The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Thanks, and don’t tell anyone.’

  A quick shower, some food for her cat, and Clare was out of her cottage. A murder enquiry was serious; her boss being ill, more so.

  Parking at the hospital, she soon found her way to outpatients, meeting someone she knew. ‘It’s Tremayne, he’s not well,’ Clare said. ‘And please, not a word to anyone.’

  The woman, a friend, understood. Inside, behind some screens, Tremayne was lying flat on his back. His shoes had been removed, and his tie had been loosened.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ Clare said. She knew Tremayne would not appreciate lashings of sympathy, although he looked dreadful.

  ‘Since last night. I’d had a few drinks, a few cigarettes, and all of a sudden I’m in the back of an ambulance.’

  ‘Does Jean know?’

  ‘Not yet. Maybe you can phone her. She went to see her son for a few days, left me on my own.’

  ‘Off the leash and into trouble, that’s you, guv.’

  ‘Not today, Yarwood. Maybe Moulton’s right about me retiring.’

  ‘Having you feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to help, is it?’

  The nurse, standing on the other side of the bed, looked over at Clare disapprovingly. ‘It’s how we work,’ Clare said.

  ‘That may be the case, but Mr Tremayne has had a bit of a scare. He needs to be here for a few days while we conduct a few checks.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘It’s not for me to say. That’s for the doctor.’

  ‘He told me to cut down on the beer, quit smoking, and take it easy.’

  ‘Retire, is that it?’ Clare said.

  ‘They don’t get it, do they?’ Tremayne looked over at the nurse who was monitoring his condition. ‘Sorry. We’ve got a murder to deal with, nothing personal.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. We get our fair share of people, men mainly, who think they’re invincible. You’re not the first, not the last, who thinks they know more than the experts.’

  ‘Call the doctor,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘You should stay, follow medical advice,’ Clare said.

  ‘And leave you on your own, now that it’s getting interesting.’

  ‘Is it worth your health?’

  ‘I’ll cut back on the cigarettes, moderate my drinking.’

  ‘That will definitely kill you. You thrive on your bad habits.’

  The doctor appeared from behind her. ‘You’re right. Tremayne is an old warhorse, but old horses end up in the knacker’s yard eventually.’

  ‘Yarwood, this is Doctor Warner. He’s been looking after me.’

  ‘And not getting very far. It’s not the first time you’ve been in here, is it, Tremayne?’

  ‘I didn’t tell Yarwood last time.’

  ‘Your boss is a stubborn and less than ideal patient,’ the doctor said. Clare smiled back at the man. She immediately liked him.

  ‘Hard work never hurt anyone,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I would agree with you there, but beer and cigarettes will. It’s either you give some of them up, or you’ll be singing at the pearly gates, hoping they’ll let you in.’

  ‘Not me, sounds too boring. I reckon the other place would be more interesting, that’s where all the villains go.’

  ‘And police officers who don’t follow qualified medical advice. And I don’t intend to inflict you on all those sinners just yet. You’ll have them all arrested within a week, hanging from the gallows in two.’

  ‘And take that smug look off your face, Yarwood,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Tremayne, I’m discharging you into the care of Sergeant Yarwood. If you come in here one more time in this condition, I’ll make it official and report it to Superintendent Moulton,’ the doctor said.

  ‘You and Yarwood should get together, a right pair of killjoys.’

  Clare smiled and looked at the doctor; he looked at her, saw she was not wearing a ring.

  Tremayne sat up, eased himself around. Clare took his shoes and put them on his feet, even tying the laces for him. ‘We have to look after you, doctor’s orders.’

  ‘God help me. I was better off lying on that bed.’

  ‘It’s still here if you need it,’ the doctor said.

  ‘Get me out of here, Yarwood. You and the doctor can discuss my case some other time and without me. We’ve got a murder to solve.’

  ***

  Tremayne looked down at the plate in front of him. It was dinner time at the Tremayne residence. ‘What’s this?’ he said.

  ‘You may want to eat and drink yourself into an early grave, but as long as I’m in this house, that’s what you’re going to eat,’ Jean said.

  After Clare had phoned her, Jean, the only woman the detective inspector had loved, had returned to the house in Wilton. He had known the moment he got home that night; the place was tidy.

  ‘How you can live the way you do, I’ll never know,’ Jean said.

  Tremayne had looked at her standing in his hallway, pleased that she was there, not wanting to admit it.

  ‘I can look after myself.’

  ‘And there’s Clare, worried sick about you. Why, I’ll never know.’

  For a moment he felt a tenderness that he had not felt in a long time. He had wanted to grab hold of her in the hallway and kiss her, but he had just finished another day at work, and he was not feeling well. He settled with, ‘Glad you’re here.’

  ‘A good meal and off to bed. Tonight, you’re going to sleep, and there’ll be no return visits to the pub where you collapsed. I’ve had your superintendent on the phone wondering where you are, how you are. Supposedly, he hasn’t been able to contact you.’

  ‘Damn right. I switched off my phone to him. The man will only use my visit to the hospital to pension me off.’

  ‘And not a bad idea. That way, I’ll get to make sure you eat properly, and it’s two pints of a night time now, not six or seven, the occasional eight.’

  ‘I’ve gone to hell, I know it.’

  ‘You haven’t. A couple of weeks and I’ll have you running around the block. Clare, she says…’

  ‘It’s you and Yarwood, my jailers.’

  ‘Nothing of the sort. I need a husband, and she needs a detective inspector. We’re both concerned, the same as you should be.’

  Tremayne sat down in his favourite chair and turned on the television, before turning it off again. He turned to Jean. ‘I thought my number was up.’

  ‘Don’t fight me on this, Tremayne,’ Jean said. ‘You can’t fight nature. You’re getting older, the same as I am. If you keep on abusing your body, you’ll be dead within six months.’

  ‘Did Yarwood put you up to this? I’ve a good mind to…’

  ‘You’ve a good mind to thank her, that’s what you’ll do. Clare cares about you, the same as I do.’

  After Jean had left to fetch him a hot drink, Tremayne switched on the television again. It was a tedious documentary, not that he took any notice of it. He’d not admit to it, but he appreciated the attention, the fact that Jean cared, the fact that Yarwood cared, though neither would receive any thanks from him.

  A knock at the door. Jean answered it. ‘A bit of a scare from what I hear,’ Superintendent Moulton said as he sat down.

  ‘I’ve just been overdoing it, that’s all.’

  ‘No chance to charge your phone, either.’

  ‘Sorry about that. I wasn’t in the mood to fight you over my retirement today.’

  ‘I wasn’t phoning about that. I was enquiring after your health. I was worried.’

  ‘Not you as well.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s Jean and Yarwood, they’re trying to make me change my habits.’

  ‘They’re wasting their time, but you’ve got to take it easy. I’ll make a deal with you. If you lose a few pounds, look after your health, I’ll put the retirement plan to one side.’

  ‘Indefinitely?’

  ‘Six months.’ />
  ‘It’s a deal. You won’t have anything to do down at the station.’

  ‘Contrary to your opinion of me, I do have other responsibilities.’

  Jean entered the room. ‘A cup of tea, Superintendent?’

  ‘No, thanks. I should be off. Our man Tremayne needs his beauty sleep.’

  ‘Bit late for that,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Maybe, but rest tonight. Let Sergeant Yarwood take more of the workload.’

  ‘She does her fair share.’

  After Moulton had left, Tremayne turned to Jean. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining,’ he said.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘He’s given me six months to get myself fit, and no talk of retirement.’

  ‘Retirement, you. You’d drive me mad.’

  ‘That’s not what you said before.’

  ‘Before, I was worried that you were going to die. Now, I’m scared of you retiring.’

  ‘I’ll never retire, you know that.’

  ‘I know it, although Bemerton Road Police Station doesn’t.’

  Chapter 12

  The next day, it was ten in the morning before Tremayne walked through the door at Bemerton Road, the all-conquering hero. He had never known so many people pleased to see him. Everyone he passed stopped and shook his hand, wished him well. Even the woman in Accounts, who always gave Tremayne hell about his poor attempt at filling in an expense form, gave him a hug, shed a tear. ‘It wouldn’t be the same without you,’ she said.

  ‘Life would be simpler for you,’ Tremayne said. He had felt slightly embarrassed by the woman’s attention. Clare had seen the exchange between the Account’s lady and Tremayne. She had smiled to herself. She had to admit he looked better, and she was glad she had phoned up Jean, her efforts clearly visible. For once, Tremayne wore a freshly-pressed suit, a white shirt, a tie that did not skew to one side.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, Yarwood,’ Tremayne said as he entered Homicide. ‘I’ve got you and Jean fussing, and now I’ve got Moulton eating out of my hand. What else can go wrong?’

  ‘We’ve got a visitor,’ Clare said.

  ‘I’m not eating out of your hand,’ Moulton said. He was sitting on a chair not more than six feet from where Tremayne had made his disparaging comment.

  Sorry about that,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘What’s this about the missing bars? Any impact on the investigation?’

  ‘I’d say so. We’ve not mentioned it to any of the potential murderers yet.’

  ‘Any reason why?’

  ‘Cosford’s excited at taking on the insurance company, the Mitchells are coming to terms with Ethan’s death. I’ll bring it up when the time is right, although I’m interested to see if anyone mentions it to us. Cosford should know through the insurance company, but the Mitchells won’t have been told. If one of them mentions it, we’ll need to ask how they knew.’

  ‘Are you certain there were twenty missing?’

  ‘According to the company that Cosford bought them from, and we’ve seen the manifest document for the transportation. Forty bars left London, we recovered twenty from the boot of the car, and now seventeen from out at Emberley. That leaves three missing. And besides, Hughes has been on the phone as I was driving in. They found a hair clip in the hole.’

  ‘A woman took the gold?’ Moulton said.

  ‘That seems a possibility. Forensics is trying, but it’s unlikely they’ll find much.’

  ‘You have your suspicions?’

  ‘Betty, Ethan’s widow, had the treasure map.’

  ‘Primary suspect?’

  ‘It’s not normally that simple.’

  Moulton left. Tremayne and Clare sat down in Tremayne’s office.

  ‘Your new best friend,’ Clare said.

  Tremayne chose to ignore Clare’s attempt at humour. He wasn’t feeling the best, even though he had put on a show on entering the police station. Clare looked at him, saw through the mask. ‘I’ll drive today,’ she said.

  ‘You always do. And what do you and Jean want me to do? Lie down on the back seat and take a nap.’

  ‘If you want.’

  ‘Not me. We’ve got work to do. What do you reckon to the three bars of gold that are missing?’

  ‘Betty Galton?’

  ‘We need to see her. I was out with Cosford the other day. Apart from some excellent brandy, he tried to bribe me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Confidentially, and I don’t want this on the record, not just yet, he’s taking on the insurance company, wanting to pay the original insurance payment back and reclaim the gold.’

  ‘Can he?’

  ‘I’ve known him a long time. He’s bound to bring in the smartest lawyers to take them on. He’s got my vote if he wins. I’ve not much time for insurance companies and banks, bloodsuckers, the lot of them.’

  ‘The bribe?’

  ‘Intimated. He wasn’t specific. I assume he wants me to corroborate his story.’

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘I can only give the facts.’

  ‘It depends how you phrase it.’

  ‘Maybe, but I’m not into corruption, and I’m certainly not going to take a bribe.’

  ‘I know that,’ Clare said. ‘However, it makes him suspect.’

  ‘He always was. He flies close to the wind, takes chances. Although I’ve never seen him as a criminal.’

  ‘What’s the plan for today?’

  ‘The security van drivers, do we know where they are?’

  ‘One of them, we do.’

  ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘No idea. I’ve an address for the first one. It’s close to London. It’s been checked out; the man is there.’

  ‘Certain?’

  ‘He has been warned by the local police not to take any holidays.’

  ‘Criminal record?’

  ‘Petty crime.’

  ‘And he was entrusted with forty bars of gold.’

  ‘He wasn’t a criminal then.’

  ‘You’d better phone your accomplice,’ Tremayne said. ‘Tell her I’m in your care, and I won’t be home for lunch, or what constitutes a lunch.’

  ‘It’s because we love you, guv.’

  ‘Don’t give me any of that gooey nonsense. Bring the car around, I need a cigarette.’

  ‘How many today?’

  ‘It’s my first, and yes, I’ll keep it to less than five for the day. And no nagging on the way, Jean’s giving me enough of that.’

  Clare picked up her laptop, her handbag, and left the office. She smiled to herself as she walked down the corridor, not only on account of Tremayne but because his doctor from the previous day had phoned her up. She was going out on a date, and this time she wanted to.

  ***

  ‘Another one with a fortune in his van and he lives like this,’ Tremayne said. The drive up from Salisbury had taken close to two hours on account of the fog, and his need to stop every twenty minutes to stretch his legs.

  Clare could see a man who should be taking it easy, a man who would work himself into an early grave. Not that she could criticise. She knew that the pressure of work had been taking its toll, and she had put on some weight, and now she was going out on Saturday evening for a meal, a bottle of wine, and whatever else. It was the first time for a long time that she had wanted to be with someone since Harry’s death, and all that time with only a cat in her bed. She had tried a couple of times to enter the dating game; both had been unmitigated disasters. One of the dates had the personality of a prune, the other expected to sleep with her, even after he had spent the evening talking about himself, and then expected her to go halves on the bill. She had given him short shrift, almost told him where to go. But she had desisted. He worked in the same police station, and now she purposely avoided him at every opportunity, not that it stopped him sending her the occasional email, asking her when she was free. She had always deleted them. The next time, she would not. She would send him a curt re
ply to not contact her again or else. The prune had found himself a wife in the interim, a mousy blonde with large prescription glasses, who obviously liked dull men with no charm.

  Clare parked in the street, not sure if it was safe to leave the vehicle unattended. A row of red-brick terrace houses stretched from where they were parked up the road for at least a hundred yards; behind them, it ran for another two hundred yards. Judging by the people in the street, this was low rental, low socio-economic, high crime.

  ‘We’ve got a job to do,’ Tremayne said. He was feeling better on account of a sleep on the way up, although he needed a cigarette. He knew what Yarwood would say if he took out a packet.

  ‘It’s the black door, number 248,’ Clare said.

  ‘Tremayne, you’ve aged,’ the man of the house said as he opened the door.

  ‘Vince Harding, it’s been seventeen years,’ Tremayne said. ‘You’re not looking so good either.’

  ‘You’d better come in. I can’t have you making the street look untidy. And who’s the lady?’

  ‘Sergeant Yarwood. I’m an inspector now.’

  ‘Good for you, not so good for me. Do you want a beer?’

  ‘We’re fine,’ Clare said.

  Clare could see that Vince Harding had aged worse than Tremayne, and he wasn’t looking so sharp. Harding, known to be fifty-three, wore an old tee shirt and a pair of shorts two sizes too small, judging by his extended belly. It was clear that he had not shaved for two or three days, and his breath stank.

  ‘Suit yourself. I’ll get myself one. No doubt you’re here to ask me about the missing bars.’

  ‘We are,’ Tremayne said. ‘What’s the story?’

  ‘Are you guilty, Mr Harding?’ Clare said. She thought the direct approach, seeing she had not met the man before, would give notice that they weren’t there for a day out.

  ‘Call me Vince. No, I’m not guilty of any crime other than stupidity. Aidan, my offsider, he had this girlfriend. It was on the way, and he thought we could pop in. We were ahead of schedule, the van was unmarked, and it was well secured.’

  ‘You agreed?’

  ‘I couldn’t see any harm. We’d been together as a team on and off for eighteen months, and I trusted him, the same as he trusted me. I know we’ve got all this gold in the back, but it seemed safe enough to agree with him.’