The Freeman Files Series Box Set

by Ted Tayler

  “If Mark Richards is dead,” said Lydia, “then the man on the hillside seen by Simon Attrill murdered both him and Daphne Tolliver to stop them from revealing his secret.”

  “Let’s make the calls the boss wanted doing,” said Alex.

  “Where’s a lightbulb moment when you need one,” said Neil.

  Gus was halfway up the hill out of town by this time. He needed to visit the Hub. Gus knew something had registered as crucial when he’d been on the guided tour. Yesterday, he’d realised what it was.

  Gus signed in at Reception and told the officer on the desk to ask Geoff Mercer to meet him by the entrance to the Hub. Five minutes later, Geoff came running up to greet him.

  “Give me a second to get my breath back, Gus. It sounded urgent, what’s up?”

  “Let’s get inside.”

  Geoff swiped his card through the scanner, and they entered the Hub. Gus headed straight for the photograph of the opening ceremony.

  “As I thought,” he said, “the blue phone. Leonard carries it for every personal appearance. Yet on his Westminster office desk, I spotted a white phone. Why have two? Unless one is a prepaid device with a single purpose. To make calls to numbers he doesn’t want his family or parliamentary colleagues catching sight of by accident.”

  “You can’t seriously think Leonard Pemberton-Smythe is involved in this matter? Remember what the Chief Constable said. He marked your card only three hours ago.”

  “Sorry, Geoff, you asked me to be dogged and determined. My team found enough of the missing pieces of the jigsaw for me to see the big picture. Remember the three undisputed facts I told you this morning. Simon Attrill was the person in Battersby Lane seen talking to Daphne. There was a man on the hillside moving away from the murder scene in the opposite direction to Lowden Park. The other person at the murder scene who ran towards the Park had big feet, and I was convinced that man’s name was Mark Richards.”

  “What did the team uncover while you visited us here at HQ?”

  “They traced Vanessa Richards, the running man’s sister. She lived with her brother in Camden Town between 2006 and March 2008. He worked as a barman in a nightclub and was having an affair with someone who was married. That person never saw him on a Saturday, so Mark took his sister shopping, spending loads of cash. The fact this person entertained Mark overnight on any weekday night he chose suggested it was a hotel or apartment and the person’s actual house was in the country. Mark left home in Kidderminster in 2000 soon after telling his parents he was gay. He worked as a male prostitute in Birmingham and picked up several cautions. Mark moved to London and continue to sell his body. Throughout 2007 there were no cautions, no instances of Mark Richards doing anything to alert the police. The sister knew her brother’s sexual preferences and didn’t feel it necessary to state the lover was male. Mark had come out at sixteen. He was twenty-five in 2008. Who else would he have been in love with?”

  “Christ, the shit will hit the fan, if you’re right.”

  “I need the warrant to search the grounds of the Manor House for Mark Richards’s body. I’ll place a bet with you, Geoff. Mark’s body lies behind a row of trees, and there will be something in the ground that doesn’t belong to him.”

  “Well, that’s easy,” groaned Geoff, “I would throw my white phone in the grave I’d dug.”

  “It’s no fun betting with a copper,” grinned Gus.

  “Do we have sufficient evidence to take before a judge to get a warrant?”

  “Let me phone my office. They may have the answer to that by now.”

  Gus called. Neil answered.

  “Did you talk to Mr Attrill?”

  “Yes, guv, not sure if it helps though.”

  “I’m waiting…”

  “He and Simon have visited the Manor House at various times, different weekdays throughout the year since Simon was sixteen. So, they’ve bumped into gardeners, tree surgeons, plumbers, window cleaners…”

  “What about Mr Pemberton-Smythe?”

  “Rarely, if ever, guv. Leonard is always away in London. Simon was with his father, chuntering away in the background. His Dad told him to be quiet, but he kept saying the same thing again and again.”

  “Now you see him, now you don’t?” asked Gus.

  “Blimey, how do you do that, guv?”

  “It’s a knack, Neil.”

  “Simon’s Dad was about to ring off, and he told me the only time he remembered seeing something odd was soon after Daphne Tolliver’s murder. A bloke on the far side of the gardens was walking behind the trees. It was too far away to recognise him. He couldn’t work out what he was up to.”

  “One more thing, Neil, did you find out the name of the nightclub?”

  “Heaven, guv.”

  “Of course, thanks, Neil.”

  Gus clapped his hands.

  “OK, Geoff, the body is there behind the trees. As I haven’t got a warrant card these days, you might need to work late tonight. Apologise to Christine on my behalf. I’ll have to rearrange my quiet drink with Vera too by the looks of it.”

  “You’ve asked her out? About time, mate. Good for you. Let me start the ball rolling on this search warrant. We’ll get back to my office, and as soon as we get clearance, we’ll head to the Manor House. What put you onto Pemberton-Smythe, anyway?”

  “The killer had to be local. That was clear from the outset. They never identified the running man. I wondered whether they had only been in the area a short time, both before and after the murder. As we picked up pieces of information from Holly Wells, Percy Pickering, the Attrills and the Manor House, I was even more convinced. Simon Attrill couldn’t articulate what he meant when he told us he’d seen a man threading his way through the trees on the hillside that evening. Ten years later, that image, reinforced by an image of the same man behind the trees days after the murder led him to repeat those words to Lydia and me. Now you see him, and now you don’t. Simon recognised both the man and the way he walked through the trees.”

  “I still don’t see how you knew it wasn’t an employee. Crompton, perhaps.”

  “Our MP has his apartment near Russell Square. Vanessa Richards told Neil her brother worked as a barman in a nightclub in Camden Town. A nightclub called ‘Heaven’ that caters for a specific clientele a ten-minute taxi ride from Russell Square. Leonard and Mark will have met at the end of 2006, and the affair swiftly became monogamous. Leonard was very generous to his lover, hence the weekend shopping sprees. But although Mark believed Leonard would leave Joyce as soon as their sons left school, Leonard had begun to climb the ministerial ladder. He was one of a dozen shadow assistant ministers by February 2008. With the change of Government in May 2010, the opportunity came for his Junior Minister’s role at the Home Office. The timing is crucial. Mark had to be ditched because, as a firm believer in family values, Leonard’s private life couldn’t face scrutiny. Add to that his tough stance on crime. Well, if it had come out he was bankrolling a male prostitute, it would shatter his credibility. He could forget about the Secretary of State for Justice position, potential Home Secretary and lining himself up for a tilt at the top job.”

  The phone rang. Geoff answered. Seconds later he gave Gus the thumbs-up.

  “We have your warrant. Let’s go,” Geoff said, “you can fill me in on the rest on the way.”

  They descended the stairs and jogged into the car park.

  “I’m sold on your reasoning, Gus. God help you, though if we can’t find a body.”

  “Don’t panic, Geoff. Mark Richards told Vanessa on several occasions between March and June how happy he felt. That shows he and Leonard had been in touch. How that happened, we may never know, but Daphne’s decision to walk Bobby when and where she did that night proved fatal. The lovers were having sex in the clearing when the old lady disturbed them. Daphne recognises Leonard. Why wouldn’t she? He was on her TV as often as he could find a programme to take him. His photograph was everywhere in the Manor House when she d
id her cleaning. Leonard realised there was no escape. He picked up a rock and smashed her on the head. Mark Richards ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Leonard sneaked home across the hillside after watching Holly discover the body. By that time of night, Joyce was probably drunk. She didn’t question him at the best of times. He would have agonised over what to do with Mark. No doubt, he phoned him. On that white phone, telling him to lie low, not speak with anyone, he’d think of something — how, where, and when he killed Mark, we don’t know. I suspect Mark would have tried to blackmail him in time. Leonard couldn’t take the risk. He killed him within twenty-four hours and buried the body in the grounds of the Manor House at dead of night. It’s a huge area, and there are hundreds of acres of the estate the public never visit. Simon and his father saw him in the daytime after he’d done the deed and Leonard was making sure he’d hidden the evidence.”

  “The postcard? I assume you can explain that?” asked Geoff.

  “I thought you would have worked that out. It showed a ruthless streak to the Chief Constable’s friend, Leonard. We know Joyce and Leonard holiday in France every summer at their chateau. The sons run the family vineyards over there now and rarely visit England. Leonard posted the card from there during that summer’s vacation. I doubt Vanessa Richards checked the postmark. To write ‘Heaven’ in the message space was a cruel touch, I thought. Vanessa took it to mean her brother lived with the man he loved, and everything was right with the world, which was what Leonard intended. The reference to the nightclub where they met merely emphasised the fact that Leonard believed he was in the clear. Nobody would ever discover who killed Daphne Tolliver and Mark Richards.”

  They were not alone when they arrived at the Manor House. Two vehicles with their crews poised to search the ground for the possible burial site. Geoff Mercer walked up to the door with Gus Freeman and rang the bell.

  “This might take some time,” said Gus, “the Brazilian cook speaks very little English,”

  Maria opened the door. It was clear Geoff’s uniform unsettled her because she threw her hands in the air.

  Gus had a sudden panic attack. He’d never given a thought to her being illegal.

  “Please,” she said.

  “May I speak with Mrs Pemberton-Smythe, please,” Geoff asked.

  Joyce Pemberton-Smythe appeared in the doorway. She had been in the conservatory, heard the commotion outside and strolled along to investigate.

  “It’s alright, Maria, it’s that lovely Mr Freeman again. What can we do for you? Oh, someone official. What have we done, pray?”

  “Superintendent Mercer, madam; I have a warrant to search the grounds of the Manor House, together with this building, the stables and outbuildings. If you could remain indoors, please, I have a family liaison officer who will sit with you. Do you have other staff on the premises?”

  Joyce was flustered.

  “What on earth are these people doing here? Does the Chief Constable know about this outrage? My husband will return from Westminster within the next two hours. There will be the devil to pay if you are overstepping your powers.”

  “Understood, madam, but I can assure you everything will proceed in line with the warrant as issued. I have a copy for you to study. If you wish another officer to take you through the details, I can supply one. Do you have other staff on the premises?”

  “Only Maria and Crompton,”

  “Perhaps you could sit with Maria and Crompton, stop him from wandering? Would that be possible?”

  “I suppose so. Couldn’t Mr Freeman explain this jargon to me?”

  “I think Mr Freeman deserves to be involved in the search, madam, as it was his detective work that brought us here. Detective Inspector Ferris is arriving as we speak. She can do the necessary. We’ll try not to be too long and keep the disruption to the ground over by those trees to an absolute minimum.”

  Joyce watched as a group of men and women alighted from the vehicles and spread out across the lawns leading to the trees in the distance. A smart-looking lady officer climbed the steps and stood next to the Superintendent.

  “You had better come in,” Joyce said to DI Ferris.

  “Good afternoon, madam. Can we make ourselves comfortable somewhere? We may be here some time. By the way, there will be no incoming or outgoing phone calls until we’re finished.”

  Gus and Geoff left them to it and followed the troops to the tree line.

  “Joyce didn’t have a clue, did she?” said Geoff.

  “Whether she knew about his affair with Mark Richards, or others who came before him, I don’t know. Maybe she did but turned a blind eye. I’m certain she has no idea how far Leonard would go to stop anyone finding out.”

  The search began at a quarter past four. The police had three hours of decent daylight.

  If they didn’t find a body, they’d be back in the morning.

  Forty minutes into the probing and digging, there was a shout.

  “Got something, Sir.”

  The other teams paused. Geoff Mercer walked across to see what they had uncovered. Gus followed Geoff, and when they reached the spot, he looked back towards the main building. In between the trees, he could see the line of hanging baskets that graced the west wing. This place was the one they were after. A scene that fitted perfectly with Simon Attrill’s image. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  Geoff and Gus left the Crime Scene Manager to organise the completion of revealing what lay beneath four feet of soil. The preservation of the scene was paramount. As the two men moved away from the central focus of the operation, they sensed other team members swinging into action. The place would soon be surrounded by ‘Police - Do Not Cross’ tape. It wouldn’t do much to enhance Joyce’s view from the conservatory windows, but they had to observe protocols.

  When they reached the edge of the lawn, they turned back to watch the well-rehearsed routine unfold. It was a waiting game now. Both men were eager to see what Leonard had wanted to hide for the past ten years, but they would do more harm than good by trying to rush things.

  “You were right, Gus. The ACC was right too. You were the best detective to head up this Crime Review Team. At the time it was first mooted, you weren’t my first choice, I’ll admit. I’m happy to have been proved wrong.”

  “I’m happy that my first case was so straightforward. As Kierkegaard said, - Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards. It was easier for me to understand because of the length of time that had elapsed. The young Holly would never have remembered the big white trainers while Culverhouse was running the investigation. It wasn’t until she met Danny, her future husband that a chance remark triggered the memory. We couldn’t expect Holly to come forward with that information. She didn’t realise its importance. We didn’t identify Simon Attrill until Percy Pickering’s penchant for collecting indecent images led to him serving a prison sentence. Culverhouse didn’t press Pickering on whether he knew the person with Daphne in the lane after he came forward following the reconstruction. Culverhouse had only a general description which didn’t produce a response from the Attrills or any of the locals who could have offered Simon’s name as a possibility. Whether Culverhouse would have understood the way Simon described the similarity between the man on the hillside and the man at the Manor House if he’d interviewed him back in 2013, who knows?”

  Geoff stared at the ground.

  “So, the best way to solve murders might be to leave them for a few years and have another look? That would be popular with the public.”

  “We’ll stick with what we know works most of the time. There won’t be a complete overhaul of our methods because of one success. It doesn’t always work, Geoff. Think of how many people have tried to find the identity of Jack the Ripper. At last count, it was one of twenty suspects.”

  “Is there any way Leonard can worm his way out of this?” asked Geoff.

  “I’d still like to find the white phone,” said Gus, “Mark Richards’s pho
ne would be a bonus. Other than that, thanks for reminding me. I meant to ask Neil Davis to call Vanessa Richards. If they were in regular contact, she might have text messages that mention Leonard. Not by name, I suspect, but certainly enough to establish a connection.”

  A lone figure left the line of trees and walked towards them. There were still signs of activity behind the trees, but the noise wasn’t intrusive.

  Gus turned and looked back down the driveway to the main gates.

  “Thank goodness the Manor House grounds are so extensive. We haven’t attracted the attention of the press. No sign of Leonard yet. I wonder how Joyce is coping?”

  “Suzie Ferris will keep a lid on things. We can’t afford for the wife to call Leonard and tip him off. We’ll arrest him when he gets home. There was no point racing up to the Palace of Westminster. We’d never avoid alerting the media then.”

  “I thought it might take longer to get this case sorted,” said Gus. “When we were with the Chief Constable this morning I was wondering what his reaction would be if we turned up on the first tee at North Wilts on Sunday morning and took his chum away on two counts of murder. As it is, we should be able to give him time to ring round for a replacement.”

  “You’re all heart, Freeman,” said Geoff. “No matter how delicately we negotiate the next few hours, there will be a major shitstorm when this story breaks. The county boundaries won’t contain the blast area. This story will receive national headlines for days. Our Chief Constable may have more to worry about than his golf foursomes. Once their friendship becomes public, he’ll be lucky to survive.”

  Gus shrugged.

  “I’m not concerned with the fallout this case brings. I was only interested in finally catching Daphne Tolliver’s killer.”

  The Police Surgeon approached Geoff Mercer. He looked to be the same age as Gus; with a demeanour which suggested ‘world-weary’.

  “You picked a fine time to call me out, the last thing on a Friday afternoon. I had hoped to be on the motorway heading for a weekend in the Brecon Beacons before now.

  “I’m sorry, Peter. Have you ever met, Gus Freeman? He was a DI in the Salisbury area until a few years back. Gus, this is Peter Morgan. He’s one of the best police surgeons I’ve had the misfortune to work with.”