by Wonny Lea
‘OK, well, Jonathan Taylor was a graduate entrant, and to put it mildly was wet behind the ears. Nothing wrong with the bloke but he was definitely in the wrong job. Of course he would have to have seen bodies and attended post-mortems a part of his training, but I thought he was going to be sick at the crime scene. If anything he was guided though the procedures by the second name on your list. Pat Waring was also new to her role as a DC, but she was much more streetwise and had been a bloody good PC. Shame how she went after she got promoted, but there you go.
‘Let me go back to Taylor, though. I couldn’t tell you where he is now, but he had a serious breakdown and it happened quickly and during the investigation of this case. Pat Waring took on most of the responsibility, but whereas Taylor knew he was out of his depth, she revelled in taking charge. She was Austin’s blue-eyed girl at the time so God only knows what was going on there.’
‘Is she still in the force?’ asked Martin. ‘She would’ve started in CID roughly the same time as me – but I don’t know the name.’
‘She was here one day and gone the next. I suspect the only person who knows the details of her departure is Austin and I’ve no plans to ask him! I may be able to help a bit, though, because my niece Menna was in the same class as Pat Waring’s kid sister. I’ll ask her.’
He whisked through the other six names on the list and both men expressed concern and disbelief regarding the lack of experience that had been allocated to this horrific crime. John only knew the name of one other person for certain, Ian Baker. Martin was surprised to learn that he spoke to Ian most days.
‘I do? I don’t think I know an Ian Baker. The only Ian I know is the guy who works for Iris in the staff dining room.’
‘That’s him,’ laughed Evans. ‘It must have been the about same time Pat Waring left when he handed in his notice, but for some reason best known to her, Iris took him on and he’s become her main helper.’
Martin grinned. ‘This place never fails to amaze me. You must know so many secrets about the people here – feel free to tell me anything you think will be of interest!’
‘How long have you got?’ Evans laughed. ‘What I will do is look up the names of the other three constables on your list. I’m pretty sure that the two men had routine transfers, but I can’t remember where they went or when it was.
‘PC Stella Powell wasn’t someone I had a lot of time for. She caused me to lose a very promising officer by backing up an allegation that he’d made inappropriate advances towards Pat Waring. None of us uniformed staff believed a word of it, and I know for a fact that Stella Powell was nowhere near HQ at the time one of the incidents she “witnessed” was supposed to have taken place, but they had the full support of Austin and his cronies.
‘Just hope I’ve been of some use, Martin. Oh, and I’ve just remembered – I’m pretty certain Alex Griffiths attended the scene as a new boy in Forensics.’
‘Yes, you’re right, John, he remembered the case. And you’ve been a great help. One last thing. Do you remember who the pathologist was? There’s a signature on the PM notes but I don’t recognise it and the report fall far short of what I would expect from Professor Moore.’
Sergeant Evans looked at the report. ‘I can’t make out the signature either, but around that time if a locum was needed there was a middle-aged woman who stood in. Ask Mrs Williams, she’ll remember.’ At the door he turned for one last comment.
‘I’ve told you before, Martin, that none of the uniforms had any time or any respect for the CID around this time. I suspect, just as you did with the Bowen case, you’ll find that the force won’t come out of this smelling of roses. Do you think the chief super is prepared for that?’
When Evans had left Martin took some time to consider what he’d said. Nothing so far had jumped out as police corruption – just shoddy work and poor leadership. He decided to speak to Alex again and see if that had been the norm for the time or if this particular case had been singled out to be quietly sidelined.
He examined the witness statements, starting with the schoolchildren who had found the body. They were quite straightforward and Martin thought that he would have been unlikely to add anything to what they had written.
There were brief statements from local residents, basically saying they had seen and knew nothing. Even the assistant in the shop where the schoolgirl went for help had simply reported the time of that event and the fact that she had immediately dialled 999.
All of those statements were as Martin would have expected, but another batch taken several days into the inquiry were a bit of a mystery. Why, out of the blue, were there statements from members of African support associations and from trustees of charities that raised funds for Somalia and Ethiopia? There were even statements from local MPs. It was the sort of thing he would have expected to see in the newspapers. He could think of no reason why he, if he had headed up this case, would have interviewed these people.
Martin assumed that as Jonathan Taylor didn’t have a clue what he was doing, he used random links to keep his team busy and fill the files. On the other hand the young DI could have had good reasons for following those lines of enquiry and perhaps someone wasn’t happy with what he was doing. Martin just wished Taylor had documented things in more detail.
There were two things that took Martin down several flights of stairs to see one of his favourite women. Number one, he was hungry, and secondly he would take the chance to speak to Ian Baker.
The staff dining room was busy, and although Iris looked a bit flustered she managed to ensure that Martin got the best of what was on offer.
‘I’m a bit short-staffed today,’ she explained ‘but the leek and potato soup should hit the spot, and if you’re really hungry Ian’s savoury scones are much nicer than bread to go with it.’
Martin took Iris’s advice and thoroughly enjoyed his meal. Maybe Ian hadn’t made it as a police officer but there was no denying he was an excellent chef. There was no sign of him today, though, and after the serving area had calmed down a little Martin approached Iris.
‘I’m not sure I should be friends with you today,’ she told Martin, but with her eyes smiling. ‘Ian’s been a bundle of nerves ever since he found out the Roath body, as he calls it, is being reinvestigated. It was bad enough when he heard that it was being looked at, but when he knew it was you on the case he really freaked out and he didn’t turn up for work today.’
‘OK, well, I don’t know what his problem is, but in my experience it’s better to talk about these things rather than bottle them up – so if you give me his address I’ll pop round and have a chat with him.’
Iris nodded. ‘He’s been bottling something up for years and he probably won’t thank me for giving you his address – but you could get it through official channels anyway. If anyone is going to talk to him I’d rather it be you, so here it is.’ Iris handed over Ian’s address that she had written on one of her paper napkins. ‘If he needs any help please let me know.’
Martin nodded and was trying to decide whether to go back upstairs or take a walk around the Bay to clear his head when his phone rang. He noted that the caller’s number had been withheld and so he answered officially.
‘Hello, DCI Phelps speaking.’
‘So pleased I got the right number. Laura Cummings here. How are you, DCI Phelps?’
The journalist. Martin had sparred with Laura Cummings before. His first instinct was to ask how the hell she’d got hold of his private mobile number, but he knew the question would never be truthfully answered. He would have to get it changed.
‘I doubt you’re ringing to enquire about the state of my health so would you like to tell me the real reason for your call?’
‘Just trying to be friendly, but of course you are right and rumour has it that you are taking an active interest in Geedi.’ Ms Cummings paused knowing that the name was unlikely to mean anything to Martin but she didn’t wait for him to put his inevitable question.
&nbs
p; ‘Sorry my mistake, you are more likely to know Geedi as the Roath body. It’s not that I know his identity, it’s just that when he was found the press decided to dignify him with a name, and in the Somali language Geedi means traveller.’
‘That was a kind gesture, and from what I’ve seen there was little else in the way of kindness or dignity shown to him. I can confirm that I’m taking a fresh look at the case, but you aren’t so naïve as to think I’ll give you information that isn’t available to all other media sources. When I have anything to report there will be a statement, or if it warrants it, a press conference.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know all that, but maybe on this occasion I could give you some information. After all, I was around when the story broke eleven years ago, and I was incensed when the case just floundered. Take a look at some of the stuff I broadcast at the time and you’ll be left in no doubt re which way I thought the investigation should go.’
Martin started to reply but Laura Cummings cut him short.
‘Look, it’s up to you. I know you think there’s no such thing as an off-the-record meeting with a journalist, but this could be the one time you need me as much as I need you.’
Chapter Nine
Even pushing aside all thoughts of Sarah, and the nagging worries he had about his sisters, Matt still had three women on his mind: the major players so far in his first solo murder investigation.
He concentrated his thoughts on Ellie Bevan, Hilda Wiseman, and Elizabeth Ferguson. The first two he’d already met and his gut feeling was that neither of them would have had anything to do with the murder. At the back of his mind he could hear Martin warning him that although gut feelings should never be ignored they were no substitute for hard evidence. He was expecting Ellie Bevan any moment and had asked DS Shaw to sit in with him on the interview.
It was testament to Matt’s current state of mind that he had barely recognised Maggie Shaw as a woman as well as a detective sergeant. None of the other men on the team had failed to notice the blonde hair, blue eyes, and slim, curvy figure of the new arrival. The Matt of old would have been just as enthralled, but with another woman central to the ‘private life’ side of his brain, DS Shaw wasn’t going to be any sort of distraction.
Helen Cook-Watts was interviewing Hilda Wiseman, and although he wasn’t expecting much from that session he would catch up with her later for a briefing. The person he most wanted to speak to was Elizabeth Ferguson, and he realised that her identification of the body would be pivotal to the investigation. Everything pointed to it being her father apart from the issue of the car – and that made no sense at all. He hoped she would be able to throw some light on those photographs. The one found in her father’s jacket was well-loved and his daughter would surely have seen it before and would recognise the woman and baby.
DS Shaw interrupted his thoughts as she came to let him know that Ellie Bevan had arrived and was being given a cup of coffee in one of the interview rooms.
‘She looks scared to death, but I didn’t see her yesterday so maybe she always looks like that.’
Matt shook his head. ‘I’d say she was remarkably level-headed, several of us commented on how together she was considering her ordeal on the train.’
‘Well, maybe she’s had nightmares about it. Perhaps we should get down there quickly and see if we can put her at ease. Always supposing she’s not guilty of something!’
Ellie jumped as they entered the interview room, but smiled as she recognised Matt.
‘I’m glad it’s you – at least I won’t have to repeat everything I told you yesterday. I’ve spent the whole night going over and over things in my mind and I just want to stop thinking about them.’
Ellie did look scared to death – or guilty? Matt set about putting her at her ease so that he’d get the most out of the interview.
‘Thanks for coming in, Ellie. I do understand what you’re saying, but sometimes if we talk things through in detail it can help blow away the worries. I’m sorry but I really do need to go back over everything we did yesterday, just in case there’s anything at all you can remember that will help us with our investigation.’
As sensitively as he could, Matt told her that it was certain the man had been murdered. ‘We’re just waiting for the toxicology results. We have no doubt that he was injected with something that proved to be fatal – we just need to know what that substance was.’
At first Ellie looked puzzled and then even more frightened than she had been before.
‘You mean one of the people on the train stuck a needle in that man … with all the other passengers around! Was the injection meant for him, or could it have been any one of us who ended up dead?’
Matt realised to his dismay that he had not even considered the possibility of the killing being random. Although the prospect was unlikely it would have to be factored in, but for the moment that wasn’t a great help.
‘It looks to us as if the incident was planned in advance so I think the killer hit on the right victim – I don’t think you or your fellow passengers were ever in any danger. Talking about your fellow passengers – that’s where I would value your input. You told us yesterday that you take the same train every morning, and I guess applies to most of the people you travel with?’
Ellie nodded. ‘I got my current job about a year ago, well, eleven months to be exact, and I mostly see the same people every day. There are exceptions, of course, and Hilda, that’s Mrs Wiseman, is one of them, but even she has a routine. She goes to her daughter’s house in Canton on a Monday and a Thursday every week. The daughter’s been trying to persuade Hilda to move in with her, apparently she’s got a large house and plenty of room now her children have flown the nest.’
Ellie was relaxing and Matt let her ramble on. ‘Ask me anything you like about Hilda and her family,’ she laughed. ‘You only have to sit next to her for one journey and you get her full history, and I’ve been sitting by her at least once a week for almost a year. She looks out for me as she gets on the train before me – she’s from Treorchy.
‘Yesterday when I arrived, the man that died was already sitting next to her, and I only managed to get a seat nearby because a few people got off at my stop. They were regulars, they always get off at my stop, but I don’t know where they get on.’ She looked to Matt for help. ‘I’m not really sure what else you want from me.’
‘You’re doing fine, Ellie,’ persuaded Matt. ‘If you could think really hard about the people on the train yesterday. Eliminate the people you usually see, tell me about any strangers.’
‘Well, the poor old man was a stranger, I suppose. The first time I remember seeing him was last Monday morning, and he was in the same carriage as me for the rest of last week – and of course yesterday. He may have been on the train before but that’s the first time I noticed him. There are only four carriages on the train and sometimes it’s standing room only. I noticed him the first Monday morning because he was a new face and it seemed as if he was looking for someone. I can’t be sure, you know, it was just a feeling I had.’
‘Did you speak to him at any time?’ questioned DS Shaw.
‘No, but I really wish I had!’ Ellie hesitated. ‘There was a calmness about him and I had an uncanny feeling that I knew him … but I have no recollection of ever seeing him before. That’s why I was so shocked when the policeman found that photograph in his pocket. Can we talk about that now? Have you found out what he was doing with it?’
‘We’ll come to that in a minute,’ suggested Matt. ‘Were there any other new faces on the train yesterday? Think hard, Ellie, it could be really important.’
‘I appreciate that,’ Ellie said, ‘but I can’t remember seeing anyone I haven’t seen before. There were people standing and one of them was Andy Cox. He plays rugby for Treorchy but it’s rumoured he’s been spotted by one of the coaches for the Welsh team. He’s a very big lad and I wouldn’t have been able to see past him anyway.’
‘So you could act
ually put names to some of the people in your carriage?’ asked Matt.
Ellie thought for a moment. ‘I could give you the names of everyone who gets on at my station – and probably their addresses as well.’
Maggie Shaw sat back in her chair. ‘That’s amazing! How can society be so different in different parts of Britain? It’s quite a small country, after all! In my neck of the woods you could catch the same train as people all your life and then only be on nodding terms with them.’
‘It’s definitely not like that in the Valleys,’ Ellie said. ‘Most of the time people are too nosy for their own good. I can’t say I’m always comfortable with it. Since my mother told me I was adopted she’s also suggested that I’m probably English or something and that’s why I don’t properly fit in.’
‘We’ve put out an appeal for passengers who travelled on your train yesterday to come forward to help us with our enquiries, but in the event of them being too shy to come forward we may look to you for help.’ Matt leaned forward and bit the bullet regarding the identity of the murdered man.
‘Ellie, we’re fairly certain that we know the identity of the man who died and we are waiting for his daughter to confirm it. She’s travelling from Wiltshire but she left some time ago and we’re expecting her within the hour. We traced her father through a car parked in Treorchy Station car park but there are some strange anomalies that we need to sort out before we can be sure.’
Ellie jumped in and asked the question that had been burning a hole in her brain. ‘I feel sorry for the woman, but if it is her father will she be able to explain about the photograph? Will I be able to speak to her?’
Before Matt could respond the door opened and he was advised by the desk sergeant that the people he was expecting had arrived.
‘The sergeant here will show you to one of our waiting rooms, Ellie, and you are welcome to wait if that’s what you want to do. I have no idea how long I will be so it’s also OK if you want to disappear and I’ll give you a call if I have any news I’m able to share with you.’
