The Solace Farm Killings: A Snowdonia Murder Mystery (A DI Ruth Hunter Crime Thriller Book 7)

by Simon McCleave

  ‘Boss. Dan and I went to the pharmacy where the prescriptions were due to be picked up. Callum Roper regularly collected medication for people who live on Solace Farm,’ she said.

  ‘And that’s where we believe Callum Roper had been living for the past eighteen months. It would explain why he no longer attended school,’ Ruth said.

  ‘An informant told me that Callum had disappeared from dealing in Llancastell about eighteen months ago, which seems to back up that theory,’ Nick said.

  ‘What’s Solace Farm?’ French asked.

  ‘Solace Farm is a religious community. They’re essentially Christian. A splinter group of Seventh-day Adventists,’ Garrow said.

  Ruth caught Nick’s eye. He had also been impressed by Garrow since he arrived in CID.

  ‘What does that mean? They’re like a cult?’ Sian asked.

  ‘I don’t know if cult is the right word,’ Ruth said in a slightly condescending tone. Ruth realised as soon as she said it but Sian glared at her for a moment.

  Bloody hell! Why did you say it like that?

  Ruth knew exactly why she had nit-picked at Sian’s comment. She was angry at her for leaving.

  ‘They believe that Saturdays are the Sabbath,’ Garrow said.

  ‘Like the Jewish faith,’ French added.

  ‘They also believe that the Second Coming of Christ is going to happen very soon. And that they are the chosen few who will be saved while the rest of us perish in some kind of Armageddon,’ Garrow explained.

  ‘Charming,’ Nick joked.

  ‘What the hell was Callum Roper doing up there?’ Sian asked.

  Ruth shrugged. ‘He’d had a pretty shitty life. Maybe he had found something up there that was better?’

  ‘It wouldn’t have been difficult,’ Nick said grimly.

  ‘You mean they brainwashed him,’ Sian said with a slight sneer.

  ‘I think that’s oversimplifying it, Sian. It’s more complex than that,’ Ruth said.

  Oh my God! You did it again!

  Ruth avoided Sian’s gaze, aware that she had undermined her twice in as many minutes.

  ‘So, how does that explain the gunshots and Callum being chased?’ French asked.

  ‘I don’t know. But what all this does explain is the scarring we found on Callum’s palms and side.’ Ruth said. ‘First thing in the morning, Nick and I will go up to Solace Farm and see what they have to say, without being over-explicit. What about an address for Callum’s parents?’

  ‘Just his mum. It came through a few minutes ago, boss,’ Garrow said.

  ‘Good. What about the mobile phone we found on Callum?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Tech team have got it. Something by tomorrow,’ French said.

  ‘Okay. Sian and Dan, can you go and speak to the local plod in Ffestiniog? Find out any intel they’ve got on Solace Farm and get a general sense of what they think,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Boss,’ French nodded but Ruth could see that Sian was avoiding her.

  ‘Anyone chased up the reports of shouting and gunfire?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Local police seem to think the witness gave them a false address,’ Dan said.

  ‘Right, okay. Thank you everyone. I’m at my desk if you need me,’ Ruth said as she turned and walked back to her office.

  Sitting down, Ruth sat for a moment, digesting the case. Her train of thought was broken by a knock on her open door. It was Sian.

  Without Ruth saying anything, Sian came in and closed the door behind her.

  Oh shit. This is not good.

  ‘What the bloody hell was that all about?’ Sian thundered.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Ruth asked. She knew exactly what Sian was talking about.

  ‘Don’t be a twat. You know exactly what I’m talking about. If you want me to go on leave until next week, talk to Drake and sort it out,’ Sian snapped.

  That was the last thing Ruth wanted.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re being totally unprofessional. And paranoid,’ Ruth said.

  She was fully aware of how unfair she was being to Sian. But she wanted to get back at her for leaving. She squirmed inside, aware that she was being a self-absorbed, self-pitying bitch.

  ‘I’m being unprofessional? Oh fuck off, Ruth. Undermine me in there again, and I’ll make a formal complaint to Drake,’ Sian said as she headed out of the door and slammed it behind her.

  CHAPTER 10

  ‘Hi, my name’s Nick, and I’m an alcoholic.’

  ‘Hi Nick,’ the AA group responded.

  Nick was attending the evening meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous in a building close to the Detox Centre in Llancastell. He had tried to persuade Amanda to come with him. In fact, he had pleaded with her. Auntie Pat was more than happy to drive over and watch Megan for a couple of hours. It would have given them a bit of time on their own and Amanda could have seen her female AA friends for a bit of support. However, she said she was too tired to move and went to bed.

  Nick had fed and changed Megan and watched as she fell asleep in her cot. She wouldn’t wake now until the early hours, and Nick knew he had to get to a meeting for his own sobriety and sanity. However long he was sober for, Nick would always need to go to meetings. That was how AA worked. If he continued to meet regularly with fellow addicts, listened to others sharing their dark war stories of drinking and the hope they found in the meetings, then Nick would never become complacent. However, if he believed that after years of sobriety he was somehow cured of his addiction, then his brain would eventually tell him that he could drink alcohol safely. AA was full of stories of alcoholics who, after ten or even twenty years of being sober, believed they could drink again. Within a few weeks, these people always returned to the compulsive, chaotic drinking of their past. They either came back to AA with a salutary tale of what it had been like, or they stayed away and died.

  ‘Thank you, Sheila, for your share. I got a lot of identification from it and from what everyone else has said tonight. And people have said a lot about gratitude. I think the saying goes “A grateful alcoholic won’t drink.” But for me there is a big difference between knowing I should be grateful, and actually feeling grateful. I can sit here and tell you that I have a beautiful new baby girl, a partner, a home, food on the table, a job that I love. That makes me very, very lucky. And a couple of years ago, I would have had your arm off if you had told me that was possible. But I can still wake up with that feeling of discomfort. A feeling that it’s not enough.’ Nick paused for a second, hesitant about what he was about to share. ‘Most of you know Amanda. And many of you have helped her. But she is struggling at the moment, and she won’t accept any help. It’s so hard to watch someone you love in that much pain and distress. It’s dangerous for me too. I start to feel full of self-pity. Why can’t she be happy? We have this beautiful baby girl. It’s meant to be a magical time for us. Instead it’s becoming a nightmare. But I also know what I need to do. I need to come to a meeting and get it off my chest. I need to talk to my sponsor. I need to do all the things that have kept me sober up to this point. Because if I don’t ...’ For a moment Nick swallowed and took a deep breath to steady himself. ‘Because if I don’t, my head will start to tell me that the best way of dealing with the way I feel is to drink. And I will lose everything. So I’m here. And I’m grateful to be here surrounded by people who understand how I feel and who I know will help. So, I think I’ll leave it at that. And thanks again to everyone for making this meeting possible.’

  ‘Thanks, Nick,’ came the response.

  Once the meeting was over, Nick saw his sponsor Dundee Bill catch his eye and gesture outside. They would have a chat in their usual spot in the car park, despite the arctic temperature.

  ‘Can’t you get Amanda to come to a meeting with you?’ Bill asked.

  Bill was a tough Scotsman in his seventies who had been sober for over forty years. He had seen everything in his time. Nick found his wisdom and tolerance astounding. Yet Bill could hand ou
t tough love and a gruff wake-up call when necessary.

  ‘I’ve tried. I begged her tonight,’ Nick said.

  ‘You can’t leave your daughter with Amanda all day if she’s not well. Have you got someone who will come over and sit with her?’ Bill asked. ‘I’m more than happy to pop over but you can probably do better than a grumpy old man, eh?’

  Nick nodded. ‘My Auntie Pat will come over. Amanda doesn’t want her there but ...’

  ‘Amanda doesn’t have a choice. She’s not well. She needs to rest and she needs help. What about your GP?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Fucking useless. At this rate, I’m going to have to try a different practice,’ Nick admitted. It was frustrating how difficult it was to get to speak to a doctor, let alone get a home visit.

  ‘Don’t you have one of those health visitors?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll give her a ring,’ Nick said.

  ‘You’ve got to get her help. I’ve seen this type of thing before and it’s not going to go away with a couple of paracetamol and a good night’s sleep,’ Bill said. ‘You let me know if you need anything, son? Okay? And I mean that.’

  They shook hands, and Nick got into the car and drove home. It had felt good to share how he was feeling with the meeting and Bill. But it didn’t stop him worrying about Amanda and Megan.

  Ruth finished the bottle of wine she had been drinking, grabbed her car keys and went out of the front door. The cold wind hit her instantly. It should have sobered her up enough for her to turn around and go back inside. But it didn’t. She was now in a reckless, self-destructive mood that was fuelled by booze and self-pity.

  I don’t care. I’m doing this no matter what. We’re going to have it out!

  Ruth got into her car, quickly fastened the seatbelt and started the engine. She was afraid that if she paused for a moment, she would see sense, stop, and go back inside.

  It wasn’t until she got to the winding country roads that Ruth realised just how much the alcohol was impairing her judgement. Blinking hard, she made sure that she concentrated fully on the road ahead. Was she driving too fast, or too slow? She couldn’t tell. She took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel.

  Just keep concentrating on the road. Nice and steady.

  A lorry, with bright lights, came around the bend. Ruth held her breath and slowed. The road ahead was so dark and she knew that her reactions were impaired.

  The lorry passed with a deafening whoosh. It felt like it was no more than an inch from her.

  Ruth didn’t know what she was going to say to Sian. She ran various permutations of possible conversations around in her head as she drove. She didn’t want Sian to leave. That was the God’s honest truth. If she left, she would never see Sian again and that felt so incredibly painful to even contemplate.

  Finally she arrived at the cul-de-sac where Sian was staying with her brother. Her car was outside. Ruth parked for a moment. She wanted a ciggie but she didn’t want Sian to smell it on her. Sian hated the fact that she still smoked. Well she did while they were together.

  No. I’ll wait.

  Ruth opened the door and got out. The cul-de-sac was silent and still. It was bathed in the amber glow of the streetlights. The temperature had really dropped and the wind was sharp against her face.

  Walking up the short garden path, Ruth wondered if everyone was in bed. It was gone eleven on ‘a school night’ so it was likely. She didn’t want to process it. Glancing up, Ruth could see that there were several lights on upstairs. She knocked lightly on the door.

  After a few seconds, the door opened a few inches and a man in his forties looked out. It was Sian’s brother, Phil.

  ‘Sian, it’s for you,’ Phil said, giving Ruth a quizzical look.

  A moment later, Sian arrived at the door. She was wearing red pyjamas and a dressing gown.

  ‘Ruth? For fuck’s sake! What are you doing here?’ Sian thundered.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ruth said weakly. She really didn’t know. It was just an overwhelming urge to see Sian. To have contact.

  Sian came out of the house onto the doorstep. ‘You can’t do this. It’s not fair.’

  ‘I know. But I had to see you. We have to talk,’ Ruth said. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say but she felt a desperate need to feel some connection to Sian.

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about. You need to go home,’ Sian said.

  I can’t go home. I need more than this.

  Sian took a moment and gave a huge, frustrated sigh.

  ‘Bloody hell! We’re not talking about it in there. And it’s too cold out here. I’ll come to your car. But only for a minute and then you’re going. Clear?’ Sian growled.

  Thank God.

  Ruth nodded as Sian closed the front door and they walked over to the car and got in.

  For a few seconds they sat in silence.

  ‘Remember that time we were in the car wash,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Have you dragged me out here just to reminisce about us making out in the car wash?’ Sian groaned.

  ‘Making out? I didn’t realise we were in ‘Grease’!’ Ruth quipped.

  Make her laugh. Make her remember why she loves me.

  Sian pulled a face. ‘Oh my God, have you been drinking?’

  ‘A bit,’ Ruth confessed. ‘I’m under the limit.’

  ‘It doesn’t smell like it,’ Sian said.

  There were a few seconds of awkward silence.

  ‘Don’t go,’ Ruth said, trying to get the words out before her brain stopped her from saying them.

  ‘What?’ Sian said, spinning in her seat to look at her.

  Ruth turned and looked her in the eyes. ‘I mean it. Don’t leave. Stay here. We can make it work.’

  ‘Oh my God, you really are drunk. We don’t work because there were always three of us in the relationship. And that’s not going to change,’ Sian said.

  ‘I can change. I have changed,’ Ruth said with urgency.

  ‘Have you fuck!’ Sian snorted.

  ‘I’ve given up smoking,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Have you?’ Sian said raising an eyebrow.

  ‘No. But I will ... I mean ... I’ll do anything. Just tell me what to do,’ Ruth said. ‘I love everything about you. I just didn’t see it. I do now.’

  Sian shook her head. ‘Until the next time.’

  ‘No. Never,’ Ruth said. ‘Never again.’

  Sian shivered. ‘Can you put the heater on for a second? It’s freezing.’

  Ruth turned the ignition. The heater came on and so did the stereo. It was playing ‘Earned It’ by The Weeknd. It was the song that had been playing when Ruth and Sian had first got together. It then became a song they played when they had sex.

  ‘Really? Are you kidding me?’ Sian exclaimed.

  Ruth raised her hands with a smile. ‘I didn’t put this on. Honest.’

  I’m such a liar.

  Ruth had set the CD up to play earlier.

  ‘What? Get drunk, get me into your car, and then play this song. What’s next on the agenda?’ Sian said with a growing sense of amusement.

  ‘I’m innocent. I swear down,’ Ruth said with a grin.

  ‘Swear down? Jesus,’ Sian teased.

  God I’ve missed this verbal jousting.

  ‘This is bullshit,’ Sian said and looked directly at Ruth. ‘What the hell is going on?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ruth replied – but the tension in the car was building.

  ‘This isn’t going to happen,’ Sian said.

  ‘I know. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

  ‘You should just go.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  There were a few seconds as the music played and they looked at each other.

  Then Sian leaned over and kissed Ruth on the mouth. Softly at first, then longer, harder and more intense. They moved apart so their faces were an inch apart.

  Sian blinked her eyes and then shook her head. ‘Sorry, sorry. I can’t do this.’
<
br />   ‘Sian?’ Ruth said.

  Ruth watched as Sian got out of the car, jogged across the cul-de-sac and disappeared inside the house.

  CHAPTER 11

  Nick and Ruth pulled up outside a small block of council flats in Crossley Park. Ruth was hungover from the night before. The physical symptoms of a slight headache she could deal with. It was the emotional hangover of what had happened between her and Sian that was far more difficult. It had destabilised her too. Sian was still going to Swansea and nothing had changed.

  As Ruth went to open the car door to get out, two teenage boys on bikes whizzed past on the pavement. One of them spat on the ground by the car, and then slowed to grin at her, as if daring her to say something.

  ‘Welcome to Crossley Park,’ Nick said sardonically.

  They had the full address of where Sam McEwan, Callum Roper’s mother, lived and were there to get any more information on Callum’s life. Ruth knew that uniformed officers had visited Sam the night before to break the news of Callum’s death, but she assumed she would still be in shock.

  Ruth and Nick made their way to the front entrance of the flats and buzzed for No. 4.

  ‘Yeah?’ said Sam’s voice over the intercom.

  ‘Miss McEwan. We’re detectives from Llancastell CID. We’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s okay?’

  The buzzer sounded and Ruth and Nick went in and up the stairs. The stairwell was dirty and smelled of weed.

  At the top of the stairs, Sam McEwan was standing in the doorway, waiting for them. She was small, very skinny, and her hair needed a wash. She wrapped her arms around herself defensively as she waited.

  ‘Miss McEwan?’ Ruth asked as she flashed her warrant card.

  Sam nodded and went back inside. Ruth and Nick followed her.

  Describing the flat as a mess would have been an understatement. Ruth and Nick stepped carefully over clothes and rubbish as they made their way to the sitting room.

  The space was drab with a worn grey carpet and dirty orange curtains. A 55-inch television dominated the room, and a small table in the centre was covered in empty beer cans, a full ashtray, a crack pipe, and a lighter.