SUNSHINE, NO SCHOOL for a whole week, and a shipwreck! Mickey and Steven couldn’t believe their luck in finding the launch. An exciting discovery, and something told them it was about to become an adventure.
It lay half submerged at the water’s edge, where the beach dipped from shallow to deep water suddenly; a good beach for swimming when it was calm but slightly intimidating in choppier seas.
They wondered how the boat came to be shipwrecked, and then they saw the battered hull and gaping hole on the uppermost side, probably the reason for its destruction. Even though they lived near the sea, they had only ever heard or read about shipwrecks, but this was ‘wicked’, as Mickey commented, and promised to up their standing in the young community.
‘Bet you’re glad you listened to me now,’ Steven boasted.
They had been camping out in a small tent in Mickey’s back garden and had woken at five in the morning. Steven suggested a bike ride before breakfast, and Mickey had reluctantly agreed after a brief argument. Now he had to admit his friend was right. This shipwreck adventure was worth the risk of his mother’s wrath on finding the tent empty and their bikes gone.
‘Awesome!’ Mickey exclaimed, staring open-mouthed at the boat. ‘I wonder what we ought to do.’
‘We could explore it.’
‘What, you mean inside the boat?’
‘Yeah, you never know what we might find. Something valuable, maybe.’
Mickey frowned, his eyes filled with doubt. ‘It might be a bit scary going in there. And it means getting wet.’
Steven shrugged. ‘So what? Our shorts’ll soon dry.’
‘Can’t be any more scary than last September.’
Mickey’s frown deepened. ‘What happened last September?’
Steven giggled, teasing his friend. ‘You was the one who was worried about our first year at secondary school.’
‘I wasn’t.’
His friend laughed loud and mockingly. ‘You was shitting your pants. And now you’re scared of exploring an old shipwreck.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Prove it then.’
Mickey stood at the water’s edge, hesitating, feeling the salt breeze blowing softly against his cheeks and the early-morning sun warming the back of his neck. He stared at the tilted deck, which was only submerged in about two feet of water, and the entrance into the cabin was way above the level of the water. He could get inside there with no difficulty and it would provide him with an opportunity to dispel the suggestion of cowardice.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it.’
Not to be outdone, Steven said, ‘I’ll come with you.’
But now that Mickey had overcome his fear, he didn’t want to lose any of the glory.
‘Yeah, but I’ll go first.’
They waded into the water and Mickey raised himself onto the tilted deck by clutching and pulling at the rail above. Because the boat was tilted at such an unnatural angle, he worried about twisting his ankle or getting it caught in something.
Steven followed him and copied the way he slid along towards the cabin entrance by grabbing the rail. The boat creaked and strained in the lapping waves as the children panted and grunted with the effort of clinging on.
As Mickey reached the cabin entrance, he said, ‘As I’m first in the cabin, I get the first pick of anything valuable.’
He lay sideways on the stairs leading into the cabin and started to slide cautiously inside, eyes peering into the gloom. A beam of sunlight cut through one of the portholes like a blade and a patch of light filtered through the shattered hull.
‘Go on,’ Steven urged. ‘What can you see?’
Mickey froze as he saw the corpse, twisted into a foetal position under one of the fitted seats. A cold hand gripped his throat and squeezed.
‘Quick! Get out of here!’ he screamed, panicking and banging his head on a metal rail.
His friend knew he had seen something horrific and hurled himself backwards off the boat and into the sea. Mickey joined him seconds later and both of them scrambled up the beach and away from the boat.
He couldn’t remember a worse case than this one. All the years Lambert had spent in CID and this had to be the record breaker for so much death in such a short time.
They had convened in the incident room last night to discuss and regroup. Another Sunday evening up the spout, but Tony Ellis would be hit hardest as his Sharon was expecting any time soon.
And now that he’d spent another restless night, the death toll was beginning to show in Lambert’s face. His brain had been chewing over the case most of the night, and then his own ghosts took over and provoked and nagged him until the early hours. He had just drifted off to sleep when the alarm shattered his hopes of getting a decent rest.
And the last thing he felt like was this meeting with Marden, under scrutiny like a lab specimen by the man’s avenging angel stare. As Lambert began explaining that it wasn’t suspects they lacked, but that they had rather too many, Marden sniffed disparagingly and peeled a newspaper off the top of a pile that lay before him on the desk.
‘When I gave the press briefing outside victim number three’s home in Cowbridge, I think it went well, and they’ve printed most of what I said, including details of the murder weapon. However, you can always rely on the gutter press to cock things up for the police.’
Marden pushed the tabloid towards Lambert. The headline screamed at him:
‘WHITE VAN MAN KILLER.’
Lambert scanned the first paragraph quickly and saw that it was the neighbour Kevin Wallace had interviewed who had given the details to a reporter.
Lambert sighed heavily. ‘Oh, that’s just great. Compromises our investigation and alerts the killer. If he or they are targeting the other sex offenders, it’s good to know the gentlemen of the press have given them advance warning that their vehicle’s been identified.’
‘You said “they”. Any reason you think there might be two of them?’
Lambert shook his head. ‘Just keeping an open mind.’
‘And you’ve never considered the killer could be female?’
‘I think it’s highly unlikely.’
‘Yes, you’re probably right. I think one of your priorities should be to find the whereabouts of these other sex offenders before the killer gets to them. We can’t afford to lose our credibility with yet another murder.’
Lambert tapped the newspaper in front of him. ‘Especially now the cat’s out of the bag and they know about the sulphuric acid. I wonder how they got that story.’
An uncomfortable beat before Marden spoke. ‘I told them at the press conference.’
Lambert feigned open-mouthed surprise.
Marden stared at Lambert with undisguised irritation. ‘We need someone to come forward who can give us information about acid going missing or being purchased. I would have thought that was obvious. Exactly like the murder weapon from the Llanelli store.’
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ Lambert mumbled grudgingly.
He knew Marden had had a difficult decision to make when he gave this story to the press and he didn’t envy him the job. And on reflection he thought the chief super was probably right about the acid, and it might help them to draw in some valuable information. But it was the public knowing about the killer’s white van that was a problem and could result in many false leads. White vans were hardly rare.
Clive Marden leant forward on his desk, his hands clasped together as if in prayer. He fixed Lambert with a steely gaze. ‘I have a problem with you telling me we have too many suspects. That’s of no great help in this case. And I hope that sort of defeatist attitude doesn’t rub off on the rest of your team.’
‘I’m just being realistic.’
Marden clicked his tongue impatiently. ‘Move quickly to eliminate as many of the suspects as you can. Then give me some evidence. I know you can do it. You’ve done it before, Harry.’
Lambert stopped himself from smiling as he realized this was as close as Marden would get to making a motivational speech. But it must have shown on his face, because the chief super began finger waving.
‘One of your prime suspects got away, Harry.’
‘Who? Gordon Mayfield?’ Lambert exaggerated a tone of incredulity. ‘He was never a prime suspect.’
‘But have you asked yourself where he might be this very minute? He could have sailed east along the coast. Supposing he moored somewhere like St Donat’s? It’s only six or seven miles from there to Cowbridge. Christ! You can practically walk it.’
‘Why would he walk all that way? We know the perpetrator drove a white van, sir.’
The colour in Marden’s face deepened as if he was about to explode, but then his phone rang and he grabbed it.
‘Yes?’
He listened intently to the caller, his eyes flitting to Lambert and away again. He scribbled something on a notepad and asked, ‘You’re sure about this?’ He nodded. ‘OK, as soon as they’ve made a positive identification, perhaps you could ask them to let us know. I’m well aware it’s almost bound to be him, but we have to be one hundred per cent certain. Get on to it right away, will you? Thank you.’
He hung up and stared into space for a moment. Lambert could have sworn he saw a beaten look in his eyes, but it only lasted a moment. He soon recovered and leant forward across the desk again to confront Lambert with the news.
‘North Devon CID has made contact with us. They found the wreck of a boat called The Amethyst washed ashore along the coast near Bideford.’
Lambert felt cheered by this news but remained deadpan. ‘Do they know what happened?’
‘Two youngsters found the wreck, went on board and discovered a body.’
Although Lambert could guess the identity of the body, he said, ‘Have they any idea who it is?’
‘They haven’t formally identified it yet, but they think it could be Mayfield.’
‘How did he die?’
‘They think the boat was scuttled, probably by the owner himself – perhaps by deliberately hitting some rocks. Or maybe it was an accident. They can’t be certain at this stage.’
‘I presume he drowned?’
Marden nodded.
‘So I guess,’ Lambert said with a tight smile, ‘he had a perfect alibi during the time of Yalding’s murder. Unless that little craft of his was a power boat in disguise.’
Ignoring Lambert’s sarcasm, Marden glanced at his watch. ‘I think that’s all for now. I suggest you get your team to find these other sex offenders and keep them under surveillance.’
‘Do we have the resources for that?’
‘I hope so. Needs must and all that. I’m seeing the assistant chief constable in—’ He made a show of checking his watch again ‘— precisely three minutes’ time.’
Lambert’s cue to leave. He stood up and walked to the door. Marden surprised him by saying, ‘If Mayfield killed himself, was that from guilt, fear or both, do you suppose?’
Lambert shrugged. ‘We may never know. But the end result is the same.’
Marden sniffed and said, ‘Yes, that’s precisely the sort of existential response I would have expected from you, Harry.’
As Lambert left police headquarters and walked across the car park, he thought about Mayfield and the young boy from the photograph. He seriously doubted they would ever find out what had happened to the youngster, and he knew the knowledge was lost, drowned with Mayfield in his watery grave. Another unsolved. Another missing child. He hoped Mayfield had suffered in those last moments as he fought for breath.
As he got behind the wheel of his car, his mobile, which he’d switched to ‘vibrate’ for his meeting with Marden, alerted him to a call. It was DC Jones, getting straight to the point in a voice that told him she had got a result.
‘Harry! I thought you’d like to know that Rhiannon Williams lied about her surname. I checked with DVLA, and her Land Rover is registered to Rhiannon Lloyd. And guess who her husband is.’
‘I have no idea.’
‘His name’s Gavin Lloyd, the producer who runs Green Valley Productions, the company who made the documentary about the sex offenders.’
‘So he was Mark Yalding’s employer.’
‘Yes, and I wonder if he knows Yalding was having an affair with his wife.’
‘I think I need to have a word with this Gavin Lloyd.’
‘I thought you might. Would you like his office phone number and address? Green Valley Productions is based in central Cardiff.’
‘Yes. Hang on a second while I grab pen and paper.’
After he had scribbled the address on to his notepad, Debbie asked him if he’d like her to accompany him there.
‘Sorry, Debbie, but I’d like you to help Tony with his enquiries and the chief super wants the other remaining sex offenders traced.’
‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘You planning on ringing this Gavin Lloyd’s office before you shoot over there, just in case he’s out?’
As he turned the ignition key, he replied, ‘If he employs other staff, I wouldn’t mind a word with them. And if he is there, far better to arrive without due warning.’