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  Devil’s Kitchen

  by Stephen Puleston

  ~~~~~~~~

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  Chapter 1

  28th September

  9.29 am

  ‘Inspector, there is a report of two bodies in the mountains.’

  For a split second the word Inspector sounded unfamiliar, as though he were listening to a conversation in which he wasn’t a participant. It had been a month since Ian Drake’s promotion to detective inspector and in that time he had dealt with a serious burglary and a nasty assault where the victim had almost died. But the unexplained death of a drug dealer had been assigned to one of the other inspectors much to Drake’s disappointment.

  Now there was an opportunity to make an impression with his superiors, and he shook off the briefest shudder of apprehension.

  Drake jotted down the details. A walker had reported finding the bodies at one end of Cwm Idwal, one of the well-known valleys in the middle of the Snowdonia mountains and one Drake knew well from his childhood. He had often walked around the lake on the valley floor with his parents and his sister when they were young. The place had a magic that drew the tourists and locals alike.

  Drake tried to recall the Wales Police Service protocol for dealing with incidents on the mountains; there was a protocol for everything these days. The mountain rescue team would be there with the national park rangers. And an air-sea rescue helicopter would be on standby.

  Drake guessed that dozens of people might be walking in Cwm Idwal that morning. The uniformed officers already at the scene would have to establish identities as well as limit the visitors tramping up to the cwm.

  He stood up and reached over to close a window behind him. Although the warmth of the sun was weak it was low in the sky so he squinted before turning away and walking over to the coat stand where he had earlier carefully draped his suit jacket over a wooden hanger.

  It was a short walk to the Alfa Romeo GT and once inside he found his Ray-Bans in the glove compartment. The demands of working as a detective, even without a murder inquiry, meant Drake often worked long hours and frequently he returned home after the children had gone to bed to be met with an icy remark and a glacial stare from Sian. He made a mental note to text his wife later once he had some idea of when he might be home.

  Then he noticed Caren Waits hurrying to the car. She jumped in, her breathing heavy, and slammed the door.

  ‘Sorry I’m late.’

  She had a habit of being tardy. Drake gave his sergeant the faintest of smiles. Finding his way to working effectively with Caren in the last month had proved difficult. He knew her from training courses and inter-departmental meetings but it wasn’t the same as working with her every day. Caren rummaged in a bag on her lap and produced a slice of cake in a cellophane wrapper that she tore open. She ate the snack, brushing crumbs into the footwell. Drake said nothing stifling his annoyance. He fired the ignition and left headquarters. Caren told him about her morning as he drove, general chit-chat that filled the silence. Drake flashed his headlights at an articulated lorry in the outside lane of the A55 dual carriageway that stretched along the North Wales coast. Eventually the lorry pulled in and he cursed the driver.

  Over to his right yachts were heeling over, their main sails filled, racing out towards Puffin Island, towering ahead in the distance. The turning they needed soon came into view and then, once he was clear of Bethesda and its boarded-up shops and closed chapels, the road narrowed as he began the journey up the Ogwen Valley. The twists and bends of the road slowed their progress, but eventually Drake saw the visitor centre and he drew the car onto the pavement. Ahead of him were two marked police cars and three officers in high-visibility jackets. Leaving the car, Drake saw the waters of Llyn Ogwen to his left. As a boy he could remember the surface of the lake being frozen in winter. Behind him the valley stretched down to the coast and he saw the outline of the island of Anglesey. But police work had taught him that the glorious scenery of North Wales couldn’t hide the darker side of humanity. A crowd of people milled around all wearing walking jackets and stout boots. One of the uniformed officers jogged over.

  ‘Constable Jeff Rogers, sir. We were the first here. The other officer with me has gone up the path to the cwm hoping to stop people walking up there and to get the names of anyone who might be descending.’

  Drake nodded. Behind Rogers the steep sides of the Glyder Fawr and Glyder Fach mountains towered above them, faint strands of white cloud clinging to the summits.

  ‘Who reported the bodies?’ Drake said.

  ‘Two people made separate reports. Mary Hall over there.’ He nodded to a woman sitting on a wall a few yards away. ‘And a couple also reported hearing a scream.’ He craned towards the visitor centre behind Drake. ‘Mr and Mrs Stockwell. They’re keen botanists apparently.’

  ‘Is there someone from the mountain rescue team?’

  ‘He was here a minute ago.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A guy called John Scott.’

  ‘Let’s find him.’

  Rogers led them towards the visitor centre where he introduced a man in a red jacket, wearing heavy walking boots. Scott held out a hand. He had a hard stare and a face weathered by the rain and wind of the mountains.

  ‘John Scott. I’m in charge of the rescue team.’

  ‘DI Drake.’ Drake turned to Caren. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Caren Waits.’

  Scott scanned Drake and Caren’s clothes. ‘You’ll need to change,’ he said, pointing to their shoes. ‘I’ll find you some proper walking boots and clothes.’

  ‘Let’s go and talk to Mary Hall,’ Drake said to Caren.

  Drake walked over and introduced himself and Caren. Mary Hall had a short narrow chin and a blotched complexion. Wearing a grey fleece she shivered in the autumn chill. She gave him a brief acknowledgement before returning her gaze to the rucksack by her feet.

  ‘What can you tell us?’ Drake said.

  ‘I was walking in the cwm when …’ she hesitated before straightening her position. ‘I heard this awful scream. It seemed to come from everywhere.’

  ‘Did you see anything?’

  Mary looked into his eyes. ‘I … I thought I saw something fall. But … It was like a blur …’ She brushed away a tear before looking away. ‘It was on the far side of Cwm Idwal. I alternate my route round the lake and today I was on the east side.’

  ‘Was there anyone else around?’

  She shook her head. ‘I looked up and saw this flash of colour in the distance.’

  ‘Can you remember the colour?’

  ‘Ah … red or yellow … I can’t recall. It was below the Devil’s Kitchen. I stood rooted to the spot. I got my mobile out but there wasn’t any signal so I retraced my steps until I could call mountain rescue. I thought it might have been an accident.’

  ‘What did you do then?’

  Mary looked him in the eyes and swallowed. ‘I went back into the valley …’

  ‘How long did it take you?’

  ‘It must have been …’ – another averted glance, another deep swallow – ‘about half an hour, maybe more, I didn’t keep track of time. I thought I could help. I didn’t think I suppose … I know people can fall.’

  ‘Did you find the bodies?’

  ‘From a distance I could tell …’

  ‘Did you see anyone else in the cwm?’

  Mary shook her head.

  ‘Can I go now?’ She glanced towards the main road. ‘I’ve got a return ticket for the bus.’

>   Before finishing with Mary he scribbled her details in his notebook. ‘We’ll need to speak to you again.’

  Drake turned as he heard a screech of brakes and saw the Scientific Support Vehicle drawing up on the pavement. Drake heard his name and turned to see a couple in their seventies standing behind him.

  ‘Inspector Drake, John Scott tells me you’re in charge.’

  The man had a loud voice and an educated accent. A digital camera hung around his neck. Drake made out a trace of a Midlands twang as he reached to shake the outstretched hand. ‘Brian Stockwell and this is my wife, Di.’

  His wife cowered by his side. She had shoulder-length hair and her jacket matched her husband’s vibrant yellow-coloured one.

  ‘Detective Inspector Drake and Detective Sergeant Waits.’

  ‘We always come at this time of the year, Inspector. We both taught botany at university and there is so much to see in Cwm Idwal.’

  Drake smarted from the clumsy pronunciation of the Welsh place name.

  ‘Did you see anything?’

  ‘We heard the most almighty scream.’

  ‘Approximately what t—’

  ‘I can’t tell you the time. We got started before eight-thirty. We always like to get up early and get out into the mountains as soon as we can. Beat the rush hour so to speak.’ Stockwell laughed at his own joke. ‘Not a laughing matter of course.’

  ‘Did you see—’

  ‘The culprit? No, more’s the pity.’

  Drake looked over at Di Stockwell and wondered if she ever interrupted her husband.

  ‘You’re a keen photographer?’

  For a moment Stockwell looked baffled. ‘Of course, you think I may have images of the killer. Good God, I hadn’t thought of it. I suppose you’ll want to impound my camera.’

  Drake noticed Mike Foulds, the crime scene manager, looking over at them with an eyebrow raised. John Scott arrived back carrying a box with waterproof clothes and boots.

  ‘If you don’t mind, Mr Stockwell, please give the camera to the crime scene investigator over there. He can help.’

  Stockwell looked vaguely disappointed but he strode over to Foulds, and handed him the camera before lecturing him about its functions.

  ‘That Mr Stockwell is an annoying little man,’ Drake said.

  ‘He’ll get under Mike’s skin soon enough. I pity his wife.’ Caren sat alongside Drake on the low stone wall near the walking kit Scott had left. She dragged on a pair of overtrousers. ‘There’s a pair for you and some boots, sir.’

  Drake rummaged through the container trying to find the right size. Foulds walked over; arms folded, an impatient look in his eyes.

  ‘Thanks for that.’ He flicked his eyes over his shoulders in Stockwell’s direction. ‘CID haven’t got walking boots then?’ Drake mumbled a reply as he untied the laces of the brogues he’d cleaned to a spotless finish the night before. Drake found overtrousers to fit him and fidgeted as he pulled them over his clean and newly pressed suit trousers. Keeping his appearance neat and tidy would have to wait and he dispelled a knot of irritation that he might get his clothes dirty.

  Then he fastened the cords of a pair of boots and stood up. Scott joined him, handing him a walking jacket. ‘It’ll be cool,’ he said.

  Chapter 2

  28th September

  11.00 am

  Scott took the lead on the walk up to Cwm Idwal. The mountain air felt clean and fresh on Drake’s cheeks as he lengthened his stride along the flat stones worn smooth by water and hundreds of pairs of boots every year.

  ‘Been up here before?’ Caren said.

  Drake nodded. ‘It’s been a while.’

  ‘I like to visit in the spring when all the flowers are out. There are some rare species. Alun used to climb years ago, before farming took over.’ Caren waved a hand over the cliffs to their left. ‘But I’m afraid of falling.’

  They carried on over the wide slabs, the path quiet and deserted. Eventually they reached a gate and Scott held it open as they filed past him.

  Caren admired the elegant curves and design of the metalwork. ‘Why did they put this gate here?’ she said to Scott.

  ‘The shape of the top is supposed to reflect the outline of the summits. So you can touch them before seeing them.’

  Caren and Drake both looked up at the V shape formed in the mountains. They walked on until they reached the edge of the lake. Drake stopped and pitched his head upwards and noticed the faint movement of walkers on the peak of Glyder Fawr. He reached for a water bottle and took a long swig. Mike Foulds and a crime scene investigator set down their heavy bags of equipment and stretched their backs.

  ‘How much further?’ Foulds said.

  Scott turned and stared towards the far end of the valley. ‘Over there.’ He raised a walking pole and pointed towards two yellow dots in the distance. ‘There’s one of our lads over there with a police officer.’

  Foulds and the CSI peered over before each taking a mouthful of water.

  They pressed on as the steep cliffs rose sharply, and ahead of them the lake shimmered in the late morning sunshine. Drake felt the temperature falling as the mountains hid the warmth of the sun.

  The path became a narrow track of shingle until it gave way to sodden ground, thick with reeds and clumps of grass. After half an hour Drake noticed two figures by a ridge of scree, waving outstretched arms. Scott led the way off the track, his boots sinking in the soft ground. The others followed hard on his heels.

  After stomping heavily Drake and Caren neared both men who were standing a few yards in front of a large boulder.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ the officer said. ‘He’s over there.’ He jerked his head upwards. Above them Drake saw a leg, covered in a dark blue material, protruding over a rocky outcrop. ‘And there’s another body further up.’

  Drake could imagine the comments that a defence lawyer might make about civilians contaminating the crime scene. So he would have to get everything done correctly. Drake turned to Scott and the other civilian. ‘We’ll have to treat this as a crime scene so you can’t get any closer.’

  ‘Of course. I understand,’ Scott said.

  ‘I need you to get the paramedics organised to remove the bodies.’

  Scott nodded and he left with his colleague, their boots squelching in the spongy ground.

  Drake made his way up to the boulder where the body of a man in a yellow walking jacket was sprawled. Caren scrambled up behind him. She let out a faint whistle when she saw the contorted features of the shoulders and arms and legs twisted and buckled. Nearby, the contents of a rucksack were scattered on the ground. Mike Foulds joined them.

  ‘It could have been an accident,’ Drake said.

  Caren nodded. ‘The rocks can be dangerous when they’re damp.’

  ‘We need to get to work, Ian,’ Foulds said.

  ‘Let’s take a look at the second body.’ Drake peered up the cliff face.

  Drake negotiated the boulders carefully, his hands slipping on the grimy surfaces as he hauled himself up. Caren joined him, her breathing heavy. The woman lay flat between two large rocks, her head resting at an odd angle. It was the kitchen knife embedded in her chest that took his attention. Underneath her red jacket was a fleece open to the waist, her T-shirt soaked a deep red colour.

  Drake leant down and touched her neck. He needn’t have bothered.

  ‘Definitely one murder then, sir. Maybe two. Or maybe the man kills the woman and then ends it all by throwing himself off the top,’ Caren said.

  Drake looked up, noticing the occasional stunted tree clinging to a narrow crevice and the dark rocks glistening from the water running off them. There were no CCTV cameras and little chance of any forensics. Drake turned to Caren.

  ‘The eyewitness heard a scream and saw a flash of colour,’ Drake said.

  ‘Not much to go on, sir.’

  He adjusted his footing. Caren was right of course – but at least the eyewitness evidence of the v
arious coloured jackets was correct. His initial thoughts were that it looked like a murder and then a suicide, but as this was his first murder inquiry, he planned to be as thorough as possible.

  ‘Why is it called the Devil’s Kitchen?’ Caren said.

  ‘Even in winter there’s always a thin plume of steam escaping from the top.’

  Caren nodded. ‘Alun and I have been to the top, once, years ago. The view is fantastic.’

  Foulds joined them and stared down at the body.

  ‘So have we got two crime scenes?’ Foulds said.

  Drake nodded. ‘One crime scene – two deaths.’ He paused. ‘One murder. The other at the moment … unexplained.’

  ‘We’ll need forensics, of course,’ Caren said.

  ‘There’s a fat chance of any forensics up here,’ Drake said, but he knew Caren was right.

  Foulds took photographs so Drake and Caren left him and joined the other CSI near the man’s body. The investigator gave him a small plastic exhibit bag. Drake thumbed through the personal possessions of the first victim, Jack Trainor. There was a driving licence, some bank cards, and an identity card for the local university. Behind him, Drake heard a shout, and saw Foulds slipping down the scree.

  ‘Denise Trainor,’ Foulds said, passing Drake a driving licence. ‘Any identification on the other body?’

  ‘I guess it’s the husband. Jack Trainor,’ Drake said.

  ‘Crime of passion then,’ Caren said. ‘He kills his wife and then jumps to his death.’

  Drake gazed upwards again, knowing they had to eliminate all the possibilities.

  ‘Mike. You need to do a search right up to the top of the Devil’s Kitchen. Caren, I think we need to get a better idea of who Jack and Denise Trainor were.’

  Foulds rolled his eyes. ‘This could take hours—’

  ‘You know the drill …’

  Drake and Caren left Foulds and the investigator hard at work. An hour later Drake was fumbling with the heavy boots before removing his overtrousers. Caren threw him a chocolate bar which he demolished; he could have eaten a second.

  As he finished John Scott paced over to them.