The Freeman Files Series Box Set

by Ted Tayler

  Alex was the quiet one. Gus had wondered whether he would open up about his accident and where things stood regarding his recovery. Maybe that would come later when he felt more comfortable with his role within the team.

  Lydia proved much louder after two drinks. She spotted an advert for a karaoke night on Friday and tried to persuade Alex to come with her. Gus got the feeling he was keen to be somewhere with her, but not a karaoke night.

  Because the bar was half-empty, their team drew more attention than it deserved. Perhaps it was unusual to see suits in the Crown. Neil suggested they call it quits.

  “We don’t want to push it, guv,” he said “you get a few rough buggers in later in the evening. They won’t take kindly to their boozer teeming with coppers.”

  Lydia thought it wasn’t only coppers the Crown’s clientele weren’t happy to see. She kept that thought to herself. It wasn’t a new experience for her. Anyway, how many police officers wheeled themselves into a bar?

  “We’re only four office-workers unwinding after a busy day,” she shrugged, “they’ll get over it.”

  Gus agreed. They wouldn’t make a habit of using this place. Its reputation outweighed its convenience.

  “A moving target and all that,” he said, “let’s get off home. We can try out another watering hole another evening.”

  When they gathered on the pavement outside, Gus told them not to be late in the morning and headed for the car park.

  He had a meeting in Worton. Wherever the hell that was.

  His sat nav didn’t let him down. Although he muted the annoying female voice as it reminded him of a schoolmistress who hadn’t been his biggest fan.

  Gus slowed as he neared the village and crawled towards the spot where he was picking up Kassie. The road ahead was dark. Street lighting was sparse in these parts. Villagers were tucked up indoors at this time of night. There wasn’t the hustle and bustle of a busy town with the late-night opening of shops and fast-food outlets.

  He spotted Kassie. Hard to miss her. The scarlet fleece was like a beacon on a landing strip. She hopped inside the Focus.

  “Floor it, Freeman. Let’s move.”

  “I thought we’d sit here and chat.”

  “Oh, OK. What do you need to know?”

  “What can you tell me about Bernard Jennings?”

  “Monty, d’you mean? Nobody calls him Bernie. His Mum regretted it as soon as he started school. Kids dashed to their front door, rang the bell, shouted ‘Bernie in?’ and ran off, pissing themselves with laughter.”

  A dim memory of eating at a Berni Inn with Tess in their courting days flashed through Gus’s brain.

  “Why are you asking about Monty? He’s married to Vera. Well, for a little while longer he is. Fancy her, do you?”

  “I’m not interested in Vera. It’s Bernie I’m interested in.”

  “Never.”

  “Not in that way. Look, let’s start again. Why is he called, Monty?”

  “That soldier from the war. Montgomery. He was a Bernard, wasn’t he? There you go. The name started it, plus he was a little sod who strutted about thinking he was something special. So, everyone started calling Bernie Jennings, Monty.”

  “He and Vera make an unlikely couple. What does he do for a living?”

  “If you came from around here, you would know. Vera’s family have farmed in the area for centuries. They’re mega-rich, and she was the only daughter. Her brothers have taken over from their father now. Monty has never worked for anyone all his life. As soon as he left school, he started buying and selling. You know, he’s one of those…”

  Gus looked at Kassie.

  Even in the gloomy interior of the car, he could see her mouthing the four-syllable word, practising it, so it came out right first time.

  “entrepreneurs,” she said, enunciating the word slowly. “He’s got a lot of properties; which he buys to let out. Monty’s had more ‘get-rich’ schemes than you’ve had hot dinners. Some do okay; most fail miserably. Monty chased after Vera for months, and he wore her down. He’s a few years older than her. I reckon he’s older than you but doesn’t look after himself as well as you do.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  “I need to go to Specsavers. Anyhow, Vera’s Dad saw through Monty before they got married. He tied her money up so Monty couldn’t get his hands on it and throw it down the drain as he did with his own.”

  “No wonder she can afford to drive that Alfa Romeo,” said Gus.

  “Monty has been a prince and a pauper at least three times since they got hitched. The rumour is he’s in trouble again. Their kids have grown up and left home, so Vera came to her senses and decided she’d had enough. Can’t say I blame her.”

  “Well, that’s told me enough about Bernard ‘Monty’ Jennings for now. I’d better let you get off home to bed. How did you end up out here in the sticks, Kassie?”

  “I know,” she sighed, “I ought to be in the bright lights of a big city, didn’t I? I tried it when I left home, and I crawled back eighteen months later. I sofa-surfed between school friends until they got fed up. Then I slept rough for eight weeks. Those were the longest eight weeks of my life. I was days away from having to start selling my parts. Mr Truelove helped me get back on my feet. He’s a born-again something or other, and he caught sight of me in his headlights one night as his way home. The ACC and his wife took me in. He found people to help me and promised me a job if I got myself up together and stuck to it. Heart of gold that man. Never wanted anything in return.”

  The ACC had always been a good copper. Gus was learning that he was a bloody good bloke into the bargain. He’d kept that side of his life under wraps. Gus had never heard a whisper.

  Kassie saw Gus staring at her.

  “Penny for them,” she said.

  “Don’t thump me, but I’m glad you stuck to it. You scared me at first, but now I could get to like you.”

  “Don’t go soft on me,” she said, leaning across and kissing him on the cheek. She got out of the car. “It was my cakes that were the clincher, wasn’t it, Mr Freeman? Go on, admit it.”

  “Get inside in the warm, young lady. Sweet dreams.”

  He watched her waddle the short distance to a gateway. Once she disappeared and Gus heard the slamming of a door, he turned the car around and drove home to Urchfont. Monty Jennings was someone who made fortunes and lost them. If he was on his uppers after the squeeze on the economy in recent years what might his next get-rich-quick scheme be?

  Maybe, something illegal. It was time to call in reinforcements.

  CHAPTER 8

  Tuesday, 10th April 2018

  “This number of potential interviewees is daunting,” said Gus, as he scanned the names Alex Hardy had provided.

  “We’re pulling together a list of those living in the town, or just outside, with a criminal record,” said Alex. “Lydia is waiting on the Hub for the answer.”

  “Where is she this morning?” asked Gus.

  “I had a call from her late last night, guv,” said Alex, “she forgot she had a dentist’s appointment at nine. We’ll see her before ten o’clock.”

  “You don’t waste any time,” said Neil, “does this mean she persuaded you to try the karaoke?”

  “She thought it made sense for us to have each other’s numbers to keep in touch. You and the boss left sharpish last night. Lydia walked to the car park with me.”

  “I should have thought of that yesterday,” said Gus, “it’s only three years since I retired and whether you believe it or not, we had phones back then.”

  He added his mobile and landline details to one of the whiteboards.

  “The ACC reminded me when he persuaded me to return in this consultancy role that I couldn’t charge around the county on my own. Every interview will be done by two of us. We’ll start with Daphne’s sister and her husband.”

  “Shall I call them, guv, to let them know you’re coming?”

  “No, Alex. I don’t w
ant to give them time to get a story together. Not that the sister had anything to do with the murder. Mick Morris is an unknown quantity. Those two will give me a better feel for Daphne’s character and the family dynamic. The words in the original file tell it one way, often as not the truth is a little different. By the way, even though the list was humongous, it isn’t complete by any means. Don’t forget the part-time cleaning job she had at the primary school.”

  “Sorry, guv, it was an hour a day in term time, after the kids had left. I didn’t think it relevant.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time they found a teacher doing something they shouldn’t,” said Neil.

  “It’s a lower priority, just as many others outside the top ten you’ve highlighted. We’ll bear it in mind. Especially if a name crops up from the Hub showing someone who worked at the school now has a record. Right, where do the Morris’s live, Alex?”

  “No change from where they said they were on the day of Daphne’s murder, guv.”

  “Let’s go, Neil. You can drive.”

  They descended in the lift, and as they edged out of the car park, Neil spotted Lydia’s bright red Mini turning into Church Street.

  “Even the car’s a bit in your face, guv, isn’t it?”

  “I thought that yesterday when we were in the pub. We’ll need to persuade Lydia to tone it down. She will be meeting members of the public soon. The deaths in the cases we’ll be reviewing occurred years back. The emotion won’t be as raw, but the last thing they’ll need will be Lydia stood on their doorstep wearing the colours of the rainbow. Leave it to me. Diplomacy is my middle name.”

  “Have you ever lived anywhere like this, guv,” said Neil, as they entered the Greenwood Estate. A sprawling expanse of social housing built at the end of the Fifties.

  “No, thank God,” said Gus.

  “These roads closest to the main drag were originally covered in prefabs. Churchill’s answer to the housing shortage after WWII. They designed the timber-framed units to last a decade. In many towns, they still stood fifty years later. The asbestos panels hadn’t been recognised as a problem when first mooted. Materials were in short supply, and the whole thrust of the Housing Plan was to get as many houses built in the shortest time possible. The cost was a factor, as always. Despite the shortcomings, people who lived in them loved them. As the population increased, with refugees from Europe coming over first, then more from the Commonwealth countries, they added more and more places to house them. This lot we’re passing now had that concrete cancer. It cost millions to refurbish them during the Eighties.”

  “Was the Westbourne started at the same time?”

  “Within five years. Both estates have their quirks; this side has Avenues, Gardens and Ways; while the Westbourne has Crescents, Groves and Closes. Town planners had it so much easier in the early twentieth century, Street, Road and Lane covered everything.”

  “Number 30? That’s the one we want. The car’s on the drive. Right, let’s see what they’ve got to say for themselves.”

  The front door opened before the two officers had got halfway up the short concrete path between two well-kept patches of lawn.

  “Have you found the bastard?”

  “Mr Morris?” said Gus, holding his card up for the old man to see. “My name’s Freeman, a consultant with Wiltshire Police. My colleague is DS Davis. May we come in?”

  “What’s happened?”

  The white-haired lady who had spoken hovered behind the older man. The couple stepped back as Gus and Neil moved into the hallway.

  “Let’s shut the door on this fresh breeze and sit, shall we?” said Neil.

  Once inside the front room, Gus could see theirs was a simple life. The furniture layout showed a large part of their day centred on the television. Every spare inch on the mantlepiece, window-sill and Welsh dresser contained ornaments and photo frames. Mick and Megan’s family surrounded them like a comfort blanket. The gas fire burned, and the room was stifling.

  Mick remained standing. Megan perched on the edge of her chair. Her hands in her lap wringing the life out of a white handkerchief dotted with blue flowers.

  “There’s no need to read anything into our being here this morning,” said Gus. He and Neil sat side by side on the sofa under the front window. Not the biggest sofa. It was cosy.

  “Please, Mr Morris, have a seat.”

  Mick Morris reluctantly sat in the chair next to Megan. She grabbed his arm.

  “We wanted to inform you that my Crime Review Team is revisiting Daphne’s case. No murder case closes until we’ve found the person or persons responsible.”

  “Not a day goes by when I don’t think of her,” said Megan.

  “I know, love,” said Mick. He turned to look at the two policemen.

  “Megan and I were meeting Daphne on Sunday lunchtime. If we’d driven across to see her on Saturday, instead of just ringing her, things would have been different.”

  “Daphne took Bobby for walks in several places,” said Megan. “Nobody could have known where she planned to go that night. Not for definite. It couldn’t have been deliberate. Mr Freeman, you said your name was, did you?”

  “Yes, Freeman. I was a Detective Inspector in Salisbury before I retired. My role is as a consultant now. Can you tell us which routes she might have taken? I don’t recall seeing that in the information we received. Maybe she saw someone in the woods she associated with somewhere else completely. Could you remind me where you both were that evening?”

  “Mick and I were both at home watching the telly. We told the other Inspector that at the time. The uniformed police were on our doorstep just after ‘Casualty’ finished.”

  Why don’t we make a cuppa, Mrs Morris?” said Neil. He took the old lady through to the kitchen.

  “You didn’t pop out for any reason, Mr Morris?”

  “Hardly ever go out without Megan these days. We go everywhere together.”

  “Would you know the routes Daphne took when she walked Bobby?

  “She could have cut across the fields from Battersby Lane and got home in half the time. Megan told me she was going on a long walk that night because Bobby hadn’t been out all day. Now and again she’d walk into town and back. In the winter, they used a short walk along Braemar Terrace. Then Bobby decided how long they hung around in the cold.”

  Gus made a note of the alternative routes. He also noted that Mick knew the intended change in routine. Did he tell someone?

  “What about Saturday afternoon or early evening? Did you have any visitors?”

  “Our son, John, dropped by for half an hour with the grandchildren. Other than that, we didn’t go out. I never spoke to anybody apart from Megan until the policewoman told me at a quarter past nine about Daphne’s attack.”

  The door from the kitchen opened, and Neil came through with Megan. Neil carried four cups of tea and Rich Tea biscuits on a tray. Megan still carried the wet handkerchief.

  “What did your son do that weekend, Mr Morris, do you know?”

  “What he always did. Spent time with the kids to make up for not seeing them in the week because of work.”

  “To get away from her, more like,” said Megan.

  “That would be, Stephanie, is that correct?”

  Megan Morris nodded.

  “Never see our grandchildren now,” said Mick.

  Megan sobbed into her handkerchief.

  “How long ago did your son’s marriage end?”

  “The final decree was three years ago,” said Mick. “It was over before that. She started seeing someone else.”

  “Another woman? Is that right? Were you aware of problems in the marriage when your sister died, Mrs Morris?”

  “We realised things had changed. They didn’t visit here as a family. If we called around to theirs, she wouldn’t be as welcoming as she had been when they first got together.”

  “When do you think things began to change?”

  “About a year before Daphne was
murdered. Stephanie had started going to the gym; to get her figure back after the babies. That’s when that woman got her claws into her.”

  Neil’s notebook lay open on the table next to his cup and saucer. Mick’s version of Daphne’s dog walk routes matched what Megan had told Neil. He knew his DS would use the time wisely in the kitchen when the couple were apart. Gus added a note to his jottings. Had John looked for comfort elsewhere because he learned his wife was playing away?

  It seemed John could have had a motive for killing his aunt. If he didn’t know Daphne planned to be in Lowden Woods and she found him with someone else. On the other hand, Stephanie could have had a motive if she was with a female in the woods. Maybe Holly had seen a young woman running away.

  Everything had reached a dead-end back in 2008.

  Fresh possibilities were starting to appear. Gus continued to probe.

  “Did you mention in passing where Daphne was going, Mr Morris?

  “Can’t remember saying anything. I could have done, I suppose.”

  “Did John go straight home from here on that Saturday afternoon?”

  “He took the kids to the cinema. Then they got fish and chips and went home later.”

  “Was Stephanie home?”

  Megan and Mick Morris looked at one another. They looked uncertain.

  “I don’t think we ever spoke about it, Mr Freeman. John would have walked in the door about half eight and got the kids off to bed. When we rang him after the police had arrived, he came straight around here. He told us Steph had stayed at home with the kids.”

  “Well, thanks for that. It’s been handy. We may be back with more follow-up questions. Be assured; we will do our very best to find the person who killed Daphne.”