Against the Tide

by Stephen Puleston

  Drake darted a glance at Caren – she frowned an encouragement.

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  ‘Was it just you and Jane?’

  ‘Sometimes Becky and Sue…’

  ‘Do you have the contact details for both girls? I’ll need their full names.’

  ‘I might have Becky’s mobile number.’

  Drake continued. ‘And who were the men involved?’

  ‘Mostyn and a man called Mal – I can still feel his breath and his hands. He was a strange man.’ Her eyes filled up.

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  By the time Tracy had finished, Drake knew exactly who she meant. ‘And was there anyone else involved?’

  Tracy stared at him. ‘Not… with me.’

  ‘But there was someone?’

  A tear rolled down her cheek. Tracy ran out of energy and slumped back into her chair, clasping her hands over her face.

  ‘Were there other men, Tracy?’

  ‘Only voices,’ she said. ‘An English-type voice and another man, but I never saw them.’

  Drake let out a long breath and hoped this was the connection they needed.

  *

  On the journey back to headquarters Drake detoured to a supermarket and parked while Caren bought lunch. She returned with two packs of sandwiches, crisps and bottles of soft drink. Drake found a packet of hand wipes from the storage compartment in the driver’s side door and wiped his hands. Caren passed over a chicken and mayo sandwich and after breaking open her BLT version began talking with her mouth full. Luckily Drake didn’t need to watch and he stared out of the windscreen, half listening to what Caren was saying but thinking that someone should have told her as a child that making conversation and eating was bad manners.

  ‘We’ll need to inform the Sexual Offences and Child Protection team,’ Caren said.

  Drake had almost finished his first round and was twisting the top of his drink bottle. He could always rely on Caren to get the protocols right, even though he thought it might be premature – he had a murder inquiry to deal with first. He took a mouthful of the orange liquid.

  His mobile rang and he fumbled to close the bottle before answering the call. It was Howick.

  ‘I’ve been digging into the background of Maldwyn Evans, sir. I just thought you should know that there’s some intelligence on him. Two complaints relating to young girls.’

  ‘Have you got the details?’

  ‘I should have more in the next hour.’

  ‘We’re on our way.’ Drake left the rest of his sandwich and started the car. ‘You’d better contact the SOCP team,’ Drake said before giving Caren a summary of his conversation.

  An hour later they were standing by the board in the Incident Room. Drake looked over at Howick and then turned back the cuffs of his shirt. The SOCP officers had promised to be prompt but now they were over ten minutes late. Just as he contemplated calling them the door opened.

  ‘Sorry we’re late, Inspector.’

  Drake knew Detective Sergeant Robinson who was followed by a younger officer.

  ‘This is DC Gregg,’ Robinson said.

  Drake shook the outstretched hand. ‘This morning we interviewed a Tracy Newton as part of two ongoing murder inquiries. She identified the victim of the first murder, Ed Mostyn, as her assailant. It seems there was another man involved in the assaults some years ago. He is also known to us – Maldwyn Evans.’

  ‘Was there anyone else involved?’ Robinson said. She was a tall, thin woman with striking red hair, a long chin and enormous round earrings.

  ‘Two other men. Not identified, other than by their accents, but also two other girls. All under fifteen at the time.’

  Drake nodded to Howick. ‘Dave has been digging into the background of Maldwyn Evans.’

  Howick cleared his throat and struck a serious tone. ‘There was a complaint five years ago about some fondling and inappropriate behaviour that would have justified a prosecution, but the complainant withdrew. And then ten years ago the family of a girl aged fourteen came forward, complaining that Maldwyn Evans had assaulted her. He was interviewed but never charged.’

  ‘We’ll need to interview the current witness,’ Robinson said.

  Drake straightened and folded his arms. ‘Once we’ve traced the other girls involved.’

  ‘But—’

  Drake glared at Robinson. ‘The murder investigation takes priority over any historic allegations of abuse.’

  ‘There are protocols—’

  ‘In the meantime, I’m going to arrest Evans on Monday.’

  ‘I must protest. We’ll need time to speak to the witness first. And we’ll need to talk to the other two girls involved.’

  ‘Out of the question. I haven’t got time. He might have murdered Mostyn and Jane and I need to interview him. You can always talk to him again.’

  Robinson scowled and then left, taking Gregg with her just as Winder arrived. He flung his papers on his desk and looked up at Drake. ‘Higham didn’t remember the laptop. But a couple of his friends in the local pub remember him talking about getting it repaired and that it was very valuable. And Richie could identify the knife as a Gerber. Made in the US, it’s a special design that fishermen use.’

  ‘Good. Now all we need to find is someone who has lost a pair of Ray-Bans.’

  Chapter 19

  The car park in Llangefni was already half full when Drake arrived for the public meeting. He squeezed the Alfa into a parking spot next to a couple of vans, their bodywork streaked with mud. He got out and walked down to the town hall, passing a truck from each of the two Welsh television companies.

  The entrance lobby was covered in dark mahogany panelling. The smell of polish hung in the air and Drake could hear voices beyond the double doors, which were flanked by two earnest looking teenagers. One of them thrust a leaflet into Drake’s hand – The Truth About Nuclear Power – before asking him whether he’d like to sign a petition. Drake declined.

  One of the doors in front of him opened and a woman with long flowing curls walked into the hallway. Behind her the door swung back and forth until eventually it came to rest. It had an ornate handle and immediately Drake thought about all the grime and dirt and germs that would be trapped in each little crevice. Door handles had become more of an issue recently, but he tried to shake off the urge to reach into his pocket and find a handkerchief he could use to yank the door open. But then the handkerchief would be dirty. Realising that the door would also open inwards, he pushed against it with his shoulder.

  Inside, Drake stood and watched as people shuffled down the rows of chairs, mouthing apologies as they bumped into knees on their way to empty spaces. Immediately to his right a woman sat by a table littered with the earphones needed for simultaneous translation for those that didn’t understand Welsh. She gave him an enquiring look but he walked past her. Luckily there were a few rows of empty seats near the back and Drake sat down near the aisle. He checked the time and waited. There was still another fifteen minutes before the meeting was scheduled to start. Gradually the seats around him were filled. At the front he spotted Gwynfor Llywelyn deep in conversation with Rhiannon Owen. Drake also identified the familiar faces of local politicians.

  He wasn’t clear what Gwynfor Llywelyn hoped to achieve; politics was all about sound bites these days, looking good on the television, and there seemed little possibility of preventing the nuclear power station development. Drake recalled the reminiscences of his father about the public meetings of the Welsh language campaign from the 1960s when road signs had been defaced and damage had been caused to public buildings: all in the cause of gaining equality for the Welsh language. Gwynfor Llywelyn’s campaign struck Drake as futile.

  The crackling sound of an amplifier being tested broke his concentration. He scanned the audience, noticing Joan and Dafydd Higham sitting upright two rows down from him. Rhys Fairburn sat on the opposite side of the hall. A little aft
er seven-thirty an elderly man wearing an ancient suit over a white shirt, its collar frayed, rose to his feet. He made an announcement, but it did little to silence the chatter in the hall. Eventually he resorted to rolling some papers together and banging one end on the table.

  ‘I think it is time we started.’

  He had a broad singsong Anglesey accent that rolled out the vowels. Drake adjusted his position to catch a glimpse of the people sitting around the table. He could see Gwynfor Llywelyn, but didn’t recognise any of the others.

  ‘We all know that there are plans for a new nuclear power station and it’s important for us all to have a say in whether it gets the go-ahead. Let me introduce the speakers.’

  A woman with long, thin hair smiled broadly when she was introduced as an expert on the environmental impact of the new power plant. Drake didn’t catch her name, but managed to remember that the expert on nuclear power was called Dr Woodward. Gwynfor Llywelyn was going to talk about the impact a new power station would have on the future of the Welsh language.

  The environmentalist had sunken eyes, creating the impression of a fierce personality. She had been referred to as a doctor, so Drake guessed she was an academic of some sort. Barely pausing for breath, she turned her attention to the short-term economic impact that a large-scale development would have. After twenty minutes Drake looked at his watch. The speaker busied herself with an explanation as to how investing in green and renewable energy would create more jobs and be more sustainable environmentally.

  Looking rather pleased with herself, she sat down after another ten minutes. The first contribution from the audience didn’t wait for the chairman to invite comments.

  ‘You’re talking a load of rubbish.’

  The chairman scrambled to his feet. ‘There’s no need to be like that.’

  A man stood up from the middle of the audience. ‘The nuclear power station has provided a generation of families on the island with great jobs. Good income, good prospects. And you want us to throw it all away in favour of protecting birds.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean.’ The doctor raised her voice.

  ‘That’s what happened to those families in the south of England with all those floods. The government had spent millions on protecting birds, yet people’s houses flooded. There’s real jobs with the new power station.’

  ‘Would anyone else like to make a contribution?’ The chairman scanned the room.

  Half a dozen more comments were made, all supporting the new power station and its promise of employment. The doctor answered politely and then crossed her arms and pouted when the chair moved on.

  Dr David Woodward was another academic that Drake guessed was going to regret his decision to attend. He was only ten minutes into a detailed explanation of how the proposed reactor was unsafe before the heckling began. At first it didn’t appear to faze him. He consulted his notes a couple of times, blinked heavily but carried on.

  Once he’d finished, the chairman jumped to his feet. ‘Would anyone like to ask a question?’ He tried to strike a tone that implied rudeness would not be tolerated.

  A man from the middle of the audience raised his arm. The chairman waved a hand towards him. ‘Has Dr Woodward ever been unemployed?’

  ‘Ah…’ Woodward began.

  ‘Because Anglesey has one of the highest unemployment rate in Wales. We need all the jobs we can get.’

  A ripple of applause spread through the audience. Others weren’t quite as sympathetic and there were several in the audience who wanted to know if it was the same reactor destroyed by the floods in Japan. A grim silence descended as Woodward explained how the reactor proposed was more dangerous. Once he’d stopped talking, the chairman turned to Gwynfor Llywelyn.

  Drake noticed Joan and Dafydd Higham adjusting their sitting position. Llywelyn looked over the audience before starting. He had a measured, reasonable tone and explained that the Welsh language had reached a crisis point and that in its heartlands, like Anglesey, there had been a critical decline that threatened the very future of the language. The audience listened to him in silence, some occasionally nodding.

  Joan Higham stood up. ‘What about the jobs for our youngsters? Without those jobs they will move away. And that means more decline in the number of Welsh speakers.’

  ‘What I’m saying, Mrs Higham, is that jobs could be created on the island without having a nuclear power station.’

  ‘Then why haven’t they?’

  ‘Because there hasn’t been the political will.’

  ‘That’s rubbish.’

  ‘It’s only now with the debate around the nuclear power station that we are getting the opportunity to have our voice heard. This could mean the death of our way of life, the extinction of the language. Everything we fought for over generations gone in a few years. It’s not something I’m prepared to see happen.’

  ‘Even if it means we become one of the poorest areas in Wales?’ It was a man’s voice, loud and deep, three or four rows down from Drake.

  Llywelyn turned towards the speaker.

  ‘You’ve heard the evidence from the two experts tonight. The power station could have a profound impact on the environment, it could ruin Anglesey for years and we know that the technology isn’t safe. The situation is desperate with our communities. If the power station gets the go-ahead, it’s going to destroy our way of life forever. I’m going to do everything possible to protect our communities.’

  The chairman rose quickly to his feet, sensing the opportunity to bring the meeting to an end. As the chairman thanked the speakers Drake got up and was one of the first to leave the hall. The audience began to stream out towards their cars, and a group of young men headed straight for a local pub. As he walked towards his car he heard a shout.

  ‘Inspector Drake.’

  He turned and saw Joan Higham walking up to him.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you? He’s completely mad.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Gwynfor Llywelyn. He’s an extremist. Like those terrorists who burnt the holiday homes years ago. We wouldn’t have cars if it was up to him – or telephones. And look what he said.’

  ‘I’m not sure I…’

  ‘He’s mad enough to murder. Surely you see that.’

  *

  Sian had warned Drake earlier that week that on Sunday morning they had to talk privately. She waited for her friend to collect the children and Drake set off for the newsagent. Apart from the occasional comment about Helen and Megan they had spoken little in the previous week and the distance between them had grown into a canyon that a conversation around the kitchen table was not going bridge.

  It had irked him more than he cared to admit that her sympathy for the regular counselling had run its course. She had simply suggested that a course of drugs might be effective, and any reserve of patience and understanding that she had as a GP had evaporated long ago.

  Sian was in the sitting room when he returned home from buying the morning newspaper, which he’d already opened at the Sudoku page. She had both hands placed carefully over one leg that she had crossed neatly over the other knee. He threw the newspaper down on the table and she gave the Sudoku a cursory glance, before sighing briefly. He sat down.

  ‘There’s no easy way to say this. Things haven’t been right for a long time.’

  Drake was perched on the edge of the sofa.

  ‘Your obsessions are taking over everything. Absolutely everything. And I can’t stand it. I just can’t keep everything as neat as you seem to want it to be.’ Drake wanted to say that Sian keeping things neat wasn’t the issue – it was he who needed to do the tidying, the straightening. Sian’s composure slipped a little. ‘Half the time you’re not listening to me and the girls because you’re fiddling with the mugs, or the coffee, or the lights – or whatever.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Let me finish.’ Sian gave him a sharp look and lifted a hand to fix a loose hair behind her ear.

  Drak
e stared at the Sudoku. He’d worked out one of the squares as he walked to the car from the shop, confident that it wasn’t going to be a difficult puzzle.

  ‘I’d hoped that after the counselling things might get better and that you’d get on top of these stupid obsessions. I wanted things to get back to normal. Whatever normal might be. I can hardly remember. And you’re never here. The girls hardly see you.’

  ‘Is this about your mother?’

  She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. ‘You keep my mum out of this.’

  ‘Only she—’

  ‘I just don’t think that our marriage is working anymore.’ She was looking at the table top in front of her now. ‘I want to separate. You need to move out and find somewhere else to live.’

  The bald stark comment rammed into him like a thick cold icicle. For a moment he didn’t know how to react. ‘I do love you, Sian.’

  From the moment he let the words fall from his lips he knew it had been a mistake. Slowly she turned towards him. ‘I’m just not certain I love you any longer.’

  Now the icicle was twisted, several times.

  Chapter 20

  Drake draped the jacket of his suit over the wooden hanger then brushed his hands lightly over the shoulders, clearing away some imaginary flecks of dust. His desk and office had the order and neatness that he expected for a Monday morning. The bin was empty, the carpet had been vacuumed and there was the faintest streak of cleaning fluid on the telephone and monitor.

  He’d woken early, as he had the day before, his heart thumping and he’d decided that he needed to speak to Halpin. Seeking counselling again wasn’t a sign of weakness, Drake thought, more of strength. The number rang out when he first made the call and Drake started to doubt the wisdom of contacting Halpin. He left it for a few minutes before trying again. He thought about Sian and her accusations over the weekend. And then he recalled the remarks from Price, who had hoped there wouldn’t be more difficulties. Drake didn’t want to think about the alternatives Price had alluded to darkly.

  The second time he tried, the telephone was answered after the second ring.