Somebody Told Me (33 page)

‘There was more than one,’ I whispered.

I strode back to my office and clicked onto a Google search. Within minutes I had found a website that provided details of birth certificates.

‘What exactly are you doing, boss?’ Lydia stood with Wyn and Jane by my door.

I pushed Walsh’s file towards her. ‘Dictate his personal details.’

I punched in his first and last name and his year of birth and finally the month of his birth. I left blank the relevant county. Seconds later I had twenty results. It surprised me so many children had been born in the same three-month period and christened James Walsh. I was getting into my stride now and I read the results, jotting down onto a pad the details of the births that had the name of the mother in common.

I stopped and let out a long slow breath as I saw the three names I’d written.

‘There were triplets.’ My voice made a squeaking sound.

Lydia’s mouth fell open, her fingers touched parted lips. ‘They did a switch.’

‘We’ve seen Grange Hall, there are no walls or fences. It would be easy to change places with a prisoner. The only problem is, they have to be identical.’

‘But not all twins are identical.’

I turned back to the monitor and after another few minutes I had the birth certificates of Andrew and Henry. Down the margin of Andrew’s the word
adopted
had been printed. ‘The probation officer said a sibling died in hospital. So it must have been Henry.’

‘We need to find the adoption records for Andrew,’ Lydia said slowly.

If I was right then I was looking at the name of Walsh’s triplet who had switched places with him in Grange Hall. My eagerness was weighed down by apprehension that I might be wrong. I’d have a long and tense wait until the morning for the answer.

I mingled with the prisoners in Jimmy Walsh’s billet; some smiled at me, and another offered me a coffee. I walked to the end and saw Walsh’s cell door open. There was no one inside; I looked around the billet. The other cell doors were all closed now. So I went inside. It was as I remembered the first time. The same books on the shelf. The same CDs although this time I spotted a CD player – it must have been under the bed the first time.

I woke up with a start, the duvet curled around my legs, my forehead and shoulders damp with sweat. I sat on the side of my bed. I drew a hand through my hair, rubbed my palms over my face and headed out for the shower hoping I could wash Jimmy Walsh from my mind. But it wasn’t that easy and I kept thinking about him as I drove into Queen Street.

It was a little before eight when I walked into the Incident Room.

Lydia had already arrived and looked up from her monitor. ‘Good morning, boss. What do you think DCI Hobbs will say? Will he authorise the arrest of Jimmy Walsh?’

‘Let’s wait until we get the adoption records.’ In reality I knew Hobbs would want certainty. Evidence that not even the most expensive lawyers in Cardiff could challenge.

The record of the telephone calls made on the mobile Jimmy Walsh had bought arrived later that morning. None of them were traceable. Within an hour the team established they were all pay-as-you-go mobiles. They’d been sold months earlier, enough time for any CCTV record of their purchase in the shops to have been erased.

‘I wonder who Jimmy called?’ Lydia said.

I stared at the list wondering exactly the same. ‘Family and maybe his
associates
. Mrs Walsh, of course.’ I spat out her name. I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket draped over my chair and pulled out my wallet. It always seemed full of till receipts I didn’t need to keep. I found the business card Bernie Walsh had given me. I scanned the details. I looked over at Lydia. I read the number aloud. ‘Is that one of the numbers from Jimmy Walsh’s mobile?’

She reached over for the printed sheet and then nodded her head.

‘I wonder what DCI Hobbs will make of that,’ I said.

Lydia didn’t have time to reply as my telephone rang. ‘There’s a courier waiting for you in reception, Inspector.’

A leather-clad man sat in reception, a helmet on the bench by his side. ‘I have a personal delivery for Inspector John Marco. I need to see identification before I can deliver these documents.’

So my threats and cajoling yesterday had done the trick with the civil servant at the General Register Office. I showed him my warrant card, he jotted down the details and I signed his form and took the envelope back to my office.

Nicolas Ackerman and his wife Jennifer had adopted Andrew Walsh by an order of the Southampton County Court. I showed it to Lydia who must have seen the relief on my face as a small piece of the jigsaw fell into place. Then I punched in the name Andrew Ackerman into the Police National Computer and stared at the monitor. It was a long shot. When the screen filled with his image I wanted to jump up and down on the spot, but I looked over at Lydia and thrust a fist into the air. ‘Yes.’

Lydia looked over at the screen and her mouth widened into a broad smile.

I rang central operations in Hampshire police and traced the SIO in charge of the case when Andrew had been sent down for ten months. It took me another six telephone calls to speak to an Inspector Hammond.

‘I’m looking at an image of Andrew Ackerman from the PNC,’ I said, but before I could continue he cut in.

‘Doesn’t look anything like that now. He’s lost all his hair and he lost a big chunk of his left ear in a fight.’

It explained the beanie I had seen on the CCTV coverage from HMP Grange Hall.

Hammond gave me a summary of Andrew Ackerman’s career. Criminality must run in the genes. I thanked him and rang off. There had been something troubling me ever since my last conversation with Cornock when he had challenged me about the motive for Yelland’s murder. It had never been about Yelland demanding money for more favours in jail.

I gazed over at Lydia.

‘Yelland must have worked out what had happened. We saw him earlier on the CCTV from the billet. He must have realised that Jimmy Walsh had switched places with his identical triplet.’

‘Of course.’ Realisation dawned on Lydia. ‘Sharon Yelland said he thought things were getting better. So he threatens to tell the authorities.’

*     *     *

The triangulation reports we requested for Bernie and Jimmy Walsh’s mobile telephones reached my computer sooner than had ever been possible in the past. They could be notoriously unreliable but I sat at the edge of my chair as I read them. The telephone Jimmy Walsh had purchased in Southampton was active between four and eight pm in the Roath Park area of Cardiff on the night Bevard was killed. And Bernie Walsh couldn’t escape the power of tracking her calls which placed her within a convenient radius of HMP Grange Hall late that afternoon. It completed the picture we needed to take everything to Acting Detective Chief Inspector Dave Hobbs. Lydia raised an eyebrow when I suggested she accompany me to see him. She opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it.

We walked through Queen Street; my mind felt settled. Cornock had been right, it had been something obvious. I knew that Walsh had killed Bevard. We reached the door to Cornock’s office. I gave it a confident tap with my fingers. There was muffled shout and we entered and sat down by the conference table where I outlined the case in detail.

Eventually Hobbs cast his gaze towards Cornock’s fish tank. It looked as though some of the tropical fish had died. He poked a tongue lightly into his cheek and inhaled a long breath.

‘First the triangulation evidence is pretty unreliable. There was the case in North Wales a few years ago when we were tracing a missing person and his mobile signal suggested he was miles from where his body was eventually found.

‘But—’

Hobbs raised a hand. ‘I’m only anticipating how his defence lawyers will react.’

‘We can place him in Southampton when he bought the mobile telephone. He was tracing his family. He’s got an identical triplet. We arrest Andrew Ackerman and—’

‘On what grounds?’

‘Conspiracy to murder.’ I knew I sounded desperate.

Hobbs shook his head. ‘On the basis that we think he might have swapped places with Jimmy Walsh. Get real, John. The Crown Prosecution Service won’t let you run with that. We need evidence, eyewitness evidence. And from what you tell me Jimmy Walsh has already disposed of the only witnesses.’

‘But we have Gloria Bevard calling Jimmy Walsh’s number on the night her husband is killed.’

I sensed Hobbs struggling to find the right words. ‘I grant you that is … interesting.’

Interesting.

‘But without being able to prove Jimmy Walsh had temporarily absconded from HMP Grange Hall you can’t make a connection.’

‘It all builds a picture. Add all the pieces together. We should interview all the prisoners on the billet. And all the prison officers.’

Hobbs leant over the desk. ‘Don’t you think one of the prison officers would have come forward by now if he knew anything? And as for the other prisoners – after what happened to Bevard and Yelland. They’ll all be scared witless.’

I slumped back into my chair, glancing over at Lydia. Determination and despair filled her eyes.

‘I’ll do what I can.’ Hobbs stood up, announcing that our meeting was over.

I couldn’t abide staying in Queen Street so I left and headed to my car. It was on a whim that I decided to drive up to see my parents. I didn’t spend time often enough with them. At least we had Walsh facing a charge of murder and I dismissed the prospect a jury might acquit him.

I arrived in Aberdare and Mamma hugged me tightly, reprimanding me for not having called.

I sat with Papa who looked better. He was sleeping well, he had started to follow the exercise regime the hospital had given him and he was looking forward to his next out-patient appointment.

‘I’ve been thinking, John,’ he said towards the end of the evening. ‘I haven’t got the stomach to fight Gino and Jez any longer. There’s nothing more important than my health. And now it’s time to let go of the past. I’m going to tell Gino we’ll agree to sell.’

The pounding in my ears increased until all I could focus on was my father’s face. It meant another victory for Jimmy Walsh.

From the first day of the investigation, Jimmy Walsh had been a part of my life. The discovery of the recording from Roath Park on the night of Robin Oakley’s murder meant the prosecution against Walsh had a reasonable prospect of success. But juries can be fickle and the possibility of his acquittal had weighed heavily in my thoughts as I arrived at Queen Street that morning.

It was reassuring that Kendall was in custody with enough compelling evidence to ensure a conviction. As a ‘lifer’ he’d spend years in a high security category A jail moving around the prison estate until a transfer to a category B jail and years down the track to an open prison pending release. He’d be an old man by then. A comforting thought.

Lydia and Jane were both sitting by their desks, monitors flickering into life. Wyn appeared with mugs of coffee. ‘Boss?’ he said, glancing at the tray.

I nodded confirmation and he returned to the kitchen.

I sat down in the Incident Room and stared at the board and the faces pinned to it. Hobbs had left me in no doubt yesterday what he thought of the prospect of charging Walsh with the murder of Bevard on the evidence we had. Grudgingly I acknowledged to myself that he was right. But I kept thinking about the images of Kendall and Mrs Walsh on the CCTV coverage in the pubs and clubs of Cardiff.

Wyn returned with my coffee.

‘What happens now, boss?’ Jane said.

Three pairs of eyes stared over at me. I glanced at my watch. Would Hobbs get me an answer this morning? I sipped my drink. I knew that the rest of the team wanted to see Walsh charged too.

I stood up and paced over to the board. There was evidence. And we had to find it.

My thoughts turned to Ledley and I stared at the map of Pontypool and the various circles and annotations that had been added to it.

‘I want the footage from every CCTV camera from Cardiff Gate services to Forge Side collected and examined for a silver car. I want the registration number. And then I want enhanced images of the driver. Then I want all the owners of every house in every one of the streets in Forge Side spoken to again.’

I paused. The door to the Incident Room squeaked open behind me.

‘I want artists’ impressions from anyone who thinks they might have seen a driver of a silver car. And then I want a public appeal for witnesses. And get leaflets drafted for circulation around Cardiff Gate services. Somebody must have seen something.’

I heard chairs and bodies moving. I looked around and saw Assistant Chief Constable Neary standing behind me. Wyn, Jane and Lydia were already on their feet. I straightened.

‘Ma’am,’ we said in unison.

Neary’s uniform was newly ironed with immaculate creases, and her service cravat perched neatly below her face. If there was a Mr Neary he probably thought she was attractive. A broad fringe of blonde hair draped over thick eyelashes. I hadn’t noticed her intense stare before.

‘Detective Inspector Marco, I need a word.’

I made for my office and she followed me. Inside I scooped up the papers that had been left from the night before and tried a makeshift exercise in tidying. Neary ignored me and sat down after closing the door firmly.

‘I’ve spoken to Detective Chief Inspector Hobbs last night about the Walsh case.’

‘Ma’am.’

She crossed one leg over the other knee and placed both hands on top of each other. If they had decided not to proceed then why had ACC Neary arrived to break the news?

‘You and the team have done a lot of good work.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

‘And if you’re right and Walsh did do a swap with his triplet then it’s quite remarkable.’

‘There’s no other explanation.’

‘Walsh is dangerous and we want him locked up for the rest of his days. I’ve been reviewing the evidence in the Oakley case. The recording from Roath Park is very grainy.’