Against the Tide

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘Is this taking us anywhere, boss?’ Howick added. ‘Can’t help but think it was a waste of time.’

  Drake needed no reminding that the inquiry wasn’t making progress, certainly not from a junior officer. He had Price to see and he desperately wanted something to report. He repressed the desire to reply with some sharp comment, so he turned to the board.

  Winder gave Howick a surreptitious glance.

  ‘Dave’s got some news.’ Caren smiled as she looked towards Howick.

  Drake looked over at a beaming Howick. ‘The results came through this morning, sir. I got the promotion.’

  ‘Congratulations, well done.’ Drake stepped over to Howick’s desk and extended a hand. ‘Sergeant Howick. It has a good ring to it.’

  Back in his office Drake clicked into his inbox. A dozen emails had arrived since he’d left earlier that day and carefully he opened each in turn, checking for anything of value. He deleted most but the final email was from Inland Revenue, attaching the accounts for Maldwyn Evans. He opened the first of the three documents and stopped at the second page. His stared at the details; his jaw tightened and a muscle twitched under one eye. He shouted for Howick, who moments later appeared at his door.

  ‘Damn it, Dave. Why the hell did you miss this?’

  Howick gave him an odd look. The printer on the table whined and spewed out various sheets of paper.

  ‘Maldwyn Evans had a partner in the business.’ Drake gathered the pages from the top of the printer and pushed them at Howick. ‘Catherine de Northway.’

  Before Howick could say anything Drake’s mobile rang. He recognised Price’s number. ‘I need to see you now.’

  Drake didn’t have time to reply before the line went dead.

  *

  ‘He is the undersheriff for Christ’s sake.’

  Price leant towards Drake, palms flat on his desk. Drake stood, waiting for the invitation to sit down.

  ‘I’ve had that idiot of a judge on the telephone already.’ Price’s South Walian accent was more pronounced the angrier he became.

  ‘Judge?’ Drake said.

  ‘Judge Hawkins. You know, the one who was in the army. How the hell they made him a judge is beyond me.’

  Drake’s throat tightened.

  ‘He wanted to be kept informed about the inquiry. He reminded me, in that upper-class accent, that Somerset de Northway would soon be the queen’s judicial representative.’

  Price waved a hand towards a chair and then stroked his forehead with the fingers of his left hand. If it was intended to soothe his temper it didn’t succeed. ‘He must be completely fucking mad if he thinks I’m going to tell him anything. I’m sure he thinks, because he’s English, he can throw his weight around.’

  Price slumped back in his chair. ‘What can you tell me about Somerset de Northway?’

  It’s more what I can tell you about Hawkins, thought Drake. ‘Judge Hawkins appears in a photograph of Cambrian Club members in de Northway’s morning room.’

  Price’s mouth fell open slightly. ‘What are you trying to suggest?’

  ‘We’ve got two other similar photographs and three of the men featured are involved with a paedophile ring. Mostyn was killed, Evans threw himself under a train. And one of Jane’s friends has told us she was abused by Rhys Fairburn – who is one of the men in the photographs – and another man with an English accent.’

  Price blew out a lungful of breath. ‘And de Northway?’ An edge of despair had crept into Price’s voice.

  After fifteen minutes Drake had managed a detailed explanation but from the lack of eye contact he was convinced that Price had paid little attention, except for the part where he’d described Catherine de Northway’s admission about her sexual proclivities when Price had opened his eyes wide and stared intently at Drake.

  ‘Do you have any realistic suspects?’

  ‘I’ll need to speak to Catherine de Northway about the Evans accounts.’

  Price curled his hands behind his head and, leaning back in his chair, propped his shoes on the desk.

  ‘And how do you suggest we discuss this with Judge Hawkins?’ Price added.

  Drake opened his mouth as if to say something but Price continued. ‘It’s a mess. We’ll arrange to discuss it with Andy Thorsen first thing in the morning.’

  Chapter 26

  Sian narrowed her eyes and folded her arms severely. She even managed to flex the muscles of her jaw as Drake told her that he’d have to postpone the arrangements she had so carefully choreographed for him to leave the house the following morning.

  ‘What am I supposed to tell my mum?’ Sian said through gritted teeth.

  Drake wanted to suggest that she ought to make clear to her mother that killers had a habit of ruining the best-laid plans. But it wasn’t a question that needed a response, despite Sian’s stare. Helen and Megan could go and stay with Nain tomorrow night instead. He could imagine her delight in participating in the planning for him to leave the house.

  Drake spent a sullen evening sitting by the kitchen table watching various television programmes. He heard Sian in the sitting room talking occasionally on the telephone. He slept fitfully in the spare bedroom, dreaming about attending a Cambrian Club dinner and having to make a speech and endure the stares of elderly members who failed to laugh at his jokes.

  The following morning Sian was up earlier than he’d expected.

  ‘And what time are you likely to be back tonight?’

  It was a question she had asked a dozen times, maybe hundreds of times. That morning there was finality in her tone as though she took pleasure in knowing it was the last time she’d ever have to ask.

  ‘I’ll send you a text later,’ Drake said, as he left the house without breakfast.

  Outside he stood next to the Alfa parked on the drive. The smell of frying bacon from an open window drifted through the morning air. He smiled briefly at one of the neighbours leaving for his regular Saturday morning slot on the golf course.

  He sat in the car clutching the key, suddenly feeling sad and uncertain about the future. He fired the engine into life and started the short distance to headquarters, stopping to buy a newspaper as he did every day, which he folded open at the Sudoku puzzle.

  He was still parked outside the newsagents when his mobile bleeped. He recognised Winder’s number– please make contact – urgent. It was less than a five-minute drive to headquarters, so he slammed the car into first gear and made it in under four, parking next to Price’s BMW.

  He found his mobile under some papers on the passenger seat and dialled Winder’s number. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Where are you, boss?’

  ‘Just parked.’

  ‘Something you need to see.’

  Drake reached reception and, ignoring the lift, he took the stairs two at a time to the Incident Room. Winder was huddled over a computer screen, Howick sitting alongside, Caren nowhere in sight.

  The light glistened off Winder’s recently shaved head and, when he turned, Drake could see the worry etched in his eyes. Howick stood up, straightened and looked down at his colleague.

  ‘There are some photographs that have appeared on Twitter overnight, sir,’ Howick said.

  Drake joined both officers. ‘Show me.’

  Winder clicked a couple of times and the top of the screen filled with an attractive early morning image, harsh shadows, the last vestiges of the early morning fog trailing in the distance. Drake noticed the narrow channel of water lying almost stagnant, waiting for the tide to turn. Then he saw the fork, upright in the sand and the outline of Mostyn’s body.

  Bile gathered in his throat and he drew his right hand into a fist. He picked out the words gone fishing and latest tourist attraction. ‘Can we trace the bastard who did this?’

  ‘We’ve already started enquiries with Twitter,’ Howick said.

  ‘It must be the same sick individual who put up that Facebook page,’ Drake added, still staring at the screen. ‘We
need to find him. Now. He could be our best witness.’

  ‘Or the culprit,’ Winder said.

  Somehow Drake couldn’t imagine de Northway or even Llywelyn being twisted enough to display a photograph of Mostyn pinned to the mud. Experience told him that he should keep an open mind and never dismiss the possibility of human beings being capable of anything. He was still staring at the screen when he remembered his meeting with Price and Thorsen. He cursed silently. He was already late and his pulse pounded.

  ‘I’ve got a meeting with the superintendent,’ Drake said, wagging his finger at Winder and Howick. ‘I want a full report from Twitter by the time I’m back.’

  Drake arrived at the senior management suite and Hannah, Price secretary, glanced at her watch and frowned. He pushed open the door and two sets of eyes darted a look at him.

  ‘You’re late,’ Price began.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. Something came up this morning—’

  ‘Sit down.’

  Drake mumbled an acknowledgement at Andy Thorsen. The crown prosecutor simply nodded back – no good mornings or even the barest of smiles.

  Price made an exaggerated gesture of checking the time on his watch. ‘I haven’t got much time, Ian. I’m travelling to Cardiff this morning. There’s an important dinner this evening.’

  Price sat back in his chair. The light-blue shirt had the Gant logo on the breast pocket and Drake noticed the chalk-coloured chinos that looked expensive.

  ‘Are you making any progress?’ Thorsen said.

  ‘Mostyn, Evans and Fairburn were in a paedophile ring. We’re still trying to trace one of the victims.’

  ‘Is there any direct evidence?’ Thorsen said.

  ‘Two girls willing to give evidence. And we’ve got photographs—’

  Thorsen continued in the same deadpan manner. ‘Do you have any suspects for the death of Ed Mostyn? Anybody we can put at the scene at the time of his murder?’

  Drake glanced over at Price who stared at him, an inscrutable look on his face. ‘This morning a Twitter account appeared showing a picture taken at the time of Mostyn’s death. We’re urgently trying to find the person responsible.’

  Thorsen curled up his mouth. ‘You’ll have to do better than that. And Jane Jones?’

  ‘She was linked to a paedophile ring. But we can’t—’

  ‘So, another dead end.’

  Price was tapping a fountain pen on a pile of papers on his desk. ‘Get to the point, Ian.’

  ‘Catherine de Northway is in some way involved with the business affairs of Maldwyn Evans. I’ll need to interview her.’

  Thorsen rolled his eyes as Price propped both hands behind his head.

  ‘Be careful. Follow every protocol to the letter,’ Thorsen said.

  The saliva in Drake’s mouth had nearly all disappeared. He dampened his lips. ‘We found a set of photographs. All taken at a Cambrian Club dinner. Mostyn is included, Evans is pictured as well and Rhys Fairburn.’ Drake curled his fingers around the edge of the desk and squeezed hard. ‘Another guest at the Cambrian dinner was Judge Aiden Hawkins.’

  ‘And you’re trying to make assumptions that they’re somehow implicated?’ Thorsen said, raising his voice slightly. ‘So far as I’m aware the legal system hasn’t developed into guilt by association, just yet.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with being a member of a Cambrian Club,’ Price said.

  Thorsen nodded his head slowly.

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting there was,’ Drake said.

  Thorsen glared at Drake. ‘You have absolutely nothing to justify speaking to Hawkins. I suggest you concentrate on your present lines of enquiry.’ He fumbled through the papers on his lap. ‘And remember, there is every possibility the deaths are unrelated.’

  Price was staring at some papers on his desk.

  ‘Are we finished?’ Price stood up. ‘Keep me posted, Ian.’

  Drake got up and left the senior management suite. He made his way back to the Incident Room, hoping that Winder and Howick would have some progress to report but the dismay on their faces made clear he was going to be disappointed.

  ‘Twitter need a warrant,’ Winder said.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘They’ll consider the request,’ Howick added.

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’

  Another hour elapsed until the necessary warrant was emailed to a senior account manager at Twitter. It was almost lunchtime by the time he sat back in his chair and thought about Catherine de Northway and what the connection to Evans could be. He tapped her name into a Google search. A couple of articles appeared from a local newspaper referring to her support for various local charities and then glamorous images of her at important local functions. He requisitioned a financial assessment, hoping there’d be something different from the result on her husband.

  After lunch he got back to the notes he’d made the previous day. They looked a mess and all the wavy lines seemed to merge into each other. Through the open door of his office he heard the telephone ringing in the Incident Room and then Winder’s voice whooping with delight.

  ‘Found him, boss,’ Winder shouted.

  Drake was on his feet, car keys at the ready.

  *

  An hour later Drake dawdled around a council estate in the middle of Holyhead, a few miles from where Ed Mostyn’s body had been found. The block of flats had five storeys with views over the harbour and the middle of the town. The police national computer check had produced a list of previous convictions for Dylan South, which included indecent assault and various convictions for drug-related offences.

  Drake pulled up behind a white van covered with the livery of a plastering company and rang the local sergeant who snorted when Drake asked about South.

  ‘He’s a weirdo. He’ll come in here all times of the night making complaints. He’s a constant pain in the neck.’

  ‘Any family?’

  ‘Don’t think so…’

  ‘Is he working?’

  ‘You’re joking, of course. He lives on benefits, but that doesn’t stop him having a top-of-the-range mountain bike.’

  ‘A bike?’ Drake immediately knew how idiotic it sounded.

  ‘Yes, you know, two wheels and pedals.’

  Drake peered through the windscreen, scanning the pavement and looked up towards the fourth-floor flat. Net curtains had been drawn on two of the windows; another had a casement slightly ajar. His mobile rang. It was Winder, who had parked a little way behind him.

  ‘Any sign, boss?’

  ‘Let’s go and see if anyone’s at home.’

  Drake left the car, Winder and Howick following behind. They reached the main entrance and faced a bank of entry buttons. Drake pushed the light-blue button next to the number eight and the loudspeaker made a brief crackling sound. He waited for a few seconds and tried again but there was no response. He tried the next button down. A few seconds later they heard a timorous woman’s voice. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘I’m trying to find Dylan South, who lives in number eight. Could you open the door please? It’s important police business.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘Nothing madam. Could you open the door?’

  The loudspeaker went quiet and then the lock buzzed. Drake pulled back the door and led the other two up the staircase to the fourth floor. Number eight was at the front of the building; a mountain bike was chained and padlocked in the hallway. He hammered on the door. Then he shouted, ‘Dylan South. Open up. Police.’

  Behind the closed door there was shuffling, as though someone was dragging their feet on the floor. The door opened but caught on a chain and a woman’s face appeared.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Is Dylan South here?’

  Drake pushed his warrant card towards her. She eased the door closed and let the chain fall back.

  ‘I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘Can we come in?’

  ‘Suppose.’

&
nbsp; The woman had long matted hair draped over her shoulders and a colourless complexion to her skin. Two small crosses were pinned to either side of her nostrils. Drake marched past her and into a lounge, which was dominated by a large television. To one side a bookcase was stacked with DVDs. Back in the hallway he peered into the empty kitchen, before walking towards the bedrooms. At least there was one tidy bedroom, Drake thought, as he looked at the bank of monitors and a table next to a PC. He turned to Winder.

  ‘We’ll need to seize all of this.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And do a search of the rest of the flat.’ Drake marched back to the lounge where the girl was now sitting on a sofa.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Cathy.’

  ‘Any ID?’

  Cathy shrugged.

  ‘Have you got a driving licence?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Anything to confirm who you are?’

  The girl sat back in the sofa.

  ‘You live here?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘So where is Dylan?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  It took all of Drake’s self-control not to shout. ‘When was he here last?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean?’

  Howick piped up behind Drake. ‘We need to know where Dylan is, Cathy. He’s in big trouble. Have you got a mobile number for him?’

  ‘No. Sometimes he stays with his mates.’

  ‘Where?’ Drake spat out the question.

  ‘Dunno. Out in the country.’

  *

  Drake stood, leaning against his car, watching Winder and Howick hauling various bits of equipment from South’s flat. He’d already left detailed instructions with area control about the apprehension of South. It’s impossible for a man on benefits and known to the police to simply disappear, Drake thought. It would only be a matter of time.

  Driving back over the island Drake decided to detour to see his mother. After crossing the Menai Strait he indicated left off the A55, drove through Caernarfon and then onwards to the farm. He reached the turning for the lane down to the smallholding and parked. He could just make out the towers of Caernarfon castle. A thin veil of white cloud stretched over the sky. In the distance he watched a couple of microlights travelling slowly towards Anglesey. It was a view he had taken for granted as a boy, but one that he now valued more than ever. He felt guilty that he hadn’t made an effort to visit his mother more frequently. There were always lame excuses, busy at work, having to spend time with the family.