Worse Than Dead

by Stephen Puleston

  On his way to headquarters frustration built until he drove straight past the turning and travelled down into Colwyn Bay before realising where he was. He stopped and retraced his journey before parking next to Winder’s black Ford, knowing that the young officer always made an effort to be in promptly during the beginning of the week and that by Thursday or Friday he’d be late once again. A few minutes later Drake walked through the doors of the Incident Room.

  Winder was talking to Caren.

  ‘What’s the latest about Janet?’ Drake said.

  Caren replied. ‘She wasn’t at the cottage over the weekend. The uniformed lads from the local station made regular trips to check.’

  ‘And Loosemore?’

  ‘Behind the locked gates in his mansion.’

  ‘All weekend?’

  Caren nodded and then stepped towards the board, tapping the picture of Frank Rosen with the top of her biro. ‘I wonder if there was anything going on whilst Frank Rosen was alive?’

  Howick was the first to respond. ‘Maybe Loosemore wanted Frank Rosen out of the way. Talks to his friend Beltrami, tells him he has a problem and Beltrami puts him in touch with his favourite gangster Darren Green, who dutifully obliges by killing the husband.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Winder said. ‘How’d you explain Green’s death?’

  ‘Somebody else,’ Howick replied.

  Drake cleared his throat, aware that this sort of conversation could go around in circles. ‘We’ve missed something,’ he said, stepping towards the board. ‘Let’s go back and look at Rosen’s death again.’

  Drake turned to Howick. ‘You go through the CCTV images this time, and Gareth…’ He looked over at Winder. ‘You go through the statements. Caren, check all the passengers.’

  The coloured Post-it notes were in the same long columns on his desk as he’d left them, but he was convinced that the cleaners had been shuffling the furniture around, lifting files and folders. Sitting by the desk he reached over to the telephone, which he moved a few millimetres before adjusting the photographs of his daughters and switching on the desk lamp. He booted up the computer and watched the flickering images of the set-up routine. He wondered whether Frank Rosen watched catch-up television and classic movies. Then Drake found himself thinking about the laptop.

  Abruptly he got up and strode out in to the Incident Room.

  ‘How did Green steal Rosen’s laptop?’

  Winder glanced over at Howick, who frowned. Caren stopped chewing on a piece of gum and sat back in her chair.

  They had missed something. He looked at the drawings of the ship and the various decks. If Green had killed Rosen then he must have got access to the engineer’s cabin when he wasn’t there, either before or after Rosen had left for the engine room. He stared at the plan, oblivious of the stares behind him. What if it wasn’t Green? So he stared at the list of the crew.

  He turned and saw the three pairs of eyes peering at him.

  ‘What time was Rosen last seen?’

  Caren was the first to contribute. ‘In the engine room, about half an hour before the ship left Dublin.’

  ‘Yes, of course, of course.’ Drake wrote something furiously on the board. ‘How long would it take him to walk down to the engine room?’

  ‘Ten minutes max,’ Howick replied.

  Drake sensed the developing concentration in the room, minds beginning to focus.

  ‘So whoever trashed Rosen’s cabin would have known when he had to leave.’

  Winder piped up. ‘That could have been anybody on the crew.’

  Drake spun round. ‘No. That can’t be the case. It’s not likely that the catering staff would know the movement of the engineers. And they’d be taking a risk going into the officers’ quarters, even though they’ve got access to everywhere on the ship with those key cards.’

  Howick interrupted him. ‘All part of the security regime. I’ve got all those details from the office staff—’

  ‘I know Dave, but then there’s the CCTV. We’ve got hours of CCTV footage of everywhere in the ship.’

  ‘You don’t mean?’ Caren asked.

  Drake turned again to the board, knowing where to look but realising it would take hours of work. He tilted his head forward, nearer the board. ‘Let’s isolate the officers’ quarters. I want a list of all the officers separately and then identify where they were half an hour before Rosen went down to the engine room. I want to know how many of them were in their cabins and how many were on the car deck or on the bridge and or in the engine room.’

  ‘But it could take—’Caren protested.

  ‘No choice.’ Drake pointed at the layout of the ship. ‘There are cameras covering the entrances to the officers’ quarters. We’ll need to get all those records sent over now.’

  He turned around, pleased with himself for the clear thinking despite the gloominess he’d experienced earlier. Winder had a resigned look while Howick frowned slightly, puzzlement in his eyes, and Caren was searching for something in her notebook. Drake had made progress and he hoped that by the end of the day his quest for the thief responsible for taking the laptop wasn’t another waste of time.

  ‘Then we need to go through all the interviews and statements from the crew. Everyone, but start with the deck officers and the engine room staff. I want a list of the crew who have cabins in the decks below the engineers.’

  He left the Incident Room, ignoring the exasperated glances. There seemed to be more order on his desk now that he’d returned. He turned to the messages swamping his inbox and began scrolling through them. There were a dozen emails, maybe more, from the Police Federation and he read one asking for his support against the latest cutbacks to policing numbers. Even the ritual of making good coffee gave him no pleasure and he returned to the desk thinking about MC. So he called his cousin’s mobile, but it rang out.

  The earlier clarity soon disappeared when Drake returned to his desk after visiting the bathroom to clean his hands from the grime of the Incident Room board and the dust on the computer keyboard. He needed to double-check everything, but there wasn’t the time. And his plans to travel to Dublin the following morning only meant another day away from his office.

  He went back to the beginning – it was a good place to start and he cursed himself for not having focused on Rosen and Janet sooner. He spent the rest of the morning trying to think clearly, but the more he contemplated the threads of the case the more they turned into a thick mesh. When the telephone rang he stared at it, his mind still entrapped. He answered it after the third ring.

  ‘Drake.’

  His mother sounded tired. ‘Ian, will you be able to call tonight?’

  ‘Of course.’ Immediately his heart felt heavy and the guilty feeling, that he had been unable to see his father the day before, returned.

  ‘How’s Dad?’

  ‘He’s still in bed. You know, it’s not easy. He gets very tired.’

  ‘I’ll see you tonight.’

  * * *

  ‘Good afternoon, Inspector.’

  Even Drake could sense the impatience in Sergeant Wilkinson’s voice.

  ‘Is there anything back from forensics yet?’

  ‘Nothing. And frankly I think it’s unlikely. If MC Hughes torched the car himself to destroy evidence, then he’s probably done a pretty good job, I’d say.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Exactly that, sir.’ The sergeant’s tone changing to defiance.

  ‘Have you spoken to MC’s friends?’

  ‘Of course, first thing we did.’

  ‘And what about his time in prison?’

  ‘Look, sir, I’ve got a team of officers involved.’

  Drake couldn’t stop himself from interfering and knew that the sergeant could complain.

  ‘Has there been any contact with Sylvie Whatmore’s family?’

  ‘Oh yes. They don’t want anything to do with MC or his family.’

  After extracting a begrudging agreement
from the sergeant to keep him informed, Drake finished the call. Every instinct wanted him to work on his cousin’s disappearance. The last conversation he’d had with MC had riled him more than he realised. He should have arrested MC when he had the chance, regardless of the evidence. He found himself chewing heavily on his thumb nail when the telephone rang.

  ‘That solicitor is here again. But with someone else this time.’ The receptionist’s voice sounded uninterested.

  ‘Who?’ Drake looked at a small bead of blood on his thumb.

  ‘Jade Beltrami.’

  ‘Okay, and who else?’ Drake stuck his thumb into his mouth.

  ‘A Mr Aylford. Beltrami said you’d definitely see him.’

  Drake mumbled an instruction for them to wait in the conference room.

  Satisfied that his thumb wasn’t going to bleed all over the paperwork, he found a writing pad before telling a surprised-looking Caren they had an unexpected interview. The unplanned visit began to irritate Drake as soon as they walked into the conference room.

  ‘Good morning.’ Jade Beltrami smiled. ‘This is Lewis Aylford. He wants to make a statement.’

  ‘Come on Jade,’ Drake said. ‘You know this isn’t routine.’

  ‘Mr Aylford is aware that Frank Rosen was a regular pilot for his syndicate and that you have him as a person of interest—’

  ‘I’m not telling you who is of interest in my investigation.’ Drake sensed he sounded annoyed.

  ‘Inspector. This is a murder inquiry and I’m sure you’d want to eliminate Mr Aylford from the inquiry.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

  Drake noticed Caren opening her notepad. Drake stared at Aylford, knowing that he and Parry must have agreed between themselves to attend voluntarily. It riled him to think that someone else wanted to interfere.

  ‘We’ve got a statement,’ Jade said.

  ‘Of course, you have,’ Drake said. ‘Let’s get some preliminaries done with first. You’re one of the owners of the plane that Rosen flew.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Aylford had a mellow Irish twang to his voice, and Drake wondered if he had a connection to Dublin.

  ‘What part of Ireland are you from?’ Drake said.

  Aylford looked nonplussed. ‘Galway.’

  Jade broke in. ‘We’ve come to make a voluntary statement.’

  ‘About the Rosen killing.’ Drake stared at Aylford, various permutations crossing his mind.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And how long have you lived in the UK, Lewis?’

  Jade rustled the papers on the table. ‘Mr Aylford wants to assist with your enquiries.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Drake said. ‘Do you go back to Ireland very often?’

  Aylford wore a black pinstripe, the sort a successful barrister might choose. The stripe was dark red, his shirt had a faint pink tinge and the tie had been knotted perfectly. The edginess Drake had felt earlier was returning and Aylford wasn’t helping. He stared at him, waiting for a reply.

  ‘I haven’t been—’

  Jade cut across him. ‘We’ve got a prepared statement.’

  ‘I’m sure Lewis wants to cooperate. That’s why he’s here,’ Drake continued, oblivious to the open-mouthed astonishment Caren was trying to hide. ‘How long have you lived in North Wales?’

  ‘It’s been twenty years.’

  ‘You’re a dentist?’ Drake continued to stare at Aylford.

  ‘I have a practice in Llandudno.’

  ‘And Colwyn Bay and Bangor, I understand.’

  Aylford nodded.

  Jade moved more of her papers and gave Caren a sharp look. ‘What is this about, Inspector?’

  ‘Lewis is cooperating fully with us so that we can eliminate him from our inquiries. Do have any family in Dublin?’

  ‘Ah…’

  ‘Easy question. Yes or no?’

  ‘Well, my sister lives outside.’

  ‘And is she married? Children? Where does she work?’ Drake said, trying to work out if there might be a connection to Fergal Connors.

  ‘She’s a nun.’

  Drake played with a biro. ‘Any other family then, cousins, etc.?’

  ‘Ah…’

  ‘Did you fly to Ireland very often with Rosen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who would be with you?’

  ‘It could vary. John Beltrami, Tim Loosemore and sometimes Eddie Parry.’

  ‘And what did you talk about?’

  Aylford shrugged. ‘It’s impossible to talk on a small plane.’

  ‘You know what I mean. There was plenty of time either side of the flight. Come on, you must have talked about something. Football, rugby, the weather.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Did Rosen talk about money?’

  Another shrug. Drake could feel his pulse increasing.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You don’t think so?’ Drake raised his voice.

  ‘Where did you stay with Rosen?’

  ‘Different hotels—’

  Drake’s annoyance was building. ‘And did you ever go the Blue Parrot nightclub?’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘So if I requisition your credit card statements and bank accounts there’ll be no reference to that night club?’

  For the first time Aylford looked worried. ‘Well. I don’t remember names like that but we did visit various restaurants and clubs. So I could well have gone there.’

  ‘Ian. We are going to read this statement.’ Jade raised her voice, before shuffling a single piece of paper over the table to Aylford.

  Drake squinted occasionally, knotted his brow and doodled with the biro while Aylford read the statement which was more or less identical to the one he’d heard Parry read. Drake glanced over at Caren and noticed her irritation too. By the end Aylford had confirmed his various trips to Ireland with Beltrami and Loosemore and Rosen. Drake noticed the time on his watch, judging that he’d wasted almost an hour. Once Aylford finished Drake placed the biro on the table and leant forward.

  ‘Just one more question.’

  Jade smiled. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Did you kill Frank Rosen?’

  Chapter 33

  Drake listened to the safety announcement and smiled to himself as he recalled the look of utter disbelief on Aylford’s face, as though he’d been told he only had hours to live. Children were chattering behind him and he’d placed the morning’s newspaper on the seat by his side, ready to start on the sudoku. The announcer continued in smooth calming tones, explaining the emergency evacuation procedures. Children came running past him towards the front of the vessel – the same enormous catamaran he’d used on his last trip to Ireland – parents oblivious to the suggestions in the video that youngsters shouldn’t run around unaccompanied.

  Drake finished the sudoku quickly, soon regretting his decision not to slip a book of puzzles into his bag, and once he’d read the news section he went in search of a coffee. The girl behind the counter smiled, took his order, then flicked some switches until a plastic mug filled with an Americano. It had a plastic taste that hung around in his mouth. The journey passed quickly and once the vessel had docked he filed through to the terminal entrance.

  ‘How was your trip?’ Malachy O’Sullivan said, shaking Drake’s hand.

  ‘Good.’

  Drake followed O’Sullivan out to the car.

  ‘I’ve got some good news. We found one of the tenants from Rosen’s Dublin house. It was dead fucking lucky – seeing as he had no idea where any of them had gone. Anyhow, one of the lads was doing some background checks and an address pops up.’

  Drake opened the car door: the smell was the same as the last time. O’Sullivan fired the engine into life and drove off. ‘Colm Harrison remembers a woman visiting a couple of times. He worked from his flat, finishing a novel or some such bullshit – sounds like an excuse for idleness to me. He clocked them straight-off as a philandering husband – younger wom
an, etc. etc. He had all that jargon about people screwing people they shouldn’t.’

  They reached a set of lights and the car braked hard. O’Sullivan took a left and then another sharp corner before pulling the car abruptly to a halt. They got out and Drake followed O’Sullivan up a short path to a door at the rear of one of the terraces. The Irishman banged his fist a couple of times before the door opened.

  ‘Colm. This is DI Drake from Wales. He wants to talk to you.’

  Inside Drake saw cluttered work surfaces and an untidy kitchen as Harrison led them through into a room with a desk under a window and a single bed pushed against a wall. Drake showed the image of Mandy Beal to Harrison, who nodded.

  ‘That’s her all right. I saw her with the guy from the other photo.’ He nodded again when Drake showed him the image of Rosen.

  Harrison happily described his working day in the ground-floor bedsit in the house owned by Maguire. He’d be at the computer first thing and write all day. Drink too much coffee, eat too many biscuits, and surf the internet when he was distracted.

  ‘I’ve got a good memory for faces. Occupational hazard of being a writer.’

  ‘Have you had anything published yet?’ Drake asked.

  ‘Still not finished. I even included a description of her in the book.’

  Once Drake had finished jotting down the details he made to leave.

  ‘There was another woman too,’ Harrison said. ‘She wore a uniform and carried a green shoulder bag.’

  ‘Really.’ Drake’s mind was racing, thinking how he’d get photographs of the crew. ‘I’ll need to speak to you again today.’

  ‘OK. I’m only going as far as the computer,’ Harrison said, nodding towards the screen on his desk.

  Outside the temperatures were warming. Drake and O’Sullivan strode back to the car.

  ‘I need to call my team and get them to email you photographs of all the female crew members,’ Drake said.