The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘I’ll try,’ Clare replied to the doctor.

  A good night’s sleep for the detective inspector and his sergeant, and then back in the office early.

  ‘We need to pressure Cosford,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Will he know about Colin Morrison?’ Clare said as she sipped her coffee.

  ‘He’s got enough televisions out at his mansion.’

  It was seven in the morning, and the traffic had been light on the way in from Clare’s cottage in Stratford sub Castle. The date with the doctor still confused her. It had been a long time since she had met a man that she genuinely liked. She wondered if the night was going to be predictable, or whether it would end up with them together in a darkened room. Her two previous attempts at romance had ended badly. She didn’t want a third.

  ‘Are you coming or are you going to sit there daydreaming?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘It’s early. Cosford might not be awake.’

  ‘You know what they say about the early bird?’

  ‘Catches the worm. Is Cosford the worm?’

  ‘He could be the snake.’

  ‘Handcuffs needed?’ Clare said.

  ‘We’ll not catch him out that easily. His involvement in illicit drugs could explain the rags-to-riches and back to rags when he was younger. Stately mansions don’t come cheap, and Cosford’s wealth is not disputed, but how he came to have so much has never been clear.’

  ‘I’ve seen him on the television. His advice: one hundred pounds a week invested over thirty years, and then with compounding and secured with real estate, the average person can fund their retirement.’

  ‘Good enough for you and me, but it’ll not give you a mansion and a garage of expensive cars, nor trips overseas.’

  Tremayne and Clare were surprised to meet Paul Rudd of Gainsford Insurance when they drove through the entrance to the grounds surrounding Cosford’s mansion.

  ‘This is Maggie,’ Rudd said. ‘We were just going for an early morning walk.’

  ‘Did Selwyn resolve his insurance claim?’ Tremayne said sarcastically.

  ‘We came to an agreement. Both Mr Cosford and Gainsford Insurance have signed off on it.’

  ‘And the young lady?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘Mr Cosford is my grandfather.’

  As a romantic Clare saw it as lovely, but she had been trained by Tremayne and realised that something was amiss.

  Like father, like granddaughter, Tremayne thought.

  ‘We’re engaged,’ Maggie said. ‘Paul’s coming to work for Grandfather, deal with all his insurances, help him with his finances.’

  Tremayne remembered the last person that Gainsford Insurances had tasked with dealing with Cosford. He had approved the insurance claim, and then subsequently joined Cosford, only to disappear some years later. The man was never reported missing, and no enquiries were ever made.

  ‘Is Mr Cosford awake?’ Clare said.

  ‘He should be,’ Rudd said. ‘He’s an early riser.’

  Tremayne and Clare drove on. ‘Check in your rear-view mirror,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘He’s making a phone call.’

  ‘Put your foot down. Cosford knows we’re coming. I don’t want him prepared, and I don’t want his lawyer out here, not yet.’

  Clare drove up to the entrance of the building; the front door was open. Inside they found Cosford.

  ‘Tremayne, Clare, good to see you. What can I do for you?’ Cosford said. In his hand, he had a piece of toast. ‘I’m just having breakfast, do join me.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Tremayne said. Clare nodded her head.

  At the rear of the house, in a conservatory, a small table was set for three.

  ‘You were expecting us?’

  ‘That’s for Rudd and Maggie, but they’ll be a while.’

  ‘They’re staying here?’

  ‘Not always, but my granddaughter often comes over. They’re a good match, her and Rudd. And before you ask, I do approve, and they’re in love. Rudd’s a smart man, knocked back my claim.’

  ‘He said it was approved.’

  ‘I’ve transferred all of my insurance needs over to Gainsford. Their giving me a win on the gold was one of the conditions. Believe me, they’re ahead on the deal. You can’t begin to understand how much I outlay on insurance each year, and rarely a claim.’

  ‘The gold bars?’

  ‘They’re under lock and key.’

  ‘Who brought them from the police station to here?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Morrison’s. I’ve always used them.’

  ‘Even after the gold heist?’

  ‘Not for a while, but in time I went back to them. Colin Morrison was a man I always trusted.’

  ‘He’s a rogue, the same as you, Selwyn,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘A rogue never lets you down. He’ll argue the deal, attempt to claim for extras, but he can be trusted.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘His word is his bond. There are rogues out there who’ll not take kindly to being cheated. Some of them will come at night and burn your premises down.’

  ‘Or put a bullet in your head and dump you and your car in the River Thames.’

  ‘Tragic,’ Cosford said. ‘We rarely met, only once in the last ten years.’

  ‘Serious and Organised Crime Command had arrested Morrison. He was out on bail, not sure how. And you trusted him?’ Tremayne said. Clare noticed he was on his third slice of toast, a liberal covering of butter and jam.

  ‘A truck with drugs hidden under it doesn’t mean that Morrison was involved.’

  ‘His phone call to Terry Wright, a known criminal, confirmed his guilt. It was an open and shut case.’

  ‘Nobody’s guilty until the judge puts on the black cap.’

  ‘We don’t hang people in England anymore.’

  ‘More’s the shame,’ Cosford said.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I’ve met a few over the years who would have benefited from a hangman’s noose.’

  ‘Insurance accessors?’

  ‘Financiers mainly, but we digress. Morrison, tragic. I’ll make sure to go to his funeral.’

  ‘Pleasant as this all is,’ Tremayne said, ‘there is still the matter of your involvement. Morrison was a good operator, but those supplying the drugs were gangsters out of Eastern Europe, and they’re not Boy Scouts. Morrison has been murdered because they’re worried that he’ll talk.’

  ‘Or because he cheated another trucking company. They’re not Boy Scouts either. Tremayne, you’re trying to make too much out of this. Morrison’s dead and near to London. His murder is someone else’s responsibility.’

  ‘We’re working with the police close to where Morrison was murdered, as well as the Serious and Organised Crime Command. They weren’t focussing on Morrison, we weren’t focussing on you, but now we are.’

  ‘Don’t go there, Tremayne,’ Cosford said. ‘I’ve always seen you as a smart man, but I’ve influential friends.’

  Clare had seen it before, and Tremayne had told her it was coming. Influential friends only meant one thing; the person who said it had something to hide.

  Rudd and Maggie returned and took a couple of chairs from the far side of the conservatory and brought them over to the breakfast table.

  ‘Tremayne thinks I’m a crook,’ Cosford said.

  ‘Not you, Grandfather,’ Maggie said. Clare could see similar facial features to Cosford.

  ‘We’ve still got to solve the three Mitchell murders. Whether you’re involved or not will be dealt with by Serious and Organised Crime Command. If you are, then remember what happened to Morrison. He was playing with fire, I hope you’re not. I don’t want to be there when they fish you out of your pond, or when this place burns down with you inside.’

  ‘Tremayne, you’ve ruined a perfectly good breakfast,’ Cosford said.

  Clare could see that Tremayne was pleased. He had got Cosford rattled, and rattled people make phone calls, go and see people. And he would be kept under
close surveillance.

  As Tremayne and Clare made their way to the front of the house, Rudd came with them. ‘He’s a great man, you must know that,’ he said.

  ‘Maggie, she’s very much like her grandfather,’ Tremayne said. ‘Are you sure you’re not being fed a line? Women like her, they use men, spit them out when they’ve served their purpose.’

  ‘You foul-mouthed bastard. I’ve a good mind to…’

  ‘To what? Take a swing at me. Also, if you value your life and that of Maggie, I’d suggest you get some distance from this house.’

  Rudd retreated.

  ‘You were harsh with Paul Rudd. He’s in love, she is as well.’

  ‘I need Rudd confused and angry. Yarwood, phone up Constanza, ask him to put a trace on the young lovers.’

  ‘You enjoyed yourself in there,’ Clare said.

  ‘It was an excellent breakfast,’ Tremayne said. He walked around to his side of the car, the passenger’s side. He was smiling.

  ***

  Devlin O’Connor, no longer in hiding and with no crimes against him, resumed his position as estate manager at Longmore Park. His secret was known not only by Lord and Lady Linden, but also by half the village, which meant the other half would know soon enough. O’Connor, for so long a secretive man, did not like the sudden fame.

  He had gone into the local pub early one night, only to be quizzed about what had happened all those years before. There were some, he could sense it, who no longer saw him as a tough man doing a good job, but now as a possible murderer of Gavin and Tony Mitchell. He drank his pint and left. He knew that if he wanted a quiet drink, he’d need to find another pub.

  ‘Not you,’ O’Connor said as he settled himself at the bar of the Swan Inn in Wilton, a small town not far from Salisbury.

  ‘It’s close to home,’ Tremayne said. ‘This is Jean.’

  Jean realised that Tremayne wanted time alone with the man.

  ‘A pariah, that’s how they see me,’ O’Connor said. He knew that Tremayne would not be prejudiced against him.

  ‘You should have come into Bemerton Road and told us. You had done your time, and I’m not there to place judgement.’

  ‘Hindsight, wonderful thing, isn’t it?’

  Tremayne had to agree. If he had known that the ‘sure-fire’, ‘can't lose’, ‘the other horses are rubbish’ recommendation he had been given by another of the betting fraternity had only three legs, he would be sitting at the bar, a free round for everyone in the pub. As it was, the loose change jangled in his pocket.

  ‘Cigarette?’ O’Connor said.

  ‘No smoking in here,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘No law outside.’

  Tremayne looked over at Jean, saw her talking to another woman. ‘She’ll be fine for a few minutes.’

  O’Connor and Tremayne stood outside, their cigarette smoke wafting upwards. It was cold and miserable, but both men were enjoying a shared moment of blissful heaven.

  ‘You don’t look the marrying kind,’ O’Connor said.

  ‘I wasn’t, but Jean, we go back a long way. We married young, then went our separate ways. I was difficult back then, still am, but I’ve mellowed. The bark’s not as strong.’

  ‘You must be feeling your age.’

  ‘Between you, me and the lamppost, I am. They want to pension me off, but policing’s what I’m good at, what I enjoy. It’s as good as a hobby to me.’

  ‘That’s what it is with me. I always liked being out in the open, and Longmore Park was ideal. I turned up in response to an advert. Lord Linden took one look at me, showed me around the place, and that was that.’

  ‘And you did a runner?’

  ‘You would have found out about my past eventually, and my conviction for stabbing my friend had some inaccuracies at the trial. They stated that I was the instigator, but I wasn’t. Also, they hid the fact that my friend had a knife as well. Supposedly inadmissible, just because he had thrown it away and he had been wearing gloves that night. It irked that I was in prison, not that I didn’t deserve it, but it shouldn’t have been that long.’

  ‘You’re a loner,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘There was a woman once, but she’s not around anymore.’

  ‘Any reason?’

  ‘A drunk driving on the wrong side of the road. I don’t talk about it that often, no idea why I’m talking to you. Maybe it’s because you stood up for me, helped me to get my job back at Longmore.’

  ‘You had served your time. Apart from a couple of youths that you roughed up, you’ve not been in trouble since.’

  ‘It had been ten years since she died, to the day, and those hooligans are there in front of me, baiting me. Have you ever been that angry that you couldn’t control yourself?’

  ‘When I was younger. Kicked a few up the rear end harder than I should have.’

  ‘Have you found out who’s behind the murders?’

  ‘We’re close. Is there any more you can tell us?’

  The two men lit their second cigarettes. O’Connor was enjoying the conversation, the most he had spoken to anyone for many years. Tremayne still had doubts about the man. Not that he was the murderer, but what he might know, what he might have seen.

  ‘We were in London, fished a Bentley out of the river,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I saw it on television. Is it tied in to Tony Mitchell?’

  ‘Indirectly.’

  ‘Selwyn Cosford?’

  ‘You know the man?’

  ‘He used to visit Tony. He would sometimes walk around the village with him.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘It wasn’t often, and the last time was almost a year ago. It was the day of the fete. Tony won a prize for his carrots.’

  ‘Anything strange in their friendship?’

  ‘Tony, a battler, worked hard all his life, and not much to show for it, and a man who had more money than the whole village combined?’

  ‘They were in the army together. Tony was a war hero, saved Cosford’s life.’

  ‘I can’t say they were happy with each other. I never saw either smile, and they always spoke in whispers.’

  ‘Did either of them walk up near the gatehouse?’

  ‘No problem if they kept to the road.’

  ‘Did they look past the gatehouse?’

  ‘Not that I saw, but Tony was trusted, at least by me, and Cosford was Cosford. They weren’t likely to jump the fence and take a shot at a pheasant, were they?’

  ‘Not at their ages.’

  O’Connor left, Tremayne went back into the pub. It was warm. He ordered another pint.

  ‘A friend of yours? Jean said.

  ‘Devlin O’Connor. I don’t think he’s anyone’s friend.’

  ‘Murderer?’

  ‘He’s served his time.’

  ‘And you introduced me to him.’

  ‘Some of the most charming people are murderers.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean I want to meet them, and he wasn’t charming.’

  ‘He’s not. I just hope he’s honest. I’m going for bigger fish.’

  ‘Selwyn Cosford?’

  ‘We’ve no proof yet.’

  Chapter 29

  Clare was not surprised when Sergeant Johnson phoned her up. The man had been looking at her that day in Scotland Yard, and she hadn’t appreciated it.

  ‘An update for you and Tremayne,’ Johnson said.

  ‘We’re busy down here, how about you?’ Clare said in response. If the man kept it professional, then it would be fine.

  ‘Terry Wright, Morrison’s contact. He’s dead.’

  ‘No great loss.’

  ‘It is to us. He was one of ours.’

  ‘An informant?’

  ‘No. One of us. That’s highly confidential, only for you and Tremayne. And don’t even tell your super. The man has a family, and we don’t want those who killed him to find out.’

  ‘Will they?’

  ‘Not if you keep it quiet. We’re only telling
you as an act of faith. Ashcroft, she didn’t want to tell you, but Constanza pulled rank.’

  ‘How about you?’

  ‘The fewer people who know, the better.’

  ‘But you never knew about Morrison,’ Clare said. ‘Not until we wised you up.’

  ‘Morrison wasn’t the biggest player. We didn’t tell you for your own safety. If you don’t know, they can’t get it out of you.’

  ‘Torture?’

  ‘Slowly roasting over an open fire.’

  ‘They would do that?’

  ‘The Russians, they’re bad enough. The Bulgarians, they’d drink beer and wonder how long before the poor unfortunate tells them everything.’

  ‘Wright?’

  ‘He looks like a barbecued sausage.’

  The thought of it made Clare’s stomach turn.

  ‘He was a tough bastard, tougher than me, but he would have told them all he knew.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Terry Wright didn’t know about you and Tremayne, only us. We’re all carrying guns, although they could still pick us up.’

  ‘Will they?’

  ‘Who knows? Probably not. They’d not want the entire London Metropolitan Police after them.’

  ‘Fear of being caught?’

  ‘Fear of a downturn in business. They’ve got people to answer to, and they can make their fires hot where they come from.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Clare said.

  ‘Selwyn Cosford. He’s been checking real estate in the Caribbean. Not that it’ll do him any good.’

  ‘Extradition’s always difficult.’

  ‘I’m not talking about the police. The savage bastards can make fires down there as well. If anyone thinks they can get away from these bastards, they’re living in cloud-cuckoo land. And they don’t trust anyone who doesn’t speak their language. If Cosford’s involved, it would have been with putting up the capital, creaming off the top.’

  ‘It sounds like the way Cosford operates,’ Clare said.

  ‘Are you up in London anytime soon?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought we could get together, have a few drinks. Early night maybe.’

  ‘That’s sexual harassment,’ Clare said.

  ‘If they got Wright, I could be next, so could Constanza and Ashcroft, and we know you and Tremayne. I don’t have time for subtlety.’