by Ted Tayler
“I thought he must be important,” said Gus, “but he was still a shit.”
“Are we good for tomorrow evening?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“It’s just a meal. Do I detect a problem?”
“Only with the venue. A witness in our latest case is now the landlady at the Ring O’Bells. We’re interviewing her tomorrow at half-past nine. There’s no point in offending people by turning up at their place of work only hours after you’ve interrogated them. They scream harassment and run for a lawyer.”
“Leave it with me,” said Vera, “I know the couple who run the Ferret at Newton Bridge. It’s a quiet country pub that will suit us very well. Good food and not busy midweek in the early evening. We’re far less likely to bump into anyone familiar.”
“I knew I could trust you to have the answer,” said Gus.
“I’ll book a table for half-past six. That will give you time to drive home and get showered and changed.”
“It’s just a meal,” he said.
Vera gave him an enigmatic smile and returned to her desk. Gus wondered where the heck he might find Newton Bridge. How did a village he’d never heard of keep springing up out of nowhere?
As he struggled with the geography of this corner of West Wiltshire, two uniformed officers joined him by the ACC’s door. Geoff Mercer and Suzie Ferris.
“Will I enjoy this?” Gus asked.
“Take your punishment like a grown-up,” said Geoff, “the ACC’s in the same boat as me. Truelove can hardly sack you, can he? Well, he might, but your pension’s safe.”
Suzie knocked, and they invited in.
“We have lots to get through,” said Kenneth Truelove, “sit yourselves down and let’s get on with it.”
Gus knew the ACC was flustered because he sat behind his large executive desk. There was no one stood by the window, staring out over the visitor’s car park. The room seemed off-kilter, somehow.
“First things first, Freeman. I gather you took it upon yourself to call Terry Davis for advice on the Villiers case. That was most unwise. What on earth possessed you?”
“May I remind you I agreed to return to work on the understanding that I ran the CRT without interference? You said DS Mercer was my immediate superior, and that he let his staff run their sections how they saw fit. Geoff only got involved if he felt things had gone off-track. I phoned Terry Davis to get background information not included in the murder file. It was a legitimate enquiry…”
“Davis screwed up the investigation,” the ACC interrupted, “and they imprisoned an innocent man.”
“Lewington was hardly innocent. As for Terry Davis, he claims Culverhouse made him take the shortcuts he did. Perhaps that left the murder file lacking detail.”
“Are you suggesting they falsified the file? That’s a serious accusation.”
“Falsified is a strong word. I prefer to believe they filtered information, so the misdirection Davis received no longer appeared.”
“Tread with care, Freeman.”
“Do you know who is feeding Terry Davis information? He knew of the death threat I received, and that OCTF carried out surveillance on Monty Jennings’s shed. I wonder how many people here at London Road have his phone number in Marbella?”
“I hope that none of them does,” said the ACC. “This mole might be a retired officer, someone who Davis worked with even before 2003. Moving on, what were you thinking of this morning? I thought you wanted to assault Brendan Curran.”
“Curran didn’t care about Frank North’s death; nor was he interested in the death threat I received.”
“Curran’s a man you would do well not to annoy,” said the ACC, “he could make your life very awkward. However, he’s not blind to your situation. The gangster who broke into your bungalow is Eron Dushka. He’s an Albanian who came to this country under the guise of being a Kosovan refugee. When this case moves to its natural conclusion, they will arrest Dushka.”
“Did he tell you this before we arrived this morning, Sir?” asked Suzie Ferris.
The ACC looked most indignant. Suzie was suggesting he had known the burglar’s identity while Gus and Curran went head to head.
“Of course not,” said Truelove, “Brendan called me thirty minutes ago, from London. He updated us on the investigation’s current status. I can’t divulge any details; the information is hush-hush for the next forty-eight hours.”
That was good news, Gus thought. The ACC would never make a poker player. He tells us he can’t tell us a thing, and then he says we only have to wait two days. So, unless something went pear-shaped between now and Friday afternoon to damage a link in the chain, OCTF would wrap up the whole business. Gus had an idea. He would share it with Geoff Mercer when a convenient opportunity arose.
“I’m sure we wish Brendan and OCTF good luck,” said the ACC. “Meanwhile, when will you see real progress with the Villiers case, Freeman?”
“Interviews start in the morning, Sir. We’ll have a better picture once we’ve analysed the results of those. Neil Davis has put a request into the Hub for the registered sex-offenders in the area at the time of the murder. Neil’s waiting to receive that.”
“Good to learn you’re utilising their excellent facilities, Freeman.”
Gus had only mentioned it because he knew the ACC believed it to be the answer to a maiden’s prayer.
“I’m surprised Neil Davis is involved. Is that wise?”
“I’ve discussed the matter with my immediate superior, and he agrees with me that I’ve taken the right action. I restricted Davis to office duties from the outset. DS Hardy and Lydia Logan Barre will assist me in the field.”
“How are they both shaping up?”
“Lydia is a quick learner, very astute. She has the makings of a fine detective if handled well. She has much to learn yet, though. Ask me again in twelve months. DS Hardy and DS Davis are excellent officers. You wouldn’t have selected them for CRT otherwise. Neil’s father was guilty of laziness rather than any real malice. Terry got passed over for promotion so often he got pissed off with trying his best. He had one DI who got the best out of him. When Hounsell left for pastures new in London, Terry Davis was side-lined by Culverhouse. When the need arose for someone to take the fall, he had cultivated the perfect patsy.”
“You are on dangerous ground, Freeman,” warned the ACC.
“Look, you aren’t a fellow traveller. None of us ever joined the Masons. The brotherhood protects Saint Dominic, but if he’s guilty of perverting the course of justice, then we should pursue him, regardless.”
“The evidence needs to be iron-clad,” said Geoff Mercer. “Unless we bring Terry Davis back from Marbella to testify against him, I’m not sure how we’d get the CPS to move forward with a prosecution. Culverhouse’s supporters would want Davis to face a similar charge. Even if we persuaded a jury that coercion led Davis into doctoring the evidence, he’d serve jail time. They buried the Lewington case. There won’t be an appetite for it to resurface.”
“This goes no further than these four walls,” said Kenneth Truelove, “I wish I could support you in this matter. It doesn’t surprise me that Culverhouse had skeletons in the cupboard. I retire in fifteen months.”
“Understood,” said Gus, “you have too much to lose.”
“No, you misunderstand me,” said the ACC. “If we can gather the evidence, then as soon as I’m pensioned off and booked on my first cruise, I’ll add my name to any initiative you put forward. As long as I’m sensible between now and then, having my name attached to it should count for something.”
“I can think of nothing worse than being on a big boat with a thousand strangers,” said Gus. “I didn’t have you tagged as a fan of cruising.”
“My wife is the fan, Freeman, she’s been looking at brochures since I reached fifty. I prefer to spend my time volunteering with underprivileged and abused kids.”
“The tea trolley is outside,” said Gus, “I
reckon one of your successes will breeze in here in a second.”
There was a loud knock at the door, and Kassie Trotter entered the room.
“Cups of coffee and chocolate eclairs, as promised; I always deliver.”
“Thank you, Kassie,” said the ACC.
As she leaned over the trolley to hand him his cup of coffee, Gus noticed she had added another tattoo. The bluebird now had a mate. A lonely heart lay on the other breast.
“Still no boyfriend, Kassie?” he whispered.
“No idea how you do it, Mr Freeman. Sherlock Holmes had nothing on you.”
“Remember what Soren Kierkegaard advised,” he whispered.
“Did he star in one of those Scandinavian thrillers I never watched?”
Gus shook his head.
“No, Kassie, he said, ‘don’t forget to love yourself’.”
Kassie giggled.
“That’s saucy, Mr Freeman,” she said. Then she turned and saw the others tucking into their chocolate eclairs.
“It’s catching,” she said as she wheeled her trolley out of the room.
“No idea what that meant,” said Geoff Mercer, wiping chocolate and cream from his chin with a serviette.
“Not to worry,” said Gus.
After getting through their refreshments without mishap, the ACC looked ready to bring the meeting to a close.
“I’ve got two matters to raise, Sir,” said Gus, “I didn’t have anyone riding shotgun when I returned here at lunchtime. You asked me to attend, so I assumed you notified the people concerned. I left earlier than necessary to reach here for two. Are they still searching for me, or has the threat gone?”
“I had forgotten to arrange it and was about to remedy matters when Brendan rang. I didn’t realise you had already left. In the light of his call, I decided the escort wasn’t vital.”
“Let’s hope your confidence isn’t misplaced, Sir,” said Suzie Ferris, “Gus will be impossible to replace. Will someone be on watch this evening and overnight?”
“The existing schedule remains in place until further notice,” the ACC confirmed.
“Until after Friday,” said Gus.
The mortified expression on the ACC’s face told Gus he hadn’t realised his error.
“One last thing,” Gus said, “when will Irene North be able to bury her late husband? How much longer do forensics intend to hang on to him?”
“I understand the body went to the coroner this morning,” said the ACC, “they have better facilities for storage than the police. The coroner will go through the necessary procedures. I don’t foresee any problems. Mrs North will be free to arrange her husband’s cremation in a week to ten days.”
“I’ll pass the message on,” said Gus, “that’s it. Can I be on my way?”
“Yes, Freeman. Remember what I said. Tread with care. The CRT is still in its infancy. If you start rattling cages, people higher up the ladder than me will end your operation without a moment’s notice.”
“Message received and understood.”
Gus headed for the door, Geoff Mercer and Suzie Ferris joined him outside.
“Are you heading back to the office?” Suzie asked.
“Plenty can be achieved in an hour,”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” she replied, “enjoy your meal tomorrow night.”
“We might be busy on Friday if your supposition is correct,” said Geoff, “if not, I would suggest we meet up for a pint again.”
“If you can tear yourself away, that would be great,” Gus said, “but I may need to call you before then. I’ve got a suggestion you might enjoy. It will be just like old times.”
“That sounds intriguing,” said Geoff.
Gus said his goodbyes and gave Kassie a friendly wave. He couldn’t see Vera Jennings anywhere, but tomorrow would arrive soon enough. As he pushed through the front door, the mid-afternoon heat hit him like a ton of bricks.
Air conditioning in offices had been a fantastic invention, but Gus knew when he opened his car door, the interior would be as hot as hell. He would have loved to have opened the windows, but that was a considerable risk. They would either have stuck halfway or dropped, never to rise again.
The school run was ending, and traffic inched through the town centre; everything designed to make his journey as excruciating as possible. When he reached the car park at the rear of the Old Police Station, he was in meltdown.
Gus reached the blessed relief of the cool interior of the CRT office.
“What have we learned this afternoon?” he asked.
“I’ve finalised the date of the interview with Steve Li and his wife. Trudi Villiers’s parents are getting back to me tomorrow. If we want to Skype Tony Virgo and his husband early next week, they’re available on Monday or Tuesday morning.”
“Thanks, Neil,” said Gus.
“It will have to be late on Monday morning, guv,” Neil continued.
“Sunday night is cabaret night,” said Lydia, with a big grin on her face.
“Tony the Tigress and Tristram Dacunha are big in Benidorm,” said Neil.
Gus didn’t pass comment. He hoped Lydia had kept her mouth shut about the shoes.
“The Hub has promised to send the registered sex-offenders list over to us in the morning,” said Alex. “Neil and Lydia can start work on it while we interview Krystal Warner.”
“Are you set for the morning, Alex?”
“Yes, guv. We don’t see Krystal until half-past nine, so I’ll come up here as normal, then we can scoot over the road to the pub to see Krystal. The pub has wheelchair access. I won’t need this chair much longer if my rehab continues to go well. So does my diet, thanks to helpful hints from Lydia. I put weight on after the accident just sitting around. The more I can shift before I retire this wheelchair, the less time I’ll need to support my weight using crutches.”
“That’s great, Alex. Don’t rush it and set yourself back another six months. Make sure the move from sitting to standing is permanent.”
“Don’t worry, guv, we’re keeping on top of it,” said Lydia.
Gus wondered just how much time those two spent together. Should he worry? A relationship between two of his team would be another arrow in the quiver of those people the ACC mentioned that wanted an excuse to close the unit.
Gus didn’t have a fundamental objection to Lydia and Alex being an item. They would be separated once it became public knowledge. That was the way it had always been since women joined the force. He could ill afford to lose either of them.
Gus decided to keep a watching brief for now and updated the Freeman file on his computer. A quick skim through everything they had gathered so far occupied him for the rest of the afternoon. At five o’clock he joined the others in the lift, and once in the car park, the team went their different ways.
Lydia’s red Mini took a right turn onto High Street and sped away. Alex and Neil’s cars turned left. His own ageing Ford Focus still felt like sitting inside an oven. As he joined the flow of traffic heading out of town, he saw his escort file in behind him off Crook Way. Regular service had been resumed.
Gus dropped by the allotments on his way home. Not to confuse the driver in the car behind, but to see whether Bert Penman had left. He spotted him sat outside his shed, cleaning his tools. If Gus had been ten minutes later, he would have missed him.
“Afternoon, Mr Freeman,” said Bert, “twice in one day. Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, just a colleague, Bert. I have news for Irene North; the coroner should release Frank’s body by the end of next week. She can make the funeral arrangements. Does Irene have anyone staying with her at present?”
“Someone in the family paid a visit, but I can’t say as anyone stopped there.”
“That’s a shame. Neither had a big family. Irene said those still alive lived a distance away. When you take those vegetables over to her, tell her we’re thinking of her. Let me know when the funeral is, and I’ll make sure we spread the word.
”
“Right you are, Mr Freeman.”
Gus turned to leave. He wanted to tell Bert the other news he’d heard. Irene deserved closure. Village life being what it was though, a word in Bert or Irene’s ear now would be common knowledge over a six-mile radius before the ten o’clock news. It might jeopardise the OCTF operation.
Gus returned to his car and drove up the lane to the bungalow. His escort parked in the layby opposite and settled in for what they both hoped would be a quiet evening. Gus headed for the shower as soon as he got indoors. It had been a hot, sticky day — time to freshen up.
Gus heard the phone as he stood under a cooling jet of water.
Whoever had called, they could wait. Perhaps, it was that lady searching for Dorothy? He hadn’t heard from her for a while, which pleased him. She had entertained him with her bridge club messages and ignored his insistence that she had dialled the wrong number.
When he had towelled himself dry, he wandered through to the lounge with the towel tied around his waist. The number looked familiar. He listened to the brief message.
‘Our representative will visit you tomorrow between noon and six pm.’
The immediate panic for security cameras might be over, but needs must. It was a sensible move to increase the level of security on the place. There was no point in inviting burglars to make you a target. Even if the cameras were just for show, it could prove enough of a deterrent for all but the desperate criminal. Gus hoped there weren’t too many of those deep in the Wiltshire countryside.
Another half-day. Alex and Lydia would interview Maggie Smith in the afternoon. He could brief them in the morning on what they needed to learn from that conversation.
Gus felt hungry, but he didn’t fancy adding to the heat in the bungalow by cooking. He decided on a takeaway. As he picked up the phone, he paused. That poor chap sat outside in a stuffy pool car wouldn’t eat until after ten when his replacement arrived.
Gus returned to his bedroom to find something suitable to wear. He strolled out to the car in his t-shirt and shorts. Tess had always told him that with his legs, he should be excused shorts. He had always thought that harsh. Tonight, it was too warm to care.
