A Genuine Mistake

by Ted Tayler

  “That ties in with everything we learned from the murder file,” said Alex.

  “It’s as if Gerry didn’t trust himself not to get into trouble, guv,” said Lydia. “Did he have a short fuse? What about his father, was there any history there?”

  “Gerry’s parents are both dead,” said Gus. “We can’t ask them. I can ask Belinda when I speak to her later. Would it be possible for a boy of twelve to understand his potential for violence, Lydia?”

  “Violence is a learned behaviour, guv, according to experts. There’s a strong association between exposure to violence and the use of violence by young adolescents. Whether a twelve-year-old Gerry Hogan was aware of a violent gene passed on to him by his father and attempted to control matters is a stretch. He would have encountered pressure situations in those school matches that caused him to lash out or have a temper tantrum. There’s been no mention of that. Quite the opposite. Unless both Nick Barrett and Rachel Cummins are lying, then Gerry was an even-tempered, friendly guy.”

  “It won’t hurt to ask,” said Gus. “Neil, did Jimmy offer any instances where Gerry Hogan’s association with Barrett caused a rift with other students? If Jimmy and his mates got into scraps with teenagers from local towns, what of Bradford-on-Avon itself? Did a few tearaways pick a fight with Gerry and Nick as they left the snooker club, for example?”

  “Nothing, guv. Jimmy and his mates played snooker and pool in the club from time to time. Gerry and Nick kept to themselves. The club didn’t stand for any troublemaking. Things ended when Gerry and Nick left school and went to university.”

  “Jimmy left school and found a job, did he?” asked Gus.

  “He went to college in Trowbridge for two years, guv,” said Neil. “Then he worked at a local rubber factory throughout his working life. He retired as a Technical Manager.”

  “Did he see much of Gerry when he returned from Clifton to live at Trowle Common?” asked Gus.

  “Like most husbands and fathers, guv, Jimmy didn’t use the club much in his twenties and thirties,” said Neil. “When his kids were older, he started dropping in once a week for a few pints and a frame of snooker with a colleague. Jimmy saw Gerry and Nick there often in the early Nineties. He told me they hadn’t changed. Gerry was still quiet, polite, and friendly towards the other members. Nick Barrett was the same pompous oaf he’d been at school. Jimmy couldn’t understand why they continued to spend time together. Gerry was way more successful by that time than the solicitor who inherited the family firm.”

  “Perhaps Gerry Hogan wanted something different from the high-powered financial life he had to cope with every day,” said Luke. “The club, and Nick Barrett, kept him grounded. Don’t forget that Gerry took his sons there too as soon as they were old enough.”

  “What did Jimmy make of Sean and Byron?” asked Gus.

  “Sean is a chip off the old block,” said Neil. “A one-track mind, the same as his father. He went into the Hogan firm straight from university. Sean didn’t barge in and try to take over. Jimmy said that Sean had the sense to let Daniel Braund ease him in gradually and hand over the reins when the time was right. Sean has always had an eye for the ladies, like his father. There were no dramas with any of the girls he went out with while he was at school, Jimmy didn’t know about the university years, but Clare, the current girlfriend, has been with Sean for a couple of years. Sean didn’t follow his father’s example and take a gap year.”

  “That’s understandable,” said Alex. “He was sitting his A-Levels when his father died and then went to university in September. Three years ago, when he returned to the firm with his degree, he could already have started seeing Clare. Not so easy to take a year out without taking her with him.”

  “What did Jimmy have to say about Byron?” asked Gus.

  “He’s brilliant, guv,” said Neil, “There’s an honours board on the wall next to the main match table. His name features there every year since 2010. He recorded over thirty century breaks before he left to start his professional career. There were no maximum breaks on those tables, but he’s had three on tour since he left home to travel the world. They love Byron at the club. He’s far more outgoing than Sean or his late father.”

  “Byron is more like his late mother, Evelyn, isn’t he?” asked Lydia.

  “That’s what Nick Barrett told us,” said Gus. “Less academically gifted than Sean, but just as focussed on the path that he followed.”

  “When Jimmy and I finished our two frames of snooker, he went home, guv,” said Neil. “I tried to get another opinion from the steward, but he wasn’t there when Gerry was alive. He told me he had moved to Bradford-on-Avon from Bridport, in Dorset, four years ago. He knew Sean and Byron were club members but hadn’t seen enough of them to comment.”

  “Jimmy must have known Nick Barrett, surely?” asked Gus.

  “Barrett is on the committee, guv,” said Neil. “If I read the steward right, Nick Barrett wouldn’t win a popularity contest in the club if he was the only entrant.”

  “Well, it was a night out, Neil,” said Alex. “A pity it wasn’t more productive.”

  “Time will tell,” said Gus. “Talking of time. When am I due at Belinda Hogan’s place, Luke?”

  “Half-past ten, guv,” said Luke. “She still lives in the family home. I’ll give you the address before you leave.”

  Gus heard the lift descend to the ground floor. Blessing was back.

  “Anything from that charity yet, Luke,” asked Gus.

  “Nothing yet, guv.”

  Blessing Umeh exited the lift and walked to her desk.

  “Both jobs are on the Hub’s schedule for today, guv,” she said. “Divya hopes to have interrogated the various social media sites by tonight for connections between the names Neil supplied. The forensic accountant I spoke to will apply a range of skills and methods to determine whether there has been financial reporting misconduct at Hogan’s.”

  “Well done, Blessing,” said Gus. “After you’ve updated your digital files, you can catch up with Neil’s night out. He should have got everything done by then.”

  “Got it, guv,” said Blessing.

  Gus got up and headed for the restroom.

  “Are you okay, Blessing?” asked Lydia.

  “I suppose so,” said Blessing. “You know how Wednesday evenings are for me. My mother calls me and expects to get a detailed account of everything we’ve done at work. She asked if I’ve met anyone new since Dave finished with me. I mentioned we were going out on Friday night, and that meant her asking me who was going. Were they the right people? You know what I mean. I’m twenty-one, but sometimes my parents treat me as if I was still twelve.”

  “I can vaguely remember those days,” said Lydia. “My foster parents weren’t too strict, thank goodness. They gave me a degree of leeway. If I stayed out later than they said or spent time with people they didn’t know, it could mean my free time got cut for a while. The more I played by their rules, the better things became. It was an easy decision.”

  “My father must have listened in because when I said I was going with Divya, I could hear him tutting in the background.”

  “Did you speak to him?” asked Lydia.

  “Not last night,” said Blessing. “My mother asked whether I was visiting them this weekend. I said I would drive over on Sunday afternoon. She was disappointed that I wasn’t going earlier, so I could attend church with them.”

  “Did you regularly go when you lived near Warwick?” asked Lydia.

  “My parents never gave me a choice,” said Blessing. “At least, until I became a police officer. Then I could volunteer to work the occasional Sunday. When I moved to live in Worton with Mr and Mrs Ferris, I stopped going. There was nobody stood at the bottom of the stairs asking if I’d dressed in my Sunday best clothes yet.”

  “Has your father tested out the journey into Bath from Englishcombe yet?” asked Alex.

  “I’ll find out on Sunday,” said Blessing. “He has
six weeks before his students arrive to start the new year. Four miles is no distance, but my father’s sense of direction is so poor that my mother fears for him every day he leaves the house. Perhaps I should go with him after dinner to show him the way.”

  “Are you sure you know how to get there, Blessing?” asked Lydia.

  “It’s the only thing I have to remind me of Dave. He wrote out the route for me and put it in my glove box for safe-keeping.”

  “You might be late in on Monday morning then,” said Alex.

  “Don’t get on at her, Alex,” said Lydia. “Blessing is nervous enough as it is.”

  Gus was back at his desk with a coffee. Blessing noticed that Neil had a fresh cup too.

  “Is Neil going with you this morning then, guv?” she asked.

  “I hadn’t given it much thought, Blessing. I thought Alex would be best to take with me to talk to Sean Hogan this afternoon. Why? D’you fancy a trip to Bradford-on-Avon?”

  “Yes, please, guv. I’ve never been there.”

  “Okay then,” said Gus, looking at the clock on the far wall. “If you want a coffee before we go, you’d better get cracking.”

  As Blessing walked to the restroom, Luke approached Gus’s desk.

  “Here’s Belinda Hogan’s address in Barton Orchard, guv. I’ve had a reply from the charity. There’s been quite a turnover in personnel since 2002. The HR manager had found the relevant file and could confirm that Evelyn rejected the job offer. Their Chief Financial Officer was the only senior member of staff still on site from those days. The HR manager said he’d asked her what she remembered. The CFO told him that Evelyn wanted to use the National Park commission as a stepping-stone to her returning to Australia with her family. Evelyn wanted the boys to love Australia as much as she did, and when the two of them spoke over the phone, Evelyn had said that Gerry’s business was changing all the time. More and more of the business took place online. Evelyn couldn’t see why Gerry couldn’t operate just as easily in New South Wales as he did in West Wiltshire.”

  “Thanks, Luke,” said Gus. “As one door closes, another one slams in your face.”

  “We’re running out of loose ends, guv,” said Luke.

  Fifteen minutes later, Blessing and Gus were in the lift and heading for the car park.

  “Nissan Micra, or Ford Focus, guv,” said Blessing.

  “I know where we’re going, Blessing,” said Gus. “It’s not that I don’t trust your driving.”

  “If you say so, guv,”

  Gus drove them into Bradford-on-Avon and found a parking space after a five-minute wait.

  “Busy here today, guv,” said Blessing.

  “We’re due at Ms Hogan’s house in around ten minutes,” said Gus. “We’ll walk, as it’s such a pleasant morning. This car park is always busy. We’ve hit a changeover period for mothers and toddlers and the public at the indoor swimming pool over there.”

  “It’s a town with a long history, by the looks of it. This bridge over the river, for a start.”

  “Built by the Normans,” said Gus. “Although they were here long after the Romans.”

  “I don’t suppose that’s a surprise, guv. Bath is only a few miles away.”

  “How do you think this case is going, Blessing?” asked Gus.

  Blessing stopped on the bridge and looked into the River Avon below.

  “Rather like that duck, guv,” said Blessing. “Drifting.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Gus quickened his step. Five minutes later, they reached Barton Orchard.

  “Very nice,” said Blessing. “What d’you reckon, guv, three-quarters of a million?”

  “Quite likely,” said Gus. He rang the doorbell.

  Belinda Hogan answered and invited them into a small anteroom off the hallway.

  Belinda was now sixty-three years old, two years older than Gus. He’d seen photographs of Gerry and understood why he had been so successful with women. It was plain that the woman who sat opposite him this morning was Gerry’s sister, yet there was a certain sadness in her eyes and a pinched look around the mouth that was unattractive. Perhaps Rachel Cummins was right.

  “What progress have you made?” demanded Belinda.

  “Don’t you want to see our credentials first?” asked Blessing. “When we’ve established who we are and why we’re here, then Mr Freeman will ask the questions. That’s the way these things work. I’m sorry if you were mistaken.”

  Gus waited for the reaction. He didn’t know what to expect with Blessing. She was as quiet as a mouse most of the time, and then without warning, she exploded.

  Belinda’s lips moved, but no sound came out.

  “I’m DC Blessing Umeh,” said Blessing, “and here’s my warrant card. My boss is Mr Freeman, a consultant with Wiltshire Police. We’re reviewing your brother’s murder case from May 2012. This week we have spoken with Mr Barrett, a solicitor friend of your brother, and Ms Rachel Cummins, Gerry’s partner at the time of his death. I should advise you that Mr Freeman is interviewing your nephew, Sean Hogan, at two o’clock this afternoon.”

  “I wish you had come to me first,” said Belinda. “Nick Barrett is a fool, and that Cummins woman knows more about Gerry’s death than she’s admitting.”

  Blessing sighed. Gus thought she was going to give Belinda Hogan both barrels. Time to intervene.

  “Good morning, Ms Hogan. Perhaps we can start again. Our task is to discover the identity of your brother’s killer. The way I intend to do that is to ask those who knew the victim best what they remember of him. Something they tell me will explain why Gerry became a target. Everyone we’ve interviewed so far has repeated the same things they told DI Kirkpatrick and DS Bennison in 2012. Gerry was honest, hard-working, a good father, a faithful husband, a keen sportsperson. Gerry didn’t have an enemy in the world. I don’t believe that’s a person who gets shot in the head on his doorstep, do you? If Gerry was the complete opposite of those things, then, yes, it’s understandable that he’d attract the attention of someone who thought the world would be a better place if Gerry Hogan left it.”

  “Gerry was all of those things,” said Belinda. “A good man.”

  It was the first time Gus had seen any sign of genuine emotion.

  “You described Nick Barrett as a fool,” said Gus. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nick trailed behind my brother like a faithful puppy,” said Belinda. “It was pathetic when Gerry was in his early teens. It was far worse when they were at university and afterwards.”

  “Did you see much of them when they studied in Bristol?” asked Gus.,

  “They didn’t live on campus,” said Belinda. “Gerry stayed here most of the time, and Nick lived at their home out at Turleigh.”

  “That’s close to the town, is it?” asked Gus.

  “Two miles from this house, out towards Winsley,” said Belinda. “They both had cars and took it in turns to drive into Bristol.”

  “What were you doing?” asked Blessing. “You were three years older than Gerry and Nick. Had you been to university?”

  “My parents needed me here at home,” said Belinda, staring into her lap. Her hands twisted the handkerchief she held. Blessing felt sorry for the wretched piece of blue cloth that matched the colour of the woman’s blouse.

  Gus could tell that was when the light had faded in this woman’s life.

  “Did you and Gerry arrive late in your parents’ life?” he asked.

  “My mother, Jean, was forty-one when I came along. She and my father, Peter, had almost given up hope of having a child. Then Gerry arrived three years later. That was what they wanted, a son, someone to continue the Hogan name. Gerry and I were strong and healthy children, Mr Freeman. When Gerry got the grades to get him to university, his future was guaranteed, and so was mine. My father was six years older than my mother; he retired at sixty-five, two months after Gerry celebrated his eighteenth birthday. I quit my job with a bank in Church Street and stayed home to care for
them. They diagnosed Dad with lung cancer while Gerry and Nick were away in Australia; Dad passed away fifteen months later. Mum reckoned he clung on until Gerry and Evelyn married. My mother died the year before Sean was born.”

  Gus had met dozens of women like Belinda Hogan. It was a generational thing. In other countries, the family unit was everything, regardless of the number of children and grandchildren. In the UK, until the end of WWII, it was common for parents to encourage a daughter to stay home to care for them. There was no opportunity for the girl to have a career. Sometimes it happened because the daughter didn’t find a husband and simply got left behind. In other instances, they actively discouraged marriage.

  Gus thought of Ursula Wakeley from Mere. Would she have died in such a terrible fashion if her parents had allowed her to continue working at the library, marry, and have children? In the last fifty years, daughters left home for university, joined the armed forces, enjoyed careers in many professions. The idea of sacrificing their life to care for ageing parents no longer appealed. Why should it? There were so many broken homes, with families scattered across the globe, that most children, of whatever gender, couldn’t wait to leave.

  “Did Gerry have a temper?” asked Gus.