Worse Than Dead

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘Silverstone. We had a hospitality suite and some of the executives from the International Development Agency in Cardiff came along. We were able to get Jenson Button to attend – you know, press the flesh.’

  Beltrami pulled open the door and made another of the smiles that Drake had seen in all the photographs. Downstairs the young girl in the glass box didn’t look up as they passed, the room was still stifling and Drake was relieved when he saw that the Alfa was still in one piece and unscratched.

  * * *

  After returning to headquarters Drake spent the rest of the morning trying to fathom out what the codes could mean. There had to be logic to them. He wanted to think like Rosen. But not knowing him made it difficult to know how his mind worked. There had to be a reason for making the record. They were valuable enough to have been stored safely.

  06

  10

  8

  G

  N

  G

  LK

  WX

  D

  1589

  3985

  15146

  0630

  0524

  0218

  351

  1652

  2568

  The numbers at the top could be the months of the year, or days, but which months did they relate to? So he scribbled NUMBER on a notebook and then below it LETTER. There were two sets of letters and for a moment he considered whether he should add another section for the letters that Rosen had put into the third cell of his spreadsheet. Then he decided to print out the spreadsheet and waited as the printer hummed into life. Seeing the details on paper was different somehow.

  He laid the paper out on the desk and thought about the number combinations. It was like his sudoku but without the ground rules. There must be a pattern, though, and the meaning must be hiding behind the pattern. And, Drake was certain, these numbers had cost Rosen his life. Maybe Rosen had, after all, been blackmailing a member of the flying club. Drake could imagine that trips away for wealthy men could lead to indiscretions that they’d prefer to keep secret. But were they enough to kill for? And did Rosen have friends capable of murder?

  He looked again at the paper on his desk, as his mind ran down the list of the flying club members that read like a who’s who of North Wales. But they had to have some connection before they could make progress. The final sets of numbers troubled him. He experimented with putting the numbers together in the hope they might suggest a solution. He dismissed the notion that they could be telephone numbers. Then he thought they might be bank account numbers that Rosen had jumbled up for some reason, so Drake spent time building a spreadsheet from Rosen’s statements before deciding that Winder or Howick could finish the task the following week.

  He was doodling on the side of the paper when he recalled the comments from MC, that it was all about drugs. He quickly dismissed the possibility that Rosen was a drug dealer – he’d never keep records.

  Rosen might have been lucky on the horses or successful with betting on football matches or had a winning streak in some poker syndicate. But there was still the question of the motive for Rosen’s death and he dismissed idle conjecture as quickly as the drug dealer possibility. Next week would mean fresh minds and tomorrow was a Sunday, which he planned to spend with the family. He hoped he’d have a better insight after a day away from headquarters.

  Then he noticed Caren, by his door, tapping on her watch.

  * * *

  Drake sat opposite Second Engineer Robert James in a small interview room. Suspects were taken into the custody suite at Area Control, but for now Drake kept an open mind on whether James would ever be formally interviewed. Caren carried three plastic mugs of coffee into the room. James picked up the cup she offered him, and blew on the mug before taking a sip.

  James had thin, dark hair and small hooded eyes and was about Rosen’s age.

  ‘How did you get on with Frank Rosen?’ Drake said.

  ‘Okay, I suppose.’

  ‘Frank Rosen and yourself both applied for the chief engineer’s job?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But Frank got the job.’

  ‘He was lucky.’

  ‘Were you annoyed?’

  ‘At first I was. I’d been with the company a lot longer and on paper I was better qualified.’

  ‘Were you angry?’

  ‘For a while. I badly needed the promotion. I’d been doing all the right courses and I’d got the right certification and I always went out of my way to do things right. Even my last appraisal said that there was nothing wrong with my work.’

  ‘Did you tackle Rosen?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We have witnesses who refer to an incident where they heard an argument.’

  ‘Yeh.’ James looked down at the mug on the table.

  ‘Tell us about what happened.’

  ‘The promotion went to his head. He wouldn’t sit with us in the mess. Had to sit with the captain. Sometimes he’d come into the mess, see nobody to sit with and then leave.’

  ‘So what did you argue about?’

  ‘He was cutting corners all the time. And he’d be late getting to the engine room. A couple of times I saw him on the car deck. Couldn’t work out what he was doing there. And he was knocking off one of the girls.’

  Drake paused, deciding to pursue the work angle first. ‘Did anyone complain about his work?’

  James took another sip from his mug and grimaced. ‘Of course not. If anything went wrong, the junior engineers got the blame.’

  ‘And who was the girlfriend?’

  ‘Mandy Beal. Once he got his claws into a woman he seemed to have a hold over them.’

  ‘Where did you argue?’

  ‘In his cabin. I told him straight that I thought he was swinging it, but it turned into a blazing row.’

  ‘Did you threaten him?’

  ‘No, of course not. He threatened me, told me he had friends who’d sort me out if I complained to management.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘You must be joking.’

  ‘Where were you working between 5.00 – 7.00 a.m. on the morning Rosen was killed?’

  ‘I was in my cabin at five, that’s for certain. I’d had breakfast and I’d have been waiting to start the return trip to Holyhead.’

  ‘What time did you go to the engine room?’

  ‘I can’t remember exactly. It would have been about an hour before we sailed. There are checks to run, records to update.’

  ‘Did you see Frank Rosen?’

  ‘Of course. He came into the engine room. Looked around as he always did. Nodded in that smug way that’s so annoying. He took a telephone call and he left.’

  ‘Who rang him?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Did you stay in the engine room?’

  ‘Yes. The engine room crew will confirm that.’

  Drake found his enthusiasm for the interview diminishing and he resolved that without further evidence there was nothing further he could achieve. He thanked James and finished the interview. Caren followed Drake out into the car park.

  ‘I don’t remember interviewing Mandy Beal on the ship,’ Drake said.

  Caren shook her head. ‘Nor do I. Maybe she was ill.’

  Drake stood by his car and turned to Caren. ‘Find out where she lives.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  Drake opened the car and looked over at Caren. ‘I wonder what he meant by badly needing promotion?’

  Chapter 11

  Sian had given Drake a hard stare when he announced that he’d have to excuse himself for an hour that Sunday morning and see Lance at his temporary home in Fort Belan near Caernarfon. The superintendent had made the invitation for coffee sound like an order and Drake had little alternative. There’d been some publicity and controversy when the owners of the old fort had succeeded in getting planning permission to convert the derelict old boat sheds by the dock into luxury properties.<
br />
  He left Sian and his daughters at his parents’ farm and drove down to Dinas Dinlle. As he approached the beach, childhood memories came flooding back of afternoons with his grandparents throwing pebbles into the sea and drinking milky coffee in the café. He pulled into the car park, left his car, and stepped up over the sea wall to look over Caernarfon Bay. To his right the long beach stretched for miles, beyond it was the mouth to the Menai Strait and in the distance, shimmering in the early morning sun, was Llanddwyn Island and the forest at Newborough. It wasn’t the beach that made Dinas Dinlle magical but the mountainous backdrop behind him. The seafront didn’t seem the same now as he remembered it. It was more dingy, more dismal; it didn’t have the charm it had when he was a boy.

  Back in his car he made his way past Caernarfon airport and along the track to the fort. He’d never been to the old place before, although his grandfather had complained about the aristocratic family that had once owned it often enough. They had been the freeholders of the family farm at one time and his grandfather had struggled to raise the money they’d demanded for its purchase.

  He skirted around the main entrance to the fort and pulled up alongside a Mercedes parked next to a silver Porsche. He found the signs for the old dock. Lance stood by the door to one of the new properties, talking to a tall man with a pink sweater draped over his shoulders who walked down to the adjoining property when Drake approached.

  ‘Good morning, Ian,’ Lance said.

  When Drake had learnt about Lance’s secondment he’d expected a South Wales accent but he’d been surprised with the hint of a northern English tone to his voice. Drake stood by the dock and looked down at a handful of expensive motor launches. Down the Menai Strait he could see a yacht, its sails furled, making headway under power against the heavy tide.

  ‘Amazing place,’ Drake said.

  ‘Let me show you around.’

  Lance took Drake over towards a line of cannons pointing over the sea. ‘The fort was built by Lord Newborough in 1775 to repel the Americans at the time of the war of independence.’

  Drake knew something about the Newborough family. They had given their names to streets and public houses all over the county. Drake looked out over the bay and saw walkers on Llanddwyn beach.

  ‘There are cottages in the main fort buildings. I used to come here with my grandfather every year.’ Lance led Drake down a flight of slate steps and through an enormous wooden gate and into a courtyard. The sound of a radio played from an open window. ‘He loved coming here. We’d go fishing and walking.’

  Drake knew that his own grandfather could never have afforded a stay at the fort. He had a vague recollection of his grandfather going once to Blackpool for a week and hating it. Lance walked back towards the dock down a narrow passage framed by thick stone walls.

  ‘Where were you brought up?’ Drake asked.

  ‘Warrington. But I went to university in Cardiff, met my wife and joined what was then the South Wales Police. Of course, all before the Welsh government and this devolution business.’

  ‘Is your wife staying with you?’

  Lance found the key to his property and unlocked the door. ‘We’re divorced, Ian.’

  The superintendent motioned for Drake to sit down as he pulled a cafetière from a cupboard. Drake watched intensely as he made coffee. A tray was brought over to the table and immediately Lance plunged the filter. Drake almost said that there hadn’t been enough time for the grains to brew – he’d been counting the seconds – but kept quiet.

  ‘So they found the missing laptop?’ Lance said, filling two mugs. He sat back and stared at Drake.

  ‘It was hidden in a cupboard.’

  Lance fingered the bone china coffee mug. ‘I see.’

  Drake had the uneasy sensation that Lance didn’t want to talk about the laptop.

  ‘Mike Foulds doesn’t think there is anything of value. The hard drive was cleaned.’ Drake picked up his cup.

  ‘Let me know as soon as you have anything to report.’

  ‘Of course,’

  ‘How is Mrs Rosen? It must be difficult, losing her husband and having her house ransacked.’

  ‘She’s been staying with her brother.’

  ‘Do you think they found whatever they were looking for?’

  Drake wished he knew the answer. ‘There’s obviously a connection. But…’

  Lance nodded. ‘Of course. Too early to tell.’

  Drake sipped on the coffee. Despite having not brewed long enough it had the strong, bitter taste of expensive beans.

  ‘Inspector, now that Superintendent Price has left us, I thought it might be an opportunity to get clear how I want things done.’ Lance set his hands down one on top of the other. ‘I expect things to be done by the book. I want regular reports and all the paperwork needs to be up to date.’

  Drake caught sight of his own name printed on the side of an orange file lying on the table, realising that Lance had been reading his personnel records. A brief flicker of annoyance ran through his mind and then a worry that Lance wanted to discuss the counselling.

  ‘I know that there have been issues with certain inquiries you’ve undertaken.’

  ‘Issues, sir?’ Drake could feel his chest tightening.

  ‘The use of informants in those burglary cases.’

  Drake relaxed and hoped that Lance wouldn’t notice him breathing out heavily.

  ‘I don’t expect anything like this to happen again.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  After they’d finished Drake walked back to his car feeling rather dazed. He had been accustomed to Price and now Lance was changing everything, reminding him of issues from previous cases and demanding results, and Drake worried what interference he could expect in the investigation. A helicopter flew above and in the estuary a procession of ducks floated away into the distance. He looked up and stood for a moment as the sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the summit of Snowdon.

  * * *

  Drake noticed his father’s rheumy eyes and his pale complexion as soon as he entered the large kitchen where the family were waiting for him around the table. His father Tom was sitting at one end, and Drake, casting his gaze in that direction, realised that he must have lost weight again, judging by the sunken cheeks and loose skin around his neck.

  Helen sat at her grandfather’s side; she had blonde hair like her mother and a warm, round face that reminded Drake of his own mother when he caught her holding her head in a certain position. He watched his father and his daughter sitting together; Drake had been older when his own grandfather had died but the memory still lingered.

  ‘Helen, will you help Taid with the potatoes?’ Mair Drake said.

  Drake watched as Helen reached over and heaped potatoes onto Tom’s plate. The regular chemotherapy had been having an effect on his father and Drake hoped that the appointment with the consultant for the following week would mean good news.

  Megan was a year and ten months younger than her sister and she’d insisted that morning on having a pony tail exactly the same as Helen’s. Drake hoped there’d be many more family meals around this table but then dismissed the thought.

  ‘What was Fort Belan like?’ Tom said.

  ‘Fascinating old place.’

  ‘I walked up to the top of the beach and looked in from the outside when I was a boy. It was still owned by Lord Newborough then.’

  ‘There’s a small dock there.’

  ‘They had a yacht there years ago. I remember my father telling me about the parties Lord Newborough had and how they’d entertain their guests sailing on the Menai Strait.’

  The roast Sunday lunch was still a ritual that Mair Drake liked to follow. Drake saw sadness and worry in her eyes and occasionally she fussed too much. She ate little and then insisted on clearing the plates while Drake took his father though into the parlour to sit down.

  Within a few minutes Tom Drake was fast asleep. Sian and the girls were busy helping Mair i
n the kitchen. The Sunday newspaper was full of the latest details about the renegotiations of the UK’s treaty with the European Union. Once the cleaning had been finished they made to leave, Drake kissed his mother and reassured her that he would be with her and his father when they saw the consultant the following week.

  Chapter 12

  Drake sat in the waiting room darting glances at every visiting patient, hoping he wouldn’t recognise anyone. It was lunchtime and Drake had spent the morning allocating tasks, worrying what would happen in his absence. Background checks were underway on James but he sensed that it was a dead end. He hoped that talking to Mandy Beal would be more constructive. He looked around and saw posters for a mental health advocacy service and an announcement about the NHS zero-tolerance policy on abuse and intimidation from patients. Drake glanced at his watch, knowing he was a few minutes early, but still his impatience was building.

  ‘Mr Drake. You can go through now,’ a voice said, above the chatter of the reception staff.

  He walked down the corridor towards a room at the far end, passing a doorway piled high with brown boxes marked ‘medical supplies’. Drake glanced through a door into a small kitchen and saw a pile of dirty mugs and plates littered with empty crisp packets. When he entered ‘Meeting Room 2’ Tony Halpin rose from one of the two chairs and greeted Drake. He wore a grey shirt underneath a thin sweater and a pair of well-worn chinos.

  ‘Ian, it’s good to see you again.’ He stretched out his hand.

  The two chairs in the middle of the room were identical – wide wooden arms and low, soft seats. Drake sank back into the chair and folded his arms and then unfolded them and placed them on the armrests and then on his knees.

  ‘How has your week been?’ Halpin asked.

  ‘Busy,’ Drake replied, deliberately avoiding the real question that Halpin was asking.

  ‘Ian, did you find the first meeting helpful?’ Halpin asked casually, flicking through his notes as he spoke.