A Genuine Mistake

by Ted Tayler

  “I remember that case, Gus. It isn’t the only one I’ve had to leave unfinished, but everything we tried led to a dead end. Vicky Bennison was my number two back then. She trawled through the various clients that Hogan handled. The guy was as honest as the day was long as far as Vicky could assess. She was an excellent officer. If there was something dodgy, and Vicky didn’t find it, then I was happy to move on to hunt for the killer elsewhere.”

  “Many thanks, sir,” said Gus. “You probably need to dash to make-up. I’ll update you if we find a new lead. We’ve made little progress so far.”

  “Bye, Gus. I wish you luck.”

  Gus sat back in his chair and puffed out his cheeks.

  “Another dead end, guv?” asked Alex.

  “Kirkpatrick doesn’t think Gerry Hogan did anything in the Eighties to warrant getting shot. They dug into the clients that Hogan handled for Hargreaves Lansdown, and he came up smelling of roses.”

  “When everyone gets the chance to read through my notes on this morning’s meeting, I think we’ll agree that Nick Barrett revealed more about the nature of the relationship between him and Gerry Hogan.”

  “That was a long speech for you, Neil,” said Luke.

  “Cheeky. I meant that from the details in the original murder file, we thought of Gerry Hogan as honest and honourable, a faithful husband and father. A man with no enemies. Nobody could believe that anyone could want him dead.”

  “If Hogan slept with seven women on that Australian trip,” said Blessing Umeh. “How many others had he bedded while at university?”

  “Barrett described a routine that the pair followed when they were in a bar or nightclub,” said Neil. “Somewhere they hadn’t visited before, where none of the girls knew who they were.”

  “We’ve both met Nick Barrett, Neil,” said Gus. “I didn’t peg him as a serial womaniser. Even if he benefitted from hanging onto the coattails of a man who was irresistible to women.”

  “You’re more inclined to believe the Australian trip was just Gerry Hogan sowing his wild oats, guv,” said Lydia. “One last fling before knuckling down to working life. If he hadn’t met Evelyn, who had such a profound effect on him, Hogan would probably have returned home, met a local girl in the next couple of years, married, and settled down.”

  “That’s the impression I formed of the man,” said Gus. “Nobody in the original investigation, nor any of us, has found a thing to suggest Gerry was ever unfaithful to Evelyn. Belinda would have known or made it her business to find out, especially when looking for ways to challenge the will. No, I believe Hogan acted in the manner that Neil described. It’s not unheard of for students to experience a sexual awakening as part of their time at college or university, and I’ve lost count of media reports about Brits abroad enjoying a hedonistic lifestyle the minute they get the Mediterranean sun on their backs. It takes two to tango. Gerry Hogan found willing partners both at home and abroad. Nick Barrett wasn’t as fortunate. That’s life.”

  “Do we continue to look at the names Neil brought back, guv?” asked Blessing. “Or are you saying they’re a waste of time?”

  “I’m drawing a dotted line under the bed-hopping that occurred between Hogan leaving school and getting married,” said Gus. “We can’t rule out a connection to his death until you’ve received information from the Hub that removes any lingering doubts. As soon as you can do that, we’ll draw a solid line under it and move on. No, we continue to probe for a connection.”

  “The mystery remains then, guv,” said Neil. “If the killer didn’t come from the period between, say, 1976 and 1992, then they must have had a serious disagreement with Hogan between them moving to Trowle Common and the months before his death.”

  “That puts the focus firmly on the work I’ve been carrying out,” said Alex.

  “If it were easy to spot in the company accounts, you would have found it by now,” said Gus.

  “Hogan made piles of money from his business, guv,” said Luke. “That suggests he was an expert. It also means that if he wanted to bury his mismanagement of funds, he could bury the evidence so deep that we would struggle to find it. We aren’t financial experts.”

  “Good point, Luke,” said Gus. “No offence, Alex, but we’ll hand the task over to the forensic accountants in the Hub.”

  “Fair enough, guv,” said Alex. “It felt a hopeless task from the start. I haven’t spoken with Daniel Braund yet, but the business continues to thrive, and he’s experienced enough to know whether the firm he was employed to oversee was built on firm foundations or shifting sands. Unless he’s a crook, too, then you would hope he would report any issues back to Rachel Cummins. I guess the Hub will come back to us quickly, confirming everything was above board.”

  “We’re back to Gerry Hogan, the individual who was as honest as the day is long,” said Gus.

  “I’ll try to find something to dirty his reputation tonight, guv,” said Neil.

  “When do we speak to Sean Hogan, Luke?” asked Gus.

  “Tomorrow afternoon, guv. Two o’clock.”

  “Have you got anyone fixed for the morning?”

  “Who did you have in mind, guv?”

  “Belinda Hogan,” said Gus.

  “I’ll get in touch with her, guv. I’ve emailed the charity, and received a generic acknowledgement of receipt.”

  “We can’t get on top of this case despite doing the right things, guv,” said Neil.

  “I’m glad you think we’re on the right track, Neil,” said Gus. “I’ve been sitting here wondering where on earth to look next. I’m baffled.”

  The team spent the rest of the afternoon on their given tasks while Gus checked the Freeman Files. Had they taken a wrong turning somewhere? Had someone they’d interviewed lied to them or kept back vital evidence?

  When everyone had left for the day, Gus sat alone in the office.

  He often found that this was when a light shone in the darkness. While the room buzzed with activity, it could distract him. After five minutes of trying to find inspiration, Gus decided it was time to drive home. He knew what the problem was now. This case had started with a handful of family members and friends that Kirkpatrick and Bennison interviewed.

  After a few days of asking Nick Barrett and Rachel Cummins' different questions to those posed six years ago, there were now too many characters.

  CHAPTER 8

  Gus arrived home at a quarter to six and spotted Suzie’s Golf in its usual spot. He hoped she was feeling as cheerful as she had this morning.

  “I’m home,” he called as he walked into the hallway.

  “Dinner will be ready in five minutes,” said Suzie. “I thought you were never coming home.”

  “We’re getting nowhere on the Hogan case,” said Gus. “When Neil spoke to Nick Barrett today, he got far too many leads for us to investigate. I’m not sure it was useful. There’s too much crowding into my thoughts.”

  “You can’t see the wood for the trees,” said Suzie. “What’s on your list for tomorrow?”

  “I’m seeing the victim’s sister in the morning and his eldest son in the afternoon. Neil’s off to a snooker club this evening. There’s an outside chance he’ll find dirt on our victim that his partner, Rachel, and best friend, Nick Barrett, have hidden from us.”

  “How did the meeting go with Rachel this morning?” asked Suzie.

  “I found her easier to talk to than I imagined,” said Gus. “She’s a smart cookie, that one. There was one odd thing. Gerry kept his late wife’s photographic studio locked. He refused to change a thing, and Rachel had never been in the room. We asked to take a look, and she was happy to give us the key. We found little except a letter containing a job offer in New South Wales for Evelyn.”

  “Was Evelyn leaving Gerry?” asked Suzie.

  “Nick Barrett didn’t believe so. He thought their marriage was rock solid.”

  “Maybe, tonight and tomorrow will bring you more luck,” said Suzie.

 
“By the close of play tomorrow, I hope to define the strategy we need to follow over the coming days. So far, all we’ve done is add more variables into the mix.”

  “Let’s get stuck into our cheese omelette and chips,” said Suzie. “I’ve looked forward to this. You must be hungry, too?”

  “You bet,” said Gus. He decided to forget the large sausage roll that he and Luke had devoured at lunchtime.

  Later that evening, they wandered along the lane towards the Lamb.

  “I’d like to check on my allotment before we go inside,” said Gus. “I appreciate things have fallen behind. At least I’ll have a better idea of the scale of the problem we face on Saturday afternoon.”

  Suzie stood beside Gus’s garden shed while he wandered the length of the plot and back.

  “It’s as if I’ve been on holiday for a fortnight,” he said. “I can remember Bert’s words to me this time last year. Everything comes into season at once and needs picking in August. So don’t take time off without getting another gardener to keep an eye on things.”

  “Bert’s had plenty on his mind,” said Suzie, “with Irene in hospital. He hasn’t had time to look after your plot and his own.”

  “It’s unreasonable of me to expect him to bother,” said Gus. “He’s well into his eighties. He offered to help when I first returned to work, but the time has come for me to do my bit.”

  Bert Penman was the only familiar face they spotted as they entered the bar.

  “Evening, Mr Freeman, Miss Ferris,” said Bert.

  “We’ve just dropped by the allotments, Bert,” said Gus.

  “I thought you’d forgotten where they were,” said Bert with a grin.

  “I’ll be back in harness on Saturday afternoon, Bert,” said Gus. “I’ve relied on you for too long. Anyway, how are you? And how’s Irene now? Is she home?”

  “Irene discharged herself this afternoon, Mr Freeman,” said Bert. “Her stomach was only grumbling now and again. She thought she’d be able to recover better at home. I’m keeping her stocked with vegetables from my patch. The Reverend is monitoring her liquid intake, if you get my drift. There will be no more unsupervised manufacture of cocktails.”

  “Did they ever decide which ingredient caused the problem?” asked Suzie.

  “It wasn’t one thing, in particular, Miss,” said Bert. “Irene seems to have developed one of them intolerances that have sprung up in the last few years. She’s eaten fruit for seventy years with no side effects. Now the Reverend tells me the fructose in the watermelons, grapes, and apples that she added to her most recent cocktail played havoc with her digestion.”

  “These things are sent to try us, Bert,” said Gus.

  “It never used to happen though, Mr Freeman,” said Bert, taking a good swig of his pint of cider. “The Reverend told me she got through the hay fever season happily as a child. When she started sneezing earlier this year, she thought she’d picked up a chill. One of her parishioners told her it was hay fever. Now, why should that start up at her time of life? I reckon it’s something in the water, Mr Freeman. That’s why I’m sticking to cider.”

  “You’d better pray you don’t develop a fructose intolerance, Bert,” said Gus.

  “Is the Reverend with Irene this evening?” asked Suzie.

  “Brett collected her from the rectory after he dropped me here,” said Bert, “I’m expecting to see them after they’ve got Irene settled.”

  “Did you go to see her last night?” asked Suzie.

  Bert gave Suzie an old-fashioned look.

  “Brett and the Reverend didn’t give me much choice,” said Bert. “They whisked me out of my house and into the car before I had time to catch my breath.”

  “I’m glad you went, Bert,” said Suzie. “Irene would have been disappointed if you hadn’t made an effort. You two have grown close over these past months.”

  “We’re not as close as you two, Miss Ferris,” said Bert. “Don’t rush out to buy a hat. Mrs North and I are good companions. That’s as far as we want things to go.”

  “Are you ready for another pint, Bert?” asked Gus. “I’m in the chair. We’ve stood here for several minutes without troubling the landlord.”

  “I don’t like to go thirsty, Mr Freeman,” said Bert. “What will you be drinking tonight, Miss Ferris, another one of those fancy soft drinks you’ve taken a liking to?”

  “You don’t miss much, Bert Penman,” said Suzie. “They’re a refreshing drink in the summer.”

  “Whatever you say, Miss,” said Bert, giving Suzie a wink.

  Gus handed Bert a fresh pint, and he and Suzie wandered outside to watch the sun disappear over the distant hills.

  “I’m sure Bert knows,” said Suzie.

  “I haven’t breathed a word,” said Gus. “Who could have let it slip?”

  “Nobody,” said Suzie. “Do I look different to you?”

  “Not at all,” said Gus. “You’re blooming.”

  “That doesn’t help, Gus Freeman,” said Suzie.

  “I think we’ll call it a night after this one,” said Gus. “It’s been a long day, and I’ve got another gruelling day ahead tomorrow. We’ll catch up with the gang at the weekend.”

  “Okay, we’ll ask Bert to say hello to Brett and the Reverend and tell him we’ve got a bottle of eighteen-year-old Macallan’s at home that’s calling our name.”

  “I like the sound of that,” said Gus.

  “The sound is all you’re going to get, Gus,” said Suzie. “I’ve hidden it away to bring out for an appropriate celebration.”

  “It’s VJ-Day today,” said Gus. “I read it somewhere. Does that qualify as appropriate?”

  “I meant an appropriate personal celebration,” said Suzie. “Our special occasion.”

  Seven months and counting, thought Gus.

  Neil Davis parked in the railway station car park yet again. He’d only visited the town on a couple of occasions in his life before this week, and tonight was his third trip since Tuesday. He soon found the club on Market Street. The place looked quiet. No big surprise. The professionals might play throughout the year, but Neil knew local leagues were most active between September and April. Neither of the two tables was in use at a few minutes after eight. Two men stood at the bar, chatting to the barman. All three looked to be in their fifties or sixties. Sean Hogan wasn’t in tonight. Neil knew he could stay for a while and hope to learn something useful.

  Thursday, 16th August 2018

  Gus and Suzie left the house at eight-thirty on the dot.

  “Your turn to cook tonight,” she said after she kissed him and walked to the Golf.

  “A quiet night in with our feet up,” said Gus. “To prepare for a late night on Friday night.”

  “I’ll see you tonight,” said Suzie. “Good luck today.”

  “We’ll need it,” said Gus, getting behind the wheel of his Focus.

  Suzie led the way into Devizes, and Gus remembered that Blessing was also heading to London Road this morning. She was delivering the information Neil had gathered from Nick Barrett, plus the financial statements that Alex had started to untangle. Gus wanted to visit the Hub to get things moving, but he knew Neil needed to report back on what he learned last night before their appointment with Belinda Hogan.

  He and Suzie exchanged their usual waves, and Gus drove past London Road, past the brewery and out of Devizes, heading for the Old Police Station office.

  When he arrived, he saw three spaces lying empty. He parked and went upstairs in the lift.

  “Morning, guv,” said Lydia.

  “Ah, you and Alex came in together this morning,” said Gus.

  “There’s no fooling you, guv,” said Neil.

  “Can you justify this claim for expenses that I can see on my desk, DS Davis?”

  “I only had a pint and a half of bitter, guv. An hour on the snooker table, and petrol for fifteen miles there and back. Oh, and I grabbed a bag of chips on the way to the car.”

 
; “Was it worth going?” asked Gus.

  “Neither Neil Barrett nor Sean Hogan came into the club last night, guv. The steward explained I could fill in a form and get a provisional membership, which was valid for two months. I mentioned Nick Barrett’s name when he asked if I knew a club member. That didn’t automatically get me a permanent membership, and it didn’t exclude me either. Make of that what you will. My application has to go before the committee for final approval.”

  “Never mind, Neil,” said Gus. “You were unlikely to go back there.”

  “You could be right, guv,” said Neil. “Anyway, as soon as I’d filled out the form, I could use all the facilities. So I played snooker with one of the old guys that had been at the bar. His mate had gone home.”

  “Not rushed off their feet in there, then?”

  “Middle of August, guv,” said Neil. “The steward said it picks up after the Bank Holiday weekend.”

  “Any breaks?” asked Alex.

  “Twenty-two in the second frame,” said Neil.

  “In the case, I meant, Neil,” said Alex.

  “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” said Neil.

  “Well?” asked Lydia.

  “The old guy, Jimmy, he remembered Gerry Hogan. They were at school together. Guess what he said?”

  “Honest as the day is long. Didn’t have an enemy in the world,” said Gus.

  “Jimmy told me that Gerry Hogan was the quiet, studious type. Not the typical teenager he associated with in the town. The original murder file painted Gerry as someone who avoided trouble. While Jimmy and his pals visited Trowbridge or one of the other local towns looking for trouble on a Saturday night, Gerry would come to the snooker club. Jimmy said he remembered when Nick Barrett and Gerry started going around together.”

  “After Nick’s twelfth birthday,” said Gus.

  “That was typical of Gerry,” said Neil, “according to my snooker opponent. Nobody in Jimmy’s crowd had the time of day for Nick Barrett. He was a chubby lad who didn’t enjoy the rough and tumble of their sports at school. Nick was always an outsider. Gerry excelled at most sports, but he refused to get drawn into his colleagues' social lives, even though he played for the school teams. Once the matches had ended, he showered, changed, and went home. Nick invited Gerry to his posh birthday parties. Apart from a couple of Nick’s cousins and another loser from the same year at school, that was it. The Barrett family had loads of money, and the parties were far grander than the average Bradford kid enjoyed. Jimmy reckoned Gerry needed someone to tag along with who would always be well-behaved. Someone with a bland personality who would help Gerry stay on track for the career he planned. He invited Nick to his birthday parties, plus a handful of his sporting friends. Jimmy never got an invitation. It was the quieter, more studious type who was good at football or cricket that got the invites.”