by Ted Tayler
“We’re meeting his father tomorrow,” said Gus. “We can broach the matter then.”
“I caught up with Tom Spencer, guv,” said Luke. “He agreed to report to Gablecross in the morning. We can speak with him there before he dashes back to the countryside chasing tractor thieves.”
“Well done, Luke. Do you want to see that through to its conclusion? If you can get to Gablecross for nine o’clock, we’ll divide the other interviews between the rest of us.”
“Who do you want with you tomorrow, guv,” asked Neil.
“We’ll meet here first,” said Gus. “I’ll drive to Ponting Street with Lydia, keeping to the speed limit throughout. We’ll interview Stan Jones and then locate Ralph Robinson. Did we get his address, Luke?”
“Farnborough Road, guv,” said Luke. “That’s near the Coate Water Country Park. I’ve sent the full details through to you.”
“Thanks, Luke. Coate Water, eh, very nice too,” said Gus. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be with Mr Robinson, but Mrs Fryer will be home by one o’clock. Catherine is still working the morning shifts at the care home. We should get back here from Ponting Street by three o’clock.”
“What should the rest of us concentrate on, guv?” asked Alex.
“I’m sure locating Tom Spencer wasn’t Luke’s only achievement this morning,” said Gus. “Also, each of us has a report to update in the Freeman Files. I suggest we use the rest of the afternoon to get those reports together. If we have time, we can then discuss what we’ve learned and decide whether it alters our plans.”
“Do you think tomorrow’s interview schedule needs to change, guv?” asked Luke.
“Not a chance,” said Gus.
CHAPTER 8
Gus completed his reports for the files and looked to see how the others were progressing.
“Are we ready for a catch-up before the close of play?” he asked.
“I didn’t have as much to record as the others, guv,” said Luke, “so I started the search for the van driver among members of the organisations Blessing and Neil uncovered. The Swindon Folk Club has been going for almost sixty years and has over five hundred people on its Facebook page. Branch 25 of the Round Table lists a similar number, but the Campaign for Real Ale is less popular. So we thought we could divide the work between three of us to dig out lists of member names.”
“I’m ready to help with that, guv,” said Neil.
“Me too, guv,” added Blessing.
“Will it take long to whittle the numbers down to find people on more than one list who might fit our description?” asked Gus.
“I suggest we use the Hub’s facilities if we want speedy access to membership lists, guv,” said Lydia. “Divya will be happy to help. Once she’s secured those names, we can ask her to isolate white males between thirty-five and forty-five. Privacy settings vary on Community pages and the like. I discovered that when we were searching for links to Maddy Mills. One of us might have to apply to join the organisation to gain access to the information we need.”
“That makes sense,” said Gus. “Kenneth Truelove would approve us deferring to his experts. Call Divya and set it up, Luke, and we’ll spend the rest of the afternoon debriefing everything we’ve unearthed today. Alex, Neil, and Blessing will stay in the office tomorrow morning. I don’t know how speedy a response will be from the Hub. If you’re sitting on your hands for an extended period after I leave the office, I suggest you pick one site, say the Real Ale brigade, and tackle the problem in an old-fashioned way. Call the most prominent name you can find and tell him it’s vital he helps the police in their enquiries.”
When the team left the office at five o’clock, everyone knew what they had to do tomorrow. They had made tentative forward steps in the investigation today, but there could be a long way to go before it ended successfully.
As Gus heard the lift descending to the ground floor, his phone buzzed. He had a message from Suzie. She had just left London Road and was driving to the Great Western Hospital near Junction 15 on the M4 to visit Vicky Bennison.
Gus tidied his desk and followed the others. Once in the car park, he reversed the Focus out of the only occupied parking space reserved for the Crime Review Team and headed home. The cooler weather was welcome, and as he passed the London Road HQ on his way to the bungalow in Urchfont, Gus let his mind drift over the events of the day.
The vague notion that formed in the Chief Constable’s office yesterday lunchtime was still valid. Although he’d annoyed Matt Merchant by suggesting Richard Chaloner was a crook, it had cleared one motive for the murder off the table. The reports of the interviews he’d read with Matt Merchant, Harry Simpkins, and Eve Chaloner added more credence to his insistence that the killing was personal. As for the time he’d spent with Raj Sengupta, well, that proved beyond doubt the original investigation lacked leadership and direction. Tom Spencer had been working in the dark, blindfolded, and with one hand tied behind his back. Luke wouldn’t gain much new information tomorrow morning.
As he turned into the gateway of the bungalow, Gus made a mental note to chat with Luke sooner rather than later. Geoff Mercer had warned him West Mercia liked to conclude matters quickly. If he let himself get distracted, the team could lose one of its key members. Why was life so difficult?
Gus stood in the hallway for a moment to clear his head. How long would Suzie get to spend with Vicky if she was still poorly? He glanced at the clock. It was twenty minutes to six. Suzie would have reached the hospital five minutes ago. He could tackle two or three tasks that would earn him brownie points before preparing their meal. Suzie would be home by half-past seven at the latest.
When Gus heard her VW Golf rattle through the gateway at twenty past seven, he had hoovered and dusted and loaded the washing machine with discarded clothing and damp towels. His efforts in the kitchen had produced a nutritious vegetable and bacon frittata ready to serve.
“Welcome home, sweetheart,” said Gus as Suzie came through the front door.
“Oh, Gus,” sighed Suzie. She dropped her handbag by the hall table and flung her arms around his neck.
“That was dreadful,” she said. “Vicky’s a little better today, but nothing prepares you for those wires and cuts and bruises around her face. That swine did a number on the poor woman. I could sit with Vicky for thirty minutes. It should have been fifteen, but Divya’s husband, Arjun, persuaded the senior staff nurse to let me stay a while longer.”
“I’m glad Vicky’s improving,” said Gus. “Let’s hope she’s over the worst. What could Arjun tell you regarding the bleed on the brain?”
“Nothing, as I’m not a relative,” said Suzie. “But, when the nurses were out of earshot, he assured me Vicky’s life was no longer in danger. What can I hear?”
“The washing machine in the utility,” said Gus. “I needed to keep busy while I waited for you to get home. dinner’s ready as soon as you are.”
“It smells delicious,” said Suzie. “Let’s eat, and then I’m looking forward to a quiet night in front of the telly.”
“After the day we’ve both had,” said Gus, “It’s the least we deserve.”
Wednesday. 5th September 2018
Luke Sherman left home at half-past seven. The drive to Gablecross Police Station would take the best past of ninety minutes from Warminster. Nicky was still sleeping when Luke got up to go to the bathroom.
Last night had been the same as most nights of late. Nicky asked when he would decide on the job change; Luke told him a sideways move wasn’t what his career needed. Nicky got angry, accusing Luke of not caring how the long hours affected their relationship, and when they went to bed, nothing had been resolved.
Luke arrived at Gablecross, signed in, and followed the signs to where the detective squad lived. He had visited the building on several occasions and spotted a familiar face on the far side as he entered the large room.
“Good morning, Jake. Any sign of Tom Spencer this morning?”
“L
uke, how’s it going, mate,” said DS Jake Latimer. “Neil Davis let you come alone, did he? How is the reprobate, anyway? He sounded stressed the other day when he gave me a bell.”
“Neil’s fine, and Melody is still pregnant,” said Luke. “For which they’re both grateful.”
“I’m still with the same girl,” said Jake. “Wonders will never cease, but we’re not following Neil and Melody’s example. Not yet anyway. I know why you’re here, Luke. Neil told me Gus Freeman got the short straw and collected the Richard Chaloner murder file. Tom Spencer won’t be long. He’s a good lad, steady if not spectacular. My money would be on him running down those tractor thieves in time. He’s like a dog with a bone. Here he comes now.”
Luke thanked Jake Latimer and turned to greet DS Tom Spencer.
Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t entirely cover it. Luke hadn’t expected that.
“You must be Luke Sherman,” said Tom. “My desk is over the other side. Let’s get this done, and I can drive to Great Somerford. I found a lead late yesterday afternoon that could tie up the case I’m on.”
Tom flopped into his chair and pointed to the one beside him.
“Take the weight off, Luke. What was it you wanted to know?”
“Gus Freeman spoke to the SIO, DI Sengupta, yesterday morning,” said Luke.
“So I heard,” said Tom. “The Chaloner case was not our finest hour. We would have done things differently if I had been in charge, but it’s water under the bridge now. The house-to-house collected several useful pieces of information, but we never got to sixty percent of the people living on the street. I told Raj if they weren’t there during the day, it was because they were at work. What was the point of going back the next morning? We should have visited Ponting Street between six and seven in the evening to catch more residents at home. That was the time the murder took place on Monday night. I thought witnesses would remember things more clearly when the conditions were similar, even if it wasn’t bucketing with rain.”
“Gus heard you wanted to spread the house-to-house wider,” said Luke. “What was the thinking there?”
“The two incidents in the afternoon felt odd,” said Tom. “We only asked people living in houses on Ponting Street whether they saw someone hanging around looking suspicious. What was so special about that street? If they were housebreakers or opportunist thieves, they would have visited several streets seeking targets. Raj got hung up on it being a robbery gone wrong and insisted the van driver who had the stand-up row with Chaloner was our chief suspect. I wanted to get more data to be sure we were on the right path. Whenever I got back here and went to his office to ask if we could change tack, he had gone home. I asked a couple of his colleagues what I should do. They asked why I was questioning what the SIO had told me to do. Who did I think I was? So, I carried on the hunt for the three persons of interest we identified until Raj returned to work. The next thing I know, he’s got a bee in his bonnet over catalytic converters, and there’s a complete change of direction. I’m talking to detectives working on cases involving criminal gangs. They didn’t want to waste time with me and had never heard of Richard Chaloner and Ponting Street. The team shrunk as soon as we changed tack, and after chasing half a dozen false trails, Raj told me his boss wanted us to shelve the case. There was little likelihood of it ever showing a positive outcome.”
“Did Raj interview Ralph Robinson?” asked Luke.
“No, I spoke to him. That was a waste of time. No sooner had I dropped the report onto Raj’s desk than he told me to bury it.”
“We understand why that happened,” said Luke. “There’s no excuse, but what was Robinson’s story, anyway?”
“Robinson told his wife he was off to South Marston. Both his parents had died several years before, and Ralph went there to lay flowers on the grave. That day, Ralph drove in the opposite direction and parked at the far end of Ponting Street. Then he walked past Chaloner’s garage on his way to a house on the other side of Manchester Road. Ponting Street is one of several streets that bisects the popular but notorious highway.”
“I didn’t realise,” said Luke. “I must remember to study the street map on our office wall more closely. So, Ralph Robinson knew somebody living on the stretch of Ponting Street closer to the railway station?”
“Yes, a lady called Jane Kimble, who answered to the name Mistress Quickly. She greeted her gentleman callers at the door dressed as a comely maiden from the time of Henry the Fourth and regaled them with monologues from the Bard during their stay. It takes all sorts.”
“Henry the Fourth, Part One and Two,” said Luke. “That was where Mistress Quickly featured, wasn’t it? Perhaps the Merry Wives of Windsor too.”
“Don’t ask me, Luke,” said Tom. “We didn’t study Shakespeare at my school. Although I don’t believe Jane Kimble offered a Part Two on her tariff, she insisted on a rapid turnover of clients. She’s hung up her costume now and qualifies for her bus pass next year. When pressed, Ralph Robinson admitted they used to go to primary school together.”
“Their liaison hadn’t been going on that long, had it?” asked Luke.
“I don’t know the full history, Luke,” said Tom. “Jake Latimer told me Jane was into amateur dramatics. After her time as a leading lady passed, she found a part she could play that provided an income. I suspect, from what Jake said, that Jane set up in business around the time Ralph lost his parents.”
“Two trips a year to the cemetery at South Marston,” said Luke. “The flowers were for Jane. I should warn Gus Freeman. He’s seeing Ralph at his home later this morning.”
“It might be fun to pass on what I told you and let the interview play out in front of his wife,” said Tom. “It was Ralph Robinson who saw the driver of the white van arguing the toss with Chaloner at around eleven o’clock. As he strolled along Ponting Street with his bunch of flowers, Ralph had a splendid view of what was happening on the forecourt. He gave us our only decent description of the man in the white overalls.”
“Did you ask whether he knew the man?” asked Luke.
“Of course,” said Tom. “Ralph said he thought he was a painter and decorator.”
“He didn’t need to know him to guess what he did for a living,” said Luke.
“Ralph told me he didn’t know his name,” said Tom. “I suppose if Ralph had lived and worked in Swindon throughout his life, he recognised hundreds of people by sight without ever learning their name.”
“What did you make of Stan Jones?” asked Luke.
“That was the old chap who saw the man peering through the garage window, wasn’t it? I visited him in the afternoon, hoping to prove he could have been wrong about what he said he saw. Your eyesight can fool you when the light is fading and it’s raining. Besides, Stan Jones isn’t in the best of health. He’s hard of hearing, and he often forgets where he’s put his glasses. I didn’t think he was a reliable witness.”
“Did you ask Stan if he’d seen the van driver?” asked Luke.
“Well, it was light, and it hadn’t yet rained,” said Tom. “If I’d asked him that question, Stan might have given us a more detailed description. But, no, I didn’t ask. The uniforms did the house-to-house. I passed the results to DI Sengupta. He told us to go back on Wednesday morning to check those addresses that didn’t answer the door the night before. So that’s what they did. Raj didn’t suggest we asked a different set of questions of the people who had initially given us our three persons of interest.”
“It might have helped,” said Luke. “Mrs Fryer worked the morning shift at the care home. She said a young lad was hanging around on the pavement outside her house for an hour. Apart from popping out to post a letter, Mrs Fryer was home for the rest of the afternoon. Why didn’t someone ask her whether she saw what Stan Jones witnessed? Mrs Fryer might have known the person looking through the window or at least given a better description to enable you to speak to him. Mrs Fryer could have seen the car registration or noticed the girl driving th
e car and described her. Jake says you’re a methodical detective, Tom, but surely you can see you let a few opportunities slip through your fingers?”
“With the benefit of hindsight, yes, you’re right, Luke. I said it wasn’t our finest hour. Is there anything else you think I missed? Let’s get it out in the open, and I can reach Great Somerford before the thieves have got those tractors into a container and on their way to Eastern Europe.”
“Did Stan Jones mention his son during your visit?” asked Luke.
“He never stopped saying how much he missed his wife since she died,” said Tom. “You know what people Stan’s age can be like. They rabbit on, telling you their life story when you want to home in on five minutes from a specific day.”
“Hang on,” said Luke. “Was Stan talking about his wife or his son’s wife? His only child’s name is Stan too. He’s a long-distance lorry driver. We’ve heard he rarely visits Ponting Street because of his job and moved away from Swindon around fifteen years ago.”
“That’s news to me,” said Tom. “Stan could have got confused. His wife died several years ago. I checked, and I’m sure he misses her. Stan’s alone in that house twenty-four seven. I’m trying to recall the actual words he used. He told me how much he missed his wife, and then he said–‘He missed her just like me. They were so happy, both of them, as happy as we had been. Then, before you know it, it’s over. You don’t know what heartbreak is until something like that happens to you.’ I let him ramble on and tried to get him to focus on the window and what he saw on Monday afternoon, but it was hopeless. Raj wasn’t at work for a day or two after that, and when he returned, I told him I didn’t believe Stan Jones was a reliable witness. I didn’t know he could have been talking his son as well as himself.”
“It could be irrelevant,” said Luke. “We don’t know the son’s whereabouts. Young Stan visited his father on odd occasions, but they aren’t close. There’s nothing to suggest he knew Richard Chaloner, anyway.”