Murder Knows No Season

by Cathy Ace

  ‘So, you had a pretty unremarkable tournament, gentlemen?’ was Glover’s sardonic question, at which all three heads nodded rapidly – and a little too violently.

  ‘Everything pretty much as you’d expected?’ Again there was nodding. Glover pounced. ‘So, just a bit of polite banter over the rubber chicken, and no fisticuffs at all, eh?’

  All three men seemed suddenly very interested in their shoes, and Glover knew he had them. He suspected the Argyle Assistant would break the silence first; he did, and gushingly at that.

  ‘Oh, Detective Inspector, it was dreadful – honestly, we had no idea it would end up the way it did. We’ve had a few harsh words over the years, and even a bit of pushing and shoving, but this year – oh my word, it was quite frightening.’

  ‘So there was a fight?’ asked Glover, almost innocently.

  The Canary Captain glared at his Argyle Assistant, but recovered quickly and tried to take control of the interview, employing his most obsequious tones.

  ‘You have to understand, Inspector, that our members abide by the normal rules of public, and of course golfing, etiquette when they are on the premises. Unfortunately, some of the rugby club members are clearly used to a different set of guiding principles – and things rather got out of hand. Luckily, some of our more responsible members were able to restore peace.’ The man had no idea that blaming the fight on the rugby members was likely to rub Glover up the wrong way.

  Glover waged a brief internal war with himself – and the publicly acceptable persona won. ‘I’m sure it was all surprising and unexpected, gentlemen, and I also understand – from one of our off-duty officers who was present – the situation was quickly contained. Now, while I ask my sergeant here to take a look through those photographs you were studying, and ask you to make sure she gets a complete record of all those who were here on Sunday, I’m going to take a look around, if you don’t mind.’

  It wasn’t a question, and everyone in the room knew it.

  ‘I could show you around, if you like,’ offered the previously un-forthcoming Very Little Water. Glover judged the man was keen to leave the others, and wondered if he had information to share he couldn’t speak about in the presence of two people who probably oversaw the payment of his salary.

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Glover, ‘that would be most kind of you.’

  Before they left, they were joined by a small man with thinning fair hair, wearing a worried expression. He walked quickly toward the group; Glover noted the man was smiling, but that his mouth twitched nervously.

  ‘Ah, a new member for us? And his good lady-wife?’ was the man’s initial question. Glover felt himself cringe.

  Waters looked at Glover and smiled almost wickedly, then returned his gaze to the worried looking man. ‘A potential member? No, Bill. This is Detective Inspector Glover, and this is Detective Sergeant Stanley. They’re looking into GGR’s whereabouts on Sunday. This is Dr Bill Griffiths, Inspector, our resident sports injury specialist. Both he and I live here, at the club, don’t we, Bill? We are “residents” in the true sense of the word.’

  ‘Ah, yes, GGR. Terrible news. Heard it on the radio this morning,’ said the little man in a quiet voice. ‘Such a strapping chap. And such a hero. A terrible tragedy, indeed.’

  Glover got the impression he was simply saying what everyone would expect; there didn’t appear to be any real emotion in the man’s voice at all.

  ‘I understand from Mr Waters here that you played golf with GGR on Sunday, Dr Griffiths. Is that correct?’ Glover always thought it best to check ‘facts’; they often turned out to be nothing of the kind.

  ‘Please, call me Bill, everyone does,’ responded the nervous man in his quiet voice. ‘GGR arrived early – we weren’t expecting him until lunchtime, but he was here by ten, and we chatted over breakfast, you know the sort of thing. I hadn’t actually met the man before, so it was a great opportunity for me. Luckily I wasn’t called upon to perform any medical examinations on Sunday, which meant I was able to agree to make up a four with The Great One himself. I was honored to play with him.’

  Glover found the doctor’s manner odd; the words were all right, but his delivery was . . . stilted. He couldn’t help but think of a poorly-acted amateur dramatic production.

  As Glover strained to catch every almost-whispered word, the physician continued, ‘They can always reach me from the clubhouse on my mobile phone if there’s a problem, but there wasn’t, so we enjoyed a good few hours; just him and me, and the two club captains, of course. It was lovely weather; clear, a little light breeze off the sea, but nothing too chilly. The course is almost like a nature trail – so much to see as you play.’

  Put like that, golf sounded almost civilized, thought Glover. ‘What sort of things did you and GGR talk about?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, to be perfectly honest nothing in particular, that I can remember.’

  The Canary Captain butted in. ‘I overheard you two talking about people you had in common in Clydach.’

  ‘Possibly. Yes, I think you might be right,’ responded the doctor. ‘And I recall now that we talked about beer too; I used to live not far from the Fire Dragon Brewery in Clydach, you see. We discussed the smell of yeast and malt on the morning air, and how it can affect your entire digestive system. Of course, GGR was the most famous man at the brewery and he often attended local functions, so we both knew some of the same people.’

  ‘And did you spend time with GGR after you’d finished the golf?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘Let me think . . .’ was Bill Griffiths’ response, and he did, while everyone waited. After about thirty seconds of silence he said, ‘I saw him around and about throughout the lunch period, but then I was on the sidelines by two p.m., which is where they need me for rugby matches, for obvious reasons. After that, I wasn’t involved in the drinks or dinner at all; being an employee of the club I was merely required to come out after dinner so that I could be thanked by the club captains. I hung around at the back of the function area until they called my name; I got a round of applause, then I went back to my office. I’m not one much for speeches myself. I saw GGR at the head table at that time, but that was it.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Dr Griffiths. Just one more thing – were you here all day Monday?’ asked Glover.

  ‘I was working from two p.m. until nine p.m., then had an early night. Before that it was my morning off; I drove into Swansea for a few bits and pieces, and was back here by eleven. I played a few holes before I had lunch, then took my first appointment,’ replied Griffiths almost cheerily. ‘It was another lovely day.’

  ‘As you say,’ said Glover. He was pretty sure he’d got all he was likely to out of the man. ‘Mr Waters was just about to show me around, so, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll let DS Stanley here take a note of times and places of where you all were on Monday, and I’ll be back shortly.’

  Glover was still hoping Waters wanted to have a private word with him, so he allowed the man to lead him toward the new extension of the building, away from the little group and the costumed golfers who seemed to be wandering about all over the place.

  Once they were out of earshot of anyone else, Glover took his chance. ‘Am I right in thinking there’s something you’d like to tell me, privately, Mr Waters?’ Glover thought it best to be direct.

  Waters looked around and said quietly, ‘It’s Kevin, and yes, I do. Let’s go outside – I’ll feel more comfortable there.’

  The men pushed open the double-doors and stepped out into the bright, and surprisingly warm, sunshine. They walked away from the clubhouse. Waters led Glover to a path leading down toward the beach below them, skirting the golf course. The man was obviously considering how to say what he wanted to say.

  He looked around before he spoke, and dropped his voice. ‘I admired GGR a great deal, Inspector, and I want you to remember that when I say what I do. I also don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but I have grappled with all this since Sunday, and feel I shou
ld tell you. You see, my whole life I’ve been involved in rugby; I’ve watched it, I’ve played it, I’ve loved it – I was even the steward at two rugby clubs before I took this job here. And GGR was the greatest, bar none. But the truth is . . . well, I saw some things I didn’t like at all on Sunday. And I think you should know about them. But . . . well, frankly I don’t want you to think badly of me, Inspector. I’m not a nosey man, and I don’t want you to think I was snooping. It’s just that I sometimes see things other people don’t. These functions? They all have a drink or two, and I don’t touch the stuff. I had a few problems a few years back, so I don’t drink at all now.’

  That explains the nose, thought Glover. ‘I won’t think badly of you, Kevin. Just tell me what you saw; you’ll be glad you got it off your chest.’ Glover was used to this – someone seeing something they shouldn’t have seen, or wishing they hadn’t seen, then not wanting to reveal it because of what it might suggest about their character. He was just glad this man was coming forward so quickly; often people held information back for quite a while, and that could really hinder an investigation.

  ‘Well, the truth is that I’ve seen my fair share of GGR having one too many over the years, in various establishments, Inspector, and he was a pretty miserable drunk. Indeed, I think he was getting worse. He didn’t come here often – maybe once a month or so – and, of course, he’s always been the Fire Dragon rep for the club, so he was usually here on “business”. But how downing five pints, then insisting upon driving away from here can be called “business”, I don’t know. I don’t like that sort of thing; even when I was drinking I’d never have driven after a pint or two myself. If he’d been a member I’d have taken his keys off him and put him into a taxi; but he was GGR, you see, so they wouldn’t let me say a dicky bird to him.’

  It was a pattern that was beginning to annoy Glover.

  ‘Anyway, recently, his temper seemed to get shorter with each pint he drank. On Sunday night, long before I knew he was dead, I’d been thinking about how many pints he’d tucked away through the day. I reckon he must have had about fifteen – and that’s just what I saw.’

  Glover nodded sadly. ‘Well, I’m glad he went home in a taxi that night, at least,’ was his sighing response.

  Waters nodded. ‘Mind you, even then I had to dress it up like it was a treat for him because he was the guest of honor; it was the only way he’d let me get away with it. But that’s not the main problem.’

  Waters hesitated and looked around again. He continued in a low voice. ‘I’d noticed how much GGR was drinking, and I’d also noticed that he got fired up pretty quickly when the argy-bargy went off . . . he was in there swinging as quick as he could be, and someone decked him pretty quick too – and though I don’t know who did it, or why, I do have my suspicions. You see . . . oh dear, it’s all a terrible mess . . . How do I begin?’ He paused for a moment, then said, ‘I knew we were going to be busy here on Sunday, so I asked the daughter of one of the golfers to come in to give us a hand with serving the food during lunch, and for the dinner. She’s only sixteen, a sweet girl. Anyway, she came to find me at about four o’clock in tears, saying that GGR had touched her. Inappropriately.’

  Glover’s heart sank.

  Waters added, ‘I couldn’t believe it, but she said she’d gone to one of our locker rooms with him so he could sign a rugby club shirt for her grandmother, and he’d put his arms around her and tried to kiss her. Very upset she was. So I told her to go home. You see, I think it was her father who hit GGR in the bar after dinner when all that bother happened later on. I have to admit I couldn’t really see who did it, but I do know that Dave – that’s the girl’s father – was standing right beside GGR over at the bar when the fight broke out, and that they’d been having words.’

  Glover took the information on board; he didn’t like this picture of GGR – not one bit. It also opened up another avenue of enquiry; the girl’s father might have been angry enough to have another go at GGR – maybe on a clifftop, with a golf club – the next day.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll need the father’s name, and the family’s address if you have it, please.’

  Waters nodded.

  ‘Anything else?’ asked Glover.

  ‘Well, yes, there was . . .’ Waters hesitated; Glover wondered how much worse it could get. ‘You know I said GGR was drinking a lot?’ Glover nodded. ‘Well, he was also going to the toilet a lot.’ Waters half-smiled. ‘Now I realize that the two are usually inextricably linked, but what struck me as odd was how long he was gone every time. I began to wonder if there was something wrong with the man, so I thought I’d better check up and see. So I followed him in . . .’

  Glover could tell that Kevin Waters was struggling with his embarrassment. Finally the man said, ‘When I got in there, well, he wasn’t at a urinal, he’d gone into a stall, which is fair enough, you know . . . but one of the rugby lads was in the stall next to him, and I saw GGR pass him something under the stall partition.’

  Glover could imagine the scene; Waters following GGR into the toilets, not seeing him at a urinal, bending down to check if he was in a stall and, if so, which one. But Glover thought it unlikely that Waters would admit as much.

  ‘Did you happen to see what it was that was being passed?’ asked Glover – hoping for something that might be useful.

  ‘I’m pretty sure I do know what it was, and that’s the problem. A few years back I was steward at the Glan-y-Mor club, and there was a big hoo-ha about a couple of the players who were on steroids; they’d been storing them in their lockers at the club, so I saw a lot of the stuff then. And I’m pretty sure that’s what GGR was passing to the bloke in the next stall – three glass bottles. Steroids. As I said, I don’t like to speak ill of the dead – but it’s what I saw, and I thought you should know. I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with him dying, but . . . well . . . what do you think?’

  Glover knew exactly what he thought; it sounded like his hero hadn’t just been injecting the stuff into himself, but that he was supplying it too. Glover could have cried. A doper, a drunk, a groper, and now a dealer. What else would he find out about his beloved GGR before the day was over? He felt sick. He steeled himself.

  ‘Thanks, Mr Waters. Kevin. I appreciate your openness. Do you know who it was he was passing the drugs to?’

  ‘Yes, one of our front row; funnily enough, the one who seemed to kick off the fight that night. I’ve been thinking “Roid Rage” ever since I saw it. And I’ve been having a think about a few other things too.’

  Glover held up his hand to warn Waters that they were being approached by some golfers. Waters nodded and bowed his head, kicking at the sandy soil with his toe. He looked as deflated as Glover felt. Both men were seeing their hero in a different light; Glover was beginning to think that, quite soon, the rest of the world might see him that way too.

  When the golfers had passed, Glover again drew close to Waters and said, ‘Yes, Kevin – you said you’d been thinking about some other things?’ He dreaded what the man might say next.

  ‘Yes. You know how GGR would come here on behalf of the Fire Dragon Brewery?’ Glover nodded. ‘Well, he used to come to Glan-y-Mor when I was there, and my other club too. And I know he goes to loads of rugby clubs all around the area. And I began to worry that maybe . . . well, you know . . .’ Waters started to bob his head about like a character in a Monty Python sketch. ‘You know. . .’ he said again, twitching.

  ‘Spit it out, man,’ was Glover’s exasperated response.

  ‘What if he was supplying other players with the same stuff, as he went around all the clubs for the brewery?’ The thought hung in the warm air, and it made Glover feel sick.

  Dear God, why hadn’t he thought of it? Anyone else, and he’d have been right onto that. He could have kicked himself. He was annoyed he wasn’t seeing this case as clearly as he should.

  Could GGR really have been using his brewery job to cover him taking supplies of anabolic st
eroids to dozens of rugby clubs in the area? Maybe for many years? Glover kept himself in check, and hoped none of his thoughts had shown on his face.

  ‘It’s something we’ll look into, of course, Kevin – but I wouldn’t trouble yourself about it for now,’ was about all he could muster. Luckily the sound of his mobile phone rescued him from having to say anything else. He checked the number – it was the super. For once, he wanted to take the call.

  ‘I really should take this, it’s my boss – is there anything else?’

  ‘That’s enough, isn’t it?’ asked Kevin Waters with feeling.

  ‘It’s enough if it’s all there is,’ replied Glover carefully.

  ‘That’s all, Inspector,’ was the man’s reply and he waved as he took his leave of Glover.

  ‘Sir?’ was Glover’s somewhat terse reply to the superintendent’s call.

  ‘How’s it going there, Glover? Come up with anything yet?’

  Glover considered his reply. ‘There are some interesting lines opening up for enquiry, sir, and I’ll be getting the team to pursue some possible leads just as soon as I can phone them, sir.’ He hoped the super would take the hint. He didn’t.

  ‘Anything you feel you can talk about right now?’ The man was obviously desperate to know what was going on.

  ‘All due respect sir, I don’t think I should go into any details until I’m sure of my facts. But, as I said, we do have some areas that need some pretty detailed enquiries made. So if I might, I’ll hang up now, so I can speak to my team . . .’

  Lewis seemed taken aback and acceded, which was what Glover had counted on. He walked back to the clubhouse as fast as he could, pushed open the swing doors and called for Stanley. Heads turned as his voice rang out in the relative quiet of the club, and within moments Stanley appeared at the front entrance. She had a thumb drive and a large envelope in her hands.