by Ted Tayler
“Not the tight-knit family they would have us believe then, perhaps?” said Gus.
“I accept that Maggie could have had motive, Gus,” said Geoff, “but I don’t see Glyn or Gina being in the frame. Investigate Gary and his brothers, by all means.”
“Gary assumed control after Grant’s death,” said Gus, “that was the term you used, Sir. Was he the eldest? Who decided who took control? Gary could have wanted to hurry the process along.”
“Henry and Joseph are younger than Grant,” said Kenneth Truelove. “Yes, Gary is the eldest child. There’s a sister too, and she’s the youngest at thirty-six. Her name is Kerry.”
“Well, the four of them need closer scrutiny,” said Gus. “Were there any follow-up investigations between 2014 and now? Or was that the only time Grant’s murder came under the microscope?”
“You’ll see a reference in the file to a gang member called Howard Todd. His sister reported him missing a week after Grant Burnside’s death. Todd worked for the Burnside gang but never got arrested. The guys at Gablecross were sure that Todd reported to Henry Burnside, which marks him out as a dealer.”
“Todd’s not on the scene now, I take it?” said Gus.
“No sign of him dead or alive,” said the ACC.
“I’ll remember to get someone to talk to the sister,” said Gus, “and we’ll make a point of asking the Burnside gang what happened to him. Anything else?”
“Last year, Gablecross received a complaint from the neighbour of a retired pig farmer out Blunsdon way. A lady called Sylvia Kerr reckoned the farmer, Fergus McHugh, lit bonfires on the edge of her property at odd times of the day and night. The smoke drifted through the trees and caused havoc with the washing on her rotary dryer. Mrs Kerr accused McHugh of using accelerants because she saw flames high in the sky late at night. She was afraid that during a dry summer, he might start a forest fire. Uniforms went out to look. McHugh retired from farming in 2014 after he reached seventy-five, and the place is in a sorry state. The area where he lit the bonfires was a good half-mile from the farmhouse and surrounded by no more than a dozen trees. McHugh claimed he was getting rid of items he no longer needed now that he’d retired. When they returned to the farmhouse, McHugh said they might as well see the rest. The officers didn’t have a clue what he meant but followed him into a large shed in the yard. McHugh explained that he used to destroy dead pig carcases and other stuff in the steel container stood in the middle of the room. When asked what the bags stacked in the corner were for, he told them they contained caustic soda.”
“Sodium Hydroxide,” said Gus, “here we go again. That stuff is an ingredient in methamphetamine. Was McHugh admitting to brewing crystal meth?”
“Nothing sinister,” said the ACC, “he was just giving the officers the grand tour. If McHugh could sell the farm, he’d be off like a shot. It’s fast becoming an eyesore. You can imagine that neighbours such as the fragrant Mrs Kerr don’t want their property prices damaged because they live next door to a pigsty. I imagine the council will receive more and more complaints about the state of the place as time passes.”
“Hang on,” said Gus, “I must have missed something. Why were details of this complaint tagged onto the Grant Burnside murder file?”
“Fergus McHugh mentioned the name Burnside when the uniforms asked who he dealt with,” said the ACC. “McHugh listed half a dozen people who sent him animal carcases for disposal. The officers recognised the names of local farmers. In Wiltshire, cattle and sheep rustling, and the theft of valuable farm equipment soak up a significant amount of police resources. So, the officers came into regular contact with those farmers. Burnside’s name didn’t fit. When they queried it, McHugh reckoned they were mistaken. He hadn’t meant Burnside. He must have mixed the name up with someone else. Gablecross probably thought it warranted taking a photocopy of the report and filing it, just in case.”
“What could that mean, Gus?” asked Geoff Mercer.
“I don’t know,” said Gus. “Maybe this McHugh character’s memory isn’t what it was, and he genuinely mixed up a Burnside with something similar, say Heavyside. There’s a farmer of that name with cows in a field right behind my bungalow. This case makes a change from the bare bones we started with on the Malone case. There are dozens of people to interview and loads of questions that need asking. I’m looking forward to hearing the answers.”
“I suppose you want to head back to the Old Police Station to get cracking?” asked the ACC.
“Why? Do you have another item to discuss?” asked Gus.
“It’s coffee time,” said Kenneth Truelove, “and, as Geoff mentioned earlier, we’re working without a Police Surgeon for the time being.”
“Well, you can’t blame me for that, Sir. You fired Peter Morgan, and as I’m only allowed to work cold cases, I don’t require his services. I rely on the autopsy reports in your murder files being accurate.”
“Yes, hilarious, Freeman,” said the ACC, “I was merely keeping you informed of our progress in getting the man we want. Rhys Evans works with the South Wales Police at their Headquarters on Cowbridge Road, Bridgend. He’s single, thirty-two years old, and plays Rugby. Evans has the qualifications we seek.”
“Why don’t we use a general practitioner prepared to work part-time?” asked Gus.
“Other parts of the county have chosen that course of action. Our thinking is that since forensic physicians must be registered medical practitioners then, ideally, they should have a higher qualification such as the diploma in medical jurisprudence. Evans holds a DMJ, and that makes him the perfect choice for the post here at Devizes.”
“Are Bridgend digging in their heels?” asked Gus.
“They are, but they can only delay the inevitable,” said Geoff. “I hope that Rhys Evans will join us by the end of July.”
“Why is it important that I hear this news?” asked Gus.
“Evans is single,” said Kenneth Truelove, who had now stood and walked to the window to take up his favourite position.
The penny dropped.
“Ah, the prospective Police Surgeon needs a place to live. You immediately thought of my spare bedroom. Well, I’m sorry, but it’s out of the question.”
“What, you’ve already rented it to someone else?” asked the ACC.
“Not exactly,” said Gus. “Why not ask Monty Jennings? Rental property is one of his successful enterprises. Not everything he touches is an abject failure. He buys up old properties, improves them, and rents them out. Vera lived in one of his cottages after they separated. Their divorce accelerated the need for Vera to buy a place of her own. Monty might have something standing vacant.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks for reminding me. At least we solved the Blessing Umeh accommodation problem over the weekend,” said Geoff Mercer. “John Ferris phoned me last night to say they are happy to have Blessing stay at the farm.”
“That came as a surprise,” said the ACC, “I hadn’t realised they had enough space.”
“I don’t see why it should surprise you, Sir,” said Gus, “John and Jackie Ferris coped with three growing kids there for years. Suzie’s the only one still there, but the boys’ bedrooms are lying empty.”
Gus spotted a glance pass between Geoff and the ACC. Was this a wind-up? If only he’d arrived earlier, he might have learned which rumours had reached London Road.
“Give that staff of mine a nudge, will you, Mercer,” said Kenneth Truelove. “A chap could die of thirst in this place.”
Geoff made to stand up, but there was a knock at the door.
“Methinks that someone was listening at the keyhole,” said Gus.
The door opened, and in strutted Kassie Trotter with her trolley.
“Sorry, I’m lagging behind this morning,” she said, “Vera has gone home with a migraine.”
Gus kept his head bowed, pretending he was reading the murder file. Kassie probably blamed him for Vera’s condition too. Any chance of a tasty bun was receding fast
.
“Blueberry muffins today, Mr Truelove, can I tempt you?”
“Not for me, Kassie. I’ll never get into my dress uniform if I succumb.”
“I can do you a slice of Madeira this afternoon,” said Kassie, undeterred. “It’s light as a feather, unlike the girl that made it.”
“Only one muffin for me today, Kassie,” said Geoff, “Christine has spoken.”
“What about you, Mr Freeman?”
“I’d love one, Kassie. Thank you.”
“You’re not under petticoat government yet, then?” Kassie asked as she presented Gus with his coffee and muffin.
“What does the grapevine say?” whispered Gus.
Kassie bent lower to whisper in his ear.
“Nothing new concerning you and Suzie Ferris, but Amelia Cranston had a big smile on her face on Saturday morning when I bumped into her in Morrison’s. At least someone gets some action.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions without concrete evidence, young lady,” said Gus, fearing the worst but still hoping for the best.
“No matter how long this dry spell lasts, Mr Freeman,” sighed Kassie. “I won’t resort to grabbing a married man to end it.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Kassie,” said Gus.
The young girl returned to her trolley and made a dignified exit.
“I worry about that girl,” said the ACC.
“She’s in a far better place than if you hadn’t rescued her, Sir,” said Geoff Mercer.
“How does that blueberry muffin taste?” asked the ACC.
“Scrumptious,” said Geoff.
“Typical. If I was retired, I could put in a weekly order with Kassie and enjoy the benefits of her weekend baking without concern for my waistline. As it is, I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future.”
“Has the PCC had a word already?” asked Geoff Mercer.
“Unofficially,” sighed Truelove, “he called yesterday morning, just as my wife and I were leaving for church, to tell me I was the right person to steady the ship. I asked if they had advertised the position yet, and he told me he didn’t envisage doing anything before next year. My wife has hardly spoken a word to me since.”
“Not all bad news then, Sir,” said Gus.
The ACC turned from the window and glared at Gus.
“That Focus of yours is making the car park look untidy, Freeman. I suggest you get back to work.”
“Happy to oblige, Sir,” said Gus. “The Burnside case promises to keep us busy.”
Geoff Mercer escaped with Gus, and they left the ACC to finish his coffee in peace.
“Good hunting,” Geoff said as Gus prepared to descend the stairs.
“I can’t wait to read this murder file in full,” said Gus. “Did you notice that the ACC never mentioned who ran the initial investigation? I’m betting that someone who screwed up on an earlier case we’ve dealt with ran the show. It was Gablecross this, and Gablecross that all morning.”
“Theo Hickerton may have been on the team, but ‘Colonel’ Jack Sanders was still first choice DCI for a gangland killing back in 2014. Grant Burnside’s murder could have been one of the last high-profile cases he handled before he retired.”
Gus jogged down the stairs to Reception, signed out, and went outside to his car. He didn’t look up to see if the ACC was still watching.
CHAPTER 4
Gus made his way back to the Old Police Station office. He didn’t complain about the frequent delays and the drivers ahead of him that didn’t appear to know where they were going. He had too much on his mind,
This new case could be a tough nut to crack. And then there was DS Davis. He had already tackled the problems that DS Hardy and Lydia Logan Barre had presented. It was okay for the ACC dragging him out of retirement and teaming him up with a handful of youngsters. What the ACC hadn’t warned him to watch out for were the hormones.
Alex and Lydia had become inseparable. Under normal circumstances, Gus should advise DS Mercer, and one of the pair would get re-assigned. Because Lydia wasn’t a serving officer, Gus convinced himself that as long as their work didn’t suffer, it was something he could handle.
Alex’s injuries from his motorcycle accident had caused him to become reliant on painkillers, and Gus had no choice but to suspend him until he recovered. Even then, Gus had reasoned that Lydia wasn’t to blame, nor did their relationship impact Alex’s addiction.
If Kassie Trotter was right, and Neil and Amelia did more than meet up for a drink with the rest of the team last Friday night, then what should he do? Neil and Melody had just lost their first child because of a miscarriage. Melody was depressed and staying with her mother. Neil was home alone, and Amelia Cranston was a man-eater. Gus had seen her at close quarters during the hunt for Terry Davis’s killer and when Suzie disappeared.
There was no doubting Amelia’s sharp-witted intelligence and ability to work under pressure. Geoff Mercer had suggested her as a prospective team member. If something happened on Friday night, then Neil Davis was an idiot.
After the threats Sandra Plunkett made towards the CRT’s existence, Gus knew that if his team stepped out of line, they provided free ammunition to those who wanted the team disbanded.
Sandra Plunkett voiced the opinions gathered from several senior officers across the county force. Gus Freeman was a dinosaur, and the existing teams of detectives should handle cold cases. Every success that Gus and his team had only highlighted their deficiencies. The CRT wasn’t popular in every squad room.
First, there was the problem of Alex and Lydia. Now, maybe Neil and Amelia were in a relationship, not to mention him and Suzie Ferris.
That situation wouldn’t sit well with everyone either. Well, Gus thought, as far as his relationship with Suzie was concerned, they could take a running jump. They were both single, and it was nobody’s business but theirs. Perhaps he should have a quiet word with Neil, though?
Gus parked the Focus next to Neil’s car and went up to the first-floor office. Three eager faces stared at him when he exited the lift. Gus looked around the office. The whiteboards were pristine and ready for action.
“Welcome back, guv,” said Luke, “how was London Road?”
“Lined with trees and too much traffic, as usual,” said Gus, waving the murder file. “I come bearing gifts.”
“What have they landed us with this time, guv?” asked Neil.
“The shooting of Grant Burnside, a sixty-five-year-old gang leader from Swindon.”
“Burnside? I remember my Dad mentioning that name,” said Neil, “hard as nails. Not a bloke you wanted to upset. The entire family has been at it for years. Dad said Burnside’s shooting was inevitable because he pissed off too many people, but they never found out who did it. Why do they believe we’ll be any more successful, guv?”
“Because Gus is looking into it with fresh eyes,” said Lydia, “and we find things the others missed.”
Gus smiled.
“That’s kind of you to say, Lydia, but there’s a limit to the miracles we can achieve. This murder file has been lying around for four years with no one thinking it warranted a second look. Two other cases we’ve landed had several reviews, reconstructions, and TV appeals before they came to us. It makes me wonder why.”
“Can you give us the basics, guv?” asked Luke.
Gus ran through the events of the morning of Sunday, the twenty-fifth of May four years earlier. Both Neil and Luke raised questions concerning the other family members’ whereabouts. Gus answered where he could. Until they had scrutinised the detail inside the folder, those answers would remain hidden.
“Any first thoughts?” asked Gus when he finished.
“The lack of CCTV out at Cheney Manor Industrial Estate shouldn’t have been a big surprise, guv,” said Neil. “It’s obvious to me that Burnside rented a unit at the back of the yard, because of the lack of camera coverage in the corners. Whatever they used it for would have been dodgy, and they didn’t want an audience.”<
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“I agree with Neil, guv,” said Luke. “They needed a similar unit on another site after they abandoned the one at Cheney Manor. I wonder where that is, and what they have inside it?”
“You need to get past Patrick Iverson to learn that, Luke,” said Gus, “and that wouldn’t happen without a warrant.”
“Is Iverson still the family brief then, guv?” asked Neil.
“I don’t think they can afford to let him go,” said Gus. “He must be closer to their criminal activities than your usual solicitor. Whether he knows where the bodies are, I can’t say, but I reckon he had a good idea of what was going on in the hours before Grant Burnside’s shooting.”
“What’s our first step, guv?” asked Lydia.
“We’ll get the photos of the murder site up on the boards, plus details of the key family members. I’ve already started a list of non-family members who could offer an insight into who killed Grant Burnside, and why. Neil, if you and Lydia separate the elements of the file we need on the boards, Luke can set up the digital version for the Freeman Files. We should be able to make calls to our interviewees within the hour.”
“I’ve spotted a familiar name in here, guv,” said Neil.
“DI Theo Hickerton, I presume?” said Gus.
“Not yet, guv. DS Jake Latimer was one of the first officers on the scene. He arrived thirty minutes after the initial uniforms responded to the 999 call.”
“Get on the phone and arrange to drive over to see him first thing tomorrow, Neil,” said Gus. “We may as well use the relationship you two forged on the Laura Mallinder case to our advantage.”
The team spent the day loading whiteboards with crime scene images, and street maps of Swindon, plus photos and backgrounds of the Burnside family and their close associates. Luke set up the Freeman Files, and as Gus released the names, began arranging interviews that should occupy them for the rest of the week.
“Do you have a preference who accompanies you, guv?” asked Luke. “Will we be sticking to the running order of the names you’re passing me?”
