by Ted Tayler
This new case had thrown up a whole load of problems he didn’t need.
Gus fetched his chair from inside the shed and made himself comfortable.
Could he in all conscience keep Neil Davis involved when his father had royally screwed up the investigation? How had Terry Davis filtered and manipulated the evidence without Culverhouse’s knowledge?
Gus was well aware Culverhouse was still in the force and occupied a lofty position. It might be worth a quiet pint with Geoff Mercer this week to discover where other superior officers at that time were currently serving. Some would be retired, but they might live locally and be active in the Police Federation business.
News of his team’s focus on the Villiers case would soon reach their ears.
Gus had agreed to come back to delve into unsolved cold cases. He had no interest in being used to sully the reputations of senior officers into the bargain. Was the ACC selecting these cold cases on purpose? Had his team been set up as fall guys?
The Crime Review Team only saw one murder file at a time. There was no clue what the next one would contain. Vera Jennings had handed him this latest file, not the ACC.
Gus had readily accepted that Kenneth Truelove was entertaining the press. It made sense revelations regarding the Minister, and the Chief Constable took precedence over meeting a retired Detective Inspector only recently recruited as a consultant.
Gus wondered whether conspiracy theories were alive and well here in the West Country.
“A penny for them?”
Bert Penman stood beside him. The eighty-five-year-old former butcher held a wooden tray in one hand and his walking stick in the other. Bert laid the stick against the shed and placed the tray on the upturned crate next to Gus.
“The last two people to sit there to chat with me were Irene and Frank North,” said Gus, as the memories of the past weekend flooded back.
“Nasty business that,” said Bert, “I’ve heard rumours about who was behind Frank’s death. I ignored them, of course, until I learned the facts from you.”
“Wish I could tell you something, Bert,” said Gus, “DI Ferris is leading the investigation. As a consultant, I can’t interfere. You’ll hear any news at the same time as I do when the police issue a statement.”
“What’s the world coming too, eh? Frank wasn’t a bad lot, even if he’d been inside a few times. None of us ever thought we needed to keep an eye on him when he worked here on his allotment. I never took special precautions to keep my tools safe. I feel bad taking advantage of him as I did.”
Bert had taken a few vegetables for himself to save them rotting in the ground. Frank wasn’t the best gardener by his admission. He had bowed to Bert’s experience that he’d been unlucky his crop had failed.
“Don’t blame yourself, Bert. You can make up for that now. What say we talk to the other allotment holders and agree to deliver fruit and vegetables to Irene North in the future? She’ll need the support of the community going forward.”
“That’s a great idea, Mr Freeman. Leave it with me.”
“I’m conscious that I’m leaving plenty with you these days, Bert. I can tell by the freshly dug ground and that tray there on the crate you’ve been busy on my behalf. These April days are getting ever warmer, and my patch might not be so far behind as I feared, thanks to you.”
“The allotment will always catch up in the end and reward your patience with a bumper harvest,” said Bert. “If I hear a whisper of a frost I’ll hold back and wait a day or two rather than take the risk. I still plan to get those onion sets in by the weekend. Then I’ll follow on with the beetroot, carrots and as many greens as you wish.”
“I’m ever so grateful, Bert. Keep up the good work. I didn’t drop by to check up on you. I had a difficult day at work, and a spot of fresh air helps clear the mind. Although, with the number of thoughts I have to ponder I reckon it will take more than a penny to settle the debt.”
“You strike me as a deep thinker, Mr Freeman. Who would have thought such a dark secret hid behind our local MP? You uncovered that I expect. Why is it so often the innocent that suffer? Daphne Tolliver all those years ago and now Frank North. Retired people entitled to see out the rest of their days in peace. It’s wrong.”
“I can’t argue with you there, Bert. Look, I need to go home and get a meal inside me. Another busy day tomorrow. Maybe, I’ll pour a glass of single malt later to aid my deliberations. At least one of my problems needs resolving before I leave for work in the morning.”
“Whiskey can help,” said Bert, “but a good night’s sleep will work wonders. The single malt might be less beneficial in that regard.”
Bert picked up the tray and his stick and made his way up the allotment.
Gus smiled. That was rich. Bert Penman suggesting drink wasn’t the best medicine. His first port of call after he left here would be the Lamb. He never moved until closing time. Bert didn’t need the stick. Except when he staggered home. Gus watched as Bert set to work on his allotment. He hoped to be as agile at eighty-five.
Gus decided the conspiracy issue could wait until he met with Geoff Mercer. He had other things to sort out. Neil had been warned not to contact his father, but Gus thought it only right the former Detective Sergeant had the opportunity to defend himself. He would call him at the earliest opportunity.
The drive to the bungalow allowed him two minutes to consider Alex Hardy.
Lydia appeared to get on well with him. Both in the office and when they had socialised together. She could be an ally in helping Gus ease Alex back into the action. The former motorcycle pursuit rider had consistently pushed for a chance to show he was ready. This case might mean having no choice but to use Alex on interviews.
The last thing he mulled over as he swung his car into the driveway was the lack of suspects for the Villiers case. Lydia had posed an excellent question. Where the heck do we start? He wondered the same thing.
Gus sat in the car, with the engine running.
Something didn’t look right. A curtain in the lounge had moved. Gus knew he hadn’t left it that way this morning. Someone had been inside the house. Perhaps they were still there?
Gus sat and waited. If there had been a break-in at his home, who might have done it? What were they after? The age profile of the villager was above the national average. There were a few teenage kids, but word had spread since he moved here. Everyone knew he was an ex-copper.
He couldn’t think of anyone on his doorstep who might have decided this was a good time to steal from him. If they travelled to the village from a local town, or further afield, they had to have transport. Where could that be? There were no apparent signs anyone had used his driveway since he pulled out into the lane this morning.
So, they had to be people with enough guile to drive past the bungalow and park out of sight. Then they waited for the coast to be clear and walked into the driveway. The front door looked secure. The back door was screened from the road and not overlooked from the rear. That’s how I would gain access, thought Gus. He hadn’t been aware of any strange car parked between the bungalow and the allotments as he’d driven through the village — time to do a recce.
Gus reversed quietly out onto the lane. Not the safest option, but he didn’t want to alert anyone inside the bungalow. Gus drove further up the lane but saw nothing there. He turned around and drove back towards the Lamb and the Community Shop. The car park would be a good place to hide a vehicle in plain sight. The eight cars he spotted gave him no cause for concern — time to do the sensible thing.
Gus called the police.
“Suzie? Are you still at work?”
“I’m heading home. I’m five minutes away from your place. What’s the matter?”
“Do you carry your baton with you?”
“Of course,”
“I think I’ve had burglars. In case they’re still inside, I could use backup.”
“Sit tight,” said Suzie, “are you near the bungalow?
“I can appreciate why you're cautious. Keep this line open.”
Three minutes later, Suzie spoke again.
“I can see you ahead of me. Let’s park to the side of the driveway and go inside together.”
They crossed the gravel and Gus slid his key in the lock and opened the front door. Suzie brushed past him with her extendable baton at the ready.
“Police!” she shouted. There was no response.
Gus took a few steps inside the hallway and prepared himself for the worst.
“The kitchen isn’t too much of a mess,” said Suzie, looking into the rooms off the hallway. “Everything looks to have been moved. Drawers and doors open halfway. They came in through the back door. We can make it safe until you get a glazier out here. I’ll report this. Don’t touch a thing. Sorry, Gus, force of habit. You know the drill.”
As Suzie made the call, Gus inspected the lounge. It wasn’t as bad as he feared. Nothing broken. His precious record collection was intact — photos of him and Tess were still in their picture frames. The drawn curtain prevented the intruder from being visible from the lane.
The bedrooms weren’t much different. Gus’s wardrobe doors were open. Every drawer inspected, but the damage he had expected hadn’t materialised. What had they been looking for, and why? These weren’t common-or-garden burglars. If they had been and found nothing of value, they would have trashed the place just for kicks.
Gus joined Suzie in the kitchen.
“A forensic team are on the way,” she said, “anything missing?”
“Not from the brief look I’ve had. Well, we’ve preserved the scene, I don’t have a spare set of keys in the house. Tess’s set of keys are in my garden shed at the allotment. So, they’re not able to wander in here whenever they fancy. I’ll get that door fixed and then invest in extra security. Cameras at the front and rear of the property linked to my smartphone. It will ruin my perfect rural idyll, but it will help keep me safe.”
“We need to mull this over, Gus,” said Suzie, “take care and switch on the kettle. We’ve got ten minutes before the guys arrive.”
They took the mugs of coffee outside into the garden.
“We must face the possibility this break-in has links to Frank North’s murder,” said Suzie.
“Just because they dumped his body in the allotments field doesn’t mean that much,” said Gus. “It could simply have been a convenient spot. Somewhere the body wouldn’t be discovered at first light.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Suzie, “they may have forced Frank to tell them you knew what he’d seen up on the hillside. Whatever’s going on warranted killing an innocent senior citizen. I’ve badgered my superiors throughout the day trying to prevent any more bloodshed. We have to stop the operation, whatever it is. The top brass say their hands are tied.”
“So that means the National Crime Agency or the Organised Crime Task Force has an interest in that shed. Which suggest this affair has to be far larger than Monty Jennings and a hare-brained get-rich scheme.”
Suzie’s phone vibrated.
“The guys should turn into the driveway in a moment,” she said. “Sorry, Gus, the neighbours will think the reputation of this placid village has gone to hell.”
One van and a car whipped through the gateway and five personnel were ready for action in seconds. Suzi directed operations, and Gus stood in the warm evening sunshine with two empty mugs.
Gus knew that Suzie was right. The buggers that broke in here today meant business. They had destroyed nothing, taken nothing, and left no message. Yet the burglars had demonstrated that they believed they could do what the hell they liked and he couldn’t stop them. Maybe, they thought that was message enough.
Fifteen minutes later, Suzie came back outside. She smiled at him sitting on his car bonnet with the two mugs leant against the windscreen.
“It won’t be much longer. Another few minutes and you can have your kitchen back.”
“I was starving when I left the allotments,” Gus said, “the first thing I planned to do when I got home was cook something.”
“Do you want company? I can always eat a meal that someone else cooks for me.”
“When do I get the run of the rest of the house?”
“Within the hour. Don’t worry; you’ve suffered a trauma. That will explain my staying on after the others leave. I want to make sure you’re safe.”
Gus looked at his watch. There would be precious time to work through the issues troubling him. They didn’t seem important somehow. It dawned on him what Suzie had said.
“Make sure I’m safe? I’ll be OK.”
A forensic guy called out that the kitchen was free. Gus and Suzie made their way indoors.
As he started to prepare the food, he nodded towards the wine rack.
“I reckon I deserve a glass of wine. There are soft drinks in the fridge.”
Suzie poured two large glasses of Merlot.
“I’ve already texted my mother to say I won’t be home,” she said.
“Bugger,” said Gus.
He’d cut himself, slicing the vegetables.
“That just goes to show you’re not safe to be alone,” said Suzie, “let me see. It’s not too deep. Wash it under the tap. Where do you keep your plasters?”
They finished preparing the meal together. Gus found Suzie easy to talk to; the Merlot helped. When Suzie dished up fifty minutes later, Gus poured them both a second glass. What was going on? Was she staying because she thought a police vehicle next to his car outside would deter any night visitors? Or was she interested in blokes thirty-plus years older than her? The papers were full of them. Of course, those men tended to be rolling in it. They weren’t clapped-out coppers with a bungalow, an ageing Ford Focus and an allotment. Forget that thought. Suzie’s just considering your safety.
Gus looked at Suzie Ferris as she tucked into her food.
This relationship malarkey had been hard enough when he and Tess went through it forty years ago. Gus sure as hell didn’t understand how it worked these days. Even though they had been engaged and were refurbishing their first place together, Tess had steadfastly refused to sleep there. Fast forward to 2018, and he had a young woman sitting in his kitchen, sharing a meal and a bottle of wine. He’d met her for the first time on Friday. They had spent two hours together on Sunday and ended up finding a dead body. Today was Monday, and she was investigating a break-in.
It was obvious they would soon finish the first bottle.
Gus checked the wine rack. He had another bottle.
If Suzie had an ulterior motive, he would need that. He hadn’t slept with anyone other than Tess. Suzie looked up and caught him staring at her. She didn’t speak. She smiled and took a sip of her wine.
The girl had rung her mother for crying out loud.
If he and Tess had spent the night together before they were married, they would both have died rather than tell their parents, even if it was because they were too shattered to drive home after decorating all evening.
“Not long now before the forensic crew will be out of our hair,” Suzie said, “this meal was great. What do you have in mind for dessert?”
Gus decided it was time to find out whether Suzie was serious or pulling his chain.
“I saw Vera this morning at the London Road offices. We’re meeting for dinner on Thursday. Do you think you staying over will upset her?”
“Vera knows you’ve got two bedrooms,” said Suzie, “why should she be upset?”
Gus looked to see what he had to offer her in the fridge. He was off the hook. Suzie was here for his protection, nothing else.
“I’ve got low-fat yoghurts, a strawberry cheesecake…”
A knock on the kitchen door interrupted the menu.
“Sorry, Ma’am, we’ve found something.”
It was one of the forensic team. The man passed S
uzie an evidence bag.
“Where did you find it?” asked Gus.
“In a drawer in the main bedroom, Sir; under a scarf covering several personal items.”
The bastard had been in the drawer where he kept Tess’s hairbrush, necklace and other souvenirs.
“It’s an Order of Service,” said Suzie. “No doubt they wore gloves, but the card and its content might tell us something about who sent the message.”
Suzie Ferris held up the evidence bag so Gus could read what it said.
“Very touching,” said Gus, “In Loving Memory - service will be held in the near future for Augustus John Freeman, policeman and gardener unless he leave well alone. No more messages will be given.”
“Augustus? I hadn’t given a thought to what Gus was short for; I reckon they’re foreign, don’t you? Not illiterate though, British thugs would never spell your name right for a start.”
“They spent more than a few minutes here too,” said Gus, “that photo they’ve used is from one in the lounge. Tess liked it. She took it when we holidayed in Weymouth. We watched the 2012 Olympics sailing events out at Portland. I was fifty-five.”
“You look happy. It suits you. Could the intruders have used your computer to produce this card?”
“No idea. Tess used it for various work-related things. I never felt the need. I muddled through whatever I needed to do my job in the office. These days I use a smartphone to access everything I want.”
“The guys will have dusted the computer for prints as a matter of course. After they’ve gone, I’ll fire it up. Maybe these thugs were looking for something else. Files relating to their shady operation. They created this card to put the frighteners on you.”
“Do you still say that?” asked Gus. “I thought that phrase went out years ago.”
“I’m an old-fashioned girl,” laughed Suzie. “I was right to stay. The whole thing is turning nasty. I’m calling in this threat to the higher-ups at HQ. We need increased surveillance on Monty’s shed and the area surrounding this place. It’s late, but if we can organise armed support that would put my mind at rest.”
