by Ted Tayler
As Gus passed the hall table, the scent of fresh flowers caught his attention.
The spare set of keys had gone.
CHAPTER 12
Monday, 11th June 2018
When Gus drove into the car park on Monday morning, he realised Geoff Mercer had to sort out more spaces. Neil Davis was already here and parked next to Lydia’s red Mini. Luke would be out of luck once Alex returned; and then there was Blessing Umeh.
It wasn’t only the car parking that needed attention; the CRT required desks, chairs, laptops, and extra mugs in the restroom. Gus hadn’t imagined a few successful cold cases would generate so much bureaucracy. He hoped Geoff saw these matters as his problem and didn’t delegate it to him, the mere consultant.
“Good morning, guv,” said Neil when Gus exited the lift.
“Welcome back, Neil,” said Gus, “how’s Melody?”
“She’s gone to her mother’s this morning, guv. I’m driving there after work. Finger’s crossed we don’t have late finishes this week. Melody’s improving every day, but she couldn’t face being alone.”
“Did you have a quiet relaxing weekend, guv?” asked Lydia.
“It had its moments,” he replied, “and how’s Alex?”
“He’s getting stronger, guv. I’m still optimistic for a return to work in early July. There will be days when he feels he needs the pills to get through the pain, but he has the tools to overcome those urges. Alex’s support system is robust. Between us, his family and me that is, we won’t let him slip up now. He’s come too far.”
“Good to hear,” said Gus. “We miss him. We missed you too, Neil.”
“London Road kept me in touch, guv,” said Neil. “DS Mercer rang with the news of the Chief Constable. Amelia called to say Peter Morgan got sacked on Friday, although she wasn’t sure why.”
“Loose lips,” said Gus. “He leaked the gossip that reached your Dad. The ACC felt he needed to send a message to the troops while he sat in the hot seat.”
“Peter Morgan and Amelia are related,” said Lydia, “maybe he didn’t make inappropriate comments to her in case her Dad belted him.”
“Oh, right,” said Neil. “Geoff Mercer called Friday night to tell me about Culverhouse and Gardiner. Dad always reckoned Culverhouse was rotten. I wish I could tell him he was right, and he will get his comeuppance.”
Luke Sherman was last through the door. The full CRT complement, for now, was in the building. Gus wanted to get things started.
“I gave the Malone case a lot of thought at the weekend. I kept thinking we missed something and I may have stumbled on it. We’ll re-interview Jenny Malone and Patrick Boddington today. The other people we need to speak to are Julian Drummond and any owners of show dogs Mark Malone contacted often. Lydia, can you analyse those detailed phone records again and select a handful? That should be enough to learn the scale of this smuggling operation. By the end of today, I hope we’ll understand the motive behind the murder.”
“I’ll chase Drummond,” said Lydia, “he promised us a list of people Mark might have visited on his way to Newbury.”
“Who’s going with you today, guv,” asked Luke.
“I’d like you with me, Luke. Neil, you can read through the Freeman Files and familiarise yourself with the case, and help Lydia fix up interviews. When Luke and I get back, you can give us your impressions of what we’ve learned so far. A fresh look at the evidence will confirm or deny the niggle I’ve suffered this past few days. These follow-up interviews should offer a fresh perspective.”
Luke called Jenny Malone and Patrick Boddington to tell them they were on their way.
Gus rang Geoff Mercer and asked whether there was enough money in the budget for the additional items the CRT needed in the coming weeks.
Gus could still hear the laughter after ending the call.
Perhaps the new Police Surgeon wouldn’t miss the odd item from Peter Morgan’s office. There was little point considering Sandra Plunkett’s furniture. It would be far too grand for the Old Police Station, and the ACC would have removed anything worth having already.
“Do you have a particular line of enquiry to follow this morning, guv,” asked Luke as they reached the car park.
“I spent time with DI Ferris on Saturday afternoon running through the interviews we carried out. Suzie thought it suspicious that Mark Malone, a devout animal-lover, went into business with people such as Emir Polat. To her, it suggested Mark didn’t rely on the gang’s money to pay for his BMW. This morning, I hope to learn the truth. Jenny and Patrick either lied to us directly or by omission.”
Jenny Malone answered the door with little enthusiasm when they reached Combe Down. Gus didn’t think she enjoyed having her morning interrupted. He started in with his questions before she had time to sit.
“When my colleague and I came to see you last week,” said Gus, “you mentioned your husband, Gerry. How old is he now?”
“Sixty-six,” said Jenny.
“Gerry was twelve years older than you when you married. I imagine he was well-established in his profession. He was an architect, you said.”
“Gerry worked for a major construction firm. He earned good money.”
“When did you go into business? This employment agency you run from home, was that in existence thirty years ago?”
“I worked as an office temp when I met Gerry,” said Jenny. “I planned to stay home with Mark until he started playschool and then resume work. Gerry suggested I combined temping with the agency. After two years, I stopped working for someone else. It’s been a successful business. What’s this got to do with Mark’s murder?”
Luke wondered the same thing.
“Can you remember any projects Gerry worked on in the late Seventies, early Eighties?” asked Gus.
“Gerry’s firm had dozens of minor projects on the go back then. Their bread and butter work was in Marlborough Lane, of course.”
Now we’re getting to it, Gus thought.
“That’s where Mark’s flat was, am I right?”
Luke sensed that question unsettled Jenny. He wondered why. Those beautiful old houses converted into flats were very desirable.
“Marlborough Lane, yes,” said Gus, “a mixture of old properties and new builds. The old houses first got converted into flats at the end of the Sixties, I believe.”
“They didn’t all get done at the same time,” said Jenny, “and by the Eighties, buyers wanted new kitchens and bathrooms, a different styling. Gerry’s firm went backwards and forwards upgrading those flats for years. That’s what I meant by their bread and butter.”
“Certain professionals in Gerry’s line of work get options as part of their salary package. Is that how Gerry acquired the flat?”
“He had an option to buy one of the flats at cost price. Gerry exercised that option and put the flat in my name when Mark was born in 1985. He was ecstatic with having a son. We had no trouble renting it out. Gerry and I argued over it eighteen years later after he walked out. The solicitors thrashed out a deal as part of the divorce, and I became Mark’s landlady when he moved in.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this last week?” asked Gus.
Jenny shrugged.
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“It was relevant, though, wasn’t it? I kept asking myself how Mark afforded that BMW. You told me he didn’t ask for money towards it. What arrangement did you come to with Mark? Did he pay a peppercorn rent? Your business is successful. You didn’t need the money. If things got tight, you could sell this place and downsize.”
“It was legal and above board,” said Jenny Malone, “Mark paid me one pound per calendar month until he died.”
“At least a thousand pounds below the going rate,” said Luke.
“It was my property; I could do what I liked,” said Jenny. “Once the police finished with their investigations, I rented it to a couple. It’s never been empty.”
“Did Patrick Boddington know you
were Mark’s landlady?” asked Gus.
“Of course, he did,” said Jenny, “they were close. We established that.”
“Patrick omitted to tell us,” said Gus, “and that suggests the two of you agreed to hide that knowledge from us.”
“If you say so,” said Jenny.
“If you’re hiding something, we will discover it, Mrs Malone,” said Gus.
Jenny Malone stared out of the window. Whatever she was hiding wouldn’t see the light of day without a fight. Gus decided that it didn’t relate to the murder case.
“What did you learn in there, guv?” asked Luke when they returned to the car.
“Mark saved a fortune, regardless of how much lower rents might have been back in 2005. No wonder he could afford that car. We learned money wasn’t the motivator for Mark when Emir Polat spoke to him at a show about the smuggled dogs. Something else attracted him to the enterprise. He loved dogs, so their welfare was all-important to him.”
“Mark thought he could save the dogs, guv. Is that it? God, that was risky with people like Turgut and Demir involved.”
“Get us into the city, Luke. Let’s see whether Patrick Boddington will sing for his supper.”
The walk from the car park to the Abbey Courtyard took a different route with Luke as his guide. Gus wondered how many narrow streets and alleyways there were in the city. The gallery door was open, and two American tourists appeared to be concluding a purchase. The smile on Patrick’s face was so broad that Gus wondered whether they’d bought the place outright.
Gus and Luke waited while the corpulent Californian couple waddled from the gallery with their purchase. One beautifully wrapped oil painting. Gus spotted a gap on the wall. They’d paid eight hundred pounds for a portrait of the Abbey. He’d admired it last week when he was here, but not to the tune of eight hundred pounds.
“What did you forget to ask me?” asked Patrick, casting an appreciative eye over Luke. Gus noticed that Patrick wore the same suit as last week. The keffiyeh was a sandy yellow, to match his spectacles.
“We wanted to clear up a couple of points,” said Gus, “first, Mark’s secret phone. You flicked through its contents. Is there any chance you noted the numbers?”
“I might have scribbled them down before I threw the phone away,” replied Patrick, “where that note would be now, I struggle to think.”
“Struggle harder,” said Gus. “We can wait.”
“Before you dash off,” said Luke, “you told us Mark said he didn’t know the driver of the grey BMW who banged on his window at the JET garage. Was that the truth?”
“That was what Mark said. Why would I lie about something like that?”
“In that case,” said Gus, “the only way they could have handed Mark that phone, was for Emir Polat to visit Bath.”
“Is that the Emir Pompey from the contact list?” asked Patrick.
“Yes, his proper name was Emir Polat. Why?” asked Luke.
“There’s a greengrocer behind Southgate Street whose family name is Polat.”
“It’s a common enough surname among Turkish Cypriots,” said Gus, “he may be related to that family. We have most of the pieces of the jigsaw now. Have you remembered where you put those numbers yet, Mr Boddington?”
“In my office. It might take a minute.”
“DS Sherman can go with you. I’ll keep an eye on the shop, sorry gallery.”
Luke and Patrick returned in less than a minute. Luke had both numbers that Mark used to contact the gang.
“We’ll leave you now, Mr Boddington,” said Gus. “One last thing, why did you omit to tell us Jenny Malone was the landlady responsible for refreshing the paintwork and finding new tenants for her late son’s flat?”
Patrick Boddington shook his head.
“Jenny Malone asked me never to reveal the owner’s name.”
“Is that the best you can do?” asked Gus.
“You came here to ask about Mark’s murder. I’ve answered your questions on that matter. The other subject has nothing to do with his death. I can’t help you, I’m afraid.”
“I told Mrs Malone we would discover what she’s hiding,” said Gus.
“Well, when you do, you’ll discover that it’s nothing to do with me.”
Patrick Boddington stood by the door of the gallery and waited for them to leave. Once they were outside in the Courtyard, he locked the door and lowered the blind.
“Eight hundred pounds must be a good enough reason to pack it in for the day,” said Gus, “I bet he’s calling Jenny Malone now, what d’you reckon?”
“It doesn’t relate to the murder,” said Luke. “I reckon she told HMRC she was only collecting a peppercorn rent on the Marlborough Lane property after declaring the earnings from 1985. When that young couple moved in three years ago, she never mentioned she was earning twelve hundred pounds a month in rent. Do you think I’m on the right track?”
“Almost there, Luke,” said Gus, “one more step.”
“Patrick guessed that was the reason behind Jenny not wanting her name revealed as the owner when the police came calling. She pays him a sweetener every month out of her ill-gotten gains. It fits with Patrick’s claim that he only scrapes by on what he earns through the gallery.”
“Is there an honest person left in this world, Luke? Everyone’s at it,” said Gus. “Time to get back to the office. Let’s see what Lydia and Neil make of this.”
Forty-five minutes later, Gus and Luke rode up to the first floor of the Old Police Station.
Lydia was in conversation on the phone. Neil Davis seemed eager to pass on information.
“Lydia started on that phone list, guv, so I spoke to Julian Drummond. He sounded an odd bloke.”
“What did he have to say?”
“Well, because I needed him to put names to faces for me, I arranged to Skype him, and he’s even odder when you see him in the flesh, isn’t he?”
Gus had to agree.
“Drummond was at a dog show in East Sussex the first time the gang members appeared in October 2013. He remembers Polat talking to half a dozen dog owners and wondered what they wanted. I’ve passed the names to Lydia so she can follow up.”
“Excellent idea,” said Gus.
“Drummond said he’d done his usual thing at these shows, taking photographs at every opportunity. The big bloke, probably Mehmet Demir, came across and threatened him because he thought Drummond had taken photos of him. Then the smooth talker, Polat, came over and asked Drummond about his King Charles Spaniel. Did Drummond take his dogs to shows? Would he be interested in taking deliveries of the most popular breeds if he could get them at a bargain price? Drummond didn’t like the look of the big guy and told the pair he wasn’t interested.”
“Sensible move,” said Luke.
“Drummond heard from other owners that Polat reckoned he needed a valid customer address for the animals he brought in,” said Neil.
“What about quarantine laws?” asked Luke. “The entire set-up should have sounded dodgy from the start.”
“Go back, Neil,” said Gus. “Did Julian Drummond catch either Polat or Demir in those photos?”
“Yes, guv,” said Neil, “he’s forwarding everything he has for us. They appeared at other shows, and Drummond believes they’re in the background on several photos he took. He’s also sending the list of owners and breeders that live along the route Malone drove that Saturday evening.”
“Well done,” said Gus, “We’ll have positive confirmation it was the same gang. It would help if Turgut appeared at least once.”
Lydia got off the phone and showed Gus comments she’d received from owners who agreed to take part.
“I’ve spoken to one lady from Godalming, who’s been showing dogs for thirty years. Gillian Corden, no relation, told me she agreed at first to take Labrador puppies from the man who approached her. She felt so intimidated by his companion that she would have agreed to anything just to get rid of them.”
; “How soon before she heard from them again?” asked Gus.
“The ugly brute delivered the phone to her kennels two weeks later. That was how Mrs Corden described him, guv.”
“Does she still have the phone?” asked Gus. “How often did they call her? How many Labradors has she bought from them?”
“That’s just it, guv. Someone called to tell Gillian the deliveries got delayed. She rang back querying when things would run to schedule. Mrs Corden had her first delivery of six puppies in August 2014. Gillian asked for twelve, but Polat told her that was impossible.”
“So, the first contact was the previous October,” said Gus, “the phone then arrived two weeks later. Mark’s phone started receiving calls in February. Check whether that coincides with when Gillian Corden got activity on her phone. Ask how many deliveries she received and on which dates.”
“I’ll get back to her for more details, but it sounded as if she had four deliveries in total. Each delivery produced fewer puppies than promised. Mrs Corden only paid for the number she received, which was a bonus.”
“Was she happy with the condition of the dogs when they arrived?” asked Luke.
“The dogs were healthy and had the necessary paperwork,” said Lydia, “the only thing she thought odd was the puppies looked older than the certification stated.”
“I imagine Mrs Corden said nothing to the gang because she got the puppies dirt cheap and always found willing buyers for cute puppies,” said Gus.
“We need to dig deeper into this puppy trade, guv,” said Neil, “do you want me to look?”
“Luke enlightened me last week on the lucrative trade in the exotic breeds, Neil. Take a close look at Portsmouth and see if there’s more to this than meets the eye. Why go to the bother of setting up this network of dealers if Polat could only import two dozen Labrador puppies for Mrs Corden in twelve months? Even if Mark and the other owners Polat recruited took similar amounts of differing breeds, it’s still peanuts.”
“This has been a strange case from the outset, hasn’t it, guv,” said Lydia. “First, it got written off as road rage. Then, because the same weapon killed Mark Allison, there was a vague suggestion it might be another case of mistaken identity.”