A Normal November: The Freeman Files Series: Book 15

by Ted Tayler

“Do you have the killer in mind, guv?” asked Lydia as they waited for the lift.

  “What three things do we need for murder, Lydia?” asked Gus.

  “Means, motive, and opportunity, guv,” she replied.

  “Getting hold of a gun these days isn’t the problem it once was. As for motive, I still don’t understand who wanted Richard Chaloner dead and why. Nobody we've interviewed who was in Swindon on the day of the murder had either means or motive, even if they had the opportunity.”

  The lift arrived, and the pair rode to the first floor.

  “That sounds as if we’re still miles away, guv,” said Lydia.

  “We’re close, Lydia,” said Gus. “The missing pieces of the jigsaw are just out of reach.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “Welcome back, you two,” said Neil.

  “Is everything okay, Lydia?” asked Blessing. “What prompted the change of clothes?”

  “Trust a woman to notice,” laughed Lydia. “Don’t suppose you did, Neil?”

  “As I’m a married man. Melody insists I’m not supposed to notice,” said Neil.

  “I noticed,” said Alex. “I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.”

  “Don’t forget, I didn’t see you, Lydia,” said Luke. “I drove direct to Gablecross.”

  “Yes, Alex, a simple explanation. Ralph Robinson smokes forty a day despite the warnings,” said Gus. “Lydia wanted to freshen up, so, after we left the garage, we returned here via Chippenham.”

  “I didn’t realise you were revisiting the garage, guv,” said Neil.

  “Do you remember when there was a craze for filling a gymnasium with playing cards, Neil?” asked Gus. “Then a flick of the wrist set a quarter of a million cards in motion. Well, today was like that. Stan Jones gave us a name. Eddie Dolman, white van man, painter and decorator, a pal of Richard Chaloner.”

  “That’s only one card, guv,” said Blessing.

  “Sometimes, that’s all it takes,” said Gus, tapping his nose.

  “I’ve been with him every minute,” shrugged Lydia. “Don’t ask me what he’s found.”

  “I spent my time wisely in the car while you were indoors, making yourself presentable,” said Gus. “Although, as always, you stretched the limits of acceptable office wear.”

  “Sorry, guv,” said Lydia. “My suit’s at the dry cleaners.”

  “Right,” said Gus. “Time is tight. Lydia and I will struggle to get our reports updated this afternoon. We made an unscheduled stop at the garage on top of the three appointments Luke organised. Let’s have a rapid debrief of what we discovered, add it to the work you’ve been doing in our absence, and assess where we are.”

  “I received the information we requested from the Hub an hour ago, guv,” said Alex. “You already called me with the news that Stan Jones identified Eddie Dolman. We’ve had time to check the Round Table, Folk Club, and CAMRA member details. Dolman is a folk music fan and a real ale drinker. Those were the activities he shared in common with Richard Chaloner.”

  “They attended primary and secondary schools in Pinehurst,” added Neil.

  “Chaloner and Dolman lived less than a quarter of a mile from one another from birth until they were in their late twenties,” said Blessing. “Dolman got married and moved into a house with his wife, Louise, in Penhill.”

  “We know Chaloner was single until he met Eve,” said Gus. “Did he live with his parents until he married?”

  “I’d need to check that, guv,” said Luke. “I don’t recall that information being in the murder file.”

  “Anything else that brought Dolman and Chaloner together?”

  “They both attended the youth club in Pinehurst until they reached eighteen,” said Neil. “Then I guess they started visiting pubs legally, which led to the love of a proper pint.”

  “Says the man who drinks lager,” said Luke.

  “I know we haven’t included him before,” said Gus, “but can you check for Jeff Hughes’s name on the same lists as Chaloner and Dolman? I noticed the name in Neil and Blessing’s reports of their conversation with Eve Chaloner.”

  “Got it, guv,” said Alex. “Yes, he’s a member of the Round Table branch and CAMRA. We can soon find out where he lived and went to school. If Richard Chaloner chose him as his best man, then they must have stayed close throughout their lives.”

  “Is Jeff Hughes married?” asked Blessing. “The wedding photographs at Eve Chaloner’s house didn’t show him with anyone. As for Eddie Dolman, he got married fifteen years earlier. That could have been when the trio started spending less time together. It would help explain the argument over the electrical fault. If Hughes had asked for a favour that morning, Chaloner might have relented. Hughes was still a close friend and not someone Chaloner bumped into at the odd real ale function. Louise Dolman might have had more claim on Eddie’s free time than Richard Chaloner by then.”

  “Delicately put, Blessing,” said Gus. “yes, petticoat government remained alive and well.”

  “I’ve confirmed the same school and the same youth club for Jeff Hughes, guv,” said Alex.

  “Luke, we need to interview those two,” said Gus. “Don’t accept excuses. Tell them to attend Gablecross Police Station at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. You know the drill if they disagree.”

  “Will do, guv,” said Luke. “Who do you want with you?”

  “I’ll drive direct to Gablecross. Can you collect Blessing from Worton Farm, please? I’ll see you both in Reception.”

  “What’s next, guv?” asked Neil.

  “Back to this morning’s chat with Stan Jones. As I told Alex, Stan’s eyesight is unreliable. He thought he saw a man and a woman that afternoon. Cath Fryer told us this afternoon that it was two men. When I asked Matt Merchant whether he knew anyone matching the new description, he realised that lads with dreadlocks played for another team at the sports arena in Wootton Bassett on Monday nights. Carlos Watson wanted a lift to football; it was a simple as that. Watson’s pal had an emergency, and Carlos tried, but failed, to catch the attention of someone working inside.”

  “Nothing sinister then, guv,” said Neil. “They could have avoided that mystery by asking the right people the right questions two years ago.”

  “It wouldn’t have saved Richard Chaloner,” said Gus. “Someone still wanted him dead. That’s who we need to identify. The motive should become clearer once we’ve got that step out of the way.”

  “Did Ralph Robinson provide anything new, guv?” asked Luke.

  “Not a jot, Luke,” said Gus.

  “Ralph and his wife, Betty, are as objectionable as one another,” said Lydia. “She may suspect what lay behind his supposed twice-yearly visits to South Marston Cemetery, but they’re still together.”

  “I imagine Luke told you the lurid details?” asked Gus.

  “Yes, guv,” said Blessing. “I wasn’t a fan of Shakespeare at school. The language was dated and impossible to understand. I never imagined anyone using it to, you know….”

  “There’s an old saying, Blessing,” said Gus. “There’s nowt as strange as folk. I wouldn’t worry unduly; Ms Kimble has retired now.”

  “We haven’t exhausted the seamier side of life in Swindon though, Blessing,” said Lydia. “Cath Fryer told us more about Stan Jones’s son and the love of his life.”

  Gus gave the others the highlights of Stan’s doomed relationship with Tara Laing and her subsequent lucrative career in front of the camera.

  “Blimey, guv,” said Neil. “Both Stan senior and Mrs Fryer described Tara as a quiet, timid girl. It’s always the quiet ones that are the worst, isn’t it?”

  “Using Jeanie Jones as her stage name was rubbing salt in the wounds, guv,” said Alex.

  “Does this woman still live in Swindon, guv?” asked Blessing.

  “Mrs Fryer didn’t say, Blessing,” said Gus. “I wonder how we could find out?”

  “Tara Laing had no connection to Richard Chaloner or any of the others we�
�ve spoken to, did she?” asked Alex.

  “You could ask Hughes and Dolman tomorrow whether they knew her,” said Neil.

  “If nobody but young Stan knew her, perhaps we can forget her, guv,” said Lydia.

  “It doesn’t leave many people we can interrogate to unearth the killer, does it, guv?” asked Luke.

  “Lydia and I will update the Freeman Files now,” said Gus, “while our memories are still fresh. The rest of you can carry on searching for missing links in that data that Divya slaved over. Luke needs to arrange tomorrow’s interviews, and Blessing, you could try Cath Fryer to see whether she knows the whereabouts of Tara Laing.”

  “What about Stan Jones junior, guv?” asked Lydia. “His father never mentioned having a mobile number for him, did he?”

  “No, I got the distinct impression young Stan cut his ties with the town after Tara left him at the altar. He returns to the house when his job brings him this way to collect official documents. He doesn’t sound the type to receive personal mail if any. Did we start a search for him on social media?”

  “He was never on our radar, guv,” said Alex. “I’ll add it to the list of things we can tackle when you’re in Swindon in the morning.”

  “Stan and Cath told us it was only twice a year Stan turned up unannounced,” said Lydia. “Stan senior thought it was Easter this year. He said his son enjoyed springtime. It makes sense he’d turn up in the next three months. Perhaps, if we can’t find him another way, we should write to him at Stan’s address. That way, we’d know he got the message. If we asked Stan to get his son to give us a ring, he might forget.”

  “How can he tell us anything about Richard Chaloner’s murder?” asked Blessing. “He’s only ever in town four days a year at most.”

  “Blessing’s right, guv,” said Neil. “There’s nothing to say they knew one another in the brief time they spent on the same street. Stan worked a twelve-hour shift from six at night to six in the morning. I doubt if he got out of bed before two. Most blokes his age would make the most of those few hours of free time, not sit at home watching what was going on across the street.”

  “It won’t hurt to check Stan out on social media,” said Gus. “You can also ask his father if he has a number to call. Ask if he has any idea when he’s due to drop in again this year.”

  “Would there be any post at the address for him now, guv?” asked Lydia.

  “Possibly, Lydia,” said Gus, “but it’s more than my job’s worth to interfere with the Royal Mail without a warrant.”

  “I’ve found details from the 1991 Census, guv,” said Alex. “The Three Amigos shared a house in Pinehurst. The record suggests they moved there aged eighteen in 1990. Eddie Dolman got married in 2000. The 2001 Census shows only Chaloner and Hughes resident at the same address.”

  “Jeff Hughes still lives there, guv,” said Neil. “He never married, but he has a partner, Lamai.”

  “Local girl?” asked Gus.

  “Thailand, guv,” said Neil. “Lamai is in her early twenties.”

  Blessing was just ending a phone call.

  “What have you got, Blessing?” asked Gus.

  “Mrs Fryer was able to tell me where Tara Laing lives, guv,” said Blessing. “I had to ask her to spell it for me. Tara is living in splendid isolation on the island of Barra, in the Outer Hebrides. The nearest place with a name on the map is Buaile nam Bodach. I’ve tried to translate it from Gaelic, and the best I can come up with is the ghost’s milking parlour. Don’t hold me to that, though.”

  “A remote island,” said Gus. “Tara wasn’t taking any chances of her ex-boyfriend driving his truck through her front door, was she?”

  “We’d only be guessing why Tara chose that island as her retirement home, guv,” said Luke. “It’s more likely she wanted to leave the world she worked in as far behind her as possible.”

  “You might be right, Luke,” said Gus. “Let’s call it a wrap for the day. Sorry, I couldn’t resist it. Lydia and I will get on with those reports now while you continue tracing extra links that connect Chaloner, Dolman, and Hughes.”

  At five o’clock, the office emptied. Gus was re-reading his notes on Matt Merchant. He wondered whether Suzie had plans for tonight. Gus checked his phone, but there was no message. He saved his updated files and closed his computer. Tomorrow was another day, and the meetings at Gablecross could prove illuminating.

  As he passed the London Road HQ, he spotted Kenneth Truelove marching across the visitor’s car park, heading for his new limousine. Very nice too, thought Gus. Why not accept one of the job's perks, especially if you knew the fun would stop in around eighteen months.

  Gus sped up as he left the town's outskirts. No way was he letting the Chief Constable glide past him. He needn’t have worried. The traffic lights changed as Gus passed, and by the time Kenneth moved forward again, Gus was on the Lydeway and indicating to turn right towards Urchfont.

  Old habits are hard to break, and Gus slowed as he approached the allotments. He hadn’t seen Bert Penman in the flesh for days. When your friends are in their mid-eighties, it’s not sensible to leave long gaps between seeking them out. One day it might be too late, and Gus didn’t want to hear Bert had gone to the great allotment in the sky without saying goodbye.

  The church clock was gathering itself to chime the half-hour. Suzie could hold the fort until he got home. Bert was busy on his plot of land, hunting for elusive blackcurrants. Irene North would have received the best crop in early August, but Bert’s variety consistently outperformed everyone else’s. His basket was over half full.

  “Good of you to drop by, Mr Freeman,” said Bert without looking up from his labours.

  “We keep missing one another, Bert,” said Gus.

  “Who said I missed you,” said Bert.

  “Has Clemency Bentham been here this afternoon, keeping you company?”

  “The Reverend worked on her patch for an hour, Mr Freeman,” said Bert. “She’s listening to my words of wisdom. I’m impressed at what she’s able to produce, considering the state of the soil Frank North left her.”

  “Only an hour?” asked Gus. “Did she have sick parishioners to visit?”

  “That will be this evening now, I reckon. No, the suffering Bishop wanted to speak to her.”

  “You mean the suffragan Bishop, Bert,” said Gus. “They report to the Bishop of the diocese.”

  “I bow to your superior knowledge, Mr Freeman,”

  “Even though I’m no fan of religion, Bert, I’ve picked up some knowledge over the years. Hard not to when you’re a young copper on streets in the shadow of Salisbury Cathedral spire.”

  “Did you have another reason for stopping by on your way home, Mr Freeman?” asked Bert.

  “I told you. I hadn’t seen you for a while, nothing more.”

  “A tough case,” said Bert. “That will be it. I’ve learned to recognise the signs. When I’ve taken these blackcurrants home for Irene, no doubt you’ll return here and fetch that seat of yours from the shed. You’ll need a light sweater this evening if you intend to sit and ponder. You don’t want a chill in the kidneys at your age. The breeze can have a bite to it on a September evening.”

  “I’ll have to see what Suzie has planned, Bert,” said Gus. “An ex-colleague is in the hospital in Swindon. Suzie visited her yesterday evening. I want to consider various elements of the case we’re dealing with this week, but the picture I see is constantly moving in and out of focus.”

  “I get days like that,” said Bert. “I tried to tell Irene we needed a new TV. She rapped my knuckles and suggested I cut back on the cider.”

  “Any regrets about you and Irene living under the same roof, Bert?” asked Gus.

  “Not so far, Mr Freeman,” said Bert. “The neighbours have stopped giving us sideways glances. Irene reckons they think she’s my carer. I reminded Irene that I could look after myself, thank you very much.”

  “I can see Irene’s logic,” said Gus. “The vi
llagers can accept her moving in with you to look after you and relax. Now, they’ll stop spreading rumours you’re at it like knives every night.”

  Bert shook his head.

  “People have nothing better to do than think dirty thoughts, Mr Freeman. The Reverend worried that was why the Bishop’s subordinate wanted to see her. If they’ve stopped gossiping about Irene and me, they’ve moved on to my grandson and his lady friend.”

  “It could be a simple matter regarding the church behind us, Bert,” said Gus.

  “I hope they aren’t considering ripping out the pews and replacing them with modern seating,” said Bert. “Those pews have been there for a century and more. Pews are uncomfortable by design. I don’t hold with the happy-clappy business they go for today.”

  “You’re a fine one to criticise, Bert Penman. You didn’t step inside the doors of that place for decades. Clemency tried to persuade you to rejoin her flock when she arrived in the village, without luck.”

  “Irene thought we should put in an appearance,” said Bert, “to keep Brett company. Although, for the past couple of Sundays, he’s been over Beckhampton way tending to racehorses. I didn’t intend making a habit of attending morning service, anyway.”

  “I can understand that, Bert,” said Gus. Time to get to the bungalow to speak with Suzie.

  As he got in the driver’s seat, he called out to Bert.

  “If it became a habit, Irene might get ideas.”

  “It won’t take you long to solve that case of yours, Mr Freeman. You joined the dots there quick enough.”

  Bert gave Gus a friendly wave and turned back to finish his harvesting.

  Suzie was in the kitchen when Gus entered the hallway of the bungalow.

  “Did your interviews last longer than expected?” she asked.

  “No, I spotted Bert at the allotments and stopped for a chat. What’s the latest?”

  “Vicky continues to make progress,” said Suzie. “I’ll visit her tomorrow evening if that’s okay?”

  “Of course,” said Gus. “That wonderful smell from the kitchen tells me we’re eating in tonight. How long have I got?”