Silent Terror

by Ted Tayler

  “Sneaky, guv,” said Lydia. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Lydia was right. Don Hillier was reticent about stepping inside the bungalow. He came out of his house and stood by the door of the Mini. Gus had squeezed in the back and was regretting not driving his Focus.

  “It’s not because of what happened,” he said. “I’ll be waiting for Ursula to shout at me to get out. She never let me indoors during the three years I worked for her. There’s nothing there now, is there?”

  “No, Mr Hillier,” said Gus, “our records show that the carpet in the living room has gone, and the mattress in the bedroom too. The maintenance people Mr Wakeley uses would have fixed the back door, the guttering, and anything else that’s started falling off over the past five years.”

  “I don’t know why Arthur doesn’t sell it,” said Don Hillier.

  “Mrs Wakeley told us that the bungalow’s boarded up,” said Gus. “Before we drive there, do you have a torch, Mr Hillier?”

  Don Hillier went back inside the house and returned with two large torches.

  “Living in the countryside it’s better to prepare,” he said, “street lights only exist in the town. Out here, you can still find spots where it truly is pitch black at night.”

  “What was Ursula like to work for?” asked Lydia when she parked outside the bungalow.

  “I came here every Tuesday and Thursday and did a full day’s work. Ursula paid me well for my labour. She was a particular person if you get my drift. Everything had to be right. I learned how to avoid a tongue lashing very quickly. I listened to what she said she wanted and made sure she never had cause to complain.”

  “Did you know about her habit of not drawing her curtains?” asked Lydia.

  “That was not something she discussed with the paid help, Miss. After three years of never arriving to find a curtain even partly drawn, I realised something was wrong straight away that morning.”

  “Let’s wander around the grounds,” said Gus. “Has it changed since you came here last?”

  “This is the first time I’ve been near the bungalow since that day, Mr Freeman. After Arthur came out and said what he’d found, I waited for the police to arrive. They questioned me, as you would expect, and when they said I could leave, I put the ladder back in the shed, locked up, and cycled home. The frost had long gone by that time. Someone has tended to the garden, I see. They’ve cut back the trees at the rear of the property far more than Ursula preferred. There were more overhanging branches, and she left the brambles to run wild. They’ve scrubbed those out now.”

  “Why did Ursula keep them,” asked Gus, “did she enjoy picking the blackberries?”

  “She picked a few, but she told me I could collect whatever I needed. Ursula allowed the boundary at the back garden to grow wild, to screen those fields behind. That was where her father died. And there’s a footpath crossing the field. Ramblers use it to make sure it’s kept open.”

  “We’ve got a key to the shed,” said Gus, “I wonder whether the maintenance firm stores any of their gear here?”

  He opened the shed door, and Don took a look.

  “The step ladder’s still there,” he said, “and the old lawnmower I used to use. They’ve cleared out odds and ends, half bags of fertiliser, packets of seeds. The tools Ursula’s father left that I made use of are stacked in the corner. The cobwebs tell their own story. It isn’t in use any longer.”

  “Do you feel up to coming indoors with us now, Mr Hillier?” asked Gus.

  Don Hillier shrugged.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts, Mr Freeman.”

  Lydia felt a shiver down her spine as they stepped over the threshold. Ursula’s handyman hadn’t witnessed the body. He may have heard stories of what the killer had done, but Lydia had seen the photographs.

  Gus walked into the living room, and his shoes echoed on the bare boards of the wooden floor. He shone Don Hillier’s torch around the walls and on the floor.

  “Strange, isn’t it?” said Don. “Her furniture doesn’t look to have moved. Why didn’t Arthur remove these ornaments or even unplug her old TV?”

  “There aren’t any family photographs,” said Lydia. “Were there any when you worked here?”

  “No idea, Miss. I never came indoors. When I was up the ladder, peering in that day, I was only wondering if she was alright.”

  “We’ll check whether Arthur had items removed,” said Gus. “He said he’s never been back.”

  “Several of these ornaments are souvenirs from tourist destinations,” said Lydia.

  “Ursula went on foreign holidays after her mother died,” said Don. “Coach trips mostly, I don’t remember her mentioning that she flew anywhere, but I might be wrong. That had stopped by the time I started working for her. She told me she was too busy at the library to take a holiday.”

  “There’s only one thing that appears to be missing from the kitchen,” said Gus, who had left Don and Lydia in the living room.

  “The murder weapon,” said Lydia. She heard Don’s intake of breath.

  “Ursula didn’t own a separate freezer,” said Gus. “Her fridge is empty, and there’s nothing in the larder.”

  “Her parents never moved with the times, Mr Freeman,” said Don. “My mother managed perfectly well with a store cupboard in the kitchen. She relented and had a fridge when she was in her seventies. We bought fresh produce every couple of days, cooked it and ate it, then put the few scraps out for the animals. We couldn’t afford to waste anything.”

  “A different world,” said Gus. “Ursula’s kitchen had its roots in the 1950s, but with a brand-new fridge.”

  Gus headed towards the hallway again.

  “Are you familiar with the layout of these bungalows, Don?”

  “Not one hundred per cent,” he said, “but on this side of the house, there must be two bedrooms at the rear, the family bathroom, and then the main bedroom at the front. Who slept where heaven knows.”

  “We’ll start at the back,” said Gus.

  “Good,” said Lydia. Any delay in entering the front bedroom was acceptable to her.

  CHAPTER 7

  They had left the front door open, so the hallway wasn’t as dark as the living room and kitchen. The back bedroom door creaked when Gus opened it.

  “Blimey,” said Don.

  “Exactly,” said Gus. “No prizes for guessing whose room this was. I half-expected to find a teenage Arthur asleep in the bed. Nobody has touched this room for decades. When was he born?”

  “Thirty-three, guv,” said Lydia. “Glenda told me they married two weeks after the Coronation in 1953. Matthew arrived three years later, followed by Samantha in 1958.”

  “What did you have on the walls in your bedroom, Don?” asked Gus.

  “Wallpaper, for a start. I had a large map of the world, rather than a globe—two pictures. We couldn’t afford a carpet, so it was linoleum and a mat by the bed. Even so, it felt warmer than this does. This is spartan, isn’t it? No decoration at all.”

  “No books, magazines, or comics. Just as Glenda predicted,” said Lydia. “It’s like a monk’s cell.”

  “Things changed once he left here and married,” said Gus, “the house we were in an hour ago was decidedly normal. Nothing more nor less than you expect for an elderly couple these days.”

  “Money helps with that, guv. Perhaps Arthur wanted to leave everything he’d experienced when he was growing up behind him.”

  “I think nothing’s moved,” said Gus. “We’re seeing it as it was the day Arthur left to get married. His mother closed the door, and that was that.”

  “Next door will be the box room then,” said Don. “Ursula’s bedroom, as she was the youngest child.”

  Lydia opened the door.

  “What a tiny room,” she said.

  “Seven foot by six foot would you say, Mr Freeman?” asked Don Hillier.

  “I agree, I reckon Ursula cleared this room when her mother died,” said Gus. “S
he moved into the room at the front by 1997. Every piece of furniture from this bedroom has gone. What does that suggest?”

  “It was a mirror image of Arthur’s room, guv. Sterile, and with no decoration. Look at the curtains. Blue and white check. They were purely functional and drab.”

  “What’s in those cardboard boxes?” asked Don.

  “Old clothes belonging to her parents, according to our records,” said Gus.

  “Do you want to check, guv?” asked Lydia.

  “I’ll step outside if you think it’s none of my business,” said Don.

  “Up to you,” said Gus, “We’re unlikely to discover anything horrific. I’d be kicking up a fuss at Salisbury nick if they hadn’t been through every box searching for potential clues. If we dig deep enough in the original file back in the office, Lydia, you should find an itemised inventory. It might have got lost, I suppose. It’s hard to see how it could be relevant.”

  Lydia opened the top box. She took a pair of nitrile gloves from her pocket.

  “Night clothes and underwear,” she said.

  “Let me help you, Miss,” said Don, moving forward to lift the box to one side.

  “I can manage,” said Lydia, “you could take the others from the stack and put them on the floor. Gus and I can get through them quicker together.”

  Gus ferreted in his jacket pocket, hoping he’d remembered his gloves. He was in luck.

  Boxes two, three and four contained old clothes belonging to Gideon, Elspeth and their two children. There were no toys of any description.

  “They didn’t even keep their baby clothes or christening gowns,” said Lydia. “What about their baby teeth, or the curls from their first haircut? What kind of people were they?”

  Gus lifted the corner of the last box.

  “This is the heaviest of the lot,” he said. “I think we can guess what’s in here.”

  He opened the lid and stood back.

  “Blimey,” said Don Hillier.

  The first two items were Victorian family Bibles. They looked magnificent.

  “They’re heavy,” said Lydia, “this one has to be over five kilos.”

  “A pressed leather exterior, gilt cartouche for the title, and gilt clasps still in perfect working order after what, one hundred and forty years?”

  “They’re full of sepia engravings and revivalist illuminations,” said Lydia.

  “They must be worth a fair bit,” said Don Hillier. “Do you reckon this was what those burglars wanted?”

  “Only if these Bibles were hiding gold bars inside them,” said Gus.

  “What’s under the cloth protecting the Bibles, guv?” asked Lydia.

  “More religious texts, Bible stories, hymn books. There are several certificates here for Sunday school attendance prizes awarded to Arthur and Ursula. No big surprises in there. Everything relates to the Methodist Church. Guess what? Right at the very bottom is a single photo album.”

  “Black and white?” asked Don Hillier.

  “Dog-eared and faded, yes. It’s from Gideon and Elspeth’s wedding in 1930. There’s nothing of the children. No birthday party, no playing in the garden. No family day out on the beach at Weymouth. Nothing.”

  “Arthur appeared to survive his brutal upbringing alright, guv,” said Lydia. “You wouldn’t say unscathed, but once he escaped their clutches, he lived a relatively normal life.”

  “I never knew Ursula had to endure such hardship,” said Don. “It explains her strange ways.”

  “There’s nothing more to see,” said Gus. “We should leave the room as we found it. Then we’ll have a quick look next door and get you back home, Don.”

  Two minutes later, they stood outside the front bedroom door.

  “This is where it happened, is it?” asked Don.

  Gus nodded.

  “Don’t feel obliged to come in, Don.”

  Gus and Lydia stepped inside.

  Lydia laughed.

  “I never expected that,” said Gus.

  “Ursula had the room decorated in the late Nineties,” said Lydia. “This was the room she wanted when she was a young girl. It reminded me of my bedroom when I was five or six years old in Dundee.”

  Gus looked over his shoulder. Don Hillier was hovering by the front door. Gus steered Lydia further into the room so they could speak in private.

  “The naked body, the knife wounds, and the blood dominated the crime scene photos. Ursula’s surroundings faded into the background so much that I never imagined for one moment her bedroom was bright and colourful. She never attempted to decorate the kitchen and living room. This bedroom was Ursula’s sanctuary, where she could live the life her parents denied her.”

  “I’m surprised she remained sane after seventy-eight years living in a time capsule,” said Lydia. “Although maybe she didn’t.”

  “We didn’t check the bathroom,” said Gus.

  “Are you ready to go?” asked Don, “I felt a chill just now.”

  “You said you didn’t believe in ghosts,” said Gus. “We won’t be a second.”

  Lydia opened the bathroom door.

  “Back to the Fifties, guv. How can anyone manage without a shower or a heated towel rail?”

  “Those Victorian Roll-Top baths are popular again,” said Gus. “I wonder where the outside toilet used to be before they had this one installed?”

  “At the bottom of the garden, near the trees,” said Don, “It had gone when I started working here, but the concrete base still exists. There’s a butt there now to collect rainwater.”

  “Right, that’s everything,” said Gus. “We’ll run you back home, Don.”

  “Will you need to speak to me again?” he asked.

  “Why? Is there something you haven’t told us?”

  “I’m not hiding any secrets, Mr Freeman.”

  “Did the detectives ever ask if you knew who might have had a grudge against Ursula?”

  “They were keen to pin it on me, Mr Freeman. That fellow Kite talked to me several times. I had half a dozen witnesses who saw me in the Walnut Tree Inn that evening. After that, they dashed over to Ringwood to pursue the burglary aspect. Nothing ever came of it, so now you’re back again. How long have you got, Mr Freeman? If you want the names of people who Ursula annoyed, it might take a while. Take that footpath behind those trees. In a small town such as Mere, families have lived here for generations. In Gideon’s day, everyone in town knew everyone else. There are houses around these parts now that carry a fancy price. You know the major landowner in the region, I imagine?”

  “The Duchy of Cornwall,” said Gus. “I picked up local knowledge working for thirty years in Salisbury, Don. Wiltshire is one of twenty-three counties in England with land governed by the estate. Edward III established it in 1337. The Gillingham estate extends into the county, but the exact boundaries aren’t clear.”

  “Enough said. Well, over the years there’s been an influx of wealthy types. Incomers, we call them—people who come to live in an area where they didn’t grow up. Now, I’m not the type that wants to run them out of town. Live and let live, that’s my motto, but some don’t take kindly to folks who move here and then want to change things that have been a particular way for hundreds of years.”

  “I can imagine Gideon stood firm against such people,” said Gus.

  “Ursula, too,” said Don.

  “Who owns the land behind the bungalow?” asked Gus.

  “A chap called Hurley. He’s a wealthy financier who moved out of London twenty-five years ago. He owns a seven-bedroomed house on an estate on the outskirts of Gillingham.”

  “Twenty-five years?” said Lydia. “Do the locals still call him an incomer?”

  “He’s got another generation to go before he becomes one of us, Miss. Hurley earns more in bonuses every week than you do in a year,” said Don. “His estate is far enough away not to see the housing estate he wanted to get built on that land. He bought it years ago with an eye on future developm
ent. However, there was something in his way.”

  “The footpath that runs across the land close to Ursula’s bungalow,” said Gus.

  “Ursula said her piece in town frequently when the initial land purchase went through. You know how these things go, Mr Freeman. Unless you keep your eyes peeled, the required notice of intent slips past you in a local newspaper, and the deed gets done. Ursula accused the Council of taking a back-hander from this Hurley chap and failing to block yet another assault on the green belt. Mere is a tiny town with half a dozen villages nearby. If hundreds of houses went up in areas like Shaftesbury Road, then in a decade the town would lose its identity. Hurley saw an opportunity to cash in when the land was cheap. Five years after this affair blew up, James Bendick got involved. He bought land on the other side of the road.”

  “What, Bendick, the shipping magnate? Does he live around here?” asked Gus.

  “Bendick has homes in London and Monte Carlo, Mr Freeman, but he’s got a young wife these days, and she lives in a listed building on Castle Hill. His land doesn’t have a right-of-way to concern him. But Ursula saw the danger that the purchase could pose. She wasn’t shy in letting people know how she felt. If one or the other of them got a foot in the door, then more and more developers would jump on the bandwagon.”

  Gus shared a glance with Lydia. Now they were getting somewhere. Gus wondered why Jefferson and Kite hadn’t explored this angle?

  “Together with the Ramblers Association, a campaigner argued that the track crossing the farmland Gideon Wakeley had worked on throughout his life became a public right of way in 1841. On that basis, the track should get shown as a public bridleway on the area’s definitive map. There was a public inquiry presided over by a government inspector, and the campaigner didn't persuade him and the local authority to agree with his view. As soon as that became public knowledge, Ursula Wakeley was telling anyone who would listen that Hurley had the local authority in his pocket.”

  “What reason did they give?” asked Gus.