Worse Than Dead

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ he said, answering the call.

  The lights turned to green, so he pulled away.

  ‘Behind you.’

  Drake darted a glance into the rear-view mirror and saw a black BMW behind him. He could make out the hands-free cable hanging from MC’s ear. Drake slowed the car and started indicating.

  ‘Just keep on driving,’ MC said.

  Drake glanced around again, hoping there weren’t any patrol cars that might stop him for using a mobile while driving.

  ‘Did you kill Birch?’ Drake said.

  ‘Have you arrested Valencia yet?’

  Drake slowed instinctively as he approached another set of traffic lights showing red. But they changed to green and he had to drive on.

  ‘If you’ve got any intelligence we’ll need to go through all the correct procedures.’

  ‘Fuck that. You know it doesn’t work like that. Not for the likes of Valencia. I’ve been doing some digging around. Vigo and Valencia are only part of the operation. You should know that and I’m sure your friends in the drug squad know that too.’

  ‘I spoke to Dr Kings yesterday.’

  No reply. Drake glanced again into his rear-view mirror. MC had dropped back. His voice was softer now when he did reply. ‘Those bastards killed her. And there’s nothing you can do about it. The likes of Valencia and Birch get away with murder.’

  ‘Stop this now. You know I’ll have to speak to Newman about this call.’

  Drake saw a refuse lorry pulling out into the main road so he slowed.

  ‘Just don’t tell him then. Birch is out of the way now and—’

  They were almost at headquarters. Drake hoped a patrol car would turn out and follow them.

  ‘Turn right,’ MC said.

  Drake cursed and indicated, hoping that his cousin would want to talk to him face to face. Then he could overpower him and make an arrest. They were approaching the seafront, the best place to stop and park.

  ‘Just keep going,’ MC said as Drake slowed. ‘Have you made the link to John Beltrami, the wonderful upstanding citizen of North Wales? He’s in the middle of it somehow and it’s only a matter of time before I work it out. And if he was involved then I owe it to Sylvie.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ Owe her what? To spend the rest of your life in prison – and what about your mother?’

  Drake swerved to miss a couple of cyclists in front of him, just as his attention was drawn to two joggers running past the car. He glanced in the mirror again, but MC was gone. He slammed on the brakes. He made a three-point turn in the middle of the road, gesticulating wildly to the oncoming traffic to stop. He fired the car up the only road that MC could have taken but it was clogged with the early morning traffic of mothers on the school run.

  He opened the window and then slammed his palm against the steering wheel.

  * * *

  Hannah gave him a less-than-enthusiastic smile when he arrived unannounced at Lance’s office.

  ‘I don’t think he’ll see you,’ she said.

  Lance appeared at the door of his office and raised an eyebrow when he saw Drake. ‘Do we have a meeting?’

  ‘It’s urgent, sir.’

  Lance turned to Hannah. ‘Hold my calls.’

  Drake pondered what he could have done differently. Could he have stopped and forced MC to park? But he’d have simply driven away. Drake stood up and followed Lance back into his office. The room was cool but there was the faint smell of vaguely sweet cologne.

  ‘What so urgent?’

  ‘I thought you should know that as I was driving into work this morning I was followed by MC Hughes.’

  Lance stood by his desk and leant his hands on a pile of papers. ‘I see.’

  ‘He made allegations that John Beltrami was involved with Valencia.’

  ‘Did you stop him?’

  ‘He was driving.’

  Lance raised an eyebrow.

  ‘We spoke by telephone.’

  ‘Whilst you were driving? Did you ask about the Birch inquiry?’

  ‘Of course. I told him to surrender himself immediately.’

  Lance sat down. Drake waited for Lance to point at the chair in front of the desk. Drake noticed a muscle twitching at the back of Lance’s jaw. ‘Is there anything to suggest that Beltrami is involved with drugs?’

  ‘There’s intelligence about his business interests over the years, but nothing that we could develop into concrete evidence that would stand up in court.’

  ‘Anything in this inquiry, Ian.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then we need to find and arrest MC Hughes on suspicion of murder. I’ll call Newman. And remember, everything comes through my office.’

  * * *

  Drake stared at Halpin’s red trousers. Then he noticed the striped socks and the brown brogues: the left shoe had a heavy scuffmark of a clumsy walker down one side. It was late in the afternoon and when he’d entered the room Drake had noticed the faintest tacky smell. He’d resisted the temptation to run a hand over the seat of the chair before sitting down.

  ‘Have you been able to keep notes as we discussed last time?’ Halpin tilted his head slightly, giving Drake an inquisitive glance.

  Drake reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the Moleskine notebook. ‘It’s not that easy. I don’t seem to get the time.’

  Halpin was nodding his head very slightly, offering a smile of encouragement.

  ‘Tell me about the rituals since I saw you last.’

  Drake turned the notebook in his fingers. ‘I was in the office late, the night before last. I hadn’t been there all day.’

  ‘Where had you been?’

  ‘In South Wales, with work. I got back and I knew I just had to check my office. Make certain that the papers were tidy. That everything was organised. That there wasn’t just chaos all over my desk.’

  ‘And was there?’

  Drake looked over at Halpin, who waited for an answer.

  ‘It made me feel in control. As though I was in charge again, having been away all day.’

  ‘And did you find this helpful?’

  ‘Yes. But the superintendent was working late. I was sorting papers on the floor when he…’

  ‘What did he say?’

  Drake looked over at Halpin and shrugged. ‘He… he told me to go home.’

  ‘What do you do when you feel the rituals wanting to dominate your mind?’

  Drake hesitated but after ten minutes he’d explained to Halpin how the intrusive thoughts could control his mind and that it was never easy to manage his rituals. Halpin made the occasional note, nodded and smiled. He flicked through the papers on his lap.

  ‘How is your father?’

  ‘He’s not well. I found myself on the beach in Llanfairfechan after visiting him.’

  ‘Does he like to go there?’

  Drake was surprised by the question but then appreciated that Halpin knew him better than he’d realised.

  ‘Yes, he does. We used to go there as children.’

  ‘So did visiting the beach help?’

  ‘In a way.’

  ‘Visiting places that have links to your past with memories good or bad will be one way for you to handle the stress.’

  Drake nodded.

  ‘Do you have someone you can confide in?’

  ‘Not really…’

  ‘I know you were let down by someone in the force, of course.’

  Drake drew his tongue over his lips. The memory was still raw.

  ‘And it’s never easy to discuss these things with a wife. I suggest that one way to manage the stress is to have a ‘safe place’. It needn’t be a place of course. It could be a change to your routine. You could simply take a file in your hands and walk round headquarters for a few minutes.’ Halpin looked over at Drake; another kindly look crossed his face. ‘Nobody would think it odd. And it would give you time away from your office.’

  Drake folded his arms, pulled th
em tight into his chest and contemplated what Lance or Newman might say if they found him walking around headquarters with a file under his arm. Slowly, the possibility that the coping mechanisms, as Halpin called them, might work.

  Chapter 31

  Drake woke with a start and for a moment could not remember which day it was. It was a Sunday of course and he had promised Sian and the girls that after visiting his parents he’d spend the rest of the day with them. He stared at the clock, realising it was still early. Sian was sleeping by his side.

  He reached out from under the duvet and turned off the alarm before the clock buzzed into life. He padded downstairs and flicked a switch on the kettle, before picking up the news section from the previous day’s newspaper. A headline about the ongoing arguments about the rebate from the European Union dominated the front page. The kettle switched itself off just as Sian appeared in the kitchen.

  ‘Breakfast?’ Drake asked.

  Sian stood at one end of the worktop a little way from Drake, her arms folded. ‘What’s happening to us?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Why did Newman want to question me?’ Sian stepped over to the table and sat down.

  ‘He was—’

  ‘Ian. I just don’t know what’s going on. It’s all too much.’ She put her head in her hands.

  Drake should have known from Sian’s taciturn mood since Friday evening that Newman’s visit was still preying on her mind. There was a worn-out look in her eyes.

  ‘Only I don’t want them to call again. This is my home. Our home and…’

  ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Is there something you’re not telling me? Can’t tell me, I suppose.’ She drew her hand in the air, a gesture of helplessness. Exasperation. ‘Have you done something…?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Then why did they call? Do they think I’m involved in some way?’ She looked up at Drake.

  ‘Glyn Newman was making it awkward for me. He’s a difficult individual—’

  ‘I thought you were supposed to work together?’

  ‘He’s probably heard that Lance is the SIO and he was throwing his weight around.’

  ‘He was an odious little man.’ Sian stopped and played with the nails of her right hand. Drake poured water from the kettle over the coffee grounds in the tall cafetière and brought it over to the table with two mugs. ‘And another thing. I don’t want to see Moelwyn Carol here again.’

  Drake nodded. Sian looked at him again.

  ‘I didn’t expect things to be like this…’

  Drake felt the inside of his mouth drying. He didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Are you going to be able to switch off today?’ Sian said, sitting by the table. ‘One morning this week Helen actually asked whether you’d slept here the night before. Both girls had gone to bed before you got home and you left before they woke. It’s not much of a life is it?’

  ‘Look, I told you. Sylvie had had a miscarriage.’

  ‘It can happen, Ian.’

  ‘I know, but it must have happened while MC was in jail.’

  ‘You mean the conception.’

  Sian sounded remote, detached, even though they were talking about his cousin.

  ‘And MC didn’t know about it until a couple of days ago.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. You went through all of this last night. Do we have to rehearse it all again?’

  On the worktop behind them there was a pinging sound as two pieces of perfectly browned toast emerged from the Dualit machine. Drake found a low-fat margarine spread and a pot of marmalade in the depths of the American-style fridge freezer.

  ‘If he’s bearing a grudge against anyone because of what happened to Sylvie, then he’s mixing with some dangerous people.’

  Sian folded her arms, pursed her lips. ‘You need to get a grip, Ian. Get a perspective. All these obsessions are getting the better of you. I just hope that Halpin can help.’

  They ate the toast and finished the coffee in silence.

  ‘What time do we have to leave?’ Sian said, without much enthusiasm.

  Drake looked at the clock on the wall. It was still early.

  ‘A couple of hours, I guess.’

  Sian left Drake clearing the dishes and he heard her moving around upstairs and then the sound of running water from the shower. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d showered together, but the memory was still vivid, of taking a soapy sponge over her breasts before squeezing her nipples gently. But she’d complained he was too rough, so he’d started washing her thighs, moving her legs gently apart as they’d kissed and he’d gasped as she gripped his erection. The memory quickly faded as he heard the sound of young footsteps descending the stairs. He adjusted his dressing gown, making certain the girls wouldn’t notice how aroused he’d become.

  He’d finished loading the dishwasher when the telephone rang.

  Drake recognised the voice of Mike Foulds. ‘We’ve found MC’s car.’

  * * *

  Sian had given him a stare worthy of the Spanish Inquisition when he’d left the house and no amount of apology had improved her mood. Helen and Megan had looked confused and his mother had sounded disappointed on the telephone, when he’d explained that he wouldn’t be calling when Sian and the girls visited later.

  It took Drake an hour to reach the disused quarry above Bethesda. Two marked police cars blocked the entrance and as Drake walked over he heard the sound of a car behind him and stopped when he saw Caren. She pulled the car behind Drake’s Alfa, but unlike Drake she didn’t bother to lock hers.

  They walked towards the quarry, past the police vehicles, into a narrow entrance that led onto a wide, flat plateau of land surrounded by steep cliffs and a tall screed of different-sized rocks and pebbles. Wisps of smoke still escaped from the remains of the BMW. Drake recognised the number plate and the apprehension gathered in his chest. A uniformed sergeant stood at a safe distance from the smouldering remains.

  ‘Good morning, sir. Sergeant Wilkinson,’ he said.

  ‘Who found the car?’

  ‘A couple of guys out hiking. The car was ablaze. They guessed something was wrong.’

  ‘Have they been interviewed?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We haven’t got round to it.’

  ‘Send me a copy of the statements as soon as.’

  Wilkinson nodded. ‘The CSIs should be here any minute.’

  Drake and Caren walked around the car, getting as near as they could. Behind them they heard the sound of tyres on the loose shale and then more footsteps until two CSIs joined the uniformed officers.

  Drake stared at the car: he didn’t know what to conclude. It didn’t make sense for MC to abandon it. He reached for his mobile and dialled MC’s number. It rang out again, as it had done several times the day before. Drake felt he was on the edge of the dark world MC had got himself into. He turned his back to the car. ‘Let’s go.’

  He kept to the speed limit as he drove through the main street of Bethesda, passing the occasional shopper visiting the convenience stores and children riding their bikes along the pavements. Soon enough he reached the outskirts of Bangor and waited for Caren to park behind him before leaving the car and walking over to MC’s house. He thumped on the front door but there was no reply.

  ‘I’ll go round the back,’ Drake said, before jogging down the street.

  The property was in a row of recently built terraces all with neatly paved front gardens, no more than a couple of metres square, all with weeds pushing through the paviours. At the end of the terrace Drake found a narrow alley leading behind the houses. The back gate into MC’s yard opened easily enough. Drake noticed a small padlocked shed. The back door and windows were all a fading white uPVC. His mouth dried out as he peered into the empty rear rooms.

  He reached for the handle of the door and pressed it slowly. It gave way under his pressure and he breathed out. He had grou
nds for entering the property, reasonable grounds to suspect that something had happened to MC. His calls had been unanswered, the car found burnt out and MC’s girlfriend had recently died. There was more than enough to justify a lawful entry.

  Stepping over the threshold, he noticed immediately the cool temperature. The house had two ground-floor rooms, both small and box-like. The rear was empty but the front had a sofa, a couple of chairs and a large television.

  Back in the hallway he recognised Caren through the glass in the front door. But there was no way of opening it and, looking around, he couldn’t see a spare key so he shouted for her to use the rear. A coat stand by the front door had two fleeces alongside a waterproof jacket, but he couldn’t spot the leather jacket MC loved. He heard his colleague’s footfall inside the house.

  ‘Anything?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing downstairs.’

  Drake reached for the bottom balustrade and took the stairs to the first floor. The sound of each creaking step seemed to reverberate through the small stairwell. At the top Drake hesitated. To his left was a bathroom that he guessed was over the kitchen and alongside it a small box room filled with old furniture and suitcases. In front of him were doors to two bedrooms. He reached out a foot and gently pushed open the door of the bedroom at the rear. He took a step inside and saw a single bed pushed into a corner; alongside it was a cabinet with a small light still blazing.

  Caren stood by the closed door to the front bedroom, an uncertain look in her eyes. Drake nodded. She covered the handle with a handkerchief she’d found in a pocket. There was the barest sound of creaking hinges as she pushed the door open. She let out a long breath as her shoes echoed noisily over the bare floorboards of the empty room.

  Chapter 32

  The start of a new week should have meant clear thinking. A Monday morning always meant a busy surgery for Sian and she had barely spoken more than a few words as she raced around the kitchen organising breakfast, before checking that Helen and Megan had everything they needed for school.

  Drake left home that morning, knowing that the weekend had done nothing but complicate the investigation. Foreboding gnawed and scratched at his mind every time he thought about MC. There was always a motive for murder and in this case he struggled to find clarity for the deaths of Rosen, Mandy Beal and Green. If Green had killed Rosen then why had Green been killed and who killed Mandy Beal and why? He cursed MC who must have the answer. Finding his cousin and gathering a witness statement had to be a priority.