Devil's Kitchen_An Inspector Drake Prequel Novella Page 3

  Caren sat back and wondered if knowing that his wife had been unfaithful had been enough to drive him to kill her. Jack had made several diary entries that only seemed to add to his anguish. Keeping everything to himself only made his problem worse, Caren thought. And who was the other man? The only candidate was Lamont and she wondered how she might get to interview him without Drake’s brusqueness. She glanced at her watch; when Drake got back she’d have to discuss it with him.

  9.45 am

  ‘Open and shut case?’ Wyndham Price said.

  The superintendent hauled his Oxford brogues onto one end of the desk before loosening his police-issue black tie that he then threw onto some papers in front of him. He completed the casual look by threading his fingers together and propping his head back against them. Drake peered over at him, uncertain exactly how to react, so he didn’t reply.

  ‘The husband kills wife out of some mad jealousy fit. And then he throws himself off the top of the Devil’s Kitchen. And we find his mangled body.’

  ‘We need to build a full picture of Mr and Mrs Trainor. Why go to Cwm Idwal to kill yourself? Or indeed to kill your wife?’ Drake sounded more formal and reproachful than he had intended. The words of warning from detectives he had worked with as a young officer came to mind, reminding him to check things carefully and that senior officers always wanted neat answers for their reports and statistics. Something had happened in the Trainor household and Price’s apparent willingness to find a simple answer only made Drake more determined to find the truth.

  Price squinted over at him. ‘Are you suggesting there was someone else involved?’

  Drake shook his head slowly. ‘She had a lover apparently. Caren’s working through Jack Trainor’s diary to see if she can find anything of interest. And there was no suicide note.’

  ‘Don’t waste too much time. Not everyone who kills themselves leave a note.’

  The absence of a note had troubled Drake but he wasn’t certain why. But after researching the issue last night he knew that notes were only left in thirty percent of suicide cases. For now he decided against sharing this information with Price.

  ‘I haven’t had the post mortem result yet and we still need—’

  ‘I spoke to the pathologist first thing. There doesn’t seem to be anything suspicious with Jack Trainor’s death.’

  Drake’s chest tightened. This was his investigation; it may have been his first murder case but he was still the senior investigating officer.

  ‘I still think we need to establish the backgrounds of both Mr and Mrs Trainor. Even if you’re right, sir, we still have to ascertain the facts for the coroner’s inquest.’

  ‘I understand that, Ian. I don’t want you wasting valuable time chasing the possibility of there being a phantom murderer loose in the mountains. And once you’ve established that we’re not looking for a suspect in relation to Mr Trainor’s death you can hand everything over to the coroner’s office.’

  Drake quashed his increasing irritation. He hadn’t expected Superintendent Price to have contacted the pathologist before the post mortem.

  ‘I appreciate this is the first time you’ve been SIO on a homicide.’ He swung his feet off the table, drew the chair nearer to the desk and looked over at Drake. ‘I’m sure you want to make your mark. I’m here to help.’

  There was a steely no-nonsense look on Price’s face.

  Price continued, not averting his gaze. ‘We’ll do another review when you’ve built more background.’

  10.29 am

  Drake left the senior management suite on the top floor of Northern Division headquarters and paused by the lift. Price was right, of course, he did want to make his mark but that didn’t stop him feeling resentful that his senior officer was interfering so soon. He returned to the Incident Room, his thoughts dominated by the prospect that he’d face more interference as the case proceeded.

  Caren was huddled over a mass of paperwork on her desk. It irked him she could work in such chaos. She looked up when he entered and drew her hair back from her face. She wore little make-up and while Sian spent significant amounts of time choosing clothes and getting her appearance just-so he guessed Caren had grabbed the first thing from her wardrobe that morning, leaving the house without even bothering to pull a brush through her hair.

  ‘They were an odd couple,’ Caren said.

  Drake sat down at a desk.

  ‘He suspected she was having an affair with someone. There are several entries in his diaries that make reference to him following her to meetings with another man.’

  ‘Where were these meetings?’

  ‘He doesn’t make that clear.’ Caren stood up and walked over to the board with three sheets of paper. ‘These are the more anguished entries.’

  ‘It could have been Lamont.’

  ‘I was thinking that too, sir. Would you like me to go and interview him?’

  ‘Later, perhaps. I’ve got to attend the post mortem.’

  Caren continued. ‘I’ve requisitioned the mobile telephone records for both Mr and Mrs Trainor. But she had a number of entries for members of a walking club. I’ve made arrangements to visit some of them later today.’

  ‘And have you traced Denise’s sister?’

  ‘There was no telephone number linked to the address mentioned in the personnel file so I’ve sent officers round from the local force.’

  ‘Ring the university. Ask them to check their records. I want to know where Denise was born, where she went to school, all the usual detail.’

  Drake stared at the board. ‘Why would he go up to Cwm Idwal to kill her?’

  Caren paused. ‘Maybe the place had special significance for him.’

  ‘Something happened.’ Drake stood up abruptly and marched over to the board. ‘There wasn’t a suicide note.’

  ‘Not everyone—’

  ‘I know, I know. But Trainor kept that diary and …’ Drake realised why he felt uneasy about the absence of a note. ‘He was a writer. Surely he would have wanted to record something for posterity?’ He turned two fingers around the cufflinks of the shirt on his left wrist. Then he noticed Caren, arms folded, staring at him unconvinced. He looked at his watch. ‘Once I’m back from the post mortem we’ll go and talk to John Scott.’

  1.29 pm

  ‘I still can’t believe it.’ John Scott blinked away a tear and his voice trembled. He looked down at his fingers. ‘Denise was a regular at my walking club – very active and dedicated.’

  ‘How long have you known her?’ Drake said.

  Scott turned his gaze towards the window of the kitchen in his cottage. Caren had noticed Drake frowning in disgust as he stared at the stack of pots and crockery in various stages of being cleaned. There was an odd smell in the air and Caren saw a pair of walking boots caked in mud near the back door.

  ‘I run this walking club and she joined about three years ago. I lead walks in the hills once a month.’

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

  Caren noticed Scott stiffen and avoid Drake’s gaze.

  ‘Not that well. She was always very kind.’

  ‘Did the group go out socially?’

  ‘Sometimes. Is it important?’ He got up, stepped over to the sink and filled a glass with water. ‘She was killed by her husband.’

  Caren made her first contribution while Scott continued to stare out of the window. ‘We have to establish all the details about her background.’

  He nodded at Caren.

  ‘Did she ever talk about problems at home?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He gave Caren a dazed look.

  ‘Difficulties with Jack, family problems. Are you married, Mr Scott?’ He shook his head. ‘Did she mention Jack?’

  Another shake of the head. ‘I thought that Jack had killed her and then killed himself.’

  ‘We still need to establish as much background as we can. Did she have friends in the walking group?’

  Scott glanced
at Drake as though he wanted to answer a question from him instead.

  ‘No one in particular but she did talk a lot to Mary Hall and Margery Swiss.’

  Drake added, ‘Did you know whether she was having a relationship with anyone else?’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  Drake crossed his arms and frowned. ‘Did you suspect she was having an affair? Maybe someone else in the walking group?’

  ‘Of course not. I mean, how would I know?’ Scott held out open palms before making an exaggerated gesture of looking at his watch. ‘Look, I need to be at work shortly.’

  Caren glanced at Drake who squinted at Scott. ‘We may need to speak to you again.’

  Scott gave them a bewildered look as they got up and left. Caren was the first to reach the car. ‘I’m sure he wasn’t telling us the truth.’

  Drake nodded. ‘He kept answering our questions with questions of his own.’

  ‘He might have been the one having an affair with Denise.’

  Drake leant on the passenger side door. ‘Maybe, let’s see what the rest of the walking club thought of her.’

  Caren drove the short journey to the business park where Mary Hall worked. Caren pulled into a parking spot outside the anonymous-looking building. Printed on the visitor parking sign in front of the car was the name of the charity that provided support for elderly people. Mary showed them into a small conference room and sat down. She thrust her hands under her thighs and stared at Caren and then Drake. She had a bloodless complexion and untidy hair in unruly clumps that badly needed a generous dose of shampoo. Although Mary had called the emergency services Caren recalled she hadn’t gone near the bodies so when she rang to arrange this meeting she’d been the first to tell Mary that it was Denise and Jack Trainor who had died.

  ‘I still cannot get over what happened yesterday – who would have thought her husband could have done something like that.’ Mary gave a nervous twitch as she spoke. Her accent was unfamiliar, Midlands, maybe Birmingham, Caren thought.

  ‘We’re speaking to all members of the walking club,’ Drake said.

  Mary nodded.

  ‘How well did you know Denise?’ Drake sounded far more intense than he needed to.

  Mary blinked and then swallowed hard. Drake carried on. ‘Did you go out socially?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Mary moved her hands and curled her fingers into a tight knot.

  ‘Did the group meet for lunch or dinner? Drinks? We need to build a picture of Denise and we hope her friends can help us.’

  Caren wished Drake was less abrupt and she wondered if Mary had been intimidated by his tone.

  ‘The group had occasional socials. I don’t think I can help, Inspector.’ She gave them a weak smile.

  They spent another ten minutes listening to Mary giving them a history of the activities the club organised. She excused her poor memory explaining that Denise wasn’t always present. Mary struck Caren as rather lonely and she guessed the walks were her only relaxation.

  As they got back to the car, Drake turned to Caren. ‘How did she know that Jack Trainor is a suspect in his wife’s death?’

  ‘There’s nothing secret in this part of the world.’

  ‘And why didn’t she go to look at the bodies?’ Drake sounded frustrated.

  ‘She doesn’t look like the sort to do first aid. Yesterday she said that she knew she couldn’t do anything to help. And you saw the state of the bodies yourself.’

  ‘Even so, it’s a bit odd.’ He kept a stern face and Caren wondered what was on his mind. It was difficult to fathom him out sometimes.

  Caren and Drake spent the rest of the afternoon calling on other members of the walking club. A retired doctor and his wife lived in a large detached house surrounded by old farm buildings with spectacular views over Caernarfon Bay but neither could remember anything that might help.

  A woman living in a house overlooking the Menai Strait explained in detail that she had started walking after medical advice to lose weight. She was at least two stones overweight and a plate of chocolate biscuits she plonked on the table with mugs of coffee would not help.

  They interviewed two more retired couples who added little to their knowledge of Denise Trainor. She was likeable, a little distant, polite but when it came down to it the members of the walking club hardly knew her.

  Caren had sat and listened as Drake ran through standard questions with everyone they had spoken to. Occasionally his dedication and keenness to establish the background made him appear harsh and serious, and she had felt the need to interrupt at times.

  The final interview that afternoon took Caren and Drake to an estate of a dozen bungalows in a village outside Bangor. Caren parked at the end of the cul-de-sac. A man walking a Labrador squinted into the car on his way to the main road. Caren decided all the residents must be retired judging from their tidy gardens and neat drives.

  Margery Swiss had a fierce haircut and a prominent nose that matched her strident tone when responding to Caren’s questions about the walking club.

  ‘At my age I need to get all the exercise I can,’ Swiss said.

  Caren guessed she was seventy, possibly younger, not from her slim figure but from the wrinkles around her eyes and the crinkled skin above her mouth.

  ‘We meet at least twice a month. More often in the summer.’

  ‘Did you know Denise Trainor well?’

  ‘It’s terribly sad about her. She didn’t come on every walk. The impression I had was that she was busy with her career. But my partner knew her better. I only came to live in this area a year ago.’

  ‘Did you ever meet Jack Trainor?’

  Swiss paused. ‘Once, perhaps.’

  The sound of movement in the hallway drew their attention. ‘That’ll be Anna,’ Swiss said. Moments later the door opened and another woman in her early seventies walked in, smiled at Swiss and then frowned at Drake and Caren.

  ‘This is Detective Inspector Drake and Detective Sergeant Waits. They’ve been asking about Denise Trainor.’

  ‘Anna Harris.’ She thrust her hand out to Drake and then at Caren. ‘It’s all very sad. I can’t say I knew her well.’

  ‘Did you meet socially?’ Caren said.

  ‘Sometimes we might stop for a drink in one of the local pubs after walking. She was always friendly enough although I did think she was a bit cold. One year we had a Christmas lunch and I was quite surprised when she turned up with a husband.’

  ‘Why were you surprised?’ Drake said

  Anna and Swiss exchanged a knowing glance. Caren read the signal but dismissed the implication that Denise was gay and moved the conversation quickly forward. ‘How often did you meet Jack Trainor?’

  ‘That Christmas lunch was the first time. He sat on the same table as me. I remember thinking he was extremely odd. He kept talking in riddles, as though he wanted to prove how clever he was. I don’t know how she put up with him.’

  ‘Do you know if she had any close friends?’

  ‘You mean apart from John Scott?’ Anna said before Swiss let out a teenage-like giggle.

  Caren could see the irritation on Drake’s face. He got straight to the point. ‘You’d better tell us exactly what you mean.’

  ‘Scott seemed besotted with her. She could wind him around her little finger,’ Swiss said.

  After Swiss and Anna had finished telling them about Denise and Scott they left the women, Caren relieved that she didn’t have to listen to any more gossip, but troubled that they now had two men besotted with Denise.

  Chapter 5

  30th September

  08.14 am

  Drake arrived early and parked well away from other vehicles. After checking the car was neat and tidy he reached for his suit jacket, carefully folded on the passenger seat. He walked over to the main reception at headquarters and avoiding the lift he took the stairs to the second floor. A picture of the bloodied kitchen knife in its plastic evidence pouch had been pinned under
the images of Denise and Jack Trainor on the board.

  Preliminary research had established Jack Trainor’s parents had been dead for ten years and he had no siblings. A report on the Welsh news the previous evening had a reporter standing in the small car park at the visitor centre near Llyn Ogwen squinting against the light drizzle, reciting the barest details. But no press conference had been organised, nobody had thought it necessary to consider an appeal for witnesses. Superintendent Price seemed convinced it was a case of a husband murdering his wife and then committing suicide. But Drake kept thinking that Trainor would have left a note. Caren breezed in, breaking Drake’s concentration. He caught the faint odour of a farmhouse kitchen, which reminded him of the smallholding his parents ran.

  ‘Morning, boss.’

  Caren shrugged off her battered coat. Drake looked over at the board.

  ‘I’m going to work on Jack Trainor’s papers. ‘If Scott was having an affair with Denise shouldn’t we talk to him again? Challenge his alibi?’

  ‘We’ll need a lot more than innuendo before we can arrest him.’

  Drake looked back at Denise Trainor’s face. ‘Even if Scott is connected to her what motive could he have to murder them both?’

  ‘Perhaps he witnessed Jack Trainor killing his wife and driven mad by jealousy and hatred Scott throws Jack to his death.’

  ‘I agree that could be enough of a motive.’

  ‘If Jack Trainor was murdered then this makes Scott a suspect.’

  Drake left Caren and walked over to his office, taking off his suit jacket and draping it carefully over a wooden hanger before brushing away some imaginary flecks of dirt. His room had been undisturbed by the cleaners overnight. He ran a finger around the edge of the desk and, content there was no dust that needed a quick wipe, settled down to the various papers belonging to Jack Trainor. But first he read the preliminary report from forensics which only confirmed what he suspected: that there was no evidence of any value apart from the fingerprints of Jack Trainor on the knife and partials from Mrs Trainor. The images on Stockwell’s camera had also drawn a blank.