Devil's Kitchen_An Inspector Drake Prequel Novella

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘Do you know a Denise Trainor?’ Drake said.

  Brown nodded. ‘She made contact me with recently. And we met a couple of times for coffee.’

  ‘I’m afraid we have some sad news. Mrs Trainor was killed on Monday.’

  Brown’s mouth fell open and he gasped. ‘When? Why? How did this happen?’

  ‘Can you tell us about your relationship with her?’

  ‘She was my half-sister.’

  Chapter 9

  1st October

  8.50 pm

  Drake should have been home reading a bedtime story to his children. The brief conversation with Sian after he’d left Brown’s home had failed to convince her that seeing the witness was a priority. Although her retort can’t it wait until the morning kept ringing around his head, he realised she didn’t understand that policing meant things had to be done urgently.

  ‘So we have a mystery man with a red coat walking the hills. Another man who obviously fantasises about his relationship with Denise Trainor—’

  ‘At least we’ve identified the man with a thick bushy beard,’ Caren said.

  ‘And he kissed Denise in public, which Jack Trainor could have misconstrued. We know she had kept her brother a secret.’

  Caren nodded. ‘But unless we can prove Scott was on the mountain we don’t have a case. Maybe someone flew in on a helicopter or a Tardis.’

  Drake glanced at Caren unable for a second to read the humour.

  He took the road down past Llyn Padarn and the black surface of the lake glistened in the darkness. Caren called Denise’s sister for the fifth time that evening and eventually got through. Drake glanced over at Caren as he overheard her making arrangements to see the woman the following afternoon. Then he skirted round Llanberis towards the museum at the far end of the town before taking a right after the Snowdon Mountain Railway station. He parked and they walked up to the detached house standing back from the road. The heavy front door with small panels of frosted glass needed a coat of paint. Drake rang the bell and a woman in her forties, a child at her feet, answered the door. She had matted hair formed into long dreadlocks. A faint odour of cannabis and dog pee drifted out of the house. Drake turned up his nose and pushed his warrant card at her.

  ‘Detective Inspector Drake and Detective Sergeant Waits. Mrs Elaine Razzell? We’d like to ask you some questions.’

  ‘What’s this all about?’ She drew the door nearer to her, shutting out their view into the house.

  ‘Denise Trainor was killed in Cwm Idwal earlier this week. We liked to ask you about Mr John Scott.’

  She frowned. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘We need to establish his movements on the morning Mrs Trainor died.’

  ‘My God. You don’t think he was responsible do you?’

  ‘Mrs Razzell, may we come in?’

  ‘It’s a mess and I haven’t cleaned today.’

  When she showed them through the hallway into the kitchen Drake guessed she meant this year. The room stank of second-hand food; a cat tray spilt its contents over the floor. She sat down and motioned to two wooden chairs. Drake gave them a long, hard look and remained standing.

  ‘Where were you on Monday morning?’

  A child cried somewhere and Razzell gave a worried glance to the door into the hallway.

  ‘I’ve got this job cleaning the youth hostel near the visitor centre by Llyn Ogwen.’

  ‘Cleaning?’ Drake scarcely believed she knew the meaning of the word.

  ‘Yeh. The kids don’t know how to keep the place tidy.’ She reached for a packet of cigarettes amongst the clutter on the table. Drake glanced at Caren. There was a mixture of bemusement and disgust on her face.

  Drake found his notebook and reminded himself of what Scott had told him. He had been in the office behind the youth hostel since first light completing the details of a programme of walks he was guiding the following month. He had remembered seeing Elaine Razzell when he stopped for a coffee. How much of it was fantasy?

  ‘What time did you leave the house?’

  She grimaced. Drake sounded annoyed when he pressed her again. ‘Well, was it dark?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, that’s one thing at least.’

  She fumbled with a cigarette that she lit and drew on heavily.

  ‘What time do you start work?’ Caren said.

  ‘Half seven … or thereabouts.’

  ‘So were you late Monday morning, early, on time?’

  Razzell stared at Caren as though she was talking Polish.

  She took another lungful of smoke and exhaled through her nose, allowing the smoke to waft over the table. It drifted towards Drake and he sensed his eyes water. It was late and he imagined the tangy stench from the kitchen clinging to his suit.

  She shook her head. ‘On Monday the place was quiet, I remember now. Not many youngsters there. And yeh, I saw John there. He’s a funny bloke isn’t he. Can’t make him out.’

  ‘When did you see him?’ Drake said.

  She dragged on the cigarette again. Drake took a step backwards.

  ‘Well … it must have been first thing when I arrived at half seven.’

  Caren peered over at Razzell. ‘Did you see him at any other time? It’s important.’

  Razzell seemed taken aback by the urgency in Caren’s tone.

  ‘Chill out, man. I can’t remember.’

  ‘It was only a few days ago,’ Caren hissed.

  ‘OK. I saw him making coffee about nine when I was on my break.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  She snorted. ‘How would I know?’

  ‘For Christ sake, you were there.’ Razzell had managed to get under Caren’s skin.

  Drake shared Caren’s annoyance with Razzell. Confirming that she had seen Scott gave him an alibi but he hated her attitude. At least she could have treated their questions seriously. Drake added, ‘We’ll need a statement from you. An officer will call in the morning to speak to you.’

  They left the house and headed back to their car, both Drake and Caren gulping lungfuls of fresh air. Drake bleeped the car open and leant on the roof.

  ‘If Scott was making coffee at nine it rules him out from being in the Devil’s Kitchen pushing Jack Trainor to his death. I’ll have to see the super in the morning.’

  2nd October

  9.12 am

  Caren pointed the remote at the television in the Incident Room and the image of one of the regular television journalists appeared standing outside headquarters. He turned to Superintendent Price standing by his side in full uniform. He stared down at the journalist and explained that it was a tragic case where two lives had been lost in one of the great beauty spots of North Wales.

  ‘I cannot tell you all the details at the present time,’ Price said when pressed about the rumours that the husband had killed his wife. ‘We are having difficulty tracing everyone who may have been on the mountain that morning. So we hope this public appeal may help to jog memories.’

  Drake and Caren watched in silence as the interview finished with the camera moving away from Price and back to the face of the journalist.

  ‘Do you think it’ll work, sir?’ Caren said.

  Drake sat down, looking over at the board. ‘It’s shame we haven’t got CCTV up there.’ He realised how idiotic it sounded.

  ‘Jack Trainor must have been driven mad with jealousy.’

  Drake nodded. Trainor had been brought up with a clear distinction between right and wrong and Drake could only imagine such a mind tortured by the assumption his wife had been unfaithful. ‘Once we’ve finalised all the paperwork then we can turn the whole thing over to the coroner.’

  Drake got up and headed for his office to prepare for his meeting with Price.

  He read back through his notes, put all the statements together in a folder, staring at the photographs of Denise and Jack Trainor in turn. At least now they had been able to eliminate the possibility that Scott had killed Train
or. It still irked him that they had an unidentified walker with a red jacket. Perhaps the public appeal might help.

  He walked through headquarters to the senior management suite. Price’s secretary smiled at him. ‘Sit down Ian. I’ll tell him you’re here.’

  Drake heard one half of the brief telephone conversation before she waved him towards the door to Price’s office. Inside, the superintendent waved Drake to a conference chair in front of his desk. They were a step up from the uncomfortable variety in the Incident Room.

  ‘Have you seen the appeal for witnesses?’

  ‘I’ve seen it this morning, sir.’

  Price must have shaved his head that morning because the artificial light glistened against his skin. Drake noticed he had an oddly shaped lump halfway down the right-hand side of his head.

  ‘There have been the usual crank calls.’

  Drake had expected there would be.

  ‘One woman said she had seen Jack Trainor kill his wife in a dream and then her spirit came back and pushed him off the Devil’s Kitchen.’

  ‘And John Scott has an alibi.’

  ‘You didn’t have any evidence against him, Ian. You were chasing a phantom. I appreciate it was your first case as the SIO. And you did well to establish Jack Trainor’s background. I think we can safely assume he killed her and then committed suicide. We’ll wait until Monday but then the case can be formally transferred to the coroner.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Do we follow up any leads from the appeal for witnesses?’

  ‘If any do materialise they can be referred to the coroner.’

  Drake nodded. Their work was complete and despite a nagging sense that loose ends existed it was clear they could do nothing further. He knew the identity of Denise Trainor’s killer and the motive for her death.

  ‘We’re seeing Denise Trainor’s sister, Lauren Holt, this afternoon. They weren’t close apparently.’

  Price nodded and then stood up. ‘Good work, Ian. You and Caren have been very thorough.’

  12.47 pm

  Drake sat at the window of the café near headquarters, next to Caren, waiting for their lunch order to arrive. He had hoped his first murder investigation as the SIO might have been more challenging.

  A waitress brought a mug of tea for Caren with her lunch and a glass of water for Drake. He took the first mouthful of his BLT sandwich and then, noticing Caren eating with her mouth open, lost his appetite. In between mouthfuls, Caren summarised the case, much to Drake’s irritation.

  ‘The super congratulated us on the inquiry.’ Drake cut across her mid-sentence.

  Caren stopped talking and smiled.

  ‘Thank you, boss.’

  Caren wanted to know how the process with the coroner worked and Drake gave her a synopsis.

  ‘It’s bound to be a suicide verdict.’ Caren sounded definitive.

  ‘It might be an open verdict,’ Drake said.

  Once they paid they returned to headquarters where one of the reception staff pointed to a woman sitting on one of the faux leather sofas. ‘There’s a Lauren Holt for you, Inspector.’

  Drake stepped towards the woman reading a newspaper. ‘Mrs Holt?’

  She stood up and shook Drake’s hand before he introduced Caren.

  ‘Lauren Holt.’ She gave him a piercing stare. ‘How can I help you?’

  Drake led her to one of the conference rooms. The room felt stifling, Caren eased open a window.

  ‘My condolences, Mrs Holt. We’ve been investigating the death of your sister and her husband. How much do you know about the circumstances of their deaths?’

  ‘Not a great deal.’

  ‘She was killed by her husband …’

  Holt nodded. ‘I was quite surprised she got married.’

  Drake paused, sensing Caren paying more attention to Holt now. Caren said, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I thought she was gay. When she was in her teens she had relationships with other girls that scandalised my mother. There was this one girl who was really mousey, small nose and brown unkempt hair who seemed to have some sort of hold on her.’

  Drake tried to recall how long the Trainors had been married.

  ‘Denise was very good at putting on a show, Inspector. There was something utterly insincere and false about her. She decided from a young age she wanted little to do with me.’ Drake debated to himself how he would tell her about Malcolm Brown but Holt continued before he could think of the best way to start. ‘I was several years younger than her and I tried to be friends with her but she rebuffed me.’

  ‘How much did you know about Jack Trainor?’

  Holt shrugged. ‘He always struck me as weird. He was so intense and strange. I don’t know how she tolerated him.’

  ‘Mrs Holt, there’s something I need to tell you.’

  Chapter 10

  3rd October

  8.45 am

  ‘How cold will it be?’ Sian said.

  Drake had just finished his second coffee of the morning. He was looking forward to a walk along Llandudno pier followed by lunch in one of the smart little cafés in the town. Towards the end of the week he had felt increasingly guilty that he had barely seen his daughters over the last few days. Spending time with them as a family was the priority that morning.

  But his thoughts floated back to his meeting with Lauren Holt and then he thought again that the absence of a suicide note from Trainor seemed incongruous.

  ‘Will I need my walking jacket?’ Sian sat down at the table alongside him. ‘Are you listening?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Switch off, Ian. I was asking you how cold it might be. You were in the mountains on Monday. Mind you, I expect it was colder up there than in Llandudno.’

  Drake thought about the comments John Scott had made about them not having the right kit and then he thought of the hikers he had interviewed. Something wasn’t right but he couldn’t put his finger on what was niggling. He smiled at Sian.

  ‘It was cold in Cwm Idwal right enough.’ He remembered tucking his trousers into some socks that Scott had extracted from an old pair of boots.

  ‘I could buy a new jacket. We could visit that new outdoor place in the middle of town.’

  ‘Haven’t you got enough jackets?’

  ‘You can never have enough jackets, Ian. It’s rather like shoes.’

  She grinned, got up and cleared away the cafetière and the empty plates.

  ‘I’ll shout the girls,’ Sian said.

  Drake gazed into the bottom of his empty mug contemplating making a refill of coffee. All of the hikers in Cwm Idwal had worn jackets. Underneath would have been fleeces and layers of thin walking shirts but that day it had been cold, one of the coldest of the autumn. Then he recalled Mary Hall, sitting on the wall shivering, wearing only a fleece. It only confirmed a sense that her behaviour had been odd.

  He marched into the study as his pulse increased.

  Something had been overlooked and he cursed to himself. All he could think of was going to headquarters and rifling through the file. Drake sat down at his computer, his mind shutting out the domestic routine developing around him. From upstairs, he could hear Helen and Megan’s excited voices as they spoke to Sian. It took him several telephone conversations to track down the right man.

  ‘I need to speak to the driver of the bus on the route from Betws-y-Coed to Bethesda on Monday morning.’

  ‘Ah … there wasn’t one.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The service didn’t run that morning. Not that it makes any difference – hardly anyone uses it.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Drake replaced the handset, stared at it, his mind a jumble of developing thoughts. He fumbled for his mobile and rang Caren who answered after two rings. ‘Where was Mary Hall from?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. Who?’

  ‘The woman in Cwm Idwal on Monday morning. Mary Hall.’

  Caren muttered an acknowledgement. ‘I … don’t know. Her accent was from the M
idlands somewhere.’

  Drake’s mind raced. He took a long slow breath as his mouth dried. ‘Meet me in headquarters.’

  Drake stammered an explanation to Sian but it only sharpened the hard edge to her stare as her lips tightened to a thin line. He dragged a jacket from the coat stand near the door and headed out to his car.

  He drove to headquarters in a blur, uncertain if he would make any sense at all to Caren or Superintendent Price. He even forgot to lock the car after parking and then raced to the Incident Room. The sound of vacuuming from the floor below him filled the air. In his office he found the address he needed. Then he strode to the Incident Room board where he stared at the map. Behind him he heard Caren’s voice approaching and as she barged in she finished her mobile telephone conversation.

  ‘What’s this all about, boss?’ Caren’s untidy mass of hair had been pulled tightly behind her head.

  ‘Did we know where Mary Hall was brought up?’

  Caren shook her head.

  ‘Damn.’ Drake returned his gaze to the map.

  ‘I thought she had a Black Country accent. I had a boyfriend once from Stoke.’

  ‘Come here.’ Drake stepped nearer the board, ballpoint in hand.

  He traced the route from Bethesda to Cwm Idwal. ‘Mary Hall told me she had a return bus ticket. But there hadn’t been a bus service up the valley that morning.’

  Caren frowned. Drake moved the ballpoint to the adjacent valley and drew it along the road from Llanberis. The contours narrowed until once he had passed the hamlet of Nant Peris they indicated the steep sides of the mountains. He noticed the summit of Snowdon. His throated tightened as he stopped at the dotted green line of a public footpath as it joined the main road where the brown shading of the cliffs gave way to a small area of land near a farm. Sheepfolds dotted the area surrounding it and Drake looked at the thin blue line that marked a river – Afon Las. He followed the footpath as it climbed until eventually it reached the top of the Devil’s Kitchen. He rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand and then turned to look at Caren. ‘Mary Hall lives in Llanberis?’ He tapped his ballpoint on the village.