Another Good Killing

by Stephen Puleston

  Before I left for the custody suite I spoke to Wyn and Jane. ‘I want you both to go over the CCTV again covering Dolman’s journey into work.’

  I could see their enthusiasm waning.

  ‘We’ve missed something. And we need to find it quickly.’

  I left them and as I walked down to the Incident Room I wondered how Dean had been overnight and my irritation at having to work after only a few hours’ fitful sleep evaporated. I fumbled with my mobile and sent Jackie a text. I was signing for the tapes and talking to the custody sergeant when the reply came that he’d had a good night and that the medics were pleased.

  I was still staring at the screen of my mobile and thinking that Dean couldn’t not pull through. Lydia’s voice interrupted.

  ‘I’ll bring Youlden from his cell.’

  I put my phone back into my jacket and walked over to the interview room. The cork-lined room was cold and stuffy. A table with the tape recorder sat against one wall. I stepped over and switched it on. I put the case holding Youlden’s laptop on the floor underneath the table.

  I heard the sound of footsteps and Youlden entered with his lawyer. She was a tall woman with short hair and a pale complexion.

  ‘Catherine Norman.’ She had a firm handshake.

  Youlden sat down on a plastic chair and folded his arms stiffly. I got on with the formalities and once the cassettes were safely into the machine I sat back and looked him in the eye. His eyes were more deep-set than I had remembered and he had thin, almost non-existent eyebrows.

  ‘Do you know why you’re here?’

  He parted his lips then looked at Norman who nodded.

  ‘I’ve been falsely arrested on specious grounds and once I’m out I’m going to sue. And take the story to every news outlet in the UK.’

  Susan Peel would love this.

  I started slowly. ‘I’m interviewing you in relation to the murder of Matthew Dolman who was the managing director of the National Bank of Wales. Do you know who I mean?’

  He sat and looked at me.

  ‘Do you have any comment to make?’

  Nothing.

  I shuffled some of the papers on my desk. ‘What do you do exactly?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  Making progress, at least he was answering my questions.

  ‘Are you responsible for the website called Tax The Bankers?’

  ‘Yes, what of it?’

  ‘And you maintain the website and do all the posting to it. Blog entries, that sort of thing.’

  Another glance at his lawyer.

  ‘At the end of last week a video appeared on the internet just after the death of Alan Turner. That video was uploaded from an internet café in Pontypridd.’

  There was a glimmer of recognition on Youlden’s face.

  ‘You used the same café a day earlier.’

  ‘Is that a question?’ Norman asked.

  I ignored her, gazing at Youlden.

  Norman stopped writing notes. ‘Is that the only evidence you have to justify the arrest of my client?’

  ‘I think your client would be well advised to answer my questions.’ I turned back to Youlden. ‘How often do you use the internet café?’

  ‘Ask them.’

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘You see, it seems to me that it’s too much of a coincidence. You have a website so you’re accustomed to using the internet. There are videos on your site vilifying the bankers. And then the video that’s been seen all over the world is posted from the internet café in Pontypridd.’

  I looked over and saw the rage in his eyes.

  ‘Did you post that video, Paul?’

  He tensed and glared at his lawyer.

  I reached for the laptop and handed it to Lydia who opened the screen.

  ‘Do you recognise this laptop?’

  ‘Ah…’

  ‘It was recovered from your home address.’

  He sulked back into silence. The machine hummed into life.

  ‘Please look at the video we found on your laptop.’

  The colour drained from Youlden’s face. ‘That’s not what you think. And it…’

  Norman moved awkwardly in her chair.

  ‘For the purposes of the tape the video is a film of Matthew Dolman being followed from his home one morning. There is a brief conversation and we’re waiting for expert analysis of the voice to see if it’s a match to the videos that have been released. And there are four more videos from the same laptop, two of which film Matthew Dolman walking to the bank.’

  I showed each in turn, glancing at Youlden occasionally who had turned a sickly shade of grey by the end. ‘Now is your opportunity to tell us your side of things.’

  He didn’t and by mid-morning I was having grave doubts. I finished the interview abruptly, ignoring the surprise on the face of Norman. She wanted to know when a decision would be made about bail and after noticing the time I told her we needed to review all the evidence before the custody time limits expired.

  Pacing back to the Incident Room I hoped that by now Wyn and Jane would have found something to link Youlden’s fifteen-year-old Vauxhall to Penarth or Cardiff at a time near to the deaths of either Dolman or Turner. But I was disappointed and as we had no prospect of having any immediate results on the voice analysis I knew what Cornock would say.

  A fractious superintendent decided that Youlden would have to be released on bail. Susan Peel had sent me an acerbic email suggesting that PR should be left to the professionals. So I headed out of Queen Street deciding that I’d wander over early for my lunch with Tracy.

  I walked through the Gorsedd Gardens. An enormous tractor lawn mower went round in circles. I had started to believe that my investigation was heading in ever decreasing circles with no hope of finding the culprit. I checked my watch knowing that I had more than enough time before meeting Tracy so I headed to the room that displayed one of my favourite paintings – Running away with the Hairdresser by Kevin Sinnott. I entered the first gallery and stopped dead in my tracks.

  Tracy stood at the other end, deep in conversation. She had her arms folded severely and even from side-on I could tell she was angry. And then I recognised Greg Jones from Youlden’s group standing by her side. I blanked out the noise from the room and just stared at her. My breathing became shallow and the spotlights on the gantry above me shone more intensely, a strong white colour that sparkled. I couldn’t risk her seeing me so I turned my back, hoping she wouldn’t notice but all the time thinking that I had to be certain. I wanted to convince myself that I was wrong.

  A crowd of visiting French children gathered by my side. They were noisy and talkative but I didn’t hear their chatter. I made to leave but then I turned and followed the group into the room, keeping myself tucked in behind one of the adults.

  I stared over at them. Tracy had her hands in the air. Greg Jones leant over her. I wanted to rush over and demand an explanation. Greg raised a hand and then moved his head and I jerked myself to one side fearing he’d see me. The person by my side moved so I turned my back before stepping towards another group of visitors, hoping I could use them as a shield. Tracy was peering into his eyes. My lips dried, my stomach wanted to do cartwheels and it even occurred to me that I should arrest them both.

  I left the gallery, jogged down the front steps of the main building, and then strode back towards Queen Street convinced that the first thing I had to do was find out everything I could about Greg Jones.

  I stopped in the middle of the park and tapped a message to Tracy – Sorry have to cancel. Too busy Jx. I took a deep breath, recalling the last two conversations I’d had with her.

  She had been interrogating me, of course; it was plain to see now and I cursed myself for sharing details of the investigation with her. How much pillow talk had she shared with Greg? How far had she imperilled the inquiry? Then I realised it meant I was in deep trouble.

  A message reached my
mobile but I didn’t react immediately. I knew it would be from her. Everything all right? XXT. It was the kisses at the end of the text that really angered me. She had betrayed me and the whole case might now be compromised.

  I was contemplating how to reply when my mobile rang.

  It was Lydia. ‘Something you need to see, boss. Can you get back here?’

  Chapter 28

  The three members of my team were huddled over the monitor on Wyn’s desk. My annoyance hadn’t abated in the time it had taken me to reach Queen Street and the tension was making me short of breath.

  Lydia heard me enter the Incident Room and turned to face me. ‘I thought you should see this.’

  Jane moved to one side and Wyn clicked on the mouse on his desk.

  ‘You were right about the tape, boss,’ Wyn said. ‘I found this coverage when I ran it on for a few minutes after Dolman left for work on the morning of his death.’

  I watched as an Audi SUV appeared on the screen and made its way into town. Wyn clicked again and the same vehicle appeared at various stages of the journey. ‘That’s Mrs Dolman.’ I said.

  Wyn nodded. ‘And she told us in her statement that she hadn’t left the house that morning.’

  ‘So she lied to us.’

  I hate it when people lie to me.

  ‘There’s more, sir.’ Wyn added. ‘Once I knew what time she’d left I had a look at the other days of the week. And every Monday and Thursday she leaves the house at about the same time before travelling into Cardiff.’

  ‘Where does she go?’

  ‘She takes one of the exits off the dual carriageway before reaching town and the CCTV doesn’t pick her up again.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake we need to know where she goes.’

  Nobody replied. The monitor was still showing her driving the SUV. And for once I knew that my instinct, telling me we had missed something, was right.

  ‘It’s Thursday tomorrow. Time for us to find out what Mrs Dolman is up to.’

  I stepped over to the board and I rearranged the photographs, hoping for clarity. I put Henson and Youlden next to each other.

  ‘Motive,’ I said, not waiting for a reply. ‘Troy wants his father dead so that he can take over the bank. And Mrs Dolman faces losing out if her husband changes his will. So one of them uses Youlden – a person they both have connections with – to do the killing. And they try and implicate Henson.’

  ‘Or Henson is stupid enough to use his own printer,’ Wyn chirped up. ‘He is a nutcase.’

  ‘But why would she kill Turner?’ Lydia said.

  I avoided answering Lydia. ‘Whatever is happening we need to know more about Mrs Dolman. And we still have the properties in Nice and Sydney to resolve.’

  A message bleeped on my mobile and I fished it out of a pocket. Alvine wanted me to call her. ‘We need to organise a plan to follow Mrs Dolman in the morning.’ I headed back to my office.

  Quickly I dialled Alvine’s number.

  ‘Bad news.’

  I stood by my chair. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘The letter you sent me over the weekend. It’s not from the same printer as the originals. Same font and size but the printer on the latest one doesn’t print as flat as the others. You can’t see it with the naked eye.’

  Immediately I thought that Henson was using a different printer. Or that Cleaver had a printer at home. But it was odd that the message had appeared when it did. If the killer was responsible then why had he sent it when he did? It didn’t make sense. And if it was somebody else then…?

  ‘Any other DNA?’

  ‘Nothing. The envelope and the paper were clean.’

  ‘And was there a match to the printer we recovered from Youlden’s place?’

  ‘Dead end too.’

  I finished the call, picked up my mobile, and read various messages from Tracy. Texting had an anonymity that could hide emotion but it seemed a poor substitute for real-world conversation. I turned the phone in my hand, composing a suitable message.

  Protocols.

  I didn’t know of any protocol about how I should deal with Tracy Jones. Although I knew I should record the position to Superintendent Cornock, formally in writing, in a detailed memorandum. But that would take me hours, time I didn’t have to spare.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon allocating tasks. We had to trace the courier that had delivered the message the previous Saturday, interview all the staff on reception and watch hours more CCTV footage from outside Queen Street.

  My mobile flickered with more messages and I read one from my mother asking me to call her and then another from Tracy. My annoyance grew when I read – Missed you at lunch. Tonight? XT. I tapped out a message to Tracy that I was too busy to meet up.

  Before calling my mother I knew I had to speak to Jackie but as I reached for the handset it sprang into life.

  ‘There’s something terrible…’ Jackie sobbed hysterically down the telephone.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  I stood up, waiting for her to reply. I heard chatter in the background and raised voices. Anxious voices. I felt like screaming into the handset.

  ‘It’s Dean. He’s…’ Then scuffling. I heard Jackie’s voice and then the sound of a nurse asking her did she want her to speak.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Who’s that?’ I said.

  ‘It’s Lyndsey, one of the nurses on PICU.’

  ‘What the hell is happening?’ An enormous lump had appeared in my throat.

  ‘There’s been a problem with Dean’s breathing tube so we’re just changing it, we’ve asked Jackie to pop outside whilst the doctor does that.’

  ‘Is it dangerous?’ My voice squeaked.

  ‘It’s a common procedure, I’ll ask the doctor to call you shortly after he’s finished.’

  Then the line went dead and I spent the longest thirty minutes of my life wondering what was happening. When my mobile rang I snatched it off the desk. It was voice I didn’t recognise.

  ‘Hello, my name is Mike Ross, the on-call registrar for PICU.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘We had to re-intubate your son. His breathing tube became blocked so we had to change it, it’s not uncommon but something we have to react to immediately. Your wife was understandably a little upset so one of our nurses took her outside whilst I did it. The tube’s sorted and Dean’s stable.’

  I fell back into my chair.

  I squirmed, realising just how Jackie would have felt.

  ‘When are you going to wake him up?’

  I could hear him flicking through the notes.

  ‘We need to see what my consultant Dr Palmer and the neurosurgical consultant think once they’ve seen Dean during the ward round in the morning.’

  He handed the telephone to Jackie. She listened as I explained what the doctor had told me. She said very little.

  ‘Go home and get some sleep,’ I said. ‘I’ll call first thing.’

  Chapter 29

  I had expected Penarth to be busier on a Thursday morning. The occasional pedestrian ambled along the pavement with small dogs on long leashes. Expensive cars drove past at a sedate pace. It was warm enough for me to open the window, letting the cool spring air brush my face. Lydia sat in the passenger seat glancing at her watch. I recalled the detailed briefing by Wyn outlining the exact times that Mrs Dolman left the house for her regular tryst.

  There was another ten minutes before we expected her. I thought about a cigarette but regulations made it clear we couldn’t smoke inside a car.

  Then I saw the Audi in my side mirror.

  Quickly I adjusted my position, checked the rear view mirror, fine-tuned the side mirrors and started the engine. I caught my first glimpse of Mrs Dolman when she’d pulled up by a pedestrian crossing a little way behind me. Then she passed me and I lowered my head just to avoid any possibility of her spotting me.

  I indicated before pulling out and following her. There were two cars between my Mondeo
and the Audi but I could still see the personalised number plate – 752 BD. Wyn and Jane would be somewhere behind us. I had to stop at the roundabout and I drummed my fingers on the wheel as I watched the Audi speeding away towards Cardiff.

  A stream of traffic flowed through the roundabout and when the Audi disappeared from view I quelled my raising panic. Finally a space opened and I jerked the car forward. I raced through the roundabout, indicating for the exit before accelerating towards the city. The tension subsided when I caught sight of the Audi in the distance.

  By the time I reached the elevated section of the link road into Cardiff that ran above some old industrial units along the muddy banks of the river Ely I spotted the Audi in the distance keeping a modest speed. She wasn’t in a hurry obviously. I pressed the accelerator and overtook the car in front but then dropped back into the inside lane. I kept glancing in the mirrors, watching the traffic building up behind me, knowing I shouldn’t get too close.

  The more I thought about the circumstances the more I was relishing the opportunity to interview Mrs Dolman.

  We approached the turning to the Cardiff City stadium and the shops nearby and I could see the pulsing indicator light from the Audi so I did likewise and we headed down towards the red lights at a junction. Being only two cars behind her I dropped back; just one glance in her rear view mirror and she might spot me.

  I strengthened my grip on the wheel and then the lights changed. The Audi moved away but I stalled the car. Wyn overtook me and followed her. A worry gripped me that we might lose her but I restarted the engine and accelerated through the lights just as they changed back to red.

  ‘Where on earth is she going?’ Lydia thrust the mobile to her ear and she mouthed Wyn to me silently.

  After a few seconds she started talking. ‘Where is she?’ There was a silence as she listened to Wyn and my impatience grew. ‘She’s going towards Llandaff.’

  I paid little attention to the shops and delicatessens lining the route into Llandaff. The Audi was slowing now as she pulled into a small junction that had a no-through-road sign. Wyn dawdled and then followed her.

  Seconds later the traffic cleared enough for me to negotiate the turn. Wyn was already parked on one side and he gave us a brief nod as we passed. We drew up a little way beyond Mrs Dolman’s Audi. Lydia picked up her mobile. She spoke quietly. ‘Where is she?’