Night Train

by Ted Tayler

  “Well, you found one,” said Gus. “Hop in, and let’s get going.”

  “Didn’t you want to tell DS Mercer where we’re going, guv?” asked Alex Hardy.

  “Suzie knows our destination,” said Gus. “Geoff Mercer was ultra-busy yesterday. We won’t be off the radar for long, anyway.”

  Rick eased his car into the rush-hour traffic. Gus wondered whether he’d been optimistic with the forty-five minute travelling time. He sat back in the passenger seat and relaxed. They soon passed the Seend turning that took him to the Old Police Station each morning, and after they’d driven through Southwick and onwards to Rode, they made for Hinton Charterhouse. Gus reminisced over the hours he’d spent in a squad car with a colleague back in his Salisbury days. Hinton Charterhouse was in the same mould as Melton Mowbray. With the right agent, they could have been stars of 1940s black and white movies. The latter struck the two police constables as a romantic lead. Hinton Charterhouse was more of an action hero, an ex-public schoolboy, of course.

  “We’re entering Englishcombe village now, guv,” said Rick.

  Guv shook himself. He’d almost nodded off there.

  “Nothing to report on the phones, guv,” said Alex. “The signal is still constant. If we follow Whiteway Road towards Wilmington, those phones should stay on our right-hand side. The property they’re in is less than three miles away.”

  “What’s that one hundred yards ahead, on the right,” said Rick a little later.

  “A ‘No Through Road’ sign,” said Gus. “We’ve travelled for two miles. Try there. The building we want must be in that direction.”

  “It’s a remote spot, isn’t it?” said Luke.

  After negotiating a series of bends, they came to a straight stretch of road. From the passenger window, Gus could see acres of rolling fields behind a solid-looking dry-stone wall. The land fell sharply away to the valley below.

  “We can’t see much from the lane,” said Gus. “This area is typical of Bath and the surrounding countryside, all hills and vales. No wonder the Romans thought it reminded them of home.”

  “Here’s the entrance to the property,” said Rick.

  He turned left through stone pillars and the car rumbled across a cattle grid. Rick drove them along the winding driveway, and Gus heard the audible gasp as Rick was first to spot the imposing manor house appearing through the trees.

  “I never expected that,” said Rick. “I thought we were driving towards a farmhouse and a few outbuildings.”

  “This is the place,” said Alex. “Those phones are dead ahead.”

  Rick stopped twenty yards from the house as a man walked along the centre of the driveway towards them. Gus Freeman got out of the car. Rick, Alex, and Luke joined him.

  “I’ve changed my mind about the four of you three times already,” the man said, with a smile. He was well-dressed and fifty years old.

  “At first, I thought you were the Charity Commissioners arriving for one of your snap inspections. Then, I thought you had got lost and had missed the sign at the junction telling you there was no exit. Now that I’ve seen you out of the car, I recognise you as police officers. It takes one to know one. My name’s Callum Wood. I worked at Manvers Street in Bath.”

  “So you knew DS Zara Wheeler, then?” asked Gus.

  “I remember her, yes, Zara came to us from Durham.”

  “What does she do here?” asked Gus.

  “What makes you think Zara’s here?” asked Callum.

  “What do you know about Tanya Norris?” asked Gus.

  “The name doesn’t ring a bell,” said Callum.

  “Tanya’s mobile phone is here,” said Alex. “We’ve monitored it since it disappeared from her home in Wantage. Along with the phones of four of her friends. What can you tell me about that?”

  Gus saw another man appear from the front door of the main building. He marched briskly towards them. As he reached the group, he looked at Gus.

  “You must be Freeman, am I right?”

  “And you are?” asked Gus.

  “Head of security, this phone call is for you.”

  Gus took the phone thrust towards him.

  “Freeman?” It was the ACC.

  “That’s me, Sir? What can I do for you?”

  “Cease and desist, Freeman,” said Kenneth Truelove. “Return to London Road, at once. You’ve done it this time, Freeman, good and proper.”

  “I haven’t completed my enquiries, Sir,” said Gus.

  “I want you in my office within the hour,” said the ACC.

  Gus returned the phone to the middle-aged man with a military bearing.

  “It’s best if you turn around and go back the way you came,” said Callum Wood. “I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted trip.”

  The security head had already turned back to the manor house. Callum Wood watched Rick negotiate the three-point-turn in the driveway and then came to the front passenger side of the car and indicated to Gus to wind down his window.

  “You’re Gus Freeman, from Salisbury. I thought I recognised you. How are you enjoying working in the Old Police Station? It’s changed since I worked there with my old boss, Phil Hounsell, but I have fond memories of the place. It’s where I met my wife, Debbie.”

  Callum stood back and watched the car until it crossed the cattle grid and left the stone pillars far behind. He walked back to his office and signalled the all-clear.

  Gus and the others drove back to Devizes in silence. There was little to say. Luke was re-writing his CV in his head in anticipation of getting the sack. What had just happened? Who had the clout to make a phone call to get them dragged away from a legitimate investigation?

  Rick and Alex blamed themselves. They must have pressed too hard on Tanya White when they spoke to her. They could never have expected this outcome.

  Rick stopped the car outside the Hub. Gus had five minutes before facing the music.

  “Have you noticed anything, guv?” said Rick.

  “Sorry, I was going over everything that’s happened since I started investigating Grant Burnside’s murder. Who ordered the ACC to drag us away from that big estate, and why?”

  “There are several vehicles that weren’t here earlier—two unmarked vans over there on your left for a start. There seems to be more activity inside the Hub too, with people moving around near the windows. They’ve usually got their heads down, staring at a screen. Something’s going on.”

  “We’ll get inside and check it out, guv,” said Alex. “You need to get upstairs to see the ACC.”

  “I’ll drive back to the Old Police Station,” said Luke. “Should I keep this morning’s episode to myself, guv, or can I tell the team?”

  “It’s not our finest hour, Luke,” said Gus. “I don’t see why either of us wishes to mention it. I’ll see you when I see you. Just stay on top of the Kendall case. If we could solve that we might salvage a scrap of our reputation.”

  With that, the four men exited the car. Gus headed for the main building. His heart sank when he recognised the vehicle parked in Geoff Mercer’s spot.

  The Reception area was busier than usual. Gus felt several pairs of eyes boring into his back as he signed in. The officer on duty didn’t pass comment. He just raised an eyebrow. Was that aimed at him, Gus thought? Or a general comment on the madness that had taken over the place today. Gus trotted upstairs to the admin area. He needed to find a friendly face.

  “Are you calm enough yet, Gus,” asked Vera Butler. She intercepted him as he made for the ACC’s office. He wasn’t stood by the door waiting today. The door was firmly closed.

  “I’m confused and livid in equal measure, Vera,” Gus replied. “Don’t know what the heck’s going on.”

  “Suzie told us how close you came to thumping him the last time he was here,” said Vera. “Whatever you’ve stumbled upon, it’s brought him back. Last time he was alone. This time he’s got company, and it feels serious. I’ve never known the ACC so nervous.”

>   “Is Geoff Mercer in there?” Gus asked.

  “Geoff’s off-site today,” said Vera.

  “I must go it alone,” said Gus.

  “Just take it steady,” said Vera, “and count to ten.”

  Gus shrugged his shoulders. He crossed the office floor and tapped on the ACC’s door.

  “Come in,” said Kenneth Truelove.

  The ACC sat at his desk, which was never a good sign.

  Brendan Curran sat opposite him. His suit was several months older but still looked immaculate. That’s what you can expect if you pay two grand for a three-piece suit from Savile Row. Gus took a chair beside the OCTF supremo more than an arm’s length away. In case, he failed to reach ten.

  “Can someone please explain to me why we’ve stopped a legitimate enquiry?” asked Gus. “And why are there so many strangers on site today?”

  “Our people at Citadel Place have closely monitored events over the past week,” said Brendan Curran. “Actions by junior officers under your command raised a red flag. We couldn’t allow your investigation to continue. It would not be in the national interest.”

  “Hang on, Citadel Place? That’s the National Crime Agency HQ, isn’t it?”

  The ACC nodded.

  “Brendan transferred there with his team three months ago, Freeman. I had no idea where you were this morning, or what your intentions were.”

  “I’ve kept you informed of progress on each of our cases, Sir,” said Gus. “You knew that DS Chalmers had joined DS Hardy to use the Hub facilities to the fullest extent. Their diligent work this week uncovered a valuable lead. Jack Sanders told me about the mystery surrounding Tanya Norris’s disappearance. My lads found Tanya in Wantage and went to interview her. Tanya’s surname has changed to White, although she was never married. She told them what happened to her after she left the hospital in Swindon.”

  “There’s no need to fill in the gaps, Freeman,” said Brendan Curran. “Your boss need not hear it. It’s not relevant. My team is removing every trace of the data you gathered relating to Tanya and others during your hunt for Burnside’s killer. From now on, you and your team will never investigate the matter again. Do I make myself clear?”

  “It stinks,” said Gus.

  “Kenneth, will you leave us now, please?” asked Curran. “I’ll take Freeman into my confidence. It’s for his ears only. I’ll get him to sign the necessary.”

  The ACC stood and left the room. Brendan Curran took his seat,

  “Just because there’s a desk between us, it won’t stop me, you know,” said Gus.

  “I know how you must feel after this morning, Freeman. That’s why I will explain what I can about why I had to do what I did. There’s too much at stake. Before you arrived, I had a word with Kenneth. He should never have selected the Burnside case for your Crime Review Team to tackle. He wasn’t to know the number of red flags attached to those files, but once I was aware that you had reopened the case, I knew we were in trouble. You’re too bloody good, Freeman. I thought we’d got away with it when you solved several cases related to the Burnside family and moved on to another cold case.”

  “I couldn’t let it lie,” said Gus. “We had a description of Grant’s killer, but it didn’t match anyone on our database. Although it was probably unconnected, I found Jack Sanders’s account of the grooming gang mystery intriguing. The more I puzzled over it, the more I convinced myself there was someone behind the scenes pulling strings. I never imagined for one moment that it was you.”

  “It wasn’t me. Not back then, Freeman, I promise you,” said Curran.

  “Don’t keep me in suspense,” said Gus.

  “This is between these four walls, Freeman,” said Curran. “I’ll need you to sign the Official Secrets Act.”

  “Just when I thought this morning couldn’t get any weirder,” said Gus.

  “Like you, I’ve been at this game a long time, Freeman,” said Curran. “If you plan to make your way to the top in this profession, you don’t make many friends. However, I had one friend that I’d known for over twenty years. I was well-established when he joined the Met at eighteen. His name was Mitch Ferguson. Mitch was one of the best undercover operatives this country has ever known. He worked in Newcastle for ten months gathering intelligence on a gang of loan sharks during 2014. His efforts enabled us to demolish their operation, but Mitch couldn’t have done it without help from an outside agency.”

  Gus was going to jump in, but Brendan Curran held up a hand.

  “Let me continue, Freeman, please, we’ll get through it so much quicker. When Mitch returned to duty after the Tyneside case concluded he told his bosses what had happened. You can imagine their initial reaction. Find these people and put them out of business. Mitch persuaded his bosses to consider working with them. Organised crime has such a firm grip on daily life in the UK, Freeman. We need all the help we can get.”

  “I’m not comfortable with where this help is coming from,” said Gus.

  “You must concentrate on the bigger picture, Freeman,” said Curran. “My best friend died in early 2015 before he saw his idea come to fruition. Someone shot him at close range on the driveway of his house and dumped his body in Cannock Chase. Within a week his killer, Steve Nash, was dead. You can draw your conclusions. We’re fighting a war, Freeman. Sometimes, the ends justify the means. When Mitch Ferguson, and other coppers like him, go undercover, we know they’re working in the margins. Just look at what happened to Ricky Gardiner. The lines between right and wrong get blurred, and those lines can too easily get crossed.”

  “Gardiner was a rogue,” said Gus.

  “I agree,” said Curran, “but for two decades he was our rogue. His superiors applauded every instance when Ricky delivered intelligence that produced a positive result they could brag about to the media. If you pressed hard enough, you might learn that they were also aware of the times when he crossed the line, but they ignored it.”

  “They were looking at the bigger picture,” said Gus.

  “Quite,” said Curran. “Within weeks of my best friend’s murder, the picture changed. The outside agency lost its cutting edge. He was another victim of the UK's organised crime lords. The people he worked with had to adjust. Over the past four years, Callum Wood and other ex-police personnel have helped move forward the spirit of co-operation that Mitch championed.”

  “How do I explain this to my team,” said Gus. “Tanya White, as she now calls herself, told them she worked for a charity connected to the treatment of veterans suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress. What happened to the other girls? Why were the phones inside that manor house?”

  “You can tell your people the truth, Freeman. The charity recycles mobile phones and distributes them to veterans who have fallen on hard times. Even a refurbished early smartphone is better than what these men and women can afford. The girls will continue to work for the charity, but we felt it necessary to move them. I can explain how they’re involved if you wish?”

  “I’m guessing I will not get any more details?” said Gus.

  Brendan Curran smiled.

  “The British Legion reckon six thousand veterans are living on the streets of this country today. Many other veterans are on the breadline. All they want to do is work, but for many, it’s impossible. The challenges they face differ from others that are out of work. They need more support. During recent periods of austerity, thousands of veterans got pushed to the breadline after being judged fit for work. Severely wounded veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan, once entitled to incapacity benefits, got told they no longer qualified.”

  “What a mess,” said Gus, “wasn’t there supposed to be a safety net?”

  “Ten years ago, the Community Covenant came into being, which should have given those veterans priority on affordable housing. Local councils passed their housing problems onto a third party, and the housing associations who now control things have no binding obligation to help veterans. In 2012, the Armed Forces Covenant ensh
rined in law the government’s duty of care to its serving service personnel. The government also agreed to sustain and reward them for the rest of their lives. Our veterans should have been better protected than ever before.”

  “Another example of joined-up thinking nobody followed through with actions to ensure its success,” said Gus.

  “The facility you visited today aims to help veterans through their PTSD and then find them accommodation. It might be a flat, or a hostel, anything that keeps them off the streets, and there they become eligible for benefits.”

  “A noble ambition,” said Gus, “but what about Grant Burnside?”

  “Burnside was vermin,” said Curran. “He died when a covert operative strayed into those blurred lines I mentioned earlier. It has to be this way, Freeman. The red-haired man you seek is beyond your reach. The girls your officers wanted to meet with again can’t help you identify him, as they’ve never met. We’ve both had similar cases. No matter how hard we try, we can’t find the key.”

  “In this case, you’ve got the key in your pocket,” said Gus.

  “And that’s where it will stay,” said Curran.

  Brendan Curran stood and approached Gus. He held out his hand.

  “I hope I can rely on you to back off on this one, Freeman. You’ve got a tremendous amount to offer this county’s force with the work you and your team are doing. I should hate to see it curtailed. Tell your team as much as you need to and no more. I wish you luck with your latest case. Do we understand one another?”

  “I think we do,” said Gus, shaking Curran by the hand.

  Brendan Curran left the ACC’s office.

  Ten minutes later the two vans and their personnel left the car park

  CHAPTER 8

  The ACC found Gus Freeman stood by the window.

  “What are you doing in my spot, Freeman?” he asked with a wry grin.

  “I was watching the world go by,” said Gus.

  “I’m sorry if I was rather abrupt when I called you,” said Kenneth Truelove. “Brendan descended on us with his troops and told us to stop everything. It was plain that you had stepped into a hornet’s nest. Are things clearer now?”