Worse Than Dead

by Stephen Puleston

‘Even so, I think we need to be careful if he’s got political clout.’

  ‘We’ll ask the questions and we’ll see what he says.’ Drake’s tone telling Caren she shouldn’t argue.

  They left the car and he squeezed the remote. A gentle clunking sound locked the car before Drake took a final look around. Caren had noticed that his fastidiousness about the car extended to regular checks of it, including where he’d parked. She had an eight-year-old estate car that Alun occasionally used for the farm, which was handy for taking the dogs for walks in the woods. She dismissed the notion of Drake having dogs: keeping the car clean would be impossible.

  This time, there was a tall man, no more than eighteen, standing in the booth in the arcade, a dragon tattoo stretching down one arm. She noticed fine dark roots to the band of flame-coloured hair on the centre of his head when he lowered his face to look at Drake’s warrant card.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said, the accent thick from the streets of Anfield.

  Behind her she could hear the springs from fruit-machine arms being released, bells and chimes from successful attempts and she thought of Alun who always tried his luck on the machine at the local rugby club.

  ‘You know your way,’ the youth said eventually.

  Caren followed Drake up the stairs to the first floor. The same diminutive woman who met them the first time stood at the top and gave them a blank stare. She led them a second time to Beltrami’s office.

  Beltrami reached a hand over the desk. The cloth of his pinstripe looked heavy, the stripe a delicate off-white. The prospect of watching Drake being riled by another witness had exercised her mind as they drove to Rhyl and she’d decided to intervene if she thought she had to.

  ‘We’re here to discuss the deaths of Frank Rosen and Darren Green,’ Drake began.

  No response. Then Beltrami blinked. ‘I’ve told you about Frank. We have discussed him already.’

  ‘Tell us again.’

  A flash of irritation passed over Beltrami’s eyes. He narrowed his lips and repeated practically word for word what he’d said before. Caren checked the notes she’d made from their first meeting, thinking that the answer was either the truth or incredibly well rehearsed.

  ‘Did you know Darren Green?’ Drake asked, as though he was of secondary interest.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Darren Green. Originally from Liverpool. Your neck of the woods, Mr Beltrami.’ Drake had opened the folder on his lap and didn’t notice the annoyance in Beltrami’s eyes. Caren guessed that Beltrami wanted to leave behind his association with Liverpool, all as part of his campaign for respectability and success in Wales.

  ‘Who the hell is he?’

  Caren detected the vaguest hint of the harsh Scouse accent.

  ‘He was killed in his home. Gunshot wounds to the head.’

  ‘Look, Inspector, I’m a busy man and—’

  ‘Green worked on the same ferry as Rosen.’

  Beltrami was tapping his fingers on the desk. ‘And how would I know him?’

  Caren strained to figure out Beltrami. She decided to prompt Drake about the letter so she found a copy and passed it to him. The faintest shadow of uncertainty crossed Beltrami’s eyes, nothing more.

  ‘This letter was in the human resources file of the ferry company.’ Drake handed the letter over the desk.

  Caren noticed Beltrami’s frown, which quickly turned to surprise and then recognition.

  ‘This is a letter—’ he began.

  ‘It’s from your company. In fact it’s more than that. It’s from you personally, as a reference for Darren Green when he applied for a job.’

  Caren winced to herself as she thought the initiative had been lost.

  ‘We give lots of references. I have a lot of employees and it’s not always—’

  ‘But it’s a coincidence, don’t you agree? You socialised with Frank Rosen and provided him with a job reference. Darren Green also works for the ferry company. And there’s another job reference from you.’

  Beltrami turned a hand in the air, buying time. Caren watched Drake squeezing the folder of papers on his lap.

  ‘You have to understand, Inspector, that we have a lot of employees. A lot of people—’

  ‘Did you know Darren Green?’

  ‘I can certainly find out—’

  ‘Did you know Green personally or not? Simple question.’

  Caren watched the face of Beltrami, straining to see what he was thinking, how he would react, what excuse he would make.

  ‘I’ll need to check our records—’

  ‘Don’t avoid answering my questions. There could be serious consequences.’

  Caren saw Beltrami’s jaw tighten.

  ‘I’ll get someone to check the HR records and get back to you.’ Beltrami was on his feet.

  ‘Are you refusing to answer the question?’

  Caren felt like saying, for Christ’s sake, sir, let it go. But she could tell Drake wanted answers.

  ‘Of course not, Inspector. You have to realise that these things need to be checked.’

  Beltrami had refound his confidence. Mixing with politicians had at least given him some bullshitting skills, Caren could tell. Beltrami moved around the desk, straightening his back, smoothing his tie, wanting them out of his office.

  ‘I’ll have someone onto this immediately,’ he said, walking with them to the end of the corridor.

  Caren felt a mixture of relief and annoyance at an opportunity wasted, as they walked back to the car. Drake examined every panel, checked for dents and scrapes and, only when satisfied, opened the car.

  * * *

  At reception in headquarters one of the civilians working on the desk stopped Drake.

  ‘There’s three people in the main conference room wanting to see you.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘One is a Jade Bel-something-or-other.’ The woman handed over a glossy business card. ‘And there are two men with her. They say it’s urgent.’

  Drake turned to Caren. ‘You go and see Janet Rosen. I’ll deal with our unannounced visitors.’

  Caren turned on her heels and headed out for the car park. Drake sprinted up to the Incident Room only to find Detective Inspector Newman standing by the board, hands on hips, his jaw tight.

  ‘Your fucking cousin has really done it this time,’ Newman began. ‘Kicking the shit out of Tom Vigo was bad enough. But this time we’ve got so many eyewitnesses that not even MC Hammer can weasel his way out of a life sentence.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Joe Birch. That’s who. We’ve been after him for years. But he was really good. Very slick and we never had enough evidence on him. Didn’t you watch the news this morning?’

  Drake frantically tried to think.

  ‘Body found battered in Llandudno,’ Newman continued.

  Drake didn’t like where this was going.

  ‘Birch was killed with a baseball bat on his way to a nightclub in town. But there are eyewitnesses that saw MC walking out of the alley. It’s in the middle of Llandudno for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘Have you found him?’ Drake said.

  ‘Only a matter of time. And if he contacts you, then tell him I need a chat.’

  Chapter 28

  Drake slumped into the chair by his desk and thought about his family. A sense of impending disaster crept into his mind. And he also felt helpless, knowing that there was nothing he could do and that MC had to be arrested. How would Auntie Gwen cope with her son locked up for life? Would she ever visit him? But he doubted that she had even visited MC when he had been in prison. His father liked MC and Drake had never really known why. He’d have to tell Sian of course, and make certain she called operational support if MC ever went near the house.

  Then he remembered the visitors in the conference room and it jolted him out of his lethargy. He grabbed a notepad from the desk, straightened his tie and headed for the lift.

  When he opened the door a tall man
with a shaved head, wearing an immaculate navy suit, turned to look at him. He had a perfectly trimmed goatee beard and when he held out a hand to Drake the cuffs of his shirt exposed a glistening Rolex.

  ‘Jocelyn Peters,’ he said, with an accent honed by an expensive private education. ‘I’m counsel for Mr Eddie Parry.’ He briefly turned his head to the man sitting by the table. ‘And you know Jade Beltrami of course.’

  Drake didn’t, but he looked over at Jade sitting next to Parry. He recognised her face from the photograph in her father’s office which had flattered her, as the camera often did. Drake couldn’t fathom out why on earth a barrister had turned up at headquarters with Eddie Parry.

  Peters continued. ‘Mr Parry is one of the joint owners of the light aircraft that Frank Rosen flew. You’ve been enquiring about my client. And he wants to make a full statement.’

  ‘But we need to schedule this in properly.’

  ‘I need to do it now.’ Parry had an unusually deep bass voice. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, even though the temperature was cool.

  ‘There have been so many rumours flying around North Wales. Mr Parry wants to be able to say quite clearly that he isn’t involved. And that you have eliminated him from your inquiries.’ Peters spoke as though there were no room for argument.

  ‘You know that won’t be possible,’ Drake replied.

  ‘Look, Inspector. We want to make a statement.’

  Drake glanced over at Jade who had the barest hint of a smirk on her lips. Annoyance was making his pulse increase. Abruptly he stood up. ‘I’ll get my papers: stay here.’

  He stalked back to his office, hoping that he could keep his anger at bay. Think clearly. He gathered all the files he needed, convincing himself that he would be calm enough to undertake a meaningful interview.

  Drake returned to the conference room and sat down. He noticed Parry almost crushing a plastic cup with a thick-fingered hand. Peters was holding a plastic water bottle and gave Drake a brief smile without opening his mouth.

  ‘Mr Parry wants to make a statement,’ Peters began.

  ‘We’ll come to that in a minute,’ Drake said, looking over at Parry. He had a stylish suit, too smart for an ordinary farmer.

  ‘What sort of farming do you do, Mr Parry?’ Drake said.

  ‘Cattle mostly.’

  ‘My grandfather was a farmer. Only a smallholding, not enough these days to make a decent living.’

  Peters interrupted. ‘Mr Parry wants to make a statement.’

  ‘All in good time.’ Drake shuffled his papers. ‘How many acres do you farm?’

  ‘Two thousand.’

  Now Drake knew how Parry could afford a share in a plane. Drake sensed Peters getting impatient. When Drake looked over at Jade she gave him an untroubled look.

  ‘What are prices like at the moment?’ Drake continued.

  ‘I sell directly to one of the main supermarkets,’ Parry said, as though every farmer did that.

  Peters put his water bottle down by the papers on the table. ‘We’d like to get this finished as soon as we can.’

  ‘Of course.’ Drake gave Peters a brief acknowledgment before turning back to Parry. ‘Do you know Frank Rosen?’

  ‘Of course. He was a good pilot.’

  ‘Did you fly with him a lot?’

  ‘Hardly ever. My wife didn’t want to me to buy my share in the plane. I only did it because Lewis Aylford thought I needed to socialise more. “Get out,” he said. “Have more fun”.’

  ‘Who flew with you on these trips?’

  ‘John Beltrami. Rosen, of course, and Lewis.’

  ‘Did you ever go to Ireland?’

  ‘Inspector, I really must protest. Mr Parry came here to make a statement and you’re interviewing him.’

  ‘Mr Parry has nothing to hide. So he won’t mind answering some general background that might help with the inquiry. Unless, that is, he doesn’t want to cooperate.’

  ‘Really. This is no way to treat us. We shall have to consider how to respond. It may well be that the Assistant Chief Constable needs to hear about your approach.’

  Drake smiled at Peters, happy that he’d riled him. He turned back to Parry. ‘So did you ever go to Ireland?’

  ‘Yes, once or twice.’

  ‘Did Tim Loosemore go with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How often?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘Come on, Mr Parry. You don’t fly very often and yet you can’t remember how many times Tim Loosemore was a fellow passenger.’

  ‘Inspector, what exactly are you trying to establish? What are the lines of enquiry in this investigation?’ Peters said.

  Drake felt like telling the barrister that he would conduct the investigation in any way that he wanted, but the prospect of another meeting with Lance and Thorsen made him take a reluctant step back.

  ‘Did Rosen ever talk about his life?’

  ‘Not that I can recall.’

  ‘He never mentioned money?’

  Parry shrugged.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no.’

  ‘You can take it any way you please, Inspector. This is not an interview under caution and Mr Parry wants to read this statement.’ Peters pushed a sheet of paper over the desk.

  Drake gave it a cursory glance. ‘What did you do when you were in Ireland?’

  ‘Nothing much.’

  Drake gripped a biro tightly – he hated being lied to and Parry wasn’t telling the truth.

  ‘Did you visit nightclubs, pubs?’

  Jade began making notes on a pad and Peters tapped the plastic bottle on the table.

  ‘No. I’m teetotal, Inspector.’

  Drake could imagine that the highlight of Parry’s social life was an enormous rump steak with a plateful of chips at his local restaurant, washed down with tap water. Parry sat back and picked up the statement. Peters nodded for him to read. For the first time Drake noticed the strong Anglesey accent and the slow, measured tones Parry used. There was a lilt to his voice that Drake could remember his grandfather using whenever he spoke English. By the end of the discussion Drake had heard that Parry’s interest in flying had quickly waned once he realised that he’d have to spend large amounts of money to keep the plane operational and then there were hotel costs, fuel bills and insurance.

  When Peters brought the meeting to a close Drake saw a hint of uncertainty in the barrister’s eyes. He watched them leave headquarters and he headed back to his office unable to decide if challenging Parry had really achieved anything.

  * * *

  It was a clear spring afternoon, the hedgerows starting to blossom; tractors were at work in fields and the lanes of Anglesey were free of holiday traffic.

  At a junction Caren indicated and turned into the road that led to Janet Rosen’s cottage; her heart sank when she saw a tractor in front of her pulling a flat trailer. She changed down the gears and decelerated. She found a radio station playing country music and accepted that the last few miles would be taken at a crawl.

  Rounding a corner just before Janet’s home the tractor in front accelerated and Caren slowed in anticipation of turning into the slate-covered drive. But she saw a large Jaguar parked by Janet’s car and a man who looked familiar standing by the driver’s side. Her mind raced until she recognised Tim Loosemore from the Incident Room photographs that hung alongside Ellis-Pugh and the other members of the flying club. Caren’s pulse quickened and immediately she made the decision to drive on, hoping Loosemore wouldn’t notice her. She tilted her head away, peering in the opposite direction. As soon as she could, Caren pulled up in the entrance to a field and adjusted the rear-view mirror. The reflection caught the entrance to the driveway although the front of the Jaguar was hidden from view. She didn’t have long to wait until the car pulled out, Janet sitting in the passenger seat. Pleased that the car wouldn’t be passing her she quickly turned her own vehicle around and followed them.

  Approaching a T-j
unction by an old chapel Caren worried that she’d lost them, until she saw the rear of his car caught behind an oil tanker to her left.

  She fell back and Loosemore reached the A55 and then accelerated hard eastward. Caren did likewise, but kept three cars between her and the Jaguar. She rather enjoyed the chase; it reminded her of the American crime dramas her mother loved so much. Eventually she followed Loosemore towards his home overlooking the Menai Strait. The electronic gates closed behind them and she drove on before parking and reaching for her mobile.

  Chapter 29

  Lance had left Drake with an odd feeling that there was too much going on in the background. The investigation was slowly sliding out of his control. They’d made no progress, the paperwork was mounting up and soon enough another senior officer would be called in to do a review. Lance would know the procedures and Drake was certain that if the deadline came without progress Lance would instigate a review without hesitation.

  The next session with Halpin was imminent and Drake had been shuffling the notebook around the various drawers of his desk, only occasionally thinking that he should record something.

  And having Lance discover him at headquarters late the night before hadn’t helped.

  He fingered the pages of the notebook, reading the words that he had dutifully scribbled. Order and clean and coffee repeated themselves too often and he worried what the counsellor would make of it. The sound of a conversation interrupted his thoughts and he heard Caren’s voice louder than usual, and, intrigued, he marched through into the Incident Room.

  ‘I’ve just followed Loosemore in his Jaguar from Janet Rosen’s cottage.’

  ‘And let me guess,’ Winder said. ‘Janet was with him.’

  Caren nodded.

  The door burst open and Howick almost fell into the room.

  ‘Dr Collins is here, sir.’

  For a moment Drake didn’t connect.

  ‘The graphologist I mentioned,’ Howick said, just as a middle-aged man followed him through the door.

  Winder opened a bag of pastries that filled the air with a warm, sweet smell. Howick made the necessary introductions and Dr Collins stepped towards the board.