by Ted Tayler
“I’ll search for this Richards guy’s family in Kidderminster,” said Alex.
“Looks as if I’ll be hunting the photographic evidence that Mark Richards exists,” said Lydia.
“What a change in Joe Walker’s life,” said Alex. “When he was cottaging back in his teens, you could have got long odds he’d be in a loving relationship with children inside a decade.”
“Decades ago, we did our utmost to stop gay men having sex in public toilets and outdoor cruising places,” said Neil, for Lydia’s benefit. “Men frequently got arrested, prosecuted and often jailed.”
“The boss said that you don’t go looking for people having sex in public places these days,” Lydia replied.
“We don’t,” said Alex, “the police only get involved when bystanders complain. That doesn’t only apply to gay people. Straight people have enjoyed sex in secluded spots too, haven’t they Neil?”
“You won’t let me forget that will you?”
“There’s a new term for this now,” said Alex, “PSE - Public Sex Environments. You can still commit an offence in a PSE; like outraging public decency, or exposure, for instance. It’s complicated. Sex in Lowden Woods is different from a couple having sex on a crowded beach at Bournemouth. Both can still get interpreted as public places.”
“So, what do we think happened when Daphne Tolliver was in Lowden Woods?” asked Lydia.
“If Mark Richards is our man, then she caught him having sex with another man.”
“This goes back to what the boss said earlier. It looks more and more likely it was consensual sex and therefore completely legal. So, why was she killed?”
“There’s no evidence to suggest Daphne ever met Mark Richards,” said Alex. “The man Simon Attrill saw hurrying away in the opposite direction to Richards has to be a local that Daphne recognised.”
“There aren’t many of those that we haven’t eliminated,” said Neil.
Meanwhile, in Devizes, Gus pulled into the visitor’s car park at the Police HQ. The yellow Spider was three spaces to his left. Vera was in the building. He signed in at Reception. There were no odd looks at the way he dressed today. He slipped the Visitor’s Pass over his head and took the stairs two at a time.
Kassie Trotter looked up and gave him a big smile.
“Is Geoff Mercer’s office the dark cupboard at the end of the corridor?” he asked.
“Cheeky,” she said and nodded.
Gus tapped on the door and waltzed straight into the room.
“In a rush, are we, Freeman?”
It was the big cheese — the Chief Constable.
“Very sorry, Sir. I thought Superintendent Mercer was in here.”
“Mercer popped along the corridor to the Gents. I wanted to catch up with you. See how things were progressing.”
“We couldn’t be happier with the facilities we have available, Sir,” Gus said, with his fingers crossed behind his back. “The new offices are super, and the support from the Hub has been exemplary.”
“Glad to hear it, Freeman.”
Geoff Mercer re-entered the room.
“Hello there, Gus,” he said, “let’s take a seat, shall we? Can you bring us up to speed with the case?”
“Early days. A case that Dominic Culverhouse and his squad couldn’t crack would never be straightforward. We have conducted over a dozen interviews and successfully eliminated several possible explanations. You know my methods. That’s why you were so keen to get me back here. My last performance appraisal painted me as dogged. We intend to rest up over the weekend and pursue further enquiries next week. I might have a clearer picture then.”
“Was it necessary to interview Joyce Pemberton-Smythe and her staff, Freeman? I’m golfing with our MP on Sunday morning. It’s bad enough that Leonard usually takes twenty quid off me. He’ll be demanding to learn how you could imagine either of them were involved in this dreadful affair.”
“I found Joyce to be a great help, amiable, and Daphne worked with her for some time. It was a legitimate line of enquiry. As I said, we have eliminated several possible explanations.”
“I hope so, Freeman. Leonard’s reputation as a hard-liner on crime is well known. He’s sensitive about a historical murder in his constituency receiving adverse publicity. Rumours that the police are floundering, not knowing where to search for the likely culprit, could damage him.”
“I’m sure they would,” agreed Gus.
“I know you’ll do the right thing, Freeman. Start looking into the criminal elements in the area back then. Your killer will be among them; you mark my words.”
The Chief Constable strolled towards the door. He nodded to Geoff Mercer.
When the door closed, Geoff leaned back in his chair.
“That was the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard, Gus. So, what is the real situation?”
Gus repeated the list of items they had agreed yesterday afternoon were confirmed new facts. He added Mark Richards to the list, convinced he was the running man. He didn’t tell Geoff he believed Mark Richards was dead. Enquiries would continue early next week, but Daphne’s killer had to have disposed of the only other witness to her murder.
“Will you be seeing the ACC later?” he asked.
Geoff nodded.
“Do you have anything to tell me yet on the Cambrai Terrace affair?”
“I passed it onto the local officers,” Geoff replied, “they’re carrying out night surveillance over the weekend. A drone will overfly the site tonight at dusk and dawn tomorrow morning checking the heat signature. An undercover team will record anyone entering and leaving the lane. It could take a while, but initial reports suggest something unusual shall we say.”
“I hope Vera will forgive me if it turns out Monty Jennings is a bit of a rascal,” Gus said.
“No need to fret on that score. Vera’s known Monty’s been a rogue for donkey’s years,” laughed Geoff.
“Anything else you want from me?”
“Nothing comes to mind. Are you going back to the office?”
Gus nodded.
“How’s the team bedding in?”
“You chose well with Alex and Neil. They’re solid citizens. Ms Barre is very bright, although I don’t want you to spread that around. I want to hold on to her for as long as possible, well beyond this case. The ACC didn’t specify how many other cases he had lined up for the CRT to review. Any ideas?”
“If you crash and burn by upsetting the Chief Constable and his chums that won’t concern you. If you remain stubborn and determined and find the killer, then I can think of five unsolved murders in the past twenty years that need a touch of Freeman magic.”
Gus shook his head.
“I thought you enjoyed being back doing what you do best?”
“I am, but my allotment is going to suffer.”
“Get off with you. We’ll meet again this time next week. Maybe next weekend I can wangle a night out for a beer. Is that okay with you?”
“I look forward to it.”
“You’ve got this weekend to yourself, Gus. Why not see what Vera’s doing one night? Remember what I said. It doesn’t have to be serious. Just a quiet drink. Slow steps.”
The two men shook hands, and Gus left the office to walk back along the corridor. He could hear female voices up ahead.
Kassie Trotter’s voice was loudest. Vera Jennings could be the other half of the conversation. Her reply was more challenging to catch.
Kassie spotted him as soon as he emerged from the corridor into the small open-plan administration area. Gus hoped the ACC wasn’t hovering behind his closed door, waiting to pounce. Geoff could update him in due course. If another top brass figure warned him about not upsetting Leonard Pemberton-Smythe, he’d blow his top.
“Are you rushing away so soon?” asked Kassie.
“Mr Freeman’s a busy man,” said Vera Jennings.
“Not too busy to talk to us, are you, Mr Freeman?” Kassie said, with a smile.
> Gus wondered whether he had been wise to trust that this garrulous young woman would appreciate the meaning of a clandestine meeting. He’d warned her that their late-night chat must stay under wraps.
The last person he wanted to be suspicious of his interest in her soon to be ex-husband was only a few feet away. That was disconcerting enough, yet her green eyes were on full-beam and directed towards him.
“As you were in Devizes, we wondered whether you were slipping off home early,” said Vera, “TGIF and all that. No doubt you have loads to catch up on now that you’ve returned to work.”
“No rest for the wicked,” said Gus. “My team might imagine they’re finishing before five this evening, but I want to achieve the maximum progress possible on this cold case review. The victim deserves nothing less.”
A phone rang. Kassie answered. She stood with a deep sigh and headed for an office on the other side of the floor.
“Our beloved DCI needs another urgent matter dealt with,” she called over her shoulder. “No rest, you said. That bit’s right. They keep us so busy up here there’s little chance of being wicked though.”
Gus watched Kassie rap on the office door and sweep inside.
“She’s a character,” said Vera.
“She is that,” Gus replied, “you’re correct in the assumption that I have plenty to catch up on. Much of that can wait until tomorrow. After a busy week I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to relax over a quiet drink later this evening, what do you say?”
“Are you inviting me out, Mr Freeman?”
“I don’t see anyone else standing here. Can we dispense with the formalities? It’s Gus.”
Vera laughed.
“Very well, Gus, but can I suggest we use a place where neither of us is well-known?”
“I’m no Brad Pitt, but surely you’re not ashamed to be seen in my company?”
“Look, we both know how people talk. You went out with Geoff Mercer in town last Friday. He must have mentioned my situation. I have three weeks to go before my divorce.”
“Vera, it’s just a quiet drink. That drink with Geoff was the first social evening I’ve had since my wife died.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t have wanted you to shut yourself off from the world altogether. I was surprised to see you and Geoff enjoying yourselves. The talk flying around when rumours started that you might be coming back suggested you would be at each other’s throats.”
“We’ve both mellowed it appears. I found I quite liked the bloke. Funny old world.”
Kassie was on her way back to her desk.
“Still here, Mr Freeman?”
“Just leaving, Kassie,”
“I’ll walk to Reception with you,” said Vera, “I need to see someone on the Ground Floor.”
News to me thought Kassie. What did I miss? She watched them chatting as they made their way down the stairs and smiled. Mr Freeman had told her he wasn’t interested. Crafty devil. Lucky Vera. All I’ve got to look forward to this weekend is a box set binge of ‘Friends’ that I bought myself at Christmas.
“Here’s my number,” said Vera, handing Gus a card at the foot of the stairs, “why don’t we say the Waggon & Horses in Harrington End? Nine o’clock?”
“I take it that’s not one of your usual haunts?”
“I went there with Monty, years ago, and more recently with my girlfriends. Do you know it?”
“Not a clue, but my satnav will. Nine o’clock it is then, Vera.”
Vera waited until Gus had signed out and reached his car, then she climbed the stairs back to her desk. Kassie was busy dealing with whatever task the DCI had given her. She kept glancing across, trying to make eye contact. She wanted to know what was going on. Kassie Trotter would have to wait. Vera was unsure herself where this quiet drink was going to lead, but it might be fun finding out.
CHAPTER 11
The trip back to the Old Police Station passed in a blur. Gus couldn’t have told anyone how much traffic was on the road or the state of the weather. He reached the door to the lift and reminded himself that by the time he arrived on the first floor, he needed to put on his game face.
The image of Vera faded slightly but refused to disappear. As he exited the lift, all that remained were those piercing green eyes.
“How did the grilling go, guv,” asked Neil.
“As well as could be expected,” Gus replied, “more important, what have you achieved in my absence?”
“Ricky Edmunds has agreed to meet with us on Monday morning, guv,” said Alex.
“He has a lie-in on a Monday,” added Neil, “Sunday is always one of his busy periods. Anyway, we can talk to him at his gaff at eleven o’clock.”
“Poor thing must be tired if he needs to lie in that late,” said Gus. “We may hold that interview over depending on what you’ve learned about Richards.”
“Mark Richards has never applied for a passport, and he’s never held even a provisional licence, guv,” said Lydia.
“His parents are a bigoted pair,” said Neil, “he left home because of their reaction to him coming out. Their religion played a big part in that. I couldn’t listen to the bile, his old man shouted down the phone. Safe to say, they aren’t in a rush to see him come home. So, I tried another angle. I found his sister, Vanessa, through social media. She moved out when she was twenty. Six years after Mark.”
“That makes her two, maybe three years younger, right?” asked Gus.
“Vanessa was fourteen when Richards left home, yes.”
“Where did the sister move to?”
“The bright lights. Vanessa went to London. Mark was living in Camden Town. They shared a flat from 2006 until he moved west at the end of February 2008. Mark told her he was moving to Wiltshire. She knew his life was complicated. They had argued over the way he had earned a living when he first left home and escaped to Birmingham. Since she’d been in London, he seemed to have got his life together. He worked as a barman in a nightclub. You know Camden Town is famous for its market, a rabbit warren of fashion and curiosities by the Regent’s Canal. There’s a thriving nightlife — live music in alternative clubs and old-school pubs. The Jazz Cafe and the Roundhouse are on your doorstep. The capital is in the grip of café culture. It’s all hustle and bustle with a triple mocha frappuccino, every day.”
“Okay, Neil, if the London Tourist Board need someone I’ll pass on your details,”
“Sorry, guv, but we made more progress through locating Vanessa than any other avenue we’d tried.”
“Keep going then. What did Vanessa do for work, out of interest?”
“Beauty parlour, would you believe? Anyhow, her brother had met someone soon after arriving in the city, although Vanessa never met them. Mark got a call late at night, and she wouldn’t see him again until the following evening. She left for work before Mark returned home.”
“Did he talk about this person or the nature of their relationship?”
“Mark never went into details. Vanessa said he was besotted, and the couple planned to be together in the future. Everything came crashing down at the end of February when the affair ended.”
“Was he paid for his overnight stays? Did she know where Mark went? What happened to end it?”
“He wouldn’t breathe a word, guv, but he was never short of cash. They went into town shopping every Saturday and Mark treated Vanessa to clothes, shoes and jewellery. He always dressed smartly.”
“So, he arrives here in March 2008, leaving a flashy nightclub in Camden Town for a dead-end job at The Beeches. His fruitful relationship with an unknown person has ended abruptly. He’s hurting because he’d believed it was a forever love. When did Vanessa hear from Mark next?”
“That’s just it, guv. Mark phoned her dozens of times between March and the end of June. He sounded happy. Suddenly, the calls stopped. She never heard from him for weeks. If she rang his mobile, she got a number unobtainable tone. Then, in August, Vanessa received a postcard from the South of Fr
ance. The picture on the front was of the promenade at St Tropez. Her address was typed, and there was no scribbled message, just the word ‘Heaven’ in blue ink.”
“Was it in Richards’s handwriting?”
“She said it could have been. Mark wasn’t a great one for writing. Vanessa waited for more news, maybe an invitation to a wedding, a holiday in the Med, but nothing ever came.”
“Why didn’t she go to the police or try to find him through social media?” asked Lydia.
“London can be a tough place. Without Mark to help finance her, Vanessa soon started to struggle financially, but she’s a fighter. Vanessa battled depression, massive debts and came out the other side. Today, she’s thirty-two, single, and has her beauty parlour in Camden Town. She told me she prayed every week that Mark was safe and well. In the meantime, she’s been grafting eighteen hours a day to keep herself afloat.”
Gus leaned back in his chair.
“Right, that’s it, we know what happened now. What time is it? I need to check one thing back at HQ. Then I’ll brief the Superintendent. He needs to arrange for search warrants.”
“Sorry, guv, you’ve lost us,” said Alex.
“It was pretty straightforward. I realised in the car as I drove to Devizes that Mark Richards was dead. I didn’t pass that on to Mercer, of course. Confirmation of that fact only came once I’d heard what Neil had to say.”
“Will you be back later, guv?” asked Neil, “only it would be nice to know what’s going on. What do we do while you’re away?”
“Cancel the meeting with Ricky Edmunds in Swindon. Call Mr Attrill and ask him whether they ever saw anyone at Manor House apart from Crompton and Joyce Pemberton-Smythe. Ask Vanessa Richards for Mark’s mobile phone number and the name of the nightclub where he worked. I don’t think there’s anything else. Well, you might tidy this place, gather the paperwork together ready to send it back to HQ. Update the Freeman File with everything you’ve done today. I’ll key in my odds and ends when I return. Well done and keep up the good work.”
With that, he disappeared.
“What the hell was that all about?” asked Alex.
