Written in Blood

by Stephen Puleston

  Drake took another moment to distribute photographs of Norman Turnbull’s car from Porth Neigwl on the table. Looking at the charred upright remains of a human body sitting in a driver’s seat was grotesque and foul but Pamela barely flinched.

  ‘When we interviewed your husband, he admitted killing Norman Turnbull.’

  Drake waited to see her response. Perhaps she’d be relieved to hear her husband had killed Norman Turnbull. Then she’d only face two murder charges instead of three.

  But she said nothing, so Drake continued.

  ‘But, Pamela, we can prove it wasn’t your husband. We have CCTV footage of him in Abersoch that morning, so he didn’t have time to reach the car park at Porth Neigwl. And we triangulated your mobile to that area on the morning Turnbull was killed.’

  Pamela Kennedy took another sip of water. Drake paused. He could almost hear everyone’s heartbeat; he could certainly hear his own thumping in his ear.

  ‘Did you kill Nicholas Wixley, Tom Levine and Norman Turnbull?’

  ‘Nicholas Wixley was the worst.’ Pamela Kennedy turned to look at Drake. Then she spat a mouthful of saliva at Drake that dribbled over his face.

  Chapter 52

  The morning after Michael Kennedy and Pamela Kennedy appeared for sentencing in the Caernarfon Crown Court, Drake purchased a copy of The Times, The Guardian and The Telegraph. When he arrived at his office he opened The Times first and spread the paper out on his desk after moving a developing column of Post-it notes.

  Once the accumulated evidence against Pamela Kennedy became overwhelming Michael Kennedy had broken down at subsequent interviews, sobbing confirmation that he had nothing to do with the three murders. Pamela Kennedy had remained aloof, stonewalling further questions from Drake. But she couldn’t avoid the inevitable consequence of her husband withdrawing his admissions and she took advantage of the court system by pleading guilty at the first opportunity, hoping to lessen her time behind bars.

  Drake read with interest a profile of DCC Wixley in The Times, and smiled as he thought to himself what the journalist would have made had he been aware that suspicion had initially fallen on her for her husband’s death. The paper printed comments from her chief constable that ‘she had been an exemplary police officer, holding the highest standards, an example to all young recruits’, but what did he really think? Laura Wixley was taking up an appointment as a chief executive of a charity dealing with abused women. The newspaper included a photograph of her leaving the Crown Court building. She had grown her hair, lost some weight. Mr and Mrs Thorpe had agreed to meet her and Mr Thorpe had called Drake the day after the meeting. ‘We can’t turn the clock back. Nobody can, but we enjoyed meeting her. The missus cried.’ Drake hoped that Laura Wixley’s promise to keep in regular contact would be fulfilled.

  Once Drake had finished The Times he folded it away and turned to The Guardian. It carried a critical section about the initial prosecution of Justin Selston, suggesting that the Wales Police Service had been precipitous in charging the barrister. There were several pictures of Selston and a quote from a press release issued by his solicitors. Drake had learned from Holly Thatcher that Selston was more in demand now than he’d ever been. The criminals of north-west England charged with serious offences were flocking to be represented by him.

  The Telegraph reported accurately the prosecuting case. A high court judge had been allocated the case and had spent a week in Caernarfon dealing with burglars and minor assaults. The highlight of his week was obviously sentencing Pamela Kennedy and Michael Kennedy. The court had listened in stunned silence to all the details. Occasionally the judge had asked for clarification of some points.

  Pamela Kennedy had sat silently gazing straight ahead without ever turning her head even to look at her husband sitting a few feet away from her. At least Michael Kennedy had taken in his surroundings. And he had scanned Drake and Sara without acknowledging their presence.

  Pamela Kennedy’s life sentences were automatic and the judge’s recommendation that she serve a minimum of eighteen years had generated comments in The Telegraph that the sentence appeared too lenient. Neither of the other newspapers on his desk had made any comment about the length of the minimum term. In reality, eighteen years meant at least twenty, possibly longer, once the parole system had ground its way through mountains of paperwork.

  Michael Kennedy’s four-year sentence for theft seemed unduly harsh in the circumstances. He had nodded grudgingly when the judge passed the sentence, and when he left the dock Drake was certain he had given him the faintest nod of acknowledgement, or was it thanks?

  The Telegraph did at least have an article suggesting the system for the appointment of judges needed to be far more transparent, even handed. It suggested that the present system was shrouded in nepotism without any real accountability.

  Drake finished reading The Telegraph as Superintendent Price walked in and sat down.

  ‘We’ve had confirmation that Justin Selston isn’t going to pursue any complaint about his arrest and charging.’

  Drake gave a slow smile and bowed his head. It was the news he was waiting for. It meant they could have closure on the inquiry without the threat of Justin Selston’s legal action against the Wales Police Service.

  ‘Apparently he’s more in demand now than he’s ever been from the villains of Manchester,’ Price said. ‘He’s been retained to appear in several murder cases already.’

  ‘That’s good news. I mean, Selston deciding not to sue the WPS.’

  ‘I agree.’

  Drake sensed that Wyndham Price had more to say.

  Price paused again. ‘I should tell you that HR in Cardiff have been lining me up for retirement.’

  Drake sensed a feeling of loss. It would be difficult working with a new superintendent. Someone who didn’t know how he worked or understood his background. And he would miss Price.

  ‘Are you looking forward to retirement, sir?’

  ‘You’ve still got me around for a few more months yet.’

  Price got up and made to leave.

  ‘Your team did well, Ian.’

  Epilogue

  Annie’s insistence that Drake invite Sara for dinner couldn’t be ignored any longer. Drake’s stumbled excuses that he wasn’t good at socialising with the others on his team had raised an eyebrow. ‘You all work together. The least you can do is to invite her to dinner occasionally.’

  It brought back memories of the wizened inspector Drake had worked for years ago holding forth in a pub on a Friday night about the value of teamwork when in reality what he expected was unquestioning loyalty and obedience.

  Sara arrived promptly at Drake’s apartment with a bottle of Rioja and a bouquet of flowers for Annie. Drake took Sara into the sitting room and Annie made excuses about finalising their meal of lasagne and salad and disappeared into the kitchen. A chilled bottle of Pino Grigio sat in a wine cooler.

  ‘White wine okay?’ Drake said.

  Sara nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  Annie joined them soon after they had sat down. ‘It won’t be long.’ She turned to Sara. ‘Now tell me all about yourself. Ian is hopeless about telling me about his work colleagues.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Men.’

  Sara smiled. The ice had been broken. Only Annie could have achieved that, Drake thought. He listened as Sara shared with Annie details of her family background that he knew little about. Her parents were still alive, and she saw them regularly. They were a small family; she had some distant cousins but no siblings.

  The conversation continued around the dining table and Drake gradually relaxed into sharing his own family experiences and the conflicting emotions on discovering he had a half-brother. He smiled to himself as he watched Annie engaging with Sara in an uncomplicated natural conversation. He couldn’t have imagined Sian, his former wife, ever agreeing to entertain the detective sergeant on his team, nor showing as much interest as Annie had done.

  ‘It must be difficult having to deal
with dead bodies and murderers,’ Annie said as they drank coffee.

  ‘I found my first case very difficult,’ Sara said. ‘I know we’ve all got to die but seeing a body sliced open makes you realise how evil people can be.’

  ‘You get used to it,’ Drake added. ‘The important thing is not to think it’s normal.’

  ‘I’m sorry I mentioned work.’ Annie grinned. ‘Ian tells me you had to cancel a holiday in Dublin.’

  Sara nodded. ‘The friends I was supposed to be going to Dublin with have booked a house in the south of France in the summer. Because there are so many going it’s going to be affordable.’

  ‘All the extra overtime that both of you worked on the Nicholas Wixley case would justify a long holiday,’ Annie said.

  ‘We’re taking Helen and Megan to EuroDisney over the summer,’ Drake announced. ‘I hope there won’t be an urgent case.’

  Annie struck a serious tone. ‘If there is, somebody else will have to be responsible.’

  Drake smiled.

  They drank coffee in the sitting room and talked about nothing particular until Sara read the time and announced that it was late. She thanked Annie and Drake for the hospitality and left soon afterwards. Drake stood with Annie by the door to his apartment.

  He pulled her close and she looked up into his eyes.

  ‘Thanks for organising tonight. I should have done that a long time ago.’

  He kissed her, and the warmth of her body and the lingering touch of her lips reassured him how happy she made him feel.

  ~~~~~~~~

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  Inspector Drake Series

  Devil’s Kitchen – prequel novella

  Brass in Pocket

  Worse Than Dead

  Against the Tide

  Dead on your Feet

  A Time to Kill

  Written in Blood

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  Written in Blood

  by Stephen Puleston

  This book copyright © Stephen Puleston

  First edition published 2018 by Stephen Puleston

  The right of Stephen Puleston to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

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