Once he’d heaped the steaming pasta onto a plate, he picked up the salad bowl and sat in front of the television. He drank more wine and watched as an elderly English couple with accents like Catherine de Northway directed the Italian workmen who were finishing their swimming pool. His eyelids sagged and another yawn gripped his jaw. Deciding he had to sleep, he left the dishes on the worktop, resisting the temptation to clean them immediately.
Chapter 37
Drake slept well and woke feeling that progress would at long last be possible. Somerset de Northway would be well enough to interview and forensics would be certain to pick up something from Crecrist Hall. He arrived at headquarters and headed for his office but as soon as he sat down the telephone rang.
‘Area control, sir. We’ve had a call from Holyhead police station. You need to attend urgently.’
‘For Christ’s sake. What the hell is it?’
‘A Mr Dafydd Higham wants to see you. Apparently he’s quite distressed.’
‘About what?’
The voice hesitated. ‘The desk sergeant reported that Higham thinks he’s the next murder victim.’
An hour later Drake propped his chin on steepled hands and looked over at Dafydd Higham, sitting on the opposite side of the table, who shifted his position on one of the uncomfortable rigid plastic chairs. Two days’ worth of stubble covered his chin and it made him look older than Drake remembered. And dirtier somehow, as though the silvery grey stubble needed scrubbing clean.
Caren entered the interview room and slid three plastic beakers full of weak-looking coffee over the table. Higham reached over and grimaced as his fingers touched the hot rim.
‘You might have some information for us?’ Drake said.
Higham moved his chair nearer the table.
‘It’s about these murders.’ He stumbled as though something heavy was caught in his throat. ‘I know I should have come sooner. Ed didn’t get on with Joan. In fact they pretty much hated each other.’
‘Go on.’ Drake folded his arms, turned up his nose at the coffee and stared over at Higham.
‘He spoke to me quite a lot recently. He’d been thinking about the land. And about whether to sell. I’d been trying to persuade him that he should agree. Joan would get very angry with him. Shout at him, call him all sorts of names. She can be very abusive when she puts her mind to it.’
‘When did you speak to him?’
‘If I was visiting clients nearby I’d often call in.’
‘Were you on good terms with him then?’
‘Yes. I suppose.’
‘So what else did you discuss?’
Higham reached for the coffee and, after blowing on the surface, took a brief sip. ‘Ed knew all about those men. Rhys Fairburn, Evans, and Somerset de Northway. They were all in this together.’
‘What exactly?’
‘They were involved in having sex with young girls. It’s what turned them on. I think it’s disgusting.’ Higham looked up at Drake and curled his lips into a frown. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night. I kept hearing things. I was certain there was somebody outside.’ He stopped, swallowed hard and gave Drake and Caren a pleading, rather pathetic, look. ‘It was Gwynfor Llywelyn.’
‘What makes you think that?’ Drake measured his words carefully.
‘Ed told me that he and Llywelyn had blazing arguments. Llywelyn had been able to persuade him to make a will leaving everything to some charity. He’s got a hell of a temper and sometimes he’ll be nice and friendly and then others fly off the handle like a madman.’
‘What did they argue about?’
‘Ed threatened to sell the land. And I was outside his cottage one day when Llywelyn was there.’
Caren changed position in her chair and drew her hair back behind both ears. ‘Did you actually hear what was said?’
‘Of course.’
She scribbled his replies on the legal pad on her lap and looked up at Higham. ‘We’ll need a statement in due course, but tell me in your own words exactly what you can remember him saying.’
Higham let out a long sigh. ‘It was a while ago. I can’t be certain of the exact words.’
‘Do your best.’
‘Jane had been one of the girls involved and Llywelyn was in love with her – obsessed in fact. I heard him tell Mostyn never to touch her again or he’d kill him.’
‘How did Llywelyn know about Mostyn and Jane?’
Higham shrugged.
Caren occasionally held a hand up to pause Higham as he recalled the argument. He had walked up the drive to Mostyn’s cottage so that both men would have been oblivious to his presence outside. Once Higham had finished his tale, Drake leant over and scanned the notes that Caren had prepared, as the accountant sat silently finishing the last of his coffee.
‘Did Ed Mostyn tell you he was involved in the paedophile ring?’ Drake said.
Higham put the plastic beaker back onto the table. He covered his mouth with both hands and avoided eye contact with Drake and Caren. ‘He didn’t admit that to me directly. He just made comments. It was disgusting.’
‘And why are you frightened now?’
Higham opened his eyes wide and stared at Drake in astonishment. ‘I took the photographs in the Cambrian Club dinner. And he might think that I was involved too.’
Caren had fixed Higham with an intense glare.
‘Thank you, Mr Higham, for coming in.’ Drake stood up, pulling his jacket from the back of his chair. ‘Sergeant Waits will arrange to take a detail statement from you in due course.’
‘Aren’t you going to arrest Llywelyn or something?’
‘You’ve been very helpful.’ Drake reached over and shook his hand. They led Higham out of the interview room. Caren punched the security code into the keypad near the door and after Higham left she turned to give Drake a troubled look.
Drake reached for his telephone as soon as the door closed.
‘Get here as soon as you can.’ Drake mouthed the name ‘Gareth’ at Caren.
‘What did you make of that?’ Caren said, once he’d finished.
Drake was already walking towards the main stairs. On the first floor he found an empty room. He sat down by the table and rubbed his eyes and then his temple. His skin was greasy and he wanted to clean, but first he had Caren staring at him, an excited look on her face.
‘It’s not enough to arrest Llywelyn is it?’
‘Higham’s reference to a slanging match?’ Drake spread his hands flat over the table. ‘Nothing circumstantial about that. Llywelyn is on a mission to stop the nuclear power plant and we know he has a hell of a temper.’
‘But the other deaths?’
‘He’s on a mission to kill the men involved with the paedophile ring because he loved Jane. You know the saying – love is blind.’
Caren sank back in her chair. ‘And Jane?’
Drake hesitated. ‘Fit of temper?’
Caren puckered her brow.
‘We’ll need to plan an arrest.’
Drake reached for the mobile and called Price. It was a short monosyllabic conversation and ended with Price grunting confirmation. ‘Just arrest the toe-rag and do a full forensics on his place.’
Another hour passed until Winder and Howick arrived. Drake waved them to chairs around the table and summarised the interview with Higham. ‘We arrest Llywelyn on suspicion of murder and take him back to area control. Caren, you and Dave get to his home address while Gareth comes with me to the bakery. I’ll call the CSI team to meet us there in half an hour. And, Caren, get the search warrant sorted. Dave and Gareth, get some of the uniform lads organised.’
‘To ride shotgun?’ Winder said.
Nobody laughed.
*
Drake parked at the end of the village, a little distance down from the patrol car that had followed them to the north of the island. Behind them he saw the Scientific Support Vehicle slowing to a halt. He dialled Caren. ‘Where are you?’
‘Outside
his house.’
‘Any sign of the girlfriend?’
‘None. It’s all quiet.’
‘Good. Let’s go. I’ll call you once we’re by the door.’
Drake slipped the car into first gear and drove slowly down the high street. He drew to a halt next to the bakery entrance. He pressed ‘send’ on his mobile as he entered the property.
Inside baskets were piled on the counter with white loaves, large sourdough and dark rye bread. Gossamer-thin mists of flour drifted in the air. A radio played in the office beyond the counter. Drake lifted the flap and walked to the rear. He recognised the sound of The Flaming Lips asking the listener if they realised that someday everyone must die – appropriate enough, Drake thought.
Llywelyn was sitting in the rear room with his feet propped onto a table, drawing deeply on a joint. A puzzled look crossed his face, like a man who couldn’t remember where he’d parked his car. He took the joint out of his mouth. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Gwynfor Llywelyn.’ Drake held up his warrant card. ‘I’m arresting you for murder.’
Chapter 38
‘Your client is under the influence of drugs so he’s not fit to interview at present.’
It was going to be late in the evening before Llywelyn could be interviewed and by then the custody sergeant would want him to have eight hours’ sleep. All of which would give them valuable time to search the bakery and the house.
‘He seemed perfectly coherent to me.’ Matilda Spencer was one of those lawyers who attempted to distil the wisdom of the entire legal profession into everything she said.
‘We’ll do a drug test tonight and aim to interview in the morning.’ Drake forced a smile.
‘What’s your evidence?’
‘I’ll discuss everything fully in the morning.’
‘You haven’t got enough to charge him, have you?’ Although Spencer was clever, she needed to learn discretion. ‘And you’re doing a search at the moment.’
‘I can’t discuss the nature of our inquiries.’
‘So you are searching his property. Desperate, I’d say.’
Irritation at Spencer was quickly turning into annoyance.
‘Seven-thirty am. We’ll even provide coffee.’ This time he didn’t even try to smile.
Drake returned to headquarters and went straight to the forensics department. He had a few hours to get the search finalised and everything in the bakery and Llywelyn’s home dusted and examined. Foulds looked up at Drake as he entered and then nodded at the garden fork laid out in the middle of the table in front of him. Alongside it stood a pair of wellington boots.
‘Is that…?’ Drake began.
‘Found in the shed at the back of the garden. On the outside it’s an ordinary garden spade, but if you look a little more closely, then…’ Foulds reached for a switch behind him and dimmed the light. He picked up a handheld device that Drake had seen operated before. A thin band of translucent red light shrouded the handle and stem of the fork. Small dark blotches appeared and Foulds stopped and peered at them, a narrow grin forcing itself through his lips. Then he moved onto the wellington boots.
‘Looks like the fork has been cleaned thoroughly. But even if you clean something really carefully blood will have a nasty habit of leaving a stain that this beauty will pick up.’
‘Is there enough to—’
‘Sure is. Samples are on their way to the forensic science lab as we speak.’
‘How long?’
‘I’ve told them it’s top priority.’
Drake waited.
‘First thing in the morning, hopefully.’
Drake could see that Foulds was pleased with the results so far.
‘Good work, Mike.’
‘Thanks. I’ve emailed you a list of the exhibits recovered from the bakery and the farm.’
Drake walked back to the Incident Room, his step a fraction lighter than it had been earlier. He hoped that by now the team would have made some progress. The hubbub of broken conversation and chatter gradually died as he entered. From the half-grins on their faces he guessed that Foulds had shared the details of the discovery.
Winder was chewing a doughnut, a fine residue of sugar coating his lips. Howick stood by the board and Caren was nursing a mug of coffee. Drake looked around. ‘You’ve heard about the fork?’
Heads nodded slowly.
‘Anything else turned up from his house and the bakery?’
Howick pointed to the computer on a spare desk. ‘Llywelyn was running a massive campaign against the nuclear power plant. It’ll take us years to go through all of his emails. He sent them to every politician you could name. He was making a right nuisance of himself.’
Winder dabbed a handkerchief to his lips. ‘There’s a mobile telephone, boss. We found it in a kitchen drawer. It’s one of those pay-as-you-go handsets. There are calls to Rhys Fairburn and Evans.’
‘Really. Get a list of all the calls made.’
‘His girlfriend got hysterical when we were at the house,’ Caren said, turning an elastic band through her fingers. ‘She said it was a conspiracy by the English state, which was all part of the subjugation of the Welsh people started by King Henry VIII.’
Drake raised an eyebrow. ‘Carry on going through all his papers. There must be something.’ Drake walked back to his room.
He sat down and for a moment he couldn’t remember which day it was. He glanced at the time and date on the screen of his monitor. Over a week had passed since he had moved into the flat although he had barely spent any time there. And in reality he didn’t want to spend time there. Then the remains of the brief telephone conversations with Helen and Megan came flooding back to him, along with a guilt that tugged heavily on his conscience. So he got up, walked around the desk and closed the door before calling Sian.
‘Are you still at work?’
‘It’s a complex investigation…’
‘Aren’t they all?’
‘I’d like to speak to Helen and Megan.’
‘It might be nice if you arranged to see them. You know, things that fathers do.’
Drake heard Sian’s raised voice and then, through the sound of muffled conversations, Sian telling both girls not to be long. Talking to Helen and Megan felt unnatural, as though he were talking to his nephews in Cardiff. After he’d finished he found the door into a dark space in his mind and he settled in, happy to stare blankly at the order on his desk. Eventually the noise from the Incident Room broke his concentration and he looked over at the monitor screen, forcing himself to think about Gwynfor Llywelyn.
*
‘Do you know why you’re here?’
Every interview opened with that question, but it struck Drake as absurd, bearing in mind that Llywelyn had already spent over twelve hours in custody. Drake had listened politely when Matilda Spencer gave him her usual grilling before the interview started, reminding him about the latest Court of Appeal guidelines about police interrogations. The polka dot blouse she wore under her navy jacket contrasted sharply with the un-ironed top that Caren wore underneath a light green fleece.
Drake tugged at the elasticated links holding the double cuffs of his white shirt in place. That morning he had chosen a solid blue tie. It was a formality that somehow told the suspect, his or her lawyer and any colleague present that he was in charge. A quiet satisfaction buzzed in his mind as he flicked through his papers on the table. The interview wouldn’t take long; they had enough to charge on at least two murders but he still had to go through the formalities. He might even have time to see Helen and Megan that afternoon.
Yesterday’s stubble had thickened into a dirty grey mass on Llywelyn’s chin and Drake caught a slight musty tang from old clothes, sweat and the remains of the joint from the day before.
‘Yes. You’ve told me a dozen times.’
‘How well did you know Ed Mostyn?’
Llywelyn shrugged.
‘Can you explain, for the purposes o
f the tape?’ Drake tilted his head towards the cassette machine on the table.
‘I got to know him because of the nuclear power station.’
‘When did you learn that he and his sister owned a strip of land important to the development?’
Llywelyn rolled his eyes. ‘How the hell would I remember?’
‘But you admit that it was something you were aware of?’
‘Of course. Look, everyone knows that Joan Higham and Ed Mostyn had a piece of land. Everyone knows each other’s business.’
‘Did you and Mostyn ever discuss the nuclear power plant?’
‘Of course. He wanted to do everything possible to stop it.’
‘Just as you do.’
‘Yes. I think it will destroy this part of Wales. It will ruin centuries of culture and be the final nail in the coffin for the Welsh language.’
‘Would it be right to say that you would do anything to stop the development?’
‘I wouldn’t kill, if that’s what you mean.’
Drake hesitated, glancing over at Caren. She had a determined look on her face and Drake went back to the interview plan they’d finalised the night before. ‘How often did you visit Ed Mostyn?’
‘I never kept a record.’
‘Well, you must have some idea. Was it every week?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Every month?’
Llywelyn shrugged again.
‘Answer the question.’
‘Sometimes we’d go out for a drink. Other times I’d see him at his cottage.’
‘Where were you on the morning Ed Mostyn was killed?’
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