A Time to Kill Read online

  A Time to Kill

  by Stephen Puleston

  ~~~~~~~~

  A Time to Kill is the fifth Inspector Drake mystery. The story is based in North Wales an area rich in history and beautiful landscapes.

  After graduating from London University I trained as a solicitor. For many years I worked in a small practice representing clients in the criminal courts and doing divorce work all of which has given me valuable raw material for my novels. I still live and work in North Wales where the Inspector Drake novels are set.

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  Details can be found at the end of A Time to Kill.

  Chapter 1

  Darkness descended like a thin shroud, smothering the last remnants of daylight.

  Harry Jones reached the top of the wooden staircase and stood looking out over the lake letting his breath get back to normal. The last of the evening gloom filtered away and he gazed over at the Quarryman’s Hospital. It looked grey and foreboding and the dense trees covering the hillside seemed to press down on it. Another hour and it would be pitch black, Harry thought. Why were they meeting here? He drew the lapels of his coat to his cheeks; at this time of year he could think of better places.

  The fine gravel of the path crunched under the soles of his shoes as he made for the main entrance of the old hospital building. He had been inside many times and each occasion learned something new about the injuries men suffered blasting slate from the nearby quarry.

  He glanced to his left towards the small mortuary building where a path led off into the heavy shadows of the trees. He reached the hospital doorway and stood glancing around, hoping he wouldn’t have to wait too long. Over to his left a sound like footfall on dry twigs spooked him and he peered into the darkness.

  Nothing.

  He read the time again, resolving to stay another few minutes before heading home.

  He cut across the lawn in front of the hospital and neared the red railings looking out over the lake. Thickening clouds billowed overhead and the lights of the town glowed below him. The sweet smell of pine and conifer filled the air. It made him recall his childhood in the village when the forests and the paths through them had been his playgrounds.

  He turned sharply when he heard a sound behind him and he thought he noticed movement, perhaps a figure wearing a long winter coat. He paced over towards the far end of the building, knowing a gravelled road led down to the lake.

  No one.

  He squinted over, a sense of unease invading his mind.

  He looked at his watch again, annoyed now; angry that he was here on a fool’s errand. Five more minutes and he’d retrace his steps down the wooden staircase, along the footpath at the edge of the lake and then back home.

  Nothing particularly enticed him home. Long ago he had fallen out of love with his wife who had announced that morning she was visiting her mother and that he’d find a ready meal in the freezer. At least there was a decent crime drama on the television.

  He wandered back under a Scots pine, tapping out a message on his mobile. The signal was poor so he moved his position hoping it would improve.

  An owl hooting and a crowing bird of prey somewhere above him unsettled Harry. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. When he heard movement behind him, he turned sharply, his heart racing. A badger scampered past the hospital. He really didn’t like being in this place during the hours of darkness.

  Then something more substantial took his attention.

  This time he saw the unmistakable shape of someone moving near the corner of the hospital but it was a fleeting glance and not enough for Harry to recognise who it might be.

  His mouth dried. If it wasn’t who he was expecting, who could it possibly be?

  ‘Harry.’

  He recognised the voice and immediately relaxed.

  Harry walked over, puzzled when he saw the figure retreating from view; he picked up his pace and soon reached the bin enclosure behind the building, the smell of stale food prickling his nostrils.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Harry said.

  ‘I could ask the same about you.’

  ‘I don’t know what you—’

  ‘It’s very simple. Some things need to be left unchanged. Enough is enough. I have had more than I can stomach of you.’

  Harry stepped forward.

  ‘You’re talking in riddles. I know things have been difficult but—’

  ‘Difficult. You bastard, how dare you…’

  ‘Now look…’

  A hand dipped into a jacket pocket and in a smooth movement drew out a heavy object. The moon broke through a thinning section of cloud and a brief flash lit up the muzzle of a handgun pointing at Harry’s chest. He swallowed hard, his feet rooted to the spot, but a voice in his head shouted at him to run. Instead he froze. A practised eye told him it was an old weapon, so part of his mind wanted to believe it was a museum piece.

  ‘I don’t understand. What do you want?’ Harry tried to sound reasonable, using a soft tone.

  This wasn’t happening, simply couldn’t be true. He must be dreaming. He’d wake up soon and it would be morning. But his hammering pulse reminded him he was alive and staring down the barrel of a gun.

  ‘Some things are a step too far.’

  Harry watched the trigger being pulled.

  The sound of the gun shattered the silence.

  The last thing Harry thought about was his mother. He even tried forming her name on his lips. He fell to the floor, the gap in the clouds closed, the moon disappeared.

  Darkness.

  Chapter 2

  Detective Inspector Ian Drake drummed the fingers of both hands over the top of the steering wheel of his Ford Mondeo. He had been stationary for no more than five minutes although it felt like much longer. Roadworks were to blame for the traffic chaos on the A55, the major route that stretched along the North Wales coast. Being so early in the morning exacerbated Drake’s irritation. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

  Unless he made progress soon he and Sara would be late for their interview at Caernarfon police station. Articulated lorries streamed past them in the opposite direction: he couldn’t even see the red light.

  ‘When are they going to finish all these alterations?’ Sara said.

  Drake was accustomed to her measured tone. He didn’t reply immediately but stared straight ahead hoping he could get through the one-way system when the lights next changed.

  ‘Superintendent Price circulated a memo last month. Apparently the work of removing the roundabouts in Penmaenmawr and Llanfairfechan will take a couple of years.’

  ‘The traffic department can’t be too pleased with that.’

  Drake nodded.

  One accident would be enough to bring the entire A55 to a halt in the middle of summer with its caravans and trailers and families heading for the beaches and holiday camps. Three enormous lorries passed Drake, shedding a fine dust over his car; he sprayed the windscreen and washed away most of the dirt, resolving that he’d have to clean the car again. The inside still smelled fresh and clean after the deep clean the previous weekend – exactly as he liked it.

  ‘Shall we review the interview notes, boss?’ Sara said.

  More vehicles passed Drake. He read the time again, worrying he might be late for their interview with a serial house-burglar. A homeowner, returning unexpectedly early from visiting his daughter in Lincoln, had caught the man red-handed. The property was a large detached house in the country. One of the local detectives had established that the owner’s house cleaner shared details about the valuables that were to be found at the various propert
ies where she worked. In exchange for this information, she received ready cash that made a much-needed dent in her substantial credit card bill.

  Drake glanced over at Sara, the file open on her lap.

  ‘Good idea,’ Drake said.

  Sara started to review the basic format of the interview they had planned the previous afternoon, as the vehicles ahead of Drake moved off. He crunched the car into first gear and slowly followed the van in front of him. He prayed silently that he could negotiate the contraflow system before the light turned red and it was a relief when he passed the traffic lights still on green.

  He changed down through the gears and soon he engaged cruise control.

  Sara read aloud their draft questions. Drake interjected occasionally, making mental notes of questions to ask the suspect, as he took the junction for Caernarfon and left the A55. After parking they negotiated the security protocols at the police station and headed to the custody suite.

  The sergeant in charge was a man in his forties with thinning hair and an enormous paunch. His face looked leathered. ‘Detective Inspector Drake. You can have the day off!’ He said.

  Drake frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Your man isn’t here.’

  Traffic delays and a smartarse custody sergeant weren’t going to improve Drake’s mood.

  ‘He’s just been taken to hospital. He complained of chest pains. It must have been the prospect of being interviewed by you.’ The sergeant grinned.

  Drake didn’t find it funny.

  ‘We got the doctor to him this morning. I organised for one of our uniformed lads and a probationer to go with him in the ambulance.’

  Drake drew a hand through his hair. He couldn’t afford a wasted day; he already had a pile of reports back in headquarters that would require hours of work.

  ‘You can go and have a paned,’ the sergeant said. The harsh Scouse accent made the Welsh word for a cup of tea sound odd. Drake guessed it was the only Welsh word the officer knew.

  In the canteen, Sara volunteered to organise their drinks. Drake sat down and watched her as she reached the counter and spoke to one of the staff. It had been almost six months since her first day on his team. She was fitting in well, becoming accustomed to how he liked things done. When Caren Waits, his previous sergeant, had left for maternity leave he harboured doubts; perhaps having a new partner would make things difficult. But he reassured himself that Sara would have no inkling about the rituals that forced him to order and reorder his paperwork, and keep regimented colour-coordinated lists of Post It notes. A recent documentary about obsessive-compulsive disorder had followed a mother and daughter who couldn’t sleep in their own beds because to do so would cause the sheets to crease. At least he wasn’t that bad – never had been. And knowing the Wales Police Service’s counsellor was at the end of the telephone helped.

  Looking at Sara reminded him of the way Sian, his estranged wife, could grab his attention. Sara was slim, like Sian. There was something different about Sara’s hair that morning, perhaps she had cut it differently. The auburn colour seemed a shade darker too. He knew her to be unmarried but otherwise he hadn’t heard her mention a boyfriend. He quickly smothered any romantic aspirations. There was a protocol about officers being romantically involved; there was a protocol for everything these days. And he had Helen and Megan, his daughters, to think about.

  Sara returned carrying a tray with two mugs.

  Drake turned up his nose at the mug of weak-looking coffee she placed in front of him.

  ‘Sorry about the coffee, boss. It’s cheap instant.’

  Drake nodded.

  Sara sat down and took a sip of her tea.

  Drake reached over for his drink as his mobile rang. He recognised area control.

  ‘Drake.’

  ‘We have a missing persons report for you to investigate.’

  ‘Missing person?’ Drake looked up at Sara; she showed her interest by raising her eyebrows. But it was hardly the stuff for his team.

  ‘The chief inspector in Caernarfon has approved it with Superintendent Price.’

  ‘Is there nobody else?’

  For a moment, Drake thought about marching up to the DCI’s office and giving him a piece of his mind about allocating a missing persons inquiry to a detective inspector. The woman from area control wouldn’t have mentioned Wyndham Price’s name unless it were true.

  ‘Send me the details.’ Drake finished the call without waiting for a reply.

  ‘Missing person?’ Sara said, getting a degree of interest into her voice.

  He nodded, reached for his drink and took a mouthful. ‘A woman has reported her husband missing.’ Drake grimaced at the tasteless liquid. Moments later, his mobile bleeped into life. He studied the message.

  ‘It’s in Llanberis,’ Drake said, allowing the relief that the village wasn’t too much of a detour on his way back to headquarters to filter into his voice.

  ‘I did a couple of missing person inquiries when I started out in Wrexham,’ Sara said.

  Drake pushed the unfinished coffee to one side. ‘A satisfactory outcome to both?’

  Sara shook her head. ‘The wife who was reported missing had gone to live with an old boyfriend in Inverness. When we traced her, she told us she’d been wanting to leave her husband for years. She begged us not tell him where she was. But in the other case we found a dead body in a lake. It looked like suicide.’

  Drake and Sara returned to the car park. It took less than fifteen minutes until the voice on the satnav formally announced they had reached their destination. Drake parked outside the home of Harry and Fiona Jones. It was a detached property with a bay window on the ground floor matching a similar one on the bedroom above it. The slates on the roof were the dark blue variety from the local Dinorwig quarry.

  Carefully tended flowerbeds lined the garden, the bark covering their surfaces a disincentive for any weeds. Drake paced up to the front door, Sara following behind. He glanced at his watch. It should be routine: check the details, establish an identity, get a list of friends and a sense of any conflict in the family, before handing the whole case to the sergeant in charge of missing persons at headquarters.

  The doorbell rang and a few seconds elapsed before they heard footsteps walking across what sounded like bare tiles. A woman in her mid-fifties, blotchy expression, tired eyes and a face with despair etched into her skin opened the door and stared at Drake and Sara. Drake looked down at her, guessing she was about five foot five. He smiled and gave her a cursory flash of his warrant card.

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Ian Drake and this is Detective Sergeant Sara Morgan. I understand you reported your husband missing. I’ve been asked to take some preliminary details from you.’

  Fiona Jones stood rooted to the spot looking first at Drake and then at Sara, as though she couldn’t quite make out what she should say.

  ‘Have you found him?’ Her bottom lip quivered.

  ‘Mrs Jones, may we come in?’

  Fiona regained some composure. ‘Of course. I’m sorry.’

  She led Drake and Sara into the front sitting room filled with well-polished and expensive-looking antiques. Watercolours hung from a picture rail in heavy frames and Drake noticed Sara scanning them carefully. Fiona perched on the edge of a chaise longue, twisting a white handkerchief through her fingers. Drake sat on a sofa, a coffee table in front of him displaying magazines and two hardback books, one with a striking image of a lighthouse perched on a cliff. Sara sat down and gave Drake a brief smile as he turned to face Fiona.

  ‘Can you give us more details about your husband? When did you realise he was missing?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘Can you be more precise, please?’

  ‘I was expecting him to be back by the time I arrived home.’

  ‘So when did you arrive home?’

  ‘About ten.’

  Drake sighed to himself. ‘So, it’s about twelve hours since you expected to see h
im.’ There wasn’t a minimum time period before the police would investigate a missing person – each case was judged on the individual facts. Drake continued. ‘Did you know where Harry was going last night?’

  ‘Some council thing.’

  ‘What council is that?’

  ‘The local parish council. They had some meeting about the development of the quarry.’

  ‘Do you know the name of the council secretary?’

  Fiona shook her head. ‘John something, maybe… Harry knew all their names.’

  ‘So, when did you see Harry last?’

  ‘I saw him at lunchtime when I called into the shop. I told him I was going to visit my mother. She’s just left hospital.’

  ‘What shop does Harry run?’ Drake was warming up to ask Fiona about her marriage.

  ‘The antique shop in the village. But what has that got to do with anything?’

  ‘I need as much information about Harry as possible. Does he have any financial problems?’

  Fiona Jones frowned at Drake, ‘No, of course not. Don’t be stupid. Why are you asking these questions? You should go out and find him.’

  Fiona blinked rapidly.

  ‘We need to build a complete picture of your husband and his life. It’s very likely we shall have to ask you a lot of questions about Harry.’ He paused and looked over at Fiona but she avoided his eye contact. ‘And we’ll need a photograph of your husband.’

  Fiona nodded. ‘I found this.’ She handed Drake a passport-sized image. Drake gave it a cursory glance before sharing it with Sara.

  ‘And we need to ask you about your relationship with Harry.’

  Fiona moved back a few inches, drawing together her composure.

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything, Mrs Jones. I appreciate this must be a difficult time for you.’ Drake paused; perhaps handling a missing person inquiry was something he needed to practise more. ‘We have to consider all eventualities.’ Drake smiled as he finished.

  Fiona raised her hands in exasperation. ‘Just find him, please.’