Night Train

by Ted Tayler

  “I’ve had a thought, guv,” said Blessing. “You asked Neil to think of an activity in which Ivan Kendall could have taken an interest. Why not think of something our two killers might do? We haven’t established a motive for the murder yet. Nor have we explained why Ivan Kendall travelled from Pontyclun to Westbury.”

  “Do you mean they agreed to block-pave his driveway, Blessing,” said Neil. “Several people have got caught in that scam. We’ll do it for fifteen hundred quid, mate. The homeowner’s eyes light up at saving two-thirds the usual price, and within a month, the whole thing’s falling apart because the travellers skimped on preparation and materials. Good luck finding them again, they’ve moved.”

  “That’s unlikely, Neil,” said Blessing. “Anyway, if they did knock on his door and offered to do a job, what does that tell us?”

  “Ivan Kendall met them in Pontyclun,” said Gus. “Where’s the nearest traveller’s site?”

  Luke Sherman hunted on the internet. He found the information in seconds.

  “There are two authorised sites in Cardiff, guv. Other towns nearby, for example, Caerphilly, assessed the demand for pitches but there wasn’t enough to invest in schemes such as the one Wiltshire carried out.”

  “The sites are close enough to the village that it’s feasible Ivan met his attackers while he was cleaning windows,” said Luke. “It depends on what services they offered while they trawled the village for opportunities.”

  “They could have been thieving,” said Lydia.

  “Nicking the lead off the church roof,” said Neil.

  “We need Dai Williams to help us,” said Gus. “Alex, you and I will drive there tomorrow and try to put names to these rogues. Maybe they’ve got a record in the Principality.”

  “We’ll continue the search for Sally and Lexie Kendall,” said Lydia.

  “That search should be easier now you’re concentrating on a smaller area,” said Gus. “Discount anywhere outside a twenty-mile radius from Pontyclun. We should consider that Sally may have remarried, or reverted to her maiden name to hide her connection to Ivan Kendall. Whether or not she was mistaken, Sally went into hiding because she feared for her life. Alexa is twenty years old now and could have got married. How valuable are the photographs we have of the pair of them?”

  “Not very, guv,” said Luke. “This was never a normal murder. We can’t visit the victim’s home to talk to his family. The local police collected evidence from the house, as you might expect, but very few family photos were among the items in the file we got from London Road. There was plenty of information on Ivan Kendall because at the outset they believed he was a missing person. When Cardiff got involved their detectives soon learned the murder scene was eighty miles away. Why descend on the house in Pontyclun for photos of Sally and Alexa?”

  “What do we have then?” asked Gus.

  “A school photograph from Y Pant Comprehensive,” said Luke, “showing Alexa in school uniform, together with the rest of Year 11.”

  “Ivan and Sally’s wedding photograph from the local newspaper, guv,” said Neil, “next to useless after over twenty years.”

  “What about the shops where she worked?” asked Blessing. “Maybe they have a photo on file. Did they have Christmas parties? We need something more recent.”

  “Good idea, Blessing,” said Gus. “We’ll follow up on that while we’re in Wales tomorrow.”

  “If you get something usable, guv,” said Neil, “the rugby club might post Sally’s photo with a ‘Do you know this woman?’ message on their Facebook page. People often share things such as that, and if Sally is still in the region, someone could recognise her.”

  “It might drive her further away, Neil,” said Lydia. “If Sally still thinks someone was after her.”

  “We must be careful,” said Gus. “Let’s find more recent photos of Sally if we can. We don’t know whether Sally has an on-line presence. I think Alexa is the key. Even though the school photo is sketchy, we could get the Hub people to enhance it, and then produce an artist’s impression of her at twenty. We’ll use that to aid your search for her on social media.”

  “Right you are, guv,” said Luke.

  “Do you think the dogs have something to do with the case, guv?” asked Blessing.

  “I’ve no idea,” said Gus. “Alex and I will visit the football club in the park that Ieuan Arlett mentioned. Both he and Tommy said Alexa exercised dogs, plural. There was no mention of the breed of dog. Nor confirmation of whether they belonged to a neighbour or a boyfriend. It could be another red herring, and they were unrelated to Alexa’s father and his murder. What were you thinking, Blessing?”

  “Well, pets are rare among people from the true Roma culture. They consider cats and dogs as unclean, whereas the horse is a sacred animal and revered.”

  “You’re suggesting that if Ivan Kendall did own dogs, our two travellers wouldn’t have any interest in them,” said Luke.

  “If they were true Roma, I don’t believe they would steal them,” said Blessing.

  “Don’t forget the Kendall family’s circumstances,” said Lydia. “They were always short of money. Could Ivan afford the purchase and upkeep of dogs? Especially dogs of sufficient pedigree that someone might want to steal them. We haven’t been able to ask Sally and Alexa whether these dogs were family pets. If they were, then I could understand how devastating it would be if they got stolen. Ivan might well have travelled to Westbury to retrieve them if he learned where they were. Why didn’t he tell Sally that was why he was going out that night? Ivan left without a word. There was no mention of dogs in any statement from Sally or Alexa. No hint that someone stole them. It might be a wild goose chase.”

  “I agree,” said Luke. “We’ll find that Alexa walked the dogs for someone outside the family.”

  “Why didn’t they come forward at the time of the murder then?” asked Blessing. “Why did nobody link their dogs to Alexa? Pontyclun is a small village. After Sally and Alexa disappeared, the dog owner needed to find a replacement to give them exercise. There would be conversations in the pub, in the supermarket, in the street. Eventually, the gossip would reach the ears of Ieuan Arlett. Yet, even four years later, he was no further forward in knowing whose dogs they were. Let alone be able to name children called, say, Megan or Max Evans as the kid that took over from Lexie Kendall.”

  “That’s another question to add to your list for tomorrow, lads,” said Gus. “Is everyone who stays on the site a true Romany? They could be Irish travellers. There are differences. Also, they could be people who just live a nomadic lifestyle despite having no traveller blood. The normal rules on pets and other cultural quirks might not apply.”

  “Tomorrow could bring us answers, guv,” said Neil.

  “It’s about asking the right questions,” said Gus.

  CHAPTER 9

  Gus and the team spent the rest of the afternoon to prepare for Friday.

  Much of that work continued in silence. The events of the late morning would colour everything they did in the coming days. It was impossible to shut it out of their minds altogether. One of them had a secret and didn’t know what to do with it.

  At five o’clock, Gus watched the others tidy their desks and make for the lift.

  Luke Sherman was giving Blessing Umeh a lift to the Ferris’s farm for the last time.

  Alex Hardy and Lydia Logan Barre would spend the evening together once again.

  Neil Davis hung around for a while longer than the others.

  “A penny for them, Neil,” said Gus.

  “Luke mentioned the name of the guy you met this morning, guv, while we were chatting over lunch.”

  “Callum Wood? Yes, did you ever hear your Dad mention him?”

  “I was only a nipper when my Dad worked here,” said Neil. “I remember Callum coming to our house several times. Their boss used to have team get-togethers in the Waggon and Horses, at Harrington End. Callum was single and collected Dad so that he could have
a drink. Then Callum dropped him home drunk afterwards. After moving to Bath, Callum married Debbie Turner. She worked in this station too, but Callum was slow to catch on that she fancied him. It’s so long ago now. Can I ask what he does these days?”

  “No idea, Neil. It’s above our pay grade. Get off home to Melody and let’s put it behind us, eh?”

  Gus decided he’d had enough for today. He closed his computer and followed Neil to the lift. As they travelled down together, Gus asked:

  “So, Phil Hounsell drank in the Waggon and Horses,” he said. “Small world, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, guv. And Hounsell’s future missus worked behind the bar. Maybe that explained why he kept taking the detective squad out there.”

  “Goodnight, Neil,” said Gus.

  “You too, guv,” said Neil.

  Suzie’s Golf was outside the bungalow. That didn’t surprise Gus. She would be eager to see what shape he was in after today. His first port of call was the kitchen, but although there were signs of something cooking in the oven, the room was empty.

  “I’m in the living room,” she called out. “I’ve poured you a wee dram.”

  Gus walked through to see what delights lay in store.

  “Just as well I don’t plan to drive anywhere until the morning,” he said as he spied the twelve-year-old Macallan bottle on the side table next to Suzie.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Gus,” said Suzie, “have a glass with me and get it off your chest.”

  “No need,” he replied. “I know you think us blokes keep a tight grip on our emotions rather than share our feelings with the world. But the Burnside business is behind me now. My total focus is on finding Ivan Kendall’s killers.”

  “I’m not sure I altogether believe you, Gus Freeman,” said Suzie, “but have a drink, anyway.”

  Gus flopped into a chair beside her and rolled the whisky around the bottom of his glass.

  “The way I dealt in the past with days like today was to bury the bad stuff as deep as I could. Sometimes, a drink aided that process; on other occasions, it was a drink that allowed long-buried stuff to return to the surface. There have been dozens of dreadful days in my career. Many days more traumatic than today. The day I returned here to find Tess dead on the kitchen floor for one. I searched for answers in several glasses after that day, but never found them. If I hadn’t picked up that old book of Tess’s in a suitcase destined for the dump, I would be a hopeless alcoholic by now. I threw myself into my work this afternoon. Tomorrow I’ll do the same. In time, I’ll bury the Burnside business as deep as the other dark days from my past. If we sit and analyse this morning’s events, it will be a waste of good whisky. Let’s think of something else to talk about that befits the nectar of the gods.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Suzie. “I got it wrong, didn’t I?”

  “No,” said Gus, “you remembered that we need something to eat if we’re going to enjoy a drink. Now, tell me, what have you been up to today?”

  While Gus and Suzie contemplated life in Urchfont, Blessing Umeh was in Worton worrying about what to wear. Luke had dropped her off at a quarter to six and driven home to Warminster. Jackie Ferris had been in the kitchen when Blessing walked indoors from the yard.

  “What time will your young man be arriving with your car,” she asked.

  “Dave’s not my young man,” Blessing had replied. “He’s an acquaintance. I’ve only met him once. What if I don’t like him when I meet him again?”

  Jackie had laughed.

  “Sit and eat your dinner and then get ready. You wouldn’t have agreed to let the young man drive the car from Malmesbury if you had any doubts. John could have driven you out there to collect it.”

  Jackie had put the plate of food in front of her and Blessing gave in. Now, at a quarter to seven, she sat on her bed and gazed at the wardrobe. It was only a drink. She chose a colourful, summery blouse and slacks. There was still time to change three or four times before Dave arrived.

  Blessing heard a familiar sound coming through the open window. Her Nissan Micra looked cleaner than it had for a while and sounded one hundred times better than the day she drove to Devizes from her old home.

  Dave Smith climbed out of the driver’s seat. Because he was so tall, it wasn’t a graceful exit. Dave unfurled himself from the car, and Blessing couldn’t resist a giggle. He looked up at her bedroom window and gave her a wave.

  Dave wore a white shirt and blue jeans; Blessing didn’t need to change. She wanted to get downstairs to see him and check over her little car.

  “Your young man’s here,” said Jackie Ferris, with a grin as Blessing dashed through the kitchen door.

  “My car sounded great when you drove up, Dave,” said Blessing. “Thank you.”

  “It’s my brother, you need to thank, not me,” said Dave. “I’ve got the invoice here too, so you might not be so pleased to see me after you’ve read it.”

  “I won’t read it until after you’ve gone home,” said Blessing.

  “Where shall we go?” asked Dave.

  “There’s no rush,” said Blessing. “It’s a lovely evening. I’ll show you around the farm, and then I’ll drive us into Devizes. Did you know there used to be ninety pubs in the town? There are less than twenty these days, but that’s still a wide enough choice for us to find a place to sit and chat.”

  “Ninety? Are you sure, Blessing?” asked Dave.

  “I read it online,” she replied. “A local historian organised a walking tour around the sites a few years ago. I don’t know whether they still do it though.”

  “We’ll give it a miss,” said Dave. “How’s the job going? Any excitement you can share?”

  “A team of detectives from the National Crime Agency raided us this morning,” said Blessing. “I’ve never been so frightened.”

  “You’ve got a dry sense of humour,” laughed Dave. “How can you keep a straight face when you say that?”

  “I was frightened,” Blessing insisted. Dave Smith laughed even harder.

  “Alright,” he said, “I’ll fall for it. Who were they looking for, Lord Lucan, or Shergar?”

  “I don’t know who, or what, you’re talking about, Dave,” said Blessing. “I’m serious. They raided offices on London Road as well. Two of my colleagues stumbled across evidence connected to one of Gus Freeman’s cold cases that the team investigated before I joined them. We got told not to continue with that part of the investigation. I couldn’t understand why, but that’s the way things go sometimes, isn’t it?”

  “Blimey,” said Dave, “your team gets more excitement than we do out in the sticks. Traffic offences and anti-social behaviour fill my days.”

  Blessing took Dave past the stables and into the orchard. They sat under an apple tree, and Blessing wondered whether Dave could help her.

  “Do you come into contact with any travellers in the Malmesbury area?” asked Blessing.

  “There used to be an illegal site with around eighteen vans fifteen minutes away from the town. They had temporary permission to stay there, but the Council was under constant pressure from locals to move them on. They’ve got two authorised sites around Swindon for almost sixty vans. Why do you ask?”

  “Our latest case concerns a man from South Wales who got murdered in Westbury four years ago. We believe his killers stayed on an authorised site near the town. We haven’t confirmed whether they moved there from Wales yet. I was wondering what activities they could get up to that saw them cross paths with our victim.”

  “You must remember that travellers only represent one per cent of the population, Blessing,” said Dave, “and they can get a bad rep in the media. They’re not responsible for any more crime percentage-wise than the settled population, but sometimes an entire encampment gets moved on because an individual gets caught out. I’m sure you know this from your time working in Warwickshire, but when travellers trespass on private land, it’s a civil matter. We don’t have powers to prevent trespass and can
only act in aggravated circumstances.”

  “It’s up to the landowner to take action through the courts,” said Blessing, “yes, I knew that. Does it seem fair to you that when those travellers move on, it’s the landowner’s responsibility to clear away rubbish and waste they’ve left behind?”

  “That’s the law, Blessing,” said Dave. “Of course, if those travellers caused damage, or threatened someone, then the landowner only has to call us.”

  “Too late by then,” said Blessing. “The culprits have disappeared.”

  “I attended a raid on an authorised site a couple of years back,” said Dave. “What we found there might give you a few ideas. Your victim could have had similar items stolen. We recovered transformers, a mini-digger, and industrial tools. Over a dozen stolen vehicles got seized: lorries, vans, and cars. The biggest money-making item we recovered was a catalytic converter processing unit. Someone was using it to strip the precious metals from stolen units and selling them on to scrap dealers. Was your victim a farmer? Farm equipment is always a lucrative business, and travellers often siphon red diesel for their vans from farm vehicles. The site we visited that day had a large storage facility for illicit fuel.”

  “That’s a comprehensive list, Dave,” said Blessing. “Not one of those things connects with our victim at first glance, but who knows? One of our team thought there was a connection to dogs, but I didn’t think it likely.”

  “I saw dogs on that site, Blessing,” said Dave, “and they looked in excellent condition. You get all sorts on those sites these days. Why should the make-up be any different to the settled population? We both know how cosmopolitan that’s become.”

  “Let’s get into Devizes for that drink,” said Blessing, getting up and walking through the vegetable garden to head for the farmyard. “Otherwise the night will have gone and you’ll be searching for a taxi.”