Fatal Decision

by Ted Tayler

  The young woman was instantly recognisable from the photo Gus had seen in the folder. So, this was Lydia Logan Barre. Gus now learned she was medium height, possibly a size twelve, based on a comparison to Tess at the same age. Her artistic background, although side-lined in the past year and a half, still influenced her style of dress. Her skirt was black leather, but her blouse was a riot of blue, orange and green. The dramatic effect wasn’t lost on Neil Davis. Gus heard the sharp intake of breath. Her hairstyle hadn’t changed.

  Lydia’s companion in the lightweight wheelchair looked pale and drawn. Alex Hardy looked every one of his thirty-eight years. Yet Gus sensed a steely determination in the way he held himself. Alex’s record showed he was a shade under six feet tall, twelve and a half stone, with fair hair and blue eyes. Before his accident, he played several sports, visited the gym every week and enjoyed mixing with friends. Two years ago he would have been Gus’s ideal number two in this team. Life can be cruel.

  “Welcome, you two,” said Gus, “I’m Freeman, and this is DS Davis. Guv and Neil from now on.

  As Gus shook hands with Lydia and Alex, Neil stood by the restroom door.

  “Coffee’s ready,” he said, “how do you take yours?”

  “Black with one sugar,” said Lydia.

  “White, no sugar,” replied Alex, manoeuvring his wheelchair next to the nearest desk.

  “Let me get that chair,” said Lydia, nudging the office chair away towards the outside wall.

  “Right, that’s two of us sorted,” said Gus. “why don’t you sit in the middle, Lydia. Neil can occupy the desk nearest to the restroom. Although nobody should assume that means he’s on permanent refreshments duty. No matter how good this coffee he’s brewed tastes.”

  “We’ve got a Gaggia,” said Neil.

  “We’ve got soft-close toilet seats too,” said Gus, “but let’s not waste any more time. I’ve checked out The Crown around the corner on High Street. I suggest we get ourselves better acquainted in there over a drink and a bite to eat later. Is that OK, or are any of you required urgently elsewhere?”

  “I can ring Melody to tell her I won’t be home until around eight o’clock,” said Neil.

  Alex and Lydia didn’t raise any objections.

  “Right, that’s sorted,” said Gus, “now let’s go through why we’re here and what will occupy our time in the coming days.”

  Gus gave them a brief resume of his former career, and the basic facts surrounding the murder. Alex Hardy had done his homework, like Neil Davis and that made progress easier. The murder scene images clearly shocked Lydia. Gus caught her staring at them throughout his opening comments. She needed someone to hold her hand and guide her through this first few days.

  Gus finished his introductory spiel and summed up: -

  “As with every unsolved murder in the county, this case remains open. While there are currently no new lines of enquiry, I believe the key to solving it lies in the community shown on the map in front of us. Loyalties and relationships change as time passes. People may be more willing to tell us what they know. They may share suspicions today that they had at the time but hid from us. Ten years is a long time to carry a terrible burden.”

  “What about the reconstruction they did, five years ago?” asked Alex, “that threw up a possible new line of enquiry, didn’t it?”

  “They never found the running man or woman,” said Neil, “and the bloke on Battersby Lane wasn’t identified.”

  “DI Culverhouse, who investigated this murder the first time around was under pressure to get a result,” Gus cautioned. “His superiors would have moved him on quickly. New crimes crop up every day. It’s easy with hindsight to criticise. We might ignore his methodology this time around, we may not. It could prevent us from identifying the killer. It didn’t do him any good. If he’d had unlimited time and resources, he would have done things differently. Maybe, he would have found his killer by following his chosen path. Our advantage is that we can set our own pace. We can trace our own witnesses, especially the missing ones. We can think outside the box. That’s where the answer will lie. We won’t get another case handed us until we’re done with this one.”

  “Where do you want us to start, guv,” asked Alex Hardy.

  “We can’t do anything to improve on what we know of the murder scene or the forensic results gleaned. In ten years, the whole area will have altered. I may visit the park to give myself a feel for distances involved relative to where we know people they did identify were located. We will keep the photographs of the victim in a prominent position here as a permanent reminder of why we’re doing this. Daphne’s family deserve to see justice done. Alex, I’d like you to get me a list of the witnesses interviewed and confirm their current whereabouts.

  “Understood, guv,” said Alex. Gus sensed him less than enthused about being automatically selected for mundane desk duty. It wasn’t the most exciting job. He’ll have to get used to it, Gus thought. It will be something trivial that gives us the biggest breakthrough.

  “Neil,” he continued, “can you contact the Hub, please. Five years ago, the reconstruction uncovered an eyewitness. A birdwatcher saw Daphne on Battersby Lane talking to a man. Did he give a description at the time? If not, find his name and sit him with an artist to come up with a photofit. Culverhouse believed the man was known to Mrs Tolliver and therefore no danger to her. Ask the Hub to age the image so we can appeal to the public for help in identifying him. Having the picture of what he might look like now compared to how he looked in 2008 might prove beneficial. We need to discover whether he was a threat or not.”

  “Will do, guv,” replied Neil, “the sketch of the running person done at the time of the murder wasn’t much use, was it? Is there any point asking the Hub to age that as well? They might find a similar description has been provided in the recent past where the guy if it was a guy, committed another assault, or murder.”

  Gus pondered this for a second.

  “Make sure you get the Battersby Lane image first. The young runner Holly Dean saw would be between twenty-five and thirty years old now. You’re right it could be useful, for reference, but I’m not looking outside the community for our killer. We’ll need the Hub to do more valuable searches in the days ahead. Tagging Daphne to a list of crimes committed by a serial killer would be a waste of their resources.”

  Neil began to hunt through the murder file to find the identity of the bird watcher.

  “Is there something you can give me to do, guv,” asked Lydia. She sat on her hands, with her legs swinging back and forth.

  “You can clear away these coffee things,” said Gus, grinning at her. “Then, put on your thinking cap. In a town of this size, how many eighteen to twenty-four-year-olds were there in 2008?”

  “You don’t plan on interviewing all of them, surely guv,” asked Neil.

  “Hardly, but use your head, Neil. What was the upside of the sketchy physical description we have of the person high-tailing it towards the park.?

  “They were young and agile,” said Neil, “oh, and wearing a blue anorak.”

  “Find the bird watcher, then keep digging in that file and if the witness’s description isn’t detailed enough, find Holly Dean. Ask her to tell us how tall this person was.”

  “Height, weight and any disability will reduce the number of potential suspects by a big percentage,” said Lydia.

  “Exactly, this could be a rare occasion when ‘average height and weight’ might be helpful. If only to narrow the field.”

  “They won’t all be still living in town,” said Alex.

  “If you’ve got five minutes after compiling that list, you can pitch in and help Lydia. Two heads are better than one.”

  “Bloody Norah,” yelled Neil.

  “Paper cut?” asked Gus.

  “No. Worse than that. The bird watcher was Percy the Pervert.”

  “Is he known to us?”

  “Not half, Percy Pickering, to give him his proper
name has been on our radar for a few years. So, ten years ago he was on Lowden Hill, supposedly bird watching. As he swept the horizon for our feathered friends, he happened to spot two people and a dog on Battersby Lane. It took five years before he came forward with that information. Two years ago, I arrested him. It was a good week for me. We received a phone call from a concerned member of the public. They told us Gavin Shaw, a twenty-four-year-old Lothario, was knocking seven bells out of a gentleman on his doorstep on the Greenwood Estate. I drove around there with a DC to find Percy Pickering with his face battered and covered in blood. Shaw was screaming at him, calling him a pervert. Pickering didn’t defend himself. Shaw claimed Percy’s bird watching was a front. As technology had moved on, he could zoom in on what he really searched for and photograph it. Shaw said Pickering visited Lowden Hill to spy on young courting couples and swingers who frequented the wooded areas. It had been a favourite haunt for horizontal refreshment for decades.”

  “How do you know?” asked Alex, “did you go there?”

  Neil’s face reddened.

  “As it happens, I did, on several occasions at fifteen, or sixteen. Once I got my driving licence I stopped sneaking around there. Anyway, I left my Detective Constable with Shaw and helped Pickering indoors. He needed medical attention, but I thought I should at least try to stop the bleeding until the ambulance arrived. He was nervous as hell. It made me think there was truth in what Shaw claimed. I stayed with Pickering while my DC took Shaw to the station. I texted him to flag up my concerns and twenty minutes later he returned with our Inspector. Percy caved before the DI had a chance to admit she hadn’t got a warrant to search the house. He took us upstairs, and we found he had a library of still photos of couples going at it, young girls on their knees…”

  “I think we get the picture, Neil,” said Gus, “Lydia doesn’t need to hear the blow by blow details. Shit. Forget I said that.”

  “Pickering must have been at it for years. You haven’t heard the best bit yet. The DI found a series of pictures featuring Gavin Shaw. He liked them young. When she turned up an image of her fifteen-year-old daughter sitting astride Shaw, with a look of absolute joy on her face, I had to stop her from killing him there and then. Anyhow, the result was that Pickering and Shaw were banged up. Sadly, a few months later it transpired the DI’s daughter was too.”

  “Well, at least we know where to find Pickering to describe our unidentified man,” said Gus.

  He was pleased with how things had gone so far. A few barriers had been lowered. The banter started to flow. He watched as his team continued with the tasks he had set them. Hardy, Davis and Logan Barre. The name conjured up a firm of accountants perhaps, or solicitors?

  Neil Davis could leave them at some point. Lydia would be fast-tracked whether he liked it or not. She might get married first though. He decided it had to be to a bloke called Willis.

  Yes, Freeman, Hardy and Willis. Now, that would be something.

  Gus turned to his computer. The Land Registry would be the place to search for who owned the land where the osier willows grew. Time to do some research.

  Alex Hardy had identified ten names Gus Freeman would want to re-interview.

  Megan and Mick Morris were now both in their mid-seventies. They still lived in the same house as they did in 2008. He would suggest Gus talk with them together.

  Their three children - John, Kathy and Fiona were in their forties.

  John had been married to Stephanie, they had two kids, but the marriage ended in divorce three years ago. John lived alone in Filton, Bristol. Stephanie had remarried and lived in Brisbane, Australia with her new partner Amelia.

  Kathy married Jack Nicholls. One daughter. They still lived on the Westbourne Estate.

  Fiona married Emilio Mazzaro. Four children. They had moved to Newbury, Berkshire six years ago.

  Isaac Crompton - General Manager at the Manor House. In his early seventies. Dementia.

  Joyce Pemberton-Smythe - Fifty-eight. Married to Leonard Pemberton-Smythe. Sixty. He became Junior Minister in the Home Office in 2010, promoted to Secretary of State for Justice in 2015. Hotly tipped as next Home Secretary. Two boys. Both working at the family vineyards in France.

  To that list he added people who might provide information that hadn’t previously surfaced: -

  Holly Wells, nee Dean, married Danny Wells. Two boys. The family lived in Chippenham.

  Carl Brightwell was twenty-seven. Another one who was easy to locate. Currently residing at HMP Bristol. Formerly Horfield Prison. Grievous Bodily Harm with intent. Section 20. Out next year. He was terrorising the public at McDonald’s, so he wasn’t the killer, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know someone with a grudge against the old lady.

  Percy Pickering. Neil’s revelation meant he had to be interviewed. He wasn’t the killer, but he might give them more details on the unidentified man.

  There were the Managers and staff at the Charity Shops. Ditto at the Post Office. Names would be a chore to uncover. Most of the Charity Shop staff were volunteers. Quite a few of Daphne’s work colleagues could have died in the interim.

  Mr Patel from the Newsagents in Market Square. Daphne’s neighbours. Either of those could have had means, motive and opportunity.

  If they wanted a real group of outsiders, then they could talk to Wally’s mates. Did one of them have a dark secret? Good luck finding them now.

  However, their best bet undoubtedly would be to identify the two missing people: - The young person in the blue anorak and the man on Battersby Lane. They were key to solving this case.

  Alex looked across to where Lydia sat, deep in concentration. Perhaps he should offer to help. He expertly negotiated the waste bin and covered the distance between the desks in a flash. A deft spin brought him alongside the attractive young woman.

  “How far have you got?” he asked.

  “To find the overall figures won’t be difficult. To break them down in the manner the boss wanted will be a much harder task. We can get names, ages, gender, in work or full-time education and whether they’re registered disabled. Outside of that, it’s hopeless.”

  “We may have to get inventive to ascertain height and weight. Use social media.”

  “Not everyone is on social media and they don’t always post pictures of themselves. Hundreds of people only photograph their pets to share online. We need to reduce the numbers first, otherwise, that would take months. Is there a way for the Hub to help?”

  “I’ll send the overall list of names and ask them to highlight people with a criminal record. The killer may have committed other offences.”

  “If nothing else it will give me a chance to talk to someone outside this room. This kind of job is so boring. I want to be making progress.”

  “Welcome to the real world of work,” said Alex, “same old shit, every day.”

  On the other side of the office, Gus Freeman had uncovered the name of the person who now owned the land behind Cambrai Terrace.

  Bernard Jennings.

  That had to be Vera’s estranged husband. Why did he need an isolated piece of land? What did the smoke signify? What was behind the alterations to the storage shed? Gus wondered who could he ask? He picked up the phone and dialled HQ. Reception put him through to her extension.

  “Kassie?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Mr Freeman. Can we talk?”

  “Had enough already?”

  “No, nothing like that. Look, what are you doing later tonight?”

  “I might not be that sort of girl.”

  “Nothing like that either. I need information and I don’t want it blabbed about when you’re at work. Do you understand?”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Good to know. Can I pick you up around ten? I’ll be driving a Ford Focus.”

  “The old one, yeah, I saw it in the car park. I live in Worton. Why don’t you pick me up outside the old Rose and Crown? Nobody will be around. Only I watch ‘Gam
e of Thrones’ on Monday, so I can’t leave home until ten.”

  “The village pub? I’ll find it. Thanks for this, Kassie. I promise not to keep you from your bed for too long.”

  “I’ll have showered and put on my ‘Game of Thrones’ onesie by then, anyway. I’ll throw on a fleece to pop out to see you. I can jump straight into bed as soon as I get indoors again.”

  “Your parents won’t mind you leaving home so late?”

  Kassie laughed.

  “Call yourself a detective? They haven’t cared where I was since I hit sixteen. I live on my own. I rent a room from a mate.”

  Gus ended the call. All he could hope was Kassie Trotter was right and there would be nobody in the village at that time of night. What they would make of a young girl dressed as a wildling getting into a car with a bloke his age didn’t bear thinking about.

  When he spotted his boss was available again Neil Davis had a question.

  “Won’t we be running a murder book on this case, guv?” he asked.

  “Not in its typical format. For Lydia’s benefit, the murder book includes the paper trail of a murder investigation, from the time it’s first reported until the arrest of a suspect. The thick folder we’ve been utilising contained the crime scene photographs and sketches, autopsy and forensic reports, transcripts of investigators’ notes and witness interviews.”

  “What will we use instead?” asked Alex.

  “As I said earlier, we’ll have to accept most of what is in this folder as gospel. I suggest we start a central file that each of us can access which documents every task we do. So, those tasks I assigned today, the progress you’ve made, and what’s left to do, will go in there at the end of each day. That avoids repetition and things getting missed altogether.”

  “Do you want me to organise that, guv?”

  “Please, Alex. On this case, you’ll be our anchor man. We can reassess that situation in the future.”

  Alex knew what that meant. He was stuck in this office as long as he sat in this chair. Lydia sensed him tense a little when Gus made that comment. He had helped her this afternoon, maybe she should offer to help him keep the central file updated.