Devil's Kitchen_An Inspector Drake Prequel Novella Read online

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.

  ‘Is it true that it’s Denise Trainor?’

  ‘Yes. Did you know her?’

  ‘Jesus, I can’t believe it.’ His voice was raised and he lifted the fingers of his right hand to parted lips. ‘She was in my walking group. Are you certain?’

  Drake nodded. ‘How well did you know her?’

  ‘I … She was …’ He shook his head.

  ‘We’ll need your contact details.’ Drake said.

  Scott looked frightened as he reeled off his mobile number. Then he brushed away a tear and hurried off.

  ‘Another person to interview?’ Caren said.

  ‘Let’s go to the Trainors’ place first.’

  Chapter 3

  28th September

  2.29 pm

  Drake drove down the valley towards Bethesda as Caren tapped the postcode for the Trainors’ address into the satnav. They followed the instructions and headed south towards Caernarfon. Drake knew the route well enough to the village where Jack Trainor lived and twenty minutes later he slowed and indicated left down a lane until a disjointed voice announced they had reached their destination in front of a derelict farm.

  ‘Stupid bloody satnav,’ he said, raising his voice as he peered out of the windscreen, hoping there might be a dwelling in the fields. After another fifteen minutes they pulled up near a cottage and Drake noticed the name ‘Haul a Gwynt’ etched into a rough piece of slate screwed to a wall.

  ‘That’s the name on the driving licence,’ Drake said.

  A driveway led up to the rear door of the low structure built at right angles to the road. Drake reversed up the drive. As they exited the car Drake paused, looking over a low drystone wall towards the clouds thickening into a dirty grey colour over the mountains in the distance. The place felt familiar like many of the traditional Welsh cottages he knew from growing up nearby. They walked up to the front door, their shoes crunching against soft gravel. Drake took out a set of keys from one of the plastic pockets Mike Foulds had given him and opened the door. Caren followed him into a porch area.

  ‘It’s cold in here,’ Caren shivered.

  Ahead of them was a narrow passageway and to Drake’s left a doorway opened into a sitting room. Behind him he heard Caren’s footsteps echoing over a hard floor; probably old quarry tiles, like his mother’s kitchen, Drake thought. He walked towards a wide open fireplace, and drew a hand along the back of a smart leather sofa. On a small table in one corner he noticed a photograph with the smiling faces of a man and a woman in their early forties, just a few years older than Drake. He leant down to the coffee table and flicked through a glossy hardback book with images of the rugged coastline of Tasmania.

  There was a clean, well-ordered feel to the place, all of which Drake approved of. He gave the room one final glance before leaving and looked around the door into the kitchen where Caren was busy examining the contents of various cupboards.

  ‘Nothing unusual here, sir.’

  ‘I’m going to have a look in the other rooms.’

  Caren nodded and Drake walked down the hallway to where a single-storey modern extension had been butted into the thick stone walls of the original cottage. Drake could see three doors he guessed would lead to bedrooms. In front of him was another door. He pushed it open and entered a narrow room with a small window looking out over the rear garden. An antique kneehole desk was placed along one wall with a modern aluminium-framed chair. He scanned the room noticing the shelving built onto the wall around the doorway. Every shelf was filled with an eclectic mix of fiction, biographies of politicians and academic textbooks on philosophy and the religious history of Wales. Two Booker Prize-winning novels caught his attention among paperbacks that included works by Dickens and Austen. The Trainors seemed well read and educated so it puzzled Drake why anyone would have wanted to kill them.

  Drake admired the precision with which each spine precisely matched up with the edge of a shelf. Another person who liked order and neatness, Drake thought. He had recently found his own attention to repeating various rituals comforting although Sian had made the occasional acerbic remark.

  He stepped over towards the window, pulled the chair away from the desk and sat down. He caught the faint whiff of a flowery furniture polish.

  Caren appeared in the doorway. ‘I’ll have a look in the bedrooms.’

  Drake nodded. He opened one of the drawers and rummaged through the contents, pulling out a folder that had a colour-coordinated system for filing bank and credit card statements. A cursory examination told Drake that Trainor’s current account had a healthy balance but the deposits were irregular. In the bottom drawer, Drake found a diary and flicking through it noticed the regular entries, the handwriting neat and precise. He paused and read a couple of paragraphs from the previous week.

  I saw her with him tonight. Again, in that same cafe. Anyone could have seen them there.

  She kissed him twice. Can I forgive her? Time will tell, I suppose.

  Drake noticed the time; all the personal possessions belonging to Trainor would have to be taken back to Northern Division headquarters so they could establish as many details about his life as possible. Before Drake could call headquarters, Caren appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Quite a lot of women’s clothes in the wardrobe in the larger bedroom. But Jack seemed to have used the smaller bedroom.’

  ‘So they slept apart?’

  ‘Looks that way.’

  ‘Any sign they had family?’

  Caren shook her head.

  ‘We’ll talk to some of the neighbours. Somebody must know the Trainors. And then we’ll visit the university.’

  Drake tapped the diary with a forefinger. ‘We’ll need to read all the entries. Trainor thought she was having an affair so it’s essential we investigate their lives thoroughly.’ He stared again at the diary and wondered what lay behind the tortured words. ‘I’ll get the operational support unit to take everything back to headquarters.’ Drake reached for his mobile.

  4.45 pm

  Drake sat on a hard plastic chair in the professor’s corridor of the humanities building, Caren by his side. Despite its modern appearance on the outside the place had an old rundown feel to it. The walls needed a good coat of paint, the skirtings were scratched and the floor dirty. Drake tried to recall his own visits to his university professor. Aberystwyth was never this dowdy, Drake thought.

  A few feet down the corridor a door opened and half a dozen students filtered out, their young voices excited and energetic. Moments later a short man with long thin hair cascading over his shoulders left the room and peered left to right before fixing his gaze on Drake. He stepped over and thrust a hand towards Drake.

  ‘George Lamont. Is it true about Denise?’

  For a moment, Drake was taken aback. He should have known news of her death would have reached the university.

  ‘Could we speak in private?’ Drake said.

  ‘Of course, of course.’

  Lamont led them into his room and immediately struggled to open one of the metal-framed windows to let some fresh air in to clear the warm thick ambience. He waved towards a couple of the chairs and plonked himself down behind a desk laden with books and folders.

  ‘How well did you know Denise?’

  ‘She was on the staff here.’ Lamont fidgeted with some pencils. ‘I was on the committee that appointed her. She was an exceptional researcher. Her paper on the role of women in Icelandic crime fiction was outstanding.’ He leant forward, squeezing out another intense stare. ‘Is it true Jack killed her?’

  ‘What was Denise like? Did she have any close friend
s?’

  Lamont looked puzzled.

  Drake continued. ‘We’d like to speak to as many of her colleagues as we can. We need a complete picture of her.’

  ‘Do you think somebody else might have been responsible?’

  ‘Professor, can you just tell me who her immediate colleagues were.’

  Now Lamont pouted. ‘It’s senior lecturer actually.’ He slumped back in his chair. ‘The impression I had was that Jack Trainor was a bit of a loser. He was a writer, of some sort. He met Denise on one of the courses she was running.’

  ‘Did you ever meet him?’ Caren asked.

  Lamont let his gaze drift out of the window. ‘A few times. I didn’t keep track of how often. We exchanged small talk, the sort of thing one does at a university function.’

  ‘And her friends?’ Caren got more severity into her voice than Drake. It earned her a sharp gaze from Lamont.

  ‘Talk to Joan Brook. She can probably help you better than anyone.’

  Drake turned to Lamont. ‘Do you know if she had any close family?’

  He moved some of the papers around on his desk. ‘I’m sorry. I should have mentioned this before.’ He grabbed a file in his right hand and thrust it towards Drake. ‘This is her personnel file. There’s mention of a sister.’

  Drake nodded, passing the file over to Caren. ‘And where can we find Joan Brook?’

  Lamont groaned before clicking his monitor to life. He dictated Brook’s mobile number before giving them directions to her office. There was a chill in the air as they walked over to the terraced property where she worked.

  ‘What did you make of Lamont, boss?’

  ‘He wasn’t very helpful.’

  ‘I would have expected him to have known more about her work colleagues.’

  ‘Maybe he just wasn’t interested.’

  On the first floor Drake rapped a knuckle on a door with the name of Dr Brook firmly screwed to the outside but there was no response. A young woman making her way to the second floor stopped as they waited.

  ‘Dr Brook went home early.’

  ‘Do you know where she lives?’

  The woman was on the second step of the next flight of stairs. ‘Sorry.’ And she carried on up to the second floor.

  ‘Lamont gave us her number,’ Caren said as Drake reached for his mobile.

  Dr Brook’s voice was flat and lifeless when she answered the call after three rings. Drake gestured for Caren to note down the address and her postcode. ‘We’ll be there as soon as we can.’ He finished the call and turned towards the stairs.

  ‘I wonder why she left early?’ Caren said.

  ‘Let’s go and find out,’ Drake said as they headed out of the building.

  6.29 pm

  Drake stared at the slice of lemon in the bottom of the empty glass on the table in front of Dr Brook wondering why even at times of stress the smallest rituals of daily life need to be observed.

  ‘I still can’t believe it.’ Brook measured each word but it couldn’t hide the slurring. Then she brushed away a stray hair from her face. She had almond eyes and a wide jaw which stretched out her mouth and gave her a severe appearance.

  The sitting room of the modern house in a village on Anglesey was too warm and Drake felt uncomfortable. He glanced over at the wood burner belting out heat into the room.

  ‘How well did you know her?’ Caren said.

  ‘I worked with her in the same department. She was one of those people you thought you knew but in reality she was always quite distant.’ Joan Brook rubbed both hands together as though she were cold and then shivered. ‘I’ve never known anyone that was murdered.’ She looked over at Drake and Caren, wide-eyed and teary. Then she grabbed the glass and strode out of the room returning with it full of clinking ice cubes and a fresh slice of lemon. She sat down and continued.

  ‘She had this ability to make everyone feel they were her best friend. It could be quite a disappointment to realise exactly what she was like.’

  ‘Did you know her husband?’ Drake said.

  ‘Not really. He was very strange. Very intense, self-important. It was like wading through mud talking to him.’

  ‘Did they have any problems you were aware of?’

  Brook took a large slurp of her drink and then sat back. ‘Recently she had been acting oddly. She was one of these people who said whatever you wanted to hear, agreed with every comment, flattered you with compliments yet could be utterly superficial.’

  Caren leant forward and tilted her head towards Brook. ‘What do you mean, oddly?’

  ‘She said she’d recently had some interesting news about her family. There was an excitement in her voice, something I hadn’t seen before. But when I quizzed her she got cagey.’

  ‘What were her relations like with the other members of the department?’

  Brook snorted then rolled her eyes.

  ‘We’ve spoken with George Lamont.’

  ‘Have you indeed.’ She took another large gulp of her drink. ‘He was infatuated with her.’

  Caren glanced over at Drake, a frown creasing her forehead.

  ‘What exactly do you mean?’ Drake said.

  ‘I could see the way he looked at her. He was all over her like a rash. Anything she wanted in the department – all she had to do was ask for a private meeting with Lamont and within a few hours there would be a memorandum circulated telling the faculty members about some change or other to how we did things.’

  ‘That must have annoyed you.’

  She curled back into her chair. ‘I really liked her at the start. She was friendly and, god knows, I needed an ally in the department.’

  ‘Tell us a little more about Lamont. Is he married?’

  ‘Divorced. The gossip in the department is that his wife refused to move with him to North Wales when he was appointed. She preferred to stay in Hull for some reason.’

  ‘Do you know if he has a current girlfriend or partner?’

  Brook shook her head.

  ‘Where were you this morning between eight and ten?’

  Brook looked up at Drake, the shock at the implication of his question creasing her face. ‘You cannot possibly believe …?’

  ‘We need to build a complete picture of everyone in Denise’s circle in order to eliminate you from the inquiry.’

  The alarm had still not left her eyes when Drake added. ‘Do you know where Dr Lamont was this morning?’

  ‘Where he is every morning probably. In the gym. And I was at work.’ Then she looked up at Drake, her expression changing from exasperation to suspicion. ‘You don’t think?’

  ‘As I’ve said, we need to build a complete picture of Denise.’

  Chapter 4

  29th September

  09.29 am

  Caren pinned a photograph of Denise and Jack Trainor to the board erected earlier that morning in one corner of the Incident Room. With Drake in a meeting in the senior management suite, she had the place to herself. At least it gave her time to think. And having just started working with Ian Drake she had more than enough thinking to do. She had noticed how he had fussed over where to store his unnaturally clean shoes before they walked up to the crime scene the previous morning. And she longed to have taken charge of their discussion with George Lamont and Joan Brook but Drake was her senior officer and apart from the occasional interruption she had bitten her tongue.

  She gazed at Denise’s image, realising the dank lifeless hair couldn’t hide high cheekbones and a well-proportioned, attractive face. She sat down, and began sorting through the boxes of personal possessions. But there were no photographs or anything to suggest an extended family and nothing to give Caren an insight into Denise Trainor. She resolved that a further search of the cottage would be necessary.

  Before turning to the diary she found a large-scale map of Cwm Idwal and after flattening out the folds she attached it to the board exactly as Drake had requested. She still felt apprehensive that Drake’s fastidiousness w
ould rile her.

  She sat at her desk and opened the diary at one of the most recent entries. It had a laboured ponderous style that Caren struggled to follow. Flicking back through the pages she stopped at the first detailed entry. It was like starting a novel halfway through, Caren thought. She could only guess at what had gone on before between Denise and Jack Trainor. He had made assumptions, she had offered excuses for her absence and Caren wondered whether all of this had contributed to their relationship deteriorating. The tone changed after the first entry where Trainor referred to seeing his wife with another man. Despair and hopelessness tinged every sentence, dripped from every page. She soon realised Jack Trainor was broken-hearted. Caren refocused her attention: Trainor’s anguish had a mesmerising effect.

  The rawness of his angst made her pause again. He was probably incapable of articulating his emotions other than by writing them down, which seemed to act as a temporary catharsis. She found the second record of his wife meeting her lover.

  September 5th

  This was the second night that I followed her. It seemed interminable. Every fibre of my being, every thread of my existence wanted to believe that she could not do this to me. That she could not humiliate me like this. It has come to haunt my days as well as the nights when I can’t sleep. In fact I’m not at all certain what is worse, being unable to sleep or being unable to stop thinking about her and HIM.

  Life should have been so much sweeter. I had hoped things would be different. But seeing her with him, together, I just couldn’t bear the pain of it all. I hope in time people might understand that seeing her with him is a pain I can no longer endure.

  Caren stopped reading, bookmarked the page and walked to the kitchen, her mind wandering to her own relationship with Alun. She trusted him implicitly and hoped he felt the same about her. Coffee mug in hand, she returned and finished reading the diary. By the end, it was clear Jack Trainor’s mind had become utterly poisoned.