Surviving The Evacuation (Book 8): Anglesey (20 page)

I held up my hands. “This is the first time we’ve had anything like this,” I said. “Up until now our big problem has been trying to get people off their boats. It’s just a coincidence that it happened the night you arrived. Except… except it’s not a coincidence, is it?”

“You better not be saying someone from our crew did this,” she said with a flash of anger.

“I’m not,” I said quickly. “We weren’t expecting you. Not so few of you, I mean. We thought it was a hospital ship with two thousand beds, and as many sailors, all coming ashore for the first time in months. We’re agreed that whoever found the body was expected to run, panicking into town. Add that to the confusion of a few thousand new people, and rumours of a zombie invasion would have filled the island. It would have taken days to sort out, weeks, perhaps. That’s why he was killed last night, and perhaps even why it was done like this.”

“The news, what we heard, what we saw on the USNS Hope, it was terrible,” Devine said. “What we saw on Cape Verde, the undead…” She shook her head. “That was bad. This is worse. It’s like what you’d find in the old world. You see here?” She pointed at a pockmarked scar on the left side of Llewellyn’s abdomen. “Bullet wound. There’s an old shrapnel scar on his shoulder.”

I stared again at the body of a man about whom I knew nothing.

“So who did it?” she asked.

“I’ve no idea,” I said, but ignorance wasn’t a shield. “He hasn’t been here long enough to make any enemies, so it had to be someone from before.”

“And you don’t know any of his story?” she asked.

“He was dehydrated and delirious,” I said, squatting down to get a different view of the body. “I went with him as far as the clinic, but haven’t seen him since.” I saw the crate, and the label on the bottles inside. “That’s Hopvar,” I said. “The beer. It’s a cheap imitation brand. The people who run the inn found a lorry full of it on the island and still have some in stock.”

“You’re saying you know where this beer came from?” she asked.

“Perhaps. The pub is run by a guy called Markus, a… no, I can see him killing someone, but not like this. It’s so… I don’t know. Imprecise. Obvious, even. When you take out the horror of it, it’s almost amateur.”

“And you’re saying he’s a professional?”

“No. I don’t think so. I’d say he likes to think of himself as a scoundrel and nothing worse. This? This is evil, and I’ve met evil before. Cannock, Barrett, Quigley.” I shook my head, trying to rid it of memories that were never far from the forefront of my mind.

“Who?”

“Long story. No, I think Markus would be happy with theft, and probably with violence, but not murder, not unless it was in self-defence, and even then I can’t see him staging the body like this. What would be the point? But the beer may have come from the inn. If so, he might have a record of who traded for it in the last few days.”

There was the sound of footsteps, followed a moment later by Donnie appearing around the side of the house.

“They want to know what’s going on,” he said. “And I don’t know what to tell them.”

“It’s not my call,” Devine said, turning to me.

I saw the anxiety in Donnie’s face. He’s barely a decade younger than me, but that’s another way of saying he’s only a few years out of college. He’d seen a lot, we all had, but there’s a difference between killing the inhuman undead and brutal murder.

“Tell them that Mr Llewellyn was attacked,” I said. “And that we’re looking into it.”

“Maybe you should speak to them,” Donnie said.

“Maybe you should,” Devine agreed. “Find out what they know about the victim, whether they saw anyone come here yesterday, or whether Mr Llewellyn had any regular visitors.”

“What do
you
know about him,” I asked Donnie as we walked around to the front of the house.

“Not much,” Donnie said. “He was helping out in the hospital. The night after he arrived, he started sweeping the floors, tidying up, that sort of thing. Dr Knight came in the next morning and found him washing the windows. He sort of got the job of janitor because he was happy doing it.”

“And the house?”

“I found it for him,” Donnie said. “He was sleeping in the ward, but there was nothing physically wrong with him. Dr Knight didn’t want him moving into an office at the hospital. She thought if he did that, he’d never leave. If he had a house somewhere, he’d have to go out into the fresh air twice a day. She said that was as much help as we could find for him. I thought a house here, near Willow Farm, would mean he’d see people everyday who didn’t work in the hospital.”

“So there was nothing physically wrong with him?”

“He just couldn’t forget what he’d seen,” Donnie said. “But who can?”

“Good point. Did he talk about how he’d survived the last few months?”

“No, he didn’t talk much.”

“Nothing about his friends, or family, or past life?”

“Nope,” Donnie said.

“Pity.”

The crowd from Willow Farm were still by the closed gate.

“Morning,” I said loudly enough to carry, though all eyes were already on me. “Last night Mr Llewellyn was assaulted. Did anyone hear anything? See anything?”

“It wasn’t us,” a bearded man said. He was around forty, but the grey-streaked beard made him look a decade older. His skin was tanned, and though his clothes were clean, his hands were engrained with dirt.

“I didn’t say it was,” I said.

“It couldn’t be anyone here,” a woman said. Her head was covered in a wide-brimmed straw hat, held down with a bright blue scarf. It was one of the few colourful items on a group otherwise wearing drab greys and browns. “There’s no violence here.”

“I’ve heard that said before,” I said.

“Violence and aggression created this nightmare,” a younger man said. “Only through peace and love can we restore true harmony.”

On the page, those words look harmless, but there was something about his tone. There was a fervour, a passion, that when taken with the group’s general demeanour, made me think they shouldn’t be taken at face value.

“How well do you know Mr Llewellyn?” I asked.

“He wasn’t one of us,” the young man said, answering before anyone else could. “And he didn’t want to be. We invited him to join. He refused. We left him alone, as were his wishes. He left us alone, as were ours.”

“Did you see him last night?” I asked.

“Did anyone?” the young man asked, turning to look around the group. Eyes darted back and forth, and then a woman raised a tentative hand.

“You saw him?” I asked.

“Not him,” she said. “I saw another man. He was carrying something. Something large, in two hands.”

“When was this?” I asked.

“Around dusk,” she said. “I was watering the cabbages.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Not really,” she said. “I didn’t get a very good look. He was across the road, and I was in the garden.”

“You sure it was a man?” Donnie asked.

“Oh yes,” she said. “He had blond hair, does that help? It was down to his shoulders.”

“Blond hair? And was he carrying something to the house or away from it?” I asked.

“To. To the house,” she said. “That’s all I saw.”

“Thank you. Did anyone else see him?” There was a general shake of heads. “Did anyone see anything?”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” the young man asked. “Otherwise he would have told you about his visitor.”

I mentally cursed, but there was no point lying. “Yes,” I said. “He’s dead. We’re not sure what happened.”

“You see,” the young man said, addressing his group. “Do you see?” Perhaps they did see, but I surely didn’t. “Back inside,” he said. “There’s nothing for us here.” He corralled them away from the gate and back down the track. From their expressions, they all went willingly.

We went back to the house, and met Captain Devine coming around from the side.

“Anything?” she asked.

“A possible suspect,” I said. “We got a description of a blond man coming here around dusk.”

“That’s not much,” she said.

“It is on an island where most people shave their heads. There’s a man at the pub with long blond hair. He’d have had access to the beer.”

“Right. I’m going to back to the ship,” Devine said. “We don’t have any forensics equipment, but I can piece it together. I can collect evidence and take samples, and you can work out how to analyse them later. There’s a patch of damp soil on the far side of the patio. I think the beer might have been poured away. There’s possibly skin underneath the nails of the victim’s left hand. I’ll collect it. You can decide what to do with it after that.” She paused. “We’re grateful for the landfall. From what Sophia Augusto said, this might be a safe harbour for us. From what I’ve seen, it might not.” Again she paused. This time I heard the unspoken threat.

“Donnie, can you watch the body?” I asked. “I’ll go back to town, speak to George and Mary, and get some of Mister Mills’ crew come and stand guard.”

“Sure,” he said.

Devine and I collected our bicycles. I led her back to the port, and then went to find Mary and George.

They were in the library. They weren’t alone. Kim and Sholto were with them. I summarised what I’d seen.

“I don’t get it,” Kim said. “It doesn’t make sense. Why not shoot him?”

“The undead don’t shoot people,” Sholto said. “It sounds like Bill says, someone wanted this to look like a zombie attack. You sure it’s Paul?”

“Yes and no,” I said. “We have the description of a man with blond hair carrying something large to the house. We’ve also got the crate of beer underneath the chair.”

“So the beer was a peace offering,” George said. “Paul took it there, hoping that Mr Llewellyn would forgive him for some past transgression. A fight ensued. Paul killed him.”

“We don’t know that,” Kim said. “A man with blond hair going up to the house? That doesn’t mean it was Paul, or that Paul attacked Llewellyn. The beer doesn’t mean much, either. Didn’t you say that’s the brand they can’t even give away? We’re talking about murder here. We have to do this correctly.”

“We do, indeed,” Mary said. “The admiral has gone back to her ship. They were all going to come ashore, but the entire crew has been confined until this is dealt with. If they leave, if we get the next few hours wrong, how many more boats will up anchor and sail away?”

“They’ve no oil,” Sholto said. “They’ll find it hard to get anywhere. Besides, the Harpers Ferry’s engines are shot.”

“We have the small quantity of oil that Svalbard gave us,” Mary said. “I don’t want to see the admiral attempt to take it. Nor do I want to see her take some of our sailing ships. They won’t be given willingly. Dozens would die. Those are the very people we need, the ones who must…” She coughed, and spluttered into silence.

“You all right, Mary?” George asked, stepping close.

“Fine, George, fine,” Mary said, though she didn’t look it.

“Devine will gather evidence,” I said. “In the meantime, we need to act. Or to be seen to be acting. At present, the only thing we can do is interview Paul.”

“And anyone else who’s got long blond hair,” Kim said. “Assuming that witness is reliable.”

“We’ll start with Paul,” George said. “I’ll go and get him.”

“No,” Mary said. “We’ll get some sailors from the Vehement to do that.”

“You don’t want to send in the Navy,” George said. “Kim’s right, we’ve got a blond man carrying something to the door. That’s not the same as a suspect for a murder. Let’s see if he’ll come quietly.”

“And if he fights?” Mary said. “If Markus fights for him?”

“I won’t go alone,” George said. “I’ll take these two. Markus knows them. It’ll be less confrontational, and I don’t think Markus will want a confrontation with me.”

“You go in, you ask for him. Any refusal, any trouble, and you walk right back out again,” Mary said. “Kim, go and find Mister Mills. Apprise him of what’s happened and tell him I want him up here. George… Be safe.”

“You ever done anything like this before?” George asked as he, Sholto, and I headed to the pub.

“Nothing quite like this,” Sholto said.

“I’m not really sure what this is,” I said.

“Me neither,” George said. “I’ve planned for most things. The power plant melting down, the grain ships being sunk, the arrival of thousands of new survivors, and that their arrival also brings an outbreak of Typhoid or worse. I worried about scurvy and dysentery, and the next generation growing up feral. It was naive to think we could ignore crime.”

“I’d call it wishful thinking rather than naivety,” Sholto said.

“Maybe you’re right,” George said, “but whatever you call it, the blame lies with me. Absence of law doesn’t make a crime-free state. I shouldn’t have dragged my feet about those judges. Of course, it’s easy to drag your feet when you’ve got your head in the sand. We lost someone. Someone good. Let’s make sure David Llewellyn is the last one.”

“Mr Tull, welcome. A pint?” Markus asked. The pub was emptier than usual. The bearded man was in his chair, and the two women sat at their table with a pile of books that might have been the same as the ones before. The group who’d sat by the window were absent, but Paul was there, sitting on his stool at the edge of the bar. He stared at us, his eyes flitting from George to Sholto to me. The left side of his face was scratched and he was sporting a new black eye. My mouth went dry, and my hand went to my belt. I had to keep reminding myself that there’s a difference between evidence and proof.