by Ted Tayler
“Or the locals will nick the wheels off of your Focus, and we’ll find it resting on a pile of bricks.”
Gus shrugged and rapped the brass knocker on number twenty-seven.
“Are you the police?” asked Sam Mallinder as he opened the door.
“Good afternoon, Mr Mallinder, my name is Freeman, a civilian consultant with Wiltshire Police, and this is my colleague DS Davis. We’re here to ask you questions about your daughter, Laura. Our Crime Review Team are taking a fresh look into her murder.”
“You had better come in,” the old man said and turned and walked away.
Gus and Neil followed him. Neil closed the door behind them. Sam Mallinder had walked to the kitchen at the rear of the house. Gus sensed he spent the afternoons here with the warm sun taking the chill off the place as it moved across the large window.
“This is a nice spot,” said Neil, “you’ve got quite a garden out the back there.”
“It gets bloody cold in that front room. I can’t afford to keep the heat on all day. My sons help me keep the garden up together. I used to grow more vegetables than grass. Now it’s half and half. We don’t see as many birds now as we did when they were nippers. Do you want a cuppa?”
“I’ll make us one,” Neil offered.
Sam sat on one of the four kitchen chairs around the table in the centre of the room. He wore his age well. Gus knew Sam had retired from an engineering firm last year. That garden would serve him well if he didn’t hand the job over to his sons. Sam Mallinder was tall, angular with thinning hair, but the melancholy character he portrayed this afternoon didn’t fool Gus. Sam did what many members of the public did when interviewed by the police. He was creating a persona that allowed him to assess what it was they knew, or what they wanted to hear. This conversation could be interesting.
“What do you want to ask me?” he said.
“How was your relationship with Laura?” asked Gus.
“We both loved her. She was our only daughter. What sort of question is that?”
“When did you learn how she made her living?”
“The day after Laura died. Your lot called on us at eight in the morning. I was leaving for work. It had taken them a while to identify the body. We knew she lived and worked in Swindon, but Laura rarely came home after she moved away.”
“When did she leave home?” asked Neil, bringing three cups to the table. Sam Mallinder added three sugars from a bowl in the centre.
“Not long after she left college. The three of them rented a place.”
“Three of them?” asked Gus.
“Laura and two of her school friends. Maureen and Joanne. One of the boys might remember their surnames. Laura came home when we lived in our old house in Bedminster Down. Jean was still alive then. Laura had been working in different offices, and then she suddenly lost her job. There was a falling out with the other girls too. We didn’t get involved. Laura asked if she could come home, and we took her in without a second thought. When she bought her place in Kingswood, we were so proud of her. I thought Laura worked in a solicitor’s office. Then she moved to Swindon, into a bigger place. You could have knocked me down with a feather when the detective told us what she’d been doing.”
“How did you feel about that?” asked Gus.
“Disgusted. How would you feel if your little girl worked in a massage parlour?”
“Was that why you declined to go to Swindon to identify her body?” asked Gus.
“I didn’t want to see her like that. I wanted to remember her as the beautiful young woman we raised.”
“When was the last time you spoke with Laura?” asked Neil.
“I don’t remember. Laura rang us and talked to Jean, mostly. Not that often. Every few months. Laura never invited us to her Swindon home. Jean would remind Laura that she knew where we lived. We would always be there if Laura needed us. Perhaps she was ashamed of what she did. It’s not something you can be proud of, you know. The neighbours in our old place never let us forget it after it was in the newspapers. When we moved here, Jean became ill. People either didn’t know about Laura or thought we had enough trouble. Cancer took Jean two years ago.”
“In a statement, Jean gave at the time,” said Gus, “she said Laura was still your daughter no matter what she did. When did Jean find out she worked in massage parlours? Did Laura tell her in one of those rare phone conversations? Why didn’t she tell you?”
“Jean never told me how long she’d known. Why didn’t she tell me? Because it would have broken my heart, that’s why. Look, is this going anywhere? All you’re doing is raking up bad memories. The Swindon police never found who killed her seven years ago. What makes you think you can do any better now?”
The real Sam Mallinder was emerging from his alter ego. Feisty. Belligerent. Angry.
“How did you feel when you learned Jean hid the truth from you, Mr Mallinder?” asked Neil.
“All those years we’d known one another. We were only kids when we got married. There was never anyone else for either of us. We argued from time to time, but secrets? There had never been secrets between us. We brought our kids up properly. Laura was bright; she studied harder than Gary and Tyrone. Why would she have to turn to a job like that?”
“You say that you never visited Swindon?” asked Gus.
“Never. Not before, not while Laura lived there, nor since she got killed. I told your lot that. We went to the Hippodrome for a matinee performance with Tyrone and Emma, his wife. We left there at half-past five, came back to Bedminster Down Social Club and stayed there until ten o’clock. Tyrone dropped us at home. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you’ve heard it before.”
“We like to check these things, Mr Mallinder. Where was Gary that night? Do you remember?” asked Neil.
“Ask Gary. While you’re at it, ask Tyrone if he remembers what he did the night of his sister’s murder. It might have slipped his mind. Bloody daft, this is. Our Gary was where he said he was. We all were. None of us had a reason to kill Laura.”
“You admitted you were disgusted at her chosen profession,” said Gus, “if you had known about it, that could have led to you confronting her.”
“But I didn’t know, I swear.”
“What happened to Laura’s Swindon home?” asked Gus.
“Tyrone and Emma dealt with the solicitors. I couldn’t face it. Jean and I were struggling to come to terms with Laura’s death. It took forever to get everything resolved. We had planned to move to a smaller place when we both retired. Tyrone found this place. They were doing renovations in the area, and although it needed work, the price was right. We moved here in 2013. Six weeks of peace we had before Jean got diagnosed. She died in the hospice three years to the day.”
“Do Tyrone and Gary work together?” asked Neil.
“Most of the time. The building trade has its ups and downs. When times are tight, they go where the work is.”
“I suppose they helped do this place up for you before you moved here?”
“That’s right. A new bathroom and kitchen. The rest was cosmetic.”
“Do they ever get involved with new builds, housing estates, further afield?”
“Bristol’s a big city. There’s usually enough work for them to never need to travel. Gary might have had the odd contract out of the city when Tyrone didn’t have work for him.”
“We’ll talk to other members of your family, Mr Mallinder,” said Gus, “to confirm you were where you said you were that evening. However, if someone outside the family killed your daughter, who might that be? Did you ever suspect anyone in her past could have had a motive? A jealous boyfriend, perhaps?”
“I told you she moved in with Maureen and Joanne. They were a bad influence. Tyrone and Gary used to see them in the bars and clubs drinking themselves silly and getting off with a string of blokes. We didn’t raise Laura that way. We wanted to see her find someone and get married, but those friends of hers were happy to play the field.
We were glad when that finished, and Laura moved home for a while. She went out with a lad called Ian for a while.”
“Ian Hewson, the footballer?” asked Neil.
“Oh, you’ve got his name on your list, have you? He seemed a nice enough lad at first, but Laura said he wanted to stop her going out unless it was with him. Ian was concentrating on his football, so he wasn’t free to meet up with her as regular as a lad with a nine-to-five job. Laura told me she caught him sitting his car outside the offices she worked in at the time. Ian thought she was seeing someone else.”
“Hewson stalked her?” asked Gus, “I don’t think we heard this before.”
“Well, Laura just said he was getting ‘clingy’, and she didn’t want to see him anymore.”
“How did he take that?” asked Neil.
“Not well, but Tyrone and Gary had a word with him.”
Neil and Gus shared a look.
“What happened after that?” asked Gus.
“The City received an offer for him from a big club in the Midlands. Ian moved away.”
“Any idea where he’s playing now?” asked Neil.
“Hewson doesn’t get his name in the papers much these days. Perhaps he’s mellowed. Ian had a quick temper, and if a defender hacked him down, he wouldn’t be satisfied with a free-kick or a penalty. He got sent off half a dozen times for violent conduct. As a result, he moved clubs regularly.”
“Was he ever violent towards Laura?” asked Gus.
“If he had been…”
“Tyrone and Gary would have had more than a word. Have your sons ever been in trouble with the police, Mr Mallinder?”
“Ashton Gate was less than two miles from our door. They had a few scuffles with opposition fans back when they were teenagers. They stood their ground in the streets around our home. There weren’t the gangs and knives there are today, you settled things with your fists. You had to, or people would walk over you.”
“I think we’ll get the rest of the story from your lads,” said Gus, “they’ll be working this afternoon. Will Emma be at home?”
“Not until she finishes work. It will be six before anyone’s home at Tyrone’s. As for Gary, he goes to the pub before going home.”
“Is Gary single?” asked Neil.
“He’s not bothered either way; he never was. Gary’s not gay. He isn’t interested in having a woman in his life.”
“Thanks for the cup of tea, Mr Mallinder,” said Gus. “Sorry you had to go over old ground, but we’ve got things clearer in our minds now. It will help in our search for the murderer. Let’s hope we can bring you good news soon.”
Sam Mallinder followed Gus and Neil to the front door.
“Tyrone will be your best bet to find out about Ian Hewson,” said Sam Mallinder, “he’s done work on places up in Bradley Stoke. It’s not in the same bracket as the Golden Triangle in Cheshire, where the Premiership footballers live up around Wilmslow and Alderley Edge. Those buggers can be on three hundred grand a week. Scale that down to clubs from the West Country, and they gravitate to the same neck of the woods.”
“That could be very useful, Mr Mallinder,” said Neil, “many thanks.”
The front door had already closed.
“We got more from that than I imagined when we walked in the door,” said Neil.
“He’s probably cursing himself now for revealing those new snippets of information,” said Gus, “do we have a number for Emma Mallinder?”
The Focus was intact when they reached it. No sign of a ticket either. When the pair sat inside, Neil checked his notebook. Gus drove away from Church Road. No point pushing his luck.
“Emma is a primary school teacher, guv. I have a number. If you don’t mind sitting on those tiny chairs, we could contact her to arrange a meeting at the end of the school day.”
“Do that, Neil. We’ll have to walk a distance this time, no doubt. The Mums on the school run will clog up the approach roads way before the final bell. Parking will be a nightmare. Where is this school, anyway?”
“Cheddar Grove is a two-minute drive from where we are, guv. We can park here and walk.”
“What you mean is we could have left it parked where it was. Keep your eyes open for a gap.”
Emma Mallinder was on duty at the school doors. She made sure the little ones didn’t leave the building until the appointed parent or guardian arrived. As soon as Gus and Neil walked up to the school gates, she knew who they were.
“Only a few latecomers to deal with,” she called out, “Please wait by the main door. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
The little ones in her charge clearly loved Tyrone Mallinder’s wife. She reminded Gus of Tess. Attractive, warm and someone who had found their perfect job.
Ten minutes later, they sat on normal-sized chairs in the staff room. The place was buzzing with activity. Gus couldn’t believe teachers made so much noise in their inner sanctum when, for most of their career, they yelled at kids to be quiet.
“There aren’t many places we can go for a quiet chat,” said Emma. “This concerns Laura, doesn’t it?”
Neil explained the reason for their visit.
“Where did you go to on that Sunday, Mrs Mallinder?” asked Gus.
“The theatre in the afternoon, then Sam insisted we went to the Social Club.”
“You weren’t keen?”
“Not my scene, Mr Freeman. Tyrone enjoyed it. Jean and I chatted while the men played darts and pool.”
“Were you married at that time?” asked Neil.
“We’d just had our first anniversary.”
“Did Laura attend her brother’s wedding?” asked Gus.
“We got married on a beach in the Maldives. It was just me and Tyrone, Gary, our best man, and my bridesmaid, Amanda.”
“Did anything happen between Gary and Amanda?” asked Neil.
Emma laughed out loud. Several of her colleagues stopped talking.
“I don’t think he noticed her. The World Cup was starting in South Africa. Gary’s happiest in a bar with a pint in his hand watching a big screen.”
“We won’t delay you any longer,” said Gus, “we’ll talk to Tyrone and Gary later. Just one more thing. We know Jean knew what Laura did for a living, did she hear it direct from her daughter, or did someone else tell her?”
“Laura told her,” replied Emma.
“So, you knew too?”
“Only because Jean told Tyrone and Gary. She thought they might hear a rumour. Laura worked in Bristol and Bath before she switched to Swindon. If they did hear anything, Jean made them swear they wouldn’t tell Sam.”
“Because he would have been angry enough to do something rash?” asked Neil.
“Not Sam, he would have been mad, but Tyrone and Gary would have been encouraged to sort things out. If you get what I mean.”
“The same as they did with Ian Hewson?” asked Neil.
“Was it Sam who told them to have a word with Hewson?” asked Gus.
Emma Mallinder nodded.
“How did you and Laura get on?” asked Neil.
“We only met three times before I married Tyrone. Laura was beautiful. She dressed smarter than your average girl that worked in a solicitor’s office. Nobody ever picked up on that. Laura didn’t talk about work. Her parents didn’t push it because, well, she wouldn’t gossip about a client’s personal affairs. I never saw Laura again after we came back from the honeymoon.”
“How did she get on with her brothers?” asked Gus.
“They treated her like most older brothers treat a younger sister. They teased her, and they were very protective. I never heard them argue once.”
“That’s all, Mrs Mallinder. We’ll be on our way,” said Gus.
As the staff room door closed behind them, the conversation level rose again.
“It’s bedlam in there, guv,” said Neil.
“A scene of uproar and confusion? Yes, I agree, Neil. At times, the teaching profession veers towards th
e same word, but with a capital letter. After the Hospital of St Mary of Bethlehem, the most famous mental hospital in history. I spotted the message on Emma Mallinder’s mug. It said, ‘You don’t have to be mad to work here, but it helps.’”
The walk back to the car gave Gus time to reflect on what they had learned today. There was a germ of an idea forming. Too soon to see what shape it would take yet, but what they had heard this morning, and this afternoon had helped move things forward.
Wednesday, 2nd May 2018
“Have we got our files updated from yesterday?” asked Gus.
He was feeling chipper this morning. He had thought through the events of yesterday as he tended to a few odd jobs on the allotment. Bert Penman had left a list tacked to the door of the shed. The carrots, onions and parsnips he’d sown for Gus needing thinning out while they were still young. Gus had remembered to water along the rows so the disturbed seedlings would settle in again.
Bert had suggested using three poles to construct frames for his runner beans. Like a wigwam, he’d scribbled on a scrap of paper, with a question mark. Gus had got the idea. He found he had enough five-foot poles to strap together for four frames.
Almost enough for a reservation.
“All present and correct, guv,” said Neil.
Alex and Lydia nodded their agreement.
“Who’s first on our list today, Alex?” asked Gus.
“Tyrone and Gary Mallinder have agreed to meet us at lunchtime today. They’re working in Brislington, adding a conservatory to a detached house on Bath Road. Tyrone said they'd be in the King’s Arms, on the corner of Hollywood Road after twelve.”
“What do they think this is?” asked Gus, “a quiet chat over a pint? It’s an interview.”
“Your notes from yesterday suggest Gary will be in a familiar environment, guv,” said Lydia, “and Tyrone was in that Social Club on the night of Laura’s murder. They will relax in their comfort zone. If you dragged them into an interview room, they'd clam up. The conversation might be hard work. In the pub, with a drink inside them, they might be more willing to talk.”
