The Devil's Cliff Killings: A Snowdonia Murder Mystery Book 4 (A DI Ruth Hunter Crime Thriller) by Simon McCleave

Author:Simon McCleave [McCleave, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stamford Publishing Ltd
Published: 2020-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

Three days, twenty-two hours

Pulling right off the A434, Nick was getting close to Woodburn Farm where Hayley had said Christian Vasilescu sometimes stayed. He knew Woodburn Farm well, especially from his days as a uniformed officer. The travellers had had some sort of site there for over forty years. The population and people changed and fluctuated, but there were a few families who now went back three generations.

As Nick slowed, he could see the irregular lines of white caravans at the end of the dusty track. Hitting a deep pothole, he slowed the car. He had already been spotted coming down the lane. He felt a twinge of anxiety. Maybe it was a bit reckless to go in without any back-up. In the old days, no officer would go in without the help of the heavy brigade: the ‘hats and bats’ unit.

A flag and hand-painted sign signalled the site’s entrance: We Shall Not Be Moved and Trespassers Will Be Shot. Nick knew they weren’t joking.

Pulling over to park up, he noticed children playing noisily, riding bikes and chasing half a dozen dogs. They looked free and happy.

A portly woman in a long purple dress came over, looked at him suspiciously, and then smiled. ‘Bloody hell. We haven’t seen you here for a while,’ she said. Despite being away from Donegal for thirty years, she still carried the accent.

‘It’s Gwen, isn’t it?’ Nick had just about remembered her name from his time in uniform. He had been there on a regular basis – truancy, vandalism, petty theft.

‘How can I help you, son?’ she asked.

Nick got out his warrant card and said, ‘I’m with CID now.’

‘All grown up, eh?’

Fishing into his pocket, Nick pulled out one of the A4 sheets that carried Rosie Wright’s photo. ‘I’m looking for this girl, Rosie Wright. She’s been missing a few days now.’

‘We know about that. It’s not the feckin’ third world out here. We have televisions and everything,’ she chortled sarcastically. ‘It’s a terrible thing, that. Poor girl. And her family must be beside themselves.’

‘You haven’t seen her then?’ Nick asked.

‘No. Sorry.’

Nick then pulled out his phone, tapped on a photo and showed it to her. ‘Ever seen this man? Christian Vasilescu? He’s Romanian.’

‘Romanian? No, doesn’t ring a bell.’ Gwen gestured. ‘Come on, we’ll ask some of the lads. See if they know him or if they’ve heard of him.’

As they wandered past the neat, clean chalets, Nick saw two teenage girls hanging out some washing. They looked at him and giggled.

‘Don’t mind them. Daft as a brush, those pair,’ Gwen said, laughing.

To one side, old televisions, a computer and a washing machine had been heaped together. The dogs had noticed his presence and came bounding over to check him out. A large, black mongrel decided to jump up at his leg and bark.

‘Elvis! Will you feckin’ leave the fella alone!’ Gwen yelled at the dog, who immediately retreated and trotted away.

Up ahead, a few older men in their sixties, dressed in open shirts, vests and shorts, sat on deck chairs in the sun.

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