Worse Than Dead

by Stephen Puleston

  * * *

  ‘I don’t think it’s one of the passengers,’ Caren said.

  Drake pulled the door of the lounge closed, knowing he’d left behind a hundred disgruntled passengers. He’d tried to sound helpful but instead he’d come across as vague. As he strode towards the stairs, Caren kept in step.

  ‘Maybe not,’ Drake said. ‘But we can’t take that chance, can we?’

  They made their way down to the car deck, Drake unsure if he’d just said the right thing to placate the travellers. He certainly didn’t want any more dissent.

  ‘Make sure Seymour gets them enough to eat and drink,’ he said, as they reached the pneumatic entrance door to the car deck. Immediately he felt the rush of damp air on his face. He looked over towards the ramp and noticed the rain still sheeting down, driving water into the ship. He took a couple of paces and saw a team of officers swarming like ants over a lorry, the tarpaulin drawn open, exposing the boxes in the shipment. There were three men in the cab slowly dissecting the driver’s possessions and another half a dozen squeezing past crates. The driver stood by Winder, a resigned, bored look on his face.

  ‘How is the search going?’ Drake said, as he stood by Winder’s side, zipping the Barbour as high as he could.

  He shook his head. ‘We’re doing quite well. This is the tenth lorry,’ he added after consulting the list on the clipboard in his hand.

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Three is about the maximum number of officers that can work in any one cab.’

  ‘What about searching the actual cargo?’

  Winder blew out his cheeks. ‘Some of them are very easy. It’s the ones with the tarpaulin down each side that are the simplest. At least that way we can see all the cargo. A couple of the uniformed lads from the station in town scrounged torches from the customs department. Without them it would have been a nightmare.’

  ‘Have the crew been getting in your way?’

  ‘Something’s going on. Mortlake has been talking frantically into his mobile.’

  Drake crossed his arms and looked towards the office, but couldn’t see Mortlake or any of the other crew members. As the senior investigating officer, Drake was in charge. This was his crime scene and he would organise the investigation as he wanted.

  ‘So how long is it going to take us to finish all the lorries and the cars?’

  ‘Hours, sir.’

  ‘And if we had more manpower?’

  ‘Might help.’

  The team had finished on the lorry in front of Drake and Caren. The driver dropped the tarpaulin and fastened the tabs before jumping into the cab and starting the engine. Drake waved a hand in front of his face as fumes filled the air. Then the driver slowly pulled away towards the ramp and out into the rain.

  Drake hadn’t noticed Mortlake approaching until he was standing right by his side, his jaw jutting out, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his fluorescent jacket.

  ‘I need a word, Inspector.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Not here. In the office. Follow me.’

  Drake nodded briefly to Caren, noticing the reassuring expression on her face.

  Mortlake slammed the door closed behind Drake. He seemed to draw himself up, swirl his head back in a movement Drake had seen in men about to head-butt someone and then he drew his tongue over his lips. ‘How long is this fiasco going to take?’

  Normally, Drake would have made an attempt at being courteous but he had taken an instant dislike to Mortlake, a dislike that was clouding his judgement.

  ‘This is a crime scene.’

  ‘I bloody well know that.’

  ‘And I’m the senior investigating officer.’

  ‘And I know that too – you keep reminding me.’

  ‘It’s going to take as long as it takes.’

  ‘I don’t know what you think you’re going to find. But it’s totally over the top to insist on searching every single lorry and car like this.’

  Mortlake had a finger pointed at Drake. ‘This company employs a lot of people in this town. We’ve got some important connections. You can’t just close the ferry service down.’

  ‘As this is a crime scene, I can do what I want.’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’

  Before Drake could say anything further, the door behind Mortlake opened and Superintendent Price walked in. Drake’s initial surprise gave way to an uneasy feeling that he wasn’t in control of events.

  ‘Ian.’ Price acknowledged Drake before turning to Mortlake. ‘I want to discuss the investigation with Inspector Drake.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Mortlake managed a brief, snide look at Drake as he left.

  ‘He’s been really obstructive, sir,’ Drake said.

  ‘Bring me up to date.’

  ‘There’s a laptop and an iPhone missing from Rosen’s cabin.’

  ‘And you’re searching every vehicle?’

  ‘Have to, sir.’ Drake widened his stance. ‘And they didn’t even tell me about the CCTV camera until I came into this office. If we don’t find this bloody laptop we’ll have to search the entire vessel.’

  Price nodded slowly, a look of resignation on his face, acknowledging that Drake was right. ‘Let’s get the passengers off as soon as we can.’

  ‘There’s a murderer amongst them or the crew.’

  ‘Probably not the passengers.’

  ‘We can’t be certain. We have to check everybody.’

  Price folded his arms.

  ‘Mortlake was able to get the MD of the ferry company to call the Chief Constable in Cardiff. Banging on about the company’s margins and how important it was for the ship to sail.’

  ‘We’ve got a murder investigation,’ Drake said, measuring every word.

  ‘For Christ’s sake Ian, don’t you think the Chief Constable knows that? I’ve got two dozen off-duty officers coming in the next half an hour to assist. We need to get the passengers off first.’

  Drake linked the fingers of his hands together and rested them on the top of his head. ‘We know where the murderer is: he’s on the ship. Once we let everybody go, they could be taking valuable evidence with them.’

  ‘I know you’re not happy, but there’s nothing more we can do. Get all the passengers and crew photographed, logged, all their details taken. Maybe then we can get Mortlake out of our hair.’

  When they left the office a stream of policemen in high-visibility jackets walked down the ramp past Mortlake, nodding acknowledgments to Price and then to Drake. Price breezed past them, heading for the ramp where he stood talking with Mortlake for a couple of minutes before leaving.

  Drake spent the next three hours crouching over officers who were rifling through passengers’ suitcases, children’s rucksacks, double-checking everything. He stared at every passenger and lorry driver, wanting to memorise their faces and clothes and belongings, convincing himself that, this way, he might not miss something important. As the last of the vehicles left the ferry, Caren walked up to Drake.

  ‘Waste of time, sir.’

  ‘We didn’t have a choice.’

  Drake noticed that the rain had stopped. It was the first time he’d looked outside for several hours.

  ‘I suppose we need to check out the crew?’ Caren asked.

  Drake nodded as his stomach reminded him that a doughnut was not really adequate sustenance. ‘I need something to eat.’

  The table in the cafeteria was sticky as Drake ran his finger over the surface. He opted for a bottle of water and ate a single ham sandwich whose sell-by date had just past, feeling his appetite disappearing as he watched Caren vacuuming up a plateful of stale chips. He looked round the cafe area for a newspaper, hoping that he’d find a sudoku to solve. He only needed to solve a couple of squares. Enough to make him feel in control. Caren paused briefly and looked at him as he checked the tables without success.

  Howick and Winder joined them at the table before finalising the day’s work. The crew member
s had been logged and told to expect a visit for a formal interview. A little before midnight Drake found himself on the quayside staring at the ship, wondering which of the faces that he had stared at today, spoken to in the lounge, or seen photographed was actually that of a killer.

  Chapter 5

  Overnight the rain clouds had disappeared and the early spring sunshine streamed into the car as Caren drove through the tunnels along the A55, the main trunk road that stretched along the North Wales coast. Drake sat by her side, a folded newspaper on his lap face-up at the sudoku page. He turned a pencil slowly through his fingers.

  As they approached the bridge over the Menai Strait Drake looked up, stopped fidgeting with the pencil and stared out of the window. It was the same every time he had to cross the bridge, memories flooding back, recriminations swirling and, more than anything, guilt as he thought about the deaths he might have prevented. A difficult case, a year previously, had hit him hard but the counselling the Wales Police Service had insisted he needed still nagged at the back of his mind. Soon they were onto the island and Drake focused on the task ahead: they had a widow to see, condolences to offer.

  Another thirty minutes passed as Caren wound her way through the country lanes towards the cottage Janet Rosen had shared with her husband. Caren slowed as she neared the property: its windows were small, the outside walls shaped from large boulders. Small wooden windows had been neatly painted a brilliant white to match the exterior. Drake had often seen cottages like this, their uneven roofs covered with slurry to delay further decay, but Janet’s cottage had a gleaming slate roof that looked clean and newly rain-washed.

  Drake was surprised to see a marked police car parked by the low stone wall surrounding the cottage. Caren parked next to a log store, full to the brim with neatly chopped pieces of timber. A woman Drake assumed to be Janet Rosen stood by the back door next to a uniformed officer who was speaking into his mobile. When he saw Drake he finished the call and walked over towards him.

  ‘Constable Iwan Morris,’ he said. ‘Good morning, sir. There’s been a break-in.’

  ‘When?’ Drake said.

  ‘Last night. Mrs Rosen was staying with her brother. She got back first thing this morning. She called 999 once she discovered the break-in. She told me you’d called her last night to arrange to see her this morning.’

  ‘CSIs?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be too long.’

  Janet had her arms folded when Drake walked towards her and he could see her pale complexion and her eyes swollen and pink.

  ‘Detective Inspector Drake and Sergeant Waits,’ Drake said. ‘My condolences, I am very sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Has this break-in got anything to do with Frank’s death?’ Janet said.

  ‘It’s far too early to tell. Have you been into the house?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Is there anything obviously missing?’

  ‘His computer and the television and the stereo. He had one of those fancy touch-screen computers in the study at the back of the house.’

  ‘We want to have a preliminary discussion. Let’s sit in the car,’ Drake said.

  Caren sat in the rear seat behind Drake, who’d swivelled around to face Janet in the passenger seat.

  ‘Can you think of anyone who might want to kill your husband?’ Drake said.

  ‘The officer yesterday asked the same thing.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s painful.’

  Janet looked older than Drake had expected: he reckoned she must be nearer fifty than her late husband had been. The lines around her eyes and grey bags didn’t help. Turning away from Drake, she peered out of the window.

  ‘Frank and I were having difficulties. Arguing, not seeing eye to eye.’

  ‘What was the reason?’

  ‘He was never here; he worked a week on, a week off and during the time he was off I never saw him. I thought he was having an affair with one of the girls on the ferry.’

  ‘Did you confront him?’

  ‘We argued a lot.’

  ‘Did he have any financial problems?’

  She gave a noncommittal shrug before replying. ‘We had separate bank accounts.’

  ‘Did he have any enemies?’

  She gave Drake a sharp look. ‘What on earth to you mean?’

  Caren interjected before Drake could respond. ‘Somebody had a motive to kill Frank and anything that you can tell us about his background, his family, work, will all help. We need to build a picture of your late husband. Something that will enable us to understand more about him.’

  ‘I can’t think,’ Janet said.

  ‘There must be something, surely,’ Drake said.

  ‘How were things at work?’ Caren asked.

  ‘He’d just been promoted to chief engineer. He was delighted. It was always something he wanted.’

  ‘Did his promotion cause any ill feeling with the other engineers?’ Caren continued.

  Janet looked puzzled. ‘And you think one of them could have killed him?’

  ‘Janet, tell us if you know something about his colleagues.’

  ‘Well, I know it was between him and the other second engineer. Frank could be very determined and he really wanted the job.’

  ‘What was his name?’ Drake asked.

  ‘Robert James.’

  ‘What about family?’

  ‘We didn’t have any children,’ Janet said, an edge of disappointment to her voice.

  A silence hung in the air for a moment.

  ‘Frank was an only child and his parents died a few years ago. It was their inheritance that meant we could buy the cottage.’ Janet looked towards the house.

  ‘What about friends?’ Caren asked.

  ‘He spends a lot of his free time at the flying club.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The flying club at RAF Mona.’

  ‘Did you meet his friends there?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Did you have the names of his friends?’

  ‘All the details will be in his study.’

  A Scientific Support Vehicle pulled up and Drake saw the CSIs jump out and walk over to the young uniformed officer.

  ‘Ellis-Pugh,’ Janet said, loudly enough to break Drake’s concentration.

  He looked at her.

  ‘Ellis-Pugh is one of the officers of the flying club. Thinks he’s very important.’

  ‘Did Frank fly a lot?’ Caren said.

  ‘All the time,’ Janet replied wearily.

  ‘Is it an expensive hobby?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

  ‘How often did he fly?’

  A shadow fell on Drake’s window, followed by a brief tapping sound. He wound down the window. ‘Do you want to see inside, sir?’ Iwan Morris said.

  ‘In a minute.’

  Janet continued. ‘Most weekends when he wasn’t working. More often than that in the summer. Because he had a licence to fly at night, he was popular with some of the other members. What happens now?’

  ‘A family liaison officer will be calling later,’ Caren said, smiling at Janet.

  Janet just nodded.

  ‘The post mortem will take place this afternoon. If there’s anything further, then we’ll contact you.’ Drake was already out of the car before Janet could reply.

  He walked over to the door and stepped into the crime scene. Every drawer and cupboard in the kitchen had been opened and the contents strewn over worktops. He went through into the sitting room – cushions had been shredded and chairs upended. He heard the voices of the CSIs down a corridor and found them staring at the chaos in what must have been Rosen’s study, the books and CDs now in piles on the floor. He threaded his way back through the cottage and stood looking over at the car. There was an old dilapidated workshop and pigsty at the far end of the driveway, covered in slate waste. Caren had wound down the window and was still talking to Janet. Drake leant over and rested a hand on the sill of the car door.

  �
��Have you got anywhere to stay tonight?’ he asked Janet.

  ‘My brother and sister-in-law. That’s where I was staying last night.’

  ‘The house is a mess.’

  ‘How long will they be?’

  Drake straightened. ‘Hard to say. All day at a guess.’

  ‘Anything in the sheds?’ Drake looked over at a door hanging off its hinges.

  ‘Of course,’ Janet said. ‘I should have remembered. Frank had a box he kept hidden. It had his mother’s jewellery and a watch his father bought in Germany after the war. He was afraid of losing them in a burglary.’

  Janet got out of the car and strode towards the door. Drake and Caren followed. Their footsteps made a crunching sound, reminding Drake of his parents’ smallholding and how reassuring the noise could be. He hadn’t spoken to his father for a couple of days and with the course of treatment for his father’s cancer coming to an end, Drake’s mind felt heavy with possibilities.

  Janet led the way around the rear of the building and through an open doorway to a small passage that eventually opened into a working area, full of old rusting tools, and a pile of timber shaving under a saw-horse.

  ‘It’s over here.’ Janet squeezed through a small gap.

  Beyond was a dark room with a large old fireplace in once corner. She knelt down and reached up into the breasting, struggling at first, but then she pulled her hand down and looked at the small metal container. Drake stepped over towards her as she opened the top.

  There was an old Rolex watch, a gold chain and jewellery. But lying on top of some old, pristine one-pound notes was a data stick. Drake lifted it out carefully.

  ‘I wonder what’s on this?’

  * * *

  Ron Flanagan from the forensics department was waiting in reception when Drake and Caren arrived at headquarters. The excited look on his face matched the enthusiasm in his voice when Drake had warned him he had a data stick that he needed to access. Flanagan held the device tightly as he headed for his office.

  Drake fished out his mobile and dialled the forensic team that was still conducting the search of the vessel, hoping he wouldn’t have to spend another afternoon on the ship. Mike Foulds answered after one ring.