Murder Knows No Season

by Cathy Ace

‘I’ve told them they can’t release any photos until we say so, sir. I’ve got all the names and addresses you were after, and I’ve got this.’ She held up the thumb drive with pride.

  ‘And that is?’ asked Glover, curious.

  ‘They recorded GGR’s speeches and presentations. This is the recording. I thought it might be useful.’

  ‘Good job, Stanley.’ Glover was pleased. ‘Bring it with you – we’re going back to the team, I’ll fill you in as we go.’

  ‘Get anything, sir?’ was Stanley’s enquiry as they made their way back to the car, and Glover gave her the bare facts.

  Stanley’s face was a picture. ‘That’s quite a lot of options, sir. Possibly an angry father, maybe some very angry drug users, and the general chance of someone he might have annoyed when he was several sheets to the wind.’

  ‘Very politely put, Stanley,’ replied Glover as they pulled out of the car park. ‘You drive – I’m on the phone,’ he added redundantly, as Stanley was already behind the wheel and Glover was already dialing.

  Glover had phoned in his requirements to the team back at HQ and had been informed that a thick sea mist on the Monday morning had completely obscured the entire Three Cliffs area, so no one would have been able to see anything useful until about eleven a.m., even if they’d been staring through a pair of binoculars right at the spot where GGR was attacked.

  This fact also raised the possibility that GGR might not have seen his assailant until whomever it was had been very close to him.

  A call to Souza told Glover the test results were back; Souza confirmed the man’s use of anabolic steroids, that at the time of death he’d had a blood alcohol level above the legal driving limit, that his stomach contents showed whiskey, bacon, eggs and banana, but there was nothing else out of the ordinary – if those results could be called ordinary.

  By the time Glover got off the phone they were five minutes away from HQ.

  ‘What should I know about what you found out, Stanley – anything?’

  Stanley answered succinctly, ‘There are about forty Brynfield Club members who are left-handed, and only about half a dozen of them have the golf club in question; the golf pro was pretty helpful with that, sir – he knows the players and their clubs. I have their details. Oddly enough, the captain, assistant captain, Waters and the doctor are all lefties, as was GGR. Only the captain and GGR owned a Massive Martha III club, sir.’

  ‘Good to know,’ was all Glover managed before they peeled into the courtyard at the back of HQ, and he leaped from the vehicle, leaving Stanley to park the car.

  Facing his team in the squad room, moments later, Glover had their undivided attention. ‘Right – waggle a limb as I call out, and give us an update,’ he shouted. ‘Door to door?’ A hand shot up at the back of the room.

  ‘DS West, sir. Just one thing of note, sir. The couple who found the little dog and called it in to the RSPCA – they’re on holiday from the north of England and confirmed they first saw the dog, abandoned and running with its lead attached to the shooting stick, at about ten thirty a.m. They’d gone for a walk, hoping the mists would clear, which didn’t happen until about eleven a.m., and they encountered the dog on the top path, above Three Cliffs. They tried to catch it but it kept slipping away; it then disappeared into the mists on the top of the cliffs. Not knowing the area they didn’t follow, but called the RSPCA. Might help with the time he went over, sir?’

  ‘Good point, West, thank you. Anything else?’

  ‘Nothing more, sir – the mist problem. No one saw GGR himself that morning at all, sir.’

  ‘Public tips?’ Glover scanned the room.

  ‘Here, sir, DC Bidder, sir – not a thing, sir. Lines have been very quiet – except for the crackpots.’

  ‘Who’s on the Cockle Wars, Stanley?’

  ‘Hughes, sir,’ she replied.

  ‘Hughes?’ barked Glover.

  ‘Yes, sir. Here, sir. I pulled all the files, and there are a lot of them. I discovered GGR’s wife was a Davies even before she married him; belonged to one of three families in Penclawdd with the Davies name, each of whom had one of the original cockle-gathering licenses. Gwladys Davies’s mother was a gatherer, and Gwladys herself was granted the stall in Swansea Market mainly because of the cockle license. She sold her family’s cockles there until the co-operative was formed in the 1990s, but thereafter, what with all the new health and safety requirements for selling foodstuffs, she decided not to move to a stall with chilling equipment. Her family gave their cockles to the co-op and she kept going with just the fruit, veg, and eggs. Her father got into a bit of trouble in the 1970s and 1980s, but mainly pub brawls and public peace issues, all related to the cockles. No mention of GGR in any of the files, sir. Updates in the files suggest that everything’s quiet on the cockle front, but that – if ever it does kick off – it always seems to involve two particular families; the Dewi Davies family – which isn’t connected to GGR or his wife at all – and the Huw Price family. It seems that the Dewi Davies family lost their license and the Price family got it instead, sir. No love lost there, it seems.’

  Glover suspected the cockle war issue might be a dead end, but he’d follow it for a while yet. ‘Stanley – what was name of the rugby player who started the fight at the Brynfield Club on Sunday night?’

  Stanley looked through his notes. ‘It was a Bob Price, front row player for the Brynfield Rugby Club.’

  Glover gave it some thought.

  ‘Hughes – liaise with Stanley and try to find out if the Price in the fight is related to the Penclawdd Prices, right? And, whether he is or not, I want him in here this afternoon for questioning.’

  Two voices shouted ‘Sir!’, and Glover continued. ‘Steroid abuse? Who’s on steroid abuse? Any facts for me?’

  ‘Evans, here, sir. The Welsh Rugby Union has what it calls a “rigorous anti-doping stance”. But there are about 98,000 registered WRU players, and they only carried out 304 tests last year. Word on the street is it’s rife throughout all club levels – amateur and semi-professional. Dopers are risking that they won’t get tested. Nothing in any of the files about GGR being involved at all.’

  Glover was horrified by the figures quoted, but couldn’t help but be unsurprised by that last fact.

  Evans continued, ‘I’ve printed up all the stats for you including a list of names of all players currently suspended, and those whose suspensions have ended. There are two in particular I’ve highlighted, the two most recently suspended.’

  ‘Thank you, Evans; get hold of those two, and get them in here to see me this afternoon. Right-o, GGR’s client list for the brewery – who’s on brewery duty?’

  ‘Me, sir – I’ve got the list: twenty-two rugby clubs, thirty-five pubs, ten restaurants, five golf clubs. Seems he went to each rugby club about once a month, then bi-monthly for the rest.’

  ‘Stanley – movement on the Davies property front?’

  ‘Yes, sir; the fridge in the cellar revealed three hundred phials of anabolic steroids, all on their way in now; the FIT people also confirmed that GGR’s own golf clubs are a left-handed set, but there’s no Massive Martha III. They’ve taken the rest of them anyway. The missus is still out of it – family liaison still on the scene. The sister’s due to arrive from Cardiff this afternoon, and plans on staying over. No luck finding any hidden bank accounts etcetera so far, sir.’

  ‘Thank you for all your work, people – now back to it; I know I’ve just given you a lot more you can be getting on with.’

  Glover turned to leave the room.

  ‘Sir?’ It was the DC handling the incoming public calls.

  ‘Yes, Bidder, what is it?’

  ‘I know I said there was nothing much on the tip-line, sir, but there was a call from a Mr Everett of Llangennith – said he needed to speak to you urgently. He said he’d punched GGR on Sunday, and needed to explain it to you. He seemed a bit distressed, sir.’

  ‘And what did you tell this distressed
Mr Everett, Bidder?’

  ‘I thought you’d like to see him, sir, so I asked if it would be convenient for him to come in to talk to you. He got here about ten minutes ago. He’s in Interview Room One.’

  Glover beamed. ‘Your quick thinking has just saved me a drive out to Llangennith, and I thank you for it.’ Bidder glowed, and stood more erect. Glover was known to be generous in his praise for a job well done.

  ‘Go and tell the man I’ll be with him in five, Bidder.’ The DC nodded and left. ‘Come with me for a second, Stanley.’

  The pair left the team room and stood in the corridor. ‘Stanley, what do you think of the mood in the room?’

  ‘Grim, sir,’ was Stanley’s considered opinion.

  ‘I agree, Stanley – I know they all want to find out what’s happened, but there’s a pall hanging over everyone; it’s as though they’ve all lost a family member. I’m sure they’ll work hard, but I need them firing on all cylinders. I tell you what – get a large screen set up in the squad room so we can all watch the recording of GGR’s speech from Sunday night together, after I’ve seen this Everett chap. It’ll give me a more appropriate chance to focus them on the nature of our job. So sort that, then meet me downstairs; I want you to come with me to interview Everett – he’s the father of the girl Waters told me about. Watch him like a hawk, Stanley. Right? And I need you to be the one pushing his buttons about his daughter’s possible promiscuity, right?’

  Stanley nodded, unhappily, and muttered, ‘Sir,’ glumly, then phoned a DC with Glover’s instructions about setting up equipment in the team room. A few words sufficed.

  Just as they reached the interview room, Glover said, ‘Looks as though GGR planned to continue with his supply system, even if he’d retired from the brewery; I don’t suppose anyone would bat an eyelid if GGR showed up at their rugby club for a few pints once a month, in fact they’d probably let him have it on the house. And it seems we have more proof of his love of booze in terms of his stomach contents – whiskey that early in the day, and considering he would have been off to collect his car from the golf club if he hadn’t died? Not good. The car’s being checked too, right?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ was what Dave Everett would have heard the younger police officer say as the older one opened the door.

  ‘Detective Inspector Glover, Detective Sergeant Stanley,’ said Glover by way of introduction. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Dave Everett, Inspector, thank you for seeing me.’ The man was tall, slim and red-headed. Glover wondered if that indicated a temper. It didn’t look as though he’d slept much – a naturally pale-skinned man, there were blue marks beneath his watery, grey-green eyes.

  ‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Everett I understand you have something you want to tell me?’ Straight to the point. Always the best way.

  ‘I struck GGR Davies a hefty blow on the chin at a golf and rugby tournament at the Brynfield Club on Sunday evening. The man had acted inappropriately toward my daughter and I hit him. He fell to the floor with the force of my blow. I am not apologizing, he deserved it. But I thought you should know.’

  Glover suspected the man had been rehearsing that little speech for some time. It sounded theatrical.

  ‘What do you mean by “inappropriately”, Mr Everett?’ asked Stanley.

  Everett looked at Glover in query, and Glover nodded. Everett nodded back and looked at Stanley. He’d been given permission to answer.

  ‘My daughter had never met GGR before – though, of course, she knew all about him. My wife’s mother has always been a big GGR fan, so Heather – that’s my daughter, she’s only sixteen – asked GGR if he would sign a Brynfield rugby club shirt for her grandmother. Heather was going to be paid twenty pounds for helping out with serving the food at the club on Sunday, and the shirt was nineteen pounds and ninety-five pence, so she bought it with the money she’d have been paid. That’s the sort of girl she is. Thoughtful. Selfless.’

  He looked at Glover pointedly, then continued. ‘GGR asked her to bring the rugby shirt to the women’s locker room so he could sign it – the men’s locker room was inundated with those who’d been playing in the rugby competition. She took the shirt along at the time he’d said. four p.m.’ Glover could see the man was shaking. ‘When she got there, he said she’d have to pay him with a kiss, so she pecked him on the cheek – but he grabbed her . . . bottom and her –’ he swallowed hard – ‘he grabbed my little girl’s breasts, the bastard. It was an assault, that’s what it is. He sexually assaulted my baby girl.’ It was clear that Everett was overwhelmed.

  ‘Try to stay calm, Mr Everett,’ cooed Glover.

  ‘Do you think your daughter led him on?’ asked Stanley.

  Everett looked horrified. ‘Why would you say that? She’s shy. She’s not like that. You don’t know her!’ He was shouting.

  There was the temper Glover had been wondering about.

  ‘We often find that parents don’t really know their children at all. She might be a very outgoing girl in reality,’ added Stanley, using an unpleasant tone.

  ‘I take offence at that.’ Everett was on his feet. ‘Can’t you tell her to stop?’ he shouted at Glover.

  Was Glover seeing the reaction of a man who’d gone and bashed his daughter’s groper over the head with a golf club? Or of a man torn apart by anger that a national hero, essentially untouchable, had stepped across a line any father – any decent man – would draw?

  He said, ‘No need to get upset, Mr Everett – I’m sure my colleague means that, sometimes, parents think of their children as just that, children; even when they start to grow up and change, parents just don’t see it.’

  Glover paused, for effect; the effect was that Everett chewed his lip.

  Glover pressed on, ‘But, sometimes, others see something else; they see a beautiful young woman, where a father still sees a child. Maybe GGR misunderstood her childish enthusiasm for a bit of a come-on. He wasn’t a father himself, you see, so he might have misinterpreted.’

  Everett resumed his seat, but glared angrily at Glover. ‘Don’t make excuses for the man. Heather is tiny, I mean she’s not . . . well-developed at all, if you know what I mean. She is still a child. Anyone groping her must have had some sort of a problem. She’s a kid. Look.’

  Everett handed Glover a photograph of what appeared to be a twelve-year-old, in a school uniform. Glover passed it to Stanley. The girl was pretty, in a fresh-faced way; she wore her hair short, in a boyish cut, and had a smile that was still toothy and unaffected.

  ‘When was this taken, sir?’ asked Glover, politely.

  ‘Two months ago. That’s what I mean – she looks like a kid still, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know – a bit of make-up, lipstick, and her hair played around with, and she could look quite different, I’d have thought,’ said Stanley.

  ‘Shut her up,’ shouted Everett at Glover. ‘Heather never wears make-up. I was there on Sunday – and I know she wasn’t wearing any then; and don’t go thinking she was dressed like a tart – she was wearing a golf shirt and tracksuit bottoms, like all the bar and serving staff. Not dressed up at all.’

  ‘So what happened exactly, Mr Everett?’ asked Glover patiently; they weren’t going to get any further with that line of questions.

  ‘You mean, about me hitting him?’ replied Everett.

  Glover nodded.

  ‘Well, Heather didn’t come to me about it at all; she’d gone to Kevin Waters. He’s our GM, and the one who asked her to work on Sunday. He sent her home. I was at the rugby match, see, and I hadn’t got back to the clubhouse when it happened. I don’t suppose she knew where to find me. Fine father I turned out to be.’

  Glover had suspected guilt – and there it was at last; the man hadn’t been there when his daughter had needed him.

  Everett looked deflated as he continued, ‘Anyway – I didn’t even notice she wasn’t around until about halfway through dinner. I hadn’t seen her serving, so I asked Kevin about i
t; he took me to one side and, eventually, told me what she’d said. I couldn’t believe it.’

  Glover spotted the incredulity in the man’s voice; it was to be expected.

  He pressed on, speaking more quietly. ‘I phoned her at home, right then. She was in tears – she hadn’t talked to her mother about it, it seemed, but it all came out when I asked her. And I had no reason to doubt her; she’s a good girl, is Heather.’

  Glover suspected Everett believed this to be the truth, even if it proved not to be the case. He’d have to meet the girl himself and decide. But that was for later.

  ‘I am assuming you were angry, Mr Everett?’ Stanley asked.

  Everett glared at her. ‘Of course I was bloody angry. Any father would be.’ He spoke to Stanley as though she were an idiot.

  ‘So how did it come about that you punched GGR?’ asked Glover.

  ‘After phoning home I went up to the bar for a drink – a big one – and GGR was in that part of the room too. He’d finished all his speeches and all that – I’d missed it all when I was on the phone to Heather. Now, I don’t know what happened – I wasn’t really taking any notice – but all of a sudden a fight broke out; people were taking swings all over the place and . . . well, something just snapped inside my head and I lashed out at GGR. I don’t think anyone saw me, and I’m pretty sure not even he knew it was me who hit him. I just whacked him one on the chin, and down he went. It was a sucker punch; cowardly, and not my sort of thing at all. When I’d hit him I felt normal again, and I just walked away. I don’t know what happened afterwards. I went to the Gents and washed my face. By the time I went back into the bar area everything was back to normal – people patting each other on the back, and many making for the door with lots of farewells – someone was handing GGR a pint. It was as though none of it had ever happened. But it did. And, now that he’s dead, I thought I’d better tell you.’ Everett seemed drained.

  ‘So you didn’t speak to GGR again that evening?’ asked Stanley abrasively.

  ‘I didn’t stay long after that, I couldn’t face it. I got in a taxi and went home to see Heather. I never saw him after that at all.’