by Ted Tayler
CHAPTER 3
Gus glanced at the clock on the office wall. It was almost ten-thirty.
“Do we have everything ready to take to London Road,” he asked.
“Five minutes, guv,” said Lydia. “Sorry, I’m still buzzing after the weekend.”
“I look forward to hearing about it later in the week,” said Gus. “If time allows. Until I’ve met with the ACC, I have no clue which case is in his in-tray for us this time.”
Five minutes later, the relevant files were ready. Gus walked to the lift and headed to the car park. As soon as he was safely off the premises, Lydia gave the gang a minute by minute account of their adventure. It was too good to keep quiet any longer.
Meanwhile, Gus eased the Focus into the mid-morning traffic and headed for Devizes.
The sun always shines on the righteous, he thought, as he pulled off the London Road and into the visitor’s car park. The upstairs window at the far left of the building caught the full blast of the morning sun. Kenneth Truelove stood, jacketless, in his customary position, staring at the worker ants.
Gus always found it difficult to gauge whether the ACC was in a good mood from his vantage point on the car park asphalt. Discretion persuaded Gus to trot up the steps and get upstairs as soon as possible. He would keep the delay at Seend because of roadworks to himself.
It was so regular an excuse that he didn’t think that the ACC believed a word even though genuine. As he reached the admin area on the first floor, the clock had ticked on to seven minutes past eleven. Gus gave a brief wave to Vera and Kassie, pointed to his watch, and tapped on the ACC’s door.
“Come,” said Kenneth Truelove.
“Geoff Mercer not here this morning, sir?” asked Gus realising he was the ACC’s only visitor this morning.
“Mercer has been and gone, Freeman,” said the ACC. “He appreciates how busy my role is these days.”
Ouch, thought Gus. No need to guess which mood he’s in.
“My team struggled to get the details together in time,” said Gus. “Neil Davis and Luke Sherman worked on the case in South Wales on Saturday. We should congratulate them for going the extra mile to tie up loose ends on the case, plus they reunited Mrs Kendall and her daughter. An excellent result, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“Well, if you put it like that, I suppose,” said the ACC. He was out of his seat and back by the window.
“Do you believe Cardiff Central can pin the murder on these Corbett characters?”
“They have more than enough, sir,” said Gus. “Westbury is also in receipt of fresh evidence showing that the Corbett brothers knocked Sid Dyer off his motorcycle with their van too. Everyone’s a winner.”
“Not me,” said Kenneth Truelove, “It’s me that has to explain the unauthorised overtime that you sanctioned on Saturday. The bean counters don’t credit us for solving a murder that’s been on the books for four years. They’re more interested in the financial implications. As for Dyer, that got ruled an accident. Now you’ve uncovered evidence that proves it was deliberate, is that right?”
Gus nodded.
“There you are,” groaned the ACC. “That will rebound on me too. Unravelling the packaged paperwork on that caper will cost a pretty penny. Also, it doesn’t show the original verdict from the coroner in a good light. I wish you looked before you leap, Freeman. We spent years fostering good relations with various branches of the justice department, and in a matter of months you ride roughshod through the lot of them highlighting their inefficiencies.”
“We do our best, sir,” said Gus. “Might I ask a question?”
“Does it involve an expense that will bankrupt the force?”
“I hope not, sir. When I was telling DI Williams the good news this morning, I was thinking about the dogs.”
Kenneth Truelove had returned to his desk and was leafing through the files in the folder on his desk.
“Bubble and Squeak?”
“The very same, sir,” said Gus. “Dai Williams is interviewing the brothers as we speak. He anticipates requiring several sessions to bring them to their senses. The chances are that the dogs didn’t last long after Ivan Kendall’s murder. There was no sign of any dogs when the brothers got picked up in Tredegar.”
“Why the concern?” asked the ACC.
“After investigating the Malone case, I realised that dogs were important to people in more ways than I imagined. My parents never had pets in the home when I was a kid. I didn’t think to ask whether it was because we couldn’t afford them, or they had an aversion to animals. Then I uncovered that dreadful drug smuggling business where innocent pups had quantities of heroin sewn inside their bodies. When we dug into this latest case, it was another opportunity for the dogs' illegal use that proved to be the motive for Kendall’s death. I had no idea that dogfighting was still an issue, especially since the Dangerous Dogs Act got passed in 1991.”
“What do you think you can do, Freeman,” said Kenneth Truelove. “It’s not the Crime Review Team’s role to chase organisers of illegal dog fights. Geoff Mercer has people he can assign to that dirty business when it raises its head on our patch.”
“Where is Geoff Mercer, anyway?” asked Gus. “It is ages since I had a conversation with him. We keep missing one another here at London Road.”
The ACC was wandering again. He stood by the window and rested on the sill.
“There was a genuine reason for his absence at first,” said the ACC. “Geoff attended a course on a new initiative that the Police and Crime Commissioner championed. The usual rubbish. Typical of Mercer, he shone in the sessions he attended and attracted someone’s attention. Now, West Mercia is headhunting him for a vacant Assistant Chief Constable’s position.”
“That’s good news, isn’t it?” said Gus. “Although I’ll be sorry to see him go.”
“It was selfish of me, I admit,” sighed Kenneth Truelove, “but, as you know, I’d set my heart on retirement at the end of next year. After Sandra Plunkett’s demise, the PCC twisted my arm to become Acting Chief Constable until the dust settled, and the right candidate turned up.”
“You were hoping to keep Geoff Mercer at London Road by putting his name forward to the PCC, am I right?”
“Yes, my wife reluctantly agreed to put up with a Chief Constable working after he’d agreed to retire and start cruising the high seas. I informed the PCC that I would carry on as long as he needed me, provided he made the promotion permanent. I was biding my time to engineer Mercer’s upgrade when the PCC suddenly dropped the diversity initiative on me. When I looked around at my senior team, the only name that made sense was Mercer. So, I told the PCC that Geoff would be the right chap to attend. Of course, the glowing comments that have filtered back from the course mean that the PCC now says my choice was inspired and keeps telling me it proves what a good Chief Constable I will make. I’ve shot myself in the foot, Freeman.”
“How does Geoff Mercer feel about leaving London Road?” asked Gus. “I reckon Christine would have reservations.”
“I’ve never told Mercer that I planned to ensure he stayed close to me if I accepted the late boost up the ladder,” said Kenneth Truelove. “If I had, he might have dismissed the approach from West Mercia out of hand. If I mention it now, he’ll think it’s just an eleventh-hour attempt to hold on to him.”
“Is Geoff determined to leave?” asked Gus.
“I don’t know,” said the ACC. “He spends as little time in my office as possible. He confines our conversation to the matter at hand. Mercer dashed off earlier to avoid seeing you.”
“I was a few minutes late,” said Gus. “I apologised.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” said the ACC. “Geoff was itching to leave. He knows that when the two of you get together, he relaxes and he’s scared that if you get a sniff of what’s going on, you won’t let him leave until you worm it out of him.”
“He’s a friend,” said Gus, “not that I ever thought I’d say that. Now
I know there’s a danger that he’ll disappear to another part of the country, I’ll say my piece when I catch up with him. He’d be a fool to leave London Road. With you at the helm, and Geoff as one of your ACC’s, it would have the makings of a dream team.”
“I never know when to take you seriously, Freeman. Is this another of your wind-ups?”
“Don’t be daft, sir. You’ve always been a great copper, the archetypal administrator. The role you’ve kept trying to avoid is tailor-made for a man of your calibre. The other officers on the same ACC rung of the ladder are dedicated professionals, but they don’t have the gravitas you possess. Mercer is the perfect piece of the jigsaw to complete the Wiltshire picture. We need to work together to make sure it happens.”
“We agree on something at last,” smiled Kenneth Truelove. “It might need work, but I can see a way forward now. Thank you, Freeman. Now, back to business.”
“Why am I bothered over the fate of the dogs? It must be old age. According to villagers in Pontyclun that I spoke to, they could be vicious little beggars, yet those puppies adored Lexie Kendall. The more I heard of Lexie’s experiences, the more I wanted to do something that brought a smile to her face.”
“It might sound lucky, Freeman, but I met a chap at our church the other Sunday. He’s the editor of a newspaper. Once a month, we invite people with a heart-warming story to share with our congregation instead of a sermon. When we chatted after morning service, he told me he knew of an investigative reporter who would have more to offer on the subject you mentioned, but he’d never get them to agree to appear in public.”
“They work undercover, I take it?” said Gus.
“Quite, and when I pressed him further, he told me they were investigating the widespread incidence of illegal dog fights. This reporter’s cover name is Mitch. I have a phone number for the editor. Would you like me to call him to see if he can set up a meeting between the two of you? It sounds as if you could get a better insight into the business from someone who’s been at the sharp end.”
“It would be a start,” said Gus. “After I’ve met with this Mitch, I need your blessing to attend an interview with Dai Williams. Let’s call it a quid pro quo for my help keeping Geoff Mercer on our doorstep.”
“You had better hope DI Williams gets the Corbett twins to open up then, Freeman,” said the ACC. “I will allow you to travel to Cardiff to sit in on an interview with the accused, but you will need to tread carefully. Remember what it says on that ID card of yours.”
“Consultant, sir,” said Gus, “how could I forget.”
“I have another cold case here ready for your attention,” said the ACC. “Is your team ready to start work on it straight away in your absence?”
“My brief meeting with this Mitch person and a half-day in South Wales won’t disrupt operations at the Old Police Station office, sir. We can handle it.”
“If you think he’s up to the job, get DS Hardy to take control while you’re off-site,” said the ACC.
“Good idea, sir,” said Gus. “Right, what am I looking at?”
“It’s a departure for the Crime Review Team, Freeman. So far, the team has only dealt with the murder of adults. This case concerns a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl, Stacey Read, who went missing for ten days before her body turned up in the Wilts & Berks Canal in February 2015. Stacey had been stabbed twice, in the chest and stomach, before drowning in the water. Her body was partially clothed. Swindon detectives suspected a sexual motive in her killing. However, despite a high-profile investigation, the case remains unsolved.”
“Where in Swindon was this?” asked Gus, “I’m struggling to remember the case.”
“You had other things on your mind, Freeman. You were coming to terms with your wife’s death. It’s no surprise that this case has slipped your memory. The Wilts & Berks is a canal linking the Kennet & Avon Canal to the Thames at Abingdon. The North Wilts Canal merged with it to become a branch to the Thames and Severn Canal near Cricklade.”
“Surely, far too much of those old waterways have dried up, or got built over to get resurrected?”
“You might think so, but experts believe we’ll get forced back to the water when the fossil fuels run out. A living, breathing canal through the middle of several towns would boost tourism and do wonders for the local economy.”
“Do these dreamers remember who it was that dug those trenches in the first place? Fat chance of getting several thousand Irish navvies over to rectify the damage.”
“That’s as may be, Freeman,” said the ACC. “they found the body at a place called Rushey Platt. It’s a wooded area, with a nature reserve, and a stretch of the old canal. The nearest main road is the A3102, which connects Swindon to Royal Wootton Bassett.”
“Okay, I’m getting my bearings now,” said Gus. “Where did the victim live?”
“Stacey lived with her mother, Debbie, and younger sister, Lucy off Chapel Street, Gorse Hill.”
“How far is that from where they found the body?” asked Gus.
“Three miles, a ten-minute drive,” said Kenneth Truelove.
“Stacey was stabbed twice and drowned. Was she dead before she went into the water? Did the detectives at Gablecross determine whether the murder took place at Rushey Platt, or did the initial attack occur elsewhere? Do we have that information?”
“The evidence pointed to everything having taken place at Rushey Platt,” said the ACC. “I’m sure you’ll find the details you want in the murder file.”
“Anything significant on the family unit?” asked Gus. “You didn’t mention a father living at the address in Gorse Hill. Was the family known to the police?”
“Stacey and Lucy often stayed overnight with close relatives. Debbie has a sister who lives in Penhill, two streets across from Stacey’s grandmother. They’re named Vanessa Nicholls and Mary Bennett. On Sunday, the eighth of February, the last day that friends and family saw Stacey, the two girls spent the day at their grandmother’s house in Penhill. At around six in the evening, Stacey took her eleven-year-old sister back to the family home off Chapel Street. There didn’t appear to be any cause for concern. Debbie said that Stacey was her normal sensible self and reminded her mother to leave the bus fare on the kitchen table in the morning for the girls to get to school the next day.”
“Did Gablecross check with the school, or neighbours, whether Stacey was as level-headed or sensible as her mother claimed?” asked Gus.
“They did, and in the weeks leading up to her death, Stacey played truant. She was street-smart for a thirteen-year-old and preferred to hang out with friends on the nearby estate. When she left home on Sunday evening at seven, Debbie thought Stacey stayed the night at her sister, Vanessa’s house. Stacey never arrived at the house in Penhill, and she didn’t turn up for school the next morning.”
“When did her mother report her missing?” asked Gus.
“On Wednesday morning,” said the ACC. “As soon as she returned from work that evening, Debbie started looking for Stacey herself. She didn’t think the officer she spoke with took the matter seriously.”
“Was that because the officer knew the family?” asked Gus. “If Stacey mixed with the wrong sort on the nearby estate, he could have thought that going missing for a few days wasn’t unusual behaviour.”
“We can’t know for certain what Stacey got up to, but the family had never been in trouble with the law. One witness that Debbie Read discovered said she saw Stacey arguing with a lad near the allotments near Redpost Drive.”
“I think I’ve driven past that allotment site,” said Gus. “It’s huge compared to the one at Urchfont. There’s a large family pub nearby too that got refurbished around five years ago. They make an excellent Sunday lunch. How far was that sighting from where the murder took place?”
“If Stacey and her killer accessed the nature reserve from Redpost Drive, then it’s half a mile from the main road.”
“The argument could have been unrelated,” said Gu
s. “Her body lay in the canal until Wednesday the eighteenth, am I right?”
“That’s correct,” said the ACC. “The autopsy confirmed that Stacey’s body had been in the water for over a week. Detectives proceeded with their investigation, assuming that the murder took place on Sunday evening. There were no confirmed sightings of Stacey after the one that Debbie found.”
“Do we have a record of the time when Stacey argued with the boy?” asked Gus.
“Between seven-thirty and eight,” said the ACC.
“How did she get there? Her mother confirmed that she left home around seven o’clock. It would take far longer than that to walk that distance. Stacey must have caught a bus, or someone picked her up in a car. Was there any hint of an older boyfriend?”
“Swindon has excellent public transport,” said Kenneth Truelove, “Stacey could have travelled between her home and Redpost Drive on a Sunday evening. The witness didn’t mention a car being in the vicinity. The youngster arguing with Stacey was around her age, according to Debbie. There’s nothing in the murder file concerning boyfriends of any age.”
“It’s not going well, is it?” sighed Gus. “What persuaded Stacey to change her mind about going to stay with her Aunt Vanessa? The story so far suggests it wasn’t unusual for Stacey to stay overnight with her. We’ll learn why that was later. I must speak to Vanessa Nicholls to confirm, but if Debbie was happy for Stacey to leave home at seven on a cold February evening, she expected that she’d go straight to Vanessa’s house.”
“Penhill is in the opposite direction to Rushey Platt,” said the ACC, “and Stacey could get there in fifteen minutes if she hopped on a bus.”
“What was the witness doing out at that time?” asked Gus.
“The usual, walking the dog,” said the ACC. “The lady was on the other side of the road and saw two kids aged between thirteen and fifteen arguing under a street lamp.”
“How did she know it was Stacey? Did she recognise her?”
“Debbie Read told police that the witness had a son and daughter who attended the same school. Debbie described the clothing Stacey wore when she left home, and the woman said that it matched what she’d seen.”