by Ted Tayler
“Elizabeth’s in the kitchen,” said Bob. “She thought you’d want a cuppa.”
“Give Mrs Duncan a hand, Blessing,” said Gus. “You know my poison.”
“Only the dining room chairs for you to sit on, I’m afraid,” said Bob. “We don’t get many visitors.”
“That’s not a problem, Mr Duncan,” said Gus. “You know why we’re here?”
“Someone rang to say we were getting a visit from the police. You’re raking over Alan’s case again. That upset Elizabeth. She’s not been the same since he died. Alan was our only child.”
“We understand,” said Gus. “My name’s Freeman. My boss, who will soon be the county’s next Chief Constable asked my team to review Alan’s case. We know it’s been ten years, and talking about his death will still be painful for both of you, but we didn’t find his killer. We must do everything in our power to correct that situation.”
“Why?” asked Bob Duncan. “It won’t bring Alan back. Why can’t you just leave things alone? We’ll be dead and gone in a couple of years. I couldn’t care less about what you do then.”
Blessing returned to the room carrying a tray. Elizabeth Duncan shuffled in behind her and sat in a chair opposite her husband. Gus had already noticed the couple’s wedding photograph, and a casual shot of proud parents with their son in his naval uniform. It was difficult to accept that they were of the same person. Elizabeth was a hunched, pale shadow of the woman in those photos. A decade of grief etched in every line.
“We have tea in the afternoon,” she said.
Blessing handed the couple their cups of tea and raised an eyebrow as she passed Gus his black coffee.
“I was explaining to your husband, Mrs Duncan, that it’s not our intention to cause you any distress by taking a fresh look into Alan’s death in 2008. Someone went to a lot of trouble to plan and carry out that murder. What I want to do this afternoon is talk about Alan. Did he attend school here in Corsham?”
“Alan was top of the class, Mr Freeman,” said Bob Duncan, “whether it was junior or secondary school. He got top grades in a dozen GCSE’s and stayed on for the sixth form. He did well in his A levels too, with A grades in Maths, Physics, and Chemistry.”
“Did he want to attend university?” asked Gus.
“No, Alan always had his heart set on the Navy. I don’t know why.”
Blessing watched Elizabeth Duncan sipping her tea. She was miles away. Perhaps she remembered their son leaving home for the first time. Or maybe she’d forgotten they were even there.
“Where did he train?” asked Gus.
“At Dartmouth,” said Bob. “He was there for seven months, training to become an Engineering Officer.”
“I bet he couldn’t wait to get to sea,” said Gus.
“Alan served on several submarines, Mr Freeman. Nuclear-powered hunter-killer class. We were proud of the way he served this country.”
“Rightly so,” said Gus. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to live for weeks at a time many metres underwater.
“I know what you’re wondering,” said Bob. “Ninety days, if necessary, for a fully stocked craft carrying a full crew. We received holiday snaps from Alan when he got shore leave. He and his mates visited the Pyramids, temples in Thailand, Sydney Harbour Bridge, Hong Kong. They had a great time relaxing after the pressures of the job.”
“A necessary task in peacetime,” said Gus, “despite the cost. We don’t have the same capability now as we did when Alan was a submariner. Did they ever have any incidents?”
“Did they bump into a Russian sub, do you mean? I think that would have made the headlines, don’t you? Alan couldn’t discuss that with us, Mr Freeman. We didn’t ask. It was enough for us that he came home safe when they returned to UK waters.”
“What rank did he hold, Mr Duncan?” asked Gus.
“Alan was a Weapon Engineer Officer,” said Bob.
“What made him decide to leave?”
“He said he’d had enough,” said Bob. “We didn’t press him. It disappointed me he didn’t stay the full term, but Alan was adamant that he wanted out.”
“How long was he at home before he started work?” asked Gus.
“Six weeks, maybe. We were happy to let our son stay as long as he liked. Elizabeth loved having him around. I spotted a vacancy for a draughtsman and mentioned it to Alan. I thought it would give him a modest income while he searched for a permanent position.”
“Something more suited to the qualifications he’d earned with the Royal Navy?”
“The money that a small firm like mine could offer was half what he got paid before.”
“Yet he stayed with the firm until a few days before he died. What do you think was the reason for that?”
“The firm offered Alan a three-month contract. I’d worked there for years, and the boss knew me well. He told me they were happy to give Alan work to tide him over until he found something better. The boss had lost a son during the Falklands War. Alan never complained about the work he did for the firm, but let’s say it wasn’t challenging for someone of his calibre. You could have knocked me down with a feather when he asked them if he could stay on permanently at the end of the three months. The next day Alan got up and said he’d met a girl at a party. We don’t know what went on when Alan was overseas, it was none of our business, but he never had a girlfriend before he left home for Dartmouth. Elizabeth and I were happy for him, thirty years old, and the prospect of grandchildren on the horizon.”
“Did you meet Madeleine soon after that?” asked Gus.
“Maddy? Oh yes, Alan brought her to meet us the next weekend. Before we could look round, they had moved out to Biddestone together.”
“Did you approve?” asked Gus.
“Of Maddy? Or them living together before they got married? It’s the way of the world these days, Mr Freeman. We didn’t dislike Maddy. She was a pretty thing and bright.”
“Did they visit you often?”
“Every other weekend, I suppose. Alan liked his mother’s cooking.”
“Did Alan ever explain why he stayed in the lower-paid job at your firm?”
“Not to my satisfaction. Alan just shrugged and said that they earned enough to survive. Their main ambition was to be happy.”
“Were you a runner, or a cyclist in your youth, Mr Duncan?”
“Me, I ran at school, and I cycled to work for years, but I didn’t take to it like Alan.”
“Maddy told us Alan was determined to stay fit. That was why he went on a long run every week and did the cycle ride at the weekend. Where did Alan get that exercise while he still lived with you?”
“Alan ran by Corsham Court out to the Cross Keys. Another time he’d run out to Hawthorn, or Pickwick. He preferred the countryside. His new mountain bike came from a shop in Chippenham. Darn sight different from my old bike, I can tell you. Alan met another chap that day keen on cycling. That perked him up no end. He had someone to chat to as they cycled.”
“Wayne Phillips?” asked Gus.
“That’s the chap,” said Bob Duncan. “Funny thing that. Maddy worked with his wife. It’s a small world, isn’t it?”
“It can be Mr Duncan. So, once he had the new mountain bike, Alan and Wayne started meeting up every weekend, I presume?”
“On a Saturday, Alan kept Sundays free to visit us.”
“Did Alan ever have any arguments with anyone while he was running or cycling while he lived here, Mr Duncan?”
“Nothing worth mentioning to me, Mr Freeman,”
“Was everything alright at work? Did he get on with his work colleagues?”
“Alan was a stickler for discipline in his life, Mr Freeman. It goes with the armed forces' territory, and he expected others to show a high level of discipline in their work. He wouldn’t let a drawing leave the office unless it was spot-on accurate. Close enough, was sufficient for a few of the factory hands with the products they made, but not for Alan. I heard a few words got excha
nged in the heat of the moment, but the bosses always backed Alan to the hilt. I told the detectives ten years ago that it had to be something more serious than that for someone to want to kill our boy. Nobody ever lost their job because Alan dug his heels in and insisted the job got done right.”
“Have you seen Maddy lately?” Gus asked.
“Not for ages,” said Bob. “She’s married now, you know.”
“Maddy would never have married Alan,” said Elizabeth.
“Why did you say that?” asked Bob. “She was always good to us.”
“Maddy told you what you wanted to hear; she was crafty that one. Alan couldn’t see that she was hiding something.”
Gus and Blessing shared a glance.
“Even you know what it was,” said Elizabeth. “I saw you. She never shared that secret with Alan, but I knew there was something.”
“Did Alan receive any money when he left the Navy, Mr Duncan?” asked Gus.
“They get a resettlement allowance,” said Bob. “It was ten grand, or thereabouts, why?”
“We’ve already established that Alan settled for a job that paid far less than he could expect to earn with his qualifications. Your wife suggested Maddy had something to hide. As you said, she’s pretty and bright, and more than capable of finding a well-paid job in the area. Yet she wasted her talents at a call centre, making calls to people who didn’t want whatever it was she was selling. We heard a reason for that this morning. I’m still waiting to learn why Alan lost himself in a mediocre job. It appears they both had buried secrets. What do you have to say to that?”
“I told you Alan’s explanation never satisfied me, Mr Freeman,” said Bob. “We talked about it for hours, Elizabeth and me. It made no sense.”
“Did any of his former shipmates attend Alan’s funeral?” asked Gus.
“I wanted to contact his friends. The ones in the photos we have that Alan sent, but I couldn’t find their details. Alan wrote names on the backs, like Andy, Smudger, Taff. We thought Maddy had their details at the house in Biddestone. I rang her and asked her to search for his address book. He must have had one, but Maddy couldn’t find it, so there wasn’t a huge turnout. The boss sent a few representatives from the firm to the service at the crematorium. Wayne was there with his wife and several girls that worked alongside Maddy at Bumper’s Farm. Other than that, half a dozen of their neighbours from the village attended the service.”
“Were you working the day Alan quit his job?” asked Gus.
“It was a small factory, Mr Freeman. They’ve expanded into another unit since I retired, but I never heard a thing. A rumour passed from one end of the factory to another in minutes if there was a hint of redundancies. Alan worked in the offices, and I was in the Quality Control section on the shop floor. It was common for a week to pass without us bumping into one another. Alan must have asked his boss to keep it quiet. That’s the only explanation.”
“Alan never asked to borrow money?”
“We offered when Alan first came home, but he said he’d manage on the resettlement money. Then we offered again when they moved out to Biddestone. I thought they could use the extra money for white goods, a new TV, or ready cash. Maddy assured us they were fine. When the police told me about the cash they discovered in that shoebox, I could see what they meant. We’ve never had eight hundred pounds lying around, let alone eight grand.”
“The sum wasn’t the important element though, was it,” said Gus. “Why did Alan empty his bank accounts in the first place? Who, or what, was the money for, and why was it hidden in the house?”
“If Alan owed money to someone he would have paid it,” said Bob. “That’s the way we raised him.”
“When you returned to work on the Monday following the murder,” said Blessing Umeh. “That was when you learned Alan had quit, wasn’t it?”
“That was when it came out. As soon as I heard Alan had quit work, I called Maddy. She phoned the police because Wayne had seen Alan outside the bank on Tuesday afternoon. That started the ball rolling. Within twenty-four hours, I knew Alan had closed his accounts, withdrawn the cash and hidden it at home.”
“Maddy didn’t know that Alan had quit his job either, did she?” asked Blessing.
“Not a clue,” said Bob Duncan.
“What did you do the day you retired, Mr Duncan?”
“Had a few beers with the lads.”
“Were there any personal items you had in drawers or filing cabinets that you wanted to rescue?”
“The tools that I’d bought myself to help me in my job. A few odds-and-ends, like a mug for my tea, and a diary. Nothing that wouldn’t fit in the bag in which I carried my lunchbox and thermos. The rest wasn’t worth keeping and went in the bin.”
“I imagine Alan collected bits-and-bobs that he wouldn’t want to throw away,” said Blessing. “I wonder what happened to them?”
“In a box under the stairs,” said Elizabeth.
“When did that arrive?” asked Bob. “You never mentioned it.”
“Maddy had another shoebox containing items Alan’s boss brought to her from work. She dropped the box off the day before the funeral. You were at work. I chucked it in the cupboard under the stairs and forgot about it.”
Bob went into the hallway and returned with the box.
“Do you want to open this, Mr Freeman?”
Blessing stood and walked across the room. She was already donning a pair of blue nitrile gloves.
“Better to have them and not need them, guv,” she said.
Blessing removed the lid.
“A pocket diary, guv,” she said, “pens, pencils, and a coffee mug, inscribed with, ‘I might look like I’m listening to you, but in my head, I’m riding my bike.’
“Is that it?” asked Gus.
“Other than a handful of coins in the mug, nothing.”
“No photographs?” asked Bob Duncan.
“Why do you ask?” asked Gus.
“I’m positive we had a photo of Alan and his mates at Happy Valley Racecourse in Hong Kong,” said Bob. “It stood on the dresser for several years. When Alan moved out, he left his photos behind. I thought he must have wanted a photo to brighten up his office and took it without mentioning it.”
“The pocket diary could prove useful, guv,” said Blessing. “We might have found those missing contact details. Alan Duncan filled in records for an Andy, a Smudger, a Taff, a Gooner and three or four more. Wayne Phillips is here too, plus several business contacts.”
“What about the diary?” asked Gus.
“Alan logged times of meetings at work, dental appointments, statistics for his Wednesday night run and Saturday afternoon cycle ride. Birthdays and anniversaries for Maddy and his parents. Nothing for Wayne. Perhaps Maddy handled them. It’s still more comprehensive than any diary I’ve ever tried to keep.”
“We’ll take it with us, Mr Duncan,” said Gus. “It could provide useful leads. Those ex-colleagues could be the key to solving this mystery.”
“We should ask whether either of them was in that Happy Valley photo, guv,” said Blessing. “Maybe there’s a name scribbled on the back that’s in this diary. Maybe not. If that photo wasn’t in his office, or at the house in Biddestone, then Alan removed it from the mantlepiece and got rid of it. Why?”
“Good thinking, Blessing,” said Gus. “We’ll ring Maddy Telfer when we get back to the office. I wonder if she can shed light on when it got moved, and what happened to it? Also, we should check when this box got delivered to Biddestone.”
“Is that it then?” asked Bob Duncan.
“I think we can let you get on with your day,” said Gus. “Many thanks for your co-operation. This pocket diary somehow bypassed the detectives in the original investigation. Alan’s boss wouldn’t have known the possible importance of the addresses it holds. Maddy did what she thought was right and delivered the box to you. The police had finished their questioning. The names in the diary meant nothing to her. It was
too easy to dismiss them as business contacts or acquaintances. Alan shared little detail of his Navy life with Maddy. We’ll see where those names and addresses lead us, Mr and Mrs Duncan. Thank you for the coffee. Good afternoon.”
Bob Duncan saw them to the front door. Elizabeth stayed in her seat, staring into space.
“You will let me know how you get on, won’t you?” asked Bob.
“Of course, Mr Duncan,” said Blessing. “We can’t promise good news, but we’ll do our best to find Alan’s killer.”
Bob closed the door when Gus and Blessing reached the car.
“What did you make of that, Blessing?” asked Gus.
“A step in the right direction, guv,” she replied. “We’ll understand more about what made Alan Duncan tick once we interview the people he served with.”
“Let’s hope they can explain why Alan left the Navy when he did, and why he worked for a small company on an Industrial Estate in Corsham.”
Gus drove them to the Old Police Station office and asked the rest of the team to update their progress.
“I scoured social media for more information on Kyle Ellison, guv,” said Lydia. “As Blessing said, he doesn’t give much away. No photographs, just the occasional post, or a share of something topical.”
“What does that suggest?” asked Gus.
“Why does it have to suggest anything, guv?” said Luke. “Ellison could work long hours, have a wife and family to support, and not have the slightest interest in joining in with the crowd.”
“You don’t have several social media accounts, guv,” said Neil. “Ellison doesn’t have a criminal record either. We checked.”
“Nothing?” asked Gus. “Not even a speeding fine?”
“He’s Mr Clean, guv,” said Luke.
“Did you believe the story that Maddy Telfer told us, Lydia?”
“Yes, guv,” said Lydia. “It sounded genuine to me.”
“Me too,” said Gus. “Which makes the fact that Ellison has stayed out of trouble for twenty-five years remarkable.”
“Maybe the beating he got from Darren Forsyth showed Kyle Ellison the error of his ways, guv,” said Neil.
“Darren Forsyth?”
“They were the only family on the census for Marsden matching the information Maddy Telfer gave, guv,” said Neil. “David and Mary Forsyth, mother and father; Darren and Jennifer, their two children. Jenny Forsyth left Marsden at eighteen to move to Chippenham. Darren is still single and lives in Leeds. Dave and Mary haven’t moved from the village. They’re both retired now.”
