Blood Lost

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  “What were your thoughts when you saw the blood in the lounge?”

  “I freaked. I mean, it doesn’t look good, does it? All the worst-case scenarios ran through my head. I’m hoping for the best, but worrying it’s the worst.” He lowered his head, his hands pulling at his hair. “God, help them.”

  “Are your family well-liked in the area?”

  “Yes.” He brought his head back up, frowning at her.

  “Issues with anyone? A neighbour, perhaps?”

  “There is something you might look into.”

  “Go on.”

  “A court case, three years ago. My family were in a land dispute with Lloyd Owen. He’s a local farmer. His land is next door to my dad’s small-holding, and he’d been putting up boundary fences two feet into our land. He pulled a shotgun on dad when he challenged him about it. They had a huge row and Lloyd threatened to blow his head off. The case was in court. My dad won.”

  “Were there difficulties after that?”

  “After the trial?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dad said Lloyd shouted stuff as my family passed on the lane, but he’s often the worse for wear, if you know what I mean, and dad said they ignored him.”

  “The worse for wear meaning drunk?”

  Max nodded. “Likes his whiskey, does ole Lloyd.”

  “Did your dad mention if they had any other reason to fear Lloyd Owen? Did he ever pull a gun, again?”

  “No. At least, if he did, they didn’t tell me.”

  Yvonne shifted in her seat, easing the ache developing in her thigh. “Max, do you still have the photographs you took at Avebury?”

  “I do. They’re on my laptop.”

  “We may ask for your camera and the laptop, at some point, so I would ask you not to delete the photos.”

  “No problem, I’ve got them all backed up. The exif data can confirm when and where I took them.”

  “And the rest of your family? Was everything all right between your mother and father before they disappeared?”

  “Yes, as far as I'm aware. Well, I mean, they had arguments, just like any married couple. But none that were violent. They love each other. They may not always remember to show it, but they really love each other.”

  “What about Will? Did Will get on with them?”

  Max rubbed his forehead. “Will’s had his difficulties. He has episodes of poor mental health and has had a lot of input from the CAMHS team.”

  “That’s the Child and Adolescent Mental Health team?”

  Max nodded. “And social Services. He’s a good kid, but he had behavioural problems in his early years in school and he’s experimented with drugs, on and off, over the last few years. I think the various agencies feel that his use of drugs has contributed to his poor mental health, but I remember him having problems long before he tried that stuff.”

  “Is he medicated?”

  “He has meds for paranoia and takes anti-psychotics. As far as I know, he doesn’t use hard drugs, anymore, but he uses cannabis, occasionally. Self-medication, he calls it. The mental health team have stopped his other medication, in the past, because of illicit drug use, and the risk of an overdose.”

  "Has he been violent with family during any of the episodes?"

  Max stared at the floor and sighed. “There have been incidents… He’s smashed his room up a few times, when he was younger. He’d break his stuff and then spends hours crying about it and wishing he hadn’t.”

  “Did he smash things up in school? Was that the behavioural problems you referred to?”

  “They excluded him for two weeks, once, for fighting. He broke a kid’s nose and stabbed another one with a pencil.”

  “Unprovoked?”

  “No, kids bullied Will in school. Not all the time, but he’d go through periods when they’d target him. It was always when he was suffering poor mental health and psychotic episodes. That's when he stood out.”

  “But he’d get better?”

  “When his meds worked, he’d improve for a while, but if he got angry or frustrated with a situation, the first thing he’d do is stop taking his medication. Then he would go downhill fast. He’s been better in recent years. More stable. He only takes medication now if he shows signs of relapse.”

  “Did he require medication over the last few weeks?”

  Max shook his head. “You’d have to ask his mental health nurse. What I can tell you, is that neither mum nor dad mentioned his needed it.”

  “Would they discuss it with you, when he did?”

  “Mum would, yeah. She rang me often to find out how I was doing. But, if Will concerned her, she would always discuss it with me. Sometimes, if he was being difficult, she’d ask me to speak with him and, if he needed medication and was refusing to take it, ask if I'd get him to. If he wasn’t talking to mum and dad, he would talk to me.”

  “Did he ever hurt your mum and dad? Do you think him capable of hurting your mum and dad?”

  “Will has had shouting matches with my dad, but he never laid a finger on him. And dad would never have hurt Will. Even their arguments, they’d sort out within a day or two. They'd sit and talk, given time. I can’t rule it out, but I doubt Will hurt them.”

  “Thank you. Do you have anything else, you think relevant?”

  Max shook his head. “Nothing I can think of, Inspector.”

  She handed him a card. “If you think of anything else, you can ring 101 or you can ring my mobile. Thank you for your time, Max.”

  “Please find my family.”

  “We’ll do our best.”

  Callum stubbed out his third cigarette. “Was he helpful?” he asked, opening the car door for his DI.

  Yvonne nodded. “When you get back, could you dig out any records we have on Lloyd Owen, the farmer at Hodley, and put in an urgent request to the CPS regarding threats to kill and a land dispute between him and Michael Harries? The courts may have stuff, too. It seems he had a large axe to grind, with the Harries family. He threatened Michael with a shotgun. We should have something on it.”

  “Will do, ma’am.”

  ❖

  Yvonne spread the file on the desk and cast her eyes over the contents. A survey map, boundary maps, exclusion zones and reams of testimony comprised the evidence of a dispute that spanned nearly seven years.

  She shook her head. “All this, over two feet?”

  Dewi pulled up a chair next to her. “Sure, but two feet spread along fifteen acres is sizeable grazing land.”

  “Looks like the dispute began when Matthew Harries removed hedgerows from adjoining land.”

  “That’s right. The area in dispute used to be under the boundary hedges between the two properties. Michael Harries won his case years ago, but Lloyd Owen appealed the decision, twice. And the second hearing also included a stretch that had begun as common land, but an earlier owner of Harries’s small-holding had appropriated it. I remember the case being in the papers. It was messy.”

  The DI tapped her chin with her pen. “There followed many intimidation incidents over the years, half of it aimed at Mrs Harries.”

  “Hence, the exclusion zone.”

  “But the final court hearing was two years ago. If whatever happened to the family involved Lloyd Owen why wait until now? To lessen suspicion?”

  “As good a reason as any…”

  “Mm…” Yvonne leaned back. “Let’s get Lloyd’s version. I think he'll be a very interesting gentleman.”

  4

  A farmer’s wrath

  Lloyd Owen approached them on his tractor, the wheels kicking up the dirt as though in protest at their presence.

  For one spine-chilling moment, she feared he would mow them down and swallowed hard, gripping the cane in case she might need it.

  He stopped just feet from them, panting as he took his time stepping down from the cab.

  “Thank you for agreeing to speak to us,” the DI began. “We realise it’s a busy time for you.”
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br />   “Since when has that ever stopped your lot?” He scowled at her, pushing his tweed cap back on his head.

  Yvonne took in his worn corduroys, leather waistcoat and shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His skin appeared wind-worn and flaky, the stubble reminding her of the straw stumps that littered the field they were standing in.

  The DI ignored his last remark. “Myself and DS Hughes are here to talk to you about the Harries family. We-”

  “What you raking that up for? That was all over years ago.” He took a step forward as though contemplating violence.

  Yvonne stepped back, her knuckles white, where she gripped her cane. “We are not here about the land dispute, Mr Owen. We’re here because the Harries family are missing.”

  He blinked at her, a frown creasing his forehead. “What do you mean, missing?”

  “Their eldest son came home to find them gone, and there were signs that suggested there may have been foul-play.”

  He suppressed a smile. “Probably pissed off someone else. People like them always do. Think they know it all.” He turned back to his tractor.

  “Er, where do you think you’re going?” Dewi asked, hands in his pockets.

  “Well, I know nothing about foul-play on the Harries’s, so I can’t be of any help. And I’ve got work to do.” He placed his foot on the step of his tractor.

  “I appreciate that, Mr Owen.” Yvonne limped forward. “You’re on record for threatening Michael Harries with a shotgun.”

  He swung round. “And, what of it? He was on my land.”

  “So, you pointed a loaded weapon at his chest?”

  His face flushed as he spat the words, “I’d spent all day knocking in posts along the ridgeway. All day. He knocked them out again. Every single one. With a great big bloody mallet. I might have aimed my shotgun at him, but he still had the mallet in his hands and I wasn’t taking any chances. He was mad-as-hell.”

  “They convicted you of shotgun offences.”

  “That’s because there’s no justice.” He folded his arms.

  “Do you have a gun, now?”

  “Course not.” He puffed his cheeks out. “You lot took away my bloody licence. I got foxes running amok and rabbits wrecking my crops and I can’t do a thing about it, unless I pay someone to come out here and shoot them for me.”

  “According to court records, you knocked your posts into Michael Harries’s land. That’s why he knocked them out again.”

  “He wasn’t using the land. It was under the hedge for decades. It’s not as though he was losing anything. But, oh no, suddenly that couple of feet became a big thing. He didn’t care about the land. He only cared about the principle, and what was on his deeds. Me and my family have worked this land for centuries. Time was, all this was ours. He flailed his arms. My grandfather sold that land when he was going through a rough patch. Michael Harries wouldn’t know the first thing about farming. He calls his place a small-holding. Well, the animals he’s got are just pets. A few chickens, ducks and four goats. That’s not a small-holding. What did he want the extra land for?”

  Yvonne realised that she was on a road to nothing with her line of questioning. “When was the last time you saw any of the family?”

  “I dunno.” He shook his head. “Weeks ago, I was walking down the lane and Michael and his son passed me in their pickup.”

  “You didn’t see them, at all, last weekend?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about others? Did you see anyone else around their home? Strange vehicles hanging about? Anything at all you thought unusual?”

  “I mind my own business, Inspector.”

  The DI pursed her lips. “I’ll bet you do… Well, if you think of anything else, or you see anything unusual, over the next few weeks, please call us.”

  He scowled at her.

  “Thank you, Mr Owen. We will probably speak to you again.”

  “Tough cookie.” Dewi shook his head as they walked away. Behind them, the tractor started up again.

  Yvonne nodded. “He’s still carrying a lot of anger. If we end up searching his property, we should be careful. He says he hasn’t got a shotgun now, but we haven't confirmed that. I, personally, wouldn’t put anything past him.”

  “Right you are, ma’am.”

  5

  Melting pot

  The clunk and grating of machinery greeted Yvonne and Dewi as they entered the factory floor of Evans and Harries.

  The DI squinted as her eyes adjusted to the LED lighting.

  A man in a charcoal-grey, factory coat approached them, introducing himself as the foreman, Barry John. He shouted to get above the noise. “Do you want Clive? He’s popped out on a lunch break.”

  Yvonne estimated Barry to be mid-thirties, though he had extra lines on his forehead and around the eyes, perhaps because of dehydration. The factory was hot and dry; it scratched her throat.

  “That’s the manager, Clive Evans?”

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  “Can you tell us when he’ll be back?” Yvonne cast her eyes around the four other guys, who were busy working the machines and lifting moulds.

  “He’s due back any time now. You can wait for him in the office, if you like.” Barry led them up metal steps and into a large, glass room to the right of the factory floor.

  From inside, they could observe much of the workplace. Barry seated them next to a grey formica-covered desk, littered with papers and plans. A whiteboard, to their right, contained scribbled notes and drawings.

  “Clive shouldn’t be too long.” Barry placed his hands in his pockets. “I’d better get back to it. We’re on a deadline.”

  The DI was thankful for the relative quiet of the office. She tilted her head. “Before you go, Barry, can I ask you how Michael Harries was, when you last saw him?”

  “Michael? He was fine, quieter than usual, after the row he’d had with Clive earlier in the week.”

  “Row? What was the row about?”

  Barry shrugged. “I don’t know. Neither of them told me what it was about. Michael slammed the office door and stormed out. He came back an hour later, and they continued working as though nothing had happened. Well, except Michael was not saying much. I didn't worry then, but with hindsight...”

  “It sounds like something had upset him.”

  They heard footsteps coming up the steps. The office door opened. “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

  The newcomer wore a shirt, tie and blue jeans. His greying hair contained only an essence of its former colour though his face had few lines. The DI estimated him to be mid-forties.

  “Got stuck in traffic. I swear it gets worse instead of better.” He held out his hand, first to Dewi and then to Yvonne. “Clive Evans, I run this place with Michael.”

  Yvonne shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Evans.”

  “Clive, please?”

  “What do you do here, Clive?”

  “We make modular buildings. Or, at least, we make everything here to construct modular buildings. We put the panels together on site.”

  “How long have you had the business?”

  “Five years in total. We started from scratch. Lots of ideas, and little-to-no funding, but we’ve grown since then. We are a much bigger company.”

  Yvonne checked behind, but Barry had disappeared back to work. She returned to Clive. “How was Michael last week?”

  “We’re anxious about him, you understand.” Clive shook his head. “This just isn’t like him.”

  Yvonne repeated her question.

  “Surly, I would have said. He spoke little on Friday.”

  “Was that unusual?”

  “Yes, it was.” He wiped his hand across his forehead. “You need to understand that Michael can be quiet sometimes. He’s a deep thinker. He can be prickly and a stickler for detail, sure, but he was different on Friday.”

  “Did his mood alter after the row you had?”

  “Row?” He frowned.

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p; Yvonne nodded. “I understand you argued?”

  Clive looked over at the shop floor, pursing his lips. “We did, yeah.”

  “What was it about?”

  Clive sighed. “Michael wanted to invest in some blueprints from a German company.”

  “Blueprints for?”

  “They were for a different style of pod. He said it would be an excellent investment.”

  “And, you didn’t agree?”

  “The Germans were asking several million Euros for the plans and we’ve only been in profit for two years. We’re growing our margins, but I was hoping to have a healthy balance sheet to float the company next year.”

  “And the German deal would have scuppered those plans?”

  Clive rubbed his chin. “The deal would have left us heavily in debt. It was risky.”

  “Why did Clive want the plans?”

  “He liked offering more choice to customers and, at the same time have less competition. Michael thought it inevitable some customers would prefer the German model. He believed we’d be killing two birds with one stone.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him I thought it was a bad idea. It would risk not only our company and livelihoods but also theirs.” He nodded towards the workers on the shop floor. “They put their heart and soul into the work. They’ve stayed here until nearly midnight some nights to get orders out on time. Going into debt that heavily could have put their jobs on the line and I thought it an unnecessary risk. Our buildings sell well. I didn’t see the need to worry about competition from the German firm, especially with Brexit approaching.”

  “What happened when you told Michael that?”

  “He stormed out. Looked like he needed to cool off. He knew I wouldn't back down.”

  “Are you equal partners?”

  Clive nodded. “We invested the same amount on start-up. We had help from Business Wales and other local investors to put with what we had and we could buy all the machinery we needed. Michael was the brains behind the modular system, but I had the business savvy needed to get what we required to make it happen. We’ve been equal partners for the last five years.”