary for twenty minutes. I’ll show you where.’ He gestured for her to follow him with urgency.
Ruth got up and she and Drake walked over to the main screen in the incident room that was now showing the ‘active map’ of North Wales. A small red digital pin showed where the Volvo was located.
Ruth nodded. It could be the break that they needed. ‘Where is that?’ Ruth asked as she studied the map.
‘It’s just out by Moel Siabod. Basically, it’s the middle of nowhere.’
Moel Siabod was a solitary mountain, isolated from all the other enormous peaks of Snowdonia in its own space to the north of the park.
Merringer came into the incident room and pointed up to the digital map. ‘Boss, there’s a series of disused agricultural buildings here on the track where the car is located. And this here is an old smelting house.’
‘Maybe Gates is trying to get shelter and hide out for the night?’ Ruth suggested, thinking out loud.
‘Is there a shop or a petrol station near there?’ Drake asked.
Merringer shook his head. ‘Not in walking distance, boss, no.’
‘What about the bank cards?’
‘Nothing yet,’ Merringer shrugged. The bank had been told in no uncertain terms not to cancel Gwenda Chadwick’s cards. They needed Gates to use them in shops or cash machines to track his movements. If he found it wasn’t working, then that would shut down that possibility. But Ruth knew that Gates might be smart enough to know that.
Ruth pointed up to the map. ‘We need an ARV to block off this track at the top, boss.’
Drake nodded. ‘Take as many AROs with you as you need. And we need AROs either side of this track in case Gates makes a break cross-country. I want a dog unit on both sides to be safe.’
‘We’ve got two helicopters out on Snowdonia,’ Merringer said, thinking out loud.
‘Luke, contact Air Support. Tell them to keep well away from the area but to be on standby if Gates makes a move. I don’t want anything spooking him.’ Drake thought for a moment and then pointed at the map. ‘And we need marksmen here. If Gates tries to escape, we need someone to shoot and kill him. I don’t want that psycho on the loose and taking any more lives.’
THE WINTER SUN WAS dropping low towards the horizon as Ruth and other officers from Llancastell CID moved into positions overlooking the disused farm buildings. She immediately spotted the white Volvo C90 parked to one side. The intel had been correct. It looked very likely that Gates was inside. Her stomach was tense and adrenaline pumped hard through her veins. This was a world away from the armed operations on the stinking stairwells of Peckham’s violent and drug-infested estates. However, the feeling in the pit of her stomach was just the same.
The late-afternoon sky flared an incredible flamingo-pink and the wind off the nearby mountains was bitter on her face and ears. Behind the buildings, at 2,600 feet, loomed the grey and purple peaks of Moel Siabod, the highest point in the Moelwynion mountain range.
As Ruth moved forwards, she was accompanied by AROs dressed in their black Nomex boots, gloves, and Kevlar helmets over balaclavas. Carrying Glock 9mm pistols, the AROs moved purposefully behind some old, rusty farm machinery. Their movements were well-rehearsed. ARO training was repetitive, thorough and precise.
Ruth adjusted the thick stab vest that she and the other CID detectives were all wearing. It was too small, or maybe she was putting on weight. No one was taking any chances with Gates. He had committed multiple murders and had nothing to lose by killing someone else today. She motioned silently for the CID officers and the AROs to begin heading for the farm buildings, guns trained on the weather-worn doors and broken windows.
Ruth murmured into her radio, ‘Three-six to Gold Command. Officers in position two at target location, over.’
The radio crackled back. ‘Three-six received. Units to proceed to position one, over.’
Ruth gestured and the officers moved quietly over the final few yards of icy grass and gravel, which crunched under their feet. There were two large wooden doors at the front of the main building that had been padlocked closed. Ruth noticed that the padlock was rusty and looked like it had been there for years. If Gates was in the building, he hadn’t come in this way.
Ruth motioned and four AROs moved away from them, heading for the sides and back of the building. Then two AROs stepped forwards with what they liked to call ‘The Enforcer,’ a steel battering ram that would knock the door open in one hit.
Ruth clicked her radio. ‘Three-six to Gold Command. All units are at position one.’
There was an anxious moment as they waited and then, ‘Three-six received. Gold Command order is go.’
Ruth nodded at the AROs and moved back against the grey stone wall. It was cold and hard, even with the vest on. Where was Gates? Was he lying in wait or was he oblivious to the operation?
Bang! Ruth flinched as the doors smashed open with an almighty crash and the AROs moved in, weapons trained in front of them.
‘Armed police!’ they bellowed as they stormed into the building. ‘Armed police!’
Ruth followed, her heart pounding in her chest. She scanned left and right into the darkness of the building. Were they going to have to play a tense game of hide and seek to smoke Gates out?
The building smelt damp and musty, and the floor was covered with straw and dry mud. As the wind picked up outside, the roof timbers creaked with an eerie groan. Ruth continued moving, heart thumping, eyes searching left and right for any movement. CID officers and AROs had fanned out throughout the building, clearing the stalls.
‘Armed Police!’ the AROs bellowed as they moved on through.
Ruth’s heart started to sink. There was nothing. Gates was nowhere to be found and there weren’t any places left to hide.
Merringer appeared at her side and shook his head. ‘Nothing here, boss.’
‘Shit!’ Ruth muttered to herself. She told herself that Gates could still be in an outbuilding on the other side of the yard, but the AROs would have swept through that in seconds. She would have heard something.
Ruth looked up as a senior ARO came through the main doors. ‘You need to come and see this, ma’am,’ he said with a serious tone.
With her mind racing, Ruth followed the ARO across the yard towards a small stone outbuilding with a flat iron roof. What is it? What have they found? There were a couple of AROs outside and she immediately felt uneasy.
‘It’s in here,’ the ARO pointed. Ruth took a step inside the stone room and then stopped.
A dead black labrador was hanging from a central wooden beam with a rope noosed around its neck. It was Gwenda Chadwick’s dog that she had reported being in her car when Gates stole it.
As the dog’s corpse moved in the breeze, Ruth could see a handwritten note that had been nailed to the dog’s back. Look, Ruth. A dead bitch just like Sarah Goddard xx.
Ruth felt as if she had been punched. She turned away, went outside and steadied herself.
The senior ARO came to her side. ‘You okay, ma’am?’
‘Yes. Let’s just get that photographed and cut down, please,’ Ruth said with the image of the dog and the note still burning in her mind.
CHAPTER 24
Nick had been trawling the shops in Llanberis for over an hour now. While interviewing shop and café owners, he was also searching for any CCTV footage from the afternoon of Sunday 9 December. He had spoken briefly to Drake to update him on the Harvey Pearson investigation, but he was too embroiled in Gates’s escape to really focus on what Nick was saying.
That morning, Nick had pic
ked up emails from two more cancer charities. They had no record of any charity events on Mount Snowdon at any time in December. It was frustrating as none of the major cancer charities had any record of anyone raising money by climbing Snowdon – it was another dead end.
Then he had made a quick phone call to Rosie Chivers, the fourth sister, who confirmed what he had feared. She too had a watertight alibi for the afternoon of Sunday 9 December. She had been at the cinema with a friend who would vouch for her. She even told him that they had seen a showing of Peter Jackson’s World War I documentary They Will Not Grow Old at three o’clock. Rosie Chivers had only ever climbed Snowdon once and she snorted at the idea of going up the mountain in December. It seemed that the theory of the four Chivers sisters being on Mount Snowdon that afternoon, and having any involvement in Harv’s death, was now looking less and less likely.
Nick still felt the key to Harv’s murder was the four women seen on the mountain. As far as he could ascertain, they were the only ones at that location apart from Harvey and Jack Pearson.
Nick hoped that if they had been in Llanberis that day, someone would have seen them. Four middle-aged women, dressed in pink, all set to climb Snowdon on a very cold day. That must have registered with someone. He also came back to the fact that none of these women had come forward to the police. Someone somewhere, who knew about the charity climb, would have seen there had been a murder on the mountain that day. They would know that the police were looking for witnesses. The fact that they hadn’t contacted the police was deeply suspicious.
Crossing the road to start heading back down the main street, Nick popped into a newsagent to pick up a drink.
The shop was old-fashioned, and Nick thought it smelt just like a new paperback novel. Reaching the open fridge full of drinks, his eyes went to the array of beers and cider. Thank God he no longer felt the compulsion to grab a couple. That was a miracle, he thought to himself. He took a Diet Coke and went to pay, smiling at the middle-aged woman behind the till.
Taking his change, Nick got out his warrant card, and she immediately looked concerned. He was used to it. Most people did.
‘I’m from North Wales Police. I’m trying to find a group of four women who were in the area on Sunday the ninth of December. They climbed Snowdon at some point and they were all dressed in pink. We think they might have been climbing the mountain for charity.’ Nick explained.
The middle-aged woman looked serious and nodded. ‘Oh yes. They came in here.’
‘Right. Could you describe them for me?’ Nick said as he took out his notebook and pen. He was finally getting somewhere.
‘They were ... I suppose they were in their thirties or early forties. They were laughing a lot, I remember that,’ she explained with a smile.
‘Anything that might help identify them?’ Nick asked, hoping she could narrow down her description.
The woman thought for a moment. ‘They were wearing hats and scarves. They were nice-looking. One of them was half-caste.’
‘Mixed race.’ Nick corrected her without realising it.
‘Sorry? Yes ... ’ the woman frowned. She had no idea what he was talking about.
‘Were they locals?’ Nick asked.
The woman’s eyes widened. ‘That was it. Two of them bought some water and some energy bars. To me, they sounded American. But my husband said that one of them had the Canadian flag on their rucksack, so he thought they were from Canada. American or Canadian. Sound exactly the same to me. I can’t tell the difference, can you?’
‘No, not really,’ Nick said as he stopped writing in his notebook. ‘Anything else you can think of that might help?’
The woman shook her head, and Nick handed her a card so she could give him a call if she thought of anything.
The accents and the flag were useful details. However, he now feared the suspects he was looking for might not even be in the country.
Even though it was only late afternoon, the sky was pitch black by the time Ruth reached the Gateses’ home. In the darkness, it felt far more remote and isolated than in daylight. If Gates was out there, watching and waiting for his chance to see Kerry, then he would be invisible in the impenetrable blackness.
Ruth could see the unmarked patrol car parked further up the track. She assumed that inside were the two CID officers who were keeping watch in case Gates tried to return home to see Kerry. Directly outside Gates’s home was a small blue Clio that she didn’t recognise, but she had learnt that Kerry had a variety of health visitors during the week. Now that Gates had gone, Kerry Gates had a few people to look after her.
Ruth turned off the ignition and sat in the comforting silence of the car for a moment. The wind buffeted outside noisily. Although her instinct was to reach for a cigarette, Ruth knew that she needed to breathe and calm herself. She had suffered from panic attacks before, and after the events at Moel Siabod, her nerves were frayed and jangly. Looking up at the winter sky, she watched the tiny red flashing dot of an aeroplane pass silently overhead. Behind that, an irregular scattering of stars. Perspective. She needed to remember the reassuring feeling that she was a tiny speck of dust in an infinite universe. Some people found that a scary prospect. Ruth found that it calmed her and things that seemed so overwhelming were given perspective. Tracking down a killer like Gates wasn’t to be taken lightly. However, gazing up at the night sky and recentring herself meant that she could start to take the heat and emotion out of how she was feeling.
Taking in a deep breath to the count of four, Ruth then held it for six, and then let it out slowly from her mouth for seven. As she did this, she counted her breaths, trying to clear her mind of the inordinate chatter that went on a repetitive loop. After about five minutes, she opened her eyes. A sense of calm and clarity had returned.
Now she could have a smoke. She wound down the window, lit the cigarette and blew the smoke out. Even though she was a smoker, she thought there was nothing worse than a car that smelt of stale cigarettes. From somewhere outside, she caught the unmistakable hoot of an owl. Its echo was distinctly eerie.
Clicking on the radio to change her mood, her mind turned to Christmas for a moment as ‘Driving Home For Christmas’ by Chris Rea played softly. Her benign thoughts about the coming festivities felt like a relief from the darkness and horror of recent days.
She flicked the cigarette away, wound up the window and got out of the car. Her hair flicked in the blustering wind and there was the smell of wet grass and coal from an open fire somewhere.
Reaching the unmarked patrol car, she gave the officers a wave. They smiled back.
‘DI Ruth Hunter,’ she said and showed her warrant card.
‘Evening, ma’am,’ said the two officers.
Ruth gestured to the Clio. ‘Visitor?’
‘Just the district nurse again. She’s in daily at the moment, ma’am,’ the officer in the driver’s seat said.
‘Anything out of the ordinary, Constable?’ Ruth asked.
He shook his head. ‘Nope. Not a peep. Her sister popped in this morning. That’s it.’
‘Thanks. I won’t be long.’ Ruth turned and headed back towards the house. She was keen to get as much information from Kerry Gates as she could. Kerry would have a good idea of where Gates might be heading, even if she would be reluctant to tell her. However, she assumed that Kerry wouldn’t want any other innocent people being killed. Were there relatives or friends that Gates could hide out with? What places did he feel comfortable in? In Ruth’s experience, criminals stuck to areas and places that they knew because they felt secure and safe. The irony was that it actually made them easier to catch and therefore more vulnerable.
Walking up the uneven path, Ruth continued to run questions through her head. The front door was only pushed to, which she had come to expect in the countryside. It creaked as it swung open and she went in. It was warm and there was the distinct smell of mulled wine spices.
‘Hello, Mrs Gates?’ Ruth called out. ‘It’s Dete
ctive Inspector Ruth Hunter. We met before.’ Ruth carried on through the narrow hallway. The door to the living room was open and the glowing coals of an open fire cast a flickering orange light across the carpet. White Christmas lights that had been carefully placed around the room twinkled in the semi-darkness.
Kerry Gates was fast asleep under a blanket on the sofa. There was a glass of unfinished mulled wine beside her. That’s why Ruth wasn’t getting an answer.
Through the doorway to the kitchen, Ruth could see the district nurse, blonde and in her light-blue uniform, washing up at the sink. That was the amazing thing about nurses, Ruth thought. Their capacity for compassion and care was incredible.
Ruth called out. ‘Hi there. I’m DI Ruth Hunter. I’ve come to talk to Mrs Gates.’
The nurse gave a quick wave as she finished off the washing up and put away the tea towel.
Ruth watched Kerry sleeping. She would have to wake her in a minute. How had she fallen in love with a man like Gates? She must have had her suspicions in recent months. She had seen co-dependent relationships before. Andrew and Kerry Gates had provided what the other needed in their relationship, however dysfunctional it looked from the outside. Kerry wanted something that Gates was able to give her, and that was a dark thought.
As Ruth gazed at Kerry’s serene face, the district nurse came bustling in. Ruth needed to get the answers to her questions and get back to Llancastell nick to continue the search for Gates.
‘I’m going to have to wake her up in a minute, I’m afraid. I’ve got some questions I need to ask her,’ Ruth said quietly.
‘You might find that quite difficult I’m afraid, Ruth,’ a voice said.
The Dee Valley Killings Page 18