Worse Than Dead

by Stephen Puleston

‘Inspector Drake,’ Mortlake said, sitting on one of the chairs and tossing the buff-coloured folder he was carrying onto the table. ‘I hope this doesn’t mean you’re going to stop our ferries running.’

  ‘What do you know about Daz Green?’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘Is that his personnel file?’

  ‘Anne will make photocopies for you. The original stays right here.’

  Hegarty left, taking the file with her and Drake stared at Mortlake, wanting to believe there was something likeable about him, but the accent was too crass and Drake was convinced the man wanted to goad him.

  ‘We’ll wait,’ Drake said, pulling out the chairs and nodding to Caren for her to do likewise. ‘How long had he been working for you?’

  ‘A few years. He was an able seaman, what more can I tell you?’

  ‘Any good at his job?’

  ‘You don’t need a degree or any qualifications to be an able seaman. Do you think he killed Frank Rosen?’

  ‘Is there a connection between both men?’

  Mortlake sat back, rubbed his fingers over his mouth and gave Drake a tired look. ‘Next you’ll be telling me there’s a connection to Mandy Beal’s suicide.’

  Drake was spared having to reply as Hegarty returned with Green’s file and a pile of photocopies.

  ‘If we can be of any more assistance,’ Mortlake said, pushing the copies towards Drake and standing up at the same time.

  ‘Thanks.’ Drake scooped up the papers.

  Taxis were beginning to arrive outside the main port building and Drake guessed a train was due to arrive.

  ‘I’m starving,’ Caren said as they walked up to the bridge. ‘Paned, boss?’

  That word suddenly made him think of Sian, that Welsh word for an invitation to join someone for a cup of tea or a coffee, and one of the first Welsh words his wife had learnt. Using it had a universal usage even if you didn’t understand Welsh. Caren had already started towards the café in the old chapel and Drake followed, noticing the look of anticipation on his colleague’s face as they walked into the café where the staff welcomed them as regulars.

  Drake found a newspaper with an untouched sudoku and settled into solving the puzzle, feeling his mind resting as he began filling the squares. Even the instant coffee tasted acceptable and he blanked out the noise from Caren eating a sandwich by his side while simultaneously flicking through Green’s personnel file. He didn’t notice when she’d stopped eating and concentrated on a single document.

  ‘You won’t believe this, sir.’

  Drake’s irritation had developed to exasperation when one of the squares proved troubling.

  ‘Sorry?’ Drake said, his mind still on the sudoku.

  ‘You need to read this.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Reference for Darren Green.’

  Drake picked up the document she pushed over the table.

  ‘Signature at the bottom, sir.’

  Drake suddenly forgot all about the troublesome puzzle as he read the name and the familiar signature above it.

  Chapter 21

  Caren suppressed a yawn as she marched over to the window and unfastened the catch, allowing cool air to brush her face. It worked for a moment to make her feel less tired and she wondered where Alun was. The absence of a text during the day had unsettled her, so she found her mobile and started composing a message as Winder and Howick marched in, each holding a steaming mug. Winder carried a bag of pastries and Howick threw a couple of chocolate bars onto his desk.

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ Winder said to Caren.

  She nodded. ‘The usual.’

  Winder trooped off to the kitchen, passing Drake in the doorway.

  ‘Coffee, boss?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  Drake put the file he was carrying on a nearby desk and began rummaging through the papers. Caren watched as he fumbled to insert a photograph into a plastic stationery pocket before pinning it under Green’s name on the board. Drake’s suit jacket was a rich navy and Caren guessed it was expensive: his clothes were always neat – no creases or folds and Caren often puzzled how he managed it. On their journey to headquarters Drake had spent time finalising a sudoku puzzle, ignoring her attempts to discuss the case. She had tried small talk, but her reference to a popular crime drama on the television produced a blank expression so she had given up and they drove on in silence.

  Winder returned, dumping a mug advertising a local firm of solicitors onto her table. Drake turned away from the board.

  ‘How did you get on with the house-to-house inquiries?’ Drake alternated his gaze between Howick and Winder.

  ‘We’ll have to go back again, boss,’ Howick said. ‘I spoke to one guy who was convinced he’d seen the killers driving away as he left for work. He works in one of those chicken factories in the middle of the island. He starts his shift at five in the morning, preparing and gutting chickens all day. The company gives him four seconds to skin and prepare a chicken fillet.’

  Winder stopped eating a Danish pastry and looked up. ‘Four seconds? That must be bloody monotonous.’

  ‘He’d been out of work for four months since they closed another abattoir on the island.’

  Caren recalled the article in the local paper and the press reports when three hundred jobs had been lost. Local councillors and union leaders had repeated the usual warnings about the effect of unemployment on the local population. Everyone seemed to be waiting for the nuclear power station to be approved, creating jobs and giving the economy of the island and North Wales a boost.

  ‘Did he have a description of the drivers of the car?’ Drake said, a weary tone to his voice.

  Although he didn’t show it, Caren guessed he was as tired as she felt.

  ‘I’m on the case,’ Howick said.

  Drake nodded. ‘Anything else?’

  Winder licked the tips of his fingers after finishing the last of the pastry. ‘I spoke to the occupants of the houses opposite Green’s place. There was a fussy woman with teenage children and a husband who didn’t say anything. She’d seen a lot of people coming and going from the house. But I wasn’t convinced she was telling me the truth.’

  ‘Why?’ Drake said.

  ‘You know how it is, boss. Somebody wants to be helpful but they embellish everything.’

  ‘Check with the other houses next door.’

  ‘Sure thing. Then I got talking to this old man. He had a small dog who could hardly move, just sat in the middle of the floor, panting.’

  Drake folded his arms and cleared his throat. ‘I don’t want to hear about the dog.’

  ‘No, sir.’ Winder moved in his chair. ‘He kept talking in code. Asking me if I knew where places were in Holyhead and whether I remembered certain people.’

  Caren made her first contribution, sharing Drake’s impatience. ‘Get on with it, Gareth. He was probably a bit lonely.’

  ‘Anyway, he told me that the woman who cleans for him might be able to help. She goes in three times a week, helps with his cleaning. And the cooking sometimes.’

  Drake was rubbing his temples as though he were trying to relieve a headache. ‘I can’t believe that nobody saw or heard anything.’

  Howick threw the crumpled wrapping paper from the second chocolate bar into the bin by his feet. ‘The man next door wasn’t at home. He’d left early and when the uniformed officer in the back lane spoke to him, he told her he’d had an urgent call from a relative. So I’ll go back and see him tomorrow.’

  ‘This is the middle of Holyhead,’ Drake said, ignoring Howick’s last comments, an edge of despair to his voice. ‘If the pathologist was right and he’d been dead for over ten hours when we found him, then he could have been shot as people watched television last night. So the killer parks nearby, walks down the street, knocks on the door and kills Green in his front room.’

  Winder and Howick exchanged glances that suggested they didn’t know how to respond. Caren stood up and walked over t
o the board, drawing a link between Green and Rosen.

  Caren stepped back from the board. ‘We know they worked on the same ship.’

  ‘On the same watch,’ Howick reminded them.

  ‘And if Green killed Rosen, what was the motive?’ Drake said.

  ‘So what’s the connection between Green and Rosen?’ Howick asked.

  Drake flicked through his file of papers, a pleased look crossing his face as he removed a single sheet. ‘This is a copy of the work reference given to Green when he started in the ferry company. I quote “Darren Green is a reliable and conscientious individual who I have known for some time” and it goes on in that vein. Signed by J. Beltrami”.’

  Winder let out a low whistle; Howick stood up, folded his arms and gave the board a serious look.

  Drake continued. ‘So Caren and I are going to pay Mr Beltrami another visit.’

  * * *

  Drake had paid scant attention to the gossip about Superintendent Lance. Cold fish, arrogant, distant had been some of the comments he’d heard, but at least working with Lance meant that he knew nothing about Drake or about his routines. He had already been waiting ten minutes when he glanced at his watch for the third time, knowing that he would be much later getting home then he’d promised Sian when he’d spoken to her earlier. Her monosyllabic replies only reinforced his irritation, that this meeting was unnecessary.

  Lance stared at him through humourless eyes as Drake brought him up to date. Drake thought he detected a glimmer of recognition – perhaps the faintest move of an eyebrow – when the name Beltrami was mentioned. Price would have said something, reacted, suggested a strategy but Lance kept his fingers tightly laced together, nodding occasionally.

  After a few long minutes Drake ran out of information to share with the superintendent. They shook hands, Lance reminding him to provide regular updates and Drake left. The Incident Room was quiet; Drake heard the sound of a vacuum approaching in the hallway. After adjusting the Post-it notes on his desk, he tidied all his files then scanned the room one final time before leaving.

  Drake allowed his senses to enjoy the smell of the recently cleaned leather seats and the thrill of driving the sports car too quickly on the short drive home. He pulled the Alfa into the drive alongside Sian’s BMW. His eyes were burning and his shoulders ached. Once inside the house he could hear the television from the sitting room. Sian emerged from the kitchen, a troubled expression on her face.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she almost whispered.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Your cousin’s here. I did text you.’

  A knot of anger formed in his chest. ‘Do you mean—’

  ‘You know. Auntie Gwen’s son. The one your father likes, for some reason.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  Sian nodded towards the sitting room door. He pushed it open. MC sat in one of the armchairs, Megan and Helen on the sofa opposite. Both girls looked up at their father, gave him a brief smile and then returned their attention to the television programme.

  ‘Nice to see you, Ian,’ MC said. ‘I’ve been reading to Megan and Helen.’

  ‘Apparently Moelwyn has something important for you,’ Sian said.

  Drake could feel the pulse hammering in the side of his neck. He wanted to pick up Moelwyn by the scruff of the neck and throw him out of the house.

  ‘Let’s go to my study,’ Drake said through clenched teeth.

  MC stood up. The jeans were a designer variety, fashionably faded, his black brogues spotless. MC picked up the same leather jacket he’d worn when they’d met for breakfast.

  Sian stood frowning in the hall, her offer to make coffee or tea or something stronger dismissed by Drake. He slammed the door of the study closed.

  ‘Don’t ever come here again,’ Drake said. ‘You know I can’t talk to you.’

  ‘Rosen nursemaids the drugs on the ship. I don’t know how he does it but I’ll find out.’

  ‘Did you assault Vigo?’

  ‘He’s a slimeball.’

  For a second Drake thought he’d heard a confession. He even started rehearsing the usual warning for suspects once they’d been arrested – you don’t have to say anything, but if you do… But it wasn’t enough for an arrest.

  ‘This is insane. I’m going to call Newman.’

  ‘This is family, Ian. Sylvie is lying in the hospital because she’s an addict. And I know the fucking smackhead that got her hooked. And do you want to do anything about it? Or do I have to sort it out myself?’

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you? There are procedures I have to follow. If you tell me anything it’s not intelligence I can use.’

  Drake realised that even if he did try and arrest MC, his cousin would march out of the house. He didn’t have any handcuffs, and he didn’t want the children to see a skirmish.

  ‘You’ll find a way.’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot. You have to leave.’

  MC threaded his arms into his jacket and stepped towards the door. ‘I was there last night.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Near Daz Green’s house.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘At a mate’s.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  Drake drew a hand over his mouth. ‘Did you see who went into Green’s house… Or was he on the streets just walking around with a gun…’

  ‘Don’t be a knobhead, Ian.’

  ‘So what did you see?’

  ‘Question is, what are you going to do about it? Nothing of course. Nothing you can do because of those regulations and protocols.’

  ‘If you want anything done, then you need to tell me.’

  MC reached for the door. ‘I saw him last night.’

  ‘Who, for Christ’s sake?’

  ‘I kept a good distance. I lost sight of him for a while, but then I heard him talking in the backyard. He’s got a really squeaky voice.’

  ‘In Daz Green’s place?’

  MC nodded.

  Drake stared at his cousin. ‘You’ll need to tell me who it was.’

  Chapter 22

  Drake sat at his desk that Monday morning wishing he’d slept more over the weekend.

  On the Sunday morning he’d woken up dreaming of MC and Lance, his mind heavy with the possible repercussions of having seen his cousin at home. The day hadn’t improved as Sian fell into a sullen mood, making clear her disapproval of MC’s visit until eventually she took the children to visit her mother without including Drake in the arrangements. Instead he wasted an afternoon watching an old film on television and then a rugby match, followed by the local news that featured a piece on the fundraising efforts of the Ellis-Pugh family to pay for treatment for their daughter’s rare illness. Sian had arrived home as Drake pressed a second film into the DVD player. Her mood hadn’t improved and they barely spoke for the rest of the evening.

  He’d arrived early and spent the first hour interrogating the computer system for intelligence reports on the man MC had named.

  Martin Valencia.

  There was a certain mysterious quality to his name. European. Exotic even. But the intelligence reports were straightforward enough. A major player on the drug scene, clever enough to keep himself clean.

  But this time it was different of course. MC couldn’t be relied on as a witness and Drake knew the CPS would dismiss his evidence.

  He was frustrated that he wasn’t seeing what was really happening. There had to be a motive to the deaths. Drake knew that they still had to establish whether Green had actually killed Rosen and if he had, what was the motive? And what did the codes and numbers and letters really mean? He stared at the single sheet of paper on his desk, on which he’d written the word MOTIVE in capital letters. He agonised at the possibility that they might never establish who killed Rosen. MC’s threats and the possibility that his cousin was out for revenge also filled his thoughts.

  His concentration was broken, his
mind set on edge, as the telephone rang.

  ‘Inspector Drake?’

  He struggled to recognise the voice.

  ‘Sam Croft. We met at the hospital when you saw Sylvie Whatmore.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  Immediately, Drake thought of MC talking about revenge two nights earlier. There was no doubt that MC would now be past the ‘talking’ stage.

  ‘Does MC know?’

  ‘Yes. I spoke to him yesterday. And there was another policeman asking about him too.’

  ‘Inspector Glyn Newman?’

  ‘No. I don’t think—’

  ‘Jeff Wallace?’

  ‘Yes. There’s going to be a post mortem this morning. God knows why – there’s nothing left of her.’

  All Drake could think of was trying to contact MC.

  ‘I’ve got to find MC. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘You’re the police. Surely you can find him.’ Sam Croft didn’t wait for a response and the line went dead.

  He sat holding the handset for a few seconds before replacing it on the cradle. It occurred to him that he should call Auntie Gwen again and ask if she’d seen MC. Perhaps he should contact Newman or Wallace but investigating MC wasn’t his case.

  The telephone rang again and he snatched the handset and snarled an introduction. It was Hannah’s voice. ‘Superintendent Lance wants to see you.’

  ‘I’ve got a meeting scheduled at midday.’

  ‘Now. He wants to see you now.’

  Drake replaced the handset after telling her he’d be there as soon as he could. He pondered whether to wear a jacket but decided against it and then walked through headquarters, taking the lift to the top floor.

  ‘Good morning,’ Hannah said once he’d arrived at her desk. ‘You all right?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Drake sounded nonplussed.

  ‘You sounded… well, doesn’t matter. He’s got company.’ Hannah nodded at the door to Lance’s office, Drake could hear the muffled sound of conversation.

  Drake knew that he had to tell Lance about MC as soon as he could and that this meeting was the ideal opportunity to do so. He pushed open the door and saw the face of Andy Thorsen looking over at him. Drake realised that the lawyer’s presence was probably the reason for the rearranged meeting. The crown prosecutor was one of those lawyers who Drake could never make out and he often thought that being cross-examined by Thorsen would be a non-event.