A Cold Cold Heart

by John Nicholl

  ‘What’s happening, have you finished with it?’

  Turner shoved one gate closed, followed by the second. ‘I need these chained up before we talk. Now! Get it done.’

  ‘Okay, keep your hair on, where’s the fire?’

  Turner threw his arms in the air. ‘Just get on with it, man.’

  ‘I’m doing it. I’m fucking doing it.’

  ‘Have you had the police here?’

  ‘Not for weeks. Should I expect them?’

  Turner walked towards Roberts. ‘If they call, you don’t mention me. You’re a client, and that’s all you are. I’ve never been to the yard. Remember what I know about you, Graham. I could put you away for a very long time. You say nothing.’

  Roberts secured the padlock and returned the key to his pocket. ‘I don’t know what the fuck this is about, and I don’t want to know. If you want to keep the van, you can keep it; if you don’t, just say so. There’s no need for threats, no need for explanations. I’m no grass. The police are no friends of mine.’

  The two men walked towards the van, the solicitor taking the lead. ‘I need you to change the plates.’

  ‘What, again?’

  Turner closed the distance between them. ‘I hope you’re not going to say that’s a problem. That wouldn’t be a good idea.’

  ‘Did I say it was?’

  ‘And what about putting a logo on the sides? Something that stands out; something obvious. Something consistent with whatever plates you use.’

  ‘What sort of thing are you talking about?’

  ‘Anything that changes the damned thing’s appearance. Is that too difficult to understand? I would have thought it was obvious. The police are looking for a white van, not a white van with branding. Change the plates, change the way it looks, and I’m good to go.’

  Roberts nodded. ‘If I do this, we’re good, yeah? We’re quits, no more favours.’

  ‘How long will it take you?’

  Roberts’ face dropped. ‘Does it have to be tonight? I’m meeting some mates for a few pints and a game of darts.’

  Turner reached out and grabbed the front of his overalls. ‘Do it while I wait, and we’re done. I won’t ask you for anything else.’

  ‘Okay, okay, you’ve got a deal. I can stencil something on. It’s not an issue.’

  The solicitor’s relief was almost tangible. ‘How long are we talking?’

  ‘Go into the office, make yourself a cup of tea. Give me an hour, and you can be on your way. It won’t be completely dry, but that shouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘And you say nothing to anyone. Not a fucking word.’

  ‘Relax, Mr Turner. My lips are sealed.’

  26

  Emily slammed the front door and stormed into the house to find Grav slumped in an armchair with a bottle of Irish whiskey next to him. ‘The bastard stood me up. After everything he said, he stood me up. I was standing outside that cinema, in the cold, like a total frigging plonker. And he’s not even answering his phone, the damn thing just rings and rings before going to messages. If he thinks he can soft soap me again after this, he’s very sadly mistaken. That is bloody well it. He’s had it. I may never trust a man again.’

  Grav waited patiently for her to finish her rant before looking up and draining his glass. ‘Sit down, love. There’s something I need to tell you.’

  Emily’s eyes narrowed. ‘Has the wanker changed his mind about getting back with me? Has he told you? He’d better not have, for his sake.’

  Grav shook his head. ‘It’s nothing like that, love. Come on, sit yourself down, and I’ll explain everything.’

  Emily stared at her father, acutely aware that something was horribly wrong, and unsure she wanted to find out what. ‘Is he ill?’

  Grav poured a generous tot of whiskey and handed her the glass. ‘No, he’s not ill.’

  She flopped into an armchair and sipped the malty spirit, wincing as it burned her throat. ‘What is it, then? He hasn’t had an accident, has he?’

  Grav reached out and put a supportive hand on her shoulder. ‘Richard’s dead, love. He was hit by a van when he was on his way to meet you. I’m so sorry.’

  Emily began crying. ‘How? What happened?’

  Grav poured himself another drink. ‘There’s no way of making this any easier for you to hear; the driver didn’t stop. Hit and run.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Do you want me to spell it out for you?’

  Emily thought about it for a few seconds and decided she needed to know everything. ‘Yes, I do. I have to know.’

  ‘Richard was hit by a van when he was crossing the road near to the River View roundabout. Witnesses say the driver appeared to speed up, rather than slow down, as he approached him. He never stood a chance. The driver only braked after he’d hit him. By the time the paramedics got there, there was nothing they could do. Richard had a fractured skull; he’d lost a lot of blood. He was already dead.’

  ‘Someone just ran him down in the middle of the street? Why would anyone do that?’

  ‘Beats me, love. The driver was either pissed out of his mind, off his head on drugs, or it was deliberate. Maybe Richard screwed the wrong woman. An ex -army guy, who happened to be walking past at the time, said he was certain Richard was run down intentionally. He didn’t have any doubt in his mind.’

  ‘Did he see the driver?’

  ‘He said it was a man driving, but that’s it. He only saw him for a fraction of a second in the dark. But we’ll get the bastard. You can count on it.’

  ‘Who’s in charge of the investigation?’

  ‘One of the uniform lads is heading it up, Raymond Rees, Traffic. I think you met him once at that leaving do you came to.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember. He seemed okay.’

  ‘I had a chat with him on the phone just before you came in. We’ve got the van’s index number. Every available officer is looking for it; it’s high priority, no expense spared.’

  ‘Whose van is it?’

  ‘It’s registered to a building firm in the Croxteth area of Liverpool. Did Richard have any dealings with anyone in that part of the country?’

  ‘He was in computers, Dad. Why would he have anything to do with a building firm, hundreds of miles away?’

  ‘The local police say the bloke running the company has got a history of dealing various drugs. Was Richard using? Is there any possibility? That may make sense of things.’

  Emily shook her head frantically. ‘No, no way. He was a fitness freak. You know that as well as I do. He only ever had a beer, maybe two, on special occasions, nothing more.’

  ‘What about steroids? A lot of lads are using that shit these days.’

  ‘Not a chance. One of his mates had a heart attack at twenty three. He was dead against them. He used to say that steroid users were addicts, like any others.’

  ‘Friends and relatives are sometimes the last to know. Had you noticed aggression, anxiety, mood swings, anything like that?’

  Her eyes flared. ‘No, Dad, no.’

  ‘Okay, love, I had to ask.’

  Emily’s face dropped again. ‘Oh, God, do his mum and dad know? He’s their only son. It’ll break their hearts.’

  ‘They’ve been told. South Wales Police took care of it.’

  ‘We should go and see them. We should pay our respects.’

  ‘Finish your drink, love. I’ve tried ringing the house; their phone’s off the hook. They’re probably on their way to identify the body. Let’s give them some space and ring them in the morning. That’s probably best. They know where we are if they need us.’

  Emily pushed her glass aside and held her face in her hands. ‘What the hell’s going on, Dad? Some maniac’s killing young girls – girls like me – and now this. If it wasn’t for you and Charles, I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t know how much more I can take.’

  27

  Grav sat opposite Kesey in the quiet Caerystwyth Rugby Club bar an
d drained his fourth pint of best bitter. ‘That’s where things get strange, Laura. The van in question was in a secure compound in Liverpool after a clamping. There’s no way it could have been in our part of the world at the time of the incident.’

  DS Kesey sipped her shandy and placed the glass back on a sodden beermat. ‘Have we definitely got the correct index number?’

  ‘Yeah, one of the witnesses made a note of it as it sped away. Our local van had false plates. There’s no doubt: they’ve been cloned.’

  ‘What the hell’s that about?’

  Grav stood. ‘Beats me, love. I’m guessing Richard was involved in something dodgy we don’t know about yet. But that’s just a theory. Do you fancy another?’

  ‘I’ll have a coffee, please, milk no sugar.’

  He approached the bar, ordered, and returned to his seat with a coffee in one hand and another pint in the other. ‘There you go, love. And I’ve ordered us a couple of pasties to be getting on with.’

  Kesey stirred her coffee and tasted it. ‘How’s Emily coping?’

  ‘She’s doing all right, all considered. I think she’s trying to stay strong for the funeral.’

  ‘Good for her.’

  Grav half emptied his glass, head back, Adam’s apple protruding slightly in his fleshy throat. ‘What about you, how are things? It can’t be easy.’

  ‘We’ve decided to try again. We both want kids, so, why not?’

  ‘That’s the spirit, stay positive. What’s the alternative?’

  Kesey nodded. ‘My GP wanted to give me antidepressants, like grieving is some sort of illness.’

  ‘You’re not taking them, are you?’

  ‘No, the kick -boxing helps. It takes my mind off everything else for as long as I’m there.’

  ‘Makes sense. I tend to rely on alcohol when I need to take the edge off.’

  ‘Yeah, I noticed.’

  Grav smiled, as Liz, the shapely, platinum-blonde, middle -aged barmaid sauntered over with a plate in each hand. ‘There you go, two Michelin star meals for my esteemed customers.’

  ‘Thanks, love. Have you got any brown sauce?’

  Liz walked away with an exaggerated sway of her hips. ‘It’s on the bar, Grav, same place as it always is.’

  ‘Chuck it over, love, the old knees are playing up.’

  She threw it underarm and grinned as he caught it one -handed. ‘You’ll be playing full- back for the first team if the coach sees you doing that.’

  The two officers were in the process of tucking into their warm and unappetising fare when the phone behind the bar rang. ‘It’s for you, Grav, a PC Gaynor Evans. She says it’s urgent.’

  He crossed the room and held the phone to his face. ’What can I do for you, love? I was just about to eat my lunch.’

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir. Another body’s been found on the beach near Llansteffan.’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, not another one.’

  ‘I’m there now. She’s in one hell of a state. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Where are you, exactly?’

  ‘Scotts Bay, on the beach about a hundred yards to the far side of the house.’

  ‘Which house are you talking about?’

  ‘There’s only the one. It’s a large detached place, set back from the beach. You can’t miss it.’

  ‘Is there anyone else about?’

  ‘No, the place is deserted at this time of year. She could have been here for days before being discovered.’

  ‘All right, love. Stay exactly where you are, the cavalry’s on its way. We’ll be with you in half an hour maximum.’

  28

  Grav led the way along the narrow seaside path, which ran through the woods below the imposing, early twelfth century, Norman castle, with Laura Kesey in close attendance. As they looked down on Scott’s Bay from their elevated position, they could clearly see PC Gaynor Evans standing a few metres from what had to be the corpse, laying on a raised area of rocky ground surrounded by sand.

  The constable waved as they descended the steps towards the wide, windswept estuary beach. ‘Hello, sir, Laura. She’s over here.’

  Grav stopped on the bottom step, allowing the stone wall to support his weight. ‘Stay where you are, love. We’ll come to you. The less we disturb the scene, the better.’

  Evans nodded in response as the two detectives scanned the beach with keen eyes, evaluating the scene and picturing events as they unfolded in their minds. There were three sets of footprints in all: PC Evans’, which led directly to the body; a second set of larger, deeper prints which followed a similar line; and finally, a third set of large prints, with longer strides, which ran along the top of the beach, then suddenly deviated towards the victim’s body at an approximate forty- five degree angle.

  Grav stepped on to the beach, turned to his DS, and pointed towards the larger and significantly deeper prints that began just beyond the steps. ‘The bastard must have carried her from here. It’s the only viable explanation. Nothing else makes any sense.’

  Kesey nodded as they walked towards the waiting constable, careful not to disturb the evidence even slightly. ‘Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. Maybe she was already dead when he brought her here.’

  ‘Yeah, or drugged. That wouldn't surprise me. Let’s see what the blood tests tell us once Sheila’s had a look at her. It shouldn’t be more than a couple of days before we get the results back.’

  ‘It’s a hell of a long way to carry a dead weight.’

  ‘I’m guessing the location means something to him. It’s got some sort of significance; he obviously thought it was worth the effort.’

  ‘He’s got to be young and strong.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s looking that way. I wouldn’t fancy trying it.’

  Grav acknowledged the uniformed officer with a flicker of a smile as the two detectives approached the body for the first time. ‘All right, love. Let’s see her. Thank fuck the tides out.’

  Gaynor Evans raised the collar of her coat as the temperature began to bite. ‘She’s above the tideline, but yeah, I know what you’re saying. All it would take is a high wind. I’ve seen the entire area under water before now.’

  ‘Do you come here often?’

  ‘I do a bit of sailing with my husband and the kids in the summer months when the weather’s good.’

  Grav took a pair of thin, blue rubber gloves from his coat pocket. ‘Who found her?’

  ‘A local lad who’s training for the Royal Marines rang it in.’

  ‘What, was he out running or something?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it. He likes to make full use of the wild terrain.’

  Grav reached out and pointed. ‘So those are his prints?’

  ‘Yeah. He was focused on his running and spotted her when he looked up from the ground. He thought she must have been washed up on the rocks, but that makes no sense, given her position. Someone put her here.’

  ‘Do you know him?’

  The constable nodded her confirmation. ‘Yeah, he’s only a kid, nineteen; I know the family. His mum’s a teacher at my daughter’s primary school.’

  ‘Any history of violence?’

  ‘No, not at all. They’re a nice family, and he’s a good lad.’

  ‘Scenes of crime officers are on their way. Give them a ring, Laura, and hurry them up a bit; let’s get them down here with a camera before the doctor arrives.’

  The DS turned her back to the wind and pressed her phone to her ear as Grav examined the victim. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, look at the state of her.’

  PC Evans stood and stared as Grav reached up and moved Zoe’s head an inch or two to examine her wounds more closely. ‘Do you think a dog’s had a go at her, sir? I don’t know what else could have caused those injuries.’

  Grav took his reading glasses from the inside pocket of his padded coat. ‘They’re bites all right, but not an animal’s. I know human teeth marks when I see them. The bastard’s violence is escalating. Half
her fucking face is missing.’

  Evans gagged. ‘And her throat’s been crushed. You can see the bruising.’

  Grav lowered his arms, stiff and cold, and glad to look away. ‘Have you had a look round for any potential evidence?’

  ‘I have, but there’s nothing to see other than the footprints.’

  ‘Nothing at all?’

  ‘Not that I could find.’

  Grav stretched to relieve his aching lower back, as Kesey ended her call and approached him. ‘They’re nearly here, boss. Another ten minutes, at most.’

  ‘About bleeding time. It’s fucking freezing.’

  Kesey nodded. ‘Yeah, and I thought the sun always shone in Wales.’

  Grav laughed, glad that the mood had been lightened. ‘You head off, Gaynor. We’ll sort things out from here.’

  ‘Thanks, sir. I could do with warming up.’

  ‘Write a statement as soon as you get back to the station, yeah. Just the basic facts, nothing more. I’ll have a look at it in the morning.’

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  Kesey rubbed her hands together to warm them. ‘Am I right in thinking you can get DNA from saliva? I’m sure I read it somewhere.’

  ‘Yeah, of course you can. There could be sufficient cells in her wounds to produce a viable sample, although the weather’s not doing us any favours.’

  ‘Is it worth me putting plastic bags over her head and hands?’

  ‘Yeah, go for it. It’s probably too late, but you never know your luck.’

  Kesey started with the head, keen to get it over with as soon as possible, while Grav watched her, spitting, ‘The man’s a fucking animal, worse than an animal. She’s just a kid, early twenties at most.’

  Kesey moved away from the head and on to the first hand. ‘They all were, boss. She meets his victim profile perfectly: same hairstyle, similar shoes, similar dress, and the hint of lavender oil in the air, despite the rain. He must have soaked her in the stuff.’

  ‘Yeah, but his methods have changed. The bastard’s losing control, Laura. He’s not thinking straight. Posing her on the beach was stupid – there’s footprints all over the place. And there’s a chance of DNA, however slight. It’s not a lot to go on, but it’s better than nothing.’