Against the Tide

by Stephen Puleston

  He reached the landing. To his left was a long corridor; to his right he noticed two doors, both slightly ajar. Deciding against the darkness to his left, he pushed open the first door. Through the uncurtained windows he saw the moonlight flickering over the trees surrounding the paddock. From the damp, musty smell in the bedroom he guessed it hadn’t been used for months, maybe longer. And the second bedroom was much the same, with the smell of mothballs and dying flowers clinging to the air.

  He heard a metallic click, as though a window was being opened, so he stepped out onto the landing and stared down the corridor. He let out a long, slow breath, hoping he could quell his apprehension. His black brogues weren’t suitable for walking on the balls of his feet, so he stopped when he reached the first door and gently pushed it open with his right foot. The heavy curtains hung over the window; a small lamp sat on the bedside table next to a single bed.

  Down the corridor a door rattled and Drake heard footsteps. Stepping back onto the landing, he noticed a light seeping under the door of one of the bedrooms. He drew his tongue over drying lips, his pulse thumping in his neck. After a moment’s hesitation he tiptoed down the hallway and stared at the light before pushing open the door.

  Inside, he took a few steps before he saw Somerset de Northway lying on the floor. There was movement to his right and he made to turn around, but suddenly there was a clap of thunder from inside his head. And then the floor raced towards his face.

  Chapter 35

  Somebody was using an electric hammer drill and Drake wanted them to fucking well stop. He was lying on his back but the surroundings were unfamiliar. Opening his eyes, he saw Wyndham Price’s pained expression. The daylight streaming in through the window only intensified the throbbing in his head.

  ‘You’re in hospital,’ Price said.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Caren found you with de Northway.’

  Drake raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed his temples, but the drilling continued.

  ‘Is he…?’

  ‘No. Unconscious but he’s alive. It looks like your presence saved him.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just after seven.’

  The drilling stopped for a moment when the realisation dawned that he’d been unconscious for hours.

  A nurse came in with a beaker of water and a plastic container with some pills. He downed half in one swallow. Price waited until the nurse had left, pushing the door closed behind her. ‘There was no sign of his wife at the time. She turned up later.’

  ‘Has she been interviewed?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I’ll do it later,’ Drake said, wanting to believe that the painkillers would soon eradicate the pounding.

  ‘We rang Sian after you’d been brought in here. I think you should call her.’

  Drake slumped back against the pillow and cast a glance out through the window. Somebody had wanted de Northway dead, so Drake had to face the reality that de Northway wasn’t their killer.

  ‘I’ve got to get back, Ian. Call me when you’ve been seen by the doctor.’

  As soon as Price had left one of the nurses came in carrying a tray of breakfast. He prodded the porridge with his spoon. The smell reminded him of the old man again so he pushed the bowl to one side. His imagination had to stop playing tricks on him so he demolished the dried-up rubbery toast and the watery coffee. Even the drilling began to abate. He got up and found the toilet a few yards down the corridor and, thankful that he hadn’t fallen over, decided that he couldn’t wait. So he dressed and walked briskly out of the ward, telling a bewildered-looking nurse that he was discharging himself.

  *

  Drake stood outside the main hospital entrance and called Sian. He reassured her that it was no more than mild concussion and that two paracetamols from the hospital had been effective. He made excuses as he saw Caren turning into the short-stay car park, promising to call her later. Seeing Caren sitting in the driver’s seat of his Alfa Romeo immediately struck him as odd. He strode over as she got out and gave him a warm smile.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’ve been better.’

  ‘I’ll drive if you want, boss.’

  Drake’s first instinct was to insist he drive. It was his car after all. But now he looked over at Caren. ‘Thanks.’

  Drake sat back and nursed his temple as Caren drove out of the car park. ‘Dave and Gareth are at Crecrist Hall.’

  ‘And Mrs de Northway?’

  ‘She’s at the hall too.’

  ‘We need to question her. Has she said where she was last night?’

  ‘Nothing. She’s barely said a word.’

  *

  En route to Crecrist Hall Drake called Price, who sounded mildly surprised to hear his voice. ‘I’m fine sir.’ Drake tried to get as much confidence into his reply as he could. Although the headache had abated, a wave of exhaustion washed over him as Caren drove.

  A Scientific Support Vehicle was parked alongside de Northway’s old Range Rover, a marked police car alongside it and two unmarked cars. Drake didn’t bother with tugging the bell; the door opened easily and he strode in with Caren behind him. He began to take the stairs to the landing two at a time but a pinprick of pain pierced both sides of his forehead with each step and he hesitated.

  ‘Are you all right, boss?’ Caren was a couple of steps behind him.

  ‘I’ll be okay.’

  Drake surveyed the landing. This time light was flooding down the corridor. There were voices in various rooms, furniture being moved and Caren pointed towards a door.

  ‘Dave and Gareth are in here, sir.’

  They entered what looked like an office. There were shelves full of storage and old-fashioned ledgers. A computer screen hummed on an antique kneehole desk. Howick and Winder looked up and each enquired about his health, but Drake reassured them that he was well enough to be on duty.

  ‘We’ll need to get as much of this back to headquarters. Give operational support a ring if you need any help.’

  Winder and Howick returned to trawling through a mound of paperwork. Drake strode down the landing towards de Northway’s room. Mike Foulds emerged, followed by a white-suited crime scene investigator.

  Foulds did a double-take as he looked at Drake. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here today.’

  ‘I’m all right. Bump on the head.’

  Foulds stood to one side as the CSI passed him and walked down the corridor. Drake looked into the room. Foulds moved to one side. Drake had little recollection of the room from the night before. The ache in his forehead returned and with two fingers he rubbed a spot on his right temple, hoping it would help. The room was an odd mixture of bedroom and sitting room. It had a comfortable chair, a single bed pushed into one corner and a large television propped on top of a sideboard. An ancient wardrobe dominated one wall. It had large doors with a sweeping curved top and Drake could imagine it in some French country château. The Tattersall shirts and bold checked jackets hanging over cord trousers of varying colours confirmed that Somerset de Northway slept alone.

  He turned to Foulds who was standing by the door. ‘Where’s Mrs de Northway?’

  ‘Downstairs in the kitchen.’

  Drake stepped out of the bedroom and turned back towards the staircase.

  ‘There’s another way, boss.’ Caren was walking towards the end of the corridor. She opened another door, revealing an enclosed narrow staircase. ‘Servants access. In the days when they could actually afford servants to run up and down with breakfast, do the cleaning, etc. It leads down towards the kitchen. The killer must have used it last night, to avoid meeting me on the main staircase.’

  ‘So the killer knows the property?’

  ‘Could be. Or he’s just lucky.’

  They walked down, their feet echoing against the bare timber of the risers. At the bottom a narrow hallway led off towards the back door and Drake noticed a heavy door in front of him and the sound o
f murmured conversation from behind it.

  A woman officer that Drake recognised from the family liaison team sat with Catherine de Northway, a plate of fruitcake and empty cups on the table.

  ‘Morning, sir. You all right?’

  Drake nodded. ‘I need to talk to Mrs de Northway.’

  ‘Of course.’ She reached for her bag and rolled her eyes, as she exchanged a look with Caren that Drake completely failed to notice.

  Drake pulled up a chair and wasted no time with pleasantries. ‘Does your husband have any enemies?’

  ‘He can be a bit of an arse.’

  ‘Has anybody threatened him?’

  ‘Not that I’m…’

  ‘Has he been behaving oddly?’

  ‘No more than usual.’

  Drake narrowed his eyes, uncertain whether she was serious. ‘What happened yesterday?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What were your husband’s movements yesterday – did he go out? Did anyone call to see him?’

  Catherine de Northway swept her hair back with a flourish and summarised the activities of the day, apologising occasionally for her uncertainty. ‘The high sheriff rang, asking if Somerset would deputise for him at some function next week. After he’d finished Somerset complained like hell. He couldn’t abide the man.’

  ‘Did anyone call?’

  ‘That accountant man. He was here in the afternoon.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Dafydd Higham. But Somerset didn’t have the time to see him. He had another meeting with those consultants about the solar business.’ She fluttered a hand in the air, as though the subject was beneath her. ‘I’m awfully sorry. Frightfully rude of me. I haven’t offered you coffee.’ De Northway made to stand up.

  Caren was on her feet first. ‘There is no need, Mrs de Northway.’

  ‘No, I insist.’

  ‘Please sit down. Caren will make coffee.’ Drake managed a sympathetic tone. ‘Where were you last night?’

  ‘Why do you need to know?’

  ‘It’s important that we build a complete picture.’

  ‘I was with a friend.’

  Caren glanced at him abruptly as she plonked an old-fashioned whistling kettle on the Aga.

  ‘Can you give me her name?’

  ‘I really don’t think this is relevant.’

  ‘Mrs de Northway, let me be the judge of that.’

  ‘It’s… not what you think.’

  Drake frowned. The kettle made a gurgling sound.

  ‘It’s just that ever since Somerset had his prostate op things haven’t been, well… back to normal, so to speak.’

  For the first time Drake noticed her crystal-blue eyes. They had a hard edge that matched the steely grey hair. A pinch of pain flashed behind his eyes and he guessed that he needed more paracetamols. His irritation at Catherine de Northway and her so to speak was compounded as he thought of how little progress they’d made in wading through the secrets of rural Anglesey.

  ‘Are you suggesting that your husband had erectile dysfunction?’

  Drake didn’t think he’d ever used the last two words in conversation. He’d heard them in the cinema during an advert for Viagra and he just hoped that he’d understood Catherine de Northway correctly.

  ‘Somerset knew all about us.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘As you put it so quaintly, Somerset couldn’t get an erection, poor thing. And over the years we’ve always had this sort of understanding.’

  ‘Understanding – what on earth do you mean?’ Drake’s patience with Catherine de Northway’s coded language finally snapped.

  ‘Well, until the operation, Somerset often entertained in the cottages with some of his friends.’

  The kettle gurgled.

  ‘And I have certain needs, Inspector.’

  Caren cleared her throat. Drake got the message: even he could understand what she meant by needs.

  ‘And tell me, Mrs de Northway, who exactly is your friend?’

  She sat back and gave a long, deep sigh. ‘Aiden Hawkins.’

  Drake and Caren stared at each other simultaneously as the whistle on the kettle pierced the silence.

  Chapter 36

  On their way back to headquarters Drake had insisted on a detour for a shower and a change of clothes. Caren sat in the car and waited. There was a faint smell of mint on his hair when he returned and she guessed that he was using one of those bright green shower gels. Back in headquarters Drake stood before the Incident Room board, turning two fingers round the wedding band on his left hand. Caren had noticed him fidgeting like this before.

  ‘Catherine de Northway,’ Drake announced. ‘She’s the only person we haven’t looked at.’

  Nobody moved in their chairs. Howick gave Drake a quizzical look.

  ‘Judge Hawkins satisfies her needs and she gets him to try and kill poor old Somerset who can’t get it up any longer.’

  ‘And you interrupted him, boss,’ Winder piped up.

  ‘So why would she and Hawkins kill Fairburn and Jane Jones?’ Howick added. ‘Every time we focus on a suspect the less likely they seem.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Drake raised his voice a fraction too loudly. He looked over at Howick. ‘Was there anything from de Northway’s computer and papers?’

  ‘He had the same stack of photographs on his computer. And they were sent to him by Fairburn.’

  Winder shifted in his chair. ‘We removed a huge pile of paperwork about solar power. And there are dozens of spreadsheets and projections about the profitability of the project on his computer.’

  ‘I wonder if there might be more than one killer,’ Drake said.

  There were unconvinced glances around the room.

  ‘Somerset de Northway kills Ed Mostyn in order to be able to expand his property and develop the solar farm. He had the opportunity because he’s in the village every morning. Mrs de Northway is on his scheme. But unknown to him she has a scheme of her own.’

  ‘But what about Jane Jones?’ Caren said.

  ‘She’s the one who pays her off. Maybe she has the money and she knows all about de Northway and his pals.’

  ‘It’s disgusting,’ Caren said. ‘They were a bunch of sick old men.’

  Drake turned towards her. ‘But something goes wrong and they argue and Jane is killed.

  ‘Still doesn’t explain the link to these paedophiles,’ Caren said.

  Drake ignored her. ‘Question is, how many of them are still alive? And who’s killing them?’

  Winder pushed a chocolate bar around the top of his desk. ‘Maybe we’ll find something in de Northway’s papers. Emails and contacts. There could be others.’

  ‘And I need a photograph of Catherine de Northway,’ Drake said, tapping the board. ‘And then we’ve got Gwynfor Llywelyn. He’s got the motive to kill Mostyn and Fairburn.’

  ‘Is he really mad enough to kill both men to stop them selling the land?’ Caren said.

  Drake drew a hand over his face and pulled at his lips. He didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘We’ll start again in the morning.’

  Caren heaved a sigh of relief, pleased that she’d avoided having to make excuses for leaving early. She’d already planned the evening meal – chicken stew with roast potatoes and mashed swede. It was one of Alun’s favourites and she’d found that the old cliché as to the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach was just as true for the bedroom.

  Drake went back into his office. Howick and Winder milled around, exchanging banter about the prospect of an evening in their favourite pubs before dragging on fleeces and leaving. Caren waited until they’d left and then found her coat. She stopped at Drake’s door. He was staring at his desk and gave her a weary look as she left. If I ever make detective inspector I’d get a proper work–life balance, she thought, as she pondered how long he’d stay behind his desk.

  *

  It was over two hours before Drake finally satisfied the instinct that ke
pt him at his desk. Before he left he picked up the telephone and called Sian.

  ‘What did the consultant say?’ Sian asked when he told her he’d discharged himself that morning.

  ‘It was mild concussion, that’s all. I slept all night and they gave me some painkillers.’

  ‘No tests?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Look, I can’t talk, Ian. I’m going out.’

  ‘Going out?’ the question came out before he had time to think. ‘Who’s looking after the girls?’

  ‘Helen is staying with one of her friends and Megan is with my mother.’

  ‘They could have stayed with me.’

  ‘Ian.’ It always annoyed him that she succeeded in getting far more meaning into a single word than anyone else he knew. This time there was a rebuke and exasperation. He didn’t know which was worse.

  ‘I mean next time. When things settle down. You could call me…’

  ‘You don’t answer the telephone.’

  The silence that hung between them tightened like a violin string until the tension snapped. ‘I spoke to your mum today. I think you should call her. I’ve got to go.’ Drake stared at the handset for what felt like minutes, different questions coursing through his mind, but uppermost – where was she going? And who with?

  She hadn’t even suggested that he telephone either of his daughters, so after replacing the telephone he found his mobile and called Helen. The conversation was stilted until eventually she rang off and then he tried Megan. He could almost smell his mother-in-law down the telephone and he sensed the force of her presence, like a female Darth Vader.

  ‘Mam said you were busy with an important case.’

  ‘I’ll arrange something for next weekend, cariad.’

  ‘Nain has got a DVD for me to watch. I’ll have to go.’

  It’s probably a cartoon that will be completely unsuitable for her age, he thought, before wishing her goodnight.

  An hour later he’d bought some ready meals, ice cream and fruit, mainly because he could hear Sian’s voice telling him he had to have a healthy diet. He dumped his shopping onto the table in the kitchen and transferred the contents of the bag into the fridge. Without much enthusiasm he read the instruction on the ready meal and placed it into the microwave. After a couple of minutes experimenting he managed to get the machine to whirl and buzz. Socialising at the weekend was overrated, he persuaded himself, avoiding the painful truth that he had no social life to speak of in any event. He drank a glass of wine while he waited and got the television to work. Flicking through the channels, he eventually found a programme following a building project in Italy. It must have been the vicarious effect of the stupefying heat from the scenes on the television, but he yawned violently. From the kitchen there was a pinging sound.