Dead on Your Feet Page 3

  Sara nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘In the meantime we need to establish who saw her last. You need to speak to someone on that committee.’

  * * *

  Gareth Winder was directing two civilians erecting a board in the Incident Room when Drake and Sara returned to headquarters. A training course he’d been on that morning had been a complete waste of time and, more importantly, he had missed the opportunity of accompanying Drake and the new sergeant to a murder scene. Instead, he had to stay put in headquarters, fielding telephone calls from the public relations department and the pathologist’s assistant, and meeting the team’s new detective constable. Now that David Howick had been promoted to a custody sergeant’s job in Wrexham, Gareth had been hoping the new constable on the team would be another man. Instead, Luned Thomas was a short, dowdy girl about his age.

  ‘Do we call you Lyn?’

  She’d given him a thin-lipped smile. ‘This isn’t England. I’m sure you can pronounce my name properly.’

  Good start, he’d thought. At least she wouldn’t call him Gar, which suited him as he didn’t like it in any event.

  When Drake and Sara came into the Incident Room Winder could barely contain his enthusiasm. He tried not to scan Sara but she was just as attractive as some of his friends had told him. She raised an eyebrow when he stared a second too long. ‘What happened, boss?’

  Drake ignored him and spoke directly to Luned. ‘Detective Constable Thomas?’

  She straightened and shook his hand. Drake walked over to the board and as he did so Winder passed him a photograph of Gloria Patton, which he pinned to the centre.

  ‘Gloria Patton was found dead this morning in an empty shop in the middle of Llandudno. We should have photographs from the CSIs later this afternoon. The whole thing was macabre. She’d been propped up somehow on a board and dressed in a sheet that made her look like an ancient Roman statue.’

  He paused and glanced at Winder and Luned before continuing. ‘The killer sent a text to her mobile, which he had left in the shop.’

  Sara continued. ‘And there was an unmade bed in the room complete with a bedside cabinet.’

  ‘Looks like we’re searching for a right nutcase,’ Winder said

  Drake continued. ‘The text message sent read hashtag iamtheone.’

  ‘Any idea who it was from?’ Winder said.

  ‘That’s what we need to find out. I want to know everything about the mobile telephone Gloria Patton owned: contacts, messages, etc. And a full trace on the mobile that sent the text.’

  Drake hadn’t finished but he stopped as the door crashed open and Superintendent Price walked in.

  ‘Is it true?’ He marched over to Drake’s side as Winder and the others scrambled to their feet. ‘It sounds like something from a horror film. Who the hell would want to build such a spectacle?’

  Price scanned the officers, his fisted right hand tapping his left palm. ‘The town council have already been on the telephone, as has the local member of the Welsh parliament. Is there any chance there could be photographs appearing on the internet?’

  Winder registered the uncertainty on Drake and Sara’s faces and their reluctance to answer.

  ‘It looks like the killer set a timer to release the curtain that covered the window mid-morning when the most number of people would be passing,’ Drake said.

  ‘Christ almighty, what sort of person are we dealing with here?’

  ‘And no, sir. I cannot guarantee there won’t be images on the internet – in fact, it’s very likely.’

  Price raised his voice slightly. ‘All of you realise this has top priority. Llandudno is a tourist resort and this sort of thing could hit the town badly. So we need to find the culprit quickly.’

  And with that Price stormed out. A few seconds elapsed before anyone said anything. Luned was the first to break the silence. She had a clear, confident voice and a warm accent that suggested she was from a Welsh-speaking background. ‘There was a famous artwork of an unmade bed several years ago. I think it won a prize. I’ll look into it …’

  Sara nodded. ‘Gloria was connected to the Orme Arts Festival and her partner, Hubert Oswald, is an artist. We’ve just seen him.’

  ‘How was he?’ Luned asked.

  ‘Not in the least surprised.’ Sara settled into a chair by one of the empty desks.

  ‘So he’s our prime suspect?’ Winder added.

  Drake shared a glance with Winder and Luned. ‘We’ve brought back a lot of personal stuff, laptop, Filofax. I want you both to start building a picture of this woman. Oswald mentioned she ran a gallery in Llandudno. You had better get over there. Talk to the staff, collect any personal stuff of interest.’

  ‘There must be lots of forensics,’ Winder said. ‘The killer can’t just leave a body like that without leaving some evidence.’

  ‘I agree,’ Drake said. ‘And trace her car, it’s an orange Peugeot. Sara and I are going to talk to the members of the festival committee.’

  Drake glanced at his watch. ‘I want progress by later tonight.’

  Winder turned to Luned once Drake left. She gave him a studious and expectant look as though she wanted him to tell her exactly what to do. It was going to be another long day.

  Chapter 4

  Canolfan Tudno was a tall building set out on three floors. There were community centres like this in every village and town in Wales, built and paid for by the local population – probably like every other country, Sara thought. It was the sort of premises Sara remembered from her childhood when her parents dragged her to charity fundraising events.

  Seeing the body of Gloria Patton today had sickened her more than she had first realised. She knew that being on Detective Inspector Drake’s team meant dead bodies, but nothing had prepared her for the scene that morning. The superintendent had been right – it did look like something from a horror movie.

  Drake and Sara reached the main door before finding the stairs and heading to the first floor where the inspector stopped abruptly before pulling his mobile telephone from his jacket pocket.

  ‘I’ve got to make a call.’

  Drake paced away from Sara and she heard snippets of his one-sided conversation.

  ‘Put me through to Dr Drake.’

  Sara stood, waiting, remembering that her last attempt to speak to her GP had met with an interrogation from the receptionist.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sian, I can’t collect the girls. There’s been a murder in Llandudno.’

  Drake paused and Sara tried not to listen.

  ‘I know it’s inconvenient …’

  Drake shot her an embarrassed look before lowering his voice. ‘Couldn’t one of your friends …’

  Sara gave an understanding nod. Detective work and successful family life was difficult, she knew, having seen the broken relationships among other officers.

  Drake ended the call and barged his way into the room on the first floor where the committee were waiting for them. Sara followed him, struggling to keep up with his pace, and, as she entered the room, three people sitting around a table shot to their feet.

  A man in his mid-fifties, about the same height as the inspector but with less hair, extended a hand towards Drake.

  ‘Rhisiart Hopkin and this is Julie and Marjorie,’ Hopkin nodded at the two women. ‘Inspector Drake, can you tell us what happened? We are all so shocked. We can’t believe it – we saw Gloria last night.’

  Hopkin waved a hand over a couple of chairs. Drake didn’t attempt to shake hands with Julie or Marjorie, although Sara sensed they expected such courtesy. She had noticed his rudeness with Oswald earlier but she had held her tongue. It was her first day after all. Sara sat alongside Drake and stared over at Hopkin. His Christian name was the seldom-used Welsh equivalent of Richard and she wondered whether he was the token Welsh speaker on the committee.

  ‘We need full details of what happened last night,’ Drake said.

  Julie responded. Her strong Scouse ac
cent confirmed her roots in Liverpool; her voice sounded harsh, grating. ‘We were finalising everything for the festival. We had a long meeting. There’s a shed-load of stuff to get through.’

  Marjorie cut across. ‘You won’t believe the trouble we’ve had with the Welsh Arts Council about the modest funding they were providing. That’s where Rhisiart has been such a dear.’ Her cut glass accent sounded oddly out of place.

  Hopkin blushed. ‘Well I wouldn’t say …’

  ‘Of course you have. Having a bank manager on the committee is very helpful.’

  ‘What was Gloria’s involvement in the committee?’

  Julie responded. ‘She was the curator. She made the final decision about who would be exhibiting. She was responsible for assessing all the possible contributors.’

  ‘So she must have disappointed some people,’ Drake said.

  ‘I suppose so …’ Julie stopped abruptly, staring over at Drake and then at Sara. ‘Surely you don’t suspect that somebody we’ve rejected might be responsible?’

  ‘We have to consider all possibilities at this stage in our enquiry.’

  Everything about the murder scene suggested to Sara that someone with an artistic interest had staged it or maybe somebody who was suggesting they had.

  Marjorie cleared her throat noisily. ‘There was this one person …’ She glanced at Julie and then at Rhisiart – both tilted their heads in encouragement for her to continue. ‘Norma Buckland. She’s a local artist who was rejected by Gloria and she took it badly. She wrote several extremely aggressive letters to all of us about the decision. She made some frankly outrageous comments.’

  Sara reached for her pocketbook. ‘Do you have the contact details for Norma Buckland?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do you still have the letters she sent?’

  All three nodded. Hopkin used an undertaker’s tone. ‘We kept them all. Gloria kept them all in a file in her gallery.’

  Drake looked at his notes. ‘Was it just Gloria’s decision to reject a submission?’

  ‘Sometimes if she was in two minds she would ask us to make the final choice,’ Marjorie added before realising what it implied. ‘Surely you don’t think we could be in any danger?’

  ‘It’s far too early to make any assumptions. Were there any others rejected by Gloria?’

  ‘There were three artists rejected either by Gloria or by us.’ Hopkin had obviously been prepared for Drake’s question. ‘I’ve noted down their names and contact details.’ He pushed over a single sheet of A4 paper, which Drake scanned quickly.

  ‘Let’s get back to discussing last night – the last time you saw Gloria.’

  Hopkin straightened his position in his chair. Sara assumed he had been delegated by Julie and Marjorie to provide the details. ‘We started our meeting at about seven-thirty. We had a long agenda. After all, the arts festival is less than three weeks away and we still have a lot to do to get everything finalised. As it’s the first time it’s being held we want to make certain that it’s a complete success.’

  ‘How did Gloria seem?’

  Hopkin shared a glance with the other two. ‘No different than normal.’

  ‘How long did the committee meeting take?’

  ‘We had a break at nine and were finished by ten o’clock.’

  ‘Did Gloria say where she was going afterwards?’

  They looked puzzled. Julie was the first reply. ‘I went home. I assumed Gloria was doing the same.’

  Drake glanced at Hopkin and Marjorie for confirmation. Hopkin responded. ‘She was the first to leave. I don’t remember her saying anything about where she was going. Like Julie, I assumed she was heading home.’

  Sara jotted down all the details in her pocketbook. ‘Do you know where Gloria had parked her car?’ Sara said.

  ‘I’m sorry, sergeant,’ Hopkin replied. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘There’s a car park at the rear of the property and sometimes she parked next to mine,’ Marjorie said.

  ‘And last night?’ Sara said.

  Marjorie shook her head. ‘I didn’t see her car.’

  So they had at least ten or twelve hours unaccounted for. Perhaps the pathologist would be able to pinpoint an exact time of death, Sara thought.

  Drake stood up and extracted business cards from his jacket pocket, which he handed over the table. ‘Call me if you think of anything else.’

  He nodded to Sara and they left.

  Drake glanced at the paper before handing it to Sara as they walked back to the car. ‘More suspects.’

  Sara read the three names on the list with their addresses and contact details. Inside the car, Drake paused. ‘We still need to find her car.’

  ‘None of them seemed worried. I’d be really scared,’ Sara said. ‘Maybe the killer is a rejected artist, targeting the committee members.’

  Drake gave her a worried frown. ‘It’s a possibility you’re right.’

  Drake started the engine. Sara wasn’t certain whether he welcomed her contributions. ‘Let’s get back to headquarters,’ he said. ‘We need to find out if Gareth’s been able to establish anything.’

  * * *

  Lights blazed in the Incident Room when Drake and Sara returned. Drake stood by the board, looking at Winder, his tie loosened a good two inches, and a tired, sweaty look on his face. Luned nursed a mug of coffee or tea, Drake couldn’t tell. When Luned slurped noisily on her drink it reminded him of Caren’s sloppy drinking habits, something he’d hoped was a thing of the past.

  ‘How did you get on in Patton’s gallery?’

  ‘Patton’s place is more of a trinket shop, boss. There’s a gallery area on the first floor. Lots of paintings of landscapes … apparently.’

  Drake nodded. ‘Sounds like Oswald’s stuff.’

  ‘The gallery assistant was cut up. She’d just heard and she was closing early to go home.’

  ‘We’ll need to speak to her again.’

  Drake turned to the board, behind him Winder continuing. ‘The CSIs sent me these photos, sir. It looks like something from one of those CSI programmes in the US.’

  The figure of Gloria Patton seemed artificial in the lights of the cameras with the bed oddly out of place. Drake stared at her face. It took him back to the shop and the smell of death returned to his senses.

  ‘We’ve got three more persons of interest in the inquiry now.’ Drake reached for the sheet Hopkin had given him and read the names.

  ‘In the last month Gloria rejected various artists who wanted to exhibit at the Orme Arts Festival. One of them is Norma Buckland, who sent Gloria and the other members of the committee threatening letters. Another was a Jeremy Ellingham and the third is a man called Geraint Wood.’

  ‘Are these all painters, boss? I didn’t realise there were so many around.’

  Drake looked over at Winder. ‘That’s what you and Luned are going to establish. I want background checks on all three of them.’

  Drake noticed Luned nodding seriously.

  Underneath the image of Gloria was an A4 sheet with the words #iamtheone printed on it in large letters.

  ‘I’ve looked at the Twitter hashtag,’ Winder said. ‘There are dozens of people who use it to promote themselves.’

  ‘Can we trace the mobile that sent the message?’

  ‘Pay as you go and untraceable.’

  ‘Did Gloria Patton use Twitter?’

  ‘Occasionally, sir. But her mobile has got more links to her Facebook page.’

  ‘We’ll need a full analysis of both her accounts – people she’s communicated with recently. Any groups she’s joined or messages she’s sent. Somebody wanted her dead, and they wanted to stage her body to prove a point … why? Motive, there is always a motive, and we need to find out what it is – and fast.’

  Drake returned to his office. He stopped for a second in the doorway. He had to reassure himself that the order and neatness was unchanged since he left the room hours earlier. Satisfied that no
thing had been disturbed, he sank into his chair. The telephone rang and he reached for the handset.

  ‘Inspector Drake? Are you in front of a computer?’

  Chapter 5

  Drake fumbled as he switched on his computer while Susan Howells from public relations dictated the web address for him to type into the browser. Tension clawed at his chest as the screen flickered into life. He had expected images from some sad individual unable to resist gawping and snapping with a smartphone but this was different. It looked like a proper professional website. Testimonials posted from various sources praised the anonymous artwork and its contribution to the development of ‘the understanding of the interdependence of human conflict’ and how ‘lateral and bilateral thinking was essential for individual enlargement and temporal growth.’

  Howells sounded desperate. ‘The press are bound to be all over this like a rash in the morning. I need something I can tell them.’

  Drake scrolled through the various photographs taken from inside the shop. There was no doubt this was the work of the killer. The sight of Gloria propped on the board waiting to be shown to the world like some cheap exhibit in a zoo sickened him.

  His mobile rang. ‘I’ll call you back.’ He said to Howells.

  He ended the call with Howells and picked his mobile up, which immediately stopped ringing. Almost instantly the telephone on his desk rang again. Whoever wanted to speak to him had little patience. It was Price. ‘What the fuck is happening, Ian?’

  ‘I’ve only just been told about the website, sir. I’m looking in to it.’

  ‘I need a progress report. Tonight.’

  Drake slammed down the handset and bellowed. ‘Sara, Gareth …’ he couldn’t immediately remember the new officer’s name. Seconds later they appeared at the doorway.

  ‘Take a look at this.’ He adjusted the screen so they could all watch.

  ‘Jesus. Is that inside the shop?’ Winder said.

  Drake nodded. Sara paled; Luned was rigid with surprise.

  ‘Find out who is hosting this website and get them to take it down. I need everything they can tell us about where, who and how.’ The three officers in his team stood, unmoving. ‘Now. Tonight.’