The Freeman Files Series Box Set

by Ted Tayler

  “I think I’ll stick with Gem. I can’t risk anyone learning I work here.”

  “Gem’s a cool name. I still earn money before you though,” said Ebony, with a grin.

  The telephone rang, and Ebony swung into action. Laura heard footsteps outside the main door. High heels. The middle-aged woman who entered was short, stocky and smartly dressed. She looked every inch the businesswoman. Her hair may well have been fair when younger, but today it was cut short, and the ash-blonde colouring gave her a sophisticated look. No way would anyone ever say Maggie Monk was mutton dressed as lamb.

  “Are you Amber’s friend?” she asked, offering a manicured hand towards Laura. “Has Ebony looked after you? I’m sorry that I’m late. It’s my fault for being successful. I won’t be in a rush to open another branch for a while.”

  “You need a massage,” said Laura, shaking her hand and smiling. “You’ve come to the right place if you need to relax.”

  Ebony had entered the latest customer’s details into the book and overheard the comment. This new girl knew how to sweet talk the boss. They needed to watch Gem. She would steal their regulars if they weren’t careful. The girl looked pretty and confident with it.

  “I can offer you three shifts, to begin with,” said Maggie. “Monday, Wednesday and Friday. When can you start?”

  “Next Monday,” Laura had replied.

  “We’ll train you here first, then the following week you’ll work at the branch in Bath. I’ll study the rotas over there when I visit next week. I’ll guarantee there will be the same number of hours in total, but the days and the shifts might vary. How does that sound?”

  Laura heard herself reply, “It sounds fine,” but inside she felt anything but fine. She was as nervous as hell.

  Laura Mallinder closed the door of the two-bedroomed terraced house she called home and walked briskly towards the main road. It was a pleasant evening. The afternoon showers had disappeared; tonight promised to be rewarding at Gentle Touch, at least.

  She had long since given up on her dream of finding something different to fill her working day. Her life as a masseuse was no different to the treadmill Carol Gullis felt she was on in the Civil Service. The upside was this particular treadmill paid well.

  Over the past five years, Laura had met men of all ages from all walks of life. That surprised her in the beginning. She had an image in her head of the sad individual forced to pay for any form of sexual experience. Her time working for Maggie Monk showed her that like everything in life, it took all sorts.

  Maggie had kept her promise. Janina and Kathy helped her with training in how speed, pressure and point of contact were crucial elements in enhancing the customer experience. They also gave her great advice on how to avoid the pimps that lay in wait to exploit vulnerable girls. Laura followed their tips and tricks to become skilled in her role and to avoid the pitfalls. Maggie had soon added Gem’s name to the list at Cleopatra’s in Bath.

  Laura moved out of her parent’s home within the first year. She bought a modest one-bedroomed flat in Kingswood and worked in the Bath and Bristol parlours. When the Gentle Touch brand name added to her growing chain of premises at the end of 2007, Maggie asked Laura if she was interested in moving to Swindon. She wanted someone experienced to run the business in Broadgreen day-to-day.

  “I want to be less hands-on with these new parlours,” she told Laura.

  Don’t we all, Laura thought, but the money on offer would be better. If she lived in Swindon, she saved the travelling costs backwards and forwards from Kingswood on the bus to the two parlours where she currently worked.

  She sold her flat while the market was high and although prices plummeted because of the ensuing financial crisis, Laura came through unscathed. Some businesses suffered a recession, but theirs carried on as if nothing had happened.

  Broadgreen was a district frequented by streetwalkers when she had moved there. There was less evidence of girls loitering on Manchester Road these days. Why kerb crawl when there were the internet and smartphones? The girls did the vast majority of their business indoors, not in a car or a back alley.

  Laura had never been propositioned on the streets, walking to and from the parlour. She took care to cover the provocative nature of her work clothes as she made her frequent visits. Swindon had several volunteer organisations attempting to clean up the streets. They weren’t happy about places such as Gentle Touch being in the Broadgreen district, but they had softer targets to strike.

  Gentle Touch had never had a raid. There were never any lousy reviews on Trip Advisor, and Maggie’s books passed an auditor’s scrutiny every April. He was a regular customer in the Knowle parlour, but as an accountant, he was a straight arrow.

  Laura had arrived at the entrance to the alleyway. The Turkish barber’s on the ground floor was closed until tomorrow morning. Maggie had leased the shop to the guy eighteen months ago. Before that, it had been a record shop. Laura unlocked the door halfway along the alleyway and climbed the stairs. Camille would be here soon. Time to get the rooms ready for their first customer.

  After Laura had stocked each room with fresh towels, she heard the click-clack of Camille’s high heels on the stairs. The Thai woman arrived in the UK twenty years ago. She was married with three children. Laura was unsure how old she was but based on the age of her eldest son; it was unlikely she would see forty again.

  The other girls had asked Camille why she worked at the parlour. The tiny woman shrugged and said it was necessary for her and her husband to earn as much as possible. They had a family at home who needed their support. She had no qualifications. A cleaning job only brought in enough to feed her children.

  Laura knew her colleague never wasted time on idle chat. Camille turned up for her shift, did what was required and then went home. She found her in the small staff room, checking her hair and make-up in the mirror.

  “You look great, Camille,”

  Camille nodded and gave Laura a brief smile. Then she rubbed cream into her hands and walked through to Reception to await her six o’clock appointment. Laura did the same. Just another Sunday evening.

  At half-past seven, both girls took a break. They recorded the details of three satisfied customers for each masseuse and put the cash in the money box. Camille brought two coffees through to Reception. Laura was waiting for Jeff Naylor, one of her regulars to arrive. Camille was waiting for her last customer this evening.

  “Is Maggie coming, Gem?” asked Camille.

  “Don’t worry, she rang to confirm she would step in to cover for you,” said Laura.

  “Good. I must get home. My husband is not well. I’m sorry.”

  “You can’t help that, Camille.”

  Laura had called Maggie to warn her she would be here alone when Camille left. Laura worked until nine. Maggie had a strict rule that there were always at least two girls in the parlour on any shift. On a weekday this never became an issue, most parlours had five or six girls available throughout the twelve hours opening time.

  On a shorter Sunday evening shift, the two girls on duty accepted the odd phone booking. It filled the gaps between their regulars and boosted their earnings. If nobody called, they used the spare time at the end of the shift to get the used towels into the washing machine and give the parlour a general clean.

  Laura hoped Maggie didn’t mind giving her a helping hand later. An early night would be welcome.

  Maggie Monk was running late. That was nothing new. When Gem called to warn of the lack of cover Maggie had rung several girls to see if they could dash over to help. She couldn’t believe how many had their phones switched off — what a bloody nuisance.

  Gem caused no bother though, and the parlour was one of the better-performing businesses in her portfolio. Maggie could stand the hassle this one time; as long as Gem didn’t make a habit of it.

  Maggie was far later than intended when she parked outside the barber’s shop. She hurried into the alleyway; the door was open. That
was odd. Camille would have left ages ago. If Gem booked in a late caller, she should have locked up after he arrived. They didn’t encourage walk-ins. They tended to be riff-raff, and Maggie wasn’t in business to cater to the likes of them.

  The lights were on in Reception and along the corridor; the cash box was in the drawer. Gem and Camille appeared to have been busy tonight.

  It was silent now. Maggie checked the rooms; someone was in Room One.

  “Gem?” she called. There was no reply.

  Maggie couldn’t hear a thing. She eased open the door.

  Gem lay sprawled fully clothed, face down on the floor. The room was a mess, blood everywhere. There must have been a mighty struggle. Maggie closed the door and staggered back to Reception.

  What a mess. Why would anyone want to stab Gem to death like that?

  CHAPTER 2

  Tuesday, 24th April 2018

  “Another day, another collar, guv,” said Neil Davis, when Gus Freeman exited the lift in the CRT office. It was ten to nine on the second day of a new week for the Crime Review Team housed in the Old Police Station. The team knew only too well that last week had been full of incident.

  Frank North, the older man with the adjoining allotment to Gus, had been murdered. Gus himself had escaped an attempt on his life as he drove to work. Those responsible for the violent attacks and for operating a cannabis farm behind Cambrai Terrace in the village of Urchfont were either dead or in custody.

  On Saturday afternoon, Gus exposed Krystal Warner as the killer of her best friend Trudi Villiers in 2003.

  Yesterday, while the team attended a safeguarding briefing at the Police HQ, Gus had retrieved his beloved Ford Focus from the garage. His ten-year-old car now possessed a new windscreen and driver’s headrest.

  When Gus had returned to work as a civilian consultant, the Krystal Warner item was the only one that should have registered. ACC Kenneth Truelove had convinced the retired detective his old-style methods were just what was needed to solve a series of stubborn cold cases. Gus wondered if he had been wise to accept the challenge. His team wondered how they would ever keep up their rapid rate of success.

  “I see that you’re up to speed, Neil,” Gus replied without a smile.

  “Sorry, guv,” said Lydia, “I resisted the temptation to ring them over the weekend. That was hard enough. I blurted out the news as soon as they arrived yesterday morning.”

  “Neil and I were sorry to miss the fun, guv,” said Alex Hardy, “but it was a team effort. I’m sure you’ll pass that on to the top brass in Devizes when you report to them.”

  “Never fear, Alex. I’m a strong believer in giving credit where it’s due. Before I get summoned to attend London Road, I suggest we get everything up to date on the Freeman file. Once that’s achieved we can forward a copy to DS Geoff Mercer.”

  “He’ll still be busy with the Rexha gang and the fallout from their arrest,” said Neil. “We may have a few days before we learn what’s next on our agenda.”

  “There was me thinking you arrived early this morning because you were eager to get cracking on another puzzle; not looking for a holiday,” said Gus as he looked up from his computer screen.

  He could only see the top of three heads beavering away on the task he had just set them. He smiled. There might be the odd bump in the road, but his team was shaping up well. He glanced at a blank space on the far wall. He needed to check the translation.

  Torquem alius, alium diem could become their Latin motto. A bit presumptuous on the back of only two wins; but if they didn’t blow their own trumpet, no other bugger would.

  The morning passed quickly as the team removed the Villiers case debris.

  Wallboards and flip-charts were cleaned or replaced. Paperwork got added to the physical files forwarded to them only a week ago. The Freeman file looked in pristine condition. Every interview presented in full. No discrepancies in the reports provided by whichever two officers attended. They had followed every clue or potential lead they unearthed. The conclusions drawn by Gus Freeman from the details gathered by himself and his team could get scrutinised with no doubts harboured of their integrity. The computer file didn’t have a padlock, but the case was watertight.

  Lydia looked at the only item they hadn’t removed. The map of the town. Should it stay in place? Alex saw her hand hover over the first pin.

  “Take it down, Lydia. I don’t remember another murder in this town in the years I’ve been a copper. We’re off to pastures new, I reckon.”

  “Variety is the spice of life,” said Neil.

  The phone rang at one forty-five pm. Gus guessed who was calling.

  “Good afternoon, Sir,” he said.

  “Sorry? Freeman, is that you? It’s Truelove here. Can you drive over for a chat?”

  “Certainly, Sir,” replied Gus, “do you have any idea what Kassie Trotter has been baking over the weekend?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see, Freeman. I had to attend meetings this morning with the new Chief Constable. She’s eager to meet you.”

  “Another female in your life, Sir? Where did the Police and Crime Commissioner find this one?”

  “In the Midlands, Freeman. Look, this phone conversation is preventing you from reaching my office. Please tell me you’re on your way?”

  “I apologise, Sir, I hoped to avoid negotiating the heavy traffic on London Road at this time of the afternoon as long as possible. I’m running to the lift now.”

  Gus slammed the phone on his desk.

  “We’ll see you in the morning then, I assume?” said Lydia.

  “When you’ll be carrying folders with details of our new case,” said Neil, rubbing his hands.

  “Don’t count your chickens, Neil. The PCC has appointed a female Chief Constable. Let’s wait until we learn what her approach will be regarding this team.”

  Gus had been right about the congested roads. The temporary traffic lights slowed progress to a crawl. If there had been a posse of workmen in sight as he threaded his way through the centre of Devizes, it would have been excusable. The only advantage of not arriving at Wiltshire Police HQ before ten to three was the prospect of teatime.

  He was a familiar face in Reception now, and the officer on the desk recognised him. Police officers are another breed of animal that rarely forgets. The young man looked him in the eye as he nodded a silent greeting. Then his gaze descended as he checked for gardening trousers and dirty shoes.

  “You’re out of luck today,” said Gus, resplendent in a short-sleeved blue shirt, black trousers and shiny shoes. He’d stuffed his tie in his pocket in deference to the warm day.

  He took the stairs two at a time. The administration area was a hive of activity. Vera Jennings prepared to deliver refreshments to the ACC’s office. The delicate bone china cups and saucers he recalled from his first visit were back in service. That meant only one thing. The new Chief Constable really couldn’t wait to meet him.

  “Good afternoon, Gus,” said Vera, “we had almost given up on you. The ACC has been like a cat on hot bricks. When I went into his office earlier, he stood by the window, checking the car park for your arrival.”

  Gus didn’t see why that felt out of the ordinary. Truelove spent most of his working day standing by that window. His executive chair would be in demand when he retired next year. ‘As new. One careful owner.’

  The Gothic vision that was Kassie Trotter emerged from the dark recesses of the passageway leading to Geoff Mercer’s office. The top shelf of her tea trolley lay bare.

  “No opportunity for baking this weekend, Kassie?” asked Gus, a trifle concerned.

  Kassie nodded towards the ACC’s door.

  “Blame her,” she replied, “her Ladyship’s not a fan.”

  “Vera can slip me a custard cream to satisfy my cravings.”

  Kassie tapped the side of her nose.

  “All is not lost, Mr Freeman. I’m hiding my Chelsea buns under a cloth on the bottom shelf. When she’s not
in his room, it will be business as usual. Today, if you want to sink your teeth into my buns, I can put them in a doggy bag for you when you leave.”

  “Now there’s an offer that’s impossible to resist,” said Gus, heading for the ACC’s office before things became more surreal. He tapped on the door.

  “Enter,” came the reply.

  Gus crossed the threshold. Vera followed right behind him with the tray.

  The ACC sat at his desk. A short, stern-looking woman stood by the window.

  “Come along, Freeman,” said Truelove, “we haven’t got all afternoon. Thank you, Vera. A cup of tea will be most welcome.”

  Gus remained standing. He knew his place.

  Vera was already leaving. As soon as the door closed behind her, the new Chief Constable spoke.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Freeman. My name is Sandra Plunkett. You’re with us on temporary assignment, I understand?”

  “That’s correct, Ma’am.”

  “The Crime Review Team was my initiative,” explained the ACC, “we couldn’t have hoped for a better start. Two cold cases solved since the ninth of the month. I knew Gus Freeman was the best detective for the job.”

  “I’m not a fan of parachuting retired officers into the workplace. There’s usually a good reason for them being retired. It doesn’t send the right message to rank-and-file officers struggling to make their way up the chain of command.”

  Gus picked up his cup and saucer. He didn’t feel the need to comment. If this new broom wanted him to scuttle off to his retirement home and the allotment, fine by him, he would miss it now that he was back in the swing of things, but he’d never stay where he wasn’t wanted.

  “I’m sure we agree that while the CRT produces positive results, we should support them as much as we can,” said the ACC. The sweat on his brow owed little to the warmth of his cup of tea.

  “There are various aspects of policing in the county to be reviewed,” Sandra Plunkett continued. “Some aspects will require a complete overhaul. Others will disappear. The vision for 2025 sees us move even further away from the service you provided during your time with us, Freeman. Things move far quicker these days.”