by Ted Tayler
“Do we queue up with the rest?” asked Neil.
“We won’t cause Irene too much grief, Neil even if she’s never met the three of you before. It’s these characters behind us with Geoff Mercer that might put the wind up her. It will remind her of the number of occasions uniforms dropped by the house to arrest Frank. If Geoff’s got any sense, he’ll shove Vera and Suzie in front of Irene first and let the others escape while they’re chatting.”
“Thanks for coming, Mr Freeman,” Irene said when Gus reached her, “you brought your colleagues with you, I see. It means a lot. I hope you can make it to the Lamb?”
“Two of us will be there, Irene. See you later.”
Geoff Mercer was next to speak with Irene. Suzie Ferris waited her turn, and Vera walked across to where Gus and Neil stood.
“Sorry we were late, Gus,” she said, “the Chief Constable delayed our departure. She queried why we were deploying so many vital staff for the funeral of a convicted criminal. She told Geoff it sent the wrong message,”
“Geoff didn’t back down though, did he?” said Gus.
“The ACC told her it was his decision. He reminded her that the Rexha brothers and their colleagues would still be distributing drugs across vast swathes of the West Country without Frank North’s sharp eyes. If we want the public to help us fight crime, he told her, we need to show our support when someone who helps us gets shot in the head for his troubles.”
“Good for him. He might get that retirement earlier than he’d planned though.”
“I’ll call you later tonight,” whispered Vera, as Suzie stepped forward to chat to Irene North. Vera joined her. Gus and Neil made their way to their cars.
Alex and Lydia were still only halfway to his car when Gus passed them on the exit road. He slowed and called out of the window that he’d see them at work in the morning. Gus headed towards Seend and onward to Devizes. He pulled into the gateway of his bungalow thirty minutes later; Neil sat outside in his car waiting.
“Bloody school run traffic,” Neil said as he got out, “doesn’t anybody walk to school anymore?”
“Let’s get to the Lamb, have a drink and a curled-up sandwich, then you can make your way home,” said Gus. They walked along the lane, and Gus noticed the car park was almost empty. This wouldn’t take long.
As soon as he opened the door, Gus realised the villagers had forgiven Frank for his previous misdemeanours. They may not have travelled to the crematorium in any significant numbers, but the bar was as full as on a New Year’s Eve. The villagers were here for the duration, so they had sensibly left their cars at home.
Bert Penman sat on a stool at the bar. He was in his element, chatting with all and sundry, a pint of cider in his hand.
Gus nodded to Bert.
“You’ve worked miracles, Bert. Well done,” he called, above the general din.
“We’re a tight-knit community out here in the country, Mr Freeman. Townsfolk such as you don’t understand.”
“Sorry, you’re not drinking, Neil,” said Gus, “I’ll have a large scotch and water, please.”
Neil ordered himself a slimline tonic. He gazed at the plates of food on the side-tables and reckoned he could reconcile missing out on a couple of pints if there was that much free grub on offer.
Irene North and her family arrived to find the wake in full swing. She stopped briefly at the bar to collect a large sherry, then made her way across to where Gus stood.
“I never expected this,” she sighed, “I’m glad only a few of them came to the service. You can’t blame the vicar, poor girl. They’re so busy up there.”
Gus wondered what she meant.
Irene took a generous sip of her sherry.
“Clemency, her name was,” Irene continued, “she visited me last week to jot down Frank’s details; when he was born, which school he attended, where he worked and how we met. The usual bits and pieces they cobble together. It’s not for the family’s benefit, because it’s something they know as well as they know their name. It’s news to a few of their friends and colleagues though, I suppose.”
Gus couldn’t admit to Irene he hadn’t been concentrating. He had been reminiscing about the few occasions he spoke with Frank and how those conversations had resulted in his murder.
Irene had finished her glass. She waved it, expectantly. Neil took it from her and eased through the crowd to the bar.
“Clemency got the pieces of paper she’d collected on her travels mixed up,” Irene continued, “Frank never went to grammar school. He certainly never played cricket for the county. We were married for years, but we were half-happy at best. The rest of the time he was in prison.”
“Irene, I’m so sorry. That must have been awful for you,” said Gus.
Neil returned with a fresh schooner of sherry. Irene grabbed it and laughed.
“I’ll get over it,” she said, “but wouldn’t you like to be there when Clemency reads Frank’s real life story to another poor widow and the congregation? That’s who you should feel sorry for.”
Gus had to smile.
“You appear to be bearing up well in the circumstances, Irene. The villagers rallied round. Are you sure you’ll be able to manage?”
“I had a visitor this morning, Mr Freeman. He was at the crematorium, sat at the back. He told me Frank was entitled to a Crimestoppers reward for giving you the tip-off that led to the arrest of those criminals.”
Gus knew the amounts involved weren’t huge. It might help Irene cover the costs of Frank’s funeral, but little more.
“I didn’t notice anyone,” said Gus.
“He said he had to slip away before the very end,” said Irene, “he needed to return to London.”
“Brendan Curran,” said Gus.
“That was his name,” said Irene, “a smartly dressed chap, he spoke like a gentleman.”
The crafty bastard, Gus thought.
“Twenty-five grand will make a big difference, Mr Freeman. I couldn’t believe it when he handed me the cheque.”
“Did he say anything else, Irene?” Gus asked.
“He apologised for Frank getting caught up in their operation. His people realised they couldn’t regard it as a complete success when a member of the public lost his life. Lessons learned, he said. I’d better get back to keep an eye on Frank’s sister. She’s not used to drinking in the afternoons.”
With that, Irene North made her way through the crowded bar and disappeared from view. Neil appeared beside Gus with a plateful of food.
“It makes sense to get it in one visit I suppose, Neil,” said Gus, “to save battling through the crowd for second helpings. I think I’ll follow your lead.”
“Never gave that a thought, guv. There’s a huge choice of sandwiches and savouries. I just grabbed one of everything I liked. I can try a few new things later when I pick up my desserts. There’s plenty to go around.”
“I’ll get us another round of drinks, Neil. You’ll need something to wash down that lot.”
“Cheers, guv. How was Mrs North?”
“Irene’s landed on her feet. Frank gave her plenty of sleepless nights over the years. They never had two halfpenny’s to rub together at times. Brendan Curran and OCTF salved their conscience over his murder by wangling a pay-out under the Crimestoppers banner. You might be interested to learn the authorities reckon twenty-five grand equates to the loss of Frank’s life at the hands of Eron Dushka. OCTF had the decency to deliver an apology in person.”
“I reckon that brings the episode to a close then, guv,” said Neil, “apart from learning the sentences handed to the gang members when it finally gets the court.”
“Curran told Irene North that they learned a harsh lesson. I’ll pass that information on to Geoff Mercer and the ACC. It will probably come as news to them. We can only wait to see whether OCTF keep our people in the loop when another operation creeps across the county’s borders. If they had done that at the outset, Frank would never have died.”
Gus wondered whether Neil had overheard Vera say she was calling him this evening.
“Vera’s a friend, Neil. We visited the Waggon & Horses on Friday evening for a meal,” said Gus.
He didn’t give Neil a chance to follow up with further questions. He made his way to the bar for drinks. Neil was still munching his way through the pile of food on his paper plate when he got back. Gus pointed to the tables where the food was laid out and headed in that direction.
Neil was right. Bert and the landlord had provided a superb spread. It would kill conversation for a while. Fingers crossed, telling Neil he and Vera had merely enjoyed a quiet meal together would satisfy his curiosity. He could always encourage Neil to make sure he didn’t miss out on the trifle and the banoffee pie. They were both disappearing fast.
“Have you got anything else planned this week?” asked Neil.
The next sandwich was poised ready to be devoured. Typical copper, not easily thrown off the scent.
“My security cameras are being installed on Friday, Neil. I’ll be able to shout at intruders when my smartphone warns me someone is invading my privacy.”
Neil smiled. Gus knew the message had hit home. He and Vera wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret forever, but what happened at the weekend was nobody’s business but their own. Gus remembered something Neil had said earlier.
“What did you mean when you mentioned the benefits of Alex improving his stamina?”
“Those two went on a date the other night, guv. They visited the Imperial Dragon. They’ve been getting closer since day one. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed?”
“I hope they realise the problem it causes for the CRT if it becomes serious. I don’t want the team split up just when we’ve started. It might be time to have a word with Alex. I’m sure he knows the score, but a quiet word now might save a shitstorm in a few months.”
“Blimey, it’s six o’clock, guv. Melody will wonder where I’ve got to,” said Neil.
“Yes, I reckon I’d better make a move soon. Another large scotch and I’ll be asleep in the chair before long.”
“Are you going to pick up more grub on the way to the door, guv?”
“I hadn’t planned to, Neil.”
“If I gave you a plate…”
“I always thought it was the expectant mother who was said to be eating for two, Neil?”
“The food is free, guv, and it will only go to waste if we don’t eat it.”
They escaped from the Lamb with two platefuls of sweet and savoury items. As they walked up the lane to Gus’s bungalow, the sounds of muted merriment inside the pub faded away.
Frank North’s wake had a while to run yet.
Once Neil was safely in his car with his extra portions and on his way to join his beloved Melody, Gus made himself a strong coffee. What a strange day it had been. He had met with Stuart Fitzwalter and confirmed how tricky it would be to solve the Laura Mallinder case. He had attended Frank’s funeral and learned that the small village in which he and Tess had planned to spend their twilight years had more community spirit than they could have imagined.
The phone rang at half-past seven.
“Dorothy’s friend, it’s been far too long,” he said, before picking up the phone.
It was Vera. The strong coffee had helped, but he still felt a trifle skittish.
“Hello, Vera, have you called to apologise for not sitting beside me this afternoon?”
“I thought I would have arrived earlier, but our new leader had other ideas. It would have been more natural if we’d met outside and five of us had gone inside together. I didn’t want to make things awkward with your team by moving one of them along to make room for me. We were so late the only sensible option was to keep the London Road contingent intact. Suzie said to say hello.”
“The wake at the Lamb proved to be far better than I imagined. The place was still heaving when Neil and I left at six. Irene North was on good form too. Bert Penman and his cronies will keep an eye on her over the coming months. I think she’ll be OK.”
“Did you spot Brendan Curran there today?”
“No, but Irene told me he’d been to see her this morning, with an apology and a cheque.”
“Only right and proper. Curran hasn’t been near HQ since you threatened to thump him. Perhaps, he’ll feel it’s safe to drop in to see the ACC again now. Did you make any progress on the new case today?”
“Nothing significant. We’re interviewing the massage parlour owner in the morning.”
“Have you ever had a massage?”
“Not in one of those places,” said Gus, “well, never now you mention it.”
“Well, that’s something to look forward to.”
“Mrs Monk doesn’t provide those services herself.”
“Who mentioned Mrs Monk? Well, you’ve got a busy day tomorrow. I’d better let you go. I doubt if you’ve eaten yet. Goodnight, Gus. Maybe, we can arrange something for the weekend. Call me.”
Vera had gone. Gus hadn’t had time to tell her he couldn’t eat another thing tonight. He sat in the chair and went through the questions they needed Maggie Monk to answer in the morning. As darkness fell, so did his eyelids. Midnight had come and gone before he awoke.
Gus stretched as he got up from his chair and felt a twinge in his shoulder. He had stayed in the same position for too long. A massage might be the answer. He hoped this slight niggle wouldn’t wear off before the weekend.
Tuesday, 1st May 2018
Gus left for the office at his usual time. He had showered and dressed before noticing the twinge in his shoulder had disappeared. Typical. One consolation was that at sixty-one, he could expect to experience more creaking joints as he grew older. So far, with his regular workout on the allotment, he was keeping those terrors at bay.
Gus parked the Ford Focus and went to the lift. How would Alex be this morning, he wondered? If he felt the effects of his first full day with his crutches, perhaps he should take Neil to interview Maggie Monk?
He would have to wait a while. He was first to arrive.
Gus spent the next few minutes staring at the whiteboards. The photos of the murder scene suggested nothing new to him. If the murder weapon was a bog-standard kitchen knife, it was unlikely they would ever find it now. He tried to imagine a weapon a woman might carry if she planned to murder someone.
There had been a dramatic rise in the number of women caught carrying knives in recent years. Statistics showed that this was mainly for self-defence against an attack by a male. Domestic violence was also seeing a steep increase. It was still rare, however, for a woman to stab another woman. They had to pursue the possibility, though, based on Stuart Fitzwalter’s analysis.
His three team members arrived in the lift together. Alex was swinging along smoothly this morning. Lydia kept pace with him. Neil brought up the rear; he looked tired.
“Alex, you seem in fine form. Fancy a trip to Castle Combe?”
“Sure, guv. Give me five minutes, and we can get moving.”
“Neil, did you get enough sleep last night? You look dead beat.”
“My eyes were bigger than my stomach, guv. Melody wasn’t keen on a cold collation in case it upset her, That meant muggins had to eat the lot. I’ve been suffering from broken sleep for a week or two. It’s catching up with me.”
“You’ve reminded me of something my old Sergeant told me in Downton,” said Gus, “his wife was pregnant, and he suffered from morning sickness. She sailed through without any problems, and he had a dodgy tummy for two months. When he went to the doctors, the GP laughed and told him he was lucky. Two years earlier he’d had a couple in his surgery and was pleased to tell them the wife was expecting their first child after trying for twelve years. The husband was over the moon as you might expect. The next patient the GP saw was the lodger. His stomach was playing him up something rotten
. So, count your blessings.”
“I’m ready, guv,” said Alex, “I wanted to check for any messages from the Hub. The results are back on the fingerprints. They found no matches on the system anywhere in the country, I’m afraid.”
“I expected as much,” said Gus, “come on then, let's give Mrs Monk the third degree.”
Alex stashed his crutches on the back seat of the Ford Focus and eased himself into the passenger seat.
“Steady as she goes, Alex,” said Gus, “remember what Theo Hickerton said, don’t overdo it. We won’t think any worse of you if you spend the odd day in your chair until you are fully fit.”
“I’ve advertised it already, guv, and the flat. My family thought it was the right thing to do, you know, get it fitted out for a bloke who was permanently disabled. I had to persuade them it was a temporary inconvenience. The crutches are hard going, I admit, but I’m not giving in. I won’t go back to the wheelchair if I can help it.”
“Have you ever visited Castle Combe, Alex? There’s a famous circuit nearby where they run events throughout the year. Race days for cars and motorbikes.”
“I can’t see me on a bike for ages, guv. I think I’ll stick to four wheels and my two legs in the future.”
“With age comes experience. The village in the valley on your left is charming; a typical English village with houses built from that honey-coloured Cotswold stone. It’s no surprise film-makers have favoured it over the past fifty years. Maggie Monk lives in this part of the village above the valley in a large detached house on a gated estate a mile from the main road on our right.”
Twenty-five minutes after leaving the CRT office, they waited for the gates to open. Maggie Monk had replied as soon as Gus hit the buzzer in the panel on the stone pillar.
