Good Bad and Pure Evil: Anglesey Mysteries (The Anglesey Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  ‘Apparently so.’

  ‘What’s gone on?’

  ‘A couple in their fifties went walking and only one of them returned. He reported that his wife had slipped and fell. They recovered the body but later on, another group of climbers said they’d been scaling the mountain higher up and seen the husband pull his wife, kicking and screaming, to the edge. Then he threw her off. They called it in as soon as they were low enough to get a signal.’ Bob chuckled drily. ‘I might take Eileen up there for a walk.’

  ‘There’s only one winner there,’ Alan said. ‘My money is on Eileen coming back down that mountain.’

  ‘Sad but true,’ Bob agreed. While they chatted, Alan and Kim followed the sergeant along the hallway and up the stairs. It was like a time capsule stuck in the seventies. The ceilings were high, and the walls covered in textured paper and painted dark green. Random landscapes decorated the walls, some were images of local landmarks, others were places unknown to anyone but the artists who painted them and they were long dead.

  ‘There’s blood in the bath,’ Bob said. They glanced into the bathroom and then moved on. ‘All the action is in the far bedroom, at the end of the landing.’

  ‘It’s getting a bit ripe,’ Kim said, taking a jar of Tiger Balm from her pocket. She smeared a small amount on her top lip and felt its warmth grow. The aroma of eucalyptus filled her nostrils, almost masking the stench of decomposition. She passed the jar to Alan, who followed suit. Bob gave them a pair of gloves and plastic overshoes and they stepped into the bedroom.

  Alan approached the faceless corpse. There was a tattoo on the left shoulder; a ship’s anchor and chain surrounded by skulls and roses. A gold chain hung around the neck, encrusted in blood. He spotted a pile of clothes next to the chair.

  ‘Shoes, socks, jeans, T-shirt, hoodie,’ he said. ‘He must have tied up the priest and then undressed here before he killed himself.’

  ‘Any ID?’ Kim asked.

  ‘There’s nothing in his pockets.’

  Alan studied the body. He tried to gauge the age of the man. His hands were rough and weathered. They didn’t belong to a young man, nor a man over sixty. He couldn’t narrow it down any further. The fingernails were blackened at the tips. ‘He might have been a mechanic,’ Alan said to himself. ‘Are there any vehicles outside?’ Alan asked.

  ‘There’s one in the garage. It’s a Toyota Prius registered to Father Patrick Creegan.’

  ‘So, John Doe either came here with Creegan or he had a long walk, carrying a shotgun. Unless the shotgun belongs to the priest,’ Alan said.

  ‘I’ve asked Richard Lewis to contact firearms licencing at Chester, but they’re closed until tomorrow,’ Bob said.

  ‘Okay. Good. We need to know who this is to explain why he tied up Father Creegan, undressed, put a shotgun in his mouth, and blew his brains out.’

  ‘I’m interested in what Creegan has to say about it,’ Bob said, shaking his head. ‘A naked victim and a Catholic priest. I’m guessing he can tell us who this is. I’m very interested indeed.’

  ‘You’re such an old cynic,’ Kim said.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Bob said, shrugging.

  ‘I’m thinking along the same tracks as Bob,’ Alan said.

  ‘Mind reader now, are you?’ Bob said.

  ‘You stereotype people. It’s part of being our generation,’ Alan said, smiling. ‘We’re old and have preconceived ideas.’ Bob tutted but couldn’t challenge his point. ‘Catholic priest, naked male, suicide, all the ingredients for a revenge attack for historical sexual abuse?’

  Bob shrugged but didn’t agree or disagree. ‘Sounds like a reasonable explanation to me.’

  ‘You think he’s a disgruntled choirboy come back to reap revenge on his abuser.’ Alan smiled.

  ‘You sound like Poirot,’ Bob said straight-faced, but he blushed a little. ‘Actually, I wasn’t thinking that.’

  ‘It was exactly what he was thinking,’ Kim agreed.

  ‘You shouldn’t tell lies, Bob,’ Alan said. ‘It’s a sin.’

  ‘I’ll add it to my never-ending list of things to improve.’

  ‘How long until Pamela gets here?’

  ‘I am here,’ Pamela said, walking through the door. Her bright red curls were contained under a blue baseball cap. She looked at the body and grimaced. ‘The cause of death looks clear to me.’

  ‘Really?’ Alan asked, frowning.

  ‘Yup. It’s a gunshot wound to the head,’ she said, putting her case next to the naked corpse. She had a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. Bob grinned and shook his head. He liked Pamela’s dark humour. ‘I’d stake my reputation on it.’

  ‘But you’ve only just arrived. I don’t know how she does it, do you?’ Alan said.

  ‘Shotgun in the mouth, probably suicide,’ she added, drily.

  ‘Such a talent.’

  ‘You concur?’

  ‘Yes. We would have worked that one out through a process of elimination,’ Alan said, nodding. ‘I need to know who he is.’

  ‘Leave him with me and I’ll see what I can do.’ The smile was gone, and Pamela Stone got to work.

  Chapter 4

  Jon Price waited outside the Jambo Chinese takeaway. It was in the centre of Holyhead, next to St Cybi’s church, which was built on a Roman fort. Locals said the Jambo was built before the Romans arrived, serving crispy duck to the Druids. Jon checked his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock. His concept of time had changed in jail. Time and its passing became all encompassing. Prisoners say, ‘they can lock the locks, but they can’t stop the clocks.’ It was an ode to the long-term prisoner and the anticipation of freedom. Every second that passed was a second served and a second closer to being released. His release had come as a massive surprise. The early release program was supposed to be for non-violent offenders only. Designed to take the pressure off crowded prison populations. Non-violent prisoners. He chuckled as he thought about it. The Home Office had screwed it up so badly. He would be constantly waiting for a knock on his front door and a prison officer to say, ‘Sorry, Price, we made a mistake. You’re a raving psycho and you’ll have to come back to your cell and finish your sentence.’

  It could happen if he didn’t do as he was told. They explained the rules he had to follow. He had to make the most of every minute he was at liberty. Things needed to be ironed out, then if they rearrested him, it wouldn’t matter so much; he would be able to sleep soundly at night. At the moment, things were imbalanced. They weren’t how they should be, and that messed with his karma. He was unable to restore things to normal from his cell. Things needed to be put in order quickly in case the Home Office did a U-turn and recalled him. Things were delicately balanced. Follow the rules and don’t fuck up. It wasn’t rocket science.

  Jon watched as the door of the takeaway opened. Two men were arguing inside. One of them pushed the other one to the floor where he rolled around like a turtle on its back. Sutton walked out of the takeaway, oblivious to the scuffle, a bag in each hand. He was still a big lump. Twenty-stone at a conservative estimate. Jon felt his blood boiling. Sutton’s evidence had been crucial to putting Jon away, but he’d lied, and Jon wanted to talk to him about that. Sutton got into a waiting vehicle. It was a new Porsche. The driver was a young female who he didn’t recognise. She was out of Sutton’s league but some women would do anything for a regular supply of whatever drug turned them on and Sutton had the money and contacts to anything and everything. At least he did for now. With Jon in prison, Sutton had manoeuvred himself into the top tier of the criminal network where everything was available. That was about to change.

  A knock on the driver’s window made him jump in his seat. He looked around angrily. Two uniformed officers were staring at him through the window. One of them he recognised as Colwyn Gallagher. Gallagher was a sergeant and a dick-head of the first degree. He gestured for Jon to wind the window down. Jon rolled his eyes but complied. He didn’t have a lot of choice.

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; ‘Jon Price. I didn’t expect to see your face for a few years,’ Officer Gallagher said. ‘Did you dig a tunnel under the wall?’

  ‘Officer Gallagher,’ Jon said, smiling, although the hate in his eyes was apparent. ‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.’

  ‘I can imagine. The feeling is mutual.’

  ‘You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured meeting up with you again,’ Jon said. ‘Just you and me, burying the hatchet. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘I hope you’re not threatening a police officer, Price,’ Gallagher said. Jon shrugged; the smile faded. ‘Did you hear that?’ Gallagher asked his colleague.

  ‘Yes. It sounded like a threat to me.’

  ‘Get out of the car.’ Gallagher stood back from the door.

  ‘I’m all right where I am, thanks,’ Jon said.

  ‘I won’t ask again. Get out of the car or you’ll be in the back of the van before you can blink.’

  Jon opened the door and climbed out. Gallagher leant into the vehicle and had a brief look around. It was clean and new. He spotted the Hertz sticker in the window.

  ‘This is hired,’ Gallagher said.

  ‘Bugger me with a brass trombone,’ Jon said, shaking his head. ‘Your observational skills are frightening. You are wasted in uniform. Have you thought about becoming a detective?’

  Gallagher looked angry. He didn’t have the wit or the intelligence to joust with Price, and Price knew it.

  ‘Still a smart-arse.’

  ‘Smarter than you for sure.’

  ‘What are you doing here, Price?’ he asked.

  ‘I live here, Columbo.’

  ‘You were sentenced to fifteen years,’ Gallagher said. ‘Seven years ago.’

  ‘Early release for prisoners with good behaviour. Bet you never thought you’d hear that.’

  ‘We would be informed if you were being released,’ Gallagher said, shaking his head. ‘They wouldn’t just kick you out without telling us.’

  ‘They let thousands of us out. The Home Office had to take the pressure off the con population. The virus is causing havoc. I’ve been released on licence and I’m back in town, officer Gallagher.’

  ‘Early release?’ Gallagher asked, astounded. ‘That was for non-violent criminals. Check his story,’ he ordered his colleague who used his comms to reach headquarters. ‘What exactly are you doing here?’

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘Not in town. I mean here on the high street.’

  ‘I was going for a takeaway,’ Jon said. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve had a Chinese.’

  ‘You weren’t waiting for Paul Sutton, were you?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sutton. Paul Sutton. He was one of your downtrodden investors who got pissed off with you being a bullyboy and turned evidence against you. Do you remember him now?’

  ‘Sutton?’ Jon shook his head. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells.’

  ‘That’s funny because you were watching him when he came out of the Chinese just a few minutes ago,’ Gallagher said. ‘So much so, you didn’t see us coming across the road.’

  ‘Sutton. Sutton. Is he a big fat bloke who always wears tracksuits, despite never having exercised in his life?’

  ‘You think you’re smart, Price, but you’re not as smart as you think you are. That’s why you went down,’ Gallagher said. He tapped his finger against his forehead. ‘Get this into your head. No one likes you. They never did but you’re a bully so people pretended to be your friends until push came to shove and they all turned on you, didn’t they?’ Jon didn’t respond. It was his turn to look angry. ‘When all that stuff came out about what you did to Cristy Dennis, you were finished in this town. The big rich businessman who beat the shit out of a tiny little thing like her.’

  ‘So she says,’ Jon said, shrugging. His face flushed in anger. ‘She likes it rough, what can I say?’

  ‘The cigarette burns on her arms and legs say you’re an abuser. Or did she put them there herself?’ Gallagher said. He turned to his colleague. ‘He terrorised his ex-girlfriend for three days. Locked her up in his flat and tortured her like the proper hard man he is.’

  ‘There are two sides to every story. Don’t believe everything you hear.’

  ‘Not in this case. No one likes a rapist.’

  ‘We were in a long-term relationship,’ Price said. ‘There was no rape. She loved it.’

  ‘There’re a lot of people in this town waiting to mark your card, sunshine. Wait until they find out you’re out. I reckon they’ll be queuing up.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Jon said. He dwarfed both policemen. ‘I sincerely hope you’re in the queue, Gallagher. I would pay good money to see you try.’

  ‘His story checks out,’ the second officer said. ‘He was released yesterday.’

  ‘I’ll be on my way then, officer,’ Jon said, getting back into his vehicle. He started the engine and put on his seat belt.

  ‘What about your takeaway?’

  ‘I’ve lost my appetite. It must be listening to you talking shite; put me right off.’

  ‘Watch your mouth, Price.’

  ‘You know what? It’s all coming back to me now. Paul Sutton. Yes, I remember him. He stood in the dock and lied through his teeth for your lot. He committed perjury. That’s a crime, officer, and you know what they say. Justice will prevail.’ Jon closed the window and smiled. He flicked his middle finger at the policemen as he drove away.

  ‘I guess he’s trouble?’

  ‘He’s trouble with a capital T,’ Gallagher replied. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that something bad was going to happen.

  Chapter 5

  Cristy got out of the shower and grabbed a towel. She patted herself dry, running on autopilot. Her mind was in turmoil. The incident at the supermarket had rattled her badly. Seven years ago, her doctor had diagnosed her with post-traumatic stress disorder following the trial, which saw Jon Price and his associates put away for serious fraud. The seven years Jon was away had allowed her to recover. She’d developed some semblance of normality but seeing him again had set her recovery back by years. Her mother was horrified when she’d arrived at home to shower and change her soiled jeans. She was so upset she could hardly speak. Cristy couldn’t tell her what was wrong at first, but eventually she broke down and told her what had happened.

  Her mother was heartbroken that the man who had systematically abused her daughter was back on the streets. He’d tormented her for years, but the final assault he’d subjected her to had left her daughter broken, mentally and physically. She knew the emotional and mental impact of seeing him would have a dreadful effect on Cristy. She was so frightened she’d lost control of her bowels. That made her feel sick to her stomach. No mother wanted to think of their child being so afraid they’d wet themselves. Cristy was an adult; it was heartbreaking to think of her being so scared. She wanted to protect her child, no matter how old she was, but couldn’t.

  ‘Are you okay in there?’ Myra Dennis asked through the bathroom door.

  ‘Yes. I’m okay. I’ll be out in a minute.’

  ‘I thought you might have fallen down the plughole.’

  ‘I’m fine, Mum.’

  ‘Your dad is here,’ Myra said. ‘He’s worried about you.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Cristy said. ‘I told you not to tell anyone.’

  ‘He’s your dad. I had to tell him.’

  ‘Oh no. This is so embarrassing.’

  ‘He needs to know that bastard is out of prison,’ Myra said, angrily.

  ‘He would have found out soon enough, Mum, without your help,’ Cristy said. ‘I just need to calm myself down before I see anyone.’ Her mother didn’t answer. ‘Tell him I’m okay but I want to rest.’

  ‘They want to see you.’

  ‘What do you mean they? Who are they?’

  ‘Your brother is here too. He’s worried sick about you.’

  ‘Mum! Why don’t you phone The Chronicle and ask them to h
old the front page?’

  ‘I didn’t tell him,’ Myra said. ‘It must have been your dad that called him.’

  ‘I don’t want this turned into a massive family drama, Mum,’ Cristy said. ‘There’s an injunction on him. He has to stay away from me.’

  ‘But he hasn’t stayed away from you, has he?’ Myra argued. Cristy didn’t have the strength to complain any further. ‘I’ve put the kettle on. We’ll have a cup of coffee and talk about it as a family.’

  ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ Cristy said, sighing. There was no point in getting annoyed. The news would be around town that Jon Price had been released early. Her dad and brother would have known within hours anyway. That kind of news travelled fast. She brushed her hair and wrapped it in a towel, glancing in the mirror. The condensation distorted her reflection, but she could still see the bump on the side of her nose. It made her look like a pugilist. Her friends and family played it down and said they could hardly notice it, but it wasn’t their face, was it? No. It was hers and for years she felt disfigured. Her doctor had discussed surgery but couldn’t guarantee the result would appear natural.

  Three years ago, she’d started seeing her brother’s best friend, Rowan, who had been in love with her since school. He treated her like a princess and made her feel special; special enough that her broken nose hadn’t mattered as much for a long time. She’d hardly noticed it for years until now. Today she saw her reflection and her nose appeared deformed once again.

  Cristy got dressed into jeans, pumps, and a baggy jumper. She thought about leggings, but Jon Price had a thing for women in leggings. They would be staying in the drawer for a while. She looked in the mirror again and straightened her hair. Reluctantly, she went downstairs. She took a deep breath before walking into the living room. The first person she saw was her boyfriend, Rowan.

  ‘OMG. What are you doing here?’ She tutted and shook her head, glaring at her mum. Her mum looked away, feeling sheepish. ‘This is ridiculous,’ Cristy said. Rowan was sitting next to her brother Phil and her dad was standing by the door.

  ‘Come here and give your old dad a hug.’ Her dad grabbed her and hugged her tightly to his chest. Cristy didn’t resist, and the floodgates opened. All the pain and all the guilt he’d felt for not being able to protect her poured out of him. Cristy wept for herself and for her family’s pain. Jon Price had caused them all an indescribable amount of grief, and she felt responsible for that. No one spoke until they parted.