by Ted Tayler
“Yes, miss,” said Gus, dashing indoors.
He reappeared in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans. Suzie grabbed his arm, and they made for the allotments.
“Why don’t you ever wear shorts,” she asked.
“I don’t possess any,” he replied. “Tess said my legs should remain covered. I never asked why in case I learned there was something unpleasant about them. I felt it better not to know.”
“What have you got lined up for us to tackle this evening,” asked Suzie.
“While I’m lifting our potatoes, you can pick a helping of runner beans. I’ll check my onions too. In a month from now, the tops will fall over.”
“Is that bad?” she asked.
“No, it means the bulbs have stopped swelling. Then we can dry them, string them up, and store them in the shed. They’ll be fine for next Spring.”
“Where is everyone? There’s no sign of Bert or Clemency.”
“It’s not six o’clock yet,” said Gus. “The Reverend might turn up soon. Bert must have worked on his patch this afternoon. The evidence is there, before your very eyes, Detective Inspector.”
“Bert’s harvested beetroot, lettuce and radishes,” said Suzie. “The ground in the rows nearest to the remaining plants is freshly hoed. Bert did a spot of watering too. The level in his water butt is lower than when we had our picnic here at the weekend. We haven’t had any rain. How did I do?”
“You missed one thing. Bert spotted a touch of potato blight among his crops. He’s taken several infected plants away and put them by his shed, ready to burn. They’re no good for composting. That won’t kill the disease, and you would get the same problem next year.”
“Nobody loves a smartass,” said Suzie. “Bert’s been and gone then.”
The couple had been working for fifteen minutes when Clemency Bentham arrived on her bicycle.
“Evening all,” she cried. “Will you be in the Lamb later?”
“I can’t see why not,” said Gus. “We thought we’d have a meal after we’d finished here.”
“Brett said he’s around tonight. I thought I’d pop in to keep him company. Bert’s watching a programme on TV about bees.”
“Would you have to get someone else to read the Banns,” Gus asked. “I know little about church etiquette.”
The Reverend blushed.
“You are awful, Gus Freeman,” she said, “We hardly know one another.”
“He’s incorrigible, Clemency,” said Suzie. “When you left your bicycle at the bungalow last week, Gus couldn’t go to bed until he was certain that you’d collected it.”
“Brett walked me to the bungalow, and I walked with him to Bert’s house, if you must know. Then, I wished him good night and cycled home to the rectory. I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“How’s Irene North?” asked Suzie.
“Irene’s over the hangovers from her latest experiment,” said Clemency. “That’s why Brett said he’d be in the Lamb for an hour or two tonight. Irene’s at Bert’s studying the bees.”
“It could be a double wedding, I suppose,” said Gus.
“Now, now, Gus,” said Clemency, “if you persist, I must ask when you two are thinking of getting married. It’s a small village, and I’ve already heard whispers from my parishioners concerning the deplorable increase in the number of couples living in sin.”
“We’re happy as we are, for now,” said Suzie.
“So am I,” said the Reverend, “although there is something wrong with my potatoes.”
“You had better tell Brett that tonight,” said Gus. “Get him to ask his grandfather to spray your crop with the solution he uses. Don’t worry, Bert uses nothing harmful to the environment.”
“Thanks, Gus,” said Clemency. “Now, I must get on. I can see you two have plenty to keep you occupied. Perhaps, I’ll catch up with you later?”
Gus nodded. Clemency wasn’t staying long. After cycling around the parish this afternoon, she would need to go home to shower and change. Since Brett Penman arrived in the village, the Reverend hadn’t entered the Lamb in her gardening clothes. Suzie swore she saw a hint of make-up last week to set off the Laura Ashley, which was a first.
Gus and Suzie completed their chores by seven o’clock, and as he locked their tools away in the shed, he spotted Brett Penman standing in the gateway.
“Hi, Gus, Suzie. Are you coming back later?”
Brett nodded towards the Lamb, just up the lane.
“We’ve got to make ourselves presentable,” said Suzie. “I’m walking over now to book a table. We’re returning for a meal whenever they can squeeze us in.”
“I’m a third wheel at home tonight,” said Brett. “Irene mentioned that she’d brought supper over for her and Bert to share after the programme finishes.”
“So, you’ll be in the Lamb until closing time,” said Gus.
“That’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it,” laughed Brett.
“The Reverend will keep you company if we get delayed,” said Suzie.
This time it was Brett’s turn to blush. They walked past the church towards the pub.
“It’s impossible to do a thing in a village without everyone knowing, isn’t it?”
“You don’t need to tell me,” said Gus, “I’ve had to turn the volume up on my TV to mask the tutting from the neighbours.”
Brett grinned. He took his mobile phone from his trouser pocket and made a call.
Suzie was heading inside the Lamb when Brett called after her.
“Suzie, can you ask them if they can manage a table for four? Clemency has agreed to join me.”
“You exchanged phone numbers last week when you walked home together then?” asked Gus.
“No, I asked Grandad for Clemency’s number last week,” said Brett. “That’s the first time I’ve called her, honest. I think she dropped her phone when she realised it was me.”
Suzie was soon back in the lane with good news.
“No problem, Brett. They can fit us in at eight o’clock. We’ll love you and leave you.”
Brett went into the bar, and Gus and Suzie wandered up the lane to the bungalow.
“That’s scuppered my chances of an early night,” said Gus.
“Not necessarily,” said Suzie. “All you need to do is stifle a yawn, and we can leave the love birds in the bar until closing time. You’ve had a busy day.”
“Fair enough,” said Gus.
Wednesday 18th July 2018
Gus left the bungalow at eight o’clock. Suzie was still in the shower.
Last night, after a decent meal and stimulating conversation, Gus had stifled a yawn.
The look that Suzie gave him suggested that ten past nine was earlier than she had in mind.
Just before ten, Suzie had stifled a yawn of her own.
“We should get home, as Gus is off to Cardiff first thing,” she said. “Thanks for a lovely evening. No doubt we’ll see you before the weekend.”
They had left Brett and Clemency wedged together on the settle in the corner of the bar.
“They make a delightful couple, don’t they?” said Suzie.
“So do we,” said Gus as they hurried to the bungalow.
When he fell asleep at half-past twelve, Gus wondered what happened to the plan for an early night.
Gus knew he could make Cardiff Central with minutes to spare if traffic was light before Dai Williams was about to resume interviewing the Corbett twins. Ninety-five minutes later, he parked his trusty Focus in the visitor’s car park and tapped the bonnet in recognition of a job well done.
Fingers crossed it would cope as well with the return trip.
As he negotiated Reception, he spotted a familiar face.
“Good morning, Dai,” said Gus, “Any chance of a quick coffee before we get stuck into the interview at ten?”
“I always have a pot brewing in my office, Gus. Come on through once you’ve got your visitor pass. You know your way by now.”
T
wo minutes later, Gus was enjoying his second black coffee of the day. It wasn’t as good as the Gaggia served up in the office, but it was good enough.
“I know I needn’t remind you, Gus,” said Dai Williams. “You’re here as an observer.”
“I understand, Dai. The brothers and their solicitor would kick up a fuss if a mere consultant started participating in your interview. I’ve sent you a list of the questions for which I need answers. Provided you can slip them in without tipping off the team on the other side of the table, fine. If they get spooked, then back off, and we’ll come at it another way. They will ask for frequent comfort breaks if the session carries on for any length of time. Both brothers smoke. We can use those breaks to reassess our strategy.”
“That makes perfect sense,” said Dai. “In our earlier interviews, they tried the ‘No Comment’ approach, but as the evidence we produced became more difficult to deny, they opened up a little.”
“How did their brief react to that?” asked Gus.
“We had the usual stops and starts while their brief asked for several minutes to consult with his clients. We weren’t letting him delay our progress indefinitely. I called a halt to let Vaughn and Shaun have time to consider. They were more forthcoming in the second session. By yesterday afternoon, the brothers had decided the game was up, and they might as well co-operate as much as they could. This morning we’ll learn just how far that co-operation might stretch.”
Gus followed Dai Williams and his colleague, DS Annie Morgan, into the interview room.
Vaughn and Shaun Williams entered the room at ten o’clock on the dot, followed by their solicitor. Gus summed him up in one glance. He reminded Gus of Patrick Iverson, the smarmy individual who represented the Burnside clan in Swindon.
As DS Morgan breezed through the formalities, Vaughn and Shaun Corbett stared in Gus’s direction. The solicitor, a Mr Gerwyn Maddox-Brown, kept his eyes glued to the documents he had taken from his old leather briefcase. Dai Williams didn’t allow him to pounce.
“The other person attending this morning is Mr Gus Freeman, a consultant with Wiltshire Police. He’s here merely to observe proceedings. South Wales Police are happy that other forces around the country wish to learn from the even-handed manner in which we conduct our interviews with suspects. Mr Freeman may take notes from time to time, but nothing material to this case is permitted. I shall scrutinise his notes, and have a copy made available for you, Mr Maddox Brown. Any questions?”
The solicitor looked at Gus for the first time over the top of his half-moon spectacles.
“I’m happy to proceed,” he said, “at this stage.”
Gus touched the pen in his jacket pocket. He had no intention of using it to make notes, regardless of what they said. Annie Morgan had already started recording the interview. If Gus needed the transcript in the future, he only had to ask.
“We went over the events of the evening of Saturday, the eighth of March back in 2014 to our satisfaction,” said Dai Williams. “I want to turn my attention this morning to what occurred in the afternoon.”
“You know what happened,” muttered Shaun Corbett.
“Yeah, we drove over to the rugby club to get Kendall’s dogs,” said Vaughn.
“There was nobody around,” said Shaun, “so we grabbed the pups, tied them up in the back of the van, and got out of Pontyclun as fast as we could. We were at the Bath turnoff when Kendall called.”
“What did you do with Bubble and Squeak when you reached the site at Dilton Marsh?” asked Dai Williams.
“Who?” asked Shaun.
“Those were the names Alexa Kendall had given to the puppies. Surely, you must have heard her talking to them in the park?”
Both men shook their head.
“You offered Ivan Kendall five hundred pounds for the dogs when you first called on him at the rugby club. Is that correct?”
“We wanted to know if he realised what was a fair price,” said Shaun.
“Shut it, Shaun,” said Vaughn.
“Perhaps the thousand pounds you demanded during that phone call on Saturday afternoon was also a test to learn whether Ivan Kendall knew how valuable they were?”
“It’s not our fault if people don’t know the value of things,” said Vaughn. “We’ve got to make a living.”
“On Saturday night you had had two bites at the cherry,” said Dai Williams. “You killed Ivan Kendall to get hold of the thousand pounds he’d brought with him, plus you still had the pups stored on the caravan site ready to sell to the highest bidder.”
“This is old ground, Detective Inspector,” said Maddox Brown. “What do you hope to achieve with this line of questioning?”
“I’m keen to learn what happened to the dogs,” said Dai Williams. “Who did you sell Bubble and Squeak to and when?”
“We never realised they had names,” muttered Shaun. “Vaughn said we should tell the buyer they were called Storm and Thunder.”
“We made ourselves scarce on Sunday morning before the town was awake,” said Vaughn. “We drove back across the Severn Bridge with the dogs before the police had even moved to the railway station with their crime scene tape.”
“Did you have a buyer lined up?” asked DS Morgan.
“We took photos of the dogs and posted them online,” said Vaughn. “We used specialist sites where owners record the pedigrees of their dogs and the results of their matches. Nobody posts their real identities, of course, but one owner came back to us within hours.”
“We recognised buildings and the distant hills in the photo's background showing his dog, Troy,” said Shaun. “The village lies in the shadow of Pen y Fan in the Brecon Beacons. It’s an area we’re familiar with, as we spend months at a time at the traveller’s site in Cardiff.”
“A pity you didn’t know a potential buyer was so close,” said Dai Williams. “You needn’t have forced Ivan Kendall to travel to Westbury. He would still be alive today.”
“Kendall was a fool,” said Shaun. “Tell him, Vaughn, you understand it better than me.”
“Kendall tried to con us they were pedigree puppies. We knew they were crossbreeds, and although they can be outstanding fighters, the bloodline is crucial in dogfighting circles. Those who display determination and perseverance are highly valued, any that shy away from a fight get dismissed as useless. If a dog has the right qualities, its offspring will display the same abilities. The guy who contacted us used Troy to breed several British fighting dogs.”
“What were you asking for each of your pups?” asked Annie Morgan.
“Fifteen hundred for Storm. Two grand for Thunder,” said Shaun. “We got it too.”
Vaughn closed his eyes. His brother was a muppet.
“Why not make easy money when you can?” asked Shaun, ignoring his brother’s body language. “Do you have any idea how many hours grafting we needed to put in at houses in the valleys to get paid that much?”
“Where was the deal done?” asked Dai Williams.
“In a lay-by near Merthyr Tydfil,” said Vaughn. “We handed over the dogs, and the buyer gave us the three-and-a-half grand in fifty-pound notes. That was the last we saw, or heard, of them.”
“We’re going to need the name,” said Dai Williams.
Vaughn and Shaun shared a look. Gerwyn Maddox Brown leaned forward in his chair.
“Perhaps we could take a break there, Detective Inspector? My clients need a break.”
“Shall we say, fifteen minutes?” asked DS Morgan.
“That should be sufficient,” smirked the smarmy solicitor.
“What do you think?” asked Dai William after the door closed behind the three men.
“Keep going as you are, Dai,” said Gus. “no need to change tack just yet. I think the brief will convince them to cooperate further. It won’t do them any harm, and it might benefit them.”
“Ivor Lewis,” said Vaughn Corbett when they returned to the interview room with their escort.
DS Annie
Morgan left the room to get a colleague to start the hunt for Ivor Lewis.
“You say you didn’t hear what happened to the dogs after you left them with Ivor Lewis?” asked Dai Williams.
“We weren’t interested,” said Vaughn. “Don’t look like that. We’re no different to that Kendall bloke. He saw an opportunity to make easy money by selling the pups to someone who knew how to train them.”
“But you killed him to make sure that you took the profit he envisaged making, plus a tidy sum on top.”
“Kendall wanted the dogs back,” said Vaughn, “but he kept going on that it wasn’t right. That we should get charged with theft. Kendall said he was going to the police when he got back home.”
“If only he’d paid up and shut up, things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did,” said Shaun.
Gus shifted position in his chair. Gerwyn Maddox Brown looked in his direction, but Gus didn’t speak.
“Sorry, lads,” said Dai Williams as DS Annie Morgan returned to the room. “That doesn’t wash. You carried weapons to the railway station for a reason. There’s no point trying to deflect the blame for Kendall’s death by saying he brought it on himself.”
“We’ve given you Lewis’s name, that should be worth something,” said Vaughn.
“I’m sure we will take it into account, Vaughn,” said Dai Williams. “We may have further questions after we’ve spoken to Ivor Lewis. Interview ended ten fifty-four.”
DS Annie Morgan joined Gus and Dai William’s in the DCI’s office.
“Lewis is a character we’ve come across before,” she said. “He’s a small-time villain who fences property stolen from farmers and smallholders in and around Pen y Fan. The RSPCA charged him with animal welfare offences last year. Not a pleasant person. He’ll be here within the hour, guv.”
“You had better let us speak with him alone, Gus,” said Dai Williams, “we don’t want to push it.”
“I agree,” said Gus. “I can walk into the centre, find a place to have lunch, and get back here for two o’clock.”
“We’ve got a canteen here,” said Annie Morgan.
“Gus is better off in the city centre,” said Dai.
