‘I wonder if you can help,’ he said, concealing the tension raging through his mind.
She smiled and seemed responsive to the polite request.
Drake gave her the sheet of paper he had prepared. ‘We’re missing some information. Records for expenses and all that.’
‘Can I email you the details? It’s just that I’m a bit busy right now.’
Drake wanted to say that it was a matter of life and death – that it involved four murders, a fifth possibly to come. He ran his tongue over the inside of his lips and hoped she wouldn’t notice.
‘Any idea how long?’
‘Next half an hour.’
Drake returned to his office, chewing his lower lip and tearing at the fingernails on his right hand. He glanced at his watch every five minutes, waiting and hoping the information would materialise. The door to his office remained closed.
He leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. He was back round the table in the kitchen that morning, listening to Sian and the children and the news on the radio and drinking coffee and waiting for breakfast. Then he remembered Sian’s comments about Moxon and he quickly straightened and reached for the telephone.
The receptionist’s voice was prim. ‘Dr Drake is busy.’
‘Does she have a patient?’
‘No, but …’
‘Put me through. Now.’
‘What’s wrong, Ian?’
‘This morning you mentioned Moxie and Beverley going to a club. What did you mean?’
‘What’s this about?’
‘Please Sian – might be important.’
‘Don’t you remember they went to some archery club?’
Drake put one hand to his forehead and pulled the handset close to his ear.
‘Who did Beverley have an affair with?’
He dreaded hearing her answer and he breathed out slowly.
‘Beverley never told me. But I think it was another police officer.’
He swallowed hard and the saliva in his mouth evaporated, causing his lips to stick together.
‘Ian. What’s going on?’
‘Nothing. It’s all right. I’ll call you later.’
He stood up and pushed the chair back against the wall of his office so hard it crashed noisily. In the Incident Room he asked Howick to bring the impounded box from the Archery Association into his room. He kept the conversation concise and to the point – no explanations needed: he was in charge. Howick left the box on Drake’s desk and, after giving him a puzzled look, left the room. Drake riffled through the box, moving folders and files to one side until he came across photograph albums marked Summer Ball. Slowly he flicked through the pictures of smiling faces with hands holding glasses raised in a silent toast. At the end of the second album, he stopped and sat down heavily drawing the album onto the desk. He let out a long gasp.
Then he heard the ping of an email arriving in his inbox and he double-clicked the mouse until the screen momentarily froze. He cursed and glanced through the window of the door, hoping he wouldn’t be disturbed. When he finally opened the email, he scanned down to the name of John Moxon.
He read the number.
Caren pressed the top of the carafe and the hot tea poured in a dribble into her cup. She emptied a plastic container of milk into her drink before adding three sachets of sugar. From the plate of biscuits on the table, she took two digestives, broke the first in two and dunked one half in the tea, before lowering her mouth to catch the sodden remains. Drake would be disgusted, she knew.
‘Bloody boring, isn’t?’ the voice was one she vaguely recognised.
She turned and saw Simon Brooks from western area. A serious, intense man about the same age as Caren, he was holding a cup of black coffee and had three biscuits balanced on the saucer. He had the cheeks of a marathon runner, hollowed out by the wind, and greasy hair combed back over his head.
Caren mumbled a reply through the digestive, trying not to splutter and send bits flying over Brooks.
‘I wasn’t supposed to be here,’ she said.
Brooks sipped on the coffee and then crunched his way into the first of his biscuits and nodded back at her.
‘DI Drake was supposed to attend but I drew the short straw.’
‘Tell me about it,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘Is he still on the Mathews case?’
‘Yes.’
‘Only I’d heard there was an incident in his house.’
Caren nodded. ‘He’s still in charge.’
Brooks raised his eyes in surprise and started his second biscuit.
‘How’s it going?’
‘So, so,’ she replied.
‘Lucky I was off duty on the day of Roderick Jones’s killing. I was shopping in Beddgelert.’
Caren cast a surreptitious eye to her watch. Soon it would be time to return for the rest of the afternoon session and she could escape from Brooks.
‘I was surprised that you had some of the non-operational officers on the mountain.’
‘What do you mean?’
Before Brooks had finished, Caren was heading for the door.
Drake was holding his head in his hands when Caren barged into his office. She closed the door and sat down. He saw the troubled look on her face as she leant forward against the desk, a hushed, quiet tone to her voice.
‘I’ve just spoken to Simon Brooks.’
‘Who?’
‘A DC from western area. He was in Beddgelert on the day Roderick Jones was killed.’
Drake put his hands down onto the desk and turned a biro through his fingers.
‘He asked me why we had non-operational officers on the mountain the day Roderick Jones was killed.’
Drake blinked, drew a hand through his hair and stared at Caren.
‘Moxon, isn’t it?’
She opened her mouth in amazement.
‘How …?’
‘1979.’
He sounded relieved, as though sharing the knowledge was a catharsis.
‘That’s Moxon’s number.’
Caren slumped back in the chair.
‘When did you …?’
‘It’s been there in the back of my mind. Numbers. Staring us in the face. Shouting at us. We’ve been running around like headless chickens trying to work out the meaning of the song lyrics and it was the number after all.’
‘What … I mean, the motive. Why?’ Caren was still deep in her thoughts. ‘Why would he want to kill Mathews? They were fellow officers … And then Jones … or West?’ She sounded exasperated.
‘Let’s start at the beginning. We’ve missed something.’
Drake thought of his last meeting with Moxon. He scanned his memory for any snippet. He looked past Caren and saw the face of Winder at the window of his door but he gave him a severe look and Winder turned away.
‘But it doesn’t make sense,’ Caren said, sounding positive. ‘What could be his possible motive?’
Drake shrugged, a tired, frustrated look on his face.
‘We’ll need to go through all of Jones’s papers again. You’d better contact Southern Division. Get all of the files couriered today.’
Caren nodded. ‘What do I tell the others?’
He raised his head and looked at Caren, a realisation striking him, ‘We’ll need Beverley Moxon’s medical records,’ he said.
He reached for the printed report where he had left it. He read down the list until he found Beverley Moxon’s name and read along the row until the name of the referring surgery appeared.
He read the name twice.
Dr Sian Drake had referred her.
He drew his hand over his mouth and silently cursed. Without saying a word, he thrust the paper over at Caren as the telephone rang.
‘Inspector Drake. We’ve found something you ought to see.’
The voice of Jan Jones was cold and impersonal, as though she were discussing a report on the justification of the Iraq war, but by the time she’d finished Drake was already on his
feet and reaching for his car keys.
Chapter 41
Wednesday 30th June
Drake peered out of the windscreen, scanning the car park for Moxon’s Renault – or was it an old Vauxhall? This was madness: it couldn’t be happening, and he thumped the steering wheel hard with the palm of his hand until it shuddered. He just could not believe that he was even contemplating that Moxon was involved. It had to be either Harrod or Walters – just had to be. He fired the engine and powered the car westwards along the route he had taken many times before. For the first time in the investigation, he thought about the journey to Moxon’s home. It was a journey he had taken frequently over the years when he and Moxon had been young officers, but when he was promoted and Moxon’s career languished, their friendship seemed to fizzle out. The occasional drink after work never seemed the same and Drake often regretted that he hadn’t tried harder, especially after Beverley was diagnosed with cancer. He banged the palms of his hand on the wheel again and cursed aloud.
He should have seen this – it was his fault. Maybe West might be alive if he’d been more attentive, more careful. It was all about the numbers. And Moxon knew all about his rituals. The knowledge that he had confided in him turned Drake’s stomach.
An Audi dawdled in front of him, so he flashed his headlights and shouted aloud, hoping in some way that the driver might hear him. He yanked the sun visor down as he made his way towards the Lleyn Peninsula. Another hour passed until he was threading his way through the streets of Pwllheli.
Jan Jones’s house had a tired look; the windows needed painting and the pebbledash was old and grey. Even the doorbell was decrepit and when Drake pushed it, nothing happened. He pushed it a second time and then there was a faint buzzing sound as though two wires were trying to connect. There was a shout from the bowels of the house that he couldn’t make out and then the sound of footsteps on a wooden floor. The door opened and Jan Jones stood on the threshold.
She had a world-weary look on her face. Drake looked into her eyes and saw a defeated spirit trying to cope. It would be difficult for her, he knew. A small community would want to share her grief, be part of it all, and everywhere she went there would be sympathetic faces, murmured words of regret and how are you? asked in a tone that implied she wasn’t coping.
He stepped into the house and immediately felt the same mournful atmosphere clawing at his own spirit. He had to get his business done and then leave.
‘I’ve got Rod’s mobile on the kitchen table,’ she said.
She flopped down on a chair by the table, her shoulders sagging. There was the sound of a radio upstairs, the creak of floorboards and then the flushing of a toilet.
‘How are the children?’ Drake asked.
Jan hesitated. Then she sighed, ‘They hide it well, I suppose.’
‘Must be hard.’
She turned her face away and brushed a loose hair from her eyes.
‘I wanted you to see this.’ Jan pushed an iPhone towards him. ‘It was Rod’s. It was new. He had only had it a couple of days.’
Drake picked up the mobile and looked at the time and date on the screen.
‘I didn’t pay it any attention until Stefan opened it up today and looked at the damn thing.’
‘And?’
‘There are some photographs …’
‘Of what?’
‘I think it was a mistake. I don’t think Rod knew how to use the thing properly. It was the staff in the office that persuaded him to get one.’
Jan lost interest in explaining the purchase of the iPhone. Drake slid his finger over the screen and the mobile came to life.
‘What are the photographs?’ Drake asked again, as he navigated through the menu.
‘Rod was on the mountain.’
A small bead of perspiration gathered on his forehead. Jan continued.
‘He must have taken some photographs without knowing it.’
Drake had reached the folder where the images were stored.
‘Stefan says he took about twenty.’
Drake’s pulse bounded as he found the first photograph.
‘Do you want a coffee or something?’ Jan asked.
Drake didn’t reply – he had reached the tenth photograph. There were images of walkers with backpacks and poles, and families with children all badly framed and out of line. He let out a slow breath and hoped. Hoped for a breakthrough.
At the nineteenth photograph, he stopped and stared at the image on the screen. Diagonally from one corner to another was the image of a man.
A man he knew well.
‘Where’s Inspector Drake?’
Caren was convinced the pulse in her neck was thumping loudly enough for Price and Thorsen to hear it. Both men had given her steely dark stares when she came into Price’s office. She stood; there hadn’t been an invitation to sit down.
‘He was called out on an urgent matter.’
How could she tell them it might be the breakthrough they needed? Perhaps it wasn’t. If Drake was wrong then she could be in big trouble.
‘Did he tell you when he’d be back?’
‘He said he wouldn’t be long.’
‘We have an important meeting with him.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And we haven’t been able to reach him on his mobile.’
Thorsen looked at his watch before adding, without emotion, ‘It’ll have to wait till the morning now.’
Caren hurried back to the Incident Room, texting Drake on the way.
‘Where’s Inspector Drake?’
Winder spoke, but Howick was standing with him in front of the board in the Incident Room, both men staring Caren straight in the eye. She knew that they guessed something unusual was happening and on any other day Caren would have answered without thinking. But her pulse was still beating at an alarming rate. She heard Drake’s voice insisting they had to keep this part of the investigation between themselves. It occurred to her that perhaps Drake wanted to protect his own reputation. After all, Moxon was a friend.
‘Gareth, when can we expect the report from the pathologist?’
He gave her a sharp glance as if to say that he knew what she was doing. Howick exchanged an informative glance with Winder.
Caren continued, ‘Dave, when can I expect a full summary of Dr West’s movements?’
‘Ah …’
‘We do have an investigation ongoing. And we’ll need to piece together his life. Girlfriends, family, money, you know – everything that might help. We need to establish a motive. Somebody out there wanted him dead.’
Caren returned to Drake’s office, closed the door firmly and knew that she had overdone the senior officer routine. She returned to the research and flicked through various tabs on a Google search. She had ten hours’ work to do in five.
It all made perfect sense once Drake reflected on the evidence.
The volume of the CD player was set low and the curves and corners of the road through the Lleyn Peninsula focused his mind on the scene at the top of the Crimea. Now it seemed so obvious. Mathews and Farrell must have recognised Moxon and not perceiving a threat, Mathews stayed in the car, oblivious to what was going to happen. Moxon would have known how the car would park and he would have been ready.
Now he had more pieces of the jigsaw that he hoped would persuade Price to allow him to finish the investigation. Drake knew that missing the meeting with Thorsen and Price had been a bad move but the photographs in Roderick Jones’s iPhone would surely justify his visit to Jan Jones.
Drake flashed his headlights at caravans that wouldn’t pull in to let him pass. He cursed when the police lights in the unmarked car failed to work. The mobile sitting in the cradle rang, flashing up a familiar number, and he clicked the Bluetooth device in his ear.
‘Mike, what have you got?’
Foulds gave a detailed analysis of the crime scene at the private patients’ clinic. There were no fingerprints: only paint scraped off door casings, sugge
sting the killer had struggled with the wheelchair as he manoeuvred the body into the office.
‘And the car?’
‘We’ve taken some samples from the rear of the car. Soil, dirt. Could be anything. I’ve sent them to the lab for an urgent analysis. It’ll be at least a few days, maybe a week.’
‘A week! We haven’t got a week,’ Drake replied.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Drake finished the call and accelerated hard, knowing he was breaking the speed limit.
Caren despaired as she read the guidelines.
The release of the medical records of a deceased person needed the next of kin’s consent, but Moxon was hardly likely to agree. She searched for a detailed analysis of the law, hitting various websites, including a firm of solicitors who specialised in suing doctors.
Her shoulders felt heavy. She stretched her arms until the muscles pulled, then she yawned and rubbed her eyes – it had been a long day.
The Incident Room was empty when she returned from the kitchen with a strong coffee. She glanced over the board and thought that Moxon’s details should be at the top. Nobody had considered that he might be the killer. In any event, he had no motive for the death of Roderick Jones. Now he should be in the middle of the board, subject to the harsh light of the investigation.
Eventually she found the information she needed. She smiled and pulled herself closer to the screen, as she copied and pasted the information into a file.
She spent the next hour sorting the notes into a logical and presentable order. Drake would want to see clarity and, if it was going where she thought it might, then he needed to assemble every argument. She decided to ring Alun, but hesitated, knowing she had to be non-committal.
The telephone rang out until she heard the answerphone click on and the pre-recorded message played. She hated speaking into answer machines and hung up. Maybe he was out in the fields with the alpacas or maybe he had his headphones on and the stereo blasting heavy metal into his eardrums.
She clicked on the modern anglepoise lamp that Drake kept on his desk alongside the pictures of Megan and Helen, all neatly arranged and dusted spotlessly clean. The telephone rang, and for a moment, she hoped it would be Alun, but the voice of the receptionist sounded lifeless and dull.
Brass in Pocket Page 27