Against the Tide

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘Three years. We always come to Rhosneigr for holidays in the summer. My mum thinks the place is wonderful.’

  It was the second time that morning that he’d heard the mispronunciation of a Welsh word and he wondered whether Sandham had any real idea how he should pronounce the name of the village.

  ‘Jane was fifteen then. And how old were you?’

  ‘Sixteen.’

  ‘Where did you meet?’

  ‘At that place in the village. They have barbecues and parties in the summer. It’s about the only place to go. Otherwise it’s drinking on the beach or in some of the pubs, but then the local boys don’t like us. She was just beautiful and so gentle.’

  Caren wasn’t going be the one to shatter Julian’s image of Jane.

  ‘That first summer we went swimming and we went sailing over the bay. We had picnics on the sand.’

  ‘Did you go to the cottages near the pool where we found her body?’

  Julian’s head sank. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you have sex with her there?’

  ‘Yes,’ Julian spoke softly.

  ‘And how did you get inside?’

  ‘She knew where to find the keys. She said it was a special place and that it was her secret. And that I shouldn’t tell anyone about it and that if we were caught then the owner would be sure to complain to the police. And that we’d be charged with burglary.’

  ‘Which cottage was it?’

  ‘We went swimming at night in that pool. We left our clothes on the sand.’

  ‘Was it the middle cottage?’

  Julian looked up at Drake. ‘Yes, I think it was. It was the only one with any furniture.’

  ‘Furniture?’

  ‘Chairs and some cupboards and a bed.’

  ‘Was it kept tidy?’

  Julian gave Drake a puzzled look.

  ‘You know, was it dirty or clean?’

  ‘Clean, I suppose.’

  ‘Tell me about the last time you saw Jane?’

  Julian sat up on the sofa. ‘It was Sunday. We’d arranged to meet. She was frightened of something but she wouldn’t tell me. She was going to leave Anglesey and come and live with me in Birmingham. I was going to get a job and leave university. I…’

  ‘Where did you see her?’

  ‘On the beach… We…’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Did you go the cottages that night?’

  ‘No. She was going home. But she said she had something important to do.’

  ‘Did she say what?’

  Sandham shook his head.

  ‘Did she talk about her family?’

  Sandham managed a haunted look. ‘There was something odd there. She didn’t like her dad or her mum really. But she hadn’t been herself in the last couple of months. I thought she was seeing someone else.’

  ‘Were you jealous?’

  ‘I just wanted to be with her.’

  ‘Did you know she was pregnant?’

  Caren saw the sadness in his face. There was something helpless there too. Drake had told her when they’d arrived at the house about his call from Kings and Caren had been surprised by the news.

  ‘She didn’t tell me. Why didn’t she tell me…?’

  ‘Did she tell you there was someone else in her life?’

  Sandham brushed away tears. ‘No, but sometimes she didn’t answer my messages and then she wouldn’t answer the telephone.’

  ‘Do you know Ed Mostyn?’

  Julian’s head sagged again.

  ‘He was killed three days before Jane. His body was found on the mud near the bridge at Four Mile Bridge.’

  Julian was nodding his head now. ‘I know. I know. I didn’t arrive in Rhosneigr until the day after.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘At home in Birmingham.’

  His alibi would have to be checked, but Caren had seen innocent men often enough to know that Julian hadn’t killed Ed Mostyn. But Jane Jones? In a fit of temper… Maybe.

  Drake stood up and made to leave. Caren did the same and once they were outside she could smell the salt in the air and the sound of children’s laughter drifting up from the beach.

  ‘Organise for an officer to take his DNA,’ Drake said as his mobile rang.

  He rolled his eyes at Caren as he listened to the message.

  ‘There’s been a disturbance at Tyddyn Du. The local sergeant wants me to attend. I’ll see you back at headquarters.’

  Chapter 15

  A patrol car was parked by the rear door of Tyddyn Du. Drake and Caren pulled up next to two other cars parked on a piece of gravel.

  He strode up to the house and noticed Gwynfor Llywelyn sitting in the rear seat of the patrol car, his face a dirty grey colour, his eyes bloodshot. Drake recognised the uniformed sergeant from the scene of Mostyn’s murder.

  ‘The family’s pretty upset, sir.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Llywelyn arrived an hour ago. Off his head on something – booze and drugs at a guess. Kept shouting at the family that they’d killed Jane and that they were all evil. He was going to see them rot in hell. All that sort of stuff.’

  ‘And has anyone been hurt?’

  ‘No. They locked the house and he just kept raving outside.’

  ‘Who’s inside?’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Jones and the local minister.’

  Drake stepped up to the door, Caren following behind him. The parlour still had the same melancholic air that Drake recalled from his previous visits. Mildred was sitting quite separate from Ray on the couch. A tall man wearing a dog collar and an old black suit stood up. He had a noticeable stoop and he stretched out his hand. ‘Reverend John Milburn.’

  Drake shook his hand and noticed the man’s intense stare.

  Caren sat down on a chair near Mildred. ‘It must have been very distressing Mrs Jones.’

  She opened her mouth but said nothing, a bewildered look on her face.

  Sergeant Watkins cleared his throat behind Drake. ‘I’m going to take Gwynfor Llywelyn to the station.’

  Drake looked over at Ray and then Mildred. ‘I’m sure you’ll want to make a complaint about what happened.’

  Ray shook his head slowly. ‘We’re fine, thank you.’

  ‘It will be no trouble to take a statement.’

  Mildred made a brief sobbing sound, as Ray Jones looked over Drake’s shoulder before shaking his head again. Drake saw the troubled look on Caren’s face.

  ‘I’ll go and talk to him,’ Drake said.

  He was followed through into the kitchen and then out through the back door by Milburn.

  ‘I’m sure you must find this attitude very frustrating,’ Milburn said quietly.

  ‘I don’t see what the problem is.’

  ‘They are a very private family. Any invasion of their privacy is unwelcome. Ray is particularly old-fashioned and he’s… how can I put this? Not the easiest of men. He has a very Calvinistic outlook – clear and positive about the right behaviour.’

  Drake walked towards the car.

  ‘Llywelyn can cool off in the police cells overnight.’

  He yanked open the car door and looked in at Llywelyn, who swivelled his head around slowly. He moved to the edge of the rear seat and then leant forward, putting his head out of the car as he made a loud belching noise before vomiting all over the ground. Drake jumped out of the way a fraction too late, as bits of sick grazed his shoes.

  *

  The following morning Drake sat at the kitchen table as breakfast happened all around him. Sian complained that he was miles away and glared when he ignored her requests to empty the dishwasher. He left the house and Sian gave him another wintry look that turned arctic when he said that he couldn’t tell her when he’d be home that evening.

  Headquarters was oddly busy, despite the fact that it was the height of summer. He navigated around three men delivering a new photocopying machine and headed for the st
airs. The door of the Incident Room banged against the wall as he pushed it too hard. Winder and Howick looked startled as he walked in.

  ‘Morning, boss,’ Winder said. Drake heard Howick mumble something.

  Drake headed for his office, where he booted up his computer. A text that morning had warned him to expect the full post mortem report on Jane Jones. Once he’d finished reading it he sat back and speculated who the father was and whether her family knew. His concentration was interrupted as he noticed Caren passing the door to his office. He rose and strode out.

  Drake stood by the board, looking at the photograph of Jane Jones. ‘I’ve just read her post mortem. She was three months pregnant when she died.’

  ‘So we’ve got a father to trace,’ Caren said.

  Drake turned his back to the board. ‘The CSIs are doing a DNA search. In the meantime,’ Drake looked at Winder and Howick, ‘I need you to concentrate on de Northway. He has the perfect motive for Mostyn’s death. The house that he occupies is tenanted on a low rent and after his death de Northway gets the property back.’

  ‘What about Jane Jones?’ Howick said.

  ‘De Northway owns the farm that her family occupy…’

  Caren drew a hand through her mass of unruly hair. ‘It’s not enough to make a link.’

  ‘And he owns the cottages near where she died.’

  ‘Coincidences do happen,’ Winder said.

  ‘I don’t like coincidences,’ Drake said. ‘And, Dave.’ He turned to glare at Howick. ‘I need results from Jane Jones’s telephone.’

  Howick gave an embarrassed look and averted his eyes down to his feet. ‘Slow progress, boss.’

  ‘Make it quicker,’ Drake said, turning to Caren. ‘Ready?’

  From the car park of headquarters it was a short drive down to the A55, and once Drake was onto the dual carriageway he accelerated westward, passing caravans and trailers and motor homes heading for Snowdonia and the holiday destinations of Anglesey.

  It was a journey of forty minutes to reach the police station in Llangefni in the middle of Anglesey. Drake drew up beside the barrier, buzzed the intercom and waited for the barrier to lift clear.

  After parking he stood by the door, waiting for it to be opened, staring down at his clean shoes. The unlucky pair from yesterday had been cleaned, polished and stored away. There was a loud clunking noise as the door opened.

  Drake peered through the small opening in the cell door at Gwynfor Llywelyn lying on the narrow bed, a grey blanket curled up at his feet. The custody sergeant drew out a handful of keys and heaved open the door. Drake led Llywelyn to an interview room.

  ‘Don’t I need a solicitor or something?’ Drake could smell Llywelyn’s rancid breath across the table.

  ‘This isn’t an interview under caution.’

  ‘Why not?’ Llywelyn put a hand to his mouth and pulled a face. He sipped some water.

  ‘You’re lucky. The Jones’s haven’t made a complaint.’

  Drake couldn’t make out the reaction on his face. It was surprise mixed with incredulity. ‘But I still want to know why you were there?’

  ‘They killed Jane. They’re all weird, her father especially. She was terrified of him. He stared at her if he was angry and then said nothing for days. And her brother was a pervert. She complained that he’d be creeping around the house and be spying on her. I caught him once, when we were by the cottages swimming at night, just standing there, staring.’

  ‘Going to the house isn’t going to bring her back.’

  Llywelyn was rubbing his temples.

  ‘How long did you go out with Jane?’

  ‘Almost a year.’

  ‘Why did you finish?’

  ‘She said I was too serious for her.’

  ‘Is that true?’

  Drake hesitated for a moment. He gave Llywelyn an intense look, wanting to gauge how he’d react. ‘Did you know that Jane was pregnant?’

  Llywelyn couldn’t feign the surprise and pained expression. ‘I had no idea,’ he said, adding, ‘She wanted to be with that English boy.’

  ‘How did you feel?’

  A muscle pulsed in Llywelyn’s jaw and his eyes narrowed.

  ‘Does this mean I can go?’

  ‘One more thing. I need confirmation of your whereabouts on the night Jane died.’

  ‘You cannot be serious.’ Then the words tumbled out. ‘I was at home. It was Sunday. I loved her. I would never have killed her.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘I wanted her back.’

  Chapter 16

  Over a week had passed since the start of the investigation and Gareth Winder was pleased with himself for having got into work early every morning. His usual pattern of regular Internet gaming, often until the small hours, had been modified by the arrival of a new girlfriend and there’d been comments from Howick and Caren that he was looking healthier.

  Once Drake had left that morning Winder sat back in his chair and looked over at Howick. He doubted that he’d ever want the promotion that Howick craved. Only another twenty-two years until he could draw a pension. He’d have all the time in the world then to play games and chill out. Howick was wearing a white shirt and a sombre blue tie. Winder glanced down at his own clothes and wondered if a smart appearance was the secret to passing the sergeant’s exams. He hadn’t worn a tie for months, or a suit come to that, and he was just coming to terms with the changes to his normal lifestyle that had meant less time checking Facebook every spare moment and having to think about the routine of a new girlfriend.

  Jenny worked in the local council offices and kept pestering Winder with suggestions that she wanted to meet Howick and his work colleagues. She had given him a puzzled look as he explained the intricacies of the hierarchy in the Wales Police Service, before telling her that he couldn’t imagine socialising with Inspector Drake. Maybe he’d suggest doing something with Howick and his wife.

  Howick turned to look over at him. ‘Busy Gareth?’

  ‘Contemplating where to start.’

  ‘At the beginning.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  Winder got up and walked over to the board. The image of Ed Mostyn had been enlarged and the puncture wounds on his neck made him look like an extra from a horror movie. Caren had pinned up an image of Jane Jones and Winder could see how she would have turned heads.

  ‘So, what’s the connection?’ Winder wasn’t expecting Howick to reply.

  Howick’s chair squeaked as it moved over the hard floor surface. Winder looked over at his colleague. Howick stared over at him, arms folded.

  ‘Whoever killed Mostyn had a motive to kill Jane.’

  Howick said nothing.

  Winder had gathered momentum. ‘And if Jane Jones was killed by this Somerset de Northway character, then what would be his motive? Maybe he was shagging Jane and Mostyn finds out and tries to blackmail him.’

  ‘So he whacks him?’

  ‘Dead right. Top of the class – Sergeant Howick.’

  ‘So what would be his motive to kill Jane Jones?’

  Winder hesitated. ‘That’s where…’

  ‘He wouldn’t kill Jane, his lover, unless she was trying to blackmail him too.’ Howick stood up and walked over to Winder. ‘And he admits to being around at the time of Mostyn’s death.’

  Winder returned to his desk. Howick was already staring at the screen. Winder glanced back at the board, pondering if Drake really was right to pursue de Northway. Winder had heard the name high sheriff and had a vague recollection of seeing photographs in the local newspapers of events where the name had been printed alongside the image of a well-fed man beaming at the camera. The morning passed quickly as he surfed through the various Google entries for the ancient role of high sheriff. Winder had dismissed this sort of pomp as a relic from history but as he searched he found frequent references to the present incumbent, a former diplomat who’d been posted to the US and then the UN before returning with a knighthood to the family home in a quiet corner of Sno
wdonia. De Northway stood alongside him in several photographs.

  ‘De Northway seems well connected,’ Winder announced, when Howick returned from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee.

  Winder would have happily demolished a pastry with his coffee but Jenny had suggested he needed to watch his weight.

  ‘Do you know what a high sheriff does?’

  Howick sipped his mug and then shook his head.

  ‘He or she is the queen’s judicial representative in a county.’

  ‘Bit like a governor general for a Commonwealth country.’ Howick looked suitably intelligent.

  ‘No.’ Winder paused before correcting his friend. ‘The queen’s representative is the lord lieutenant.’

  ‘So what does the high sheriff actually do?’

  ‘He supports the judiciary and the emergency services in the county. And there’s probably a lot of fancy dinners where they dress up in breeches and lace.’

  ‘And de Northway is the deputy this year?’

  Winder blew on the surface of his drink and then took a mouthful. ‘De Northway will be the high sheriff next year. He’ll get to meet all the local judges and the chief constable and the ACC in charge of Northern Division and Super Price and—’

  ‘So he’s bomb-proof.’

  ‘There was an article in one of the local papers a couple of years ago about the de Northway family. You know, the usual sort of stuff about their history and how far back they go.’

  Howick had been back and forth to the forensics department during the morning until he’d announced that he had enough to work on in compiling a list of Jane’s friends and contacts. He finished his drink and stood up, gathered his papers together and fished his jacket off the chair. ‘I’m going to see one of Jane’s ex-boyfriends. Maybe he’ll have something constructive to tell me.’

  Winder watched as Howick left the Incident Room. The website of the High Sheriff of England and Wales was one of the tabs open on the screen along the top of the browser and Winder clicked the one with the references from local newspapers. He found the names of various local historians who had commented about the de Northway family.

  His mobile buzzed into life and he smiled as he read the message from Jenny suggesting they meet for lunch. Perhaps there was something to this sort of domesticity, Winder thought. He decided that he’d spend another half an hour on the Google search so he texted Jenny back – forty-five minutes, usual place?