The Wrecking Bar

by Meurig Jones

  ‘How did he die?’

  ‘They think the boat was scuttled, probably by the owner himself – perhaps by deliberately hitting some rocks. Or maybe it was an accident. They can’t be certain at this stage.’

  ‘I presume he drowned?’

  Marden nodded.

  ‘So I guess,’ Lambert said with a tight smile, ‘he had a perfect alibi during the time of Yalding’s murder. Unless that little craft of his was a power boat in disguise.’

  Ignoring Lambert’s sarcasm, Marden glanced at his watch. ‘I think that’s all for now. I suggest you get your team to find these other sex offenders and keep them under surveillance.’

  ‘Do we have the resources for that?’

  ‘I hope so. Needs must and all that. I’m seeing the assistant chief constable in—’ He made a show of checking his watch again ‘— precisely three minutes’ time.’

  Lambert’s cue to leave. He stood up and walked to the door. Marden surprised him by saying, ‘If Mayfield killed himself, was that from guilt, fear or both, do you suppose?’

  Lambert shrugged. ‘We may never know. But the end result is the same.’

  Marden sniffed and said, ‘Yes, that’s precisely the sort of existential response I would have expected from you, Harry.’

  As Lambert left police headquarters and walked across the car park, he thought about Mayfield and the young boy from the photograph. He seriously doubted they would ever find out what had happened to the youngster, and he knew the knowledge was lost, drowned with Mayfield in his watery grave. Another unsolved. Another missing child. He hoped Mayfield had suffered in those last moments as he fought for breath.

  As he got behind the wheel of his car, his mobile, which he’d switched to ‘vibrate’ for his meeting with Marden, alerted him to a call. It was DC Jones, getting straight to the point in a voice that told him she had got a result.

  ‘Harry! I thought you’d like to know that Rhiannon Williams lied about her surname. I checked with DVLA, and her Land Rover is registered to Rhiannon Lloyd. And guess who her husband is.’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘His name’s Gavin Lloyd, the producer who runs Green Valley Productions, the company who made the documentary about the sex offenders.’

  ‘So he was Mark Yalding’s employer.’

  ‘Yes, and I wonder if he knows Yalding was having an affair with his wife.’

  ‘I think I need to have a word with this Gavin Lloyd.’

  ‘I thought you might. Would you like his office phone number and address? Green Valley Productions is based in central Cardiff.’

  ‘Yes. Hang on a second while I grab pen and paper.’

  After he had scribbled the address on to his notepad, Debbie asked him if he’d like her to accompany him there.

  ‘Sorry, Debbie, but I’d like you to help Tony with his enquiries and the chief super wants the other remaining sex offenders traced.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘You planning on ringing this Gavin Lloyd’s office before you shoot over there, just in case he’s out?’

  As he turned the ignition key, he replied, ‘If he employs other staff, I wouldn’t mind a word with them. And if he is there, far better to arrive without due warning.’

  SEVENTEEN

  SEARCHING FOR THE fertilizer factory on the small industrial estate on the outskirts of Carmarthen, Tony Ellis drove past the entrance and came to a dead end in the road, realizing he’d missed the small lane leading to Hallam Biofeed.

  He turned the car round in a three-point turn, intending to drive up the lane to the small factory, but had to brake sharply as a vehicle hurtled out of the lane as if it was being driven by a reckless boy racer. But it wasn’t that which had caused Ellis to slam on the brakes so violently.

  The vehicle was a small unmarked white van.

  And it was being driven by Norman McNeil, the self-appointed vigilante.

  Entering the reception area of Green Valley Productions, Lambert quickly noted the subdued ambience of media sophistication: the expensive brown leather L-shaped sofa; the silver-framed original watercolours and industry awards certificates; the large pot plant in an exquisite ceramic tub that dominated the water cooler, as it was clearly intended to.

  The receptionist, a brunette in her early thirties, looked up and caught Lambert’s eye as soon as he entered, offering him a warm smile from straight gleaming teeth that looked cosmetically enhanced. She had a slightly masculine face, softened by skilfully applied make-up, and her sequin studded T-shirt would have looked more suitable on a club dancefloor. She spoke in what Lambert recognized as a toned-down Cardiff dialect.

  ‘Good morning. Can I help you?’

  ‘I’d like to see Gavin Lloyd.’

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise and glanced at her desk diary. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  Lambert held his warrant card in front of her. ‘Detective Inspector Lambert, CID. I’d like to speak with Mr Lloyd as soon as possible.’

  Lambert noticed the curiosity in her eyes as she digested this information, and he might have been wrong but he thought he detected a slight gloating, evident in her private smile. That, and the way she eagerly grabbed the phone.

  ‘Hold on a minute, will you?’

  She lifted the receiver and pressed the internal button. Lambert watched her, wondering how much she knew about what went on in the company.

  ‘Gavin,’ she said as soon as she was connected, ‘I have a Detective Inspector Lambert to see you. He hasn’t got an appointment but says it’s important.’ She paused, listening, and made eye contact with Lambert. ‘Yes, I’ll tell him.’

  As soon as she replaced the receiver, she said, ‘Please take a seat. Gavin’s just got one quick phone call to make and he’ll be right with you. He won’t keep you long. Can I get you anything? Tea or coffee?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  He turned away, sank into the leather sofa, and caught the receptionist studying him.

  ‘How long have you worked here?’ he asked her.

  She tilted her head up, remembering. ‘Let’s see, it must be a good four years last March.’

  ‘Have you been involved with many television dramas?’

  ‘I have, funnily enough. I don’t just do reception work. I’ve always wanted to go into the production side of things. We’re a small company, so I guess I’m like a sort of Girl Friday.’

  ‘What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s Jackie Dearlove.’

  Lambert smiled. ‘Nice name. And what are you working on at the moment, Jackie?’

  A slight hesitation before she pulled a wry face and said, ‘It’s been deathly quiet for months now. Gavin’s got a few things he’s pitching but nothing definite in the pipeline.’

  Lambert studied the framed BAFTA certificates, showing Green Valley’s nominations for various categories, all of them more than ten years old.

  ‘Must be a hard old business to work in. One minute you’re flavour of the month, and the next….’ He gave her a palms-up gesture, letting the incomplete sentence do its work, hoping she would open up about the state of Green Valley Productions.

  Lowering her voice, she started to say, ‘The last two drama productions …’, but was interrupted by the buzz of the phone.

  Lambert glanced at his watch. It was just gone 11.30. Hopefully he’d be able to question Gavin Lloyd for a good half-hour. He fully expected the producer to be open to answering all his questions, seeing as Tony Ellis got the impression that he had an enormous ego and liked nothing better than to talk about himself.

  Jackie, receptionist and Girl Friday, hung up the phone and pointed to a door marked Private to the side of the reception desk. ‘If you’d like to go through there, Gavin will be pleased to see you. Sorry to keep you.’

  Lambert got up, nodded and smiled his thanks, gave a tap on the door and entered. Just as he knew the producer might not be shy and retiring, he wasn’t prepared for
such a demonstrative greeting.

  Gavin Lloyd leapt up from the seat behind his desk, bounded forward, offered Lambert his hand, and spoke as if they might have been old and cherished acquaintances. ‘Good to meet you, Inspector Lambert. I hope you found my documentary interesting.’

  Lambert shook his hand. ‘Yes, thank you for your co-operation. It was very useful.’

  ‘Good, good,’ Lloyd replied, gesturing for Lambert to take a seat. As soon as he was seated behind his desk, he surveyed the detective with a confident stare that bordered on rudeness.

  If Lambert were to hazard a guess, he would put Lloyd’s age at forty-nine or fifty, roughly the same age as his wife Rhiannon. He was of average height, with undulating waves of floppy brown hair, almost too uniform in colour, showing no signs of middle-aged grey. His face, although round, was not fat, and his complexion was ruddy, cheerful and healthy-looking, and pale blue bedroom eyes peered out from under half-shut lids and long lashes. He wore an expensive-looking pale blue shirt and yellow silk tie, and had removed his suit jacket, which was draped over the back of his swivel chair.

  ‘And now how can I be of assistance, Inspector?’

  ‘I’m investigating the murder of one of your employees – Mark Yalding.’

  Lloyd looked down at his desktop, his face a mask of seriousness. ‘A terrible tragedy. I saw it on last night’s news. I still haven’t taken it in. Mark may have compromised himself with that sleazy business of the child porn, but the punishment didn’t fit the crime. What an awful thing to do to anyone.’

  ‘He was no longer an employee of yours, I believe. How long ago did he leave your employ?’

  ‘Let me see. Roughly speaking, I think he finished about two months ago.’

  ‘And what was the reason for his leaving?’

  ‘I sacked him.’

  ‘I see. Did he have a contract of employment?’

  ‘He did, yes.’

  ‘So why did you sack him?’

  ‘Over the downloading of child pornography.’

  Lambert rubbed his chin thoughtfully, play-acting uncertainty. ‘Now let me get this straight: it was reported in some of the papers that you sacked Mr Yalding after his arrest, saying that you had warned him about the internet pornography. But now you’re telling me you sacked him almost two months prior to his arrest.’

  Lloyd raised his hands in surrender. ‘If I gave that impression, I have to take the blame. But have you ever known reporters to get their facts right? Let’s face it, half the time they make it up.’

  ‘Forgive me, Mr Lloyd, but you just told me you sacked him because he was downloading child pornography, yet this wasn’t revealed by the press until Saturday, only two days ago.’

  Lloyd sighed impatiently, as if he was dealing with someone who couldn’t grasp an obvious concept. ‘Two months ago he told me he was going to follow up the documentary by writing a book on the subject and was planning his research, part of which involved downloading child pornography. We had an argument about it. I said it was morally wrong. If there was no market for child pornography, then there might be less child abuse. But he wouldn’t listen, and I told him he was sacked. When he threatened me with an industrial tribunal, I retaliated by threatening him with public exposure about the child pornography.’

  ‘But he had only spoken to you about downloading porn at that stage,’ Lambert said. ‘Hardly a strong enough reason for dismissal as far as a tribunal was concerned. He might have changed his mind.’

  ‘You must understand, Inspector, this goes back a long way. This child abuse had become an obsession with him. It was his idea in the first place to make that documentary. And during the making of it he wanted to download child porn – for research purposes, he said. I managed to persuade him against it at the time.’

  Lambert decided it was time to go for his wrongfooting tactic.

  ‘Who do you think was responsible for leaking your documentary sex offenders’ details to the Sun?’

  Gavin Lloyd’s face was expressionless, stilled by Lambert’s question. After a brief hiatus, he shrugged and said, ‘I have no idea. They could have got the names of the sex offenders from some other source.’

  ‘It seems too much of a coincidence that each one who appeared anonymously in your film was named by the paper. And I tend not to believe in coincidences. How many staff do you employ?’

  ‘Well, up until fairly recently there was Mark Yalding and Jackie – who you met in reception and has been with me some time. And I can’t see Jackie doing something like that. But although we’re a small company, we employ a heck of a lot of freelancers. The film crews for a start. There could have been at least a half-dozen people on the making of that documentary who might have leaked those names to the press.’

  ‘And would they have known the names of the sex offenders?’

  Lloyd smirked. ‘I doubt if it would have been any big secret as far as the crew were concerned. And film crews are the biggest gossip merchants going. Maybe Mark told some of the crew who those men were, especially if it was that one with the unusual name.’ He clicked his fingers several times. ‘What was it?’

  ‘Lubin Titmus.’

  ‘That’s the one,’ Lloyd laughed.

  ‘During the making of that film, did you still get on with Mark Yalding?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘So, up until the time you had this disagreement about child porn, were there any other problems in your relationship with him?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Can you think of any reason why someone would want to murder him in such a brutal fashion?’

  Lloyd shrugged and pouted. ‘Not really. Unless the killer thought he was a potential paedophile. Which clearly he was.’

  ‘How long had you known Mr Yalding?’

  Lloyd gazed at the ceiling for a moment. ‘Let’s see now, I think it must be all of twelve years. He started working for me back in 1998 when there was more going on in the way of drama. Nowadays everything’s reality TV shit. No one has enough money for drama, it seems, especially as one episode of a drama might cost over a million quid. Costume drama – forget it!’

  Lambert had been searching for an opening to his next question and Gavin Lloyd had just provided it. Using the same conversational gambit he had used on the producer’s receptionist, he said, ‘It must be a precarious business.’

  Lloyd smiled confidently. ‘I get by.’

  ‘One minute champagne and strawberries, the next—’

  ‘Beans on toast!’ the producer interrupted with a laugh. ‘But things are not that bad.’

  ‘Even so,’ Lambert said, doggedly pursuing the theme to get to the question, ‘I’d hate to own a luxury car one minute and then have to downsize to something below average. I recently treated myself to a Mercedes but that’s after years of hard graft. I hope you still manage to drive something suitably exclusive.’

  Lloyd smiled thinly. ‘As a matter of fact, I don’t. I still own a BMW, but I don’t drive. Never have done.’

  ‘You don’t drive! But you own a car?’

  The producer chuckled, obviously enjoying the way the detective’s probing question had been shot down in flames.

  ‘I have a chap – Jack – and I pay him to do my driving.’

  ‘A chauffeur?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose you could call him a chauffeur,’ Lloyd laughed. ‘But I don’t make him wear a hat.’

  ‘It’s very unusual these days not to be able to drive. Did you never attempt to learn?’

  ‘I was always too busy with other things. I did think about it, and then I went to university. Oxford.’

  ‘Which part of Wales are you from?’

  ‘I was born and bred in Y Drenewydd.’ Seeing the blank expression on the detective’s face, Lloyd added, ‘That’s Newtown in Powys. I take it you’re not a Welsh speaker, Inspector.’

  ‘I never found the time to learn. I didn’t find it necessary.’

  Lloyd sniggered. ‘Well
, I thought it necessary. My wife’s a fluent Welsh speaker, and some of the circles she moves in, they refuse to speak English. So I tried to learn, just to keep up. But, apart from a few words, I failed miserably.’

  ‘What about Mark Yalding? Was he fluent?’

  Lloyd seemed genuinely surprised. ‘Mark wasn’t Welsh. He was from the north of England. What made you think he spoke Welsh?’

  Thinking of the murdered man’s relationship with Lloyd’s wife, Lambert said, ‘I just wondered, perhaps he might have thought it advantageous to learn.’

  ‘Are you suggesting Mark wanted to ingratiate himself with the educated class of Welsh speakers they disparagingly refer to as the Tafia?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Lambert smacked his forehead as if he’d overlooked something. ‘But then of course you’ve just told me he hadn’t learnt any Welsh, so he probably wasn’t looking to recruit to the Tafia.’

  Lloyd’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed Lambert. ‘You know, it’s funny,’ he began, waiting for Lambert to pick up on it.

  ‘What is?’ Lambert obliged.

  ‘You’ve asked me a few questions about Mark, but mainly we’ve talked about cars, speaking Welsh and which part of Wales I come from. What’s that got to do with Mark’s murder?’

  Lambert smiled disarmingly and shrugged. ‘I think I got sidetracked. But back to Mr Yalding’s murder. Did he ever mention any threats against him?’

  ‘None that I know of.’

  ‘Notice anything unusual or peculiar about his behaviour?’

  ‘I think I might describe his behaviour as a bit furtive.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Nothing I could put my finger on. He seemed quieter than normal. A bit secretive. Maybe it was something to do with the child porn.’

  ‘Over the years, you must have got to know him quite well. Would you describe him as a friend or colleague or employee?’

  Lloyd shifted awkwardly in his chair. ‘Um – I guess it would have to be all three.’

  ‘What about his background? Did he talk about his parents?’

  Lloyd sighed deeply. ‘I suppose I should have got to know Mark better, but we were always talking about work. There seemed to be little time for other things.’