by Ted Tayler
“Rough,” said Brett. “They know it’s food poisoning, but they’re not sure what caused it. I have my suspicions.”
“By definition, it had to be something she ate,” said Gus.
“Or the culprit was an ingredient Irene put into one of her cocktail recipes,” said Brett. “I think Bert is drowning his sorrows over there because he grew the fruit or vegetable that Irene experimented with and is feeling guilty.”
“That may explain why he seemed reticent about visiting her in hospital,” said Gus.
“Did he?” laughed Brett. “I’ll get Clemency to gang up on him with me. She can’t visit Irene every day. There are several parishioners in greater need at present.”
“Clemency did mention that she would soon be writing a handful of her little speeches for visits to the crematorium,” said Gus. “I’m always nervous when the Reverend has a clutch of funerals.”
“I haven’t heard this one, Gus,” said Brett. “Does Clemency have form?”
“The Reverend certainly went up in Irene’s estimation when describing Frank’s past accomplishments,” said Gus. “Clemency got the details that she’d scribbled down on her home visits mixed up with another chap from the village. Frank became a well-known sportsman and someone respected by all who met him, something that couldn’t have been further from the truth if the Reverend had tried.”
“I’ll keep that one to myself, Gus,” said Brett, “I’m sure Clemency has improved.”
Gus picked up the tray containing his drinks order.
“I know she has, Brett,” said Gus. “I remember hearing a junior doctor saying that even with training, it was a tough ask to break bad news to a patient or their family members. They listened to senior doctors and consultants go through the spiel with such compassion and finesse and wondered whether they would ever get to be like that. I told the young doctor that it was the same for me as a young constable in Salisbury. My old sergeant sent me to tell the parents of an eighteen-year-old motorcyclist that he’d wrapped his bike around a tree and was never coming home. I was petrified. I made a terrible hash of it. I was almost in tears when I reported back to the station. He told me I’d get better at it if I stayed in the job for thirty years and had to do five hundred of them as he had. That young doctor got the message. Practice makes perfect.”
“We vets have to cope with that dirty job too, Gus,” said Brett. “Pet owners can get every bit as attached to their animals. Telling them that it would be kinder to put Fluff to sleep is a tough ask, as you say. Suzie’s waving, by the way. I think they’ve delivered your food. You’d better get over there before it gets cold.”
“Suzie must have found something on the menu she could eat, at last,” said Gus.
“Someone else with a dicky tummy?” asked Brett, looking at the contents of the tray. “Or are you on the wagon?”
“Suzie’s fine. She just wanted a clear head in the morning.”
“I see. Well, we might not see you later,” said Brett. “Clemency has just prevented Grandad from sliding off his bar stool. My quiet drink might get curtailed if we need to take him home.”
Brett headed to the other end of the bar to assist Clemency while Gus rejoined Suzie.
“Sorry it took so long,” he said, “Brett was filling me in on Irene’s condition. He suspects a dodgy cocktail recipe caused her to end up in the hospital. Remember the gin-laden cordial that gave her and the Reverend rosy cheeks?”
“Irene does enjoy an experiment,” said Suzie. “Let’s hope she’s soon on the mend.”
“My steak looks just how I like it,” said Gus. “I can’t wait to tuck in.”
“I decided on the mushroom risotto, as you can see,” said Suzie. “Nearly everything else on the menu had alcohol somewhere in the description.”
“Brett spotted the soft drink,” said Gus. “We won’t be able to keep it a secret for much longer.”
“I’m holding off until my twelve-week scan,” said Suzie. “Mum and Dad won’t say a word until we give them the green light. We’ll tell Brett, Clemency, and the others when the time’s right.”
“Fair enough,” said Gus. “what will you have for dessert?”
“I told the waitress we’d have two sticky toffee puddings,” said Suzie. “A girl can only be a saint for so long. I didn’t see any mention of alcohol in the ingredients, and for tonight I’ll ignore the massive calorie count.”
When Gus settled the bill, there was no sign of Bert Penman or his entourage. It seemed that Brett had persuaded his grandfather to go home before the landlord chucked him out. He and Suzie made their way up the lane to the bungalow.
“It made a change to eat out on a Monday night,” said Suzie. “I don’t think we should make a habit of it, though.”
“I agree,” said Gus as he put the key in the front door. “I’ll cook tomorrow evening. Start thinking about what you want now and let me know when you make breakfast in the morning.”
“Anything but mushroom risotto,” said Suzie.
Tuesday, 14th August 2018
Gus was first out of bed in the morning. The alarm trilled at seven o’clock, and he was standing in the shower by five minutes past. He got dressed and checked that Suzie was getting up.
“How are you this morning, sweetheart?” he asked. Suzie growled.
“I’ll make breakfast,” said Gus, “If you feel hungry when you’ve visited the bathroom, let me know, and I’ll rustle up something.”
“Ugh, food, no thanks. Coffee for me, please, darling,” said Suzie.
Gus resisted the temptation to reach for the bacon and eggs in the fridge. He opted for cereals with yoghurt instead of milk and scattered half a dozen raspberries on top. It wasn’t haute cuisine, but it was healthy, and the smell wouldn’t turn Suzie’s delicate stomach.
He wondered how poor Irene North was feeling this morning. She might be better than Bert Penman after his long night on the cider. That stuff could be lethal. Suzie came out of the shower and returned to the bedroom to change into her work clothes.
Gus poured himself a second cup of coffee and one for Suzie. He strolled into the hallway to take another look at the post on the table. As he thought, three letters for Suzie and the rest could go in the bin.
“Was that for me?” asked Suzie as she came through to the kitchen. “I didn’t take a close look last night. It was unlikely to be urgent.”
Gus handed her the three envelopes and discarded the junk mail.
“A reminder from the dentist that I have an appointment next Thursday,” said Suzie. “As if I’d forget. My membership of the Avon Valley Hunt needs renewing by the end of the month and a bank statement. I wish I were organised. I need to notify those three people of my change of address. I ought to have done the lot in one fell swoop as soon as I moved in, rather than ticking them off one-by-one when they make contact.”
“I should remind you, miss, that failure to notify the DVLA of your change of address is an offence,” said Gus. “You’re in luck because I’m not an officer of the law. Ah, but you are - awkward.”
“I knew there was a reason why I needed you,” said Suzie. “Will you help me make a list tonight of the things that need attention?”
“Of course,” said Gus. “You can make a start while I’m cooking dinner.”
“I have a deep craving for cheese omelette and chips,” said Suzie.
“Your wish is my command,” said Gus. “Do you want a second cup?”
“No thanks, I’m good to go.”
Gus grabbed his jacket from the chair and checked the car keys were still in the pocket.
“I’ll see you tonight then, sweetheart,” he said.
Suzie straightened her tie, checked in the hallway mirror that her hair was neat and tidy, and they left the house.
Suzie led the way along the lane, and they drove into Devizes in convoy. Gus wondered what this journey would be like in the New Year when he had to do it alone. There was no sign of Vera Butler walking to work
this morning as he passed the London Road entrance.
Suzie raised a hand as she slowed to turn right to enter the car park, and Gus flashed his headlights. Something was reassuring about seeing the lights reflected in the back of her Golf. The windows were always an issue with his old Focus, but at least the lights never failed him.
Gus drove into town and passed the Crook Way junction to the new police building that had replaced their current accommodation. Gus missed the old Victorian buildings. They had character and were more of a deterrent in the middle of town than on the outskirts, no matter how smart the buildings might look.
The team had arrived before him, even though it was still only ten minutes to nine. Everyone was keen to get started on the Hogan case. Gus travelled up in the lift and hoped they caught a break and found something that would offer a fresh lead to follow.
“Good morning, each,” he said. “Luke, give me a name.”
“Nick Barrett, guv. He’s expecting you in his office at ten o’clock.”
“Is he now? Where does he work, anyway? Barrett was at school with Gerry Hogan, wasn’t he? Is he in the same line of business?”
“Nick Barrett was more than an old school chum, guv,” said Luke. “They spent time together before Hogan married. Barrett was the best man at his wedding. Barrett’s head of a law firm these days.”
“Who do you want to ride shotgun, guv?” asked Neil.
“I reckon you deserve a crack at this one, Neil,” said Gus. “Alex will be knee-deep in Gerry Hogan’s business dealings for a few days.”
“I’ll drive us to Bradford-on-Avon, guv,” said Neil.
“You don’t need to leave for ages, Neil,” said Lydia. “It’s only a fifteen-minute drive.”
“Is there something we can do in the meantime, guv?” asked Neil.
“You can put a date in your diary,” said Gus. “I think we’re overdue a night out at the Waggon & Horses, don’t you? Everyone put in a good shift last week on the Duncan case. Shall we say nine o’clock on Friday night?”
“No problem, guv,” said Neil. “Melody will enjoy a night out. Was there anyone else we should invite?”
“Who did you have in mind?” asked Gus.
“Rick Chalmers helped me out when the rest of you worked on the Ivan Kendall murder, guv,” said Alex. “It would have taken longer at the Hub on that other business if I’d been working alone.”
“Can I invite Divya, guv?” asked Blessing.
“I suppose so, Blessing,” said Gus. “I don’t know where Rick’s working at present. He could be unavailable if he’s working undercover.”
Gus hoped that was the case. None of the team was aware of Kassie Trotter’s spicy piece of gossip involving Rick and Vera Butler. If Rick turned up with Vera on his arm, that could make for an awkward evening.
“If you can get hold of him, and he’ll be there, just let me know in advance,” he said. “I don’t want to have to borrow money from one of you to get the first round in.”
Ten minutes later, Neil could sense that Gus was itching to get on the road to Bradford-on-Avon. No matter how long they’d be hanging around outside the law firm’s offices before Nick Barrett invited them in.
When they reached Neil’s car and were seated, Gus told Neil to wait before starting the engine.
“What did you make of Nick Barrett’s statement, Neil?” he asked.
“Not sure I recall it word-for-word, guv,” said Neil, “but the gist of it was that Gerry Hogan knew that his future lay in financial affairs from an early age. Barrett saw him as someone who would never get caught drinking underage, go shoplifting, or mix with the wrong crowd. He said that Gerry did his utmost to steer clear of trouble.”
“What did the tone of that statement tell you about Nick Barrett?” asked Gus.
Neil started the car, drove slowly out of the car park, and turned left towards the river.
“We know that Barrett’s a lawyer,” said Neil, “I imagine he went into the profession straight from university. So, he’s well-educated, aged around sixty, still living in the same town where he went to school.”
“Did you check what type of law he handles? Family law, perhaps? Did his firm help draw up the will that Gerry’s sister, Belinda, considered challenging?”
“I don’t think so, guv,” said Neil. “It’s mostly employment law and personal injury claims that the firm of Barrett, Atkins, & Flook handle.”
“I reckon the station car park will be closest to the firm’s offices, Neil,” said Gus. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“I’ve driven here once or twice, guv,” said Neil. “The Tithe Barn’s worth a visit, and Melody and I strolled along the canal one Sunday afternoon last year when the weather was fine. We sat and watched a barge negotiating a lock. Always good for a laugh when the people who hired the barge don’t have a clue what they’re doing.”
Neil parked the car near one of the ticket machines in the large station car park. He studied the board through the windscreen.
“We’re not likely to be here for much more than an hour, are we guv?” he asked.
“Pay enough to cover us for four hours, Neil,” said Gus. “You can claim it back on expenses. I want to sit and listen to what Nick Barrett has to say.”
Neil knew Gus Freeman better than to query his methods. He was riding shotgun on this trip, clearly with nothing else to do but listen. Any questions he might have had in mind would have to wait until Gus gave him the nod.
They walked past the indoor swimming pool, where excited and raucous sounds suggested that dozens of local children were enjoying a morning dip as part of their school holidays.
Two minutes later, they were walking on Head Street and looking for the firm of Barrett, Atkins, and Flook.
“Here we are, guv,” said Neil. “It looks as if it’s been here for a fair few years, doesn’t it?”
“Established in the 1920s according to the brass plaque at the side of the door,” said Gus. “Joseph Barrett would be Nick’s grandfather, I presume. Nicholas followed in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps. I wonder when Atkins and Flook became partners?”
Neil and Gus stepped inside the hallway. Stairs led to the first floor, and signs on the wall informed the newcomer that Mr Bruce Atkins was in Room Two, while Ms Natalie Flook occupied Room Three. Clients could also find Unisex toilet facilities located on the first floor.
Neil rang the bell attached to the wooden ledge in front of a glass partition, separating the hallway from an inner sanctum. Behind the glass, Gus could see two female members of staff. Both looked to have been with the firm since Nicholas Barrett was a young man. A white-haired lady studied them over her glasses. Her grey-haired colleague turned her head to join her.
Gus checked his watch. Two minutes to ten. What was their problem? Any idiot could work out that Mr Barrett was in Room One, where else, and on the ground floor. Gus marched along the corridor. The left hand side of the partition slid open two seconds later.
“Do you mind? You haven’t confirmed who you are and what business you have on these premises.”
Gus turned back to see it was the white-haired lady that possessed a voice that could cut glass.
“Detective Sergeant Neil Davis, Wiltshire Police, ma’am,” said Neil, showing her his warrant card. “Mr Freeman and I are here to talk to Nick Barrett. Our appointment is for ten o’clock.”
“Does this Mr Freeman have a warrant card that I can examine?”
Gus showed her his consultant’s card.
“That looks more like a library card. Are you sure you two are together?”
“Mr Freeman is my boss, ma’am. Can we get to Mr Barrett’s office now, please? We know that time is money in your game.”
“It’s far from being a game, young man,”
It appeared that the grey-haired lady went to the same finishing school as her colleague.
“I’ll tell Mr Nicholas that you’ve arrived.”
“I think he
knows,” muttered Gus.
It was only fifteen seconds but felt much longer before the door at the end of the corridor opened, and Nicholas Barrett stood in the doorway and beckoned them forward.
“Please, come in. Times have changed, I’m afraid. We can’t have just anyone barging in off the street. Solicitors at other firms around the country have suffered serious assaults in their chambers. Daphne and Suzanne act as our resident pit-bulls. They retired from their posts as doctors’ receptionists and moved here three years ago. We haven’t had a scrap of trouble since. Sit, make yourself comfortable. The girls will bring us refreshments in a few minutes.”
Finding a seat wasn’t an issue as there were half a dozen chairs in the large office. Comfort was another matter altogether. Nick Barrett had inherited an excellent facility with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the rear garden. The fixtures and fittings owed more to Joseph, his grandfather, than the twenty-first century, although the substantial desk that kept the two detectives at bay did contain a laptop.
Nick Barrett didn’t appear to be in a rush to get to the point of the meeting. Perhaps he was waiting for his girls to deliver the coffee and biscuits before getting to business.
Gus wasn’t that worried. The breathing space gave him time to take in his surroundings. The clock on the left-hand wall had hung there for nigh on a century. The elaborate walnut case surrounded a dial that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the railway station concourse they’d just left. Gus wondered whether the loud tick was part of the solicitor’s bag of tricks.
Tick. One pound. Tock. Two pounds. It served to remind clients that the bill was rising all the time. He moved in his wooden chair to get comfy and failed. The door behind him opened, and Daphne and Suzanne entered. Where was Kassie Trotter when you needed her?
Bone china cups, what else? Saucers and spoons too. A separate jug of milk and a bowl of sugar cubes. Daphne was in charge of pouring the coffee. Suzanne was hors de combat and wore a wrist support. Gus hadn’t spotted that under the sleeve of her cashmere cardigan in the inner sanctum. The grey-haired lady’s role was to carry a tray laden with Bourbon and Garibaldi biscuits.
