Price sat down at the desk, and Drake and Sara pulled up two chairs.
‘Bring me up to date on the searches of his various properties.’
Drake took a long breath. ‘Progress is slow. Gareth Winder and Luned Thomas are working through boxes of papers from his chambers, and both search teams are still at his home and the holiday home. I’ll need to go through all the paperwork in the morning and see if we can establish a link to Tom Levine.’
‘Do we have enough to charge Justin Selston with the murder of Nicholas Wixley?’
Drake hesitated. It wasn’t solely his decision to make, surely? Superintendent Price was involved, as was Andy Thorsen and Assistant Chief Constable Neary. A suspicion Price was covering his back needled its way into Drake’s mind.
‘Selston lied to us. At first, he denied having been at Nicholas Wixley’s home on the night he was murdered but then he offered a lame excuse that he called to discuss something about chambers business. It didn’t strike me as anything to justify him turning up at Wixley’s place late at night.’
Price grunted a reply. Drake continued. ‘Selston has a long history of a fractious and disjointed relationship with Nicholas Wixley. He bears grudges and the latest and ultimate insult would be Nicholas Wixley’s appointment as a circuit judge. Everything about Selston’s background suggests he coveted that role as a personal family fiefdom.’
A contemplative silence filled the space between the officers. The consequences of what they were discussing challenged everything they valued, respect for the rule of law, the importance of judges. Little wonder Superintendent Price hesitated.
‘We review again in the morning. I’ll organise a video conference call with ACC Neary first thing.’
Price loosened his tie and shared a glance with Drake and Sara. ‘You’ve both done well.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Drake and Sara left Price staring at the television that carried reports about the derby game between Swansea and Cardiff in the Premier League.
The same match was playing on a big screen in the public house where Winder had suggested they meet. Winder scrambled to his feet when he saw Drake and Sara approaching the table he shared with Luned. ‘What’s your poison, boss?’
Drake rarely socialised with the rest of his team. Other detective inspectors were comfortable mixing with the constables and the sergeant on their teams, but Drake knew little about Winder’s social life apart from the occasional comment about his girlfriend. Perhaps a better man-manager than him would know whether the detective constable on his team drank lager or beer or spirits or nothing at all.
He joined Sara in opting for a soft drink. Winder padded over to the bar and Drake sat by Luned. Winder wasn’t long, returning with a pint of fizzy-looking lager for himself and orange juice and soda for Drake and Sara.
‘The barristers in the chambers are a poncey bunch,’ Winder said. ‘They looked at us as though we were the criminals. Have the search teams found anything of value?’ Winder took another long slug of his drink. Drake guessed it was his second, perhaps even his third. No driving home tonight for Detective Constable Winder, Drake thought.
‘They haven’t finished yet.’
Luned added quietly, ‘Will Selston be charged?’
The seriousness in Luned’s tone made Drake realise the inquiry had taken its toll on her. ‘We’ve got a video-link organised with the assistant chief constable tomorrow morning when a final decision will be made but it looks as though he will be charged with the murder of Nicholas Wixley and, depending on the result of forensics, Tom Levine.’
Winder reached for the laminated menu propped in a plastic container on the nearby table. ‘I’m starving.’
Drake realised he, too, was hungry and he couldn’t recall when he had last eaten. He decided there was little point going home to an empty flat or even travelling over to see Annie. Justin Selston was going to be charged with murder in the morning and that was a result. It was worth taking an opportunity to share the team’s success. He should have done something like this years ago, shown how much he appreciated them, how much he valued their input.
When Winder handed him one of the menus, he smiled. ‘The curry is bloody good here.’
By the end of the evening Winder and Luned had both relaxed. She shared how much her parents had been shocked by the death of Nicholas Wixley. A friend of her mother’s knew the housekeeper who found his body. Luned didn’t need to share the details – her mother knew them all. ‘They don’t realise what we have to do.’
Winder and Sara both nodded.
Luned’s eyes took on a glazed expression and Drake realised she’d drunk a glass of lager too many. Sara saved her embarrassment. ‘I’ve got a spare bedroom you can use tonight.’ Luned gave her a bleary-eyed look of thanks.
Winder regaled them all with his hopes for the Liverpool football team. Being second in the Premier League gave them a great chance at being the champions. Perhaps he had underestimated Gareth Winder in the past, Drake thought. Every team needs a detective constable like Winder, determined, focused, never going to progress up the ranks of CID but invaluable nevertheless.
Drake listened to Sara as she told them about her running and then that her friends had been to Dublin for the Easter bank holiday and that one of her girlfriends overindulged on Guinness. A return trip, with Sara, was planned over the summer.
An uneasiness crept into Drake’s mind when he realised that he wasn’t sharing any personal details. He had always found it awkward. He hadn’t expected anyone to be quite as blunt as Sara when she asked him, ‘And how is Annie?’ She accompanied the question with a smile that lit up her face.
His defences penetrated, he had no choice and actually enjoyed telling them about his girlfriend.
Drake dropped Winder off outside his home, and he thanked Drake for the lift and staggered away from the car. Drake parked on the street near his apartment, wondering how Sara was getting on with Luned. It had been the sort of evening he should have arranged before, should have encouraged before, should have participated in before. Regrets were useless, Drake thought: it was what he did in the future that was important.
Chapter 40
Thursday 9th of April
7.25 am
Not talking to Annie the day before had made Drake feel his day was incomplete, as though an essential part was missing. After separating from Sian he had felt the same about his contact with Helen and Megan.
Although his conversation that morning with Annie was brief, by the end it restored equilibrium to his mind. He even contemplated the possibility of skipping his daily routine of starting the Sudoku puzzle from the morning newspaper. A step too far, Drake thought as he left the apartment and headed for his car, the first stop the newsagent nearby.
The ritual was less a necessity now and more of a habit. He completed a few squares easily enough and drove away towards headquarters, his mind settled.
He parked and clocked the Jaguar belonging to Superintendent Price. One morning, Drake concluded, he would arrive before his senior officer. Arriving at his office he hung his jacket on the coat stand before booting up his computer.
Foulds appeared in his room before he could gather his thoughts.
‘I’ve got the DNA results.’ Foulds paused. ‘The knife had blood from Wixley and Levine. It’s the murder weapon, Ian.’
It took a few seconds for the full impact to sink in. Drake almost said, Are you sure?
‘Send me the report as soon as you can.’
‘It’ll be tomorrow – I’m going back to the house now.’ Foulds stifled a yawn. ‘And by the way – this is academic now, but the partial fingerprint on the champagne flute in Wixley’s house isn’t Mandy Forsyth or Justin Selston, but the pubic hair does have her DNA.’
‘Thanks.’
Foulds nodded his acknowledgement and left.
Drake filled a page of a notepad with comments and jottings intended to fix in his mind what he needed to tell As
sistant Chief Constable Neary. Assistant chief constables occupied a rarefied atmosphere with little hands-on involvement in a day-to-day inquiry. Nicholas Wixley and Deputy Chief Constable Wixley made this investigation different from any other case he had conducted.
Drake reached the video conference suite in good time, where Andy Thorsen and Price were waiting. He wasted no time.
‘I’ve had the DNA results on a knife found at Selston’s home. There were traces of Wixley’s and Levine’s blood.’
Thorsen straightened in his chair.
‘Bloody great result.’ Price fisted the desk. ‘We’ve got the bastard.’
A civilian fiddled around with the controls of the video-link equipment and soon the image of the three men appeared in a rectangular box at the bottom of the screen.
Bang on time Assistant Chief Constable Neary entered the empty room at force headquarters in Cardiff and spread out some papers on the desk in front of her. She looked up. ‘Good morning, gentlemen.’
Price and Drake replied in unison. ‘Ma’am.’
‘Bring me up to date.’
Drake glanced at his list. ‘We’ve had the results of forensic tests on a knife found in Selston’s home. It had traces of Wixley’s and Levine’s blood.’
‘That’s excellent news. And how did Selston’s interview pan out?’
‘Justin Selston lied to us about being at Wixley’s home on the night he was killed. When I put to him there was an eyewitness, he came up with a convoluted explanation about visiting Wixley to discuss business involving the barristers’ chambers. He denied all knowledge of the knife.’
‘Do you think the eyewitness is reliable?’
Price butted in. ‘Although the woman is an escort she has no motive to implicate Selston, and she didn’t come forward because she was frightened about the links between Tom Levine and Nicholas Wixley.’
Neary pondered. ‘I guess it will be a matter for a jury to decide whether Justin Selston’s explanation is to be believed. Andy, what do you think?’
‘Applying the standard test: if a conviction is more likely than not then clearly there is enough evidence to justify charging Justin Selston. It has to be in the public interest to do so.’
‘Good. And Ian, I know this case has attracted a lot of attention and scrutiny but I think your team has done well.’ Neary picked up her papers and left as the screen went dead.
Thorsen was the first to respond. ‘I’ll have the charges drafted by later this morning.’ He paused, gazed over at Price and then Drake. ‘What about bail?’
A defendant like Selston might well expect bail. It was a racing certainty Thorsen wanted to object to any possibility Selston be freed until his case was heard. It would take a very convincing barrister to persuade a court that a defendant charged with murder be released on bail. What was the risk of him absconding? Nothing suggested he would take the first plane to some exotic location that didn’t have an extradition treaty with the United Kingdom. And they could prevent that by ensuring he surrendered his passport.
‘We object of course,’ Price said after a moment’s contemplation. ‘It would be sending the wrong signal if we agreed for him to be released.’
‘There’s a strong chance the court will release him on bail. After all, he’s a fine, upstanding member of the community, no previous conviction, vehemently denies any involvement. And he has a settled address and is unlikely to leave the country.’
‘That’ll be a matter for the courts,’ Price said.
Drake returned to a far busier Incident Room than when he left it. Winder appeared a bit sheepish, Luned gave Drake an embarrassed look and Sara was the only one that managed a normal greeting. ‘Good morning, boss, how did you get on?’
‘The knife the search team found in Selston’s home has traces of Wixley’s and Levine’s blood.’ The revelation changed the atmosphere in the Incident Room. Bodies straightened, and concentration sharpened. ‘We proceed to charge him with the murders of Nicholas Wixley and Levine.’
Winder gave a brief huff of exhilaration. Luned pursed her lips and Sara nodded exuberantly. Drake walked over towards the board. He stood looking at the various images on it.
The mobile telephone rang in the pocket of his jacket and he fished it out with two fingers.
Drake recognised the number for area control. ‘DI Drake.’
‘I’ve been asked to notify you about a car fire relating to a person of interest in your inquiry.’
‘Car fire?’ Drake said, failing to hide his irritation.
‘A car belonging to a Norman Turnbull is ablaze in Hell’s Mouth.’
‘Hell’s Mouth, do you mean the beach?’
‘Yes, sir.’
A burnt-out vehicle was a job for uniformed lads, but Norman Turnbull’s involvement made Drake wary. ‘Has Mr Turnbull reported his car missing?’
‘That’s the problem, Inspector. There’s a body inside the car.’
Chapter 41
Thursday 9th of April
9.25 am
Drake wished he had a helicopter for occasions like this. Something to get him to the crime scene in minutes rather than the one hour fifty-five the satnav predicted. Knowing the ongoing roadworks might delay the journey Drake even contemplated the possibility of driving down the Conwy Valley and then through the mountains towards Pwllheli. Fewer hold-ups, but the roads were narrow and unpredictable.
He switched on the blue flashing lights under the grill and then the siren’s wailing noise filled the car. Vehicles drew into the inside lane and then onto the hard shoulder as he raced ahead. Drake swept past motorcycle outriders in high-visibility jackets standing at either end of the extended roadworks between Penmaenmawr and Bangor, ensuring an unimpeded journey.
The satnav quickly adjusted its estimated time of arrival. Drake kept badgering Sara to get updates from area control about the officers present at the scene and the likely arrival time of the scientific support vehicle and the CSIs.
After screaming along the A55 towards Bangor, Drake indicated for Caernarfon and his speed dropped but his annoyance increased. Avoiding the town centre, he used the back roads, negotiating ninety-degree bends and narrow, tight junctions. The flashing light and siren had little effect until he reached the other side of the town.
Now he was making progress as he floored the accelerator. The three peaks of Yr Eifl appeared in front of him and he skirted round them to cross the peninsula. Until then his mind had been concentrating on driving, getting to the scene. Now he started to think.
What on earth was Norman Turnbull doing at Hells Mouth at the end of the Llŷn Peninsula? Porth Neigwl, the Welsh name for the wide expanse of beach, didn’t sound as dramatic as its English version. He knew the name but not the location.
Pwllheli felt familiar as he slowed to negotiate the centre of the town. Once clear, he powered towards Abersoch. After the village, popular with the Premier League footballers of England, Drake eventually saw two marked police cars and a fire engine in a car park.
He braked hard and the car jolted to a halt on the gravel.
A thin plume of smoke drifted off Turnbull’s car. Two fireman stood nearby with handheld extinguishers blasting out the occasional puff, discouraging any more of the flames from rekindling.
‘Let’s get going,’ Drake said.
They left the car and a uniformed officer approached them.
‘Glad you’ve arrived, sir.’ His name tag read Williams. ‘Some campers in the adjacent field heard the explosion.’
‘Where are they now?’
Williams nodded over Drake’s shoulder. ‘They’re with Harry.’
Drake glanced behind him and noticed another uniformed officer with two civilians. ‘We’ll talk to them later.’
Drake moved towards the car. ‘Don’t get too close,’ a firefighter nearby called out.
Even from a distance the smell of burning flesh lingered. It was a charcoal-like, sulphurous odour. Without looking at the firefighter, he
asked, ‘The CSI team are on their way. Will it be safe for them to complete their investigation?’
‘I suppose so. I guess they know what they’re doing.’
The sound of another vehicle slowing caught Drake’s attention. He watched as a man broke into a run once he had left the car. Williams blocked his progress, but he became hysterical. ‘That’s his car, that’s his fucking car. Where the hell is he?’
Drake and Sara walked over.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Ian Drake, Wales Police Service, and this is Detective Sergeant Sara Morgan. Who are you?’
‘I’m Alan Turnbull. I’m Norman’s brother and that’s his car.’ The man doubled up in pain. ‘Where’s Norm? Jesus, he’s not inside is he? Oh, for Christ’s sake.’
‘We don’t know yet who is in the car.’
Alan gave Drake a pleading look. ‘So, there’s a chance he could be safe?’
‘We are expecting the crime scene investigators and once they have completed their work we can get back to you. Are you on holiday?’
Alan nodded. ‘Norm called us yesterday and announced he was coming down to see us. He got here last night and he was really agitated. He thought he was being followed. I told him he was getting paranoid and that he had to calm down.’
‘When did he leave?’
‘He left this morning really early saying he had to meet someone.’
Sara already had her pocketbook out. ‘Can you tell me your brother’s mobile number?’
Sara jotted down the details. Standard protocols meant a full search against the number he had called and, more importantly, every number that called him in the last twenty-four hours.
‘I’ll need your contact details, Mr Turnbull. As soon as I know anything I’ll be in touch.’
Alan Turnbull sat in his car staring out at them. He left when the scientific support vehicle arrived. Mike Foulds got out and walked over towards Drake, grim-faced.
Written in Blood Page 25