by Ted Tayler
Gus counted the number in his head, trying to think if he’d offended anyone by leaving them out. It didn’t matter if he had. Without a robust police force supported by a judiciary that delivered true justice, then his former colleagues were pissing in the wind.
Brendan Curran could explain how we came to be up to our neck in it until the end of next year. What Gus wanted to hear was what he planned to do to rid the country of the bastards responsible.
“Have the Albanians converted Monty Jennings’s shed into a marijuana factory without his knowledge?” asked the ACC.
Gus could tell from Curran’s face he deemed the question facile and parochial. He waited for Geoff to come to Truelove’s rescue. Geoff stared out of the window. Suzie Ferris shuffled uncomfortably in her chair.
Gus realised they hoped he’d say something. He had less to lose as a mere consultant. Curran would suggest to the Chief Constable it might be kinder to allow the dinosaur to spend his remaining days out to pasture.
“If that’s what they’re doing up there,” he heard himself say, “I don’t think it matters whether or not Monty knew. The gang could afford to pay him enough to give them free rein from the profits of their sordid trade. Monty needed money fast. We assumed it was another of his get-rich-quick schemes. With his parlous financial state and an impending divorce, he would have taken the money regardless of what they planned to do with the building.”
Brendan Curran looked bored. He was keen to get back to his script. Gus wasn’t letting OCTF off the hook.
“Forget Monty Jennings,” Gus continued, “it’s Frank North that concerns me. How long have you being aware of this gang and what they used the building for?”
“I couldn’t possibly comment on matters relating to ongoing operations.”
“Well, perhaps you might comment on this,” said Gus. “Could you have prevented Frank North’s death by snatching him out of harm’s way when your people first saw him nosing around? In case it’s not in your briefing notes, I’ll remind you. He told me to watch out for something odd on the hillside on the twenty-seventh of last month. How long before that he first went to investigate, I don’t know, but it’s reasonable to assume a month elapsed between his first and last visits.”
“The whole operation could have been compromised if we had broken cover a month ago. OCTF had too much time invested in this complex investigation. We are close to eliminating a major supply route to every city and town in the West Country. A business worth one hundred and twenty-five million pounds a year.”
“Oh, I get it now,” said Gus, “the kudos for the OCTF trumpeting a success of that magnitude far outweighs a human life.”
“When you put it that way,” said Curran, spreading his hands wide.
Suzi Ferris grabbed Gus by the arm. He was halfway up from his chair.
“Don’t give him the satisfaction, Gus,” she implored.
The death stare she gave the ACC, and Geoff Mercer let them know in uncertain terms what she thought of their lack of support. Suzie had expressed her fears to Gus earlier; that OCTF would tell them they needed to consider the bigger picture.
“If I may continue,” said Curran, “when they began dealing in cannabis, the Albanians were very much wholesalers. More of their fellow countrymen arrived, and they have now created a network across the country. The cannabis business lends itself to retail supply. Few groups that OCTF encounter do an end-to-end supply. There’s a disconnect somewhere along the line. By controlling the whole supply chain, they can make even more money through street price mark-ups. London-based criminals commute to rural counties to sell hard drugs and often take over the homes of vulnerable users. The term county lines has been bandied around for a few years now and traditionally the gangs centred on heroin and crack cocaine. They started an expansion into supplying cannabis because there are ten times as many users. A much larger proportion of people come up against organised crime gangs who use weapons and intimidation as routine tools in their criminal enterprise. We must stop this expansion.”
“That’s the only sensible comment you’ve made,” said Gus. “How close are you from eliminating this outfit for good?”
“We were days away before Mr North’s unfortunate intrusion,” said Curran. “We have undercover officers inside the operation in the capital and their regional centre in Swindon. Their lives would have been at risk if we had moved before we could get a message to them.”
“I think we’ve covered enough for now, Brendan,” said the ACC, “we appreciate you coming to explain matters. As you can tell, we have a close interest in what’s happening above Cambrai Terrace. We look forward to your endeavours resulting in a successful conclusion.”
Gus shook his head. What a climb-down. He’ll be tugging his forelock next. The bloke’s not royalty.
“However,” said Geoff Mercer, suddenly finding his voice, “we wish to register our concerns in the strongest terms possible. OCTF has been running an investigation on a minimum of two Wiltshire sites for several months. We were kept totally in the dark. We could have acted on Frank North’s suspicions and screwed the whole operation for you. That isn’t the way we should operate. I hope you will give us a heads-up in the future.”
“Duly noted,” said Brendan Curran.
Gus noticed he hadn’t said they would ever co-operate or even share intelligence. He had just recognised the fact that Wiltshire was unhappy with how OCTF had run things.
“You say you were days away from acting against this gang last Saturday when they murdered Frank North,” said Suzie Ferris. “Nothing has happened since then, why?”
“We had to reassess our strategy,” said Curran, “we have more components in the chain. OCTF teams must strike at each one simultaneously to achieve the maximum effect.”
“Mr Freeman has been very patient,” she said. “Are you aware he received a death threat within twenty-four hours of Frank North’s murder?”
“That was unfortunate,” said Curran, getting to his feet.
Gus wasn’t sure whether he was preparing to run or setting himself ready for an attack.
“I would be collateral damage, the same as Frank North,” said Gus. “After all, it’s a one hundred and twenty-five million pounds business. Don’t concern yourself, Mr Curran, I can take care of myself. I’d be more concerned about how secret this operation of yours is. A conversation yesterday evening with a former copper living in Marbella revealed that someone knew all about the Albanians; and that I’d had a visit. Perhaps there’s a leak in your organisation? I would check on the safety of your undercover officers. We don’t want more collateral damage, that would be most unfortunate, wouldn’t it?”
That made Curran blink.
“I think that’s enough,” said the ACC.
Curran shook the ACC by the hand, wished them good morning and swept out of the office.
Gus heard Kassie Trotter call after him as he disappeared to Reception.
“It’s a pity you’re not staying for coffee. I’ve baked muffins.”
Brendan Curran struck Gus as a muesli man. Muffins would be far too common.
“I’ll see the three of you in my office at two o’clock this afternoon,” said the ACC. “We have other matters to discuss.”
It appeared they weren’t getting a coffee, let alone a taste of Kassie’s muffins.
CHAPTER 7
Gus, Geoff and Suzie filed out of the ACC’s office.
Geoff Mercer nodded towards his office.
He wanted to discuss what had just happened.
“This needs to be brief,” he said, once they were behind closed doors, “I’ve got another meeting. I’m sure you both have other things that need your attention.”
“Can we organise a search party?” asked Gus.
“Sorry, what for exactly?” asked Geoff.
“The ACC’s backbone.”
“This guy Curran must have serious clout to get that subservient reaction from Truelove,” said Suzie Ferris.
>
“I never had any dealings with OCTF while I was serving full-time,” said Gus. “Just as well, I would have lost my pension. Thanks for stopping me from getting claret on his Savile Row suit, Suzie.”
“Right, let’s get serious,” said Geoff, “why did you call Terry Davis in Marbella last night?”
“It was a legitimate line of enquiry in the Trudi Villiers case. He was involved in the stitch-up of Dennis Lewington. I wanted to know why he felt it necessary to quit searching for evidence that would lead to a genuine suspect.”
“I’m not fussed whether or not it was legitimate, Gus. You heard the ACC. He wants to see us this afternoon. You’ve opened a can of worms. The last thing the top brass want is for matters surrounding the Lewington debacle to surface.”
“When Gus and his team solve the case, it will be impossible to keep Lewington out of it. Together with this force’s mistakes fifteen years ago,” said Suzie Ferris.
Gus thought Suzie was optimistic considering the lack of progress his team had made so far. Perhaps she viewed him through rose-coloured spectacles because she was attracted to him.
“You’re missing Geoff’s point, Suzie,” said Gus. He was reluctant to stop thinking of moving their relationship to another level. Work had to come first. He gave himself a mental slap on the wrist.
“That’s because you don’t know what Terry Davis told me last night. It appears the ACC was aware that the DI in charge knew Trudi Villiers.”
“In the biblical sense,” added Geoff.
“Gosh,” said Suzie.
“It wasn’t common knowledge, but one or two senior officers learned the couple had had an inappropriate liaison early in his career.”
“The relationship was over before the murder,” said Gus, “but Terry Davis had to look for a quick fix. He shoehorned Lewington into the frame. Then it was a case of, nothing to see here, move on. Culverhouse has continued to get promoted. They forgave him that early slip. He’s Assistant Chief Constable with Avon & Somerset at Portishead for now, destined for further advancement. He has friends in high places, fellow travellers. The ACC will want to sweep this part of the investigation under the carpet. He won’t want to upset anyone, not at this stage of his career. That Curran bloke got under my skin. I didn’t think what I was saying.”
“What’s done is done, Gus,” said Geoff, “we three need to be united in how we respond to the ACC this afternoon.”
“Are you suggesting we pursue the case wherever it leads?” asked Suzie.
“We must tread carefully if that’s the case,” said Gus, “I’ve side-lined Neil Davis from any interviews. The first thing Culverhouse’s supporters will do is accuse Neil of trying to switch attention away from his father’s role.”
“That could backfire, surely?” said Suzie. “Culverhouse could face questions about Terry Davis’s actions and why they were never the subject of an internal investigation.”
“He had disappeared to Spain twelve months before they freed Lewington,” said Geoff. “Whether he received a tip-off, or it was just fortuitous, who knows?”
“I wonder why Lewington’s lawyers didn’t encourage him to file a complaint through the Independent Police Complaints Commission?” asked Suzie.
“This case is throwing up far more questions than answers,” said Gus. “It’s time for me to address that issue. I’ll get back to my team. See you this afternoon.”
“The ACC will want to discuss the death threat you received,” warned Geoff, “please tell me you don’t plan on wandering past Monty’s shed again soon?”
“Not on your life,” said Gus, “although the visible protection may do more harm than good. The Albanians are sure to cut back on their activities above Cambrai Terrace until the heat’s off. I hope the covert surveillance of the cannabis farm run by OCTF is of a higher standard. I’ll miss my escorts in my rear-view mirror, but enough is enough. It would be foolish to alienate these thugs, and I’m capable of keeping a weather eye on strangers.”
There was a knock on the door. It was Kassie with coffee and a tray of muffins.
“I have to love you and leave you,” said Gus, grabbing two as he dashed through the door, “I’ll be back this afternoon.”
“If you’re not watching your waistline, I’ve got chocolate eclairs,” called Kassie.
Gus was already in Reception, heading for the car park.
Gus drove out of Devizes, keeping an eye out for anyone tailing him. There was no one. He reached the Old Police Station and went upstairs to the CRT office.
“Good to see you’re working hard,” he said, “My meeting with the ACC could have gone better. Our VIP guest from OCTF went off in a huff, and I missed out on a coffee. If I’m getting myself one is anyone else thirsty?”
Three hands shot in the air.
Ten minutes later, they sat around the main whiteboard to recap their progress to date.
“We’ve got our first interviews scheduled,” said Neil, “the list is in the Freeman file. The landlady of the Ring O’Bells is up first. Krystal Warner’s expecting you and Alex tomorrow morning at half-past nine.”
“I planned to eat there on Thursday evening after work,” said Gus, “it might be wise to switch venue, regardless of what we learn tomorrow. She’ll wonder why we’ve suddenly started to frequent her place.”
“We, guv?” asked Lydia. “Are you treating us to a meal out?”
“Not on this occasion, I’m meeting a friend.”
“So, last Friday at the Waggon & Horses wasn’t a one-off,” said Neil.
“Who’s next on the list?” asked Gus, not missing the shared glances between his team members.
“Bosworth is working away this week,” said Alex. “Most of his work relies on repeat business from a client base he’s grown over the past twenty years. However, times were as tough for tradespeople during the austerity years as they were for many others. Over the past three years, Bosworth has taken on contracts with building firms. That means full wiring systems in new builds with severe time restraints and cutthroat prices.”
“In my experience that leads to shoddy workmanship too,” said Neil, “you should see the state of my mates’ houses. They couldn’t move in and settle straightaway. They spent the first six to nine months calling one trade or the other back to finish a job or rip it out and start again.”
“Did Bosworth agree to fix a time next week?” asked Gus.
“Monday morning, first thing, guv,” said Neil, “he spends the day on paperwork. Bosworth has his local guys to chase up, to see they’re balancing the books. On Tuesday morning he’ll be off to Swindon for another four days graft.”
“It sounds Bosworth only keeps his head above water because his wife provides extra income from her mobile hairdressing job,” said Lydia.
“It can’t be cheap bringing up three young sons,” said Neil.
“Okay, we’ll worry about Bosworth next week. Who did you promote?”
“I voted for Maggie Smith,” said Alex, “her health won’t ever improve. The sooner we get her statement, the better.”
“Maggie Smith rarely ventures out, guv,” said Alex, “we can visit her tomorrow afternoon.”
“Why don’t you and Lydia visit her? The sooner you get into the swing of things, the better.”
Alex was chuffed. At last, someone was allowing him to show he could fulfil a useful role in police work. He wouldn’t disappoint the boss.
“Right, that will do for starters,” said Gus, “I’ll check the rest of the schedule on my computer.”
“We’re waiting on the Hub to provide the results of the search we requested, guv,” said Neil.
Gus thanked Neil and returned to his desk. The list of registered sex-offenders might prove a time-consuming red herring. It was the former lovers that could raise more potential suspects and with them embarrassing questions. He didn’t know whether to share the knowledge he had learned from Terry Davis about Culverhouse with the team. The fewer people who knew, th
e better. He was particularly wary of letting Neil know he’d talked with his father. The way Neil had been with him since he arrived suggested Melody had kept her word.
Oh, what a tangled web; and that was nothing compared to the fifteen-year-old murder case they were tackling. Events over the past few days had left precious little time to mull over the few facts they had. Gus prided himself on spotting weaknesses in witness testimonies, finding inconsequential scraps of information that nudged him towards the guilty party.
Whether it was the nonsense going on around him, partly self-inflicted, or just one of those cases, he wasn’t sure. Had Trudi Villiers been killed by a total stranger visiting the town that week? Someone on a contract job. It was food for thought.
Gus wished he had time to spend on his allotment. Not for the gardening, but to sit and think. This consultancy role was turning out to be far more time-consuming than he’d imagined. He brought the Freeman file up on his computer to check the proposed itinerary Neil had provided.
“Can you spare an hour, Lydia,” he asked. An idea had popped into his head.
“Yes, guv, what do you need me to do?”
“Walk with me. I want to get my head around the relative positions of each of the destinations involved on the night of the murder.”
Neil was puzzled.
“Destinations, guv, what do you mean?”
“Krystal Warner and James Bosworth travelled by taxi to the place she shared with Trudi Villiers. What direction would they take? Where is it on the estate relative to where Tony and Tristram Virgo lived? Where is it relative to the sloped pathway leaving the estate that leads onto Riverside Walk? What direction would Saeed Gill take to get Bosworth home after he and Krystal had a falling out? Where was that house situated on the opposite side of town? The destinations are important because they determine timings. Where does Steve Li live? Could he have taken more than one route to get home? Did the rock group travel together to the Ring O’Bells? In the old days, it wasn’t uncommon for bands to pile into a Ford Transit and drive hundreds of miles to gigs. These days a fraction of venues remain that existed in the Sixties and Seventies. A lot of bands only play local gigs these days. This band came from the Salisbury area. That’s a big place. I once lived in Downton. That’s six miles the other side of the city from here. One guy may have lived in Wilton, three or four miles west. As far as Gary Smith was concerned, he was still booking a band from Salisbury. Their destinations after leaving the pub are important. Maybe, one guy drove the van with the kit, and the others travelled by car. I’m looking at the map and the photos from the murder site. I can’t see whether any of those I mentioned are ruled out based on an unchecked time factor. Something doesn’t add up. I can’t put my finger on it, yet.”
