by Ted Tayler
“Was Robinson visiting a lady friend on Ponting Road, or was he driving past the garage on his way to Manchester Road?” asked Gus.
“Wiltshire Police closed several establishments either side of the Chaloner murder in 2016, guv,” said Neil. “I remember places on Commercial Road, Brunel Crescent, and York Road getting their name in the local press.”
“The work undertaken by the authorities and the charities involved drove the problem off the streets and behind closed doors,” said Gus. “We touched on this aspect during the Laura Mallinder enquiry. I recall the phrase ‘pop-ups’ getting used for places that might exist for only a day or two. Girls from Poland and Romania, trafficked here by criminal gangs, got moved on as soon as their handlers found alternate premises. A moving target is always more difficult to hit.”
Lydia tutted.
“I meant the buildings from which the girls operated, not the girls themselves,” said Gus.
“I know, guv,” said Lydia. “I was bemoaning the fact this business always seems to put vulnerable women’s lives at risk.”
“Wiltshire Police said there was a distinct possibility the man convicted of murdering those two young women could be responsible for other unsolved murders,” said Alex. “There was an eight-year gap between the killings.”
“They had no forensic evidence connecting him to any open cases, Alex,” said Neil. “However, that’s not to say he hadn’t committed other offences.”
“I’m certain there would be others,” said Gus. “I don’t think he’d have gone eight years without hunting out another victim.”
“We can’t link that to the Chaloner case, though, guv,” said Neil.
“I think that’s a given, Neil,” said Gus. “We’ll ask Ralph Robinson what he was doing that morning. Then, if needs be, we’ll interview him at home in front of his wife.”
“That makes a change, guv,” said Blessing. “You usually threaten them with getting dragged into a police station for an interview under caution.”
“Horses for courses,” said Gus. “We need more detail on that white van and its driver.”
“Alex and I won’t need to leave for Ponting Road for an hour, guv,” said Lydia. “What can we do in the meantime?”
“When are you leaving here, guv?” asked Neil. “Can we give you a lift?”
“No, Neil. I need my car,” said Gus. “Anyway, I need you to tell me quickly what you heard from Jake Latimer.”
“You might not like what you’re going to hear, guv,”
CHAPTER 5
“This case was the final straw for DI Sengupta’s ongoing involvement as a Senior Investigating Officer, guv,” said Neil. “Raj attended the murder scene with Tom Spencer and arranged the house-to-house enquiries starting the same afternoon. The occupants of many of the properties on either side of the road were at work. Uniformed officers returned first thing the following day to revisit those addresses hoping to find someone at home.”
“Did Sengupta not think to make the visits the same evening?” asked Gus.
“It appears not, guv,” said Neil. “Tom Spencer thought the morning run was a waste of resources. He wanted to carry out house-to-house visits in the streets on either side instead.”
“Raj’s plan might not have been as daft as Jake imagined, Neil,” said Gus. “Catherine Fryer worked a morning shift and was home in the afternoons. So what’s to say someone didn’t see the white van man at eleven o’clock? They could have heard everything the guy and Chaloner said. They may have told the police what they were arguing over.”
“Then they went to work in the afternoon,” said Neil. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“Did the morning run turn up any new leads?” asked Gus.
“No, guv,” said Neil. “Raj Sengupta sent Tom Spencer to the autopsy on Wednesday morning. Tom got Stuart Fitzwalter’s thoughts on time and cause of death and returned to Gablecross. Raj had gone home with a migraine. Tom debriefed the morning run with the uniforms and then rang Sengupta at home. Raj insisted it was a robbery, plain and simple. He told Tom they needed to find the twenty-two-carat gold chain. It was pointless worrying about the cash because it was untraceable. Tom pointed out that if someone offered the chain to a guy in the pub and fifty quid changed hands, the odds of catching the killer that way were miniscule. Raj told Tom to alert local jewellers and pawnbrokers.”
“If our killer was as meticulous as I believe,” said Gus, “then he wouldn’t do anything as rash as offloading an expensive gold chain within days of the murder. Did the gold chain ever surface?”
“No, guv,” said Neil.
“Did they send forensics to the ATM where the killer used the bank card?” asked Gus.
“Stuart Fitzwalter arrived at the garage before Sengupta and Spencer. The police surgeon believed the attacker wore gloves. Raj thought that meant the ATM was a waste of time. Even if the killer removed a glove to key in the PIN.….”
“Exactly. Hundreds of people could have used the ATM in the town centre before forensics checked for prints. To cover his backside, Raj should have got the job done, regardless. They could hang onto the prints and partials to try for a match against a suspect. If they ever identified one. Then they could destroy the rest.
“It wasn’t the best start to an investigation, was it, guv?” said Neil.
“I sense there’s more, Neil,” said Gus. “It can wait until we get back from Swindon. I’ll have heard Raj Sengupta’s version of events by then too. Blessing, when you speak to Eve Chaloner, can you get an accurate description of that gold chain, please?”
“Got it, guv,” said Blessing. “Anything else?”
Gus shook his head. Luke gave Neil the nod that he had informed Eve Chaloner they would be with her within the hour. Neil and Blessing made their way to the lift.
“I wonder why Gus told you to ask Eve Chaloner about the gold chain,” said Neil.
“She will use words that mean nothing to you, Neil,” said Blessing. “You men only see a chunky piece of bling. With rings, bracelets, and necklaces, we girls see something else.”
“I don’t get it,” said Neil. “What’s that?”
“Commitment,” said Blessing.
Meanwhile, back at his desk, Gus wondered what to ask Raj Sengupta—investigating a serious crime such as murder attracted a significant press interest, especially in the first days of an enquiry. The SIO has to resolve tensions surrounding what to disclose and what to hold back concerning the offence. What were the potential consequences in this case of releasing details of the theft of the gold chain?
Gus recognised Raj was probably an expert in media strategy, something he’d failed to relate to when he was a serving officer. Ideally, what the police wanted from a press release was to gain information. However, once you invited the media to the party, you often lost control over how they portrayed the information you drip-fed them. So, Raj would have had to manage the balancing act of press interest and minimising misinformation. The press reports on prostitution being a case in point.
Gus had lost count of the times he listened to Geoff Mercer, reminding the public that murder was rare. There wasn’t a gunman on every street corner in the county. So the media strategy Raj adopted would have aimed to minimise community concern over the fear of crime.
Gus decided he’d waited long enough.
“I’ll see you two at eleven,” he said to Alex and Lydia.
Luke Sherman wondered when he might make a telling contribution to this enquiry. So far, he’d compiled a list of interviewees and arranged appointments.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you, guv?” he asked.
“Not this time, Luke,” said Gus. “It would give the game away.”
As Gus headed for the lift, he paused.
“If we can’t arrange any more interviews, for the time being, Luke, why don’t you look at the case from a different angle? Ignore the robbery aspect and dismiss the links to a criminal gang. What other options
are there? Who would want to shoot Richard Chaloner, and why? Maybe, the original detective team and ourselves are looking in the wrong place. As I said yesterday, the killer was a local man or woman. Could the killing have been personal? If so, what event in Chaloner’s life has everyone missed?”
“Will do, guv,” said Luke. At last, he had a meaningful task.
Gus exited the lift and reversed the Ford Focus out of the parking bay. A steady drive to Ponting Street, Swindon from here should take him around an hour. Lydia had driven her Mini to work this morning. She and Alex could leave the office by a quarter past ten and still reach Merchant Motor Repairs by eleven o’clock with her driving.
Traffic on the road to Chippenham was light, and although it increased as he approached the M4 junction beyond Kingston St Michael, Gus felt confident he’d have enough time at the garage to suit his purpose. His timing was spot on. After a clear run on the motorway to blow the cobwebs from his faithful companion’s engine, he drew up on the garage forecourt at twenty minutes to the hour. A dark-haired teenager in dark blue overalls looked up from the car she was working on and called to someone at the back of the workshop.
“Matt, we’ve got a customer.”
Matt Merchant emerged from behind the Toyota, and Vauxhall cars Anne Marie Buckland and Harry Simpkins were working on. Matt and his two employees were resplendent in matching navy blue outfits. Gus spotted the MMR logo in white lettering on the breast pocket. Not a marketing guru’s first choice, but what else could they have used?
“How can I help you, sir?” asked Matt.
Gus studied the thirty-one-year-old man in front of him. Things could go either way here; Gus hoped the lad was as genuine as he appeared at first glance.
“I’ve had this car since it was new,” said Gus. “It pains me to admit it, but it’s knackered. The dial shows well over a hundred thousand miles on the clock. I’m retired and can’t afford to replace it unless I get a reasonable price in part exchange. What can you do to help?”
“We can get you booked in for a full service. As the saying goes, it’s not possible to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, but it might add a couple of hundred pounds to the value. How does the middle of next week suit?”
“Someone recommended this place to me,” said Gus. “He brought his car here for several years. I can’t remember the name of the chap who owned the business then. My neighbour mentioned his name, but it’s slipped my memory.”
“That would have been Mr Chaloner,” said Matt. “I’ve worked here for fifteen years. Richard took me on straight from school. I may have worked on your neighbour’s car. What did he drive?”
“Oh, he changed his car every few years,” said Gus. “The thing is, he’d heard your Mr Chaloner helped people out in my position. If this Ford Focus showed sixty thousand miles on the clock when I took it to a dealer, I’d have a better chance of trading it in and affording the car I want. If you get my drift.”
“I do, and I don’t like what I’m hearing,” said Matt. “We don’t do that here, and Richard Chaloner wouldn’t have entertained such an idea either. He was as honest as the day is long, and I intend to follow his lead. Whoever your neighbour is, he’s mistaken. What was the customer’s name, anyway?”
“He’s a near neighbour,” said Gus. “You know how it is these days. People speak in passing, but you don’t know them well. His first name was Bob or Rod, but the surname, well, now you’re asking.”
Harry Simpkins had edged away from the Vauxhall and was listening to the conversation.
“You’ve got visitors in a couple of minutes, Matt,” he said.
“Who are you?” Matt Merchant asked Gus. “There’s something not right about this. If you spoke to someone who used to bring his car here for servicing, they would have mentioned that Richard died.”
“The police thought Richard Chaloner was working with a criminal gang,” said Gus. “Either telling them which cars you handled had catalytic converters fitted or receiving the items the gang had stolen.”
“That story never appeared in the papers,” said Matt. “It was rubbish. Richard wouldn’t have got involved in any dodgy business. I reckon you should hang on until my visitors get here. They will want a word.”
Gus heard a throaty roar at the end of the street. Lydia had exceeded the speed limit on the motorway. She never listened.
“A red Mini will pull onto the forecourt in a few seconds, Mr Merchant,” said Gus, without turning round. “My colleagues are here to interview you and Mr Simpkins.”
Lydia stopped beside Gus’s Ford Focus, and she and Alex got out.
“Everything okay, guv?” asked Alex.
“Yes, DS Hardy. My work here is done. This business has a clean bill of health. We can discount links to organised crime past or present. You can continue with questions that will add to our understanding of the events surrounding the day of the murder. I’m off to Gablecross Police Station now to meet with DI Sengupta. Apologies for the deception, Mr Merchant. It was the quickest way to streamline our lines of enquiry.”
“I still don’t know who you are,” said Matt. “I thought the police were supposed to identify themselves.”
“I’m a retired Detective Inspector,” said Gus. “I returned to work with Wiltshire Police as a consultant. My name’s Freeman.”
“Well, Mr Freeman,” said Matt. “I wish you luck trading in that Focus if that is your true intention. Unfortunately, you’re right; it’s past its sell-by date.”
Gus knew it was Lydia stifling a laugh behind his back.
“I’ll leave you two to get on with things,” he said, getting into the driver’s seat.
Alex Hardy and Lydia Logan Barre disappeared inside the garage with Matt Merchant and were soon out of sight behind the Toyota and the Vauxhall. Harry and Anne Marie had resumed work. Their excitement over for the morning.
One mile away, Neil Davis and Blessing Umeh were in a well-appointed detached house on Shrivenham Road. Eve Chaloner had greeted them at the front door and ushered them into the lounge. Neil was pleased to see coffee came with a choice of biscuits. Blessing would have loved to take one when offered, but she decided her weight suffered enough with the generous helpings of food Jackie Ferris provided.
Neil could understand what attracted Richard Chaloner to Eve. She wore her forty-three years well. The wedding photograph on the sideboard showed Eve’s appearance had changed little in the past two years. A few extra grey hairs at the temple, but that was it.
Neil selected a second biscuit, and as they had already introduced themselves, he began the interview in earnest.
“How did you and Richard meet?” he asked.
“I was enjoying a night out in Swindon with workmates,” she replied. “I can’t recall whether it was someone’s birthday or a leaving-do. We had plenty of social occasions when I worked at Nationwide. We’d been in one of the town centre pubs for an hour when Richard came in with a friend. I wasn’t looking for a relationship at the time.”
“Was this soon after you moved to Swindon?” asked Neil.
“A few months,” said Eve. “I had been married to John for fourteen years, and when the marriage ended, I needed to leave Warminster. I found the Swindon job quickly and bought a place in Haydon Wick.”
“That was John Allsopp, wasn’t it?” asked Neil.
“Yes, we met at work in Westbury, married in 2000, and bought a bigger house in Warminster in 2008. We continued to work together with the same firm. I thought we were happy. John changed jobs eighteen months after we moved house. We didn’t see one another as often as we had after that, but I didn’t suspect he was having an affair.”
“The curse of the office Christmas party,” said Neil. “When did you realise something was wrong?
“Soon after that Christmas party at the end of 2013,” said Eve. “Her name was Kirsty, and she was only nineteen, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t ask for the names of the others with whom he had flings.”
“
Kirsty wasn’t the only occasion John strayed then?” said Neil. That was new.
“The wife is always the last to know, isn’t she?” said Eve. “I heard from friends at our old firm that John was prolific, and the girls got younger every time. I couldn’t accept it. I filed for divorce in the New Year.”
“There had to be a good reason for you to get together with Richard after that experience,” said Blessing.
“Richard was a gentleman,” said Eve. “I couldn’t believe he hadn’t been married before. He told me he’d been waiting for the right girl. I asked my friends at work if they had heard any stories. I suspected I would find a string of broken hearts in the town or that he was broke thanks to child maintenance payments. They could tell me nothing detrimental. There had been girlfriends, but no one serious. Richard had loads of friends, and he belonged to several clubs and societies. The Folk Club in Highworth, CAMRA–the Campaign for Real Ale, and the Round Table. Of course, he loved his cars and cycling.”
“You didn’t wait long to get married, despite the problems that ended your first marriage,” said Neil.
“Why should we wait?” said Eve. “We were meant to be together, DS Davis. I truly believe that I’d found my soulmate.”
Blessing knew what Eve meant. Who could have predicted such a tragic turn of events only six months after the happy day in that wedding photograph?
“After you left Warminster, did you have occasion to speak to your former husband?”
“I haven’t spoken to John since the day I left and returned home to my parents,” said Eve.
“How would John have reacted to news that you had married again?” asked Neil.
“None of his damn business,” said Eve.
“You must have enquired what he did after you left him,” said Neil. “Surely one of your friends would have mentioned if he got married, lost his job, or broke a leg skiing. I find it hard to believe you knew nothing of what happened after spending fourteen years together. We are aware John knew you had moved to Swindon and got a job with Nationwide.”
