My Castle was the second and had various faces grinning and gawping at the camera with stretched mouths in exaggerated smiles. Suddenly it flicked to images of people wearing masks walking through a city street. It could be London or Birmingham, and then it cut to what looked like Paris and then Berlin.
After they finished he sat back wondering if the last hour had been worth it. Modern art had a narcissistic quality, Drake decided. Or perhaps he simply didn’t understand. A painting seemed easier to enjoy, something he could look at and appreciate.
Sara appeared in his doorway with a steaming mug. Drake turned up his nose but said nothing. She was new after all.
‘Gareth’s making progress, boss.’
‘Good.’ He sipped on the drink. Decent coffee would have to wait.
Sara left and Drake turned his attention back to Wood’s website. He wondered how many people paid the equivalent of a month’s salary for a video. You couldn’t hang it on a wall or display it on a shelf.
A call to one of the intelligence officers that covered the area where Wood lived produced little useful information but eventually Drake tracked down a district inspector.
‘I remembered when he was younger,’ the officer conceded. ‘He was wild. There was something odd about him. As though he couldn’t see the consequences of what he had done.’
Drake jotted down the details of possible other contacts the inspector dragged from his memory. It was the sort of run-of-the-mill police work that might contribute to a breakthrough.
Drake’s desk lamp cast a soft glow over his desk as the evening darkened. Sara appeared in the doorway holding various papers. ‘I’ve got the results of the police national computer search against Wood.’
Drake waved her into the room.
‘He was convicted of common assault when he was fifteen. And that led to two more court appearances before he was eighteen.’
It didn’t surprise Drake. The rate of juvenile reoffending was far too high.
‘I’ve done some research on psychopaths too, sir.’
Drake waited for Sara to continue.
‘It is often the case they have troubled childhoods and numerous convictions before reaching adulthood. They have no concept of guilt or of accepting the consequences of their actions.’
For the second time someone had suggested Wood’s inability to accept guilt.
‘When we spoke to Wood he told us that he had been at home all night. He was quick enough to challenge us then. Maybe it was a way of pushing us into a corner, forcing us to arrest him prematurely,’ Drake said.
Sara furrowed her brow. ‘I think that could be stretching it, sir.’
It was a little before ten pm when Drake walked through into the Incident Room. Winder stretched self-consciously and Luned suppressed a yawn but without trying to conceal it.
Drake cleared his throat. ‘Sara has discovered that Geraint Wood has several convictions for assault from when he was younger. We know he threatened Gloria Patton. We know that he does video installations as an artist. The YouTube channel is highly undesirable.’
He looked over at Luned. ‘Anything on his family?’
‘He comes from a classic broken home. Father abandoned his wife and children when they were toddlers. One of his brothers was taken into care and it almost happened to Wood. His mother got into abusive relationships with different men. And his father’s convictions are a long list of serious offending.’
Drake nodded. ‘When we spoke to him he certainly had a hell of a grudge against Gloria Patton. Especially about the way he thought she favoured English artists.’
Winder had stood up as Luned spoke and Drake wondered if he was anxious to make a quick exit or whether he had something constructive to add. He nodded at the junior officer.
‘The stuff I got from a financial search is very revealing. The Inland Revenue sent me copies of his accounts. The man barely scratches a living.’
‘So having an exhibition in Llandudno would have helped?’ Drake said.
‘Looks like it, boss. His bank account is overdrawn and has been for months. The bank has threatened to foreclose on his mortgage. But the biggest surprise is that the bank involved is Rhisiart Hopkin’s.’
‘Really?’ Drake paused. The others in the team stared over at Winder. ‘So that makes him a person of interest in that inquiry too. Something else we can ask him about tomorrow.’
Drake glanced at his watch. ‘We assemble again at six am. I’ve already warned the custody suite to expect a visitor. A search team is ready. Once we’ve got Wood in custody they’ll take his house apart. Let’s get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.’
* * *
Drake slept badly. He was back in Northern Division headquarters by five-thirty drinking coffee and eating a breakfast bar. Before leaving the apartment he had listened for a second time to a message his sister had left on his machine the night before. Her tone had been increasingly hysterical about Huw Jackson. He would call her back later that day.
Sara was the first to arrive. Her hair still had that freshly laundered look as though she could step out of bed without having to spend hours in front of the mirror with straighteners and a brush. She shrugged off a fleece and when Winder arrived soon after he offered to make coffee and sauntered off to the kitchen, returning minutes later with three mugs, deep in conversation with Luned.
Drake walked over to the board and stood alongside a map of the village where Wood lived. It took him only seconds to outline the plan. His mobile bleeped and he smiled as he read confirmation from the search team who were ready to leave.
‘Let’s go,’ Drake said.
He led the way in an anonymous pool car, Winder and Luned following close behind. Drake pressed his handset into the cradle, engaging the hands-free function before calling the marked police car already parked near Wood’s property.
‘No sign of any movement, sir,’ one of the officers responded.
Winder tucked in behind Drake as they drove down the A55. Behind Winder Drake caught sight of a marked police car in his rear-view mirror. The traffic was light as they followed the route to Wood’s cottage.
Drake parked a few yards from the gate that led to the front door. The cottage had probably been built for farm labourers a century previously. A makeshift fence of thin, tall shards of slate lined the road. Drake recalled his grandfather calling them ‘pileri’ – a Welsh word borrowed from the English pillar. It was quiet. No passing traffic. Winder and the second marked police car pulled up a short distance behind Drake.
Drake’s mobile rang. It was the search team supervisor. ‘Just pulling up now, sir.’ Another glance in the rear-view mirror told Drake the final piece of his arrest jigsaw was in place.
He turned to Sara. ‘Let’s go.’
They streamed out of the cars and over to the front door. Drake gesticulated for Winder and Luned to go round the rear. He hammered on the door. ‘Geraint Wood, open up, police.’
There was no response so Drake hammered on the front window as Sara called Winder, warning him Wood might try and escape through the back door. Drake noticed the curtain on the window moving. He shouted again.
He heard movement as an old-fashioned lock shifted open.
The door opened against a chain. Geraint Wood peered out. ‘Be fwc ti eisio?’
Drake guessed Sara would understand Wood’s foul-mouthed demand to know what they wanted. ‘I have a warrant to search the property. You’re under arrest—’
The door slammed in his face. Drake waited for a few seconds hoping to hear the chain fall away. Nothing. Looking over his shoulder he saw a uniformed officer, one of the search team, holding the battering ram quaintly called the big key. Drake nodded. The officer’s relaxed pose changed quickly; his jaw tightened, he adjusted his hands in his thick gloves.
Drake stood to one side. ‘Get it done.’
It took one swing for the door to crash open. Drake and Sara darted in followed by two officers from the
search team. Wood stood in the sitting room swinging a baseball bat. This time he resorted to English so everyone understood. ‘The English say that every man’s home is his castle. Now this Welshman is not going to tolerate intimidation by the English state.’
He raised the bat behind him and took two steps towards Drake and Sara.
The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion as the two officers by Drake’s side launched themselves through the air like rugby players. They crashed into Wood. The baseball bat clattered on the slate hearth and three bodies came crashing down, demolishing a coffee table. He continued to shout obscenities as handcuffs snapped over his wrists.
Drake and Sara watched from the front threshold as Wood was bundled into a marked police car. Back inside, Drake reached down and picked up the baseball bat. He tossed it onto an old sofa. The search team supervisor joined them. ‘Where do you want us to start?’
‘Take the place apart.’
Chapter 17
After depositing Geraint Wood in a cell in the area custody suite Drake and Sara returned to the first crime scene. Drake strode back and forth along the pavement outside the shop that still had yellow tape draped across the door. He gesticulated with his hands, pointing to possible locations from where the video could have been filmed.
‘Did you notice a van parked over there?’ Drake said, nodding towards the opposite side of the street.
Sara shook her head.
Drake scanned the various shops across the street. He wondered if the camera had been set up inside one of them. A brief forensic analysis by Mike Foulds had established clearly that the recording had been taken from ground level.
Drake searched in vain for any CCTV cameras. This side of Llandudno obviously wasn’t a priority. Crime rate in the town was low; murder only happened on television dramas. He jogged over the road, encouraging Sara to follow him. Then he stared back, hoping to pinpoint the exact position where the vehicle had parked.
He walked a little further down the pavement and beckoned Sara over.
‘It was here, he was parked here,’ Drake sounded breathless.
Sara lifted her iPad and pointed towards the crime scene. She pressed play and the images from the video filled the screen. ‘Yes. This is the spot.’ Drake turned and looked at the shops behind him.
He entered the nearest: a charity shop. Display rails heaved with second-hand clothes and a musty smell hung in the air. Shelving had been pushed against the walls displaying various glassware, vases – Drake even spotted an old 35mm camera. A woman in her sixties stood behind the counter and, once she finished serving a customer, smiled at him. Her name badge had Jean printed on it.
He held up his warrant card. ‘Detective Inspector Drake and this is Detective Sergeant Morgan. We’re investigating the murder of Gloria Patton. She was found last week in the old shoe shop opposite.’
Jean’s smile disappeared. ‘It was awful. Everyone is talking about it. Nothing like this has ever happened before.’
Drake paused. Instinct told him not to share the details of the videos on YouTube even though it was common knowledge. ‘We’re looking for any possibility that somebody may have filmed the police arriving on the morning the body was discovered.’
Jean seemed to get paler.
‘What time did the shop open that morning?’
‘I wasn’t working that day,’ she whispered. ‘Maureen was volunteering.’
‘Is she here?’
‘She’s sorting through stuff in the back.’
‘We need to talk to her.’
Jean gestured towards a man in his early twenties, giving him strict instructions to call her if a customer had to be served.
They walked through to the storeroom where a woman with steel-grey hair was digging through a pile of old clothes. She stood up straight; long, thick plastic gloves covered her hands and forearms.
‘This is the police, Maureen,’ Jean said. ‘It’s about the murder.’
Maureen stared over at Drake and Sara. ‘Everyone is talking about it.’
‘You were working on the morning the body was discovered?’ Drake said.
Maureen nodded.
‘Somebody filmed the police arriving. When did you open the shop that morning?’
‘At the usual time – about nine.’
‘Did you notice anything unusual? Any cars or vans parked outside?’
She shook her head and frowned. ‘It was quiet. Nothing much happens here until coffee time. Come to think of it, there was a van outside. It was one of those shop-fitting companies. We had one here when we first opened years ago.’
Drake’s chest tightened slightly: a step a nearer to the killer. ‘Do you remember the name printed on the side?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘Did you see anybody in the van?’
‘No, of course not. I didn’t look in. Do you think I’m some sort of busybody?’
‘Well what about the colour?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Come on. It’s important. Was it red or black or white?’
Maureen gave Drake a frightened look as he raised his voice.
‘I can’t remember… I suppose it was white.’
‘Can you remember what make it might have been?’
Drake sounded desperate. It was the nearest they had got to the killer, but the terrified look on Maureen’s face told him he had pushed her too hard already.
‘I’ll get someone to show you some photographs so that you can identify the make.’
Maureen relaxed.
Drake lowered his voice. ‘Was there anybody else working with you that day?’
‘No. Just me and I’m only a volunteer. I worked until lunchtime that day. Other weeks I might work in the afternoons.’
Drake turned his back on Maureen and walked back into the shop area followed by Sara. He made for the front door and noticed the CCTV camera clipped to the top of one of the shelving units. He turned to look at Jean. ‘Why didn’t you tell me there was CCTV?’
‘It doesn’t work,’ Jean replied. ‘It was put in a couple of years ago after we had a problem with a few customers coming in drunk and arguing. There was no money to have it fixed.’
Drake left the shop and stood on the pavement with Sara. They both stared at the cars parked nearby.
‘He was here,’ Drake said. ‘I’ll get Gareth to show her images of every possible van. Hopefully that might narrow it down.’
‘It was probably stolen.’
‘But he would have needed some stencilling for the livery on the side of the van. We’ll have to contact all the local companies that do that sort of thing.’
Drake gave the row of parked vehicles one last look and then turned to Sara. ‘Let’s go and talk to Wood.’
* * *
The smell of bleach and air freshener hung in the windowless atmosphere of the area custody suite. The whippet-thin custody sergeant wore trousers a size too small and his eyes seemed to hover above hollowed-out cheeks. Drake signed for the tapes he needed as Sara discussed with the sergeant which marathon he was doing next.
Drake entered the interview room and saw Wood sitting on one of the upright plastic chairs. The lawyer sitting by his side stood up and reached out a hand. ‘Hywel Williams.’ He had a strong North Wales accent and immediately started talking in Welsh with Drake.
‘If you don’t mind we’ll conduct the interview in English; Sergeant Morgan isn’t bilingual.’ Drake nodded towards Sara.
Williams looked over at Wood who nodded. Expediency always meant it was easier to conduct interviews in English. Drake loaded the tapes into the recording machine and once he clicked it on, a screeching noise filled the air for a couple of seconds.
‘I’m investigating the death of Gloria Patton,’ Drake said once the formalities were completed.
Wood looked over the table impassively.
‘I understand that you had a difficult relationship with her.’
‘I didn�
��t have any relationship with her.’
Drake reached for the papers in front of them. ‘Were you angry with her when she rejected your work for the Orme Arts Festival?’
‘No. I was fucking incandescent.’
Drake paused. Wood continued. ‘She should never have been in charge of running the arts festival. It was public money, and all she did was spend it on some of her favourites, people she knew, English people, English artists.’
‘Why did you visit her in her gallery?’
Wood sat back and scowled. ‘She didn’t have a gallery. She had a shop. I went to her fucking shop.’
‘Is it true that you threatened her?’ Drake took the opportunity of reminding himself of the exact words one of the eyewitnesses used. ‘You said that you would sort her out, make certain that she would never be involved with an arts festival ever again.’
Wood shook his head back and forth. ‘I was angry. I didn’t say anything wrong. I never threatened her. Whoever said that is lying.’
Williams made his first contribution. ‘My client admits having an argument with Gloria Patton, but that isn’t evidence he killed her.’
The lawyer was right. Drake scanned his watch. He was still waiting for details from the search team.
‘When we first spoke you told me you make video installations.’
Wood stared at Drake, but said nothing.
‘I assume you are experienced in using video cameras?’
‘The visual arts are the way forward. Everybody wants videos. Can’t you see that? There are videos everywhere. On Facebook, on YouTube. It’s the only realistic artistic medium that has a future.’
‘You make a living from selling your installations?’
Drake fingered the reports from the Inland Revenue service that indicated Wood earned less than the equivalent of the minimum wage.
‘I don’t judge my success against normal conventions.’
‘You haven’t sold a piece of art for almost two years.’
Dead on Your Feet Page 12