Up ahead, Nick could see the comings and goings of street dealers. A few teenage boys rode up and down on their bikes. A group of older boys, wearing black North Face jackets and baseball caps, slouched and sat on a low brick wall.
‘Five O, five O.’ Nick heard someone call out. Then someone else shouted ‘Feds’. He and Ruth had been spotted. But then again, they weren’t trying to hide.
‘Five O’ and ‘Feds’ had originally been used in America and now had become slang for any UK police officer.
Suddenly Nick saw a figure running from a side street. He knew exactly who it was.
Micky Finch!
‘For fuck’s sake!’ Nick yelled as he took off after him.
Up ahead, Finch turned right heading for the back of Llancastell’s cinema and bowling complex.
Nick hit full speed, his feet clattering on the road surface. The air that he sucked in was cold.
After four hours sleep last night, I don’t bloody need this!
Nick got to the right hand turn. Glancing down the road, he could see that Finch had disappeared. However, he hadn’t had time to get to the end of the road. That meant he was hiding somewhere.
Slowing down, Nick looked left and right. There were large industrial bins to his right against a graffiti-covered wall. He went over. Peering round, he could see that Finch wasn’t there.
Suddenly the sound of running. Nick spun around. It sounded like it was coming from above. And the sound seemed to be echoing. Gazing up at the three floors of the multi-storey car park, Nick realised that’s where Finch had gone to hide.
Bloody hell. It’s a maze in there! he thought angrily.
Breaking into a jog, he ran past the barriers and into the ground floor of the multi-storey.
Jesus! He could be bloody anywhere.
Nick glanced at the gaps between the parked cars. Nothing. Slowing to a fast walk, he reached the far side where the floor curved around and led up a ramp to the first level.
‘Micky! What the bloody hell are you playing at?’ Nick shouted. ‘I’m not here to nick you! I just need to chat.’
Ruth is going to have a right field day after this. Finch is meant to be my bloody snout.
Looking left and right, Nick still couldn’t see anyone.
Haystack? Needle?
Pulling out his phone, Nick had an idea. Finch was definitely not the sharpest tool in the toolbox. Scrolling through his contacts, he found Micky F and hit the call button.
A second later, he heard the sound of a mobile phone ringing about twenty yards ahead of where he was standing.
Bingo! Got you, you twat!
‘Micky! It’s me calling you. Will you just come here now,’ Nick yelled.
A moment later, Finch came out from behind a van and put his hands up defensively.
‘Sorry,’ Finch said. His tall, skinny frame was drowned in a stained grey hoodie, trackies, and faded green baseball cap.
‘What did you run for, you dickhead?’ Nick growled.
‘I was holding a lot of gear. I thought you were gonna nick me,’ Finch protested.
‘No. We talked about this. That’s the deal. I’m not interested in you dealing a bit of weed if you can help me out once in a while,’ Nick explained.
I’ve picked a right one here.
‘Oh right, yeah. What do you want?’ Finch asked as he got closer.
God he looks vacant. And I can smell him from here.
Nick went to the photo gallery on his phone and clicked on a picture of Callum that he had sent to himself.
‘Do you know this kid?’ Nick asked.
‘No. Never seen him,’ Finch said immediately.
‘You didn’t even look!’ Nick thundered.
‘Let’s have another look,’ Finch said moving closer and this time actually taking the time to look at the photo properly.
‘Great. If it’s not too much trouble that is,’ Nick said sarcastically.
Finch squinted and then nodded. ‘Yeah, I know him.’
‘Sure?’ Nick asked.
‘Yeah. Did a bit of dealing by the swimming baths. He was young,’ Finch explained.
Why’s he using the past tense?
‘’Was? What do you mean ‘was’? When was the last time you saw him?’ Nick asked.
‘Ages. More than a year. Callum? I think that was his name. He was dealing in town for a while. Then about eighteen months ago he just disappeared. I haven’t seen him since.’
Weird.
‘Heard anything?’ Nick asked.
Finch shook his head. ‘No. Nothing. It was like he just vanished off the face of the earth. I just thought he’d moved or he’d been nicked.’
CHAPTER 7
Rachel left the main farm building after lunch. Dark steel-grey clouds had ominously replaced the winter sunshine. She could tell from the way the wind swirled in circular gusts through the dark, earthy fields that a storm was coming. She also knew its significance.
It had been nearly a decade since Rachel had arrived at Solace Farm. There had been a religious community at the farm for nearly twenty years.
Rachel had been disappointed by what she had found in 2010. The rumours that the Seventh-day Adventist community at Solace Farm lacked direction, rigour and zeal proved to be true. When the leader of the group, Alan Taints, died a year later, Rachel had been visited by God who commanded her to now lead the group in their preparations for the Second Coming. It hadn’t taken her long to convince them that God’s prophecy was genuine. She knew she had a natural ability to influence, and even manipulate, when necessary.
‘Mummy! Mummy!’ came a shout from behind her.
A small boy, long blonde hair, came running from the house to her. Abel was her eight-year-old son, the result of a short relationship with an Australian man called Jack Bishop.
Rachel reached out and took Abel’s little hand. It was cold and she rubbed it warm for a moment.
‘You want to come with me?’ Rachel asked him.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to see your father. It’s his birthday,’ Rachel said. ‘Remember?’
Abel frowned, nodded, and then reached out his hand for her to take.
Her only child had been such a gift from God. She didn’t think she could love anything that much except the Lord himself.
‘Are we taking a present?’ Abel asked.
‘I don’t think so. Did we take him something last year?’ Rachel asked. She honestly couldn’t remember.
Abel shrugged as he tucked his trousers into his wellies.
They began to make their way through the muddy field, staying close to the hedgerow that marked it off from the main track to the farm.
As the wind swept noisily over them, Abel let go of her hand and ran off into the fields, twirling and dancing in the breeze. He was singing something quietly to himself. The light across the field visibly darkened as the leaden sky thickened, as though someone had turned a dimmer switch on the sky.
Rachel helped Abel over the steel gate that led to the sacred field that lay beyond. Cutting right, they both danced and skipped as the noise of the wind grew around them.
They sang the hymn ‘Lord of the Dance’ at the tops of their voices. Looking up to the sky, Rachel took a lungful of air and continued to sing.
She remembered the song from when she was a child at the orphanage in County Galway in Ireland. It was run by Catholic nuns. Rachel’s mother had died in childbirth so the nuns had brought her up from birth. But they worked her hard from as far back as she could remember - cleaning, washing, sewing, cooking, gardening.
The Sisters were cold and cruel. If Rachel, or any of the other orphans stepped out of line, they would be beaten severely. Little John Townsend was taken to the hospital after one beating and was never seen again. They were denied food and made to work in complete silence. Rachel could have just about survived the terrible conditions, the punishments, and the emotional abuse. However, when she turned twelve, men fro
m the local village were invited to help supervise the older children, mainly the girls. And Rachel’s world darkened into an unbearable cycle of sexual abuse and trauma until she ran away when she was sixteen.
Looking at the corner of the field, Rachel saw the place they had come to visit. A long mound in the ground and a small wooden cross carved with Jack Bishop 1974 – 2015. May his soul rest in peace.
‘Here we are, Abel,’ Rachel said in a soft voice. ‘Are you going to say hello to Daddy?’
‘Hello Daddy,’ he said uncertainly.
‘Shall we say a prayer for him?’ Rachel asked. ‘Good boy. You’re such a good boy, aren’t you? Daddy would be so proud of you, you know that?’ Rachel said taking his hand again. His little fingers were now icy.
Rachel remembered the day it had happened. The day that Jack had said he’d had enough of her and was going to leave the farm. She wouldn’t let him. How could she? What about our son Abel? What about your soul? We are the chosen few. If you leave, your soul will burn in hell forever. How can I let that happen to you?
The night before Jack intended to leave, Rachel had put tranquilisers in his tea. When he fell unconscious a few hours later, she had smothered him with a pillow, saving him from eternal damnation.
As Rachel gazed at the grave, there was a rumble of thunder in the distance. She knew that the Second Coming was on its way. She could feel it. The news reports from China told of a plague that was going to wipe out thousands, if not millions, of people. The end of the world, as they knew it, would soon be upon them. And she and Abel would be saved and live for all eternity. As Revelations predicted, when the sixth seal was opened, there would be ‘... a great earthquake, and the sun will become as black as a sackcloth of hair, and the moon become as blood.’
‘Happy birthday, Daddy,’ Abel said without prompting.
Rachel felt the first drop of rain land on the palm of her hand. She turned and looked at it. The circular scar in the middle of her palm was now wet. It was a sign. She knew it was.
As they turned to go, Rachel stopped and looked across the width of the field. Along from Jack’s grave was another mound of raised earth and grass. And another wooden cross with a name.
And next to that, another.
In fact, Rachel knew that there were fourteen graves in a long line that stretched the whole width of the field.
The final resting place of ‘the leavers’. Members of The Family who had decided that it was time to go.
How could she let them face the eternal pain?
She had chosen to save them.
So here they rested peacefully, like a village of the dead.
CHAPTER 8
Sian and French pulled up outside Covey’s Pharmacy in Ffestiniog. The whole area was encircled by the dark hills and mountains of Snowdonia. Even with the steely grey sky that hung like a dark awning overhead, the view was dramatic and stirring.
Sian sighed as she took in the awesome surroundings; she was going to miss living and working in Snowdonia. It was all she had ever known. Working in Swansea CID was going to be different. The big cities in South Wales had all the problems associated with large urban areas and deprivation. She didn’t even know if she was doing the right thing. All she knew was that she wasn’t happy, and the thought of starting a new life and job where there was no baggage filled her with an immense sense of relief.
‘Don’t think I’ve ever set foot in Ffestiniog before,’ Sian said as she unclipped her seatbelt.
‘I used to come here as a kid,’ French said. ‘To the railway. We were always here.’
The Ffestiniog and Welsh Highland Railway was a forty-mile stretch of narrow gauge track that took old steam locomotives through Snowdonia National Park. It was a major tourist attraction.
‘You used to spend your time at an old steam railway?’ Sian said mockingly. ‘Did you have a little book and write down all the numbers?’
Dan shook his head with a smile. ‘Don’t take the piss. My grandfather bought a stake in the railway and one of the engines. I didn’t have much of a choice.’
‘Oh, yes. I forgot you were posh,’ Sian quipped.
Dan looked at her. ‘I’ve just remembered, I’ve got something for you,’ Dan said, fishing into his trouser pocket.
Sian pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure I want anything that’s been stuck in your sweaty little pocket.’
Dan pulled out his hand and turned it up to give her the finger. ‘Oh here it is.’
‘Funny. I used to do that when I was ten, Dan,’ Sian said rolling her eyes.
I’m going to miss being with Dan every day.
They walked up to the chemist shop and both looked up at its frontage. It didn’t look any different to a normal village chemist. But perhaps that was the point.
‘You think there’s something dodgy about this place?’ Dan asked.
Sian waved the prescriptions they had found on Callum at him. ‘Definitely.’
Moving to the side of the shop, Sian could see a small alleyway down the side where there were two large bins.
‘I’m going down here to the back. Go in and wave your warrant card around. If anyone does a runner out the back, I’ll be there to give them a big, friendly hug,’ Sian said with a smile.
She headed down the alleyway. There was a gate at the end. She tried it and it opened.
Not very secure.
Sian was now on a small paved area at the back of the shop. She remembered the time her first boyfriend, Kevin Cartwright, had asked her to go and buy condoms because he was too embarrassed. She didn’t know why they had bothered as the sex had lasted a whole five seconds.
There was a sudden sound at the back door. Someone was unlocking it.
The door flew open, and a young man in his 20s took two steps out before seeing her.
‘Going somewhere?’ Sian asked, as she flashed her warrant card.
‘Just going for a fag, that’s all,’ the young man said, startled and clearly lying.
‘Great. Then you won’t mind answering some questions, will you?’ Sian said with a sarcastic smile. ‘Your name is?’
‘Greg. Greg Tomlinson,’ he mumbled as French appeared behind him.
Sian fished her phone out and tapped on a photo of Callum Roper. ‘Right, Greg Tomlinson. Have you ever seen this lad before?’
Greg shook his head. ‘No. No, I don’t know him.’
‘Really? Have a proper look, eh? Because we found a large number of prescriptions in his possession. And they were all due to be picked up at this pharmacy,’ Sian said.
Greg shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Could have.’
‘I notice you’ve got CCTV in the shop, Greg?’ French said.
‘Yes. We’ve had a few break ins,’ Greg explained.
‘So, if we take the CCTV footage, we’re not going to see this lad coming in here in the past few weeks?’
Nice work, Dan. We’ve got Greg against the ropes now.
‘I ... I ... Can I have another look at that photo?’ Greg stammered.
‘Oh yes. Of course. You do that,’ Sian said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
Greg peered again. ‘Oh, now I’ve looked at it again, I think I do recognise him. His name’s Tom, I think.’
Sian and French exchanged a look – Tom?
‘Tom? You’re sure about that?’ French asked.
‘Yeah. Tom or Thomas. He comes in here quite regularly to pick up prescriptions for the people where he lives,’ Greg explained. ‘It’s all above board. Repeat prescriptions from the GP down the road.’
‘Greg, what do you mean “... the people where he lives ...”?’ Sian asked.
‘Up at Solace Farm. You know? The religious people that live up there. Bit weird if you ask me, but he lives up there.’
‘And this Tom comes here on his own to pick up the medication?’ French asked.
‘Sometimes he comes with an older lady. Grey hair, sunglasses. Irish I think,’ Greg said pulling a face.
‘And do y
ou know her name?’ Sian asked.
‘I’m not sure. I tell you one thing, she scares the living crap out of me when she does come in,’ Greg said his eyes widening. ‘Rachel. I think her name’s Rachel.’
CHAPTER 9
It was late afternoon by the time Ruth had gathered the CID team together to look at the developments over the death of Callum Roper. She spotted DC Jim Garrow and gave him a nod. Garrow was on secondment from uniform and hoping to make the move to CID. He was young but intuitive and brave. Ruth had seen how he handled himself at a major incident at an MI6 safe house and she had been impressed. When she was asked if Garrow could join CID on secondment, Ruth had no hesitation.
‘Getting along all right, Jim?’ Ruth asked.
Garrow nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am. I mean boss,’ he said correcting himself.
‘Good. My door is always open if you need anything,’ Ruth assured him as she headed for a central point in the room and looked out at the team. ‘Right folks, I want us to collate what we’ve found out about Callum Roper today. It seems that we’ve unearthed a few things that need looking at,’ Ruth said as she walked over to the large map of North Wales.
‘Okay. I’m going to start with the events of last night. Someone reported the sound of shouts and gunfire at an area here, which is close to a Solace Farm. Five minutes later while Nick and I are driving along the A5, our victim, Callum Roper, runs from the hedgerows here, and straight across the A5 where he is struck by a van. Callum was fatally injured. From what Nick and I saw, he seemed to glance back from where he was running, as if he was being chased. We found seven medical prescriptions for tranquilisers and painkillers on him.’
Nick, who was perched on a table, looked up. ‘Our assumption at that point was that the medication was to be sold on the black market as Callum had prior convictions for dealing. We also thought he might have been part of a drug gang and this had led to him being shot at and then chased in this area.’
‘However, as we’ve started to piece together Callum’s life, we’re getting a different picture,’ Ruth said as she looked over at Sian for a second. ‘Sian?’
The Solace Farm Killings: A Snowdonia Murder Mystery (A DI Ruth Hunter Crime Thriller Book 7) Page 5