by Ted Tayler
“I told you I hadn’t heard from them,” said Tommy. “Why don’t you check upstairs and see whether they’re hiding under the beds? Sally wasn’t interested four years ago. I don’t think she’s going to change her mind, do you?”
Lydia and Neil left Tommy Griffiths in his glorified cupboard and made their way back to the bar. Terri was hovering by the doorway. Neil thought she’d been listening to the conversation.
“Is this a good place to eat, Terri?” he asked.
She seemed surprised that he knew her name.
“There are fish and chip restaurants further along the Esplanade that are ten times better,” she said.
When they were outside on the pavement, Lydia turned to make her way to the car. Neil was searching for the restaurants.
“We should get back, Neil,” she said.
“Maybe they do takeaway,” said Neil, “We’re at the seaside, it’s traditional to have fish and chips. It’s lunchtime. Gus doesn’t begrudge us taking a break.”
Lydia had to admit that Neil was right. She had enjoyed a lovely Italian meal with Gus on their way home from the Isle of Wight after interviewing Christine Gates, Dennis Gates’s birth mother.
“Alright then, you win,” said Lydia, “but we’re eating indoors. Have you seen the size of the seagulls on the sea wall over there?”
Gus and Luke were over the second Severn crossing when Neil was snaffling his first chip. Lydia rapped him over the knuckles with her fork.
It had been an uneventful drive for Gus and Luke, with brief delays at the M32 junction and the toll bridge. There was plenty of time to drop into Cardiff Central before meeting Ieuan Arlett at two o’clock.
“I wonder whether Dai Williams ever wishes he could get promoted, guv?” asked Luke.
“Possibly,” laughed Gus. “Wales can be a funny place. I came here with Tess for a holiday one year when we were younger. We stayed at a B&B on the coast. Hot and cold running water in all beds, the brochure said. When we slipped under the sheets later that night, we realised what it meant. The place was damp. As for the entertainment, well, they loved their bingo in the pubs and clubs. Sometimes they had a beat combo playing either side of the quest for a full house. On Sunday night they had a comedian, Wit Munday. His name was nothing to do with the seventh Sunday after Easter, and little to do with comedy either.”
“What was the weather like?” asked Luke.
“Typical summer weather for Wales,” said Gus. “It rained every other day.”
“Oh, hard luck. That must be awful.”
“Not really, it was a pleasant holiday. Despite the occasional oddball, the Welsh people are terrific company.”
Luke parked in the visitor’s car park, and he and Gus negotiated the eternally tricky Reception area. Ten minutes later they wore visitor’s badges and had an escort to DI Williams’s office.
“Prynhawn Da,” said Dai Williams.
“Good of you to see us, Sir,” said Luke. “I’m DS Sherman, and Gus Freeman, my boss.
“You’re with a Crime Review Team. Is that right?” asked DI Williams.
“That’s correct. Wiltshire Police investigated the murder of Ivan Kendall in March 2014,” said Gus. “I spoke with DCI Eddie Sinclair this morning. He gave me the story from his side of the Bristol Channel. We’re here this afternoon to hear your version. We’ve got an appointment in the victim’s home village in just over an hour.”
“Right, we’d better get on with it then. Yes, I remember that case. I was Senior Investigating Officer, although we didn’t accept that we were looking for a dead body at the outset. The officers in the sticks thought the wife had panicked. The couple’s relationship wasn’t rock steady. Mrs Kendall called Pontyclun police station at around two on Sunday afternoon. She reported her husband, Ivan, missing. We’ve known husbands still celebrating in Cardiff two days after the national team has won a Triple Crown, a Grand Slam, or beaten the All Blacks. It felt premature, but we did the necessary and followed the correct protocol in these instances.”
“Did you verify the ticket purchases?” asked Gus.
“Hold on, let me find my report on my computer. I don’t think we were aware of Kendall’s destination. Here we are. Forgive me while I refresh my memory. That’s it. Sally Kendall told us her husband had left home and their daughter, Alexa, said she saw her father board the Cardiff train at 20.55 on Saturday night.”
“What happened next?” asked Gus.
“Later that Sunday afternoon, two uniformed officers visited Mrs Kendall to take a statement, and then they went to the railway station. Passengers purchase tickets from a machine these days, of course, so there was no way to confirm who bought what if they paid in cash. The station employee on duty that afternoon wasn’t working the previous night. He wasn’t much help. So, they couldn’t swear to the fact that Mr Kendall had even boarded the train. We only had the daughter’s word for that, and Pontyclun had had many dealings with that little madam.”
“Why would the daughter lie?” asked Luke, but DI Williams ignored him.
“Were you happy with the way the first part of the case got handled, Sir?” asked Gus.
“I think it’s fair to say both the rural officers and ourselves paid little more than lip service to a search for Ivan Kendall near to the station or on the line between the village and the city centre. We were unconvinced he was missing and certainly had no reason to believe he was suicidal. Everything changed gears rapidly on Monday morning when his body turned up eighty miles away in Westbury. At that point, my officers confirmed that Kendall travelled from Cardiff Central to Westbury after arriving from Pontyclun. Later on, we learned that our checks matched evidence Wiltshire Police found on the body.”
“When you knew you were dealing with a murder, did you uncover a motive or identify potential suspects?” asked Gus.
“We must have interviewed everyone in Pontyclun who ever had contact with Ivan Kendall and his family,” said Dai Williams. “He was a hard worker, according to former workmates. Nobody had any complaints about his window cleaning. ‘A quality job for a bargain price’. That was the motto on the side of his van. His neighbours said he was a quiet man…”
“Who kept himself to himself,” said Gus.
“Quite,” said Dai Williams.
“What about the rugby club?” asked Luke.
“Nothing different to anywhere else. Kendall watched matches occasionally and used the bar during and after the games.”
“What did you think persuaded Ivan Kendall to travel to Westbury that night?” asked Luke.
“My first thought? Well, his wife was there one minute and gone the next. What would you do? I thought he had looked elsewhere. Crumpet, that’s what I expected to find responsible for his acting out of character. A woman who Ivan Kendall found online on one of those dating apps who told him she was willing and invited him over for a night of passion.”
“Westbury’s a long way to travel though, Sir, isn’t it?” asked Luke.
“Not if sex was a dead cert, DS Sherman. We’ve all spent half the night and most of our cash trying to get off with someone your mates assure you is a sure thing, and then we’ve gone home alone.”
“If you say so, Sir,” said Luke.
“Although that was what you thought was behind the journey, you didn’t pursue that angle, did you, Sir?” asked Gus.
“We did not,” said Dai Williams. “Because, based on every witness statement we received, Ivan Kendall never looked at another woman after he met Sally. He waited for her to return each time she left him, and there were never any recriminations.”
“Was there anything else you looked at, Sir?” asked Luke.
“We realised there was little progress from the Wiltshire end and we tried to come up with a logical list of reasons for the journey. Then, as with so many other cases, I got a call from my Assistant Chief Constable, asking when I was going to close the case. We carried out a reconstruction, trying to jog someone’s memory or prick
someone’s conscience. That proved to be a waste of time and effort. My boss didn’t wait any longer for closure. Ten days later, I got assigned to another case.”
“What did you make of Sally’s disappearance?” asked Gus.
“I wasn’t aware she had disappeared,” said DI Williams.
“Neither Sally nor Alexa Kendall has been in the Pontyclun area since the end of 2014,” said Gus.
“That’s not a disappearance,” said Dai Williams. “The police have never been contacted by anyone to say Mrs Kendall was missing. She left Pontyclun after her mother died. The rumour in the village was that because nobody could explain Ivan’s death, then she could be in danger. I can’t see any foundation for that belief. Sally and her daughter simply moved away. No law says a person can’t live in a different part of the country without telling their neighbours. At least, not yet. They’ll be living somewhere in Wales, I reckon. Sally was a home bird. I can’t see her flying too far from the nest.”
“If we get something from Pontyclun that we think helps, Sir, we’ll pass it on,” said Gus. “Many thanks for seeing us today. Good afternoon. That was what you said when we arrived, I presume?”
“It was, Mr Freeman,” said DI Williams, “I spoke Welsh at home until I was five and attended school. English was the first foreign language I learnt.”
Gus and Luke retraced their steps from Dai William’s office and were soon outside in the car park.
“What did we learn from that, Luke,” asked Gus.
“South Wales thought the answer lay on the other side of the Severn Bridge, guv. They went through the motions with their investigation from the outset. I wonder whether DI Williams was right about Sally Kendall. Perhaps Blessing should concentrate on a smaller area of the country?”
“I’ll make a mental note,” said Gus, “but you had better remind me when we get back to the office. Those spinning plates are getting too many to count.”
“We’d better get our skates on if we’re going to make the rugby club by two o’clock, guv,” said Luke.
As they pulled out of the Cardiff Central Police Headquarters, the rain started.
“What did I say, Luke?” said Gus. “We crossed the Severn Bridge in glorious sunshine. The weather looked set for a perfect summer’s day. Welcome to Wales.”
“It’s a passing shower, guv,” said Luke.
“That’s what Tess assured me when we were here for that holiday. The trouble was, there were as many showers as there were sheep. It wasn’t long before you saw another one.”
Twenty-five minutes later, they entered the village.
“I’m guessing this place has grown over the years,” said Gus. “It has to be larger than Mere, where we spent much of last week.”
“Pontyclun has a population twice the size of Mere,” said Luke. “In the past ten years, people have come south from the valleys and west from Cardiff. Just look around you, it’s a green and pleasant land to coin a phrase.”
“Where’s this rugby club, then?” asked Gus.
“On Llantrisant Road, guv,” said Luke, “we’ll be there in five minutes.”
As Luke swung the car through the rugby club entrance, he remembered it was the close season. No doubt they would cut the long grass before the end of next month, and the club’s various teams would be in training for the coming league campaigns. For now, there was just one car parked in front of the modern-looking clubhouse.
“You can understand why clubs such as this became the heart of the community in South Wales can’t you, guv?”
“A large green field, surrounded by housing,” said Gus, “and if my eyes don’t deceive me, several allotments. What’s that over there, a kids’ play area? As you say, I bet this place gets used throughout the year by various clubs and societies. They’ll cater for weddings and funerals to boost their income into the bargain. Anything to keep the overheads under control. Right, let’s get inside and find the club steward.”
When Gus and Luke entered the building, the noticeboards confirmed their thoughts. Something was going on every day of the week. Gus wondered whether Sally and Alexa Kendall ever came here, or was it just Ivan that visited?
Ieuan Arlett appeared at the end of the corridor. Gus could tell he was a former rugby player, even from this distance. Gus had never shown much interest in sport at school, nor in the years since. But he’d seen enough photographs to distinguish between participants in the different types of sports loved by so many.
There was something of the classic front-row forward in Ieuan Arlett that meant, apart from powerlifting, Ieuan would have realised early on that he didn’t fit in to any other on-field activity. Ieuan was five foot six inches tall, with a well-padded muscular body.
When he was younger, he was wide-shouldered, narrow at the hip and excelled in the pack because of his strength and endurance rather than any pretension for speed. The club steward didn’t have a neck as such, but Gus could tell, as the man lumbered towards them, that the collar size of the red shirt stretched over his ample torso would start with a twenty.
“You’re the police officers from England, I suppose,” said Ieuan. “Welcome to Pontyclun RFC. My office is behind you. Follow me.”
Gus and Luke followed their host to a bright, well-appointed office overlooking the rugby pitches.
“It was Ivan Kendall you wanted to talk about, is that right?” asked Ieuan.
“That’s correct,” said Gus, “I’m Gus Freeman, a consultant with Wiltshire Police. It was DS Sherman here who contacted you asking for this meeting.”
“Is it official then?” asked Ieuan. “Only you must be out of your jurisdiction here.”
“This isn’t an interview under caution, Mr Arlett,” said Gus. “We’ve come from a meeting with DI Williams in Cardiff. We’re co-operating with colleagues on both sides of the Severn seeking answers that weren’t forthcoming four years ago.”
“Were you club steward then, Mr Arlett?” asked Luke.
“I’ve held the position since 2010,” said Ieuan.
“When did you stop playing?” asked Gus.
“My last game was in 1999. Twenty-six seasons, man, and boy, I never wanted to turn out for anyone else. This club is one big family.”
“We can see evidence of that both outside and inside this building,” said Gus. “Ivan Kendall, was he a player, or just a lover of the game?”
“Ivan played rugby at school. He had the build to make a decent second-row forward or lock. He didn’t stick at it after he met Sally and got married.”
“Did you know Ivan and Sally from your schooldays, then?” asked Luke.
“I’m fifty-nine,” said Ieuan. “ten years older than Ivan would have been today. Sally was younger. I remember seeing them around the village when they were small kids. I was a teenager and already playing rugby. We didn’t mix socially. Pontyclun was a smaller place back then. Everyone knew everyone else.”
“What did you think when you heard Ivan was dead?” asked Gus.
“It came as a shock,” replied Ieuan.
“When did the police come to speak with you?” asked Gus.
“I’m not sure, sometime in the week after we heard about the murder.”
“Really?” said Gus, “I thought it would have been sooner.”
Ieuan Arlett looked puzzled.
“According to the file we received from South Wales Police, Ivan Kendall came here on Saturday afternoon for a few beers and to watch a match.”
“He did,” said Ieuan. “Ivan was a regular here for years. It first started a few years after he got married. Their daughter, Lexie, was a handful, even as a toddler and Ivan escaped here on a weeknight too. When Ivan lost his job, he didn’t come in the evenings any more, but he still dropped by on Saturday afternoon. I was on the Committee back in 2008, and I asked if there was anything we could do to help. It was me that gave him the idea of the window-cleaning business. Look at the amount of glass in this place, I said to Ivan. We need someone to clean the
se windows. Why don’t you take it on part-time while you look for another job? When people saw him up the ladder, they asked if he’d do their windows. Before we knew it, Ivan had his van, and he was up and running, working on homes, offices and the football club up at the park.”
“What time did he leave the club that Saturday?” asked Luke.
“I don’t know that he was here,” said Ieuan.
“His wife told the police that Ivan had cleaned the windows of half a dozen customers and collected outstanding fees in the morning,” said Luke. “Then he came here, while she went to do the supermarket shopping. Sally said Ivan got home later than usual but was sober. She wasn’t certain he’d even had a drink.”
“Why did you look puzzled when we mentioned the police visit, Mr Arlett?” asked Gus.
“Well, it may as well come out now,” said Ieuan, “it can’t do any harm. Ivan used to come here every Saturday afternoon, as I say. We paid him weekly in cash, based on what he charged us for cleaning the windows twice a month. I don’t know what he told Sally, but it meant he always had enough to pay for his drinks. The daft thing was that Ivan wasn’t a big drinker. What he did with any spare cash, I don’t know.”
“How could that do any harm if it had come out earlier, Mr Arlett?” asked Gus. “Despite the number of times Sally left Ivan, there was never any report of a serious argument between them. Certainly, nothing physical.”
“That was only the half of it,” said Ieuan, “Ivan stopped coming into the bar in the summer altogether. That was over a year before someone killed him. Ivan turned up for the first game of the season in August 2013. He never gave a reason he hadn’t been in for a pint, and he’d started dropping into the office on Saturday mornings to collect his money. Ivan never let us down though, and he always arrived in his van to clean the windows every other Wednesday. I just assumed he wasn’t socialising as much because money was tight.”
“Did he keep attending throughout the season?” asked Luke.
“I couldn’t put a date on it,” said Ieuan Arlett shaking his head, “but the longer time went on then, the less frequent it was I’d see Ivan in the bar. We get busy here on match days, so I might have missed him when I got called away. We have an ambulance here most weekends to ferry a dislocation, or a broken bone off to the hospital. As for that Saturday in March four years ago, I can’t swear that Ivan was even here. He called in for his cash in the morning. I’d recorded that, and could show the police when they asked me their questions.”
