by Ted Tayler
“Fair enough,” said Alex, “but there’s still one thing that bugs me. Alf didn’t mention Oscar Wallington during your conversation, did he?”
“Well, he did, but he didn’t elaborate on what Guthrie said to Wallington, except to mention the sarcastic way he used the term, General, every time he spoke to him. There was no substance to the verbal attack. We can always go back to Alf, depending on what Gus learns this afternoon.”
“You’re probably right,” said Alex. “It’s tough to see why Alf Collett should cover for Oscar Wallington. He wasn’t a regular like Vickers and Thornton.”
“Alf mentioned him and Dave Vickers when I asked what happened in the days following the murder,” said Lydia. “We knew Oscar was in the pub on Saturday night. Vickers wasn’t there, but he cycled over from Shrewton on Monday and Wednesday night and sat with Jim Thornton for a natter. Vickers was disappointed to learn Rosie was taking time out. Alf said he hadn’t told him she was looking for another job. Wallington came into the pub on Thursday night. Alf told me he didn’t see Wallington again until the following Friday. Jim was in every night as usual until his wife went into the hospital. Vickers cycled there on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”
“So, all three men were in the bar on the twenty-seventh of February?”
“Yes, I suppose they were,” said Lydia.
CHAPTER 12
Gus parked the Focus alongside a battered Land Rover Defender. He must be at the correct address, he thought, and Oscar Wallington still hadn’t found a way to finance a new car in the past three years. The Lodge House was an impressive building standing to the right of the estate entrance. Unfortunately, Gus couldn’t see the manor house from the gateway. Oak trees flanked the tarmacked road that stretched away into the distance.
Gus looked for a doorbell, but true to form, the building sported a wrought-iron bell pull with a weathered look suggesting it had belonged to the Lodge for a century.
Oscar Wallington answered the door in seconds. If Gus knew nothing of the man before he met him, he would still have guessed ex-military. Gus remembered the wording from the murder file; a squaddie masquerading as a gentleman farmer.
“Good afternoon, Mr Freeman,” said Oscar. “Do come in.”
Oscar took Gus through the hallway into the estate office. Floor-to-ceiling shelving covered two walls, and the antique pedestal desk looked as if it had come straight from Gus’s bank manager’s office when he lived in Downton. At one time, a predecessor had used it as a library. A large sash window looked out over rolling fields.
“A pleasant spot to work,” said Gus.
“It is,” said Oscar. He sat behind the large desk and pointed to an uncomfortable-looking chair next to the window.
“My colleague has told you why we wanted to speak with you again, Mr Wallington,” said Gus. “The Kendal Guthrie murder file remains open. Three years have passed, and it’s my job to review the case and uncover the truth.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to help, Mr Freeman,” said Oscar. “Fire away.”
“We understand you spent most of your working life as a career soldier.”
“I entered the Army from school as a raw recruit and worked my way up to WO first class. The country was at war with Argentina when I was in my last year at school. That lit a fire in my belly to do my bit. I never visited the Falklands after the conflict ended, but I served in Kosovo and Afghanistan. My career also saw me posted for spells in Germany and Northern Ireland. The latter was where I met Corinne, my wife. After I got posted to Bulford Camp, we felt settled enough to start a family. My time in Wiltshire has been a happy one, Mr Freeman. When the army decided the time had come for me to retire, we didn’t want to move away. The manor house owners had just parted company with their previous estate manager, and I applied for the post. The last seven years have been successful for the estate and us as a family.”
“Interesting,” said Gus. “Let me remind you of the night of the thirteenth of February, in 2015. A dreadful night in more ways than one. What possessed you to drive from this lovely property to the Traveller’s Rest in the middle of the Plain?”
“It was a stressful day on the estate, and I needed to unwind,” said Oscar. “I was alone in the house as it was half-term, and Corinne and the boys were away. I was to go with them, but a series of unexpected crises kept me at home. Corinne was not amused. I went to Alf Collett’s pub now and then, and I believed I could rely on my trusty Defender to get me there and back.”
“You can recall the start of that evening well. What about while you were in the bar?”
“Can I remember it word-for-word? I doubt it. Rosie had asked Jim Thornton how long we’d had soldiers on the plain. I could tell her that. Let me see, Jim told tall tales of ghosts and monsters, frightening the young girl to death. Sorry, poor choice of phrase. When Guthrie arrived, he had something nasty to say to everyone. I copped it at first. Jim bore the brunt when Guthrie reckoned he was buying Ellison’s farm. That could have put Jim out of his tied cottage. I’d crossed swords with Guthrie before in other bars. He had a talent for upsetting people. Nine times out of ten, what he said wasn’t genuine. If his target showed any weakness, Guthrie kept sticking the knife in. If you stood your ground and showed him you knew what he was saying was rubbish, he moved on to someone else.”
“Guthrie intimated you were capable of embezzlement,” said Gus. “Was that genuine?”
“Of course not,” said Oscar. “That was the chap who sat in this chair before me. Guthrie seemed to think estate managers, per se, were untrustworthy. It was water off a duck’s back to me.”
“What did you make of his comment that generals never accept responsibility for something which goes wrong in the heat of battle. It’s the lower ranks that usually carry the can?”
“Did he say that? I can’t recall what that might have meant. Dave Vickers had been under fire for offering low-interest rates on savings. Then Guthrie switched his attention to Alf and Jim. I supported Alf’s action to ban the fellow. Guthrie was running out of places to get a drink. His behaviour that night was typical. He didn’t pick anyone out for special treatment, Mr Freeman. If you’d pitched up at the Traveller’s Rest, he would have found a way to get under your skin.”
“I’ve no doubt he would, Mr Wallington,” said Gus. “However, if someone had murdered Guthrie within hours of his talking to me, I would have contacted the police as a matter of course. As a man who served his country for thirty years, I’m surprised you didn’t come forward. In fact, none of you offered information on where Kendal Guthrie had been that night, who he had spoken to, and what time he left the pub. I can understand why you might not wish his accusations to get a public airing, but your silence suggested you had something to hide.”
“We discussed things on Saturday evening after we heard the news,” said Oscar. “Dave Vickers wasn’t there, so we didn’t think we could decide unless everyone agreed. I went back on Thursday evening, but Alf had forgotten to ask Dave for his opinion. Alf was more concerned about Joan’s deteriorating health and Rosie taking time off to decide whether or not she wanted to keep working there.”
This was news to Gus.
“I thought it was two weeks before Rosie left the pub?”
“I heard Rosie tell Alf she wasn’t returning to the pub after that night. On my next visit the following Friday, Dave, Jim, and I chatted to Alf at the end of the night, and we agreed we should contact the police. Dave asked what Rosie thought we should do, and Alf said he’d spoken to her earlier in the day. She was flying to Majorca from Bristol in the morning and starting a new job on her return. I don’t know why Alf didn’t make the call to the police on Saturday morning. We four heard the news from Majorca at different times and in different places on Sunday evening or Monday. I can’t remember when I went to the Traveller’s Rest next. I only visited the pub on around thirty occasions during the year anyway, but when I spoke to Alf next, it was after your colleagues had met us and taken ou
r statements.”
“When I spoke to Dave Vickers earlier today, he said you and Jim Thornton waited for him to join you by the pub door on Friday night.”
“We did. Dave needed the loo before cycling four miles home. When we got outside, it was pelting with rain and blowing a gale. I watched Dave struggling into his wet weather gear in the lean-to where he kept his bicycle. Jim left, I followed him, and Dave would have started cycling a minute later. Why?”
“Did you see Kendal Guthrie?” asked Gus.
Oscar laughed.
“Cheeky devil couldn’t resist letting us get a glimpse of his fancy motor. He left thirty seconds ahead of Jim, give or take.”
“What were conditions like in the village?” asked Gus.
“The roadworks traffic light turned red as I approached the ‘Wait Here’ sign in the road. I switched off my headlights, and as I couldn’t see anyone driving towards me, I must admit I carried on—mea culpa. When I was driving to the pub earlier, I hung around for two minutes for the blessed green light. On such a filthy night, there was next to zero chance of meeting anyone. I took the B390 back here. Jim’s cottage was in darkness when I drove past. His car was on the grass verge. Tied cottages are basic; they don’t tend to have a garage.”
“I think that’s it for now, Mr Wallington,” said Gus. “If we have further questions, we’ll get in touch.”
“You know where I am, Mr Freeman,” said Oscar.
“Is your wife here this afternoon?” asked Gus.
“Corinne was in the kitchen when you arrived. I need to drive to the manor house, so I’ll have to leave you. If you wanted a word with her, just turn left as we leave the office and follow your nose. The smell of baking will tell you when you’re there. Our eldest boy takes his finals next May, and his younger brother goes up to Durham at the end of September. The poor woman has so much time on her hands without needing to dash off for the school run and the other school activities. I’m sure you know what it’s like.”
Gus didn’t, but he wanted a quick word with Corinne Wallington.
“Was that the lift?” asked Neil. “The boss is back.”
Gus exited the lift and dropped his folder onto his desk.
“What a day,” he said. “It started badly at Glenhead Farm, improved significantly in Shrewton, and slowed to a snail’s pace after I reached the Lodge House. On the plus side, if someone has a minute to make coffees, I’ve brought baked goods from Corinne Wallington. So we can have a civilized break while we review what we’ve achieved.”
Lydia and Blessing walked to the restroom.
“Where’s Luke?” asked Gus.
“On his way back from the Hub, guv,” said Alex. “Ten minutes, and we should have a full complement.”
Luke found a cup of coffee and a madeleine on his desk when he returned to the office.
“What have I done to deserve this?” he asked. “Or have you solved the case in my absence?”
“I take it you didn’t find the magic bullet at the Hub?” said Neil.
Luke shook his head.
“A waste of time.”
“Rather like my meeting with Helen Guthrie,” said Gus. “She had her manager and solicitor riding shotgun. I didn’t learn whether she’s in the farm business for the long haul or looking to make a sharp exit with a fortune. I don’t believe anyone in the room was involved in Kendal’s murder, so I decided I was wasting my time. Dave Vickers was a pleasant chap, very helpful. Wessex Water was replacing old pipework in the village, which didn’t come to light in the original investigation. Dave reckoned he stopped at the lights for almost a minute. When I asked about the conversations in the pub early that night, there was nothing unusual. It matched what we’d heard before. When Guthrie arrived, he asked who got the blame when something went wrong in the heat of battle, and Dave thought that fazed Oscar for a second. No idea what that meant. Oscar and Jim hung around for Dave when Alf called time, so they left the pub together. That was different to what we thought because Guthrie was in his Bentley with the engine running, waiting to flip them the middle finger as he drove away. That alters his leaving time. The lights, if they were against him, could add additional time to his journey. I’ll jump ahead a second because Oscar told me he ignored the red light, checked for oncoming headlights around the corner, then took a calculated risk.”
“That could bring him two minutes closer to Kendal’s car, guv,” said Neil.
“First, if he’d chased after Kendal, would he tell the police he’d ignored a traffic light? Second, even if he was five yards behind Kendal, we’ve shown time and time again none of them could reach the farm ahead of him.”
“OK, guv. What else did Dave Vickers have to offer?” said Luke.
“Hang on, Rosie told Alf she was leaving, looking for another job,” said Alex. “Lydia got through to him. He tried to persuade Rosie to stay. Alf let her have three days off to think things over. The confusion arose because Alf always believed he could persuade Rosie to come back. We already knew he called her on Friday the twenty-seventh before she went on holiday.”
“That matches what Oscar Wallington told me,” said Gus. “Oscar went to the pub on Thursday the nineteenth, and Alf had forgotten to ask Dave on Monday and Wednesday what he thought they should do. Rosie worked Thursday night and told Alf it was her last night. On the twenty-seventh, the four men were in the bar after closing time. Alf told them he’d spoken to Rosie on the phone earlier, and she confirmed she wasn’t returning to the pub after her holiday. Alf was supposed to call the police the next day. Oscar didn’t know why Alf delayed. Maybe he thought they didn’t work weekends. Rosie died in a hit-and-run twenty-four hours later, and Keith and Maxine started chasing the people in the bar on Friday night on Monday the ninth of March.”
“Where do we go from here, guv?” asked Luke.
“Each of us has files to update,” said Gus. “Get everything you’ve worked on today recorded as soon as possible. Tomorrow, I want Alex and Lydia to recalculate Kendal’s journey time based on the new information. It needs to be as exact as we can make it, even if it’s irrelevant. Another team of detectives will look into this case in the future if we can’t solve it. I don’t want them to point the finger at us and say we left a stone unturned. We follow every lead, no matter how tenuous.”
Gus and the team left the office at five o’clock. Tomorrow was another day. The mood was downbeat. No matter what they did, specific facts kept blocking their progress.
As Blessing drove to Worton, she imagined the evening ahead. Her mother would ring at seven o’clock for their weekly chat, and she had to ask for Ekene Kanu’s phone number. After Gus returned from meeting Dave Vickers and Oscar Wallington, the numbers she had wrestled with throughout the day changed yet again. The final straw was Gus giving the task of recalculating the numbers to Alex and Lydia.
How could she resolve the niggle she’d felt for the past two days they were missing something? Why not phone her mother as soon as she reached the farm, eat the meal Jackie Ferris prepared, and drive to the Plain to check for herself?
Blessing parked her Nissan Micra by the kitchen door and ran inside.
“You’re in a rush tonight? Do you have a date?” asked Jackie.
“I wish,” said Blessing. “I want to go for a drive in the countryside later. There’s something I need to check.”
“You’ve got a splendid evening for it,” said Jackie. “Be careful, though. It will get dark by half-past eight. The Plain isn’t a friendly place at night if you don’t know the area well.”
“Tilshead is only eight miles away,” said Blessing, “and my destination is ten miles further on, towards Salisbury. So I should be there and back in a couple of hours.”
Blessing ran upstairs to her room. She showered and changed, then called her mother. It was tough to get a word in edge-wise as usual. Maryam wanted to know everything that had been going on at work. Blessing kept glancing at her watch.
“Can you give me E
kene’s number, please?” she said. “I wish to speak with him before Sunday.”
Blessing kept her fingers crossed that her mother saw this as a positive move. Then, after they said their goodbyes, her father would hear the news. She was in luck. Maryam gave her the phone number and didn’t query why she needed it.
“Sorry to cut things short this week,” she told Maryam. “I’m doing a spot of homework later.”
“Don’t work too hard, Blessing,” said Maryam. “We’ll see you on Sunday. Don’t be late.”
Blessing put Ekene’s number into her phone and ran downstairs. John and Jackie were chatting in the kitchen.
“Are you hungry?” asked Jackie.
“Always,” said Blessing.
“Do you want me to come with you this evening, Blessing,” asked John Ferris.
“I’ll be fine,” said Blessing. “I’ll call you when I’m leaving Durrington on my way back.”
Blessing set off at seven o’clock for Tilshead. She passed the boarded-up Traveller’s Rest on the outskirts of the village. The clock on the dashboard read seven twenty. Blessing stopped the car, got out, and walked back to the pub car park. A six-foot chain-link fence surrounded the plot, but it was possible to see Alf Collett’s garage and the tiny bicycle shed Dave Vickers used.
When she set off towards the village, Blessing started the stopwatch on her phone. She knew the route they believed Kendal Guthrie took by heart. Blessing drove at a steady thirty miles an hour along the A360 for three-quarters of a mile and stopped on the grass verge. She paused the stopwatch.
What did these grey posts with yellow-painted tops mean at this crossroads? There were no directional signs, just signs indicating yet another bend for traffic approaching from Shrewton. Blessing got out of her car to read an official-looking notice. Ah, this was a spot where military vehicles crossed the public road. On the brow of the hill, Blessing could see at least a dozen wooden huts. The entrance marked one of the many restricted areas on the Plain that Gus and the others had mentioned.
