Fatal Decision

by Ted Tayler

  Gus shrugged.

  “I’m not concerned with the fallout this case brings. I was only interested in finally catching Daphne Tolliver’s killer.”

  The Police Surgeon approached Geoff Mercer. He looked to be the same age as Gus. His whole demeanour suggested ‘world-weary’.

  “You picked a fine time to call me out, the last thing on a Friday afternoon. I had hoped to be on the motorway heading for a weekend in the Brecon Beacons before now.

  “I’m sorry, Peter. Have you ever met Gus Freeman? He was a DI in the Salisbury area until a few years back. Gus this is Peter Morgan. He’s one of the best police surgeons I’ve had the misfortune to work with.”

  “Many thanks for sparing the time to help us out. Peter,” said Gus.

  “I’d shake your hand, Gus but I don’t have one free,” he replied, waving two evidence bags. “The CSM thought you would be interested in my initial findings and what we found in amongst the skeletal remains.”

  Gus and Geoff grabbed a bag each.

  “We have an adult male in the ground behind the trees. The condition of the body indicates he has been there between eight and twelve years. The skull has been damaged in the right parietal lobe region. My first guess is someone bashed him over the head with a blunt object. These mobile phones were beneath the feet. I’ll be able to tell you more once he’s been examined properly.”

  “Thanks, Peter. How long before they’ll be able to get everything out and back to the morgue?”

  “Another two hours at least I should say. They don’t need me for that. I’ll make tracks. I might get across the Bridge before the traffic gets too hectic.”

  Peter Morgan strode off to a Porsche Boxster parked between two police vans.

  “We’re in the wrong job,” said Geoff, “now are these the two missing phones?”

  “I grabbed the white one as soon as I saw it,” said Gus. “We need to get both tested to see how much can be retrieved and match it to the one Leonard had on his desk in his office at Westminster.”

  “If this red phone is Mark Richards’s then we must hope we can retrieve messages received from Leonard. His sister can confirm if he owned a phone like this but getting something useful from it will strengthen our case.”

  “Your people in the Hub will be our best bet. Don’t try turning these on. Even deleted text messages sit there until they’re overwritten. If we poke around, we might overwrite something that would prove damning. We must leave this to the experts.”

  “Agreed,” said Geoff, “let’s return these to the Exhibits Officer. I’ll arrange a welcoming party for Pemberton-Smythe. We’ll get a car to park on the approach road. They can tail him to the gates. In case he makes a dash for it, we’ll get the road blocked off around the bend there, two hundred yards past the entrance. His visibility will be negligible. As long as we’re sensible we won’t spook him.”

  “I think you’ve got everything covered,” said Gus, “I’ll make a few calls.”

  “Say hello from me,” Geoff called as Gus moved away to the other side of the House’s front steps.

  Gus rang the office first. It was after five o’clock. He didn’t know whether they would have stayed. Neil answered.

  “All good,” said Gus, “we found the body where I predicted. Pemberton-Smythe buried two mobile phones in the grave along with Mark Richards. I’m confident tests will show one belonged to Richards, and the other was the single-use white phone the politician used exclusively to call his lover.”

  “When will you make an arrest, guv?”

  “Superintendent Mercer will make the arrest in the next ninety minutes.”

  “Time for a celebration, guv,”

  “If you can make it to the Waggon & Horses in Harrington End by nine tonight, you’ll find I’m in the chair. Not just for the first round either.”

  “Wild horses, guv. We’ll be there.”

  Gus ended the call, then rang Vera.

  “Hi,” she said, “don’t tell me you’re standing me up?”

  “I wouldn’t dare. Look, it might not be a quiet drink later. I’ve invited the team to join me. We should celebrate our successes. Geoff Mercer will arrest a double killer before long.”

  “You didn’t meet the team until Monday morning. You were hoping to solve one murder. By Friday, you’ve uncovered and solved a second. Gus Freeman, you are a magician.”

  “See you at nine,” said Gus.

  His last call was to the ACC. Kenneth Truelove sat at home waiting for news on the operation.

  “Truelove, here,”

  “Good evening, Sir. Freeman here. I won’t steal Geoff Mercer’s thunder. He can fill you in later. You may want to get over to the town’s custody suite to watch proceedings. The cells will have an important guest shortly. Unfortunately, there’s a family in Kidderminster and a sister in Camden Town that need to be notified of a death. I should like to notify the sister personally tomorrow, Sir, if that’s in order. Neil Davis can accompany me. The man’s parents can be informed by the local police, although I doubt it will worry them one way or another.”

  “Whatever you say, Freeman. How can I refuse? An incredible week. Incredible.”

  “Please don’t think this will be a regular occurrence, Sir. I understand you have other cases you wish us to review. Perhaps, I can call in on Monday morning to pick up the details of the next one?”

  “Certainly, Freeman. Thank you for ringing.”

  Gus looked up at the imposing Manor House. It loomed over him as dusk fell. In the distance, he could see lights being erected and the area over the grave was shrouded by a tent. Geoff Mercer’s men were wheeling the stretcher carrying Mark Richards’s body to a van. The transfer was being timed to coincide with the arrival of the local Member of Parliament.

  The cars would be positioned now, the trap was set.

  CHAPTER 12

  Gus watched as the lights of the Jaguar pierced the gloom.

  The tail car waited outside the gates while the vans removing the body and items of evidence edged along the driveway. The Jaguar slowed too, its driver perhaps realising the significance of their contents.

  Leonard Pemberton-Smythe’s car came to a halt fifty yards from the bottom of the steps. The cars from the proposed blockade now occupied the throat of the entrance beside the tail car. There was no escape.

  Geoff Mercer and another DI strode forward. Uniformed officers approached the car but stood five yards away. The cordon was secure. The driver’s door opened and Leonard Pemberton-Smythe got out.

  A tall man solidly built. Pemberton-Smythe had been described as ‘imposing’ by many pundits when speaking in the House of Commons. Gus watched as he slid his briefcase from the rear near-side passenger seat and locked the car with a flourish of his remote key. He made no comment. He simply walked to where Geoff stood and stopped.

  “Mercer, isn’t it? I remember you from Devizes HQ. If you wish to continue this pantomime, I’m calling a lawyer.”

  “Leonard Pemberton-Smythe you are being arrested in connection with the murder of Daphne Tolliver on the twenty-eighth of June 2008 and Mark Richards somewhen between the twenty-eighth of June and the third of July 2008. You have the right to remain silent. If you do say anything, what you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult with a lawyer and have that lawyer present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire. We will be taking you to the custody suite on the outskirts of town. You’ll remember where that is, you were present at that opening ceremony too. You can contact your lawyer then. Do you wish to inform anyone else of what’s happening to you, Sir?”

  “Tell my wife to expect me home for supper.”

  “We’d not want to raise her hopes, Sir, but we will tell her where you are being taken for questioning.”

  Gus wished Geoff Mercer was taller. His neck must hurt after looking up for so long. He watched as the prisoner was led to Geoff’s car. How th
e mighty were fallen. He kept going over the facts they had uncovered, testing each one for a weakness, wondering how an expensive QC might approach the interview. They had twenty-four hours.

  Time was short. Much of their evidence could be construed as circumstantial, but Gus had just spotted another thing that pointed the finger at Pemberton-Smythe.

  One by one the cars left the car park. Gus climbed the steps to the front door and rang the bell. Maria answered.

  She stood to the side to allow him in. She didn’t say a word. DI Ferris stood in the hallway with Joyce. Crompton had presumably stayed in his quarters.

  “I’ve told Mrs Pemberton-Smythe where her husband is being taken and why,” she said, “my job here is over. Can I give you a lift anywhere?”

  “My car is in the London Road car park. Geoff ferried me over. He didn’t have room on his next trip.”

  “It’s on my way home. Shall we?”

  “I’m sorry about this business,” Gus said to Joyce.

  “I’m sure it will be sorted before bedtime,” she said.

  Gus could see she was heartbroken. A brave face was a poor substitute for a suit of armour. Joyce needed that and more in the coming weeks. He feared another stint in The Priory lay ahead.

  When they reached London road, Suzie Ferris dropped him by his car.

  “A Ford Focus,” she said, “my Dad had one of those. Steady little runner. Have a good weekend. You’ve earned a break.”

  With that, she drove away.

  “Don’t worry, she didn’t mean you were old,” he patted the car’s roof before he got in to drive home to Urchfont.

  Friday night’s in the Waggon & Horses were lively affairs. Good food in the restaurant. A band rocking out covers from the Eighties and Nineties in the Stable Bar. When Gus arrived there were few parking spaces left. Some stood on the grass verges either side of the pub. It would lead to problems later, but he risked his Ford Focus. Another dent wouldn’t matter that much.

  Gus peered through the windows of the Stable Bar. A younger crowd. The band was loud. Not his cup of tea. In the restaurant, there were perhaps sixty people being served a variety of dishes. Still no familiar faces. In the far corner was a smaller bar that had to be for the non-eaters and non-rockers. That looked busy too.

  Neil, Alex and Lydia were at least one drink ahead of him. He couldn’t see Vera Jennings. He scoured the bar and checked his watch. It was only nine o’clock. Lydia was soon by his side.

  “If you’re buying, guv, we’ve started a tab under the name Freeman. We’ll have the same again. What a result. It took us a while to get our heads around your logic.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t find any flaws?”

  “Alex thought it was very Poirot-like the way you unravelled it. Gosh, don’t look now, guv, but there’s a heart attack in a dress behind you.”

  Gus turned around.

  “Vera, glad you could make it. Come and meet the team.”

  The next two hours flew past. Vera and Gus ensured conversation was a million miles away from work. Lydia persuaded Alex to let her wheel him in to listen to the band. Neil looked at the near-empty glass in front of him and weighed up buying another against Gus’s announcement they were off to London in the morning.

  “That’s me done,” he said. “I’ll ring Melody to come to fetch me. She’ll be surprised it’s early and I’m not pissed but needs must.”

  “I’ll swing by and pick you up at half-past eight, Neil,” Gus told him.

  “Alone at last,” said Gus, twenty minutes later, as Neil trotted outside to hop in his wife’s car.

  “Not for long, I’m going too,” said Vera. “This has been fun. We should do something again. Maybe come out here for a meal.”

  Gus settled the bar tab and followed Vera out to her car. It was in a wide parking space in the car park.

  “Too dangerous on the verges,” she said.

  They stopped by the driver’s door.

  Gus wasn’t sure whether to make a move. He felt sixteen again.

  Vera leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. It felt good. They both heard the squeal of brakes and a metallic crunch.

  “Told you,” she said, squeezed his hand and got into the Alfa Romeo, “Sweet dreams.”

  I wish she wouldn’t say that Gus thought as she pulled into the lane and drove away. He trudged along the row of parked cars, dreading the worst. A Honda Jazz had parked one space beyond the Focus, facing towards him. They’d reversed into the lane just as an ancient Defender rounded the corner. The rear of the Jazz was not a pretty sight. He moved his Focus carefully out onto the lane and drove home. It wasn’t his place to get involved these days. His luck had changed.

  Sweet dreams.

  Saturday, 14th April 2018

  Gus collected Neil from home and they made it into London before ten o’clock. Reaching Camden Town wasn’t as difficult as it might have been on a weekday. A parking place was crazy difficult to find as always.

  Saturday was a busy day at Vanessa Richards’s beauty parlour. The receptionist told them Miss Vanessa was fully-booked with clients today. One of their other beauticians would be free if they wished to wait. Gus Freeman told her he wasn’t looking for a pedicure or Botox and he and Neil waved cards under her pert little nose.

  “A Saturday girl,” said Neil, “only looks thirteen.”

  Vanessa Richards appeared from behind a screen.

  “DS Davis, we spoke on the phone,” said Neil.

  Vanessa’s face crumpled as soon as she realised the reason for them turning up in person.

  “No!” she wailed, “not Mark? He was so happy.”

  “Let’s go through to the back of the shop, Miss Richards,” said Gus, “to give you a little privacy.”

  Gus told her a body had been found. He asked if she could describe his mobile phone. The make and model were identical and Vanessa confirmed it was red. Gus told her they had found it with the body. He said Mark’s murder had taken place only hours or a matter of days after a woman had been murdered in the Wiltshire town. The same man was responsible. That man had been Mark’s mysterious lover.

  “But the postcard,” Vanessa cried.

  “Do you still have it?” asked Neil.

  “It’s at home, in my flat.”

  “We’d like to borrow it if we may. It needs to be entered into evidence.”

  Gus asked her to show him her mobile phone.

  “Could you give me Mark’s number, please?”

  Vanessa scrolled through her contacts and showed Gus the number. He made a note of it.

  “Would you have kept any text messages from your brother? I know it’s a long time ago and you’ve probably changed phones and suppliers a dozen times since then…”

  “Yeah, I’ve got all his old messages. It might sound daft but I always hoped he get in touch again. I just move ones I want to keep from the old phone to the new one using Bluetooth. It’s dead simple.”

  It might be for you, Gus thought. He could have kissed her.

  “Do you have an example?” he asked.

  “How about this one,” she said scrolling through until she found the one she wanted.

  “This one’s from early in 2007.” She read it from the screen: -

  He has a nice car, and he collects me then drives me to his flat. He has a house in the country but he uses the place in London for his liaisons. He’s married but they don’t have much of a relationship. He’s a politician. He didn’t think I knew who he was when we met, but I’m not stupid. I watch the News, Question Time and Have I Got News for You.

  “Mark doesn’t name him, guv,” said Neil.

  “This isn’t the only SMS, Neil. I doubt we’ll find a name, but this is more than enough, on top of everything else. Now, if we can work out how to capture these messages onto one of our phones…”

  “Give it here, I’ll do it,” said Vanessa.

  “Do you have anybody to be with you?” asked Neil, “you’ve had a shock. Perhap
s we should take you home, pick up that postcard and then give you details of what will happen next. We’ve contacted your parents. I don’t know what their reaction will be. Funeral arrangements and so on.”

  “I’ll look after him if they ignore him. I never stopped loving him. We are what we are. I’m not seeing anyone right now but I’ll be okay. You’re right. I’ll apologise to my clients and pass them on to the others. I need time alone.”

  Gus and Neil left Vanessa Richards in her apartment in the middle of the afternoon. Gus had listened patiently as she talked of the Mark she knew as a child. She showed them pictures of her brother until he was sixteen.

  “Mark left home and there weren’t any family ones after that. I’ve got a few on my phone taken at birthdays or Christmas of just me and him, here in London. He was always self-conscious of having his picture taken.”

  “Big feet?” asked Neil.

  Vanessa looked at him in amazement.

  “How the heck did you know that? Yeah, only size ten but he was built like a young girl. When he had a pair of trainers on they looked like a couple of boats. Especially white ones.”

  As they sped along the M4 on the return journey Neil Davis turned to his boss.

  “How will the interview have gone so far do you think, guv?”

  “I’m not worried about the outcome,” said Gus, “we’ve got enough to hold him beyond the twenty-four hours. What we’ve picked up today are more pieces of the jigsaw. The text messages are damning. The postcard could contain his fingerprints. French and British postal service personnel will have handled it. After that, only Vanessa Richards has touched it without gloves. If Leonard doesn’t confess, then we can get the handwriting analysed. We can look for the equipment the address was typed on at the chateau. The fact it was posted less than half a mile from the Pemberton-Smythe’s holiday home will be hard to explain. Leonard showered Mark with bundles of cash according to Vanessa. The Hub can home in on that aspect. There should be frequent significant sums being withdrawn throughout 2007 and into the following year. No, I’m not worried. Other witnesses have placed Leonard in the cell, Vanessa has started to turn the key in the lock.”