Against the Tide

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘I spoke to Higham and he confirmed that the name of the third man in the Evans photograph as Judge Hawkins.

  ‘What!’ Caren said.

  Winder whistled. ‘Not Hawkins, the Hangman?’

  Howick left his desk and joined them at the board. He stared at the image. ‘I can see the similarity now.’

  ‘He’s a friend of de Northway,’ Drake said. ‘And there’s a similar photograph in de Northway’s place that included Hawkins. And Rhys Fairburn had a framed photograph but I don’t remember it featuring de Northway or Hawkins.’

  ‘Do you think there’s a connection, boss?’ Caren said.

  ‘Somebody took the photographs…’

  ‘Do we arrest Fairburn?’

  Drake didn’t respond. Howick piped up. ‘And do we inform Sergeant Robinson in the sexual offences team?’

  There was a brief silence as Drake hesitated. ‘We’ll wait until we’ve traced Sue Pritchett. She could be the corroboration we need.’

  ‘Should have the result soon,’ Caren said.

  ‘I’ve been doing some more digging around into de Northway’s background,’ Winder announced.

  Drake didn’t answer. His mind was already thinking about the right protocols and that he had to make the right decision. He turned and stared at him. ‘And?’

  Winder stepped over to the board and pinned up a form he’d printed with the words ‘Crecrist Enterprises’ on it, and below it a plan with three areas each marked in a different colour. ‘Somerset de Northway has plans to develop an enormous solar farm between Tyddyn Du and Mostyn’s place.’ Winder tapped on an area edged red.

  ‘So if de Northway can get his hands on both those extra pieces of land—’ Howick said.

  ‘It would be an enormous solar farm. And therefore very profitable.’ Drake said.

  ‘But even more interesting, boss,’ Winder said. ‘It looks like de Northway could well be bankrupt. I had a DS from the economic crime department look at his accounts. The business has made a loss for the past three years and there are lots of debts.’

  ‘And why haven’t you found this before now?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘We can’t afford to miss anything. So we need to pay de Northway a visit,’ Drake said. ‘There was something happening in those cottages that links everything together.’

  ‘We’ll need to speak to the fisherman who was there when we found Jane’s body, too,’ Caren added.

  Drake nodded. ‘I’ll see him tomorrow while you talk to more of Jane’s friends. Gareth, first thing tomorrow I want you up in Cemaes checking out Llywelyn. Do it discreetly. And Dave, get over to Rhosneigr and talk to the witnesses from the night Jane was killed. We know that Huw lied to us about when he saw Jane. We might need to interview him under caution. And then we get started on Rhys Fairburn. We know he had a motive to kill Mostyn.’

  Drake read the time. Usually he would have gone back to his office and worked for another hour, maybe longer, before tidying and rearranging his desk. Instead he strode back to his room, picked up the telephone and called Sian to arrange to take Helen and Megan out for pizza.

  Chapter 24

  Before leaving headquarters that morning Drake read an email from Price arranging their third weekly briefing since the death of Mostyn. It clashed with the arrangements he’d made to collect the keys for his new apartment that Friday afternoon. The new meetings had been a recent management innovation followed by regular minutes that always needed to be read and replied to. Anxiety tightened in his mind at the prospect of having to spend more time on paperwork and he hoped he could reschedule the meeting with the letting agent.

  Driving past the junction for Llanfairpwll he thought about Maldwyn Evans and contemplated whether he could have done anything differently. Perhaps he should have asked Evans to call in at the police station, avoiding inquisitive eyes and indiscreet neighbours. Calvin Headley is the one that needs to explain his actions, Drake thought, not the WPS, and he got more annoyed just thinking about the journalist.

  Drake presumed that the dirty grey clouds hanging in the air satisfied the forecaster’s prophecy of ‘murky conditions’. The weather would often remind him of his grandfather who didn’t need any predictions to know when it was likely to rain. Then he let his thoughts drift to his father and to the last time that he’d seen him. He’d looked sallow, the will to live extinguished, a man in the last waiting room of life. Drake was pleased that his father wasn’t alive to see the problems between him and Sian. There would probably have been sharp words. The car touched eighty miles an hour down a hill so he slowed, knowing it was a favourite place for traffic cops to catch speeding drivers.

  Twenty minutes later he parked in front of a row of terraces. He checked his notebook again and read the name of the house that he needed. He left the car, pressed the remote and stared over towards the end house, trying to spot the name – Bryniau. There were numbers but no names so he strode over to the end property. Weather and neglect had left the dark blue paint peeling off the surface of the front door in long shards. The knocker was stiff but he heard its sound reverberating inside, as though the house was empty of furniture. After a few seconds there was movement and soon enough the door creaked open.

  Drake had his warrant card ready. ‘Detective Inspector Drake, Wales Police Service. Do you know where Eifion Cooper lives?’

  The man had a few strands of white hair and several days’ stubble to match. His cheeks were sunken but the whites of his eyes had an intensity unusual for a man of his age. Drake guessed he was in his late seventies, perhaps a few years older than his father, if he’d been alive.

  ‘Come in.’ The man turned on his heels and walked through into the back kitchen. Drake followed, noticing the confident, purposeful steps.

  ‘I was making porridge for breakfast. I don’t need to get up so early these days.’

  An old Aga warmed the kitchen and the man stood, slowly stirring a saucepan.

  ‘Do you know Eifion Cooper?’

  ‘Are you Tom’s son?’

  For a moment Drake hesitated. ‘Yes, I…’

  ‘I knew him years ago. He was a good man. Decent and honest. I was sorry to hear of his passing.’

  Drake just looked over at the man, not really knowing what to say.

  ‘I dealt with him quite a few times when I had the farm. I’m sure he was very proud of you. He would always do the right thing. I remember once someone cheated me out of some money. But your father helped me and I got it all back.’

  The man finished turning the porridge, poured it into a small bowl and then sat down. He looked up at Drake. ‘I met your grandfather as well. You were very lucky to have known him.’ His sprinkled some sugar onto the porridge.

  ‘My grandfather died when I was a teenager.’

  The man took his first mouthful of breakfast.

  ‘I really need to know where Eifion Cooper lives.’

  The man looked at the mantel clock. ‘He’ll be home by now. It’s next door. And it’s easier for you to go round the back.’

  Drake pulled the door closed behind him and, spotting the rear lane, walked behind the terraces until he reached a tall gate. From behind he could hear the sound of activity in the small yard.

  ‘Eifion Cooper,’ Drake shouted. The noise stopped abruptly.

  The gate opened and a flicker of recognition crossed over Cooper’s face. ‘I’ve been half expecting you.’

  The yard that was full of lobster pots and fishing gear. Cooper wore the same red fleece, both knees of his dark jeans were frayed and his T-shirt was almost transparent. Cooper made for the back door. The kitchen stank of fish, Drake’s flesh tingled and he hesitated on the threshold, convinced that all his clothes would stink for days if he had to sit down. Cooper kicked a chair to one side as an invitation for Drake who stood, clasping his hands together. Cooper ignored him and flicked on the electric kettle. Drake declined the offer of coffee, the prospect of drinking from the dirty mug too gruesome t
o contemplate.

  Eventually Drake sat down. The sooner he got this over with the sooner he could leave. ‘I’m investigating the death of Ed Mostyn and Jane Jones.’

  ‘I knew Ed well.’ Cooper put a teaspoon of granules into a mug.

  ‘And Jane Jones?’

  ‘Not really. Some of my friends talked about her. She was really fit.’

  ‘And Somerset de Northway?’

  Cooper poured water over the coffee. Then he dribbled milk into it, followed by two teaspoons of sugar.

  ‘Everyone knows the de Northway family. They own a lot of land. Can’t stand the man personally, he’s a bumptious English toff.’

  ‘Do you fish a lot near the cottages where Jane’s body was found?’

  ‘Yes, all the time. I can land my pots there.’

  ‘And have you seen anybody in the cottages?’

  Cooper took a long noisy slurp of the coffee. ‘And what if I have?’

  ‘It might be relevant.’ Drake hoped that lowering his voice would make it sound more important.

  Cooper looked down at the table. ‘All I can say is that late at night there could be a light on and the sound of voices. And there were always young girls. Judith can tell you all about Somerset de Northway.’

  ‘Judith?’

  ‘Judith Farnwood. She had invitations years ago to some of his parties.’ Cooper began assembling a roll-up cigarette. ‘I say parties but it was more like orgies really. If you’re into that sort of thing, strap-ons, wife swapping. I missed out on it at the time. Too young.’

  ‘Where can I contact Judith?’

  Cooper ran a finger along one length of the cigarette before reaching for his mobile.

  *

  Judith Farnwood had a young voice, but the wrinkles around her mouth and the crow’s feet that creased the skin around her eyes couldn’t disguise her age. She was still slim for a woman that Drake guessed had to be in her fifties, but she moved with the ease of a person half her age.

  ‘What did you say your name was again?’ she asked, as she led him into the kitchen.

  ‘Ian Drake.’

  ‘How can I help?’

  She reached a pine table that had a vase of mixed flowers in the middle, recently bought, healthy looking. Drake pulled out a chair as Farnwood sat down.

  ‘I’m investigating the deaths of Ed Mostyn and Jane Jones.’

  ‘I read about it in the paper.’ She gave a slight frown.

  ‘I’ve just spoken to Eifion Cooper. He was landing his fishing boat when we were at the scene of Jane’s death near the cottages owned by Somerset de Northway. He tells me that you know the de Northway family.’

  Drake could see the realisation in Farnwood’s eyes, that now she understood why he was there.

  ‘And Eifion told you I could help?’

  Drake decided it really wasn’t a question.

  Farnwood continued. ‘It was a few years ago but I was in a circle of people who were invited for adult parties at Crecrist Hall. I was single, no commitments and I was flattered. There were lots of other people there. And Somerset could be a congenial host.’ She paused and looked at Drake. ‘And there was a lot of casual sex, Inspector. All between consenting adults.’

  Drake gazed over at her. Was there disappointment in her voice or regret? He couldn’t quite tell, but there was definitely a challenge for him to be disgusted. ‘Who else was there?’

  ‘Somerset’s friends mostly.’

  ‘And the cottages?’

  She dipped her head slightly. ‘I never went there, but I heard things.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘It’s a while back now so I couldn’t be certain. I heard one of the men joking about young girls, but when they knew I was within earshot they quickly shut up. It was probably nothing.’

  Drake spent the next half an hour clarifying and cajoling further details from Farnwood until he asked her to confirm if she’d provide a statement.

  She paused before answering. ‘It’s a long time ago.’

  Drake stood up to leave and walked over to the door.

  ‘I saw one of the men who went to the parties in the paper recently.’

  Drake turned to face her.

  ‘He was in the army when I met him. One of Somerset’s pals. Loud booming voice.’ She shuddered at the memory.

  Drake waited for her to finish although he already guessed who she meant.

  ‘He’s a judge.’

  *

  Winder was pleased to be out of the Incident Room and away from Howick’s company and his fluctuating moods. His colleague had to get on with life, Winder thought, hoping that his friend would see sense and concentrate on work. Not every officer was destined to make sergeant or inspector or superintendent and Winder was perfectly content to see out his career as a constable.

  He had been mulling over Drake’s instructions to be discreet. He had the images of Jane and Mostyn in the papers on the passenger seat and he’d decided to try the general approach in the hope that witnesses near Llywelyn’s bakery would be talkative.

  He pulled up at the car park in the middle of Cemaes and after paying for a few hours’ parking set off towards the shops and houses. On the journey from headquarters he had been rehearsing how he’d ask questions about the death of Ed Mostyn in a way that might not have all of Llywelyn’s neighbours telling him that the police were investigating him. He had settled on the simple subterfuge that Mostyn and Jane had been seen in the pubs of Cemaes on the evening before their deaths and that the police were following usual lines of enquiries. It had produced wide-eyed astonishment from the elderly women he spent most of the morning interviewing and any attempt to lead the questions into asking about the artisan bakery of Llywelyn had been a dead end.

  By lunchtime Winder had realised it was a complete waste of time. He sat in one of the cafés nursing an enormous scone he’d lathered with jam – the café didn’t do Danish pastries. He finished his coffee and decided that he ought to start on the shops in the village.

  He sat looking out of the window and saw a small van pull up on the pavement opposite, its rear covered with empty milk cartons. Winder had a vague recollection that milk had once been delivered door-to-door to his grandparents’ house. A milkman must start his round early, Winder thought.

  A man in a pale white T-shirt marched round the back of the van and dropped empty bottles into crates. Then it dawned on Winder that he needed to talk to the driver and that he had to hurry. So he pushed the plate with the last of his lunch to one side and stood up. He glanced over at the young waitress mouthing that he wanted the bill. She was tall with long blonde hair and attractive eyes that lit up as she smiled at him.

  Momentarily distracted, Winder heard the van’s engine starting and he made for the door. He raised a hand helplessly as the milkman drove down the street. Winder went back inside. The waitress had a relieved expression on her face when she saw him re-enter the café. It soon turned serious when he produced his warrant card.

  ‘Do you know the name of the man who delivers milk?’

  ‘Sorry. I’ve got no idea.’

  ‘Is there someone else that might know?’ Winder said, looking over her shoulder towards the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll go and ask.’ The girl went through into the kitchen, returning with an older woman.

  ‘You want to know about Sam Underwood?’

  ‘Where can I contact him?’

  ‘I’ve got his number somewhere.’

  Winder let out a long slow breath of irritation as he watched the woman fumble in a drawer.

  ‘Here it is,’ she said, reading a number to Winder from a notebook.

  ‘Do you know where he lives?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Winder tapped the number into his mobile and headed for the door before he remembered his bill. He left the change on the counter and walked onto the pavement. The call rang out – not even a voice mail message.

  Winder banged on the door of the house op
posite. A man in his seventies with a grey shirt and an old polyester tie opened the door.

  Winder flashed his warrant card at the man. ‘There was a milkman here just now. Do you know where he lives?’

  ‘No idea but he was going to Amlwch when he left here.’

  Winder frustration boiled over. ‘For Christ sake. Why the hell…’

  ‘No need to swear.’ The man closed the door on Winder who jogged back to his car.

  *

  The text arrived just as Caren left the last address on the list of Jane’s friends. She’d had futile circuitous conversations with one disinterested young girl after another, none of whom had any time for her, making Caren half-wish for a desk job. And each conversation took her no further, adding to the sense that her efforts had been pointless. She hoped that the meeting with the de Northways would prove more constructive.

  She grabbed the mobile from the bag on the passenger seat and read Drake’s message while trying to steer the car simultaneously. She pulled into a nearby farm gate and tapped out a reply. The traffic was light as she drove down the western side of Anglesey. The sun broke through the dense cloud and cast a pallid shroud of light over the port at Holyhead. She dawdled, admiring the view, and within twenty minutes was pulling up alongside Drake’s Alfa Romeo in the car park he’d suggested as a meeting place.

  ‘Any luck?’ Drake said once she’d sat by his side in the passenger seat.

  ‘Nothing. They had nothing to add. And only one of them seemed remotely upset.’

  It was nothing more than he’d expected. ‘I’ve just spoken to the fisherman who put me in touch with a Judith Farnwood. She told me all about the adult parties at the hall and that she remembers Judge Hawkins being present.’

  ‘What!’ Caren spluttered.

  ‘When he was in the army. Apparently he served in the same regiment as de Northway. But even then there was talk about young girls in the cottages.’

  After Caren returned to her car he fired the engine into life and started the brief journey towards Crecrist Hall. A few minutes later they indicated for the entrance and passed the lodge cottage. The borders still needed attention but the grass near the main door had been cut. Caren parked alongside him and left her car.