The Dee Valley Killings

by Simon McCleave

  It was a deep man’s voice that she recognised instantly.

  Ruth froze.

  She glanced up at the district nurse who was now smiling down at her. She knew the scarred eyelid and the face.

  It was Gates.

  For a moment, she looked at Gates’s face, which was covered in make-up and a blonde wig.

  It was a shocking, garish sight.

  ‘Surprise, Ruth,’ Gates whispered through his dark-red lips.

  Every part of Ruth’s being lurched in terror. Her pulse accelerated rapidly and her breath quickened.

  ‘What ...’ Ruth stammered, and then she looked at the enormous kitchen knife that Gates was holding. The blade glinted in the glow of the Christmas lights. Was this how she was going to die? A physical sickness swept through her.

  ‘What am I doing here?’ Gates wiped some of the make-up from his face and it smeared across his cheeks and then onto his hand. ‘If you make a sound, I will slit your throat and watch you bleed out like a pig. So my advice is to keep very quiet and I won’t hurt you.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Ruth was playing for time. Her eyes darted around the room looking for anything that could help her make an escape. There was nothing.

  ‘I couldn’t let my poor, sweet Kerry suffer in some home or hospital. There was no one to look after her except me. So I came to release her.’

  Ruth looked at Gates and then down at Kerry. She wasn’t sleeping, she was dead. ‘You mean you killed her! You’re not freeing or releasing anyone. You are killing innocent people. Let’s not dress it up in any other way.’ If she was going to die, then Ruth was going to have her say.

  Gates shook his head in mock disappointment and tutted. ‘That’s disappointing, Ruth. I thought you, of all people, would understand.’

  ‘If you’re going to kill me, then you’d better get on with it.’ Ruth had found a strength from somewhere and she certainly would not die crying, shaking and pleading with Gates for her life.

  ‘Ruth. Ruthie. I’m not going to kill you. You know there’s a connection between us. You can’t deny it. You feel it too. I know you do. I could never kill you.’

  Even though Ruth felt alarmed that Gates felt like that about her, it was a relief that he wasn’t going to kill her. She composed herself. ‘You need to hand yourself in.’

  ‘Why? I’ve got nothing to lose, have I? And to be honest, Ruth, I’m having the time of my life making you lot look like fools.’

  ‘Kerry wouldn’t have wanted you to have hurt anyone else,’ Ruth said, trying to appeal to Gates.

  ‘Oh dear. I don’t think you could ever understand what Kerry and I had together.’ Gates sounded like he was scolding a child. He pulled out a plastic tie, approached Ruth and put the blade to her throat. The metal was cold and sharp against her skin.

  ‘Do you plan to just keep running for the rest of your life?’ she asked, trying to get Gates to see the bigger picture.

  ‘God no. I have a few things I need to take care of and then I’ll give you a ring and you can come and get me. Deal?’ Gates smiled as he secured Ruth’s hands behind her back. The plastic cut into her wrists and she twisted. She wouldn’t be able to free her hands on her own.

  Gates then put a screwed up dishcloth that tasted of washing-up liquid into her mouth. At first, she struggled to pull the air in through her nose and felt claustrophobic. She wondered how long she would be stuck like this? This is a bloody nightmare!

  ‘I’ve got to go now. I’m sure the officers outside will come and free you when they wonder why you’ve been so long. Until then, you can keep my Kerry company,’ Gates said with a smile.

  Gates turned, went to the kitchen where he grabbed a coat and the nurse’s bag and left through the back door.

  CHAPTER 25

  It was seven o’clock by the time Nick cut through central Llancastell. The traffic was still heavy because of late-night Christmas shoppers getting ready for the festive season. But that was the last thing on his mind. Amanda had texted him to say that she wasn’t feeling well and wasn’t able to go to the AA meeting with him that night. When he had tried to ring her, her phone had been switched off. For Nick, that rang alarm bells. She might have been genuinely ill, but he had personal experience, as well as the experience of others in the fellowship, that suggested when someone started changing plans, making excuses, turning off their phone and avoiding meetings, it normally meant one thing: a relapse. It was classic alky behaviour. Alcoholics had problems with honesty, pride and ego. To admit they had started drinking again was difficult. More worryingly, during ‘a slip’ alcoholics often didn’t want to stop drinking. They had spent weeks, months or even years not drinking. If they were going to have a relapse, they were going to give it a fucking good go before they stopped.

  Amanda was still early on in the programme and to have some kind of ‘slip’ was understandable, even expected. So as Nick parked, got out of the car and approached her front door, he hoped that she was ravaged with flu, but was anticipating that she might have ‘picked up.’

  The front door opened about three inches and Amanda’s face appeared. Her eyes were glazed and her eyelids droopy. She was hammered. For fuck’s sake! Nick thought to himself and then told himself to be calm and understanding.

  ‘Can I come in?’ Nick asked with a kind smile. Given his record in recovery, he couldn’t judge anyone.

  ‘I’ve got terrible flu and I don’t want you to catch it.’ Amanda’s words were slurred. She wasn’t fooling anyone.

  ‘Yeah, but I think it’s probably best if I come in anyway,’ Nick said pushing the door open gently.

  ‘Okay. Just as long as you’re very quiet. I have a very, very bad headache. So shh.’ Amanda stumbled back into the house and then put her hand onto the wall to steady herself.

  Nick crossed the threshold and already he could smell the booze in the air. Recovered alkies were like bloodhounds when it came to sniffing out the faintest molecule of alcohol.

  Now that the front door was closed and all pretence was over, Amanda let down her guard. Nick could see how drunk she really was.

  She smiled, trying to focus a little, and then came at him with open arms. ‘Nick, it’s so lovely to see you. I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Shall we sit down?’ Nick said, hugging her back while trying to avoid her kisses and her breath.

  ‘I’ve got an ad ... an admish ...’ Amanda stumbled over her words. ‘Ad ... mish ... admission to make. Admission – isn’t that a funny word? Anyway, I’m vewwy, vewwy sowwy. But I had a little drink ... And then I had another drink.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Nick said as he nodded.

  Amanda pulled a face and slumped onto the sofa. ‘Oh, do you hate me? Please don’t hate me.’

  ‘No, of course not. Hey, you’re an alcoholic. It’s not a huge surprise.’ Nick smiled at her. It was an illness. And it was the only illness he knew of that told you that you didn’t have it.

  When Amanda saw him smile at her, she gave a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, aren’t you lovely? You’re lovely. Oh, and you’re fit. You know that, don’t you? Fit. F ... I ... T ... Fit. I showed a friend of mine a photo of you on my phone and she agreed.’

  Nick nodded with a smile. ‘Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself. How much have you had?’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing. I thought I would just have a bottle of wine. Just one. But when I finished that, I thought that I fancied some vodka and tonic. Just a couple though.’ Amanda frowned as she tried to think, ‘And then ...’

  ‘Where’s the vodka?’

  ‘In the kitchen, babe.’ Amanda giggled. At least she wasn’t an aggressive drunk. ‘Babe. I’ve never called you that before. Have I, babe?’

  Nick smiled as he got up to get rid of the rest of the vodka. ‘No.’

  Striding quickly into the kitchen, he immediately spotted the litre-bottle that had about an inch of the spirit left. No wonder she was hammered. He poured it down the sink and the fumes went up his nose. It
immediately took him back to his drinking.

  Returning to the living room, Nick took her hand. ‘We need to get you to bed.’

  ‘Oh, are you trying to take advantage of me?’

  ‘No. You just sleep it off and you’ll be okay in the morning.’

  Nick led her to the bedroom where she flopped onto the bed. He pulled the duvet over her and she closed her eyes. He then put her in the recovery position. She would probably be asleep in a few minutes.

  Now he had to scour her house for more hidden booze and get any cash or cards off her so she couldn’t go replace it. He would return after the AA meeting and sleep on the sofa.

  He spent the next twenty minutes checking all the likely hiding places for secret stashes of alcohol – drawers, wardrobe, washing machine, behind the sofa. He found nothing. Taking her purse from her bag, he took all her money and her credit and debit cards. He checked on her; she was fast asleep.

  Twenty minutes later, Nick was in the AA meeting beside the detox centre at the hospital. He poured himself a cup of coffee and greeted various people he knew. A figure approached. It was his sponsor, Bill.

  ‘Your phone broken, Nick?’ he said dryly.

  ‘No, sorry.’ He was meant to ring his sponsor Bill at least once a week for a chat and a catch-up on his recovery.

  ‘You caught up in this bloody awful thing with the fella that’s escaped?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Sort of,’ Nick said. He knew the reason that he hadn’t called Bill was because he was seeing Amanda. He didn’t want to lie to Bill, but he knew if he told him about their relationship, Bill would tell him to end it.

  ‘I was following it on the news. Biggest manhunt for years, they said,’ Bill continued.

  ‘Yeah. We’ve got officers coming to us from all over,’ Nick explained.

  ‘No Amanda tonight?’ Bill asked.

  ‘No. Working late,’ Nick lied and hated himself for doing so.

  ‘Oh, right. How’s she doing?’

  ‘All right. Early days, isn’t it?’

  ‘Christ, early days. You’ve only been sober for five minutes, Nick. Don’t you go taking anyone else’s recovery on like some knight in shining fucking armour,’ Bill warned him.

  ‘No, no. We just go to meetings and then talk about them after. We text each other. That’s all.’ Nick could hear his own voice and what he was saying and wanted the world to open up and swallow him.

  SITTING BACK ON HER sofa, it was such a relief to be home, Ruth thought.

  ‘I thought he was going to kill me.’ Her voice was calm, but she felt rocked by Gates’s appearance, and being tied up by him had left her feeling vulnerable and powerless.

  Ella handed her an enormous glass of red wine. Ruth still had the taste of washing-up liquid in her mouth and hoped the wine would take it away.

  ‘I know this sounds horrible, but why didn’t he kill you? Sorry ...’ Ruth could see that Ella regretted asking, but Ruth knew it was a valid question.

  ‘No, that’s fine. Possibly because he only gets a kick out of killing men. I don’t know. Maybe because he seems to think we have this strange connection.’ Ruth was thinking out loud, but the thought had crossed her mind as she sat tied to the chair that Gates had nothing to lose if he had slit her throat. He was already facing eight life sentences now he had murdered Kerry.

  It took the officers in the car outside nearly an hour before they decided to see if everything was all right. They cut her free and were incredibly apologetic at not having clocked that the blonde nurse that drove away in the Clio was Gates. She didn’t blame them one bit. There were no streetlights outside, and in the darkness, all they would have seen was a figure in a uniform and coat with blonde hair. Gates wasn’t tall or particularly muscular either, so that wouldn’t have thrown up any red flags.

  Karen Crane, the actual district nurse, had been attacked, stripped and tied up by Gates and left at her home for the whole afternoon. She had been suffering from cervical cancer and her chemotherapy had made her bald, so she wore a wig. Gates had even stolen her bra and make-up. However, he hadn’t murdered Karen Crane either, so perhaps there was a gender element to his MO. Kerry was an anomaly as he saw that as a necessity and a mercy killing.

  Ruth was keen to change the subject. ‘Any more flats for you to look at?’

  ‘Mum. You’ve just been kidnapped and attacked,’ Ella said with a frown.

  ‘So I need something to take my mind off it,’ Ruth explained. ‘Come on. Show me.’

  ‘There’s a couple, actually.’ Ella grabbed her phone and brought up the details of the properties that she was interested in.

  Ruth looked at them. It was nice to do something mundane for once.

  ‘Are you going to look at any?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Maybe a couple tomorrow,’ Ella said.

  ‘Want me to come with you?’ Ruth suggested.

  ‘Mum, I can cope with going to look at some flats on my own.’ Ella laughed.

  ‘I know. Sorry. It’s just there are some very weird people out there, that’s all.’

  ‘Mum, you deal with the freaks, the murderers, the gangsters every day. It’s your world, but it’s not the real world,’ Ella said.

  Ruth nodded. How had she produced such a wise child? ‘You’re still my baby. And you always will be.’

  THE RAIN WAS GETTING heavier as Gates sat in the van outside a small convenience shop. It was nearly six-thirty in the morning and the lights in the store had just burst into life. Someone was inside setting up for the day. Or at least, so they think, Gates thought to himself.

  Gates had showered and changed at the drive-in McDonald’s in the retail park. He had got a decent night’s sleep in the van he was now driving. Changing vehicles would make it far harder for the police to catch him. It worried him that after all the death and mayhem he had caused, how well he did actually sleep. It couldn’t be normal, could it?

  The steady pitter-patter of rain seemed to create a protective shield around him. Gates loved that sound. The puddles were growing on the pavement and road; puddles that were peppered by drops that sent mini ripples scurrying across their surface. The sky was getting brighter but it was still grey. Gates thought it was every shade of grey that he could imagine. What colour do things become when it’s raining? Or did colour just vanish and things become shades of black or white?

  As he gazed around, he felt a sense of peace inside him. Kerry’s spirit was in some blissful place that the human mind couldn’t begin to imagine. The thought comforted him as he stared into the gloom.

  He clicked the radio on inside the old white Ford van that he had stolen from a builder’s yard in Capel Garmin. He had learnt how to hot-wire older cars and vans by watching tutorials online. He wasn’t sure why he’d been researching it; maybe, deep down, he knew that one day he would be on the run and need that skill? He didn’t know. What he did know was that he had felt a huge sense of satisfaction when he got the van to start. He had loosened the ring in the ignition switch with a hammer and screwdriver that he had found in a discarded toolbox. He then pulled the ignition switch out of the dashboard. He yanked out the wires and looked for a red or black wire with a yellow or green stripe. Touching the wires together in the plug. He had laughed out loud as the engine growled into life. God bless YouTube, he thought.

  Tuning the radio, Gates heard something on the BBC News and turned up the volume. He was getting a big thrill from hearing and seeing his name everywhere he went. Fame was an intoxicating drug.

  ‘The BBC understands that armed police officers failed to recapture Andrew Gates in an operation at a disused farm in the heart of North Wales’s Snowdonia Park. Tactical firearms officers moved into the area of the farm at around five o’clock yesterday afternoon after a tip-off, but officers found that Andrew Gates had already left the area. Police have appealed for the man dubbed “Britain’s Most Wanted” to give himself up. A police spokesperson said that the manhunt for Andrew Gates was the biggest in the UK for near
ly a decade and over a hundred officers had been mobilised from four different counties for the search. Earlier this week, Andrew Gates pleaded guilty to the murder of seven men and had been helping police recover his victims’ remains when he managed to escape.’

  Gates turned off the radio. He smiled to himself. It really was such a rush to hear about himself on the news. In fact, he didn’t want it to stop.

  Noticing that the shop was now displaying an Open sign, Gates climbed out the driver’s door, holding some rope and a crowbar that had been left in the back of the van. Glancing around the empty street momentarily, Gates entered the shop door and a little bell rang. How quaint, he thought. What was that programme that he and Kerry used to love? Open all Hours with Ronnie Barker. That was it.

  A man in his thirties, small and wearing glasses, looked at him with a friendly smile. ‘Early bird, eh?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Gates said. ‘Gets the worm, I think the saying is?’

  The man spotted the crowbar and the rope and frowned. ‘Can I help?’ the man asked, uncertain of Gates’s intentions.

  ‘Probably not.’ Gates rushed towards him and before the man could get away, Gates had cracked the crowbar across his temple, splitting the skin to the bone.

  The man crashed to the floor, but he wasn’t unconscious. He groaned and moved his hand to his forehead where he had been struck.

  Gates was relieved. He didn’t want to strangle anyone who was already unconscious. That wasn’t the thrill. They needed to be awake, they needed to struggle and know that he was murdering them. That was the rush. The man wasn’t in the least bit attractive but he would have to do. Gates knew he was running out of time and once captured, these opportunities would never arise again.

  Looking over at the till, Gates saw that there was a CCTV camera looking down at him from high on the wall. He gave it a little wave. He hoped that DI Ruth Hunter would get a first-hand look at what he was all about.

  ‘Hello, Ruth,’ Gates said with exaggerated mouth movements, hoping she and the other officers could lip-read what he was saying.