Written in Blood Read online

  Sara took a mouthful of her drink after thanking Drake.

  Winder’s car turned into the car park and after parking he and Luned joined Drake and Sara. Drake gestured to the two uniformed officers to do likewise.

  ‘We need to establish if anybody in any of the nearby houses remembers anything that might link us to Hector Murren. And we need to do that this evening.’ Drake forced into a dark corner of his mind the possibility that he would have to work tomorrow. He had determined to spend the day with Annie and his daughters. Nothing was going to prevent him, so tonight they had to find Hector Murren.

  Both uniformed officers were tasked with visiting every house along the coast road. ‘There’s a big holiday chalet complex nearby,’ the young woman officer said, clearly emphasising the scale of the potential task Drake was requesting. He ignored her.

  He pointed towards the far end of the beach and then at Luned and Winder. ‘Both of you get to the opposite end of the beach. Visit as many of the houses as you can.’

  ‘Yes, boss,’ Winder said with faint enthusiasm. Luned nodded seriously.

  ‘Message me as soon as you know anything. Sara and I will visit the hotel and the restaurant nearby.’

  Winder and Luned drove off.

  En route Drake and Sara detoured into half a dozen properties; three were obviously empty and three more had owners who had recently arrived for the weekend and knew nothing about the Volkswagen Golf. Murren’s image on their mobile telephones elicited blank responses.

  Reception staff at the hotel beamed at Drake and Sara as though they were guests to be offered the best suite. The smiles became serious as Drake and Sara produced their warrant cards. The manager appeared.

  ‘We need to trace a Hector Murren, whose car was left in the car park behind your hotel.’

  ‘It is nothing to do with us,’ the manager responded quickly. ‘It belongs to the local authority.’

  Drake produced the image of Murren. ‘Apparently, this man was a guest some time last year. Has he been staying here the last few days?’

  ‘We have hundreds of guests every year,’ the manager started. ‘It would be impossible to remember everyone.’ He glanced at the face again. ‘But I’m fairly certain he’s not a guest at the moment nor in the recent past.’

  Two women by his side squinted at Drake’s phone, foreheads creased in concentration. Both shook their heads simultaneously.

  ‘I’ll send you the image. I’d like to speak to your bar staff.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ the manager replied. ‘Anything we can do to help.’

  Drake followed him through into a bar area teeming with people eating and drinking. Luckily, the bar was reasonably quiet, and the manager motioned for the staff in turn to gather at the end. It took a few minutes for Drake and Sara to show the photograph to each of them.

  After more shaking of heads Drake and Sara stood on the hotel car park in the evening gloom as the last of the sun disappeared over the horizon. Near the beach and next to the RNLI lifeboat station was another restaurant. ‘Let’s go.’ Drake pointed in its direction.

  After twenty minutes they had drawn another blank and they stopped to enjoy the view overlooking the sand as the tide lapped at the stone-clad promenade. Drake messaged Winder – Anything to report? He replied quickly – nothing yet boss. Uniformed officers gave him a similar reply. He heard a vehicle slowing at a speed bump and turned as he saw a van with the livery ‘Anglesey Walking Holidays’ hauling a trolley of kayaks behind it.

  It caught Drake’s eye and he thought about the information board near where he’d parked the Mondeo. It had details of the popular circular walk around Anglesey.

  Drake watched as the van indicated into the car park where the Golf was parked.

  And then he knew he had to talk to the driver. His mind leaped ahead, thinking that Hector Murren was walking around the island. His mobile telephone switched off, out of contact, especially from his overbearing partner.

  ‘We need to speak to that van driver.’ Drake announced, breaking into a jog. Sara ran ahead of him and she reached the van as the driver was busy uncoupling the trolley of kayaks.

  ‘We need a word,’ Drake gasped.

  Sara showed him Murren’s photograph. She didn’t even sound breathless. ‘Have you seen this man recently?’

  ‘Yeah, why do you ask?’

  Drake’s heart drummed in his chest. He had to believe they had found Hector Murren before the alphabet killer.

  ‘When did you see him?’ Drake blurted out.

  ‘He’s doing the round-the-island walk. He was going to do the first half camping, so I’ve moved his bags to one of the bed-and-breakfast places we use. That was a few days ago.’

  ‘We’ll need the address,’ Sara said.

  The man reached for his mobile and scrolled through his contacts. Sara dictated a number and once it had been tapped in, he messaged her with the contact number.

  In the meantime, Drake spoke to Winder. ‘Get back here, Gareth. We know where he is.’ Drake called both uniforms telling them to get back to their normal duties.

  Sara called the guesthouse where Murren was staying. Drake’s apprehension turned into real worry at her one-sided conversation.

  ‘When did he leave?’ Sara paused, sharing a grimace with Drake.

  ‘So, you are expecting him back?’ Sara nodded.

  Winder pulled into the car park.

  ‘He’s staying in a village called Benllech and he’s gone out for something to eat.’

  ‘Does she does know where?’

  Sara shook her head.

  ‘For Christ sake. Let’s get over there. He can’t be far.’

  Drake ignored all the speed limits along the A55 as he made towards the Llangefni junction that would take them through the countryside to Benllech. At this rate a journey of forty minutes would take significantly less. After negotiating his way through the town of Llangefni he kept the Mondeo in third gear as he tore through the country lanes.

  He rarely saw Gareth Winder in his rear-view mirror and when he parked on the pavement outside the Bryngwyn Bed-And-Breakfast he didn’t bother locking the car. He thumped on the front door, Sara standing by his side. He got straight to the point with the proprietor when she opened the door, not bothering to show her his warrant card.

  ‘Where could he have gone for something to eat?’

  His tone startled Mrs Wood, who stammered the names of three possible venues. Sara jotted the details in her pocket book. Winder drew up outside as Drake gave Mrs Wood his business card demanding she call him if Murren returned.

  ‘He’s probably at one of these three places.’ Drake nodded at Sara, who announced the locations as they reached the car.

  Winder looked jaded and Luned stared at Drake, an expectant look on her face.

  ‘Sara and myself will visit the pub in the centre of the village – both of you get started on the other venues.’

  On his way into the village Drake rammed the brakes on when he saw someone resembling Murren. Jumping out of the car, he ran over and called out to the man. When he turned to Drake, a puzzled look on his face, Drake apologised and dashed back to his car. ‘Murren has shorter hair,’ Drake said.

  After an hour they drew a blank. No one had seen anyone looking remotely like Murren and Drake’s increasingly irritable mood had earned him several brusque replies and dismissive comments. Murren was nearby and he had to be found that evening. Tomorrow Drake was spending time with his children no matter what, and the unproductive search become an obstacle in his mind preventing clear thinking.

  Winder called Drake as he stood outside a café wondering where to try next. ‘Someone has mentioned the Tavern on the Bay in a holiday park, boss.’

  If he wasn’t there the best they could do was park outside Bryngwyn B&B and wait. Unless the killer had found Murren first.

  ‘Send me the details. We’ll meet you there.’

  After driving past chalets and static caravans they rea
ched a public house and restaurant with panoramic views over the shoreline and the bay beyond. Drake gave the view a fleeting glance. Inside Drake and Sara made for the diners by the windows as Gareth and Luned searched the bar area.

  Fearing the worse sickened Drake and he doubted that he’d enjoy his day off tomorrow unless he found Murren. The possibility the journalist might be sliced open would crowd into his mind.

  Then he saw a man sitting alone preoccupied with an e-reader, a glass of wine on the table.

  ‘Jesus, that’s him,’ Drake hissed as he barged past a waitress.

  Sara joined him as they reached the table.

  ‘Hector Murren?’ Drake said, the sense of relief almost making him want to sit down.

  Murren gave Drake a troubled look. ‘And who are you?’

  Chapter 32

  Sunday 6th April

  Drake ate breakfast that morning, recalling Hector Murren’s comments that he needed time away from Barkley. It didn’t come as a surprise. ‘I should have left a long time ago,’ Murren had said. How many people persevered with a failing relationship, Drake thought, reflecting on whether he’d been guilty of the same with Sian.

  Drake had eavesdropped Murren’s call to Barkley telling him he was safe. His voice sounded determined as though he was certain it was the right thing to do. After finishing he assured Drake he would travel to stay with his parents that morning.

  Drake left the flat after breakfast to collect Helen and Megan. Sian gave him a suspicious look, honed over many years to a sharp edge, combining criticism with annoyance. ‘You’d better come in. The girls aren’t quite ready yet.’

  Drake followed her into the hallway and cast a glance up the stairs as he heard the sound of activity. In the kitchen he sat by a chair near a pine table. Sian sat opposite him, a businesslike look to her face as she placed one hand over another on the table top between them.

  ‘I wanted to tell you something. I’m seeing somebody.’

  It didn’t come as a surprise and Drake found himself unaffected by the announcement. Encouraging Sian to be less protective of Helen and Megan had been difficult, especially about meeting his half-brother and his family. Both his daughters were resilient enough to change, having experienced their family break up.

  ‘I thought so.’ Drake’s admission might make it easier for Sian to share the details, lessen the impact somehow.

  A mysterious trip to Berlin a few months previously and a recent weekend away suggested she was sharing her time with somebody new.

  ‘It’s Robin…’ Sian said and avoided eye contact.

  Drake hadn’t seen Robin Miles for how long? He recalled boozy evenings at Robin’s home when the accountant would boast about the expensive wines he’d buy and his successful investments. Calling him a friend was a stretch but, even so, Drake was surprised.

  ‘What about his wife?’

  Sian looked up and reconnected with his gaze. ‘They separated some time ago. She went back to live in Coventry.’

  Sian being in a new relationship was one thing, but knowing it was with somebody they knew, had socialised with, was quite different. Robin was Sian’s practice accountant. What did they talk about? The latest Bordeaux vintage and his net worth? For a moment, Drake hoped Robin’s ex-wife had expert divorce lawyers that would made a serious dent in his finances.

  ‘I see.’ It sounded lame and ineffectual, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. How did Robin tolerate Sian’s mother? He decided to leave that for another day.

  ‘He wanted me to tell you. He was concerned you didn’t hear it second-hand.’

  Was Robin worried about his personal reputation, Drake thought?

  ‘How are things between you and Annie? Does she put up with all your little foibles? I’m surprised it doesn’t annoy her.’

  Just because Sian couldn’t tolerate his obsessions and rituals didn’t mean another woman couldn’t. He was tempted to tell her that Annie was a completely different personality to her. Words like understanding, kinder, tolerant came to his mind but all implied a criticism of Sian. Even so, was Sian jealous? That prospect surprised him.

  The sound of footsteps descending the staircase interrupted the developing awkwardness. When Helen and Megan walked in he stood up and hugged both his daughters. He ushered them out towards the car, promising Sian he wouldn’t be late back.

  Resisting the temptation to cross-examine the girls about whether Robin Miles was a presence in the house, he resolved to focus on making certain they developed their relationship with Annie – he wanted her to be a fixture for the future.

  Reaching Annie’s house exactly on time, he sensed the girls’ apprehension as they gazed up at the property.

  ‘There’s a wonderful view of the Menai Strait from Annie’s garden.’

  Annie opened the door as they approached and smiled broadly. She showed them the small garden that looked over the Strait: it was a clear, crisp spring morning; the water glistened and the sound of halyards clattering against masts filled the air. Upstairs, standing on the balcony looking out over the water, Helen became more talkative and Drake felt pleased his eldest daughter seemed comfortable in Annie’s company. Megan maintained a slight aloofness. Like her maternal grandmother, Drake thought. After drinking Annie’s fresh lemonade and eating a large flapjack each, Drake’s confidence grew, that the day would be a success.

  They left and an hour later were indicating for the entrance to Portmeirion. Annie engaged both girls in small talk, cracking the occasional joke, and Drake was glad that she pitched her conversation exactly right.

  Driving down towards the hotel reminded him of his first meeting with Selston and Kennedy when both men had described Nicholas Wixley as well liked. It had been far from the truth. In fact, apart from Pamela and Michael Kennedy, all the employees and barristers disliked him.

  ‘You’re miles away,’ Annie scolded him with a brief whisper.

  ‘Sorry.’ Drake smiled back.

  Each building of the Italianate village built by Clough Williams-Ellis in the 1920s and immortalised by the fantasy series The Prisoner in the 1960s was separately painted a strong, vibrant colour. An ice cream mid-morning helped to maintain his daughters’ interests as they strolled around gazing at the wonderful architecture. After a meal at lunchtime Drake relaxed as the inquiry and Laura Wixley and her late husband dissipated from his mind. Helen and Megan smiled as they enjoyed Annie’s company and it chased away the last of his worries about his daughters and Annie getting along.

  They reached the terrace overlooking the estuary and sat and watched as boats pottered around in front of them. A boat made its way towards a pontoon nearby, fishing rods hanging over the side. A group of men clambered aboard.

  Drake thought about the pontoons in the marina in Pwllheli. The only direct access was through the gate guarded by a keypad entry system monitored by CCTV. But what if the killer had approached from the sea?

  Annie’s elbow digging into his ribs painfully reminded him he was having a day off. She gave him an angry look this time and he hoped the puppy-dog response would be enough of an apology.

  ‘There’s one more thing I want to show you,’ Drake said.

  He stood up and ushered them back towards the centre of the village.

  ‘I remember nain and taid bringing me to this place years ago and taking me to the Hercules Hall. It’s got this wonderful roof showing the Labours of Hercules.’

  ‘What’s the Labours of Hercules, Dad?’ Helen frowned.

  ‘It’s from ancient Greek mythology. It’s a story about Hercules, who had to complete twelve labours as a penance.’

  ‘Penance?’ Helen again.

  ‘He had done something wrong, so he had to make it right. Like saying sorry.’

  Opposite the entrance was a café that took the attention of both girls. ‘It won’t take long and afterwards we’ll have something to eat.’

  Inside they craned to take in the vaulted plaster ceiling rescued from a
country house demolished in the 1930s. ‘It really is quite spectacular,’ Annie said.

  ‘The ceiling was constructed in 1720.’ Drake was pleased that a little bit of research beforehand made him sound knowledgeable.

  Even Helen and Megan were impressed. But they were more impressed by the enormous cakes available in the café near the Hercules Hall.

  Drake was disappointed when the day came to an end.

  It had certainly recharged his batteries, refocused his mind. His daughters had taken all of his attention and, Annie, of course, but he should have been more prepared over the years to dedicate time for his children. Now, like Hercules, he had to make amends too.

  Chapter 33

  Monday 6th April

  9.47 am

  ‘I don’t believe it.’ Holly Thatcher stared at the photographs that Drake set out on the table in front of the young barrister.

  ‘Do you know where the photographs were taken?’ Sara said.

  Thatcher didn’t answer directly. ‘This is all cloak-and-dagger stuff – like something out of Midsomer Murders. Who took these?’ She shared a glance with Drake and Sara.

  Drake doubted the fictional county in the popular television series was a good comparison, although he had never seen an episode. Wallander and Harry Bosch were more his taste. The café near Thatcher’s apartment in Manchester bustled with men in open-necked shirts and laptops perched on small tables. Nobody paid them the slightest attention.

  ‘We acquired them as part of the inquiry,’ Drake said.

  Thatcher gave the images another long glance. ‘But who took them? And why?’

  ‘Do you know where they were taken?’

  Thatcher gave him a questioning look.

  ‘Am I being stalked? Because it could be a serious matter. Do you have any more photographs of me?’