The Freeman Files Series Box Set

by Ted Tayler

  “Fair enough,” said Neil, “let this be our motto - Another Day, Another Collar.”

  Gus drove away. Another day, another collar; it had a ring to it.

  He parked the Focus in its usual spot to the right of the bungalow and went indoors. Time for a shower next, then change into casual clothing and decide what to eat. He could pay a visit to the allotment before night fell.

  The phone rang. Gus looked at the number; it looked familiar.

  “Mr Freeman, it’s Joyce Pemberton-Smythe here.”

  “If you’re wondering what’s happening with your husband, I can’t tell you anything. I’ve passed responsibility over to Superintendent Mercer. As I explained on our first visit to the Manor House, I’m a mere consultant, not a serving officer.”

  “You made that crystal clear,” she said, “I wanted you to know the diaries I referred to still exist. Since your people took Leonard away, I’ve sat here wondering what point there was in denying you the chance to see them.”

  “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

  Thoughts of a visit to the allotment were on hold. Gus raced to the Manor House. Joyce met him at the door and showed him into one of the drawing rooms.

  “I hid them in the chest of drawers. Leonard never came in this room. The diary for the end of June is open at the relevant entries.”

  It appeared Leonard caught a chill in a torrential downpour on Saturday evening. He didn’t rush back to London on Sunday night. Instead, Leonard slept in on Monday, lazed around until lunchtime. He was out for the rest of the day. Joyce didn’t see him again until breakfast on Tuesday morning. ‘Leonard still under the weather’. The first entry on Wednesday the second of July was ‘Left for the House before dawn’.

  “May I take this diary?” he asked.

  “You will be discreet, won’t you? You promised.”

  “I’m the soul of discretion. We will only use the elements that strengthen our case.”

  “Crompton can confirm the events of those few days.”

  Gus thought that highly unlikely.

  “I can see you doubt me,” said Joyce, “walk this way.”

  Crompton sat in the window seat, dressed as he had been the other morning.

  “Don’t get up,” said Joyce, moving swiftly to the desk. She retrieved a book from a drawer.

  “Look familiar? I gave the staff a diary every year to record our comings and goings when tradespeople were due and so forth. Crompton used his diary for extra items. Here, you can see listed the meal served each day. He said it helped him maintain variety. On Monday he cooked a pork loin for us. On Tuesday, Leonard was out, so Crompton reverted to what was typical when he stayed in London.”

  Gus could read ‘Light supper’ and ‘ditto’ for Wednesday and Thursday.

  “Easy to understand why I ate so little. I drank heavily back then. To sit at a table for a three-course meal kept me from the vodka bottle for far too long.”

  Gus wondered how the stress of yesterday’s events would affect Joyce’s mental health. Joyce had come so far it would be a tragedy if she fell off the wagon now.

  “I should like to borrow this too, if I may,” he said.

  “Crompton won’t mind, I’m sure.”

  Joyce walked Gus to the door.

  “The next few weeks will be tough,” she said, “but I can only try to take them one day at a time. DI Ferris talked to me yesterday about the charges against my husband. I knew he was bi-sexual when we married. He always kept his other side hidden, so the boys and I were protected. It was easier to pretend it wasn’t an issue. What happened in London stayed in London. After you left with DI Ferris yesterday, I thought back on that weekend and the days that followed. I checked the diary before I rang you. We were collecting the boys from boarding school on the fourth of July. This man Richards must have given Leonard an ultimatum. Tell your wife, or I’ll go to the police about poor old Daffers. That’s why Leonard felt he had to kill him. We were due on the ferry on Friday evening bound for the chateau.”

  “These diaries will help to complete the case for the prosecution, madam. I’m very grateful. Leonard’s actions have caused pain to so many people. The woman I saw caring for Crompton the other day deserved better. Good luck.”

  Gus drove away and saw Joyce leaning against the open front door until he passed through the gates. He hoped her sons were on their way home to comfort her.

  It was certain Leonard continued his liaisons after Mark Richards was dead. They had to hope none became so severe that such extreme measures ensued. Gus wondered whether he took time off when he holidayed in France. What a mess. The number of young men who might come forward to sell their stories to the press would fill the media for years. Poor Joyce and her sons would never escape.

  As he drove into town, he thought it was time he called on Megan and Mick Morris. They needed to hear someone had been arrested for Daphne’s murder before the press picked up the story. One more small job before getting home. The allotment would have to wait until the morning.

  Monday would come around soon enough. His first port of call then was London Road and a briefing with the ACC.

  Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to experience.

  Gus Freeman wondered what experiences lay ahead on their next cold case.

  Last Orders

  (The second case from ‘The Freeman Files’ series)

  By

  Ted Tayler

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  CHAPTER 1

  Sunday 15th April 2018

  The best-laid plans can often go astray.

  Gus Freeman woke early and showered and dressed before eight o’clock. He stood ready for the day ahead. A glance through his kitchen window confirmed the weather remained cloudy but mild.

  As the clock ticked round to the top of the hour, he decided on healthy oats and yoghurt for breakfast. Those suit trousers in his wardrobe only had one waistband extender button, and he’d already taken advantage of that. There would be plenty of opportunities to check out the other taste sensations amassed in his storage units.

  Gus had restocked his fridge and freezer ahead of weeks searching through a maze of questions posed by the ten-year-old murder of Mrs Daphne Tolliver. After three years of retirement, he had returned to the job he performed so successfully for forty years. Gus Freeman merited his reputation as an excellent detective.

  Assistant Chief Constable Kenneth Truelove persuaded him there were half a dozen cold cases with his name on them. In a moment of weakness, perhaps blinded by the beauty of the ACC’s PA, Vera Jennings, Gus put aside his gardening tools and re-entered the fray.

  In his absence, the ongoing fight against crime had become an even more uphill battle. Cuts in the number of front-line officers were the most visible evidence to those who suffered as a result. Austerity cut deeper wounds in support staff too, the police service that faced Gus on his return was lower on morale than when he retired. Something he didn’t believe possible.

  Gus reflected on the speed of events in the past week. The knack of asking the right questions of the right people paid dividends. The old methods proved useful yet again.

  Even though he had only met the members of his Crime Review Team on Monday morning, together they unmasked the killer by late Friday afternoon. Detective Superintendent Geoff Mercer arrested Leonard Pemberton-Smythe, the local MP in front of the Manor House, the imposing country pile Leonard shared with his wife, Joyce and their staff.

  Pemberton-Smythe was touted as the next Home Secretary and shortlisted for the highest office in the land. Gus and his team examined events surrounding the evening of Saturday
, the twenty-eighth of June 2008. They discovered that the disgraced politician had committed not one murder, but two.

  Gus spooned the last of his breakfast from the bowl. He grimaced as he swallowed the healthy concoction. First things first, he popped into the bedroom to set the alarm for the following morning. Even if it meant forgoing fifteen minutes in bed, fried egg, bacon and sausage was a better start to the day. Why support the producers of Scottish oats and Greek yoghurts when he could find locally sourced fresh food from farms within three miles?

  If the worst came to the worst, he could always drive into town after he met with the ACC in the morning and buy a new suit.

  Yesterday had been a busy day. He and Neil Davis, one of his two Detective Sergeants on the team, drove to London to interview Vanessa, the sister of the second victim, Mark Richards. Richards and Pemberton-Smythe were lovers. A relationship that proved fatal for the younger man when Daphne Tolliver disturbed the two men in Lowden Woods.

  The old lady had to die to protect the Secretary of State for Justice’s reputation. Richards died because he was a witness. The volatile nature of the relationship convinced the MP that two deaths were more acceptable than leaving himself open to blackmail.

  Gus returned from the capital with vital information to strengthen the case against Pemberton-Smythe. An early evening visit to the Manor House produced more damning documentation from the MP’s wife, Joyce. Gus could add that to the impressive pile of evidence for the prosecution later this morning.

  It had been a grand day out. Even the sad duty of calling on Megan and Mick Morris felt cathartic. Gus told them they had closed Megan’s sister’s case at last. They had arrested her killer. Gus sat with them for over an hour, hoping the news might bring them closure, but the truth was far worse than they imagined. The killer was someone they knew. An important person in the public eye killed two innocent people. Daphne had worked at the Manor House for six years. It was hard for them to comprehend.

  Gus knew when the news reached the media; there would be shock and dismay. There would be disbelief, and questions asked. Had the police got the right man? Could Wiltshire Police run as sensitive an investigation as this? Who was in charge? He was thankful the buck stopped with the ACC and Geoff Mercer. Those two had broad shoulders. One thing was guaranteed; the Corporate Communications and Engagement people would earn their crust in the coming days.

  Gus was one hundred per cent sure that the man DS Mercer would interview again later this morning was guilty. Two counts of murder. Bang to rights. It was time for the Crime Review Team to move on to its next case.

  Despite the early hour, Gus gathered the documentation and his phone with the messages Vanessa had kept for a decade and left the bungalow. He locked the items in the glove compartment of his Ford Focus and drove through Urchfont village to the allotments. Ten minutes spent catching up on how his plants were coping wouldn’t put a significant dent in his day.

  There was no sign of Bert Penman. He’d be working here this afternoon after he’d been to morning service at the church up the road. The bells hadn’t started to ring yet. The silence on a morning such as this was a blessing. There were few cars on the road, and the birds grasped the opportunity to fill the temporary gap. Gus sat outside his shed for a spell.

  He enjoyed two minutes alone with his thoughts.

  “Mr Freeman?”

  Irene North, Frank’s wife, arrived beside him. She could work for the SAS, Gus thought, he hadn’t heard a sound.

  “Good morning, Mrs North,” he said.

  “Frank hasn’t been home,” said Irene.

  Gus gave her his full attention. Irene North was not trying to catch Frank smoking a crafty ciggy. The deep concern etched on a face lined with age, and the worry of being married to a habitual offender was genuine. Gus had a terrible thought.

  “When did you last see him, Mrs North?”

  “Frank said he was coming here last night to check he’d locked his shed. He reckoned he was gardening four hours yesterday afternoon. Frank spent it smoking and chatting; I’ll bet. Don’t think I don’t know what he gets up to when he’s here. I wouldn’t mind if he brought home armfuls of fruit and vegetables, but Frank’s got light fingers, not green.”

  “So I understand, Mrs North. He assures me that’s in the past though, and he’s mended his ways. I couldn’t get to my allotment yesterday, so I can’t confirm if he was here. Frank’s shed is locked, as you can see. What time did he leave home?”

  “Just before ten,”

  “Did he wear a coat, or carry a torch? Did he go prepared?

  “Frank didn’t go out late at night without a hat and coat, not with the state of his chest. I don’t know if he took a torch. Knowing him, he’d strike a match to see whether that lock was secure. Then he’d just as likely light a blessed fag with it so as not to waste the match.”

  Gus understood Irene North’s concern. Both were in their seventies and stayed together through thick and thin. Frank was as skinny as a rake. His long-suffering wife made three of him. Irene might give her old man a hard time over his smoking, but if their marriage had survived this long, there was a deep affection involved. Even if it lay hidden.

  Gus considered the situation. Frank North was old, not in the best of health, and missing for twelve hours. He knew Frank could have been taken ill or had fallen in the dark and lay hurt somewhere. But he and Irene walked past the likely spots when they came to the allotments. There was just one road through the village. Frank and Irene’s place stood four hundred yards away.

  So, where else might he have gone? Ah, the glorified shed belonging to Monty Jennings, Vera’s estranged husband.

  Geoff Mercer had told Gus initial surveillance of the land behind Cambrai Terrace began last night. Plain-clothes officers had watched the lane entrance for strangers. The plan was to gather information to add weight to Frank’s argument someone was living there. If people were living in the property, then that posed a problem. Nobody had ever applied for planning permission.

  Gus told Frank not to stick his nose into the matter after he’d passed the issue on to the proper authorities. What if the silly old sod ignored his warning and wandered along the lane behind Cambrai Terrace for a quick peek? With his reputation, the officers on watch would have thought he was up to his old tricks. Frank North was housebreaking yet again. Irene’s best chance of finding her husband might be the local police station.

  “I don’t think you need to fret over Frank,” said Gus. “If he’d had a stroke, or tripped and broken a hip, we would have found him somewhere between your home and here. Telephone the police. If he’s wandered off somewhere, they could keep an eye out. He’s had his moments. Although he swore to me he’d stopped the thieving nonsense; we must accept he might have lapsed. In which case, the police could have him.”

  “I’ll swing for him if that’s what he was up to last night.”

  “At least you’ll know where he is, Mrs North,” said Gus.

  Despite the potential seriousness of the situation, Irene North treated Gus to a gap-toothed smile. She soon returned to her standard disparaging tone.

  “He can kiss goodbye to me visiting him this time,” she said. “Our pensions barely put food on the table. There won’t be spare cash for half-hour bus trips to Erlestoke.”

  With that, Irene North made her way home. Gus gave up working on his allotment. He relied on Bert Penman to sort out any urgent problems. The sooner he got the evidence he collected yesterday to Geoff Mercer, the better.

  The trip into the valley was a pleasant one. Everything was coming together. The sun shone, and their first case went well. Alex, Neil and Lydia had the makings of a capable team. He’d taken the first step towards having a social life again with Vera Jennings. Where it might lead, Gus didn’t have a clue.

  He swung his Ford Focus into an empty parking spot outside the new custody suite on the outskirts of town. Gus was coming to terms with the layout of his new working environment. He we
lcomed the opportunity to see inside this modern addition to the Wiltshire Police family. The compound held several Bobby Vans and signs that the Neighbourhood Policing Units were well-represented. Even on a Sunday morning, there was a buzz about the place. Of course, it may have been a swarm of flies or a dodgy streetlight.

  Once inside the building, he asked to speak with Superintendent Mercer.

  “The DS is interviewing a suspect at present, perhaps if you take a seat?”

  “I suggest you get a message to him,” said Gus, “the items I have here are evidence. He should have enough for a result, but if the suspect’s lawyer still retains a faint hope, this should shatter any illusions of a miracle.”

  Gus only needed to wait five minutes. Geoff Mercer came out to greet him.

  “Good to see you, Gus,” he said. “That QC he’s engaged is keeping us on our toes. We’re well ahead on points though. Another session and they should see sense and throw in the towel.”

  “I bear good tidings,” said Gus, “we have text message conversations between Mark and Vanessa Richards from 2007 that confirm he was in a relationship with a senior politician. We have details of the location of the Minister’s apartment. We identified the nightclub where they first met. There’s a postcard sent to the sister from the village where Pemberton-Smythe had his holiday home. Mark was supposed to have sent it, but he was already dead and buried in the grounds of the Manor House. An expert can examine the handwriting, if necessary.”

  “This is dynamite, Gus, thanks,” said Geoff. “I want to listen to these messages before I go back. They asked for a fifteen-minute comfort break. I plan to be lenient on the time-keeping. It will suggest we’re on the run. The impact of this additional evidence will be even greater. What else do you have there?”

  “Joyce Pemberton-Smythe produced diary details of Leonard’s activities on the Saturday evening of the murder. He was not at home, based on entries in both Joyce and Crompton’s diaries. Although he was out in the rain long enough to catch a chill, he delayed his return to Westminster until early on Wednesday morning. That was a complete change of routine. It was unique, based on the evidence in the diaries. He left the house at lunchtime on Monday and didn’t return until after Joyce went to bed. The murder and the subsequent burial of the body took place during those missing hours.”