by Ted Tayler
“I hope you didn’t frighten the poor girl to death, Gus Freeman,” said Suzie. “Ah, Oakfrith Wood, if I’m not mistaken. Don’t you feel calmer already? Nest boxes everywhere, plenty of ground cover for small birds and animals. I can imagine a carpet of bluebells being here in the Spring.”
“Let’s follow this path south,” said Gus. “If it takes us past the cricket pitch, then we should see Urchfont Manor on our left.”
“I didn’t think you knew this part of the village?” said Suzie.
“Bert Penman mentioned it one day in the Lamb, ages ago,” said Gus. “This path leads back to civilisation and the White Horse Trail. First, we can climb the hill and sit and enjoy the view. Then we can stroll back to the bungalow for that pizza.”
“You knew what lay ahead of us if we’d kept going on this path, didn’t you?” said Suzie. “Bert Penman told you about the field containing The Three Graves.”
“He did tell me of a remote mound that lies in the triangle formed by the villages of Urchfont, Easterton, and Potterne,” said Gus.
“Back in 1644, three brothers died in that field from the plague. They were travellers from London who chose to die there rather than infect the villagers. As a result, Urchfont escaped the plague. Because of their selfless sacrifice, villagers buried the men on the hillside with an elm tree planted at the head of each grave.”
“Bert reckoned they were Irish tinkers,” said Gus. “It made for a delightful story on the last day of October.”
“Ever the cynic,” scoffed Suzie.
“I’ve lived on the edge of the Plain long enough to know ghost stories and mythical monsters abound. It’s the same across the entire country, Suzie. They can’t all be genuine. I could name a dozen towns that were major centres of wealth and affluence in the Middle Ages. As their influence waned, they had to come up with a wizard wheeze that encouraged people to continue to visit their ancient backwater. What better way than to create a myth? If they had standing stones, a giant, or a white horse carved into the chalk hillside, it encouraged tourism.”
“Every native villager I know believes the brothers, Giddings, kept the plague from the village,” said Suzie. “Not everyone has seen the headless horseman, though. So, that story’s not in the same class.”
“Go on,” said Gus. “I’ll fall for it.”
“A man called Seymour Wroughton owned Castle House at the end of the eighteenth century. The grand house bordered Folly Wood, and its reputation caused it to become Folly House to the locals. As he drove his coach and four horses on the approach to his home one night, it overturned, and Wroughton broke his neck.”
“Where was Castle House? I’ve never seen it on any Ordnance Survey map,” said Gus.
“Can’t you guess? It stood on the steep ridge in the same field as The Three Graves. So, one hundred and fifty years after the brothers died on the hillside, Seymour Wroughton broke his neck. It makes you think the place is cursed, doesn’t it?”
“Have you ever met a sober person who saw the ghost of this chap Wroughton?”
“I’ve heard that a few people have seen him,” said Suzie. “But mostly they’ve heard the sound of horses hooves, the shouts of Wroughton as he struggled to keep the coach upright on the steep hillside and the agonies of doomed horses as they tumbled down the hillside.”
They walked in silence for several minutes.
Suzie could see the path they were on would bring them back to the village by the housing estate where Irene North lived. Well, where Irene lived before she moved in with Bert Penman.
“What topping do you want on your pizza?” asked Gus.
“I thought you were thinking about the history lesson I gave you,” said Suzie.
When they reached the bungalow, Gus went into the lounge while Suzie called for their large pizza. She was still considering which topping she wanted as they passed the Lamb and walked along the lane, so Gus decided to eat whatever she was having.
Suzie joined Gus in the lounge.
“Twenty-three minutes and counting until it’s delivered,” she said.
“Can you give me the benefit of your local knowledge?”
“If I can,” said Suzie.
“As I read through the murder file this afternoon, I spotted the names of various establishments on the Plain that were unfamiliar. I’ve visited Porton Down recently, as you will remember, on the Dr Ian McGuire case. So what happens at Copehill Down?”
“I’ve ridden my horse out that way,” said Suzie. “It’s a training facility between Chitterne and Tilshead. They describe it as a FIBUA. That’s fighting in built-up areas for the civilian. So, it’s for urban warfare and close-quarters battle training scenarios.”
“How long has the MoD had that facility available to them?”
“The best part of thirty years,” said Suzie. “Dad said it started as a mock-up of a Bavarian village during the Cold War. They made minor adjustments for training for the Balkans, Iran, and Afghanistan. In recent years they’ve added a shanty town made up of cargo containers stacked and laid out in rows of tightly packed streets. It provides a training area that more closely resembles the Army’s operational theatres in Iraq and Afghanistan. Restricted access is putting it mildly. You wouldn’t want to wander into that area day or night.”
“You said you rode past it?” asked Gus.
“The Plain is covered with lanes, byways, and bridle-paths, Gus. On foot or horseback, you could walk the perimeter of the facility. I’ve heard of people taking the odd photograph. I wouldn’t recommend it, though, if you’re thinking of going there.”
“No,” said Gus. “I’m trying to understand where the farms are that border MoD land. Guthrie submitted bids for five farms the MoD released in 2015. His murder didn’t affect the bids. Everything passed to Wes and Helen, and the solicitors holding the paperwork carried on working on their behalf. The upshot was that Guthrie Holdings, or whatever they call the family’s empire, was successful in securing two farms.”
“Do you have a map? Where are these farms?”
“We won’t have anything until the morning,” said Gus.
“Where will you put these maps?” asked Suzie.
“On the office wall, so we can see what we’re looking at. They’ll be around eight feet by ten feet.”
“We can print something detailed enough from your computer right now. Let’s make a start before the food arrives.”
The front doorbell rang as the printer produced the map of the Plain. After they’d eaten, Gus wondered whether he’d ever have chosen a feta cheese, spinach, black olives, sundried tomatoes, and onion topping if left to his own devices. It was different; he had to admit.
“Can you tell me which farms we’re interested in?” asked Suzie.
“Three were close together,” said Gus. “They were at Enford, Lower Everleigh, and Collingbourne Ducis.”
“So they would be sixteen to eighteen miles from Dad’s farm.”
“Half an hour on a tractor,” said Gus.
“Quicker across the fields,” said Suzie. “They’re eight to ten miles from Glenhead Farm. I can see why Guthrie would want to add them to his portfolio.”
“The more land he grabbed close to his centre of operations, the more it put the squeeze on farmers such as Doug Lawless and Harry Meaden. I wonder if he ever tried to buy them out?”
“You can ask when you interview them. Did Kendal Guthrie gain one of those three?”
“No, the two he secured were near Ablington and Larkhill.”
“The first one was right on his doorstep, relatively speaking, and two miles further on from Glenhead Farm on the Netheravon Road. I can’t tell from this map, but it could be the farm next door to his neighbour.”
“That would be Harry Meaden,” said Gus. “The Lawless farm is closest to Durrington village.”
“The Larkhill farm is interesting,” said Suzie. “That must be on Durrington Down. While the first four farms the MoD selected for release were on the no
rth-eastern edge of the Plain, Larkhill is more central. It’s on the opposite side of the road to Glenhead Farm. Kendal Guthrie couldn’t see it from his bedroom window, but it was just over the brow of the hill.”
“Perhaps he got the best two of the five,” said Gus. “Not that he lived to enjoy his success.”
“Does it help you find his killer, Gus?” asked Suzie.
“We won’t know that until we’ve interviewed the surviving characters in the drama, but this has given me a head start for tomorrow. What made you say the farm near Larkhill was interesting?”
“Well, think about it from the Army’s point of view,” said Suzie. “The MoD grabbed vast areas of the Plain in the years leading up to WWII. Those farms on the outer edge have become less important to them as Army numbers drop and training for modern warfare has evolved. I can understand them releasing those farms for sale to tenant farmers.”
Suzie folded the map in half and pointed at Larkhill.
“Larkhill is still a garrison town,” she said. “Two miles west of Durrington village by road. Stonehenge is not much more than a mile away to the south. Military camps have stood at Larkhill for over a century, and today it’s the base for the Royal Artillery. They transferred from Woolwich ten years ago.”
“We can ask Tom Dix how they can use the land they purchased,” said Gus. “How many people are on-site?”
“Over two thousand,” said Suzie. “Remember what I said about getting too close to these facilities, Gus Freeman. Larkhill is home to members of the Military Police Special Investigation Branch.”
“That could prove useful,” said Gus. “I’ll ask Geoff Mercer to set up lines of communication. I draw the line at saluting, though.”
“If they were on board, it might prevent you from getting arrested for trespassing,” said Suzie.
“I’ll hang onto this map,” said Gus. “When I get into the office in the morning, we can label the restricted parts, like the live firing areas and the drop zones. We can highlight the military camps such as Larkhill, Bulford, and Tidworth. Warminster feels too far west to come into play. Thanks for your help, Suzie. I reckon we’ve got helpful information here.”
“Glad I could help,” said Suzie. “Will there be a reward?”
“I’ll take you out to dinner tomorrow evening,” said Gus.
“You hated the pizza, didn’t you?” said Suzie. “You’ll have to get used to my random cravings for a while, I’m afraid.”
“Let’s hope the chef at the Lamb can cope,” said Gus.
Tuesday, 28th August 2018
Gus was eager to get away on time this morning. He knew the Old Police Station office would be a hive of activity for the next few days. Suzie was dragging her heels this morning, spending far longer in the shower than usual. He listened to the sound of her singing and counted his blessings.
Somehow, they managed to get ready to leave the bungalow together at twenty past eight.
As they stood beside the doors of their respective cars, Gus called across to her.
“I love you, Suzie Ferris.”
“That’s good to know. Did you hear me singing in the shower?”
“I did. The radio in the kitchen muted the sound. Was there any particular reason for the serenade?”
“It wasn’t for you,” said Suzie. “I was just getting the little one’s ears attuned to our kind of music.”
“The earlier, the better, I suppose,” said Gus. “Do you think they’ll be an Eric Clapton fan?”
“It’s not optional,” said Suzie. “Will you be home early again this evening?”
“No guarantees,” said Gus. “It depends who Luke Sherman has on my interview schedule, when they’re available, and how long it takes to get them to tell the truth.”
“Do you think you’ve spotted someone who lied in the first investigation?” asked Suzie.
“I’m positive more than one person withheld vital information. Whether anyone told a blatant lie is another matter.”
Suzie led the two-car convoy as they motored along the road towards the Lydeway junction. They joined the morning traffic on the A342 entering Devizes, and Suzie slowed to turn right into the London Road HQ car park. Gus flashed his lights as he drove past.
The only car in the car park reserved for Crime Review Team personnel belonged to Luke Sherman. Gus looked at the clock on the dashboard. Ten to nine. He had remembered to adjust the clock at the weekend while he sat in the supermarket car park waiting for Suzie. He felt chuffed he’d remembered how to do it. The thing now was to remember to put the clock back an hour in the autumn.
When Gus arrived in the first-floor office, Luke looked up from his computer and grinned.
“I thought you would want to make an early start, guv,” he said.
“You couldn’t sleep either then, Luke?” said Gus.
“Nicky snores like you wouldn’t believe, guv,” said Luke. “Yet when I complain, he denies ever having snored in his life. Nothing from the Hub yet, guv. Divya must have a reason for staying in bed until the last minute.”
“I remember Blessing telling me about her on our recent night out at the Waggon & Horses,” said Gus. “Divya’s worked at the Hub ever since it opened. She used to work at a computer bureau near Tottenham Court Road, but Divya and her husband found it too expensive to live in London. When an opportunity arose to move to Marlborough, it was a simple choice to make. Her husband is a junior doctor at the Great Western Hospital in Swindon. They both have a twenty-five-minute drive to work instead of over an hour and a half.”
“Junior doctors are notorious for working longer hours than we do,” said Luke. “It must be tough to sustain a relationship when one person works nine to five, and the other can do a week’s worth in one shift.”
“Maybe that’s why so many people in our profession find partners doing a similar job,” said Gus.
“I’ve had a thought, guv. What if Divya’s husband had a colleague in Swindon?”
“Are you suggesting a subterfuge, Luke?” asked Gus.
“Either way could work, guv,” said Luke. “One of her husband’s mates could become Blessing’s significant other to ward off the threatened marriage, or he might unearth a genuine prospect. Someone tall and handsome, who is a great kisser.”
“Blessing could have competition,” said Gus.
“If Nicky doesn’t stop snoring, guv,” laughed Luke.
They heard the lift descending to the ground floor.
Two minutes later, the office had a full house. Blessing and Neil rode up with Alex and Lydia.
“Any news from the Hub, Luke,” asked Lydia.
“Nothing yet,” replied Luke.
“Now everyone’s here,” said Gus. “Suzie and I went for a walk in the countryside last night. I learned a lot about the local area, and we filled in several details on a map of the plain. If you gather around, I’ll point out the items you need to transfer to the large-scale maps. Luke will highlight the relevant place names on one map. Then you will add the distances and who travelled where and when. These five farms the MoD released in 2015 can go on a second map, along with the original five farms Kendal Guthrie controlled. There could be someone neighbouring those ten properties we haven’t identified yet. We may only need to interview them for elimination purposes, but if we don’t know who they are, we can’t be sure we haven’t excluded the killer from our case review.”
“Yesterday, you thought the killer had to be local, guv,” said Alex. “Isn’t this widening the net?”
“When you study the map that includes the farms Guthrie bid for before he died, you’ll see they lie within an eight-mile radius of Glenhead Farm.”
“So at the furthest point, a killer could have been a mere fifteen minutes from his doorstep,” said Lydia. “That feels local to me, guv.”
Neil noticed movement on the security camera outside the building.
“We’ve got mail,” he cried. “Divya is downstairs waving a large bundle of papers.”
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“Can I bring her up to the office, guv,” asked Blessing.
“Of course,” said Gus, “get her to sign the Official Secrets Act first.”
Blessing paused in her stride. Then she realised Gus was joking.
Two minutes later, the two friends emerged from the lift.
“You wanted large maps, Mr Freeman,” said Divya. “You’ll need more than Blu Tack to hold these on the walls.”
“If they help us find our killer, Divya,” said Gus. “I’m sure DS Mercer won’t begrudge having to pay to give the walls a lick of paint.”
“Would you like a coffee before you drive back to the Hub, Divya?” asked Luke.
“I wouldn’t say no,” said Divya.
Well done, Luke, subtle as ever, thought Gus.
As Luke and Divya disappeared into the restroom, Gus asked Alex and Lydia to put a map on the back wall. Neil and Gus placed a second map next to the whiteboard on the wall opposite the restroom. Gus stored the four spare maps in the bottom of the stationery cupboard.
Blessing stood by Gus’s desk, studying the handheld map he’d referred to earlier.
“Where are the largest camps and barracks?” she asked.
“Larkhill, Bulford, and Tidworth,” said Gus. “In the centre of that map.”
“How often do they have live firing on the Plain?” asked Blessing
“Forty-eight weeks a year,” said Gus.
“Gosh, it must be noisy,” said Blessing.
“The sound carries over twenty miles when the wind’s in the right direction,” said Gus, “but the Plain covers an area of three hundred square miles. The MoD only occupies fifty per cent at present, and that percentage is dropping.”
“It sounds a dangerous place to go,” said Blessing.
Lydia had joined Blessing at the desk and spotted something Suzie had highlighted last night.
“When was this place Imber evacuated?” asked Lydia.
“During WWII, two villages got evacuated,” said Neil. “The inhabitants of Imber and Hinton Parva needed to move out to make way for training for Operation Overlord. After the war, the residents of Hinton Parva could return. However, Imber has remained closed except for an annual church service and an occasional Bank Holiday.”
