by Meurig Jones
‘So is there anything else you can think of that might help? Any mysterious phone calls he might have received in the office?’
‘No, there was nothing unusual.’
‘And those sex offenders he filmed for your documentary, did he see any of them again after the filming had been completed?’
‘Well, if he did, he never mentioned it to me.’
Lambert glanced at his watch and stood up. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Lloyd. If you think of anything, however unimportant it might seem, perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving me a call.’
He handed the producer one of his cards.
‘Glad to help in any way I can.’
‘And if I get the slightest indication of your old friend’s innocence regarding the child pornography, I’ll let you know.’
As Lambert exited to the reception area, he caught the deep expression of doubt eclipsing Lloyd’s bombastic self-confidence. The door closed behind him, not slammed exactly, but it was a robust end to their meeting.
Lambert knew he should have delved a little deeper into what had gone on in the Lloyd household, and found out whether or not Gavin Lloyd knew about his wife’s affair with Mark Yalding. Had he known, it gave him a motive for killing his employee. But Lambert was reminded of his own shortcomings and the way he had cheated on Helen, and how last year he had attempted in vain to rekindle their marriage. At the time there was no way he would have wanted outside interference, some well-wisher reminding Helen about his affair with a psychiatric nurse. And that’s how he felt about Gavin Lloyd. Even though it was a murder investigation, why disclose Rhiannon Lloyd’s infidelity knowing that he could be responsible for destroying a marriage that might still survive?
Now Lambert felt cheated by his own sense of fairness.
The receptionist was busy talking on the phone as he left. She flashed him a smile and he gave her a wave before stepping out into the glare of the noon sunshine.
Gavin Lloyd’s office was diagonally opposite the New Theatre, so Lambert crossed the road, went into the theatre foyer, and hung around, pretending to show an interest in the leaflets advertising forthcoming productions.
It was just before midday, and he hoped he wouldn’t have long to wait.
Tony Ellis sat in the factory manager’s office and stared at him expressionlessly across the desk. His name was Alan Hughes and he was Norman McNeil’s brother-in-law. The desk was cluttered, and the desktop computer monitor was grey with age. The office reminded Ellis of his motor mechanic’s office, untidy, unclean, harbouring years of grease and grime, and randomly scattered were long-forgotten invoices and yellowing papers curling at the edges. The room was stuffy, the window was shut tight, and it looked as if the rusty metal frame was jammed.
With a studied appearance of machismo ruggedness, Hughes matched his office. He was in his mid to late forties, and wore a V-neck mauve T-shirt with a row of buttons in the V. Although he had the jowly face of an overweight man, he seemed to be attempting a Bruce Willis Die Hard image, the way he was dressed and the way his hair had been closely shaved, with a hint of stubble on his ample chin. His bulbous eyes with dark brown pupils showed the ravages of drink, and it was difficult to distinguish the motifs of the faded tattoos on his hairy arms, which were smudged like Rorschach inkblot tests.
‘What’s this about?’ he asked.
‘We’re enquiring into some recent murders. Perhaps you’ve seen the news. On Friday a man was murdered on his boat on the marina. And another man’s body was discovered in a mobile home not far from here—’
Interrupting the sergeant, Hughes made a gesture by turning his palms over on top of the desk and said, ‘Whoa! What the hell’s this got to do with me?’
‘That’s what I’m here to find out.’
Hughes stared at him, mouth slightly open, still expressing bewilderment.
‘Your brother-in-law, Norman McNeil, works for you.’
Hughes glared with hostility at Ellis before answering. ‘Wrong. He used to work for me.’
‘But I thought …’ Ellis began.
‘Not any more. He left over a year ago. Had back trouble.’
‘Well now, that is peculiar, because I just saw him leaving your factory in one of your vehicles. Was he making a delivery for you?’
Hughes pursed his lips as if he couldn’t care less. ‘So what if he was?’
‘I believe Mr McNeil’s on incapacity benefit. If he’s claiming benefits illegally while still working—’
Hughes raised a hand. ‘Whoa! Hold on! I never said he was working for me.’
‘But he was making a delivery for you.’
‘No, he wasn’t.’
‘But I saw him driving one of your vans.’
‘Yeah, but he weren’t making no delivery. He was collecting for us.’
‘Please, Mr Hughes – don’t split hairs. You know very well what I mean. I’m suggesting he works for you occasionally, while collecting state benefits.’
‘We’re short staffed at the moment and Norm offered to help. He ain’t getting paid. I just buy him a few drinks now and then; buy him the odd bottle of whisky and that. Payment in kind, you see. Strictly legal.’
Pleased with himself, Hughes leaned back in his creaking chair. He smiled, though there was little warmth in it.
‘Are you by any chance a member of PASO?’
There was a sudden stillness in the room. They both heard a fly buzzing and hurling itself against a window pane behind Hughes’s back. After a long pause, Hughes must have decided that Ellis could check up, so he nodded slowly.
‘Yeah, I am. What of it?’
‘It’s a group of vigilantes, I believe.’
Hughes leaned forward across the desk and stared defiantly at Ellis. ‘We gorra right to protect our children. I’ve got two little girls, eleven and nine, and we don’t want those bastards living within fifty miles of us. If I had my way …’
He stopped, realizing he had said too much.
‘Yes, what would you do, Mr Hughes?’
Hughes controlled himself and leaned back in his chair. ‘I’d pass a law to bring back capital punishment for crimes against children. And if that didn’t work I’d lock them up for life. And I mean life!’
‘And if the laws are not adequate, what then?’
‘If the law can’t deal with them, we want them to bugger off and live somewhere else. And that’s why PASO was formed, so that we can get rid of them legitimately. That doesn’t make us murderers.’
‘Let’s get back to the work your brother-in-law does for you.’
‘I’ve already told you, he’s just helping out on a voluntary basis.’
‘Delivering and collecting?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And when I saw him leaving your factory less than half an hour ago, he was driving a white van. Is that your van?’
‘It belongs to Hallam Biofeeds. It’s not mine personally.’
‘Do you drive it occasionally?’
Hughes shook his head emphatically. ‘I don’t do deliveries. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m the manager here.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting you did the deliveries yourself, Mr Hughes. I wanted to know if you ever drive the van home.’
Jerking a thumb at the grubby window behind him, Hughes laughed and said, ‘That’s my Mitsubishi gas guzzler in the car park.’ He saw Ellis was about to ask another question and anticipated it. ‘And that’s Norman’s Renault next to it. We only use the vans for work purposes.’
‘Where are they kept at night?’
‘Here on the premises, of course. Let me ask you something, Sergeant.’
‘Go on.’
‘How many white vans d’you think there are in South Wales?’
‘Hundreds, I should think.’
Hughes feigned an expression of incredulity, patting his chest theatrically. ‘And you suspect me of murdering those blokes because I happen to have access to a white van? Bit of a coincidence, don’t
you think?’
Ellis stared deep into Hughes’s eyes, seeing if he could shake the man’s confidence as he said, ‘One coincidence I can accept. But when you add another two to the mix … like your brother-in-law living a few doors from one of the murdered men. And thirdly …’
Ellis hadn’t heard the vehicle pull up outside. He stopped speaking as Norman McNeil entered the office. He saw Hughes trying to silence his brother-in-law with a look as he started to speak.
‘I got that consignment of—’
He looked as if he’d been punched in the stomach as Ellis turned to face him.
Calmly, Ellis addressed Hughes. ‘I was saying – oh, yes – and thirdly, the other coincidence. The consignment your brother-in-law’s talking about: would that happen to be sulphuric acid, by any chance? That chemical must be running in short supply here lately.’
Lambert had been waiting in the foyer for twenty minutes when he spotted Jackie Dearlove leaving her office and walking towards the shopping precinct. He left the theatre and followed her past the Park Thistle Hotel, and watched her entering a sandwich shop. He waited, standing to one side of the door.
As soon as she came out, he said, ‘Miss Dearlove!’
She stopped, a puzzled frown screwing up her face as she squinted through the sunshine at him.
‘I wonder if I could take up ten minutes of your time. Just a few questions about Green Valley Productions. I’d be happy to buy you a coffee.’
She laughed, suddenly finding his presence amusing. ‘Have you been following me, Inspector?’
‘I needed to speak with you outside of your work environment.’
She hesitated. ‘Well, I promised Gavin I’d only be a few minutes today. Hence the sarnie.’
He looked her straight in the eye, impressing on her the importance of his request. ‘Every employee’s allowed a proper lunch break. And ten minutes is not too much to ask. You could say there was an extra long queue.’
Her face broke into a smile. ‘Go on then. It’s not as if it matters anymore. There’s a Starbucks over there.’
‘Thank you, Miss Dearlove.’
‘Please! Call me Jackie.’
Inside Starbucks she spotted a corner table and he told her to grab it while he got their coffees, a standard cappuccino for her and a large espresso for himself.
Once he was seated opposite her, he smiled reassuringly. ‘When you agreed to have this meeting with me, Jackie, you said it’s not as if it matters anymore. What did you mean by that?’
She glanced round, as if someone might be listening, and lowered her voice. ‘I’ve got a new job with another company. And I haven’t told Gavin yet.’
‘Any reason for your move?’
‘It’s a sinking ship. I don’t know how Gavin manages to keep it afloat. Well, I do, but that’s another story. He’s pitched loads of ideas to the BBC and ITV networks, but none of them have been taken up. And his last drama series for the BBC wasn’t recommissioned.’ Seeing the frown on his face, she explained, ‘Because it slumped in the ratings, they didn’t go for a second series.’
‘Tell me about this other story,’ Lambert said.
‘Sorry?’
‘You said you had an idea how he manages to keep his company afloat.’
‘His wife’s loaded. Old money. Have you heard of the Crachach?’
‘I hadn’t until William Hague married that Ffion Jenkins and it was in all the papers.’
‘Well, Rhiannon Lloyd comes from that artistic and well-to-do class of Welsh people. The Crachach.’
‘And what about her husband?’
Jackie Dearlove pursed her lips and shrugged. ‘I get the impression – and it’s just an impression, mind – that Gavin’s not really top drawer. I think he’d like to be thought of as Crachach, but I think he’s from more humble origins.’
‘And how did you form that impression?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just the way he tries too hard to be one of them. If you are, you don’t have to try, if you see what I mean.’
‘So you think Rhiannon Lloyd is footing the bill for his company.’
‘I know she is. I heard them arguing about it in his office one day, about three weeks ago. And he hates her coming into the office or having anything to do with the company.’
‘Have you any idea what their argument was about?’
‘I think it could have been something to do with the London flat, which Rhiannon considered unnecessary.’
‘This London flat, is it for the family to use?’
‘No way. It’s purely for Green Valley Productions. Gavin often goes to London for business meetings and to pitch ideas to various networks, and he stays at the flat.’
‘What’s the address of this flat, d’you know?’
He waited while she took a dainty sip of coffee before replying.
‘Ten Asquith Mansions, Coach Road, Hammersmith.’
‘And was this flat for Gavin Lloyd’s exclusive use, or did anyone else in the company use it?’
‘Well, when I first came to work for the company, about four years ago, there was more staff. We had Bill Knight who was a producer and partner. I think he saw the writing on the wall and got out while the going was good. He got a job at the BBC. I think he used the flat a few times.’
‘And what about Mark Yalding? Did he ever use the flat?’
She looked down into her coffee and frowned. When she looked up again, he noticed her eyes were moist.
‘I cried buckets after I saw it on the news last night. What a terrible thing to have happened. I liked Mark, although when I found out he’d been downloading child porn on the internet….’
She sighed deeply, and shook her head as if she couldn’t quite believe it.
‘Whose idea was it to make a documentary about the sex offenders?’ Lambert asked.
‘That was Gavin’s idea.’
‘Not Mark Yalding’s?’
‘No, I don’t think Mark was very enthusiastic about it. But when it got the green light from Channel 4, he had no option but to go along with it.’
‘So when Gavin Lloyd sacked Yalding—’
‘I don’t think he was really sacked,’ Dearlove interrupted. ‘I think they probably had words and it was mutually agreed that he would go. At the time Mark wanted to pursue a writing career and was going to take a year out to do that.’
‘So why d’you think Gavin Lloyd told the newspapers about warning Mark Yalding about downloading porn?’
‘I’ve no idea. I didn’t know everything that went on between them.’
‘So did Mark Yalding ever use the London flat?’
‘I think he did a couple of times.’
Lambert paused, sipped his coffee, savouring its rejuvenating sharpness. He watched as she knocked back her cappuccino and then looked expectantly in his direction, thinking the interview was ended. But there was one more thing he needed to know.
‘Did you know Mark Yalding was having an affair with Rhiannon Lloyd?’
It was as if he’d slapped her in the face. Her jaw fell open, like someone parodying shock.
‘Mark and Rhiannon! No! Are you sure?’
‘I’m one hundred per cent positive.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘We have it straight from the horse’s mouth.’
‘Rhiannon told you! I can’t quite believe she would do such a thing.’
‘Put it this way: she had very little choice.’ He saw her intense expression shifting into curiosity. ‘Clearly you had no idea about the affair,’ he said before she could press him for details. ‘What about her husband? D’you think he might have known?’
She thought about this for a moment. ‘Well … I … I really don’t know. If he did, he never let it show.’
‘Is it likely he could have kept that sort of thing to himself?’
She shrugged. ‘I haven’t a clue. But then he’s always been difficult to read. He’s one of those people you could know for years
and never really get to know.’
‘What about family? Have they any children?’
‘They’ve got two, a boy and a girl. Angharad and Rhys. Angharad’s the youngest. She’s on a gap year, travelling in Italy before she starts university at Aberystwyth in September.’
‘What about the boy?’
‘I don’t know much about him. I think he’s a bit of a drifter. Goes home when he’s flat broke.’
She stared pointedly at her watch. ‘I really must get back….’
‘One last thing,’ Lambert said hurriedly. ‘Gavin Lloyd told me he can’t drive.’
‘That’s right.’
‘A bit unusual, isn’t it?’
‘Apparently he’s never learnt. Jack, that’s his driver, takes him everywhere.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Jack? He’s very shy and withdrawn. He lives with them, you know.’
Lambert raised his eyebrows and waited for her to elaborate.
‘They’ve got a very palatial house, and quite a few acres of land – her inheritance, I believe. And Jack’s got the granny annex, so he’s always on hand to drive his master to wherever he wants to go.’
Lambert heard the sarcasm in her tone and smiled. ‘Your employer obviously thinks of himself as a high flyer.’
‘Yes, I feel sorry for poor old Jack sometimes. Gavin’s got this business meeting in Edinburgh tomorrow, and rather than fly up there, Jack’s driving him all the way there.’
Seeing her about to rise from the table, he said, ‘Finally, before you dash back to work, I’d be very grateful if you didn’t let on to your employer about his wife’s affair.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘I’m not suggesting you would but …’
Dearlove stood up hurriedly. ‘Please! Give me some credit for intelligence.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry. That was a bit patronizing of me. Good luck with the new job.’
‘Thank you.’
She gave him a rather lukewarm smile before leaving. Lambert was about to follow her out when his mobile rang. He flipped it open and the display revealed it was Tony Ellis. He clicked answer and listened intently while Ellis filled him in on what had happened at the fertilizer factory.