Strange Beginnings: The Freeman Files Series: Book 13

by Ted Tayler

  “Tell him I’ll be there,” said Gus. “Lydia, I’d like you to accompany me.”

  “Any instructions on what to wear, guv?” she asked.

  “Something modest will fit the bill,” said Gus.

  Gus hoped that his and Lydia’s understanding of modest fell in the same ballpark. The time the team had spent chewing over the case this afternoon had been valuable. At least they had several options available to them now. The tricky part would be deciding who to interview next. Perhaps it might be best to wait until they spoke to Theo Reeves.

  “I don’t think we can do much more this afternoon,” said Gus. “It’s almost half-past four. Get off home, and we can start afresh in the morning.”

  With that, he cleared his desk and headed for the lift. Blessing made it to the door just ahead of him.

  “Are you in a rush, Blessing?” he asked.

  “Everyone is leaving at the same time,” she said. “I will feel better if I can drive away before the others get downstairs.”

  “Say hello to John and Jackie for me,” said Gus. “Tell them we’ll get across to Worton in the next week or so to see them.”

  Blessing nodded and trotted off to her little car. Gus slid behind the wheel of the Focus and waited until Blessing had driven towards the car park exit.

  The drive through Devizes and onwards to Urchfont was trouble-free that afternoon. Suzie was due to leave London Road as Gus turned into the gateway of the bungalow. He had fifteen minutes, tops, to himself. Gus checked the fridge and decided to wait until Suzie arrived home before starting to cook their meal. The ingredients he saw inside could get used in two or three different ways. Knowing his luck, the recipe he chose would be the last thing Suzie wanted.

  Gus went into the lounge and laid his jacket on the back of the settee. He looked at the television. Where would he find details of the series The Reverend talked about on Sunday afternoon? Gus flicked through the channels without luck and studied the remote control. Why were there so many buttons? It might be best to leave it to Suzie. She knew which buttons to press.

  Two minutes later, while he was still daydreaming, he heard the VW Golf pulling up outside.

  “Honey, I’m home,” cried Suzie as she burst through the front door.

  “I take it you had a good day?” asked Gus as she walked into the lounge.

  “I managed to avoid punching anyone,” said Suzie.

  “Geraldine Packenham?”

  “That woman is a pest,” said Suzie.

  “The bacon bap I had at lunchtime was delicious,” said Gus. “Vera Butler informed me that the new caterers were Ms Packenham’s idea.”

  “Why are you home early?”

  “I awarded a thirty-minute bonus to myself and the team for last week’s stellar performance,” said Gus.

  “Did you get a new case today?”

  “We did,” said Gus. “Marion Reeves, from March 2011. Does that ring a bell?”

  “Not really,” said Suzie, leaving Gus to walk to the kitchen.

  Gus got up, collected his jacket, and followed her.

  “A stabbing inside a car between Wilton and Salisbury at ten in the morning,” he said. “No witnesses. No suspects. Next stop, cold storage.”

  “A married woman?”

  Gus nodded.

  “The percentages say it was the husband or a lover,” said Suzie.

  “Have you ever met DI Billie Wightman?”

  “On a couple of training courses, yes,” said Suzie. “Possibly the most unpleasant female copper I’ve ever met. Bitter doesn’t go far enough to describe the woman.”

  “She was SIO on that murder case seven years ago.”

  “Because she couldn’t pin it on any of the men the victim knew, she lost interest,” said Suzie.

  “Harsh,” said Gus, “Billie and her DS, Matt Price, interviewed a hundred people over four weeks. They spoke to neighbours, work colleagues of both the victim and her husband, people from businesses trading on the industrial estate where the murder occurred. They found nothing to implicate anyone from their long list in the murder.”

  “They didn’t dig deep enough to find the right people to interview,” said Suzie. “That was because Wightman couldn’t accept it wasn’t a bloke that did it. She hates every man that’s still breathing.”

  “What, even Matt Price? They stayed together as a team for several years. Why didn’t she kick him into touch and get another man-hater as her sidekick? Anyway, where is she stationed these days?”

  “Gablecross,” said Suzie, “DCI Billie Wightman moved into Major Incident Planning a couple of years back after her promotion. DI Matt Price went to Portishead with Avon and Somerset Police. I know a few officers over there, and they tell me that Matt Price has a permanent smile on his face these days.”

  “Glad to hear it. I always reckoned Matt was a good copper. Thanks for the heads up. I know where to find both of them if we need their insight.”

  “It might be best to ignore one of them,” said Suzie.

  She opened the fridge door.

  “What did you think when you looked in here earlier?”

  “That we’re spoilt for choice,” said Gus. “How did you know I looked?”

  “I’m a detective,” Suzie replied. “The cheese isn’t on top of the lamb steaks where I left it this morning.”

  “Have you decided what we’re having yet?” Gus asked. “I’ll crack on with cooking whatever you fancy while you shower and change.”

  “Don’t bother,” said Suzie. “Order a pizza. It will arrive by the time I’ve finished getting ready. After we’ve devoured that, we’ll go to the Lamb. An evening in the beer garden with a cold drink is in order, whether it’s alcoholic or not.”

  Gus tried to think of an objection but failed.

  The couple strolled along the lane arm-in-arm to the pub at half-past seven. They would have made it earlier, but Suzie explained how to decode all the symbols on the TV remote control.

  “I hope this isn’t going in one ear and out of the other,” she said.

  “So do I,” said Gus. “When I finally retire, I need to be confident I can watch the few programmes I enjoy without outside assistance.”

  “Did you want to drop by the allotment first before we go inside?” asked Suzie.

  “We did enough yesterday afternoon to keep everything alive for forty-eight hours,” said Gus. “If this case doesn’t drag me away, I’ll spend an hour on the allotment on Wednesday evening. Anyway, I think I can hear Bert Penman’s voice.”

  The retired butcher perched on his usual stool at the bar. A glance at the pint pot of cider beside him told Gus that one swallow would finish the job.

  “Same again, Bert?” he asked.

  “I’m not one to mix my drinks, Mr Freeman. You should know me well enough by now.”

  Gus ordered drinks for him and Suzie. The barman waited the two seconds while Bert emptied his glass and poured him a fresh pint.

  “Your cider is a beautiful golden colour this year,” said Suzie, “and so clear.”

  “I’ve learned my lesson over the years, Miss Ferris,” said Bert. “In the old days, I drank the rough cider they kept in barrels behind the bar. One evening, I studied the wooden floor under the spigot. The steady drip had eaten away the oak floorboard and left a shallow crater. I had nightmares over what those cloudy pints of almost orange liquid were doing to my insides. I can’t say I approve of all the changes that have occurred in this pub over the past sixty years, but today’s cider is far healthier than the stuff they served here back then.”

  “You still need to take care how much of it you consume, Bert,” said Gus. “The Reverend tells us they needed to help you home the other night.”

  “I had things on my mind, Mr Freeman,” said Bert.

  “Irene North, no doubt,” said Suzie. “Why don’t you two agree to live under the same roof?”

  Bert Penman took a sip of his fresh pint.

  “What, live over the brush
like you and Mr Freeman? What would people think?”

  “Who cares? We don’t, so why should you? You both live alone in houses that are too big for you. You’ve got double the heating costs and council tax. Even if it’s more for companionship than for love, it still makes sense. You would be there for Irene if she had another funny turn like she did last week and vice versa.”

  “Brett shared the house with you for several weeks while he sorted out his work situation,” said Gus. “I know it would put his mind at rest if he knew you had someone close by, day and night.”

  “Brett asked while he stayed with me if I’d thought of going into a home,” said Bert with a shiver. “I can’t think of anything worse. I hope to keep working on my allotment, having a cider at the end of a busy day, and if I turn up my toes before I get a card from the Queen, so be it. Whenever that happens, I’ll be in my own home.”

  “We’re going to sit in the garden for a while, Bert,” said Suzie. “Do you want to join us?”

  “That’s very sociable of you, Miss Ferris,” said Bert, “but I promised Irene I’d drop by to visit on my way home. I’ll sit here and finish this pint, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  “I plan on working on my allotment on Wednesday evening, Bert,” said Gus. “Perhaps we’ll catch up with you both then.”

  “Fair enough,” said Bert. “If you’re still outside enjoying the sunshine until nine o’clock, I reckon the Reverend will be popping in for a quiet drink with my grandson. They’re inseparable these days, rather like you two.”

  “It’s catching, Bert,” laughed Suzie. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  Gus and Suzie found a quiet corner in the beer garden and watched the sun disappearing behind the trees on the far hillside.

  “Do you think Bert will take any notice of the gentle nudge we gave him?” asked Suzie.

  “Gentle?” said Gus. “Brett might have hit on the best argument to persuade Bert and Irene to move in together. Irene hates the idea of going into a home just as much as Bert.”

  “If we see Brett and Clemency later, we can organise a two-pronged attack,” said Suzie.

  “I’m not sure the Reverend can actively encourage co-habitation,” said Gus. “Although there have been so many radical shifts in policy from the General Synod in the last twenty years, who knows?”

  Bert Penman had disappeared when Gus returned to the bar to get their second round of drinks. As he left the bar and returned to their table, Brett and Clemency were just walking into the beer garden from the car park.

  “Did you drive tonight, Brett?” he asked. “Shall I fetch two soft drinks?”

  “We cycled here,” said Clemency. “Our bicycles are chained together against the wall.”

  “I can afford to risk drinking one pint and be safe to cycle home, Gus, can't I?” grinned Brett. “Don’t worry. I’ll get our drinks and join you in a minute.”

  “How long has Brett owned a bicycle?” asked Suzie.

  “He bought a mountain bike at the weekend,” said Clemency. “It rather puts my classic steed to shame, but fewer trips in the car will mean more chance of me shifting some of this excess weight. In the summer, it will be fun cycling together through the nearby countryside. Brett has also offered to accompany me during the winter months when I visit my sick parishioners. He says it isn’t safe to cycle alone at night.”

  “It’s going well, isn’t it?” said Suzie.

  Clemency blushed.

  “It’s early days, but we do enjoy one another’s company.”

  Brett returned with a pint of bitter and a white-wine spritzer for the Reverend.

  “Anything interesting happening at work, Brett,” asked Gus.

  “The usual fare, Gus,” said Brett. “We had a budgie in for a beak and nail trim, a string of routine vaccinations, and a bulldog with diarrhoea—the everyday life of a country vet. I sometimes understand why owners are afraid to bring their beloved pets to the practice because they dread hearing bad news, but one poor dog I saw today might not be suffering as much as he is if we’d seen him sooner. What about you? Another murder mystery to solve?”

  “A nasty stabbing from seven years ago near Salisbury,” said Gus.

  “On your old patch?” asked Brett.

  “I was working on another case,” said Gus. “We only started looking at it today, so I haven’t formed an opinion yet.”

  “Both our jobs are a series of beginnings and endings,” said Brett, taking another sip of his beer.

  “The victim in our latest case had a vicious ending,” said Gus. “From my initial look at the murder file, we might need to go back to the beginning to find her killer.”

  “Something struck you as strange in her past?” said Brett.

  “A sixth sense,” said Gus.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Last night made a refreshing change,” said Gus.

  “Fine weather and pleasant company,” said Suzie.

  “Which would you prefer, fruit and yoghurt or cereal?”

  “Scrambled egg on toast.”

  Gus made their breakfasts, and they ate in silence.

  “Steak and cheese tonight,” said Gus as he headed for the shower.

  “I’ll have the same,” said Suzie, “but without the grilled cheese.”

  Gus stood under the shower, wondering whether their child would have odd eating habits.

  Gus didn’t consider himself to be a fussy eater. His parents had made sure of that. His mother cooked one meal for the three of them, and you ate that or went hungry. Gus was rarely hungry. Whatever she put in front of him, whether he loved it or hated it, hadn’t done him any harm. In the long run, it made life simpler to go with the flow. There was a large enough part of your life when you could make your own choices.

  “How much longer will you be in there, Gus Freeman?”

  “Sorry, boss,” said Gus.

  Suzie took her turn in the shower while Gus dressed, ready for another working day. Gus wondered what sort of person was Theo Reeves. Before Theo had retired, he had been a graphic designer with a small company with offices in Wilton. While waiting for Suzie to finish in the bathroom, he ran through the list of questions he had settled on as he lay awake in bed earlier. The dawn chorus could be a blessing and a curse.

  This morning, it allowed him to think about what Brett said last night. Beginnings and endings. A young Marion married an older, wealthy man, Graham Street, and gave birth to Martyn. Marion divorced and soon married someone only six years younger than Street. To a man who was on the same rung of the social ladder, was that normal, or could that be considered a strange beginning?

  Suzie joined him in the bedroom.

  “What’s taking you so long to get ready this morning?” she said. “Are you daydreaming again?”

  “I’m just organizing my affairs ahead of my first interview,” said Gus. “It’s important I ask the right questions and understand how the answers I get will influence how we handle this case in the future.”

  “Are you ready now?” said Suzie.

  “Yes, Mum.”

  “Come here. Your tie isn’t straight.”

  Suzie adjusted the offending necktie and stood back to check Gus’s attire from head to toe.

  “You’ll do,” she said.

  “I didn’t polish my shoes, but rubbing the uppers on the backs of my calves has served me well for forty years.”

  “Incorrigible. You’ll need to buck up your ideas from next February.”

  “Usual time tonight?” asked Gus.

  “Somewhere between five-fifteen and five-thirty,” said Suzie.

  Gus took her in his arms and kissed her.

  “We’ll be late if we don’t get a move on,” she said.

  They left the bungalow and walked to the cars. Suzie’s Golf made it to the gateway first as usual. Gus’s Focus needed a minute to remember what came after the turn of the key in the ignition. Gus gave his customary wave as Suzie turned into London Road. Then he joined t
he procession of vehicles behind a slow-moving vehicle he remembered reading about in the local newspaper last Friday.

  The abnormally wide load destined for a Ministry of Defence camp in Gloucestershire threatened to cause him to start the day on the back foot. Gus turned on the radio for the first time in ages. If he was to get delayed, at least he could listen to music. Three tunes later, he switched off the radio. It was a sin to call them tunes. When did someone decide two-thirds of songs should feature rap artists?

  Gus parked in the Crime Review Team’s allotted rank of parking bays at the rear of the Old Police Station. The clock on the dashboard said five minutes past eight. Ah, he checked it so rarely he hadn’t altered it at the end of March when the clocks moved forward an hour. Gus was five minutes late because of an abnormally wide load.

  Gus travelled in the lift to the first floor to find his team hard at work. Lydia Logan Barre looked up from her computer monitor and gave Gus a thousand-watt smile. Lydia had dressed conservatively for the ten o’clock meeting with Theo Reeves. By her standards, at least.

  Lydia’s black shoes had four-inch heels, and the black leather skirt almost reached her knees. The scarf that attempted to control her wild, red hair was the colours of the rainbow to match the short-sleeved top she had elected to wear.

  “We’d better get going, guv,” she said. “Alex reckons it will take us forty-five minutes to reach Theo Reeves’s place in Oakley Road.”

  “Let me grab a notebook and pen, then we’ll be off,” said Gus. “Has everyone got something useful to do?”

  “Still collecting everything I can find on Graham Street, guv,” said Neil.

  “Searching social media for Martyn Street and Stephanie Reeves, guv,” said Blessing.

  “I could help with that, guv,” said Luke. “Until you get back with ideas on who you wish to interview next, I’ll be at a loose end.”

  “We should get back by twelve,” said Lydia.

  “Maybe not,” said Gus. “It might help me get my bearings if we drive the route that Marion Reeves took the day she died.”

  Lydia and Gus made for the lift and descended to the ground floor.