by Ted Tayler
“So, the gym work was for keeping fit while inside,” asked Gus. “Not hardening you up for a life of crime, plus getting the groundwork done on how to put the frighteners on people when they didn’t play ball.”
“I think you’ve got me confused with someone else, Mr Freeman. That doesn’t sound like anyone I recognise.”
“If you study the company accounts, you would understand that you’re barking up the wrong tree,” said Patrick Iverson. “If you produced the correct warrant, I’m sure our chief financial officer would be happy to take you through them.”
“Would that be the copy you provide to HMRC or the real ones?” asked Gus.
“If Gablecross had anything of substance we wouldn’t be attending this informal chat,” said Iverson. “Can we return to your brief of discovering who killed my client’s father?”
“Computers didn’t have a thing to do with what you did that Sunday morning though, did they, Gary,” said Gus. “Not with your father and thugs liked Drewett and Hodge in tow. I suspect what occupied nearly six hours before the emergency services arrived involved another activity. You said that while inside, you spent time in the gym preparing for future work. I suggested you also perfected the art of intimidation and punishment for those who were unwise enough to fall behind with their payments, or worse still, cross you. Isn’t that closer to the truth?”
“No comment,” said Gary.
“I wondered how far we’d get before we heard that phrase. Well done, Gary,” said Gus, “you didn’t need a prompt from your solicitor. He’s trained you well.”
“This is a complete waste of time,” said Gary.
“I’m glad you raised that matter, Gary. Mr Freeman mentioned earlier that the time interested him,” said Luke. “What he’s struggling with is why you needed to leave home so early if you weren’t due at Cheney Manor until after eleven. We know you had to get to Drewett and Hodge’s homes to collect them. I’ve checked the addresses, and it’s a tidy distance for a walk. I doubt that would be high on your wish-list. It doesn’t give the right image. Perhaps you drove.”
Silence reigned on the other side of the desk.
“Grant left his home in Gorse Hill at seven,” said Gus, “and we know that he drove the Mercedes truck onto the site at a little after eleven twenty. There was no mention of another vehicle. We guess that Gary drove the Mercedes to pick up his mates and then collected Grant. Where you drove next is a mystery. So is the reason behind the change of driver. One might assume that Gary spent time out of the truck, maybe with Denver and Vic, while Grant stayed with the Mercedes. After you were ready to move on, you returned to the truck, and Grant drove out to Cheney Manor.”
“You have a vivid imagination, Freeman,” said Patrick Iverson, “there are a hundred other explanations for what they did between six and eleven.”
“Give us one supportable alternative,” said Gus. “Show me where my interpretation of events went wrong.”
“No comment,” said Gary.
“If you have nothing to say, Gary, then I’ll continue to theorise how things might have progressed,” said Gus. “You told the police that Denver and Vic were there to carry out work for you. The truck was empty. So, whatever you did between seven and eleven didn’t involve bringing anything to Cheney Manor. It must have been inside the unit already.”
Gus spotted the furtive glance from Gary to Iverson, but the wily solicitor didn’t react. His stony face didn’t flinch.
“I don’t believe the police checked what was behind those roller doors you were so keen to open,” said Gus. He pretended to flick through the murder file to verify that statement.
“There was nothing to show that the contents of the warehouse unit in any way connected to Grant Burnside’s murder,” said Iverson. “I cannot see how you’re going to find his murderer by concentrating on that aspect of the morning’s events. You should look for the gunman on the roof.”
“Have you seen or spoken to Howard Todd recently?” asked Gus.
“Who?” asked Gary.
“Oh, come now, Gary. Howard was a dealer who reported to your brother, Henry. It’s four years since he last worked for your family, but surely there haven’t been that many former employees that disappear without a trace?”
“Toddy must have moved on,” said Gary, “why not ask Henry where he fitted into his side of the business. Todd was nothing to me.”
“Now, that I can believe,” said Gus.
“I’m struggling with the roller doors,” said Luke.
“I reckon you’re both struggling,” said Gary, “when are you going to ask these questions you were banging on about?”
“What DS Sherman means is that if the Mercedes was empty, Grant didn’t need to reverse the van up to the roller doors. You weren’t there to deliver something. Therefore, there was something inside that needed their attention. We can only speculate, but one explanation for Grant reversing the van in the way he did was that after your men completed the task, the said item was to go in the back. The Mercedes was there for removals.”
“No, you’ve got it wrong,” said Gary, “Dad didn’t need to reverse the Mercedes that time. If he’d only stopped facing the doors, the gunman wouldn’t have had a shot. He’d still be alive. There was no reason for Dad to get out of the cab. We were only going to be inside a few minutes.”
Patrick Iverson tapped Gary on the arm.
“Could we take a break for a moment, please? I’d like a private word with my client.”
“We need a moment longer, Mr Iverson,” said Gus, “and then you can chat with your client all afternoon.”
“When did you first arrive at Cheney Manor Industrial Estate that morning?” asked Luke.
“No comment.”
Luke looked at Gus. Both men had answered in unison. It seemed likely that was the signal for Gary Burnside to refuse to answer any more questions today. Was Gus happy with what they’d learned? Gus nodded to Luke. That was it for now.
“Let’s take a break,” said Gus, “thanks for travelling here today, gentlemen. It’s been most productive. I’m sure we’ll have further questions, and we’d hope to continue with this informal setting for any future meetings. If we uncover something that connects you to criminal activity, we’ll pass it on to the detectives at Gablecross. They might proceed on a more formal basis. Arrests and cautions, that sort of thing. As long as we understand one another, I’m sure we can avoid such unpleasantness.”
Iverson and Burnside left the room without a word.
“What do you reckon, guv?” asked Luke.
“When did you work out, they had been there earlier?” asked Gus.
“I didn’t know that they were,” said Luke, “I was putting forward an alternative version of events. One of the hundred that Iverson mentioned. Is it fair to interpret that swift no comment, as an admission that they had indeed been there earlier? Had you been thinking along those lines already?”
“I didn’t have enough facts to make a statement with any certainty,” said Gus. “It crossed my mind, as did something else, relating to the gunman. Gary could have meant that Grant reversed up earlier when there was something in the back of the van. With it halfway into the unit and the back doors open, Drewett and Hodge could have taken whatever they had inside into the unit with no one being the wiser. Grant simply made the same manoeuvre with the van when they returned out of habit. The sniper relied on that manoeuvre. He stayed on the roof overnight, lying in wait. Perhaps Grant was out of the van and inside the unit before he lined up the shot and so he waited for a better opportunity.”
“I wonder where they drove to after they left the warehouse?” asked Luke.
“You’re nearly there, Luke,” said Gus.
“How did the gunman know that they were coming back?”
“You’ve missed a step. But let’s follow your thoughts first. I think the timing of the phone call from Kirstin to Maggie is vital,” said Gus. “Out of the blue, Grant and Gary want to take
their wives for a Sunday lunch. Maggie said that didn’t happen in a month of Sundays. The men had something to celebrate. Whatever they started at six was almost finished. The last thing they had to do was collect Drewett or Hodge, or both, from the warehouse.”
“You think someone stayed behind,” said Luke, “and the gunman realised that the van must be returning. He just needed to be patient.”
“Right, Luke,” said Gus, “now you’ve explained how that piece of the jigsaw could fit together. What about that missing step? It should be easier now you’ve worked out that someone stayed behind.”
Luke thought for a minute and then smacked the desk.
“What happened inside the unit when all four men were still there? Why did Drewett and Hodge need to stay? Where did Grant and Gary Burnside go, and why?”
“Was the warehouse unit being used to store supplies of drugs?” said Gus.
“That’s possible,” said Luke, “but Joseph controlled the trafficking, and Henry controlled the dealers. Why would Grant bother with the day-to-day stuff his sons were supposed to handle? Did they need a large Mercedes truck if they wanted to move a few kilos of cocaine? Drewett and Hodge were said to be at the unit to work on something. They were enforcers, not dealers, traffickers, or tradesmen. Their role was to hurt people whenever ordered by one of the Burnside family.”
“Maggie told us this morning that Grant moaned about having to get up early to clear up a mess that Gary should have sorted.”
“Gary was the eldest brother and number two in the organisation. So, that suggests that someone stepped out of line and Gary hadn’t dealt with it in a timely fashion.”
“Which leads us to our friend, Howard Todd,” said Gus.
“The dealer reported missing by his sister, Amanda, on Monday the second of June,” said Luke.
“Todd’s last sighting was on Saturday, the twenty-fourth of May, according to the murder file,” said Gus. “CCTV caught him near Ainsworth Road.”
“Gary got his two mates to help him find Todd hiding on his usual patch. Then Grant picked them up in the Mercedes and drove out to Cheney Manor. It sounds as if Todd had a one-way ticket.”
“When the truck left the site, they were off to dump the body,” said Gus. “They left Drewett and Hodge to do a clean-up job. At twenty past eleven, Grant returned. Gary was with him because that was when he called Kirstin. She then rang her mother-in-law.”
“It explains a lot,” said Luke. “It explains why the back of the truck was so clean, and why the uniformed officers smelled bleach as soon as they opened the doors. No wonder Iverson didn’t want the police to look inside the unit.”
“I might have been wrong about Fergus McHugh,” said Gus. “He meant Burnside when he gave the police a list of his customers. He used that gadget in his shed to dispose of Howard Todd, boiled him for several hours and poured him down the drain. Tell Gablecross to tread with care when they speak with Todd’s sister, Luke. There’s no need to give the poor woman nightmares.”
“How does any of this help us find who killed Grant Burnside, and why, guv?” asked Luke.
“You’re no fun, Luke. Let’s drive back to the office and catch up with whatever Neil’s uncovered. I’m afraid you’re right. We’re no further forward on that score. First thing tomorrow, I suggest we get our heads together with the others to thrash out an alternative approach.”
When they got back to the Old Police Station and exited the lift, they found Lydia alone in the office. Gus glanced at the clock on the wall. Four thirty-five. Surely Neil wasn’t still at Gablecross?
“No sign of Neil yet?” he asked.
“He’s been and gone, guv,” said Lydia. “Neil had something to sort out in Devizes. It sounds as if he had a busy day with DS Latimer. Neil’s put everything he learned into the Freeman Files. You can bring yourself up to speed. He’ll be here bright and breezy at nine o’clock in the morning, ready to go to his next interview. Did you decide who was next on his list yet?”
“I had, but it might need a rethink. You and I uncovered scraps of knowledge from the female members of the Burnside family related to events on the day of the murder. Luke and I encouraged Gary Burnside to tell us how to piece those scraps together. The trouble is that it has left us with more questions than answers. First thing tomorrow, I wanted to thrash out a different plan of action. Perhaps what Luke and I should do now is add our thoughts from this afternoon’s interview to the files. Then I’ll take a copy home with me tonight to understand the revised big picture.”
“I’ll get started on my part now, guv,” said Luke, “I agree with you, there’s little point in ploughing on with the interview schedule we have at present. Before I go home, I’ll put in calls to postpone those I’ve arranged for tomorrow. After you’ve reassessed the situation overnight, you can advise me on what to do with those booked in for Thursday and Friday. And we can prepare a revised list.”
“Fair enough, Luke,” said Gus, “I’ll update the files with my stuff first, while it’s still fresh in my mind. A read-through of Neil’s impressions and recommendations must come next. There might be something there that is a game-changer. I sincerely hope so, because so far we seem to be in reverse gear.”
“Does anyone know why Neil was in a rush to get back to Devizes?” asked Luke.
“His head has been all over the place, Luke,” said Lydia, “I’m not surprised that something cropped up that he’d forgotten. It could be a family birthday or anniversary that slipped his mind. Today was his busiest day since returning to work. Maybe it tired him out more than he thought.”
Gus kept his thoughts to himself. If Neil had taken his advice to heart earlier, then PC Cranston should get let down gently at a few minutes after five o’clock. Gus hadn’t asked just how far things went on Friday night. He didn’t want to know.
If Neil wanted to remain a member of the Crime Review Team, the married detective was under no illusions he had to quit cheating on Melody, or else.
“I hope he gets a good night’s sleep,” said Gus, “because things could get busier than ever around here.”
Gus opened the Burnside file on his computer and added his notes for the interviews with Maggie and Kirstin, and then Gary Burnside. As for Patrick Iverson, Gus merely included a brief comment for now. He was everything that the ACC and Geoff Mercer had warned him he was. The solicitor was slippery as a bag of eels.
As Gus collected his thoughts and stared at his computer screen, Lydia laid a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m off home, guv. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“No problem, Lydia. Enjoy your evening.”
“I’m driving over to see Alex,” she said, “he had a physio session this afternoon. He’ll need a quiet night in front of the TV. I’m feeling my age at twenty-five. Heaven knows how Alex feels. He’s over ten years older than me.”
Gus had just finished typing his notes on Maggie Burnside. She was only six months older than him and looked like death had an icy hand on her shoulder already. He didn’t look that decrepit, did he?
Who do you ask about things such as that, anyway? Friends lie to you because they don’t think you want to hear the truth, and only an idiot asks a stranger or an enemy. Maybe it was better not to know. Gus continued believing he looked good for his age.
Luke stayed until a quarter past five, and then he too made for the lift.
“Nicky’s picking me up, guv,” he said as he passed Gus’s desk, “we’ve got an hour of squash booked at the leisure centre for six o’clock. Nicky’s a far better player than I am. Thirty minutes will shatter me, but every little helps for us both to keep fit.”
“See you in the morning,” said Gus.
After the lift door closed, he groaned. Everybody was at it. Gus called it quits at six, collected a digital copy of the Freeman Files and drove through Devizes on his way home. He kept an eye open for Neil Davis and Amelia Cranston, but there was no sign of either of them. Fingers crossed that went smoothly,
he thought.
Gus slowed as he drove past the gateway to the allotments. He thought of stopping to check whether Bert Penman had returned to his usual pattern of work. From the road, he couldn’t see anyone working there this evening, and Clemency Bentham was elsewhere tending to her flock of parishioners. Gus drove on up the lane, pulled into the driveway of his bungalow, and parked the car.
There was no sign of his having company this evening, so far. He and Suzie had made no firm arrangements after she left early on Monday morning to return to the farm in Worton. Although several items of her casual clothing now hung in his bedroom wardrobe, her uniform remained at home.
Gus went foraging in his fridge and freezer cabinets, searching for something to match his mood. Every other team member seemed to be on a health kick. Even the ACC and Geoff Mercer refused a blueberry muffin from Kassie Trotter this morning. What did he have that was good for him?
After five minutes of hunting, he gave up. Gus cut two thick slices from a crusty, wholemeal loaf, covered them with real butter, and made a sandwich with the few scraps of salad ingredients he had available. Lettuce, spring onion, radish, tomato, cucumber, and beetroot looked healthy enough. A cold beer helped wash it down.
Gus uploaded the digital file to his computer and read through Neil’s contribution. There was plenty of valuable background, but Jake had provided no new clues that might help discover who killed Grant Burnside. Nothing had changed since Jack Sanders, and Theo Hickerton had either given up on the case or got transferred onto something with a higher chance of success.
