Dead Reckoning: The Freeman Files Series: Book 14

by Ted Tayler

  “Cheeky,” said Suzie. “Dad still gets up at silly o’clock, and Mum’s not far behind him. Helen never struck me as wanting to follow her brother into the business.”

  “Millie Newson told Luke that Helen hated farming and couldn’t wait to get away to Australia.”

  “That didn’t end well,” said Suzie.

  “No, and Wade Pinnock echoed Millie’s view. His fiancée is a local reporter, and she believes Helen Guthrie aims to sell the business to developers. She’s not concerned with the damage it would do to the environment.”

  “If that’s true, then she inherited some genes from her father.”

  “I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart,” said Gus.

  “Keep smiling,” she replied with a grin.

  Gus followed Suzie to the gateway and gave her a wave as she turned right to drive along the lane, heading for London Road. He turned left to make his way to Upavon and then take the road south across the Plain to Glenhead Farm. This way would get him there in thirty minutes. He could use the spare time to check out the farms on either side and the one on Durrington Down Kendal Guthrie had wanted to gain. You never knew what you would find when you went for a wander.

  A few minutes before nine-thirty, Gus negotiated the lane from the road without incident and parked beside the double garage. The dry August weather hadn’t turned the surface into a dust bowl. The tarmac looked to have some wear. Maybe it was one of Helen’s first jobs when she arrived home for good. He wondered what car Helen drove. The murder file mentioned Poppy’s ten-year-old red Focus. Gus assumed Wes got rid of that at the same time as he auctioned the Bentley.

  Helen Guthrie answered the doorbell within seconds. Gus knew she was only a handful of years older than Suzie, but they looked light-years apart. Helen had lost both parents in her thirties and discovered her husband in bed with another man. How could anyone keep cheerful through that?

  “Mr Freeman,” she said without the hint of a smile. “Please come in. I took the precaution of asking Tom Dix, my manager, to join us and Mitchell Underwood, the family solicitor. He hasn’t arrived just yet, so we’ll have to wait.”

  Gus followed Helen Guthrie into the lounge/diner. The décor was much as he expected, as was the layout of the ground floor. He’d seen the crime scene photos in the murder file. Helen had opted to keep many of her father’s fixture and fittings. A new widescreen TV was the only visible change. Tom Dix, who had worked with Wes Guthrie for several years, stood by the fireplace, looking very much at home.

  “This is an informal meeting, Ms Guthrie,” said Gus. “We need clarification on several items. At no point have we ever considered you played any part in your father’s death. The presence of a solicitor isn’t a problem, but I can’t see what Mr Underwood can offer this get-together.”

  “Guthrie Holdings is a business, Mr Freeman,” said Tom Dix. “We employ many people. Mr Underwood will advise us on any matter which might bring the company name into disrepute. Please, take a seat.”

  As Gus sat down and prepared to await the arrival of Mr Underwood, he heard a car pull up outside. Tom Dix answered the door while Helen Guthrie stared at her lap. Gus did a quick rejig of his list of questions. If they wanted formal, they could have it.

  Mitchell Underwood strode into the room, his briefcase under his arm. Whatever was inside didn’t spoil the cut of his expensive suit.

  “Good morning Mitchell,” said Helen. “Right, Mr Freeman, you may begin.”

  “Who do you think killed your father, Ms Guthrie?” asked Gus.

  “I’ve said all along that a wife, girlfriend, or someone close to them, is protecting my father’s killer,” said Helen Guthrie. “After three years, it’s unlikely they will come forward, but I live in hope.”

  “Why do you think they killed him?”

  “Envy; vengeance, who knows? I know many people who live on the Plain hated my father. He made money through hard work and astute business deals. There are always winners and losers in that world. My father was a winner.”

  “How much did your father tell you about the business while you lived in Melbourne?”

  “Nothing, Mr Freeman. I didn’t want to know. I had a business to run.”

  “What was your impression of the last business deal he entered into with the MoD?”

  “He knew the Mod wouldn’t allow him to buy all five farms due for release,” said Helen. “Thanks to Mitchell’s diligent research, we weighted our quotes in favour of us gaining the two we needed.”

  “Interesting,” said Gus. “Us and we, although you insisted you weren’t interested while you lived in Australia. We have no reason at this point to connect his murder with the two farms Guthrie Holdings purchased months after his death. How would you respond to that?”

  “No comment,” said Mitchell Underwood.

  “I’ve interviewed a thousand criminals who have chosen that line of defence, Mr Underwood,” said Gus. “The fact you supplied the comment and not your employer suggests someone has briefed you well. I won’t waste any more of your time. I’ll look for someone who does want to help find Kendal Guthrie’s killer.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Gus hadn’t found out what car Helen Guthrie drove or any other inconsequential things he’d planned to ask as he lay awake last night. As he left Glenhead Farm, Gus was fuming.

  The drive from Durrington to Shrewton only took fifteen minutes, so he had an hour, at least, before Dave Vickers could see him. Gus stopped for coffee at a shop near the Methodist Church. He needed to regroup, get his temper under control, and make sense of what just happened.

  “Coffee, black, without sugar, please,” he said. The older woman at the counter smiled.

  “Find yourself a seat,” she said. “I’ll bring it over in a tick.”

  Gus found a seat by the window and pretended to people watch.

  “We haven’t seen you in here before, have we?”

  His new friend had arrived with the coffee.

  “My appointment in Durrington ended earlier than expected,” said Gus.

  “People don’t have time to chat these days, do they? It’s all business. We get passing trade from younger folk in the village. They take their coffee with them on the way to work. You’ve just missed that crowd. The next rush will be when the school run ends and young mums drop by. Some stay and sit, like you. Most have a standing order they can collect before getting home.”

  “Your cafe must experience peaks and troughs in traffic,” said Gus. “I suppose the afternoon school run creates another one?”

  “Not so much, because they can’t afford to buy the kids drinks and cake. When we were their age, we had a proper breakfast, made coffee or tea at home, and chatted to our neighbour over the garden fence after dropping the kids at school. I don’t know what the world’s coming to.”

  “I enjoy a proper breakfast,” said Gus.

  “Well, I can whip you up sausage, egg, and bacon if you like, dear? Kathleen’s my name. I expect you guessed with Kath’s over the front door.”

  “I already ate,” said Gus, “but thanks for the offer. My partner and I had cereals and yoghurt this morning.”

  Gus noticed Kathleen’s frown.

  “I know,” he said, “Not a proper breakfast, but Suzie’s expecting our first child, and a fried breakfast is off the menu for a while.”

  Gus wondered why he was sharing his innermost secrets with a stranger. It was just as well he came alone this morning. They only had another two weeks to wait before telling the team and their friends the news.

  Kathleen was one of those people with whom you instantly relaxed.

  “I’m glad I came here,” said Gus. “I was ready to punch someone when I left Durrington.”

  “What is it you do, dear?” asked Kathleen.

  “I’m a retired Detective Inspector who came out of retirement to help a young team of detectives solve what they call cold cases.”

  “Oh, I know what they are, dear. I’ve seen it on TV.”<
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  “Did you ever meet Kendal Guthrie?” asked Gus.

  “I remember how glad people in the village were when they heard he was dead,” said Kathleen. “Poppy, his wife, came here, now and then. A lovely lady. Too good for him, but it takes all sorts, doesn’t it? Kendal and I never spoke, but I didn’t hold with the ill-feeling people stirred up against him and his children. The father was a hard business person, that’s all; the son and daughter came from the same mould. My Fred, before he died, used to say, it’s just business, Kath. No point getting riled up when someone gets on in life, and you get left behind. They’ve got the knack of lying in muck and getting up smelling of roses. It’s not personal, just business.”

  Gus finished his second coffee, which Kath had poured without Gus asking, and checked his watch. Time to go. He said goodbye to Kath and headed outside. Luke had given him Dave Vickers’s address, and Gus had raised an eyebrow when he noticed the appointment wasn’t taking place at a building society branch. Gus parked the Focus and approached the front door of the modest two-up, two-down cottage in the village. He gave the ornate knocker a quick tap and listened as the sound echoed along the hallway.

  “You must be Mr Freeman.”

  Dave Vickers was tall and, by some standards, overweight. Gus thought with his height; Dave could carry it off.

  “That’s me,” said Gus. “How are things?”

  “Mustn’t grumble, come in,” said Dave, leading Gus into the tiny front room. “I soon came to terms with the firm closing our minor branch in Amesbury. I got over that quicker than I did young Rosie’s death.”

  “Are you working again?” asked Gus.

  “Part-time, Mr Freeman,” said Dave. “Three hours every afternoon in a convenience store at a garage. I use my financial background to beneficial effect in the evenings with an online service sorting out people’s tax affairs and providing investment advice. You don’t need much to get by when it’s just one of you.”

  “My colleague, DS Sherman, told you why I was calling on you this morning, Dave. I want you to tell me everything you can remember from the Friday night Kendal Guthrie died. When the detectives spoke with you three years ago, they didn’t give you a chance to dig deep into the detail, did they? Don’t worry; I’ll give you a lift to the garage if time gets tight.”

  “The detective in charge wasn’t happy we didn’t come forward straightaway,” said Dave. “Rosie thought we should. Bless her, but Alf wasn’t keen at first.”

  “Let me stop you there, Dave,” said Gus. “Start at the very beginning. Tell me who said what to who while you were in the bar that night. Take your time.”

  “I cycled to the Traveller’s Rest every Friday night without fail,” said Dave. “I admit I went more during the week than I used to once Rosie started working there. It was blowing a gale when I left here, but the rain hadn’t started. I thought I could get there in the dry. You don’t worry as much if you get soaked on the way home, do you? The rain had started as I approached the village, but I had put on my wet weather gear to be prepared. Jim Thornton passed me in Tilshead. If I hadn’t stopped at the traffic lights for the roadworks, I would have been at the pub before him, for a change. When I arrived, Rosie and Alf were behind the bar, and Jim sat on his usual stool with a pint. It did not surprise me there were no other customers because of the weather.”

  “What were the roadworks for, Dave? Do you remember?” asked Gus.

  “Wessex Water were replacing piping that had been in the main street since Victorian times.”

  “Interesting,” said Gus, “carry on.”

  “I bought a drink and stood by the bar while Jim gave the three of us a lesson on decimalisation and how the brewers used it as an excuse to raise prices. He had a few pet grievances, and that was one. I’d just sat next to the log fire to get warm when Oscar Wallington walked in.”

  “What time was this?” asked Gus.

  “Jim must have arrived by twenty past eight. I was only minutes behind him. I reckon Oscar arrived at a quarter to nine. Oscar ordered a double scotch and soda, as usual. Rosie came closer to the fire and sat opposite me. I suggested I put another log on to keep the cold out. Alf said not to bother. He was already thinking of closing early. Alf reminded us Rosie had a longer drive home than the rest of us, and the storm was getting worse. Roads could get blocked. As Rosie used the poker on the fire to get life into it, Jim told a story about the old days. His grandfather drank in the pub when men heated their beer with the tools hanging in the fireplace.”

  “A long-standing tradition,” said Gus, “supposed to ward off coughs, colds, and all manner of ailments. Doctors today would say it was rubbish. What happened next?”

  “Jim and Alf must have been talking with Rosie before I arrived about the MoD and how long they’d been using the Plain. Jim suggested Rosie ask Oscar, as he’d spent thirty years in the Army and much of that time at Bulford camp. Oscar explained how the Plain was dotted with restricted areas, which necessitated longer journeys for people like Rosie approaching the village from Salisbury. Oscar asked Rosie where she lived. He knew where Jim’s cottage was; he passed it on his way to the pub. Oscar drove everywhere in an old Defender, a four-wheel drive. I suppose it suited the job he’d had for the past four years. An estate manager has plenty of ground to cover.”

  “Oscar lives in the Lodge House,” said Gus. “Have you ever met his wife and two children?”

  “No, they never came with him to the pub. Oscar wasn’t as regular a customer as Jim and me. It seemed there wouldn’t be any more people daft enough to come in for a drink, and the conversation got random over the next half hour. We discussed the perils of drink-driving. Jim told Rosie to take care driving home, not to stray into lanes and tracks she didn’t know. He tried to scare her with ghost stories,”

  “The headless coach driver myth has reached this far, has it?” said Gus.

  “I don’t recall that one, no,” said Dave. “Not long after Jim’s story, Oscar bought another drink, and then Kendal Guthrie walked in. I heard Alf groan. Kendal didn’t visit the pub often, but he was straight into his favourite subject, himself. There was nowhere for him to hang his camelhair coat. He made sure everyone knew it cost twelve hundred quid. The suit he had on was tailor-made and would have cost me a month’s wages. When he finally reached the bar, he ordered a gin and tonic. The usual pantomime followed as he took his wallet out of his jacket pocket. He made sure everyone in the room could see the banknotes stashed on either side. His first target was Oscar. He called him a squaddie masquerading as a gentleman farmer. Then he bragged about that posh car of his and laughed at Oscar’s battered Defender. Oscar was on the defensive from the start. Kendal Guthrie had got to him. Oscar resented the squaddie reference, as he’d started at the bottom and worked his way up as far as an NCO could go in the Army. Fair play to the chap. Guthrie started calling him General after that, trying to provoke a further reaction. It was common knowledge the previous estate manager had embezzled a sizeable amount of money from the manor’s owners. Still, they retrieved most of it through the Proceeds of Crime Act, and Oscar’s reputation since he’d worked for them was flawless. Nevertheless, Guthrie hinted Oscar could help himself to twenty grand to buy a decent car. Nothing as grand as Guthrie’s, of course, but something matching where Guthrie considered the likes of us stood in the world. He was a rotten individual.”

  “What did you make of Oscar Wallington?” asked Gus.

  “Oscar wasn’t a regular, but although he could be pompous and imply he was better than the rest of us because he was ex-military, we never fell out. Perhaps if I’d seen him somewhere other than in the Traveller’s Rest, who knows, we might not have had much to say to one another. Guthrie briefly switched his attention to Rosie and warned her that Alf had wandering hands. He suggested Alf and the previous barmaid, Imogen, had something going. Every week, I was there while she worked in the pub; I saw nothing to support that. What I did notice was Imogen overcharged strangers that cam
e in. Alf had to let Imogen go after discovering she pocketed ten quid a week on top of her wages. When I spoke up and told Guthrie he was talking out of the top of his head; he had a go at me.”

  “Lending too much money to people who couldn’t afford to pay it back if there was a downturn in the economy,” said Gus.

  “We tried to avoid that, Mr Freeman,” said Dave. “Guthrie seemed more concerned with low-interest rates on his savings.”

  “Did Guthrie Holdings have accounts at your branch?” asked Gus.

  “I’m not at liberty to say too much,” said Dave. “Kendal had several personal ISA’s with us, yes, but the company banked elsewhere.”

  “So, your branch wouldn’t have closed because of Guthrie moving his savings?”

  “They moved after he died, anyway,” said Dave. “The rumour was Helen Guthrie merged the company and family assets overseas, but I’m not aware of where.”

  “Where did Guthrie switch his attention next?” asked Gus.

  Dave thought for a while.

  “He returned to Oscar and spoke about when he was in the Army. Guthrie said the men in the trenches took the blame when things went wrong. It was never the top brass who suffered. Oscar looked flustered. It was only a second before his usual impassive look returned, and Jim broke the spell by getting up to leave. Guthrie pretended not to have spotted him before, but that was rubbish. He tried to convince Jim that Bob Ellison was selling his farm. Bob’s father had employed Jim his whole working life and promised Jim that he and his wife could see out their days in the tied cottage they occupied. Jim thought Bob Ellison would have mentioned it, but Guthrie told Jim he could get forced out of his home, especially as it was him who was in line to buy it. I told Jim to contact a solicitor.”

  “Was there any truth in it?” asked Gus.

  “No idea, you would have to ask Bob Ellison,” said Dave. “The next day, I heard Guthrie was dead. I didn’t go to the pub on Saturday or Sunday. My next visits were Monday and Wednesday night.”