FF 07 Creature Discomforts

by Ted Tayler

“I’ll have a shower and consider,” said Suzie, “back in five minutes.”

  Gus wandered into the lounge and waited. The phone rang. Typical. Gus wondered if it was Dorothy’s friend. It worried him that she hadn’t been in touch for ages.

  “The Freeman household. How may I help?”

  “Freeman, will you never grow up? It’s Truelove here. Can I speak freely?”

  “Was that a sneaky way of discovering whether I had company?” asked Gus. “Of course you can. What news do you have for me?”

  “Gareth Francis called me from Gablecross.”

  “You’re a sly one. I hadn’t heard Gareth had unceremoniously transferred to one of your remote outposts.”

  “Nothing unceremonious about it. I thought it was the right move for DI Francis’s career development. Look, I will not debate my decisions with you. He wants your help on this murder case you embroiled yourself in. I told him I could spare you for forty-eight hours. Are you happy to work with him?”

  “I’d be happier if I could wrap it up sooner,” said Gus, giving Suzie a thumbs-up as she strolled into the lounge wrapped in a large bath towel. “I shall travel to Swindon in the morning. Please send my apologies to DS Mercer and the admin staff for not being at your ten o’clock meeting.”

  “There’s nothing to report on the Grant Burnside murder yet anyway, I take it?” asked the ACC.

  “We’re chasing a rugged-looking, red-haired man in his thirties, who enjoys climbing and outdoor pursuits–like hunting and shooting. Other than that, we’ve got nowhere.”

  “Goodnight, Freeman. Oh and tell DI Ferris not to be late in the morning.”

  “Nice try, Sir,” said Gus, “goodnight.”

  “You got your way, I assume?” asked Suzie.

  “You know me. I keep nudging people until they take the sensible option.”

  “Don’t I know it. Where shall we go to eat?” asked Suzie.

  Gus wrapped his arms around her and removed the towel.

  “I’ll rustle us up a snack later,” he said. “Sunday evenings are always a reminder that in the morning you’ll leave here and I won’t know when I’ll see you again for days. It’s painful.”

  Monday, 25th June 2018

  “Do you have anything planned for this week?” asked Suzie.

  “Are we talking social plans or work plans?” asked Gus, opening one eye.

  Suzie was ready to leave for home. Another weekend was at an end.

  “Bert’s daughter, Margaret, will descend on the village with her nephew, Brett, on Wednesday. I imagine we’ll get an invitation to meet them during their visit. Once I hear specific dates and times, I’ll call you.”

  “I look forward to it,” said Suzie, “ring me tonight anyway. Bye.”

  With that, she disappeared. Gus rolled over to glance at the clock.

  Yes, it was time to get up, shower and get dressed. Gus needed to get his brain into gear.

  The past two days had been great, but all good things come to an end.

  In an hour he had to drive to Gablecross Police Station to explain matters to DI Gareth Francis. Gus hoped that Jake Latimer was on hand to assist.

  Before he left the bungalow, Gus called Neil Davis.

  “Neil, I’m off to Swindon for a few hours. The ACC gave me the green light to hold Gareth’s hand. If I cannot wrap things up this morning, I’ll drive out to Blunsdon for three o’clock. I’ll meet you and Luke there. He was getting the natty blue suits for the three of us. Double-check before you leave that they’re in the car. I used mine on Friday.”

  “Leave it with me, guv,” said Neil, “will you let us in on the secret?”

  “Not yet, Neil. I might have screwed up. It wouldn’t be the first time on this case. I thought Gina Burnside wasn’t worth an interview, and yet she held the key to everything. Everything except who killed her brother, of course.”

  “We’ll see you at the pig farm then,” said Neil.

  Gus drove to Gablecross and found a spot in the visitor’s car park. Nobody on Reception knew he was coming this morning, so he stood there like a lemon while the officer verified there was a DI Francis on site.

  “Sorry, Mr Freeman, he must be new. You’ve been here before, so you know where the detective squad hangs out, I guess?”

  Gus nodded and set off through the rabbit warren. He spotted Jake Latimer on the far side of the room. He had a desk near the window. Perhaps Jake was training for the ACC’s job in a few years.

  “Are you looking for Gareth?” asked Jake.

  “The Acting Chief Constable called me yesterday evening to say DI Francis needed rescuing. I’m on the clock. I need to nurse him through his first murder case before the close of play tomorrow.”

  “DI Francis is chasing forensics and any scraps of information that the Police Surgeon will feed him from the autopsy. Don’t ask. I haven’t heard a thing yet.”

  “What did Gareth ask you to do?” asked Gus.

  “Come and have a look,” said Jake. “The manager of the snooker club showed me the register of members from January 2017 to date. I’ve got eleven names to check. It won’t take long. I’ve got mobile phone numbers for all bar two of them and addresses for the others. So a landline could be available to simplify matters.”

  “There’s always a chance that the eleven lads will claim they weren’t involved, Jake,” said Gus, “even though Gary’s dead. As Patrick Iverson pointed out to me on Saturday afternoon, victims get frightened at the mere mention of the name Burnside.”

  “Do you think it will be too easy for them to bluff it out on the phone then, guv? Perhaps I should see them face-to-face. I might catch a telltale twitch.”

  “As long as it doesn’t take too long,” said Gus, “I’ve only got forty-eight hours. You haven’t yet asked for the register of members for when Asif’s uncle ran the place.”

  “Oh, I asked, guv,” grinned Jake, “I’m collecting them at noon. Asif was picking them up from his uncle last night. We’ll have the period between January 2012 and December 2016 later.”

  “Good. I’ll let you get stuck in to those addresses. At least they’re local. Get on the phone and fix up a meeting. Some will be at work. Is there nobody to do the leg work for you?”

  “I could grab PCSO Travers for two hours,” said Jake, “nobody knows what to do with him. He’s green as grass.”

  “Travers was certainly green on Friday afternoon,” said Gus. “Oh, there was something I thought of at the weekend. Neil and Luke spoke with a Simeon Young on Friday. Does his name appear in that register?”

  “He’s one of my eleven names, guv,” said Jake, checking the list.

  “You need to chase over to Malmesbury to catch Simeon between inventions,” said Gus, “he’s one of the Burnside dropouts that’s turned over a new leaf.”

  “I’ll start making these calls and then see whether I can use Travers to pick up the register of members for those missing years from Asif. Travers has been to the club before, so he shouldn’t get lost.”

  “I’ll get back to see you this afternoon before I leave, Jake. We’re visiting Farmer McHugh out at Blunsdon.”

  “I don’t envy you that job, guv,” said Jake, “I get the shivers just thinking about it.”

  “This won’t help then,” said Gus. “Iverson confessed that Grant and Gary killed at least twelve people in the past eight years.”

  “That’s a lot of caustic soda,” said Jake. “I looked it up one night when I was at a loose end. Dissolving bodies in lye is a tried and trusted method used by the Mexican Sinaloa drug cartel to get rid of corpses. Fergus McHugh needed around a hundred pounds of powdered lye to dissolve a body.”

  “I’ll remember to ask him where he bought his supplies, Jake,” said Gus, heading for the door.

  Gus thought it might be quicker to find his way back to Reception than wander around the many corridors in this building. He spotted the same officer on the desk and called him over.

  “DI Francis is with the P
olice Surgeon discussing a recent autopsy. Can you point me in the right direction?”

  “You won’t believe me, but it’s Room 101,” said the officer.

  “Which direction?”

  “Head along the main corridor and look out for the numbers by the stairwells. You can’t miss them.”

  He was right. Gus was outside the door in two minutes. He could see Gareth Francis, head bowed. Was he praying or napping?

  Gus knocked and entered. As soon as he set foot inside the room, he heard a female voice. Was that the Police Surgeon? If so, where was she?

  Gareth raised his finger to his lips, showing that Gus should button it.

  Gus thought this was different. It appeared this station was one of those that the ACC referred to that used a GP part-time. Everyone who lived in Swindon knew how difficult it was to get to see a Doctor. Even Gareth couldn’t get to see her face-to-face.

  Dr Northwood did her bit and recorded it for posterity. Gareth was listening to her report.

  Gareth handed Gus the first two sheets of notes he’d summarised.

  Dr Eve Northwood had attended the scene at one o’clock.

  Estimated time of death was between ten to twelve hours earlier.

  The disposition of the body and its surroundings matched what Gus witnessed.

  The body had been identified one hour earlier by Augustus John Freeman.

  Eve Northwood had made a preliminary examination of the body in situ.

  At four o’clock, Gary Burnside’s body moved to the mortuary.

  At the post mortem, which Dr Northwood carried out before her morning surgery, she determined the cause of death.

  The deceased received twelve stab wounds from four different bladed weapons. There were seven wounds to the rear of the torso and five to the front. All major organs suffered at least one puncturing wound.

  Gus turned over the first sheet to see Gareth’s sketched body plan, showing where each entry occurred. When Dr Northwood referred to the sequence of the attacks, she stressed it was difficult to determine the order in which they occurred.

  Her professional opinion was that four assailants had struck Burnside simultaneously in a brief but bloody attack.

  When she removed the broken snooker cue butt from the victim’s rectum, it appeared that its role was to force a round object further into Gary Burnside’s back passage.

  Dr Northwood had ordered further tests which would confirm at what point death occurred during the assault. It was unclear whether the insertion of the round object (which measured fifty-two-point-five millimetres in diameter) occurred pre or post mortem. She believed the cue butt entered the victim’s body post mortem.

  After its removal, Dr Northwood identified the round object as a snooker ball. Behind the black ball was a slip of paper, which she removed with a pair of tweezers.

  The slip of paper contained a list of names.

  Gareth Francis was still holding his last sheet of notes. Gus was eager to see the contents of that list.

  Gus listened to Eve Northwood as she stated that police did not recover any sharp-bladed weapons matching the wounds at the scene. Her summation didn’t vary much from Gus’s assessment. The room fell silent, and Gareth walked to a nearby desk and switched off the machine.

  “Can I see that list of names, Gareth?” asked Gus.

  “It’s still getting analysed,” said Gareth, “I suppose we must be thankful that they can read it at all.”

  “Statistically, only ten per cent of bodies suffer from the scenario you’re painting. You stood beside me and viewed Gary Burnside’s body. The massive blood loss left us coping with that coppery, pungent odour that catches out inexperienced officers such as that young PCSO. But whoever murdered Gary Burnside, and rammed those additional items into his body, unintentionally spared us the worst outcome.”

  “I remember the chat we had at London Road,” said Gareth, “after the autopsy I attended with Peter Morgan. Peter gave me far more information than I wanted to know on the subject. I was so keen to learn, and I couldn’t contain my excitement. Until he went into great detail about what happened to the body after death.”

  “Yes, Gary Burnside’s muscles relaxed and no doubt something escaped into the air in that Matchroom, but the overriding smell ten hours after death was from his blood. Your Police Surgeon appears to have recovered a vital piece of evidence. Did you transcribe the names from the recording? You did a good job on the rest of it. The killing went pretty much as I thought, but I couldn’t see the entry wounds on his back. The four attackers surrounded him, and he didn’t stand a chance.”

  “That slip of paper suffered discolouration and tearing. We must wait until it’s processed. There may have been one other person in the room that we have yet to identify.”

  “Well done, Gareth,” said Gus. “Gary’s final victim. Perhaps Asif can help with that as he was there until midnight. Asif should know which junior members were present that night. If Gary booked the Matchroom and sent Asif home, then it’s odds-on he had company.”

  “I wonder why the lad hasn’t come forward?” asked Gareth.

  “Why didn’t any of Gary’s victims come forward?” said Gus. “Shame and fear of reprisals from the Burnside gang would explain the silence of his past victims. But the young lad who was face down on the snooker table on Thursday night when the attackers broke in witnessed at least the first stabbings. Did he stay and watch, or did they tell him to get out and tell no one what he’d seen?”

  “It might be difficult to persuade anyone to speak about such an ordeal. Especially when a group of vigilantes burst in and do what the victim wanted to do himself.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Gus. “DS Latimer is chasing potential victims from the latest register of members and was hoping to get PCSO Travers to assist with identifying youngsters using the club three or four years ago.”

  “Should I ring him and stop what he’s doing?” asked Gareth.

  “If that list Dr Northwood recovered is accurate, then Jake’s task isn’t urgent. It still needs doing, but only a proportion of the eleven names from the past eighteen months will appear on the list. We need to regroup and set out a revised plan of action.”

  Gareth nodded. They returned to the detective squad room to look for Jake Latimer.

  “He’s visiting addresses in Blunsdon, Gorse Hill, Pinehurst, and Highworth,” said a colleague.

  “Where would we find PCSO Travers?” asked Gareth.

  “Not a clue, Gareth. He’s doing something for Jake. He left here about ten minutes ago and said he’d be back around half-past twelve.”

  “Jake’s sent him to the closest addresses on the first list, and then he’s collecting the lists of members when Asif’s uncle was in charge. We should call them both back.”

  “Not to worry, Gareth,” said Gus, “leave them for now. Get hold of Asif’s number and tell him to meet us at the club in the next ten minutes. We’ll collect the register and get a head start on finding our killers.”

  “I don’t follow,” said Gareth.

  “Come on, Gareth, you’ve been doing so well,” sighed Gus. “Who would know the names of the victims and want to kill their attacker?”

  “They could be fathers of boys he attacked,” suggested Gareth.

  “True, but they could also be club members who used the place regularly and saw what was going on.”

  “And they must have been members for several years if the names of all the victims are on the list they left inside Burnside.”

  “Exactly,” said Gus.

  Gareth called Asif, and he met them outside the snooker club. He had his uncle’s books with him.

  “Many thanks, Asif,” said Gus, “sorry to get you here earlier, but these records could hold vital information.”

  “No problem, Mr Freeman. I can always use the extra time clearing the Matchroom now your forensic people have done with it. My two new pool tables will be here next week.”


  “I like a man who doesn’t let the grass grow under his feet,” said Gus, “you’ll turn this place around, Asif, I’d put money on it.”

  “It won’t be for lack of trying, Mr Freeman.”

  “Can you remember the names of any youngsters here last Thursday, Asif? Do you know who was receiving one-to-one coaching from Gary Burnside?”

  “There weren’t many in on Thursday. Emilio Melillo and Kendal Andrews were playing on Table 3. I didn’t see Emilio leave.”

  “Was he the better player of the two?” asked Gus.

  “Oh yes, he’s good at most sports,” said Asif.

  “We'll find him,” said Gareth, “thanks for your help.”

  As he turned to leave, Gus remembered the young PCSO.

  “That young lad, Travers, who was here on Friday, Asif. He’ll be here at noon looking for these books. Send him back to the police station, will you? Apologise for getting here before him.”

  “Will do, Mr Freeman,” said Asif, moving towards the club door to open up.

  Gareth and Gus returned to Gablecross. There was still no sign of Jake Latimer.

  “What period do these books cover?” asked Gareth.

  “The five years between January 2012 and December 2016,” said Gus.

  “I see they still use the same type of register,” said Gareth, pointing to the two books on Jake Latimer’s desk.

  “How are the names listed?” asked Gus.

  “For each day that the club was open, there’s a record of who joined, together with their address, contact number, and annual fee payable. It’s a different amount for under-18s, adults, and senior citizens. There are dozens of names recorded in January. So, they include people who were members the previous year, I guess. Ah, I see what they do now. In February, the annual fee rises. That encourages existing members to pay their fees in the New Year to save themselves twenty per cent.”

  “Good, that makes our job easier. I’ll take the first book,” said Gus. “You grab the 2018 book from Jake’s desk. Make a list of names of adults who joined in January this year. Then go back to 2017 and check the names that re-occur. We’ll put our lists together and see how many long-term members use the snooker club. Our killers will be among those names.”