by Wonny Lea
‘Well, it was not without interest,’ answered Matt. ‘One thing for certain is that you and I could definitely do with a career change, and I suggest we become the owners of a nursing home. I thought such establishments were having a hard time, but there was no evidence of that, certainly not in the car park.’ Matt went on to describe the two dream cars that were parked outside the home, belonging to the owner and his wife – he waxed lyrical about the appearance and potential performance of the Mercedes in particular.
For a moment Martin envisaged the sleek machine parked on the driveway of his end-of-terrace cottage in the quiet coastal village of Llantwit Major and decided it would look completely out of place.
Not for the first time Martin surmised that there were two types of men on the planet, and he definitely put himself into the group which saw a car as a means of getting from A to B. Matt most definitely fell into the other group, who could spend hours talking and fantasising about the latest models. Strange, therefore, that the car Matt actually drove was a robust 4x4 that permanently housed three booster seats and frequently taxied a number of his twelve nieces. He was most definitely the favourite uncle and, seemingly, always at their beck and call. With a reality like that it was little wonder he dreamed of a sports car of his very own.
During the time they had worked together Martin had seen many sides to his sergeant, and he now found himself hoping that Matt would soon find someone with whom he would settle down. Perhaps it was being in love oneself that made you want to see others in that same happy state. Martin realised that during the past week every time he thought of Shelley he knew it was with an intensity he had never before experienced. It didn’t require any of his expert skills of detection to bring him to the conclusion that gradually over the past few months his feelings for her had deepened and now he knew for certain that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her – how serious was that? It took some effort to force his mind back to the business in hand and even more effort to force his sergeant away from his own dreams, which flashed invisibly before him in the shape of a Mercedes sports car.
‘Thank you,’ they both said in unison as an elderly gentleman set two mugs of coffee on the table and returned a moment later with two baguettes that were hopefully going to taste as good as they smelt.
The watery sun that Alex had briefly spotted yesterday had turned into a more significant celestial object and although it was early in the day there was some definite warmth in its rays.
Matt took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. ‘We spoke to Sister Thomas, that’s the nurse who helped out yesterday with Mrs Pattern. Sergeant Evans had thought she hadn’t witnessed the episode in the corridor with this Mr Morris. However she was able to tell us who Mr Morris is and what he was doing at the home.
‘Apparently his father-in-law, Colin James, had died the previous night, and he and his wife were there to collect Mr James’ belongings and a death certificate. Maria, one of the care assistants, had just told Sarah, that’s the rather gorgeous Sister Thomas, that the police had arrived to talk to her about the body – and that was when, according to Sergeant Evans, this Morris character freaked out. He initially had some sort of argument with Sister Thomas, but it was when he saw the officers walking towards him that he almost fainted on the spot.’
‘I asked Sarah if there was any reason that Mr Morris could have assumed that the body the police were there to talk to her about was that of his father-in-law. She said the thought hadn’t occurred to her, and then I asked if there was anything untoward surrounding the death of Mr James. Her answer to that was somewhat hesitant, but she said she had certainly made comments to a number of people regarding her surprise that Colin had gone so quickly and then she quite spontaneously remembered another resident whose death had prompted her to make similar comments.’
‘She quickly reined in any suggestion that her concerns were of any relevance, and gave us a bit of a tutorial regarding the situations that result in residents being admitted to the home and the huge range of reasons why they may suddenly just simply give up and die. It was obvious that her mind was thinking back so I suggested she take a look at deaths over the past six months and then let me know if there was anything she wanted to talk about – I left her my card.’
‘For purely professional reasons, of course,’ remarked Martin as he used the last piece of his baguette to mop up some of the mushroom and tomato juice that had escaped onto the plate. ‘OK, well I’m getting the feeling that there is unlikely to be anything more for us to do regarding the Parkland Nursing Home, so let’s finish our coffee and look around this area.’
The man who had brought their food was hovering ready to collect the dishes and clear the table, and looking around Martin could see why. Every other table was occupied, and there was a queue of people placing their orders at the café window. ‘It’s been like this since late yesterday morning,’ said the waiter. ‘People have been flocking here to get a glimpse of the place the body was found. Some were here even before the news broke on the radio and there was a line of people waiting for us to open this morning. You were lucky to arrive just after most of the sightseers left the café to confirm the news that television cameras had been sighted. That must have been misinformation because it looks as if they have all come back wanting to be fed and watered. They are just like animals!’
The man was shaking his head in disbelief, but it was a scene totally familiar to Martin and Matt who had witnessed many occasions when certain members of the public had flocked to stand and stare at the misery of others. Martin remembered reading a piece of research that had looked at a cross-section of what the researcher had called the ‘morbid mob’, only to discover that the majority of them had more than enough misery in their own lives without looking for more.
‘That was a great breakfast,’ said Matt and looked back over his shoulder at the setting in which they had eaten. ‘It’s new isn’t it? That’s the first time I’ve been there, but then we tend to come into Bute Park from the city end and so rarely come up this far. It’ll definitely be a time out place for me next time I bring the girls to the park.’
‘Yes,’ replied Martin. ‘It is new, and was only officially opened just over a week ago, but has been trading since April. I was on the internet last night knowing that we were coming here this morning. It’s to be known as the Summerhouse Kiosk and was built as part of the Bute Restoration Project. Apparently it’s a timber-framed building, but they used stone from the old demolished toilet block to ensure the overall look is in keeping with what was here originally.
‘There actually was a Bute Summer House designed by William Burgess but that was taken down in the seventies and reconstructed in the grounds of St Fagans.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen it there, but I hadn’t realised it had been moved from here,’ Matt said. ‘St Fagans and Bute Park are two of my family’s favourite picnic sites, and looking around today it’s no wonder people flock here – it’s a stunningly beautiful park.’
‘It’s a shame that the body was found here this week, because on Thursday there are plans in place to host an event to celebrate the fact that the park has been awarded the prestigious Green Flag Status for the fourth consecutive year, no mean achievement, apparently.’
‘Yes I have been made aware of that,’ said Martin. ‘I got a call from the superintendent yesterday evening, to say he was being urged by the organisers to get all evidence of the crime scene, together with the media and all their ghoulish followers, out of the area as soon as possible. After his call I spoke to Alex and he said he would get down here this morning and could see no reason why the area shouldn’t be restored to normality, and he planned to talk to the gardeners and enlist their help.’
‘Are we going to walk the length and breadth of the park, or have you got something more specific in mind?’ asked Matt.
‘Definitely the latter,’ came the reply. ‘I learned last night that the park measures a total of fifty-six hectares
, which in language we can understand is the equivalent of seventy-five football pitches. I’m only concerned with the entrances and exits in relation to how feasible it would be to bring a body in without attracting attention. Let’s walk down to the water bus stop first and hopefully rule that one out.’
Martin thought of the words of the song ‘What a Difference a Day Makes,’ as he looked at the flowers and herbaceous borders that had shown such promise yesterday and today were responding to the warmth of the sun and unashamedly showing off their beauty for the world to admire.
The two men walked towards the city centre but then took the turning as directed by the wooden sign etched with the words Water Bus Stop (and for the benefit of Welsh speakers, Arhosfan y Bws Dwr).
They walked under the trees and as the path sloped gently down towards the River Taff the gravel changed to a more solid concrete walkway marking the start of the entrance to the water bus stop. There were metal barriers on either side of the path and ahead of them was a steeper slope that would take them down the embankment and on to the wooden boarding platform.
However, their access to this area was made impossible by a formidable metal barrier, nearly five feet high. It was locked, and all the two of them could do was look at the platform beyond and consider the feasibility of a body being transported.
‘OK,’ said Martin, turning back. ‘I hadn’t thought this entrance would be an option and now, seeing it for real, I’m ruling it out. Very few people would know the opening times for these gates, and from what I’ve read the main users are the public and tourists travelling from Mermaid Quay to the city centre. The scheduled boats are probably crowded and if a private boat had been used it could easily have been seen from that bridge there.’
Martin pointed towards the bridge that crossed the river just ahead of them. It was a busy road with a pavement from which there was an excellent view of the river.
‘OK,’ he said again. ‘That was a bit of a waste of time, but it means we can cross one thing off our list. The entrance alongside the castle is one I know well, so we can skip that and take a quick look at how things are getting on at the scene.’
Within a few minutes they knew they were approaching the area where the body had been discovered because of the increase in the number of people standing around. When Martin had been educating himself about Bute Park on the web, he had read about the red minivan that stocked up at the Summerhouse Kiosk and then drove around the park offering drinks and light refreshments. It was doing a roaring trade now as the onlookers and the media filled gaps in their stomachs and their time – it was an ill wind, he thought!
The white tent that had marked the scene yesterday was no longer visible, and to Martin’s delight he caught sight of Alex’s shaven scalp glistening in the morning sunshine. Alex had spotted the two detectives walking in his direction and lifted his arm beckoning them to where he had parked his van.
Some members of the press had also noticed their arrival and one young journalist, still bearing the scars of adolescent acne, left his colleagues and made a beeline for Martin. Even before he had the chance to speak Martin cut him short. ‘There’s a press conference this afternoon, as I am sure you are aware and until then I have absolutely no intention of making any statements or answering any questions.’ Not wanting or waiting for any response Martin turned to Alex who seemed to have just a few more pieces of equipment to load into the van.
‘We’re just about finished here,’ Alex confirmed. ‘Don’t remember another occasion when we had things cleared up so quickly but this area doesn’t deserve to be remembered as the dumping ground for a corpse – it was developed for much better things.’
‘We all agree,’ responded Martin. ‘I know the organisers of the event planned for Thursday will be over the moon with this progress, but I just hope we haven’t compromised anything by moving so quickly.’
‘Absolutely not,’ was the reply from Alex. ‘With the photographic evidence, soil samples, and of course the body, we could now do a virtual reconstruction with all the tools we have at our disposal. Sergeant Evans’ team did a thorough search of the surrounding area yesterday afternoon but as you know, found nothing significant.’
‘Yes,’ said Martin. ‘He rang me this morning to say they had been looking for a potential murder weapon, any sort of walking aid, hopefully a handbag, and the remote possibility of some dentures. Nothing was found and I think I would have been surprised if anything had been. I am convinced she was killed elsewhere and then brought here.’
The other two nodded in agreement. ‘What we need to know,’ Matt suggested, ‘is the identity of the woman – and to unlock the mystery of the clothing, that’s really bugging me.’
For the next few minutes they talked about the entrances to the park. Alex pointed out the route he had used to bring the van to the scene and suggested that that would be the entrance of choice. The road he was indicating had not been in existence long, and had been the subject of a lot of controversy, with regular park users expressing concern that the whole environment would be destroyed if vehicles were allowed such easy access.
Matt said that even large trucks drove over the field when events were being set up. Their discussion brought to Martin’s mind the fact that, with the advent of the road, a car or van in that part of the park would no longer look out of place. A vehicle could have driven across the field, parked at the spot where Alex’s van now stood and, within minutes, offloaded the body and been heading out of the park.
Given the level of rainfall over the past few weeks it would have taken a large lorry carrying an almighty load for the tyre prints to have remained even vaguely identifiable. No evidence of any tracks had been found, but Martin was now completely convinced that he knew how the body had got there.
They left Alex and rejoined the footpath, this time not turning off towards the river but making their way to the Cardiff Castle entrance, the route taken by most shoppers on their way for some retail therapy. There was certainly every opportunity for that as with its combination of the old arcades and the new designer shops Cardiff now had something to offer everyone.
A short walk from the park grounds and they were standing in the entrance to a block of flats and ringing the doorbell labelled Mr and Mrs A. Pattern.
The bell was immediately answered and a man with an Australian accent bluntly asked them who they were and what they wanted. Martin answered the questions and there was a loud click that only just allowed them to hear the man telling them to go straight ahead towards the one and only ground floor flat.
Even before they got to the door of the flat it opened and a larger-than-life character filled the doorframe with a considerable frame of his own, one that was well in excess of six foot and probably around sixteen stone. None of that weight was fat, and with a well-tanned face and sun-bleached blond hair he was a sight to behold and took his visitors by surprise.
The Australian accent was even more pronounced now that they were face to face, and after Martin had made the formal introductions with the aid of his warrant card Aiden explained that he was Mrs Pattern’s son-in-law and that he and his wife were over on holiday with their two sons. ‘Kerry, that’s my wife, hasn’t left her mother’s side since that dreadful business in the park yesterday, but they’re expecting your visit – just go through to the lounge and I’ll make us all some coffee.’
Matt had brought the statement given by Mrs Pattern the previous day and suggested that the quickest course of action would be for him to read it and for Mrs Pattern to amend anything that, with the benefit of hindsight, needed adjusting. The only addition she made was to say that after one of the boys had hurled the dog’s ball some incredible distance, they had both taken to their heels and run away as if the hounds of hell were chasing them.
She told the detectives that she wasn’t angry with the boys, as they were only having a bit of fun and she would normally have expected Dylan, the dog, to fetch the ball back within a few minutes.
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‘I did feel a bit mad with the boys when I had to walk through the wet grass and it was extremely muddy underfoot – but that was nothing compared with what I felt when I saw the reason for Dylan’s reluctance to return when I called him.’
At this point Mrs Pattern started to tremble and as she closed her eyes in an effort to regain her composure Martin was certain that she was once again seeing that image and he knew exactly how she felt. He leant forward in his chair and told Mrs Pattern about the services that were available to help the victims of crime get over their experience and suggested she speak to PC Cook-Watts who could help if required.
‘I never thought of myself as a victim of crime,’ said Mrs Pattern, but everyone else agreed that she was and she shouldn’t be ashamed of being stressed out by the experience.
The visit had taken no more than forty-five minutes but when they left Martin felt that he and Matt had helped to put things into perspective for the family and he had agreed to personally let Mrs Pattern know the outcome of the police investigations.
Back on the pavement outside the flats Martin suggested that they walk back to the car via the road and not through the park, and so they headed for Cathedral Road, knowing that from there they would get to the Sophia Garden’s car park.
‘The nursing home you visited yesterday is along here somewhere isn’t it?’ enquired Martin.
Matt pointed to one of the side streets and told Martin it was at the end of that road. ‘I’ve got a voice message from Sister Thomas,’ he added as he held his mobile to his ear to trawl through three other communications before listening to Sarah’s voice.
‘Hello,’ she began. ‘This is Sarah Thomas from Parkland Nursing Home, and as requested I went through unexpected deaths with Maria last night and surprisingly we each came up with an almost identical list. I have no idea what this means or if there is anything you want to do with this information …’ she stopped at this point and holding the phone close to his ear Matt could hear someone else speaking. Then Sarah continued. ‘Sorry, Sergeant Pryor, but Mr Doster suggests I have other things to do than make personal calls during working hours so will you please give me a call later. I finish at four today and you can pick my number up from this call.’
