by Ted Tayler
While they were in their early teens, they were a valuable commodity. Could other grooming gangs around the country have absorbed these girls into their numbers? That wasn’t such a fanciful idea. Instances of girls from Liverpool and Manchester getting trafficked to Birmingham and Bristol were commonplace. Most were addicted to drugs and had given up hope of escaping a long time ago. The drugs were what they craved, and hopefully, the dosage the gangs gave them was strong enough to shut out the horrors of what happened to them every day.
How could he find out the fate of these girls? Who would know their names? Apart from Tanya Norris, they were a mystery. Gus pondered for a while. No, the Burnside murder must come first.
Gus didn’t share Jack’s niggle about any connection between the cases. How could they be? A professional hitman shot Grant, that was clear. Were the four brothers even dead? Could there be a more straightforward explanation for their disappearance?
The only way Gus could see the cases linking was if there was an unseen hand. Someone was dispensing swift justice wherever they thought criminals weren’t getting identified and charged by the police. That was as unlikely as Swindon Town winning the Premiership, to use one of Neil’s analogies.
Maybe later he’d chat with Geoff Mercer over a pint and explore the fate of the Ahmed and Hussein brothers. They were no loss. But, same as the girls, they suddenly disappeared with no explanation. Jack’s case involving Tanya Norris was as challenging to understand as who murdered Grant Burnside.
Gus started the car and drove back to the Old Police Station. Perhaps a debrief with the rest of the team, and a revised interview schedule would give them a fresh start. They certainly needed it.
“I hope you’ve kept busy while I was in Haydon Wick?” he asked as soon as he entered the office.
“It’s been tough with no interviews, guv,” said Neil, “but our filing is bang up to date, and I gave the restroom a spring clean.”
“Each of us could use a spring clean now and again,” said Gus, “is everything else sorted now?”
“Yes, guv,” said Neil.
Luke and Lydia shared a glance. Did that have to do with Neil’s early finish yesterday? They had learned nothing from Neil this morning.
“What did you two find to do?” asked Gus.
“A general tidy up out here, guv,” said Lydia, “and I took a phone call from London Road.”
“Not bad news, I hope. I don’t want to drive there this afternoon.”
“No, guv,” said Lydia, “it was DS Mercer. He told us that your office furniture is arriving at two o’clock on Friday. Three desks, two chairs, and two filing cabinets. With Alex returning to work, and DC Umeh joining us, we must re-arrange the layout of the office.”
“Well, it’s a start,” said Gus. “Did he offer us any laptops or printers while he was having a clear-out from his suite of offices?”
“I compiled a comprehensive list of stationery items, guv,” said Luke, “I waited until you got back to check it over before sending it through to London Road.”
“You know best what we’ll be short of when our numbers increase next month, Luke. Just make sure we have enough coffee and biscuits. Our budget’s tight, or so the ACC kept telling me when we started. He’ll cut corners wherever he can. Add in two high-priced items that would only be a luxury. Truelove can take great pleasure in crossing them off the list, and perhaps we’ll get one hundred per cent of the basics.”
“What did you hear in Haydon Wick, guv?” asked Neil.
“I heard a blast from the past, Neil,” said Gus.
“Andy Partridge and XTC, guv?” asked Neil.
Gus wondered about the level of Neil’s musical taste; not for the first time.
“Far more chilling than that, Neil. A Swindon grooming gang got erased from the scene without troubling our people at Gablecross back in 2012. Jack Sanders thought it suspicious. So suspicious, that when Grant Burnside died at the hands of a mystery man, he imagined it could be the responsibility of the same people.”
“Do you think there’s anything in that, guv?” asked Luke.
“I can’t see it, Luke.”
“Was that everything then, guv?” asked Neil.
Gus had to admit it was the sum total of what he’d learned from Jack Sanders this morning.
“Do we revise our schedule now, guv?” asked Luke.
“We’ll start with Henry Burnside,” said Gus. “I want you and Neil to take him. Ask what happened to Howard Todd, after you’ve got him to confirm Todd worked for him. Since Gary Burnside insists they are a legitimate import-export company, I want to know what work Henry could offer him.”
“What work did the drug dealer, Howard Todd, carry out for you, Mr Burnside?” said Neil.
“Henry will have Patrick Iverson hovering on his shoulder. So you might want to re-phrase that, but that’s the gist of it. Press Henry on who he thought killed his father. Try to needle him, without getting Iverson too excited, by hinting at differences between the three brothers.”
“We’re to imply that we’ve heard rumours somebody wanted Grant out. Either for the three brothers to gain control or in Henry’s case, because he didn’t want to work for Gary.”
“We’ll be doing something similar when we speak with Joseph. Divide and conquer. That could be the way to go. Get them riled, force them to react. Iverson will do everything he can to keep a lid on their tempers, but it’s their default position. As natural as for Lydia to smile.”
“Will you and I interview Joseph Burnside?” asked the smiling Lydia.
“Not at the same time, because Iverson will want to be in attendance. You should use similar tactics for Joseph, Luke. He will deflect your question on Todd, the same as Gary did yesterday. But pursue the family friction angle. Lydia. I’m going to ask you to come to HMP Bristol with me. You can refuse if you wish. Vic Hodge is a nasty piece of work.”
“I’ll cope,” said Lydia. “Do I need to wear any particular style of clothing?”
“Don’t ask, Luke,” said Neil.
“I picked up the odd vibe while you were on leave, Neil,” said Luke, “those tactics would be wasted on me.”
“Smart and professional, Lydia,” said Gus. “Nothing provocative required tomorrow.”
“When do we start these interviews, guv?” asked Neil.
“First thing tomorrow for Henry. You two can carry straight through with Joseph if he’s available. Iverson will probably persuade Joseph to alter his plans to save having to disrupt his busy day twice. Lydia and I will make arrangements this afternoon for a visit to Horfield. When we return tomorrow afternoon, we’ll visit Kerry Burnside. She lives alone, I believe, at the registered address of the so-called company offices.”
“Yes, guv,” said Lydia, “Kerry lives in an upstairs flat with her dogs, while the ground floor is now modern office space.”
“I’ll push tomorrow’s original interviews back twenty-four hours, guv,” said Luke,
“Cancel Sylvia Kerr altogether,” said Gus, “as for Andy Wilkinson, I think we can tell him we’ll drop by his unit for a chat if it proves necessary. I might ask him to look at my Focus while we’re there.”
“You’re taking a huge risk, guv,” said Neil, “He does car repairs. Not the impossible. Wilkinson might give your old banger the last rites.”
“Hilarious, Neil. Unless he saw the sniper, Wilkinson won’t be much help, anyway. As for Howard’s sister Amanda, then as his body will never get found, we can’t do a thing for her. We would need a signed confession before we could get Gablecross to send a uniform round to Mandy to notify her of his death officially. Otherwise, the poor woman will have to hang on another three years, until Howard’s been missing for seven.”
“That just leaves Fergus McHugh,” said Luke.
“Just the three of us need to go on that trip,” said Gus. “Make sure we’ve got boots, masks and those natty blue suits in the car's boot. It could get messy.”
“Thanks, guv,”
said Lydia, “I got squeamish when my Dad had to bury my pet rabbit, Fluffy. I appreciate giving that trip a miss.”
“Right, let’s crack on with adjusting our timetables for tomorrow. Remember, when you’re making those calls, remind whoever you’re contacting, that if they mess us around, I’ll contact Gablecross, and make it official. They can attend the custody suite under caution.”
“Yes, guv,” replied Luke and Neil. Gus called HMP Bristol to discover whether Vic Hodge was up for visitors. He met no resistance, and he and Lydia had their ten o’clock meeting confirmed with one of the Burnsides’ enforcers.
“Hodge was happy to oblige, guv?” asked Lydia.
“The warden told me Vic had nothing on his social calendar for tomorrow.”
During the last few minutes before the end of play at five o’clock, Gus sketched an office layout from the second of July on one of the whiteboards.
“Leave that there for two days,” he said as he was heading for the lift, “if you can think of a better solution, we’ll discuss it Friday lunchtime.”
While Gus drove home to Urchfont, he went through the events of the day. Were they even on the right track? Nothing they had heard in the first two full days of this cold case review suggested a clear route to follow. Unless they miraculously unearthed a hidden clue that unlocked the mystery surrounding Grant Burnside’s death, then this could be a lost cause.
Gus wondered what joys tomorrow might bring. The brothers would be tight-lipped under Iverson’s eagle eye. Vic Hodge and Kerry Burnside were at opposite ends of the intelligence spectrum, and neither was a likely candidate for Grant’s killer.
What else was there? They could spend five minutes jogging Andy Wilkinson’s memories of a Sunday morning four years ago. In case, he saw Chuck Norris, but it had slipped his mind.
As for Farmer McHugh, well, Gus’s conjecture that Fergus helped the Burnside gang dispose of bodies for over a decade was just that, conjecture. If that sodium hydroxide method worked as effectively as McHugh claimed then any evidence had gone.
Gus sighed as he drove through the gateway from the lane and parked the car. What he needed was a pleasant summer evening in company. It was the ideal way to let everything wash over him and help forget the case altogether for a few precious hours.
Thank goodness he’d called Suzie first thing. Another thirty minutes and she should park her GTI beside his Focus. Gus opened the front door and walked into the hallway. He stooped to retrieve a handful of mail secured with an elastic band.
Gus groaned when he recognised the messages on several of the contents. Every political party was keen to remind each household of their opinions on Brexit. As if everyone had been in a coma for the past two years. There was even an invitation to attend a mass rally in London on Saturday. Gus was confident he had a previous engagement.
Six out of the eight items soon headed into the box for recycling. Gus glanced at the Electoral Roll reminder and wondered whether the details for the bungalow would change before the next election. The way things were going that could be in weeks, not years.
Gus turned the final item over to check the address. It was rare to receive an envelope of quality, even on his birthday. Who could be writing to him? The handwriting was old-school and extremely neat. The postmark was faded, but unmistakably this was a letter from France. Gus hadn’t seen one of those for a while.
I hope you are well. After the trial, my sons brought me to the chateau to make a new life. Crompton accompanied me. I couldn’t be without the old devil. I wanted you to know that I never blamed you for what you did. The truth had to come out.
You were so kind to me that last time we spoke. I know you were afraid I might fly to the bottle again and drink myself to death. I must say, I do enjoy our wine, and 2017 might just be a vintage you should stock in your cellar (if you have one, silly me).
The boys ensure I keep things under control, and the food and weather are divine.
I thank God every day for this second chance at life, but most of all–I thank you, Freeman. Bless you.
Joyce
Gus heard the key in the door behind him. Suzie was early.
“Hello you,” she said.
“You won’t guess who this letter came from,” said Gus.
Suzie read Joyce Pemberton-Smythe’s letter.
“Aw, bless her. She’s a good sort, isn’t she?”
“I’ve never received a pleasant letter from the wife of a murderer before,” said Gus, “I’ve had the odd death threat from people I’ve nicked and their families, of course. It goes with the territory.”
“You should frame this and hang it on the wall in the office,” said Suzie. “Was this the high point of your day?”
“Without a doubt,” said Gus, “the latest case is like swimming in treacle. I don’t want to hear it mentioned again tonight. Let’s decide where we’re going to eat.”
“I hoped we would visit your allotment first,” said Suzie. “I’ve got an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt in the wardrobe. Why don’t you shower and change? Alone, or we’ll get nothing done. I’ll be ready to leave when you’re finished.”
Gus decided it was best to follow orders on this occasion. Fifteen minutes later, they were striding towards the old church and the gateway into the allotments. As soon as they turned the corner, they spotted Bert Penman and Clemency Bentham hard at work.
“A fine evening for it, Mr Freeman,” said Bert, straightening up from gathering his early potatoes.
Gus wondered whether Irene North would find half of those on her doorstep later.
“Have you been at it long, Mr Penman?” asked Suzie.
“All my life, Miss, and the gardening,” said Bert.
The Reverend tutted. She came across to speak with Gus.
“He’s putting on a brave front,” said Clemency. “The events of the past two weeks have hit him hard. That patch of ground is his best hope of getting back to his old self.”
“I can see that you’ve both made excellent progress since my last visit,” said Gus.
“I spent half an hour helping you out, Mr Freeman,” said Bert. “Now you’ve got young Suzie Ferris with you I shall expect to see things getting back on track.”
“My first job is to root around in that shed of mine to find those notes you gave me,” said Gus, “I don’t know what I’m doing without them. Are you two staying long?”
“I can hear a pint of cider calling me from the Lamb,” said Bert. “If I behave myself, the Reverend said she’d join me when that church clock strikes seven.”
“Have you both eaten?” asked Gus, “Suzie and I would welcome the company.”
“That would be splendid,” said Clemency. “My diet dictates that I only order a child’s portion of salad, but I can watch you three devour something more edible.”
“I had a meal at lunchtime,” said Bert, “but as the Reverend says, there’s plenty on the menu for those who only require a snack.”
“That’s settled then,” said Suzie, “we’ll hunt for whatever Gus has mislaid, and then catch up with you in the Lamb. We’ll be no later than half-past seven.”
Gus and Suzie left Bert and Clemency to their chores. Gus opened his old shed and ventured inside. Suzie joined him and helped turn over seed boxes, catalogues, and gardening gloves.
“Here we are,” cried Gus, “I can’t think why I didn’t check here before. I tucked it into my Kierkegaard book to mark a comment I’d scribbled on a well-loved page.
Gus handed the book to Suzie. She read the written comment aloud.
“Life is what happens when you’re getting ready for something else - Gus Freeman.”
“Oh, you fancy yourself as a philosopher now, do you?” grinned Suzie, “I’m sure someone coined that phrase already.”
“Maybe,” said Gus, “but I thought it apposite at the time.”
“Did I inspire you to commit your inner feelings to paper?” asked Suzie, putting her arms around him, and kissing him d
eeply.
“If you keep this up, we’re going to need a bigger shed,” said Gus.
“Don’t worry,” said Suzie, “we’ll have plenty of time once I’m living in the village full-time.”
The church clock gathered itself to chime the hour.
“You’ve decided then?” Gus asked.
The clock struck seven times while they kissed.
“Pretty much,” said Suzie when they came up for air.
When they emerged from the shed, Clemency and Bert had gone.
“Thirty minutes to do everything that’s in these notes for the final weeks in June,” sighed Gus. “We’ll only scratch the surface.”
“Pick one task each, get stuck in and quit moaning,” said Suzie. “The exercise will sharpen your appetite.”
Gus couldn’t argue with the logic, so they set to and at seven-thirty walked up the lane to the Lamb. They found Bert and Clemency seated at a table in the beer garden.
“I hesitate to ask,” said Gus, “but are you ready for another drink?”
“Not for me, Gus,” said Clemency, “this elderflower cordial will last me the whole evening.”
Bert’s pint glass was already on its way to his lips.
“Just a toothful left in this first one, Mr Freeman. You’re a gentleman.”
Suzie had fetched menus from inside the pub. Gus went to order drinks while the others decided what they were eating. Suzie passed him with the menus as he returned with a tray.
“Don’t I get a chance to see what’s on offer?” he asked.
“I’ll order you steak, chips, and salad; without the chips,” she grinned.
Gus groaned.
“Bert’s got news for you, Gus,” said Clemency.
“My daughter, Margaret, arrives next Friday,” said Bert. “Her husband has flown back to New Zealand to take care of his business interests. Brett, my grandson, will accompany Margaret. I don’t know yet how long they’re staying. Margaret needs to fly home. Brett’s using this visit to check out job opportunities. If he can find something that suits his qualifications and experience, he’ll move to the UK for good.”
