by Ted Tayler
Gus smiled. Bert never missed an opportunity to visit the Lamb after he’d finishing gardening.
“I can’t offer any help with transport, I’m afraid. My colleagues and I will go straight to the crematorium from work. I won’t be back in the village until six o’clock.”
“I can’t see Irene North organising much of a wake,” said Bert, “but a few of us will have a drink for Frank in the Lamb. The village would appreciate you calling in if you can spare a half-hour.”
“How could I refuse?” said Gus.
“You said, first, Mr Freeman for the funeral arrangements. Was there something else?”
“Another month almost over, Bert. Can I look forward to a quiet May?”
“Gardeners always look forward to May, Mr Freeman,” said Bert Penman. “It’s the first month of Summer, but it marks the end of Spring. We can get caught out by mini droughts and heatwaves. The biggest threat is to those young plants we recently transplanted into open ground and your freshly emerging seedlings. We need to keep them well-watered and provide shade protection from a hot sun or drying winds.”
“There’s so much to learn, Bert,” said Gus, blowing out his cheeks, “this climate change issue is proving a nightmare, isn’t it?”
“Don’t run away with the idea it’s all about the Earth warming up, Mr Freeman. May can still bring us damaging frosts, cold winds, heavy rain and hail. You need to be on your toes for every one of the thirty-one days.”
“Why didn’t I take up stamp collecting as a hobby?” moaned Gus.
“You can’t eat stamps,” laughed Bert, as he hobbled over to his shed to start his evening’s work.
Gus fetched his trusty chair from his shed and sat.
Bert knew better than to interrupt. Mr Freeman was a deep thinker. His young seedlings weren’t what was giving him that furrowed brow.
Friday, 27th April 2018
Neil arrived outside the bungalow by five to nine. Gus was soon through the front door and into the passenger seat.
“Off we go then, Neil,” he said.
“Someone’s brighter this morning,” said Neil, feeling anything but after another night of broken sleep.
“I spent a valuable hour on my allotment last night,” said Gus, “I didn’t get any gardening done, but I convinced myself today would be educational. The better we understand the background of this business, the more we’ll understand who might have committed the murder and their motivation.”
It took Neil forty-five minutes to reach the Gablecross Police Station. They suffered the now-standard hiccup in Reception as they persuaded a youthful counter clerk they were genuine visitors with an appointment with DI Hickerton. Once attached to their Visitor’s badges, they finally made their way through the modern rabbit warren to his office.
Theo Hickerton stood well over six feet tall. He was in his late forties and balding. What little fair hair left at the sides was flecked with grey. He looked harassed.
“Gus Freeman, I presume?”
“That’s right,” said Gus, “may I introduce one of my Crime Review Team. DS Neil Davis.”
The men shook hands, and Theo Hickerton invited Gus and Neil to sit.
“You’ve got Alex Hardy with your team too, I understand? How’s he coming to terms with life after his accident?”
“He’s not coming to terms with anything,” Gus replied. “He’s fighting tooth and nail to get back to full fitness. Alex would have been with me today, but he’s hoping his physio will get him out of his chair and onto crutches with effect from Monday.”
“Good Lord, I never believed that possible. I attended the scene of the accident, Gus. I didn’t even think he’d make it out alive at that stage. He must have a will of iron. I’ll pass the news on to the lads with whom he worked. Tell him to take care, though. Those injuries were so severe. It would be tragic if he overstretched himself in a rush to prove he’s back.”
“He’s a team player,” said Neil, “he knows we’ll support him every step of the way.”
“I spoke to your ACC at the weekend, Gus. He gave me a head’s up that you were looking into the Laura Mallinder case with a fresh set of eyes. Your new team has already had success with other cases. Have you uncovered something we missed at the time?”
“Early days yet, Theo,” said Gus, “I imagine the code of silence these businesses encourage proved a major stumbling block? We can tell from the murder file you looked for the usual means, motive and opportunity. You found various fingerprints at the scene too, I see?”
“We could never match them with anything though,” sighed the Detective Inspector, “as for narrowing it down to a possible suspect that was impossible. We keep having another look on the anniversary of her murder. You know the score. We don’t have the resources to commit officers full time to a case that’s not leading anywhere. If they can’t solve it in seventy-two hours, the attention switches to a new case and resources diminish and eventually die altogether. It’s a source of frustration for each one of us.”
“Is Jake Latimer in the building, do you know?” asked Gus, “Neil wants to meet with him and run through the aspects of the case he handled.”
“Jake’s in court this week. We make real progress now and then when the CPS pull their finger out. However, his team can let Neil know when you can set up a line of communication. The two of them can meet here; Jake can visit your office, or if it helps, they can meet in Old Town and tour the patch. Things have moved on in seven years. Jake can give Neil a better appreciation of what things were like on the ground seven years ago.”
“We prefer that approach, Theo,” said Gus. “I suggest you, and I do something similar today if that’s OK? Neil can follow up on Jake, and we also need to interview Stuart Fitzwalter.”
“Stuart was the Police Surgeon on that case. Yes, I remember. He was new at the game back then. I believe he hadn’t long transferred in from a country office. The Lake District if memory serves. The rural cases he dealt with in the early years after he qualified varied somewhat from the horrors that he faced. The crime scene left a lasting impression on many of us there that night.”
“It was a savage attack based on the photos we’ve viewed,” said Neil.
“Everything pointed to the crime being an act of passion,” said Theo Hickerton. “Nothing suggested a robbery. The cashbox was untouched. There was little in the way of easily portable equipment in the parlour, but nothing was missing according to the owner. There was no apparent sexual motive either; despite the dubious nature of the business.”
“If Laura had a customer who wanted something extra to the activities Mrs Monk sanctioned that could have led to violence though, couldn’t it?” asked Neil.
“Yes, but he would have had to have carried the weapon with him to the parlour,” said Theo. “Mrs Monk stressed to her girls that sharps of any kind were banned. The girls didn’t need knives, needles or scissors during a shift. It was a sensible precaution designed to protect her girls from being harmed by a drunken or belligerent client.”
“So, the killer brought the murder weapon to do Laura harm. Was that your theory?” asked Gus. “Where did that lead?”
“We worked on the premise it was an act of passion. Our first thought was a family member. More often than not, someone close, a loved one is responsible. We looked at the father, and then the two brothers. Jake investigated the regular clients of Laura’s we managed to identify. We shook the tree, but nothing came loose. Everyone had strong alibis for the time of the murder. It was a small window of opportunity. The two girls on duty had a brief break between clients at half-past seven. Laura’s colleague then left at around half-past eight. Their final booked sessions overlapped. When her last client left, Laura was alone. That hadn’t been the plan. Mrs Monk had agreed to arrive in time to cover for Camille, the other girl on shift. Maggie Monk was there merely for security; she arrived an hour late. Someone entered the massage parlour between eight forty-five and nine-thirty. A person we could
never get a lead on.”
“You never established whether Laura received a phone call to book a later session?” asked Gus.
“There were no incoming calls on the landline,” said Theo, “and nothing on Laura’s mobile.”
“Would she have entertained someone off the books?” asked Neil.
“I don’t imagine Maggie Monk expected every booking to be traceable via the call listing from BT. We understood regulars made appointments as they left the parlour after a visit — same time next Friday sort of thing. Then there were the walk-ins. At this particular parlour, walk-ins weren’t encouraged because of the secluded access to the premises. The girls escorted clients to the door and made sure it closed behind them when they left.”
“Maggie Monk found the door open when she arrived, is that correct?” asked Gus.
“Yes, but we don’t know whether Laura failed to lock the door after her final client, or if someone rang the bell and wanted to pay for a thirty-minute session.”
“Did you identify the men who had booked sessions that evening?” asked Gus.
“Jeff Naylor was the last person to leave. He was a regular. He always asked for Laura, well Gem as she was known to her clients. The other girl’s real name wasn’t Camille either, but they switch names regularly in these places to avoid the taxman. We never traced her. Maggie Monk thought Camille and her husband might have returned to their native Thailand. Once news of the murder broke, the place remained closed, and girls were re-assigned by Mrs Monk to her other parlours.”
“That sounds heartless in hindsight but understandable given the circumstances, I guess,” said Gus. “The girls go into this business to make good money. They have commitments, the same as the rest of us. Do you believe this Camille returned home?”
“She could be working in another parlour in Swindon under a new name. Who knows? We raid the dodgy ones when we get a tip-off that it’s operating as a brothel. We’ve never found a Camille anywhere. Apart from a vague description from clients and Mrs Monk, we wouldn’t have proof if someone lied to us and hid their connection to Gentle Touch.”
“I don’t suppose they post pictures of the girls available on the walls of the parlour,” said Neil, “and their adverts stress that discretion is their motto. The whole business aims to make it hard for the police to identify both the girls and their clients.”
“You’ve hit the nail on the head,” agreed Theo Hickerton. “I wish you luck solving this one. It did my head in at the time and every year that failure against my name rubs my nose in it as we take another pointless look.”
Gus had heard enough negativity. He needed to shake those trees again.
“Neil, why don’t you chase up Jake Latimer and the Police Surgeon?” said Gus,
“Will do, guv,” said Neil, “what time do you want to head back to the office?”
“No later than three o’clock. If you speak with Stuart Fitzwalter make sure you ask about the murder weapon. God knows how many varieties of blade exist out there now, but let’s try to narrow the search. We know the killer brought it with him. If we can determine what it looked like that might suggest who had a reason for owning it.”
Neil left the DI’s office in search of the detective squad. His first task was to find Jake Latimer.
Neil was no nearer seeing a way through the gloom of this case.
They were chasing shadows.
CHAPTER 4
“I’ll take you to the murder site, Gus,” said Theo Hickerton, after Neil had left. “We can’t see the parlour, of course, it’s all changed out there now. After Mrs Monk closed the business, the Turkish barber on the ground floor moved upstairs and completely refurbished it. He opened a nail bar on the ground floor and re-jigged the staircases so that access to the barbershop was through the nail bar. They removed the side door in the alleyway.”
“The Turkish guy leases the whole building from Maggie Monk, does he?” asked Gus.
Hickerton nodded. “It’s a thriving business. Mrs Monk gets a good return on her investment. I suppose she thought the stigma of the murder would never leave the massage parlour. It was easier to find alternative premises elsewhere in the town. Her empire has expanded despite the tragic murder.”
“So we understand, New places in Marlborough and Cirencester. She has a branch of both Cleopatra’s and Gentle Touch in Swindon too, so where are they? Do any of her previous staff work there?”
“Maggie has one on Cricklade Road, and the other is near the Designer Outlet. Several of her younger girls are still working for her. The older ones may have retired.”
The two men walked through the busy station and outside into warm sunshine. Hickerton drove a Wiltshire Police Ford Kuga. The livery wouldn’t have suited Gus Freeman’s needs these days, but as they motored through traffic towards Broadgreen, he could appreciate its advantages over his old Focus. Twenty minutes later, they parked across the road from the building where Laura Mallinder got stabbed to death.
Gus guessed the building was from the first quarter of the twentieth century. The brickwork above the first-floor windows showed signs of wear and tear. They had replaced the original sash windows. Modern fixtures and fittings gave these places a cosmetic overhaul which suited their business aspirations. Still, the buildings rarely had any attention paid to structural damage caused by the passing years.
“It’s hard to imagine what happened here seven years ago, isn’t it?” said Theo, “the world moves on. There’s no trace of how the place looked.”
“Laura wasn’t a girl to get a blue plaque on the wall to remind the locals of how and when she died,” said Gus.
“You’re not old enough to remember Eddie Cochran, are you? My late father was a fan. They’ve got a memorial for him in Chippenham, near a railway bridge. He died, aged twenty-one after a road accident while travelling to London in a taxi during his British tour in April 1960. He’d just performed at Bristol's Hippodrome theatre. Gene Vincent, another American rock and roll star was injured. Whenever I drive past that shrine, I remember my Dad. Once his generation is gone, it won’t be long before nobody knows why the hell it was there.”
“I remember Buddy Holly, Eddie Cochran and the rest of those music stars that died over the decades. You could almost always explain those deaths. They were either accidental or self-inflicted through drink or drugs; very few got murdered. Maggie Monk may have eradicated the visual record of the murder site, but I intend to discover who was responsible. Laura deserves no less.”
Theo Hickerton didn’t pass comment. Gus wondered whether he cared one way or another.
“Laura bought a house a fifteen-minute walk from here, I believe. Which route did she take? Can we drive there, please?”
Theo Hickerton drove Gus past Laura’s home. There was no car on the drive, the garden looked well-kept, and there were flowers in a vase in the large front window.
“Any idea who lives here now?” Gus asked.
“Not a clue,” Theo replied, “Laura hadn’t made a will. Her parents would have had to wait while they sought other claimants, but she had never married, she wasn’t in a relationship, and this property was something she’d financed alone. Once they cleared all the hurdles, they would have received the contents of her estate. There was an outstanding mortgage. My guess is the family sold the place, cleared the mortgage and added any profits to the modest sum she had in the bank.”
“Would the sums involved have been enough to give her father a motive for murder?”
“If you were desperate for money, any sum might be big enough. Laura’s father couldn’t have been in Swindon that night anyway so you can rule that theory out.”
“Theo, we’ve just solved an ancient case where the passage of time was a huge factor in providing us with clues they missed in the initial investigation. Laura’s mother died of breast cancer in 2016. When was she diagnosed? Was there any point at which traditional treatments deemed to have run their course and a more speculative, expensive option dang
led before the Mallinder’s? Something for which they needed a large amount of cash and quick?”
“The time-frame doesn’t fit, Gus. Laura died in 2011. Even if she had willed her estate to her parents, it would have taken a year for any monies to materialise. Solicitor’s move at a snail’s pace. Once intestacy rules came into play, it could have easily doubled the time involved. I doubt the family received a penny of her estate before the middle of 2013. Laura’s murder was never a fast track to the cash they might have needed for a miracle cure. Anyway, they had access to the money during the last three years of the poor woman’s life. That’s when desperate measures are the only options.”
“You’re probably right, Theo. I’m just testing theories. Moving the pieces of the jigsaw around the board.”
“We pray that we get a cluster of pieces to fit together early in an investigation, don’t we? When they don’t, it can be a bugger. I wish you luck, Gus. No matter how many times we looked at the pieces, we could never find facts that fitted.”
“My team don’t have fresh ideas on how to tackle this case,” admitted Gus, “we’ve handed the full and partial fingerprints you gathered to the Hub at London Road. They’re checking them against everything recorded around the country in the intervening period. Maybe that will throw up something. I’ll talk to Maggie Monk before I do anything else. I don’t buy that she doesn’t know where Camille went. All this subterfuge with exotic names is a smokescreen. We’ll apply gentle pressure and squeeze some cooperation out of her. If her girls have relocated, then they could be engaged in the murkier end of the business. I might need to send Neil undercover. We won’t make progress unless we find the girls and get them to name their clients.”
“It might be a slow process,” said Theo, turning the car around and heading back towards Shrivenham and Gablecross.
“Agreed, but maybe Stuart Fitzwalter will offer a different angle for us to pursue. I want his in-depth analysis of the wounds and what could have made them.
