The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Is there any reason why you were given the role of Caesar’s wife?’

  ‘Has Cheryl said anything?’

  ‘Not at all. We’re trying to find out the relationships between the actors and Gordon Mason, that’s all.’

  ‘Cheryl may tell you different, but I’m a better actor than her. The fact that Len sponsors our productions is not important. Peter Freestone would not allow the production to be affected due to nepotism.’

  ‘Ancient Rome was full of nepotism,’ Clare said.

  ‘Maybe it was, but we aren’t.’

  ‘Tell us about the other actors and your relationship with them.’

  ‘Is this relevant? I’ve got to pick up the children from school. I wasn’t on the stage, I didn’t thrust a dagger into Gordon. What else is there?’

  ‘You were backstage with the daggers.’

  ‘So were Cheryl and Phillip Dennison.’

  ‘Did they touch the daggers at any time?’

  ‘Not that I saw. They were in a box, anyone could have touched them. We used the daggers in rehearsals. They were fakes, okay for spreading butter, not for killing someone.’

  ‘Were they?’

  ‘At rehearsals they were. I ran my finger along the blade of one.’

  ‘Blunt?’

  ‘It would open a letter, I suppose, but nothing more.’

  ‘And how long ago was that?’

  ‘Our last full-dress rehearsal. Two days before Old Sarum.’

  ‘The other actors?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Peter Freestone likes to take charge. Cheryl Milledge, competent, keen, well known around Salisbury.’

  ‘Well known?’ Clare said.

  ‘We were in the same class at school. We were both a bit free with it back then, but I settled down, Cheryl discovered alcohol.’

  ‘Free?’ Clare said.

  ‘Men, really boys back then. I met Len, decided he was the man for me. Cheryl continued playing the field, still is, or at least she was until she met Gary.’

  ‘Faithful to him?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. She’s got no money, neither has Gary, although that never meant much to her.’

  ‘And it did to you?’

  ‘When I met Len, he had nothing, the son of a postman. We made the business together.’

  ‘The others?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Trevor Winston, good hairdresser. I go there myself. He’s gay, but that doesn’t concern me. Bill Ford, decent. Jimmy Francombe, full of hormones, always eyeing Cheryl and me.’

  ‘Visually undressing you,’ Clare said.

  ‘He’s given you the treatment?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Phillip Dennison?’

  ‘Bitch of a wife.’

  ‘You’ve met her?’

  ‘He brought her along once. She bothered Gordon, but I took no notice. I’ve seen her type before, a tart trying to sell herself off as something better. Take off the war paint and she’d be nothing special.’

  ‘Does her husband know this?’

  ‘He should after Gordon insulted her. I thought the two men were going to come to blows. If Phillip loses his money, she’ll be off soon enough.’

  ‘Gary Barker?’

  ‘He’s keen on Cheryl. She seems keen on him. They’re a matched pair. Whether it will last is anyone’s guess.’

  ‘Cheryl’s had a few relationships,’ Clare said.

  ‘A few, that’s as good a way of saying it.’

  ‘Many?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘We go back a long way, Cheryl and me.’

  ‘Geoff Pearson?’

  Clare looked for a reaction, couldn’t see any.

  ‘Smart man, he’ll go far. He’s charismatic, good with the ladies. No doubt he’s got plenty of girlfriends, although he’s never brought any along.’

  ‘Your husband?’

  ‘Len, you know. Brash, ambitious, hard-working, good provider. What else is there to say about him.’

  ‘He’s full on,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I know he can rub people up the wrong way, but we’re close.’

  Chapter 8

  It was dark by the time Tremayne and Clare arrived back at Bemerton Road Police Station. The two of them had eaten at a Chinese restaurant in Fisherton Street on the way there. For the first time, Clare realised, she had not thought of Harry all day. The preoccupation with the murder enquiry was doing her good.

  Back in the office, the two of them drank cups of tea, Clare having made them, regardless of Tremayne’s earlier comment that he had only missed her tea making when she had been away for several months.

  ‘What do you think, guv?’ Clare asked.

  ‘There’s plenty of motives, but are any strong enough to stand up?’

  ‘Not really. There’s plenty of petty politics, a few that don’t like the others, but it’s hardly enough for murder.’

  ‘Don’t believe it, Yarwood. People kill for less.’

  ‘Fiona Dowling?’

  ‘Strange, she’s the one I trust the least, especially if Cheryl Milledge’s story is correct.’

  ‘Any way to prove it?’

  ‘Jim Hughes could check the rug on the floor.’

  ‘Get real, guv. If those two were on it, there’s hardly likely to be any proof now.’

  ‘We’ve focussed on seven assassins, two murderers.’

  ‘They were the only ones who stabbed the man.’

  ‘Were they? Mason’s lying on the floor. Is it possible someone else came up and stabbed him again, dealt the fatal blow.’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense. Why would the man be lying there if he wasn’t dead already?’

  ‘Then why didn’t anyone investigate? It couldn’t have been comfortable with his face covered.’

  ‘Maybe they did, saw he was dead and left him.’

  ‘If he wasn’t dead, then who else could have stabbed him?’

  ‘Mark Antony.’

  ‘Phillip Dennison?’

  ‘He had the motive to want the man dead.’

  ‘The daggers all had blood on them, and Mason had been stabbed with a sharp blade on the stage. If it’s Dennison, then his was not the first fatal blow. That would have had to have been one of the assassin’s blades.’

  ‘It’s plausible, I suppose, but you’ll need a better motive than Mason insulted Dennison’s wife.’

  ‘The lovely Samantha.’

  ‘Did you think that?’ Clare said.

  ‘What do you think, Yarwood?’

  ‘You’d prefer Cheryl Milledge.’

  ‘At least she’ll drink a pint of beer with me.’

  ‘If you’re paying, you’ll need to improve your win rate on the horses.’

  ‘Insults aside, Cheryl Milledge, apart from her atrocious housekeeping, was the only one who opened up with us.’

  ‘I think Samantha Dennison did.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘The way she treated her husband. She knows she’s controlling him, and she’s taking advantage. She didn’t pretend to be anything other than what she is.’

  ‘A gold digger?’

  ‘Mason was more direct, but that’s what she is.’

  ‘What’s her history? We should check her out.’

  ‘Is she relevant?’

  ‘It’s possible. Did Mason have any money? Was he insulting her as a diversion?’

  ‘You’re stretching it there.’

  ‘We’re clutching at straws, and you know it. We know there are two daggers, five wounds. Do we know which dagger entered where and how many times?’

  ‘We’ve not asked.’

  ‘It’s important. We need to know whether he died on that stage, and if there were any wounds inflicted afterwards.’

  ***

  The dramatic society’s performance for the following night at Old Sarum had been cancelled. Peter Freestone had called all the main suspects to his office to discuss what had happened, and what their future held.

  ‘I’d like to express my sorrow at the deat
h of a fellow thespian,’ Freestone said.

  ‘We should dedicate our next production to him,’ Bill Ford said.

  Cheryl Milledge said little. It was eight o’clock in the evening, and she and Gary had had their fair share of alcohol by that time.

  ‘You’re a drunk, Cheryl,’ Fiona Dowling said. The extraordinary meeting was not going well, Freestone could see that plainly enough.

  ‘Fiona, Cheryl, all of us,’ Freestone said, ‘the situation is more serious than you believe. We’ve all been visited by Detective Inspector Tremayne and Detective Sergeant Yarwood. We’re all aware of their investigation into how Gordon was killed, and by whom.’

  ‘They’re saying that two of us are murderers,’ Jimmy Francombe said.

  ‘They have scientific proof to make that statement.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t kill him.’

  ‘Jimmy, if you could suppress your boyish enthusiasm for a minute, we need to discuss what we know, and how to proceed.’

  Francombe sat still, fuming and glaring over at Freestone.

  ‘Freestone’s right,’ Bill Ford said. ‘If one or two of us are murderers, and I can’t believe that, how do we continue?’

  ‘A murder mystery night, is that what you are suggesting?’ Phillip Dennison said.

  ‘I’m good at those,’ Gary Barker said, temporarily reviving from his alcohol-fuelled stupor.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Freestone said. ‘The police will do the investigating. We just need to coordinate our approach to them, if that’s possible.’

  ‘How? They have forensic and pathology evidence. We’ll not be able to outthink them and why should we? Fiona and I have done nothing wrong,’ Len Dowling said.

  The two Dowlings were sitting close to each other, Geoff Pearson was on the other side of the room. Cheryl Milledge looked across between the three of them, looking for the tell-tale signs of recognition; she couldn’t see any, but then she knew the woman from their schooldays, knew her to have been the more promiscuous back then.

  ‘The police said that two of the daggers entered Gordon’s body,’ Freestone said. ‘I only stabbed him the one time, and my knife retracted.’

  ‘How do you know? You had the clearest target,’ Len Dowling said. ‘And it wasn’t me.’

  ‘I’ll vouch for my husband,’ Fiona Dowling said.

  ‘How can you do that, Fiona?’ Gary Barker said.

  ‘I know my husband better than you.’

  ‘And how well does your husband know you?’ Cheryl said.

  The atmosphere was electric. Everyone knew that within that office were two men who had committed murder. Freestone realised that convening the meeting had been a mistake.

  ‘Maybe none of us killed him,’ Pearson said. Fiona looked at him, so did Cheryl.

  ‘How?’ Ford said. For once he was not dressed in black, but casual in a pair of jeans and an open-necked shirt.

  ‘Could anyone else have stabbed him before or after?’

  ‘I thought you were smart,’ Freestone said. ‘That sounds crazy. The man collapses on the ground. Mark Antony comes in, and he’s placed on the stretcher. He was dead then.’

  ‘Was he? What if he was only unconscious? Those daggers can hurt, even the fake ones.’

  ‘What are you trying to do? Make out that it was an innocent mistake.’

  ‘Hold on, Freestone. You’re getting carried away here,’ Dennison said. ‘Don’t forget that a man died.’

  ‘You despised the man, the same as Trevor did, don’t deny it.’

  ‘I didn’t despise him,’ Trevor Winston said. ‘I’ve had a lifetime of abuse. One bitter old man wasn’t going to affect me. I just used to laugh it off.’

  ‘Rubbish, the man used to utter derisory comments in your direction,’ Fiona said. ‘I used to see the expression on your face.’

  ‘I’m not saying that I liked it, but I had no intention of killing him. If I’d killed everyone who’s baited me, beaten me up for what I am, then there’d be a lot of dead bodies, and besides, killing the man because he’s a bigot doesn’t make sense. Look at Len, look at Mason. One’s an estate agent, the other’s a solicitor, and you, Peter Freestone, are a councillor here in Salisbury. A dodgy deal, cheating someone out of their property, would make more sense, and then there’s Phillip with an expensive lifestyle, an expensive wife. If there was a financial gain, Phillip, would you consider killing him?’

  ‘You little bastard,’ Dennison said as he lurched towards Winston.

  ‘Hold back,’ Bill Ford said as he grabbed hold of Dennison, Barker grabbing hold of Winston.

  ‘I’m with Freestone,’ Ford said. ‘We need to be united. Our animosities and prejudices will not help here. Whatever the outcome, two of us wanted the man dead, maybe more, but two that we know of.’

  ‘My apologies to Dennison,’ Trevor Winston said’

  ‘Accepted. I understand the tension here,’ Dennison replied, although he did not look as if he meant it.

  ‘Ladies, gentlemen, this is getting us nowhere,’ Freestone said, attempting to bring the group to order.

  ‘Will you let me speak?’ Fiona Dowling said.

  ‘Carry on,’ Freestone replied. The man was exasperated, and he had taken his seat, leaning back in dismay. ‘I tried,’ he said.

  ‘You were right to bring us here tonight,’ Fiona said. ‘Our lives are in turmoil because of what has happened. Let us not pretend that we liked the man. He had his faults, the same as all of us, so let’s not dwell on his unless it’s relevant. The police will not give in until they’ve found whoever was responsible. It’s clearly not an accident, in that the daggers had been tampered with.’

  ‘What are you trying to achieve?’ Cheryl asked.

  ‘In this room are two people who are capable of violence. We are a disparate group, and whereas some of us will distort the truth if it is to our benefit, the majority of us would not consider murder.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’ Len, Fiona’s husband, asked.

  ‘Gordon was a good solicitor. He understood the law better than anyone else in this room.’

  ‘Are you suggesting he may have been crooked?’ Dennison said.

  ‘What are the options? One, he has dirt on somebody, or two, they have the dirt on him.’

  ‘There are two people.’

  ‘Agreed, but let us consider the possibilities first. Gordon was blackmailing, or he was being blackmailed. That’s two options.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘He knew something that other people did not want to be revealed. Or he was about to do something that would have been injurious to others.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m only putting forward theories. Two people in this room know the answer, but which two? Is anyone willing to stand up and tell us why they’re innocent?’

  ‘Don’t look at me. I’m still at school,’ Jimmy Francombe said.

  ‘Any inappropriate gestures from Gordon?’ Dennison asked.

  ‘If he had tried anything, I’d have hit him.’

  ‘I did once,’ Cheryl said.

  ‘Do you want to elaborate?’ Fiona asked. She knew the story. She just wanted her former school friend to feel the heat.

  ‘Last year when we put on that modern play, the one we’d all rather forget.’

  ‘The one where two of us forgot our lines, and the backdrop fell down.’

  ‘Don’t mention the name.’

  ‘I won’t. Is that when you hit him?’ Fiona asked. She was enjoying Cheryl’s squirming. After the heated exchanges of five minutes before, she was feeling relaxed again. She had seen Cheryl looking at her, looking at Geoff. Fiona was sure she couldn’t know, as they’d always been careful, and Len had no idea. Poor Len, the man of action, barely able to perform in bed, yet always attempting to soothe the men, charm their wives, into parting with their hard-earned cash for an overpriced renovator’s delight, most times succeeding.

  ‘The kissing scene, where we had a
passionate embrace.’

  Everyone in the room was quiet, even Jimmy Francombe, hoping for some titillation, something to tell his friends.

  ‘What happened?’ Fiona egged Cheryl on.

  ‘We’re meant to lock lips, but he’s there forcing his tongue down my throat, pushing his groin into me.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Freestone asked.

  ‘I would have kneed him in the groin if it wasn’t on stage. Instead, I hurried the scene. Later backstage, I confronted him.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘There wasn’t much he could say with my fist in his mouth.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

  ‘He’s not the first man that’s tried it on. I dealt with him in the only language that he understood.’

  ‘Did he try it again?’

  ‘Not him. Others have fancied their chances.’

  ‘Who?’ Fiona asked.

  ‘It’s not important unless they want to be bent over grabbing their balls the next time.’

  ‘I had no issue with the man,’ Pearson said. ‘He was polite with me, acted his part. We were always civil, but we had nothing in common.’

  ‘Apart from a love of ancient monuments,’ Dennison said.

  ‘Are you referring to that monstrosity of a house that he lived in?’

  ‘What style is it?’

  ‘I agree it’s a grim looking place, overgrown, almost Gothic, but it’s only seventy years old. My interest goes back further than that. Medieval and earlier is what I’m interested in.’

  ‘You could still have killed him.’

  ‘What for? I’m at university, my life before me. I don’t want to spend time in prison for the murder of a bigot.’

  ‘Is that how you see him?’ Fiona said.

  ‘What do you want us to say? Do you want us to defend him? Who liked him? Is there anyone willing to put up their hand and say that?’

  ‘You’ve made your point,’ Freestone said. The atmosphere in the room was improved. Dennison looked as if he was ready to leave, Gary and Cheryl looked as though they needed another drink, and Fiona was looking at Pearson. Len Dowling was surveying the room, focussing on his wife and Pearson. He said nothing.

  ‘I suggest that we cancel next week’s meeting,’ Freestone said.

  ‘I’ll second that. We’ll not be able to work together until whoever killed Mason is arrested. Whatever happens, we’ll be short of a couple of actors,’ Ford said.