The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘That’s two bodies,’ Tremayne replied.

  ‘It’s a woman, probably in her seventies.’

  ‘But who?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘I do,’ Clare said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The next-door neighbour’s wife. That’s what he was trying to tell me.’

  ‘Then why didn’t he mention it?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘The cause of death?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘I’d say she was suffocated, but I can’t be certain.’

  ‘That’s murder, Yarwood. Nothing unnatural about that.’

  ‘Any sign of Trevor Godwin?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘The first grave, but not confirmed yet. You’ve got enough to be going on with.’

  ‘You’ll be here all night.’

  ‘I’ve phoned a catering company in Salisbury. They’re bringing food and drinks.’

  ***

  Tremayne and Clare left the crime scene at the church and drove up to Elizabeth Grimshaw’s cottage. Tremayne stopped at the pub to buy some food. He returned within two minutes. ‘No food,’ he said.

  ‘There’s food there,’ Clare said.

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘Unpleasant?’

  ‘Very. Mind you, it’s very quiet. No one said a word, other than the publican.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He made it clear that I was not welcome. He must be a relative of Superintendent Moulton.’

  Clare laughed, the first laugh since the death of Oldfield. One minute later, they were outside Elizabeth Grimshaw’s cottage. Another police car stood outside. Tremayne had dispatched it the same time they had left the church. If there was another murderer next door, he wanted him arrested and in the cells at the police station. Tremayne knew that it was to be a busy night whatever happened.

  ‘How did he seem, this neighbour?’ Tremayne asked as they walked to the next-door cottage. Brutus barked from inside it.

  ‘Quiet, Brutus,’ Clare said.

  ‘Do you like dogs?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘I like Brutus.’

  ‘He’ll be looking for a new owner soon.’

  Tremayne knocked on the neighbour’s front door. It opened. ‘I told you to leave,’ the man said on seeing Clare.

  ‘I’m a police officer. This is Detective Inspector Tremayne.’

  The door opened wider to let the two police officers in. The man showed them to the front room.

  ‘You know Sergeant Yarwood,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I told her to leave.’

  ‘We found a body,’ Clare said.

  ‘She wanted to tell you.’

  ‘Tell us what?’

  ‘The truth.’

  ‘The body we found. Was it your wife?’

  ‘I told those down the pub that my wife wanted to give evidence, to protect Elizabeth.’

  ‘Who killed your wife?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘I did what I was told.’

  ‘Are you saying that you killed her in this cottage?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And who buried her behind the church?’

  ‘I did.’

  Tremayne looked at the man. He was in his eighties and walked with a stick. There was no way that he could have dug a hole sufficiently big to bury a body. Regardless, he had admitted to murder.

  ‘You’ve killed your wife, someone I assume you’ve been married to for forty, fifty years, yet you show no remorse,’ Clare said.

  ‘My wife was not well. I will be with her soon.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Dr Wylshere gave me some poison to take. I can feel its effects now.’

  ‘Yarwood, call an ambulance,’ Tremayne said. ‘This man needs to be in the hospital.’

  ‘It is too late for that,’ the neighbour said. He sat down in a chair by the fire and closed his eyes.

  ***

  As Tremayne and Clare arrived back at the church, an ambulance arrived. ‘There’s another body up the road,’ Tremayne said.

  A uniform had remained at the scene of the latest death. ‘It’s murder,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘More like an assisted suicide,’ Clare said.

  ‘’What is it with these people? They kill, allow themselves to be poisoned, talk rubbish.’

  ‘According to what he had told us, we’re about to find out. We need more people down here.’

  ‘I’ve already asked.’

  ‘They’re not here.’

  Tremayne made a phone call. ‘They’ll be here soon,’ he said after ending the call.

  ‘Are they armed?’ Hughes asked.

  ‘They’ll be armed. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Have you seen the locals?’

  ‘Only at the pub.’

  ‘They’re congregating outside on the street. They don’t look friendly.’

  ‘We know that already.’

  ‘My people want to wrap up, come back tomorrow. There are more bodies in there,’ Hughes said, pointing to the trees at the back of the church.

  ‘Many?’

  ‘Three that we know of. We need to take soil samples, check compaction rates, attempt to ascertain for how long, and then conduct a full exhumation.’

  ‘How many more?’

  ‘Hard to tell, but if this has been going on down here for generations, then there could be dozens.’

  ‘Focus on the more recent,’ Tremayne said. ‘Whoever killed them is here somewhere.’

  ‘You talk in the singular,’ Clare said.

  ‘In this village? They’re all as guilty as each other. No wonder they were so unfriendly when I came down here in my twenties. They were up to all sorts of monkey business even then.’

  ‘If you had stayed, it might have been you, guv,’ Clare said.

  ‘It could have been, but judging by the mob Hughes has just pointed out, they may be attempting to make up for lost opportunities,’ Tremayne said.

  Chapter 30

  To Edmund Wylshere, it resembled a monarch’s court with its courtiers, its sycophants, its fools assembled below. Unbeknown to those down at the church, he had been in the pub all the time. He knew that the time had come for a showdown. His belief in his own importance, his ability to sway the descendants of former serfs to do what was necessary, was inviolate.

  Hadn’t that foolish boy, Adam Saunders done what he was told, hadn’t Elizabeth Grimshaw, with her funny ways and her old dog, done what was needed, and as for his wife, she was putty in his hands, believing in him, even loving him, Wylshere thought.

  Wylshere knew that whatever happened to Avon Hill, it would be that night when its fate would be determined.

  The doctor could see from his vantage point in an upstairs room at the pub the activity down at the church. He could see them in the woods behind the church, and there, distinctly visible, the outlines of DI Tremayne and his sergeant. He felt a particular venom for them. If the older of the two had not interfered, then there would have been no problem, but he had, and he would continue to do so until the truth was revealed.

  And then the young sergeant, pretty at any other time, too dangerous to live at another. Wasn’t it her who had befriended Mavis Godwin, almost to the point where the woman was ready to reveal their darkest secrets? He had enjoyed watching her death, using a pair of binoculars. His wife did not know that he had seen her hold the woman’s head under water, the tears rolling down her cheeks, but she had done her duty. She would be spared. And now there was Grimshaw’s neighbour, the interfering old fool who had told the sergeant to leave the village. Oh, yes, Wylshere thought, he could be the court jester, every royal court needed one.

  He was pleased that his wife, Harriet, and their daughter were over two hundred miles away. Whatever was to happen in the village, they would at least be safe. In the years since he had taken over the leadership of the community, there had never been such a challenge as what they faced now. He knew there were some down below in the pub, congregat
ing on the street, who would be willing to walk down to the church, caps in hand, and confess to their sins. There were some who had always stood back when the knife needed to be thrust in as part of the sacrifice. They would be the first to go after those who represented law and order had been dealt with.

  He looked upwards at the night sky. Darkness was starting to envelop the village already. They know what’s coming, he said silently to himself. He looked down at the church again. He could see the lights inside the church, his church, the place where they were at their strongest, apart from the woods behind. How many would they find buried in there that night? How many more would be added to the total of those who had died already?

  Wylshere knew that it had been easier in past centuries when infant mortality had been higher, education had been limited or non-existent, and there was no dissension in the village, but now there were those even more educated than him, and they questioned. He had dealt with them all too easily, and the gods he would summon would deal with the rest. In the village, those that had bred offspring had been confined to areas outside the village, but not so far as to not be under his influence.

  It had been good that Adam Saunders had died at the hand of Elizabeth Grimshaw. Even he, Dr Edmund Wylshere, respected in the city of Salisbury, was suspect. His daughter, Wylshere realised, was questioning. If the gods would accept her, would she be willing to accept them?

  He mulled over the situation, the consequences, and more importantly what the future would hold. Once the secret was revealed, then the place would be overrun with scientists and sceptics and officers of the law and tourists. The tourists he could deal with, at least the most curious who decided to stay after nightfall.

  The crowd on the street outside the pub were becoming restless. They were preparing their ceremonial costumes, their ceremonial finery, their knives. Wylshere knew it was premature; he had to call them back into the bar where the less resolute would be drinking beer. He left the room and proceeded downstairs.

  ‘Edmund, what do you want?’ Albert Grayling asked from behind the bar.

  ‘I want discipline,’ Wylshere’s reply. ‘They will be here soon.’

  ‘They’ll want a pint then,’ the publican’s reply.

  ‘You mock them.’

  ‘Just making light of the situation.’

  Wylshere could see that Grayling was not a true believer, although he did not know why. The publican had seen their power on many occasions, but yet he preferred financial gain over his devotion to them, and tonight the pub was busy. Grayling had even wanted to open up to the police and to supply them with food.

  Grayling had protested when told that he could not, but he had obeyed, as he would that night, but Wylshere knew that the pub would need a new publican come the morning.

  ‘Bring them all in here,’ Wylshere said. Grayling followed the instruction and went out into the street. Within a few minutes, all those that were to be involved were in the bar at the pub. Grayling was pulling pints for whoever wanted, ensuring to take their money at the same time.

  ‘Close the bar,’ Wylshere said. Grayling obeyed.

  ‘What are we to do?’ one of the assembled asked.

  ‘Avon Hill will never be the same again,’ Wylshere said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We can no longer keep it a secret.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Wylshere said. He was tired of dealing with fools.

  ‘Even if we deal with those that are here, others will follow.’

  ‘Why don’t we let them conduct their investigation and leave?’ Grayling asked.

  ‘Grayling, you’re a fool.’

  ‘I resent that.’

  ‘Shut up and listen.’

  ‘He’s got a point,’ another of the people in the bar said.

  ‘Very well,’ Wylshere said. ‘If I must explain this to you. We can deal with those at the church, we can deal with any who subsequently come, but we cannot isolate ourselves indefinitely. All of us at some stage need to live in the outside world, and once we leave here, we will be subject to their rules and conventions. Even if we let them remove those in the woods, then what?’

  ‘You’re our senior elder. You tell us,’ Grayling said. Wylshere ignored his sarcasm.

  ‘If they have bodies, they will want explanations and those responsible. How many here have not been involved? I’ll tell you, none. We’re all guilty of murder according to their law.’

  ‘We were commanded,’ someone shouted.

  ‘They will not accept our law. They will enforce the law that exists outside of this village. They will find evidence and make arrests. How many of you want to spend time in their prisons?’

  No one in the room offered a comment; some shook their heads.

  ‘Very well, then we must resist.’

  ‘And after tonight?’ Grayling asked.

  ‘After tonight, our future lies with the gods. We must place our future in their hands as we have so many times in the past. If we do not survive, either as individuals or as a community, then it will be up to them. I can do no more.’

  ‘Dr Wylshere, you have served us well, as have your ancestors. We are behind you.’

  Outside the pub, a catering van drove by.

  ‘They’ll have full bellies,’ Wylshere said.

  ‘I could have supplied them with food,’ Grayling said, smarting that his profits were being given to someone else.

  ‘Grayling, stop your complaining. Neither the caterers nor the police will be leaving the village this night.’

  ‘And us?’

  ‘It is time to prepare.’

  ***

  Tremayne was impatient. Hughes and his team were working hard, even he would admit to that, but now they were all out of the wood and the church and helping themselves to seconds at the catering van. He realised the excuse of a pint of beer would not be unreasonable. The pub was not far away, only an eight-minute walk, two if he drove.

  He chose to drive. Besides, he had seen the people milling around outside of the pub on the road, and now they were no longer visible. He knew something was going on and he wanted to know what it was. ‘Yarwood, I’ll buy you a drink,’ he said.

  ‘I’m fine with a cup of coffee,’ she replied.

  ‘It’s not a request.’

  ‘Very well.’

  The two drove up in Tremayne’s car. There wasn’t enough time for the heater to warm up the interior. Clare felt uncomfortable as they drew close to the pub. A lone drinker stood in the doorway. As he saw the police car approaching, he slipped back inside.

  ‘They’ve been keeping a watch out for us,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘It could be dangerous, guv,’ Clare said.

  ‘That’s as maybe, but we’re here to uphold the law, not to pussy foot around with this bunch of country yokels. Besides, I’m armed.’

  ‘These people are murderers.’

  ‘I want to see the face of the enemy when we walk into that bar and order a couple of drinks.’

  ‘Is that how you see them?’ Clare asked.

  ‘You’ve not seen them rushing to help us.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then they’re the enemy, and from what I can see, very dangerous.’

  ***

  Clare, reluctant to join Tremayne at the pub, had no option. The two arrived at the front door to find a burly man blocking the way.

  ‘We’d like a drink,’ Tremayne said. The man stood to one side, making sure to brush up against Clare as she pushed by. At any other time, she would have seen his action as sexual intimidation, but in Avon Hill she knew it was not, more a case of this is our place and you’re not welcome.

  Tremayne had missed the man’s response at the door, or maybe he hadn’t. Clare wasn’t sure, but her DI acted as if nothing had happened. She looked around the bar for familiar faces, but there were none she recognised immediately, and besides, the majority of the patrons were out the back in the car park.
/>   ‘Check them out,’ Tremayne said. He had a pint of beer in his hand, orange juice for her.

  ‘No cost,’ the publican said. The pub was warm, the smell of sweating men still noticeable, even the traces of cigarettes: both were anathema to Clare. Once Harry had come near her after a night in the Deer’s Head reeking of stale beer and body odour coupled with the lingering smell of cigarettes. She had wanted him, but not in that condition, and it had taken a couple of showers and thorough brushing of his teeth before he was deemed worthy. She took her glass of orange juice and looked out of the window to the rear of the pub; she could not see very much. It was clear that whoever was out there had no intention of coming back into the warm bar with its open wood fire, at least not while there were two police officers there.

  Tremayne brought his pint over to the window. Clare noticed that he had not drunk any.

  ‘Anything?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘Too dark for me.’

  ‘Then we’d better go out there and have a look,’ Tremayne said. He made a phone call to Hughes first. ‘Any more bodies?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s perishing cold down here,’ Hughes’s reply. ‘What’s it like where you are?’

  ‘The locals are cold, as is the beer, but the pub’s warm enough.’

  ‘Then I’ll come up there with some of the team.’

  ‘Don’t expect the traditional country pub welcome.’

  ‘We won’t.’

  ‘Come on, Yarwood. Let’s go and stir the pot,’ Tremayne said.

  Clare could see it was dangerous. She knew out in that car park were murderers who had killed, would kill, for some malignant reason that made no sense.

  The two walked through the door at the rear, Tremayne almost knocking his head on the lintel above the door. The assembled group outside turned towards them and glared. Someone shone a light in Tremayne’s face. ‘DI Tremayne and DS Yarwood,’ he said.

  The person holding the light lowered its beam.

  ‘Thank you,’ Tremayne said. ‘We’re looking for Dr Wylshere,’ he said.