by Wonny Lea
DS Shaw was having difficulty keeping up with Matt as he made his way towards the reception desk and caught sight of three people who were obviously waiting for him. He stretched his hand out towards the older of the two women, that he guessed was Elizabeth Ferguson, and had an incredibly strong déjà vu moment. He felt he knew her from somewhere, but she made no signs of knowing him so he assumed she must just have one of those faces. Then the penny dropped, as he remembered watching her playing out of her skin in the finals of a grand slam quite a few years ago. But now wasn’t the time to talk to her about tennis.
She was agitated and barely allowed Matt to make the required introductions, refusing point blank his suggestion that they clear up a few points before going forward with any potential identification.
‘As I said on the phone, you’ve got it wrong. True, the description you gave me fits my father, but you’ve definitely got it wrong about his car.’
Turning to Basil, she insisted he show Matt the photo that he’d taken of the car just a few hours before.
‘That doesn’t look like a railway station car park, does it? Take a close look and you’ll see the surroundings are outbuildings to our family home.’
Matt took the phone from Basil and had to agree. He enlarged the image, focusing on the numberplate, and there was no doubt everything was identical to the one found in Treorchy. What a strange case this was turning out to be – was everything going to be duplicated?
Although she was adamant that the dead man was not going to be her father, Lizzie’s resolve was fading as they entered the viewing area, and she looked to Basil to support her as DI Shaw carefully pulled back the white sheet.
Lizzie didn’t scream, she didn’t faint, she didn’t even cry – she just stood next to the man in complete silence and then very gently began stroking his face.
Matt took her gesture to be the positive identification he had been anticipating and ushered everyone out of the room. He stood just outside the door keeping a careful eye on the grieving daughter but giving her the space and the time she needed to be with her dad.
When Matt heard her sobbing he suggested that Basil and Della try to give Lizzie the support she needed. Before showing Basil back into the viewing room Matt asked if he could borrow his phone to get a better look at the car that had been photographed at Woodcanton Hall.
He turned to DS Shaw. ‘Look after these people and let me know when Elizabeth Ferguson feels able to speak to me. I’m going to get some expert help on sorting out these two cars, but it’s the two photographs I’d really like to ask her about.’
A few minutes later Matt sat in his office and put a call through to Alex. ‘We’ve just had the confirmation we were expecting, the victim is Edward Ferguson. His daughter identified him, and although she was adamant beforehand that it wouldn’t be her father when it came to it I don’t think she was that surprised.
‘What’s happening about the car he left in Treorchy? You’ll be amazed to learn that there’s another one, exactly the same, still at his home in Wiltshire.’ Matt went on to explain the saga of the two cars and it was obvious he’d grabbed Alex’s attention.
‘My initial thoughts had been to examine the car at the place it had been left, but the information I got from the local branch is that there’s been lots of cars and people coming and going since the car was left there – so there’s not much point. They’re looking for CCTV around the station and will come back to us on that, but apparently they are frequently vandalised so I don’t hold out much hope. I asked them to get the car transported here for me to get a better look at it and I heard just a few minutes ago that it has arrived. If you want to join me in the usual place we may be able to sort out the real from the cloned!’
‘Sounds good to me – see you.’
Before Matt left to join Alex he made the call he’d been putting off all day. Although he had wanted to hear her voice he was relieved to immediately get Sarah’s messaging service. What did that mean, though? Maybe she was somewhere where there was a poor signal – maybe she was already at the airport …
Although he knew that she wasn’t planning on doing anything so quickly, it was the mental image of Sarah boarding a plane that shook Matt out of his uncharacteristic self-pitying mood and into action.
He had rehearsed several times what he was going to say and left a fairly long message that ended with a first for Matt. He’d never had a shortage of women in his life, but love – that was something new! He knew he had to stop pussyfooting around, as he had been because he knew that Sarah was still smarting from a fairly recent betrayal. She’d been taken in by false declarations of love and he was scared that she wouldn’t trust his words. But he knew saying nothing wasn’t an option anymore. He’d done what he had to do and hoped it was enough. Determined to himself into work and get some questions answered, Matt met Alex as arranged.
‘Between the actual car in Treorchy and this photograph, it looks as if we’re looking at the same car. The reg number is certainly the same for both, but I don’t believe for one moment that we’ll find the same vehicle identification number on both cars.’
It only took a few minutes for Alex to locate the Jaguar’s VIN and for Matt to disappear with the information to crosscheck the details with the DVLA. In his absence Alex made a detailed examination of the car. It was in excellent condition, obviously well-loved. Alex had asked the local officers not to open the car or drive it, just to get it lifted onto the transporter. He had the keys that had been found in the victim’s pocket and so was able to zap the lock easily. The interior was even more pristine than the bodywork.
He laid the contents of the glove compartment out on a table and was in the process of itemising them when Matt returned and confirmed that everything seemed to be in order with the car.
‘The registration number tallies with the VIN and the vehicle has a current MOT and was taxed and insured by the registered owner who is, or should I say was, Edward Philip Ferguson of Woodcanton Hall, Malmesbury, North Wiltshire.’
‘Well, he couldn’t legally have two cars with the same numberplate! If you look carefully at the photo the cars may look exactly alike but there are marked differences. The man who has clearly looked after the car we have here is unlikely to be the owner of the one in the photograph. There’s mud caked on the wheel flaps and bits of debris under the windscreen wipers, and it’s a while since the bodywork has received any TLC. What do you make of it?’
Matt looked closely as Alex had suggested. ‘I haven’t got a clue, to be perfectly honest, but my instinct says follow that car! It’s likely to be hours before Elizabeth Ferguson’s in a fit state to be interviewed and so I’m thinking a trip to Wiltshire is on the cards. Fancy a journey down the M4?’
Chapter Ten
Martin drove his Alfa Romeo to a part of Cardiff that he didn’t know very well, but following Iris’s instructions he soon found 29 Bridgley Road, Thornhill, and pulled up outside. It was a quiet side road comprising some semi-detached properties and groups of modern terraced houses and Martin was uncertain about what sort of reception he was going to get.
He had never before called on a member of staff at home without letting them know he was coming. As he approached the house he realised that he should have asked Iris to tell him a bit more about Ian Baker. Did he live alone? Was he a family man?
Oh well, there was only one way to find out and Martin rang the bell. There was no reply and he rang it again. Still no reply and so Martin moved away from the door and started walking back towards his car. With what looked like a casual glance he ran his eyes over the upstairs windows and then caught sight of a faint movement behind one of the curtains downstairs.
Not wanting his journey to be wasted he turned back and tried the front doorbell one more time. Still no reply, so this time Martin walked purposely back to his car. He could hardly insist on being let into the house but he really wished Ian would open the door.
Luckily for Martin, fate interven
ed and just as he was getting back into his car a woman crossed the road and made her way towards Ian’s house.
She approached the door and was struggling to find a key in her handbag when DCI Phelps approached her and introduced himself.
‘Ian should be indoors, he’s got a few days’ holiday from work and he’s helping me with some decorating. He couldn’t have heard the bell,’ she suggested. ‘But not to worry, I’ve got a key … if I can find it!’
She ferreted around in her bag and finally came up with a single key attached to a piece of blue ribbon. ‘Ian says I should wear this ribbon round my neck because I’m always looking for my key. He’s a good boy, always thinking up ways to help his old mother, especially now that there’s only him and me here.’
Without realising it Ian’s mother had already filled in a number of gaps in Martin’s knowledge of her son, and he’d noted the fact that she didn’t know he was off sick – she thought he was taking a few days’ leave.
‘Ian!’ she called out as she pushed open the door. ‘You there? I’ve got a visitor for you – he’s been ringing the bell. Didn’t you hear it?’ She turned her attention to Martin and pointed to the lounge. ‘Sit in there, Mr Philips, and I’ll see if I can find my son. Work with him and his second mum, do you? I hope Iris knows that some of the best recipes he takes to work are mine, not his!’ She chuckled to herself as she climbed the stairs and a few minute later a rather embarrassed-looking Ian came down.
‘As you will now have gathered my mother is somewhat deaf, and so she got your name and title wrong. That’s probably just as well, as she’s not got a very good opinion of police officers and thinks all detectives are the devil incarnate. On the other hand, if I told her you were the one responsible for locking up Austin she’d turn into your number one fan.’
The comment was light-hearted, but there was no humour in Ian’s voice and his whole demeanour was flat. He looked exhausted.
‘Have you had some sort of bug?’ asked Martin. ‘I spoke to Iris earlier and she said it was unusual for you to be off sick and sends her best wishes.’
‘Let’s cut to the chase before my mother bombards us with tea and cakes. That’ll be one bit of this visit you will enjoy, I can promise you that. Clearly you haven’t come here on some welfare mission, and I’ve heard you are responsible for reopening the Roath case – so I’ve been expecting you’d ask to see me.’
Ian sat on one of the high-back chairs and took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t think, after all this time, that learning about the reopening of the case would affect me as much as it has. You have no idea what bastards were running the show back then. Austin brought out the worst in them, and there was a DI David Williams and a Sergeant Mick Walker who were definitely on the take. I still think I’d have made a bloody good officer, but there’s only so much bullying a person can take. Still, it’s only just over a decade but thankfully, even from my lowly position in the kitchens, I can see enormous change.’
Martin didn’t want to stop the flow but he did want to gain Ian’s confidence so he briefly interjected. ‘Well, you’ve just mentioned Austin, but you may not be aware that lately I’ve been re-examining a number of his past convictions and I can only agree with your comment that there were some real bastards in senior positions.’
The words had had the desired effect and Ian seemed to relax a bit. ‘I didn’t know that, but I’m really glad it’s happening and I wouldn’t be surprised if you found some of the convictions made from trumped-up evidence – it happened. I should have had the balls to speak up at the time. I think that’s why I got so depressed – it wasn’t so much what was going on as me realising I wasn’t strong enough to stick my head above the parapet.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up on that score, you weren’t the only one. It took Sergeant Evans years to come forward with one piece of information, information that has recently helped overturn a conviction. I know he brought it to the attention of senior officers at the time but I guess, like you, he hit a brick wall when what he had to say didn’t fit what they wanted to hear.’
Ian nodded. ‘The more you spoke out the more difficult they made your life and so in the end you either shut up or got out. I still keep waiting for Vinny Wicks to print some sort of exposé, but maybe he thinks it wouldn’t show him in a very good light.’
‘Vinny Wicks?’ enquired Martin. ‘I’m sure I know the name.’
‘You probably do, he’s an investigative journalist for one on the nationals now, but back then he was a police constable. He had a really rough time. It’s probably in the DNA of the guy to ask questions and that’s why he’s doing so well now, but as a PC he was considered by some to be a right pain in the arse.’
Martin recalled a recent call when another media personality had offered insight into past police procedures. Laura Cummings and Vinny Wicks could both be useful points of contact.
‘I didn’t see his name in relation to the Roath case,’ queried Martin. ‘Was he involved?’
‘No, he was gone by then, but not long and I know it wasn’t what he wanted to do. He was under threat of a disciplinary hearing regarding his alleged behaviour with a female detective, but we all thought it was trumped up. I can’t remember exactly what it was that pushed him through the door – you’d have to ask him.
‘The woman I just mentioned was DC Pat Waring and she was on the Roath case – not a woman you would want to tangle with. She was new to CID, but was well in with some of them and I’m sure she was having a fling with Austin. She used to bully Jonathan Taylor unmercifully, taking every opportunity to rubbish everything he said and then pressing herself up against him and pretending he had instigated the moves. It was pathetic when I think back and we should all have spoken out … but we didn’t. Her relationship, whatever it was, with Austin seemed to render her untouchable, and to my shame I stood by and watched her destroy a good DI. We could also see that her strings were being pulled from above in relation to solving, or more accurately not solving, the case, but to this day I have no explanation as to why senior officers didn’t want a result.’
The door opened and the predicted tray of tea was placed on the table next to Ian.
‘Sort some tea out for your friend and I’ll get the cake.’ Mrs Baker went back to the kitchen and Ian managed a smile.
‘She does make exceedingly good cakes, and you’ve probably sampled some of her recipes as Iris is a great fan of my mum’s cooking. I’m going to let her go on thinking that you work with me on that side of things if that’s OK with you, because I don’t want her getting upset again. I suppose I had some sort of breakdown when I left the Force and she bore the brunt of it.
‘It’s through my mother and her baking that I got to know Iris, although I had seen her in the staff canteen before she came here to swap recipes with my mother. Iris is a lovely woman and a bit of a philosopher! She convinced me that the best way I could get rid of my bogeymen was to face them and offered me a job back in Goleudy, albeit in a very different role.
‘Do you know what? The senior officers who had been instrumental in my departure didn’t even recognise me as I cleared the tables and served their food. I only expected to last there a short while but I started to enjoy the job and enrolled in a number of cookery classes. Upshot of it has been that I’m finalising arrangements to open a small restaurant in partnership with a friend of mine.’
His mother came back with not one, but two, plates of cakes and correctly caught her son’s last words.
‘I hope Elaine is more than just a friend,’ she teased and turning to Martin added. ‘They’re getting married next Easter – but I expect you know all about that, he never stops talking about it! Now eat as much of the cake as you like and there’s plenty more where this came from.’
Martin felt the desire to put a small Welsh flag on one of the plates of cake, which displayed two Welsh cakes, two slices of bara brith spread generously with butter, and two traditionally shaped slices of teisen lap. The oth
er plate held a selection of small chocolate cakes each individually crafted and Martin looked helplessly from one plate to the other.
‘Don’t worry, she won’t expect us to eat them all, but don’t be surprised when you leave if whatever remains gets handed to you in one of the fancy boxes we’ll be using in the restaurant.’
Between them the two men did justice to the cook as Ian told Martin all he could remember about the initial investigation. He ended by thanking Martin for coming to see him.
‘I’m sure the feelings I’ve had over the past few days would have been temporary anyway, but you’ve made me realise that there was a lot I needed to get off my chest. I’d be the last person to tell you how to do your job, but I’ll just say don’t take anything you see written about that investigation at face value.
‘There were two avenues of inquiry that DI Taylor wanted to pursue but he was prevented from doing so. The first one was in relation to a Somali charity and the second was something to do with a Tory MP. I wasn’t party to the detail and the case was put to one side without anything being solved – but then you know that.’
‘Thanks for talking so frankly. While I remember do you know where I could find Jonathan Taylor? Not even John Evans could help me on that one.’
‘He’s dead. Committed suicide following a complete breakdown. It started during the case and then he was in hospital suffering from severe depression.’
‘I’m amazed John hadn’t heard about that – he seems to be the font of all local knowledge.’
‘John, as I’m now able to call him, has volumes of data stored away, but when you compare him with Iris, there’s no competition – she knows everything, and that’s how I know. Jonathan Taylor left a wife and two small children and I have a great deal of sympathy because at one point I think I was heading in that direction.’
‘But you’re OK now?’ asked Martin.
