Night Train Read online

  When they reached Blessing’s Micra, she stopped.

  “Can I have my car keys back, please?” she asked.

  Dave fished them out of the back pocket of his jeans and handed them over.

  “Sorry,” he grinned, “force of habit. That invoice is in your glove compartment for safe-keeping, by the way.”

  “Jump in,” said Blessing, “I’ll choose the pub. You can buy the first round.”

  Friday, 13th July 2018

  “Are you superstitious?” asked Suzie.

  “Am I not allowed secrets now that we’re living under the same roof?” Gus replied.

  “I know plenty about you,” said Suzie. “But this will be the first Friday the thirteenth we’ve spent together.”

  “It’s just a Friday. Nothing unfortunate will happen. I got that out of the way yesterday. Now, can we get up and get on with our day? I’m off to South Wales later. It’s bound to rain there, it rained yesterday, and it will rain again tomorrow. The coincidence of a day of the week having a certain number doesn’t influence that fact one jot.”

  “Are you always this grumpy after several glasses of whisky?”

  Gus groaned, slid out of bed, and headed for the shower.

  “You know I love you, don’t you,” said Suzie when she joined him two minutes later.

  “How come you’re as bright as a button this morning,” said Gus, “yet we had the same amount to drink.”

  Suzie opened her mouth to speak.

  “Don’t answer that,” said Gus.

  “What time do you expect to get home,” asked Suzie.

  “Half-past five at the latest,” said Gus, “and you?”

  “The same. Are we gardening, followed by a bite to eat in the Lamb?”

  “Definitely,” said Gus. “Brett has his interview in Wootton Bassett today. I hope he’s in the pub celebrating getting the job. It will put his Aunt Margaret’s mind at rest. He’ll be able to monitor Bert.”

  “Bert enjoys having him around anyway,” said Suzie.

  “Do you think a healthy breakfast will counteract the effects of the whisky?” asked Gus.

  “Only one way to find out,” said Suzie. “Live dangerously, have a bowl of muesli and Greek yoghurt with me.”

  Gus sat at the kitchen table with his first coffee of the day and wondered whether there was something to this phobia. He studied the bowl in front of him. If he closed his eyes and wolfed it down, it might be bearable.

  “Feeling better?” asked Suzie twenty minutes later, as they stood outside by their cars at half-past eight.

  “Oh yes,” said Gus. “I checked the calendar. The next time we get a Friday, the thirteenth is next September. I can claim a legitimate excuse for not eating damp cardboard again for another fourteen months.”

  “You’re incorrigible,” said Suzie. “Please try not to get into trouble today.”

  Gus drove through Devizes and listened to the weather forecast on the radio. Twenty-three degrees, partly sunny, with a slight chance of a shower by six o’clock this evening. Typical. It sounded as if he would bring rain with him back across the Severn Bridge. He and Suzie might need a change of plan for this evening.

  As Gus swung the Ford Focus into his parking spot, he spotted a Nissan Micra in his rear mirror. It was Blessing Umeh reunited with her motor. Gus got out, locked the car, and waited. After three attempts, the young DC reversed her car in between the white lines.

  “I always struggle to do that,” she sighed.

  “Why not drive straight in?” asked Gus.

  “I’ve still got to reverse out,” said Blessing.

  “I know,” said Gus, “but at least you don’t have to consider the white lines. You only need to avoid the cars behind you.”

  The look Blessing gave Gus told him that was something else she fretted over.

  “How did last night’s date that was not a date go?” asked Gus.

  Gus couldn’t tell whether or not Blessing blushed. He decided not to push it.

  “I got useful tips from Dave, guv,” she said.

  Blessing told Gus which items Dave Smith said might attract the interest of criminals from within the travelling community.

  “We’ll mention those in Cardiff later, Blessing,” said Gus. “It might jog DI Williams’s memory. Thank Dave for me next time you see him.”

  At that moment, the lift doors opened, and they were in the office. Everyone else was at work, although Blessing convinced herself that they had one ear cocked, hoping to catch a juicy bit of gossip.

  “Morning, everyone,” she said and headed straight for her desk.

  “Right, is everyone clear on what we’re after today?” asked Gus.

  “Yes, guv,” said Neil. “Alex is coming with me to the traveller’s site near Westbury. We need to get meaningful responses this time from the residents.”

  “You and I will pay a second visit to Cardiff Central, guv,” said Luke. “Then we’ll do the rounds in Pontyclun.”

  “We’re continuing the hunt for Sally and Alexa, guv,” said Lydia.

  “Don’t sound so glum, Lydia,” said Gus. “We’ll send any improved images we find for Sally on our travels. Everyone has a valuable role to play today. Let’s get started.”

  Alex and Neil were already on the way to the lift.

  “Now Neil’s out of earshot. How did it go with Dave last night?” Luke whispered as he paused by Blessing’s desk on his way to join Gus.

  “A lady never tells,” said Lydia, who stood right behind him.

  “It cost an awful lot of money to mend my little car,” said Blessing. “I don’t know whether I could afford to see him again for a while.”

  “You want to, though?” asked Lydia.

  Blessing nodded.

  She could have done with a small step to reach up to kiss him for the first time last night; he was so tall. But it was worth it. Blessing had parked in the centre of town, and they visited The Bear. They had found a quiet corner and chatted as if they’d known one another forever. The barman called last orders before they knew it, and when Dave walked her to her car, that’s when it happened. They kissed, and he asked to see her again next weekend. Blessing hadn’t wanted to appear too eager and told him she’d call him in the week. She’d set the reminder on her phone before falling asleep last night. Of course, she would see him again.

  Luke and Gus had disappeared into the lift when Blessing stopped daydreaming.

  “Alex and I are taking the ferry from Harwich to the Hook of Holland first thing tomorrow,” said Lydia. “A thirty-minute drive takes us to Rotterdam, where we’re booked into a hotel overnight. I’m hoping to meet my father for the first time.”

  “How exciting,” said Blessing, “I expect you’re nervous?”

  “Just a bit,” laughed Lydia. “Right, let’s hunt for this blessed young woman.”

  “Do you think we’ll be any more successful today, Neil?” asked Alex.

  “We can but try, Alex,” said Neil. “They’re a tight bunch. We’re unlikely to find seven caravans occupied. Those families that have been there for several years, like Stan Wakefield and his wife, are retired now. I expect them to answer our knock. The menfolk living in several of the other vans will be off-site grafting. If they’ve got a wife and kids, then it’s pot luck.”

  “We don’t have a warrant, so we can’t force them to answer the door,” said Alex.

  “When I was there the other day, one wife answered but refused to talk. I said she wasn’t in any trouble; we just wanted information. She told me that if she spoke to anyone, not just the police, her husband would be mad.”

  “She was frightened that he would hit her, did you mean?” asked Alex.

  “The woman had three kids under school age hanging on her arm or her skirt,” said Neil.

  Neil drove through the town of Westbury, and Alex noticed the sign for Westbury Leigh.

  “Did I see that name in the Freeman Files related to this case?”

  “I s
uppose you’re playing catch-up,” said Neil, “now your work at the Hub has come to an abrupt halt.”

  “I had a brief read through the murder file this morning to familiarise myself with the case.”

  “Sid Dyer, the train conductor, lived out this way,” said Neil. “He found the blood in the toilets that started the search for a body. We would have liked to interview him, but he got knocked off his motorcycle not long after he retired. That was two years ago or thereabouts.”

  “Interesting,” said Alex.

  “It’s the way we think, isn’t it,” said Neil. “Luke and Gus made the same comment in the office and added a footnote in the files. We’re suspicious by nature.”

  “Accidents happen,” said Alex, “but, I’m an experienced motorcyclist, and this stretch of road doesn’t fill me with dread. Visibility is good. We’d need to check the road conditions on the day, of course. Do you recall if there were any witnesses?”

  “None. The inquest assumed that an HGV clipped Dyer’s bike as it passed him, and the driver didn’t realise. A passing motorist found the bike and Dyer’s body on the grass verge.”

  “It’s another question we can ask, Neil,” said Alex. “Did a couple of blokes stay on the site on more than one occasion? Say in 2014 and 2016?”

  “Here we are,” said Neil. “Half-past nine in the morning. Not much activity, is there? Someone is hanging out the washing in the corner. Let’s try her first.”

  Neil parked the car and got out. Alex joined him, and they approached the young woman. She looked no more than fifteen.

  “We’re detectives, Miss,” said Neil. “Are your parents at home? We’d like a word, nothing to worry about. Shouldn’t you be in school?”

  “I don’t go to school, and it’s Mrs, not Miss. My husband’s not here. You must leave.”

  “How long have you and your husband lived here?” asked Alex.

  “Nine months,” the girl replied.

  “Where were you before that?” asked Neil.

  “Downton, with my parents.”

  The girl edged towards the caravan door.

  “I’ve got to go now,” she said and ran indoors.

  “Did you notice the bump when she dropped the washing basket?” asked Neil.

  “I did,” said Alex, “it fits with their tradition. They marry young, and the wife’s duty-bound to give birth inside twelve months. Her and her husband can’t help us, anyway.”

  “Right, let’s get back to the first van inside the gates. Stan Wakefield’s wife might brew us a cuppa.”

  Neil tapped on the window. Thirty seconds later, a white-haired man opened the caravan door.

  “It’s you again,” he said. “I suppose you want to come inside?”

  “Yes, please, Mr Wakefield,” said Neil. “This is my colleague DS Hardy. We’ve got follow-up questions.”

  “About our daughter, I presume?”

  “Not at all,” said Neil. “We’re still looking for information that might help us solve that nasty murder in town four years back.”

  “I don’t go into town much,” said Stan Wakefield.

  “Is your wife here this morning?” asked Alex.

  “She’s gone shopping,”

  Neil realised his chance of a cup of tea had disappeared.

  “Do you remember the last time I came? I asked whether you’d seen anyone visiting one of your neighbours. Someone who might have stayed for several nights on several occasions.”

  “I remember,” said Stan Wakefield. “Maybe I saw someone, and maybe I didn’t.”

  “Why don’t you visit the town much, Mr Wakefield?” asked Alex.

  “Too many people, lots of noise. I can’t stand the shops. It’s the way the staff look down their nose at you.”

  “I think you know more than you’re letting on,” said Alex. “If we took you back to the police station, put you in a cell for a couple of hours, do you think your memory might improve?”

  “I don’t think there’s any need for that, do you, Stan?” said Neil. “Maybe you can remember who it was who had visitors and when they were here. What do you say?”

  “Jack Ayres used to keep a van here,” said Stan. “His wife died. That would be seven, maybe eight years ago now. He was in his eighties, almost blind. His nephews stopped with him now and then.”

  “Can you remember their names?” asked Neil.

  “Jack never told me, and they weren’t the sort of blokes you dared ask for details if you follow me. They were his sister’s boys.”

  “How old would they have been, Stan?” asked Alex.

  “Over forty then, closer to fifty today. How should I know?”

  “Did they have their own caravan?” asked Neil.

  Stan shook his head.

  “Arrived in the night in an old, white van. A length of cable secured the exhaust. Nobody had washed that van for a twelve-month. No idea what they did to earn a crust. They hung around during the day and left the camp when it got dark. After two weeks, maybe three, they’d gone.”

  “When was this?” asked Alex. “Any way of pinning down the date?”

  Stan Wakefield thought for a while.

  “Just before Spring, the first time,” he said.

  “March then,” said Neil, “the month of the murder. Good, now we’re getting somewhere. That visit was in 2014, Stan, is that right?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Stan, looking at Alex. “Jack’s wife had only been dead a year the first time they came. They came back as you said. So, they could have been here that year.”

  “You’re saying that they came in early March every year,” said Alex. “Is that how you remember it?”

  “That sounds right,” said Stan.

  “Did they always have the same van?” asked Neil.

  Stan nodded. “They had the exhaust fixed one year. The van wasn’t any cleaner, though.”

  “Where did they go for the rest of the year?” asked Alex.

  “You need to ask them,” said Stan.

  “That’s okay, Stan,” said Neil. “We’ll ask Jack Ayres.”

  “I’d pay to see that. I’ll come with you,” said Stan. “You’ll not find his grave in the cemetery without help. There’s no memorial stone yet. He died last November.”

  “Have you forgotten that room I mentioned, Stan?” said Alex.

  “Some travellers move regularly,” said Stan, “follow the fairs or the horse sales. Others stay in one spot most of the year, then take time out to tour around visiting family. Men like Jack’s nephews move on once they’ve exhausted the work opportunities. They came here in March for a few weeks to visit Jack. Then they might have spent the summer closer to their family home.”

  “Where was Jack’s family home?” asked Neil.

  “North Wales, I reckon. Jack had family all over Wales.”

  “What happened to Jack’s caravan?” asked Alex.

  “His family took everything away,” said Stan. “No, they didn’t set it alight. It was worth too much. A new couple of youngsters have got it now. The lad’s parents bought it for them.”

  “I think we met the wife,” said Neil.

  “When was the last time you saw the nephews?” asked Alex.

  “They didn’t come here this March. There was no point, was there? Their Uncle Jack was dead.”

  “Thanks for your help, Stan,” said Neil. “We’ll let you get on with your day.”

  “The wife will be back shortly. I would have offered you a cuppa, but I wasn’t sure I had enough milk for three cups.”

  Stan Wakefield stood by the open door of his van and watched Neil and Alex to their car. When Alex got into the passenger seat, he glanced back. Stan had closed the door.

  “What about the other caravans, Neil?” he asked.

  “We should have enough to work out the names of our suspects,” said Neil. “Stan kept us talking long enough for the others to make their escape. Why d’you think it’s so quiet? Didn’t you hear the vehicles creeping past S
tan’s van? We won’t find anyone in now. Stan will have a way of notifying them that the coast’s clear. Let’s get back to the office.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “Imagine having to make this trip every day, Luke,” said Gus as they crossed the Severn Bridge.

  “No problem on a sunny day, guv,” said Luke.

  “Let’s hope we learn enough on this trip that another trip isn’t necessary,” said Gus.

  Forty minutes later they had negotiated Reception for the second time this week and were on their way to DI Dai Williams’s office.

  “I thought we’d got rid of you,” said Dai Williams, with a grin. “What did you forget to ask the last time?”

  “We’ve uncovered fresh evidence,” said Gus. “We now believe the killers stayed on a traveller’s site near Westbury for a short period either side of the murder in March 2014. You have two authorised sites in the city. It’s probable that our suspects stayed at one of them and carried out work, or were engaged in a criminal activity that took them north of the city towards places such as Pontyclun.”

  “Do you have names for these suspects?” asked Dai Williams.

  “Not yet,” said Gus.

  “What nature of crime did you record in the first few months of 2014 that you could tie to members of the travelling community,” asked Luke.

  “Analysis of crime statistics by ethnicity can be problematic,” said DI Williams. “Perhaps, you could be more specific. What type of crime do you mean?”

  “Were there thefts of industrial tools, catalytic converters, farm equipment, quantities of red diesel?” asked Gus, referring to Blessing’s tip list.

  “Across South Wales, those items appear with an annoying frequency, Mr Freeman. We have incidents of anti-social behaviour and theft which get traced back to residents on the sites you mentioned. However, there’s nothing in our figures for the period in question relating to items stolen or damaged in Pontyclun.”

  “When travellers come looking for work in the city,” asked Luke. “What work is it they’re carrying out?”

  “Buying scrap metal, tarmacking driveways, cutting high hedges, lopping branches from trees,” said DI Williams. “They can turn their hand to most things.”