by Wonny Lea
Two hours later on a still and relatively mild October evening Martin and Shelley were sitting in the back of a taxi as it headed down the M4.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Shelley.
‘That’s for me to know and you to find out,’ teased Martin. ‘I’ve not been here before, but Alex and Charlie rave about the place and you know what those two are like when it comes to discovering places that are a bit out of the way and serve really good food. According to Charlie the surroundings are sensational and second only to the menu – and when it comes to judging the quality of food I would always back Charlie’s judgement.’
Martin looked at Shelley, and would have liked to ask the taxi driver to pull off the road so that he could show her how much he loved her and to hell with some out-of-date bylaw that precluded public demonstrations of intimacy. The wicked look in those amazing deep blue eyes told Martin that her thoughts and his matched completely and they giggled like a couple of schoolgirls, but their bubble was burst by the driver seeking precise directions.
Martin consulted his phone and gave out the instructions provided by Alex and within minutes they were turning into the driveway of Llanerch Vineyard.
It had been a pleasant day. Not exactly an Indian summer but certainly warmer than could be expected in Wales at this time of the year. However it was October and almost eight o’clock and so the light was fading fast and the buildings were lit up and looked welcoming.
Shelley pressed her nose against the window of the taxi and shouted with delight. ‘Martin, you’re a genius! This is where Angela Gray has her cookery school, isn’t it?’
‘I’m happy to be regarded as a genius, but as far as cookery schools are concerned you’ve lost me. If Charlie has set me up to do my own cooking I’ll swing for her.’
‘No, relax, I don’t think you’ll be asked to sauté anything but coming here has reminded me that I must look into the courses that are on offer. I’ve got one of Angela’s cookery books – it’s about the amazing variety of cheeses that we produce in Wales nowadays.’
Martin grinned at her obvious enthusiasm. ‘I think it’s Charlie who should really be held up as the genius, and now I know something else to get you for your birthday. Get the details of the courses while we’re here and book yourself on one – it’s the best idea for a birthday present as I won’t even have to wrap this one!’
Shelley poked him in the ribs and he retaliated by pulling her hair and inevitably their fun led to a passionate kiss.
‘Put her down,’ suggested a smooth deep voice from the entrance to the restaurant. ‘Happy birthday, Shelley – come on, we’ve got some champagne on ice.’
Reluctantly Shelley broke away from Martin and went forward to receive an exaggerated French-style kiss on alternate cheeks from Alex and then bent down to embrace Charlie.
Even before the first taxi had left the grounds a second one was heard crunching on the gravel and they all turned to watch Matt and Sarah jump out and join them.
More birthday greetings and kisses came with the last two arrivals and Sarah handed over a beautifully packaged present.
‘Oh, thank you, but it’s too beautiful to open,’ said Shelley but even as she said it she was tugging at the silver and purple ribbon.
‘We didn’t get you a gift as such,’ explained Charlie ‘but the evening is on us, so let’s get inside and start enjoying it.’
They were shown to a table reserved for them and as she sat down Shelley finished opening the present. ‘I’ve never had such a fantastically coordinated set of presents,’ she laughed. ‘First Alex and Charlie bring us here and then Martin promises to buy me a cookery course of my choice and then you very cleverly give me one of Angela Gray’s recipe books. I’ve already got one of her books but that’s exclusively about Welsh cheese.’
She addressed her last remarks at Sarah who shared a knowing look with Matt. ‘I knew you had one book because I saw it when we had a coffee at your dad’s house. When Charlie suggested we were coming here I asked your father if you had any of the other books and he had a rummage around to make sure we weren’t duplicating anything.’
Matt laughed and joined in. ‘Sarah and I met because she has a nose for finding out things, and I said at the time she would make a good detective but so long as she sticks to investigating cookery books that’s fine with me.’
Alex signalled to the waiter who ceremoniously popped the cork of the champagne and everyone raised their glasses to once again wish Shelley a happy birthday.
The atmosphere was brilliant, and no one looking at the six people enjoying an evening together would have guessed that just that morning the three men were involved in looking for a seven-year-old boy who could have been taken by a paedophile with horrendous consequences, or brutally murdered by some homicidal maniac.
All three of them knew that their jobs brought them in direct contact with the darkest side of human nature and recognised the importance of evenings like this. Time out with friends and colleagues – and an unwritten rule that there was never a mention of work – were critical to maintaining a balanced view of the world.
Martin knew that if he and Shelley were not together, then there was every chance that he would, now, be at the cottage and constantly in touch with the hospital regarding the status of the little boy. He would be badgering his team for constant updates on the search for Susan Evans and planning the next day’s work schedule.
It wasn’t that he had fallen out of love with his job, but he had fallen hopelessly in love with tonight’s birthday girl and just the sight of her doing nothing more than studying the menu put thoughts of anything else out of his mind until tomorrow.
The menu caused quite a commotion because, to quote Charlie, ‘What I would really like is to have a tiny helping of everything and slowly work my way through the lot. It’s just not fair to offer such fantastic dishes and expect people to just choose one.’
There was no disagreement but Alex tweaked his wife’s nose and reminded her that the concept of eating for two was not something for her to put to that much of a test. Charlie nodded and drained the last of her smaller than usual glass of champagne. She was coming to the end of the first trimester of her pregnancy and outwardly there were no signs, but she shared some of her thoughts. ‘Well at least I’m over the few weeks I had, when I was falling asleep at the drop of a hat. If we had come out for a meal then you then, would have been waking me up for each course.’
They laughed and talked and laughed and talked and the evening flew by. Shelley came up with a compromise regarding Charlie’s inability to decide on what to eat and they did the same for the starters, the main course, and the dessert. Each of them selected a different dish and there was a fair amount of tasting and sharing and oodles of enjoyment as new flavours were experienced.
The few mouthfuls of champagne were the only alcohol that Charlie allowed herself to indulge in and after that it was water for her, but as several bottles of wine were finished by the others, it was Charlie who became more bubbly. She was feeding off the effects it was having on her friends and kept them amused with stories of her Irish family that at times seemed almost unbelievable.
‘You can’t possibly have two uncles that are able to mimic Winston Churchill,’ laughed Sarah, after Charlie’s description of how such impersonations aided by fat cigars had been used on the streets of Dublin.
‘Oh yes she can,’ grinned Shelley. ‘We went to their wedding and I have never laughed so much in all my life – some of the characters are really larger than life and we all had a whale of a time. Do you remember, Martin? We danced almost all night and the entertainment was still going on at breakfast time.’
Martin did remember, and much as he had enjoyed the Irish hospitality, it had been pleasantly overshadowed by the time he had spent with Shelley. He would always have fond memories of the small fishing harbour they had wandered to in the early morning – it was the time and the place where he had realised that he had found
his soulmate.
Coffee and liqueurs followed a perfect meal and this was the only time when moments of discord were struck, but they were nothing more serious than differences of opinion regarding the best parts of the meal.
Charlie opted for the Welsh lamb which she had eventually selected for her main course. It had arrived with the tiniest of new potatoes and a redcurrant jelly. She licked her lips again at the memory of it and guessed at what Alex would choose as his favourite. She was spot on, as the man in her life had the sweetest tooth and she had watched him drool over a chocolate and raspberry pudding that looked as good as it tasted. It was, however, the one dish that wasn’t shared, as no one had been brave enough to suggest the idea to Alex.
Martin said that his seafood starter was amongst the best food he had ever tasted, and Shelley, who had helped him scoop up some of the prawns and crab meat, agreed.
Matt wouldn’t be moved from his choice of fillet steak and Sarah suggested that the best course was the cheese course. They all changed their minds at least once and relived the tastes and textures that had led to very little being left on anyone’s plate.
‘Thanks for suggesting this place,’ said Martin, ‘and I can’t let you pick up the bill for everyone – what say we share it?’
‘Shut up for once,’ replied Alex. ‘It’s our treat for Shelley’s birthday, and if you feel guilty we will think of somewhere twice as expensive to go for Charlie’s birthday next month and let you pick up the tab.’
It came as a shock to everyone when the waiter walked over with the news that the taxi for Mr Matt Pryor and party had arrived.
‘That can’t be right, I ordered ours back here for eleven – it’s nowhere near that, is it?’ Matt looked at Sarah, who replied that it was actually ten past, and so they reluctantly they said their goodbyes. Whilst Alex was sorting the bill Charlie made her way to the loo and Shelley and Martin took a stroll through a door at the back of the restaurant and walked into a partially lit outside eating area.
There were a few tables and they looked out onto the actual vineyards. ‘I bet this is spectacular on a balmy summer afternoon, and a bit like being in the South of France.’
‘I agree about the setting,’ replied Martin ‘and I marvel at your optimism. How many balmy summer afternoons have we had in recent years? But here’s a promise. The next time one of our summer days manages to creep up to anything vaguely resembling balmy I will drop everything and bring you here.’
‘Murder, rape, or a crime epidemic permitting, I will hold you to that,’ laughed Shelley and then it was their turn to climb into a taxi and hope that the driver had other things to occupy his mind than the besotted couple in the back.
Chapter Thirteen
The caravan
It was business as usual in the morning but Martin whistled as he showered and couldn’t resist taking several peeps at Shelley as she slept soundly in the bed that he had just vacated. She had told him that she had an evening session with some new recruits to the police force and so didn’t need to get to work until lunchtime. It had taken a lot of resolve for him to get up and leave her there and he couldn’t remember a time when setting off for work was really not what he wanted to be doing.
Overnight the weather had taken a turn for the worse and Martin grimaced as he closed his front door and walked down the path to where he had parked his Alfa Romeo in front of Shelley’s Mini. He looked out towards the coast and saw banks of dark grey clouds that usually signalled heavy rain, and the sky looked as if it was set for a very wet day.
Matt looked a bit the worse for wear when they met in the staff dining room some thirty minutes later. ‘Great night last night but unfortunately Sarah and I thought it was a good idea to have a couple of nightcaps when we went home. My head is regretting it this morning and just in case I got a taxi in to work and Sarah will pick me up when I want to get home – which is now actually but I guess there’s not much chance of that.’
‘Not a hope in hell.’
Another voice interrupted and Iris placed two cups of coffee and a mountain of toast in front of the two detectives. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you two look as if you’ve seen better days – work is it?’
Matt already had a mouthful of toast so it was left to Martin to explain that they had been celebrating Shelley’s birthday last night and had possibly over-indulged.
Iris let out a laugh that made Matt cringe. ‘Oh that’s alright then – I thought you may have been out all night chasing some nasty criminals. You should do more of getting out and enjoying yourselves; it’s what you need to keep you sane, some of the stuff you have to deal with. Is there anything else I can get you, like bacon and eggs or maybe a sausage sandwich?’
The men decided to take a rain check on the offer and Iris went back to her job of ensuring that all the staff who worked in Goleudy were provided with the best she could muster in terms of home-from-home cooking.
‘What’s the order of play for today?’ asked Matt, piling some strawberry jam onto the last piece of toast. ‘I feel half human after that.’
‘I spoke to Helen just before I came in search of coffee. She’s already at the hospital, where the news on Jason is very positive. He’s physically out of the woods, and it will just be a matter of time before he makes a full recovery, but they are worried about his mental state. Apparently he keeps asking where the lady is, and his mother has no idea who he’s talking about. My own immediate thought was that he is talking about Susan Evans, because I really believe that she’s involved with this and more than Dan Painter is willing to admit. Helen will stay with Jason and Tina and keep us posted if the boy is able to remember anything about what happened to him. She seems to think that he will remember quite a bit but for the moment “the lady” is the only thing he will talk about. I suggested going there to speak to him, but Helen says the medical staff want him kept as quiet as possible so basically whether we like it or not we will have to be patient.’
‘There’s a press conference arranged for eleven and much of what we wanted that for has been sorted, but it will be a good PR exercise and give us a chance to thank the public for their efforts in looking for Jason yesterday. The other thing will be to use the opportunity for us to ask for any sightings of Susan Evans. See if you can get a recent picture of her from her sister and then meet me in the interview room. Let’s see if we can get some more out of Dan Painter.’
The two men parted company and Martin walked up the stairs to his office. He passed Sergeant Evans, who brought him up to date on the search for Susan Evans.
‘The last person to have seen her as far as we can work out is Mark Davies, the neighbour of Dan Painter – we both met him yesterday when we found the boy.’
‘That’s apart from Dan Painter himself,’ replied Martin. ‘When Mark Davies saw her she was getting into Painter’s car and then they drove off. The next person to see Painter was Diane, Susan Evans’ sister, but she definitely wasn’t with him then because apparently he told Diane that he hadn’t seen her for a while – that was obviously a lie. Something went on between those two and we need to speak to Susan Evans urgently to find out what – but she seems to have disappeared into thin air.’
Martin was getting an uncomfortable feeling about the safety of Jason’s ‘lady’ and it became more tangible when the sergeant shook his head and muttered. ‘Something just doesn’t feel right, does it?’
That did it for Martin and a few minutes later he walked into one of the interview rooms, determined to find out what had happened to Susan Evans. Sergeant Evans’ famous nose had now convinced him that there were more pieces of this puzzle to put together before the total picture could be revealed.
Matt went through all the preliminaries as he and Martin faced Painter and his solicitor in the usual format of a formal interview under caution. It was difficult to read this man accused of kidnapping as his face was deadpan and there was none of the lack of self-control that had resulted in the previous interview
being terminated. His demeanour was not arrogant but neither was it contrite and he had obviously been coached by his solicitor regarding the way in which he answered questions. In fact as soon as Matt had spoken the statutory opening words it was the solicitor who set the ground rules.
‘My client wishes to read a statement we have prepared and to answer only those questions that are relevant to the account he has provided.’ The solicitor was a well-spoken man and most definitely from the other side of the Severn Bridge. If the tape had been capturing thoughts as well as words it would have recorded Matt suggesting the solicitor was a ‘bloody pompous English twit’.
It was not the way Martin would have chosen to go but he had learned from experience that going along with criminals and their legal advisors sometimes lulled them into a false sense of security. He nodded and was pleasantly surprised by the brevity of the statement on offer.
Basically Painter explained how, until recently, he was unaware that Jason was his son and that even when he had found out there was nothing that he wanted to do about it. He had made the mistake of telling his girlfriend Susan Evans about Jason and she had convinced him that as he had missed out on being part of his son’s life he was entitled to some of the money that at some point would be his son’s inheritance.
He described in detail how he had easily persuaded Jason to hide in the cricket bag and how he had used Susan’s sister’s car. Quite suddenly the statement came to an end and his final sentence was ‘I confess to kidnapping Jason and asking his mother for one million pounds for his safe return, and it was never my intention to harm the boy in any way’.
‘Well, thanks for that,’ said Martin not even bothering to disguise his sarcasm. ‘It ticks a few boxes for us but to be honest the discovery of white flannels and a cricket bag at your home with some obvious traces of Jason having been inside it didn’t make it too difficult for us to figure it out. Perhaps that’s why they call us detectives.’