by Ted Tayler
“This will help speed matters,” said Geoff, rubbing his hands in anticipation. “Many thanks for this, Gus. I’ll get these items processed. Do you want to observe? There’s a spare chair in the room next to Interview Room One.”
“I’m not bothered,” said Gus, “I can leave things in your capable hands. Even you couldn’t fail to score from this distance.”
“I knew you hadn’t changed, deep down, you bugger.”
“Did the surveillance crew spot anything, or anyone last night?”
“Ah, sorry,” said Geoff, “we pulled so many resources out to the Manor House that we left ourselves stretched. Then there was an incident on the M4 between Chippenham and Bath. A youngster jumped from a bridge. We postponed the whole thing. I’ve been too busy here to organise another try.”
“Damn,” said Gus, “I may need to look up there myself.”
“The shed’s not going anywhere, surely whatever Monty’s involved in can wait?”
“Frank North is missing. He’s the old chap who first gave me this tip. He’s got the patch next to me on the allotments. His wife told me this morning that Frank left home at ten last night and never returned.”
“Look, I need to get back inside with this evidence,” said Geoff. “Call Suzie Ferris. The counter staff will give you her number after I’ve convinced them you’re one of the good guys. Go with her to see what’s what. If it needs an official investigation, Suzie can start the ball rolling.”
Gus nodded. He watched Geoff Mercer pause at the desk as he rushed through to carry on the interview with Pemberton-Smythe and the expensive QC he’d called. In the old days, Gus would have driven up to Cambrai Terrace, nosed around and thought nothing of nicking a suspect if he uncovered criminal activity. As a consultant, he needed a serving officer to help him do even the basics.
That was the negative side of things. Suzie Ferris was young, attractive and on a fast track to the top. He could think of worse ways to spend a Sunday afternoon.
The young constable on the counter handed over Suzie’s number and Gus entered it into his phone. His contact list was growing apace after three years inactivity.
“Suzie?” he asked, “Gus Freeman here. Sorry to bother you on Sunday morning. Can you spare an hour?”
“I didn’t expect to hear from you, Gus. I told you to put your feet up and relax. Re-charge the batteries after a busy week.”
Gus wondered why Suzie imagined he needed a long spell of bed-rest after a few days mostly spent in the office. He was only sixty-one for heaven’s sake.
“Geoff Mercer is interviewing our man here at the custody suite. He volunteered your services. How long will it take you to get to Urchfont?”
“Fifteen minutes,” replied Suzie, “isn’t that where you live?”
Gus sensed another question left unasked.
“I do live in the village, but that’s not where Geoff volunteered your services. It’s above board. We’re searching for a missing person so I’ll fill you in when I get there. I’m leaving the police station now, and we’ll meet at the end of Cambrai Terrace. It’s on a hillside at the edge of the village.”
“I’ve ridden past there,” said Suzie, “the lanes there aren’t ideal for hacking, but it’s a light exercise for my horses and good relaxation for me. Drive safe.”
Gus wasn’t surprised to learn Suzie was a horsewoman. There were plenty of them in the area. The Avon Vale branch of the Pony Club was on her doorstep. Her accent wasn’t broad enough to place her as Wiltshire born and bred. If she grew up near Devizes, her love of horses probably dated back to before she started school.
“Drive safe, indeed,” he muttered, as he left the custody suite and drove along Crook Way. He hadn’t forgotten her unmerited swipe at his elderly Ford Focus on Friday evening. Suzie was waiting in her Golf GTI in a passing place on what amounted to little more than a single-track road.
Typical, she must have broken the speed limit to arrive ahead of me, thought Gus.
Suzie watched Gus park, then got out and walked towards his car.
Gus had admired the smart-looking officer in her uniform at the Manor House. Today Suzie’s hair hung loose on her shoulders, not pinned in a bun under her hat. Her black blouson jacket covered a navy-blue polo shirt. Jodhpurs and riding boots completed the outfit of a girl at home in the country.
“Where are we off to?” she asked.
“Let’s stroll along Cambrai Terrace, to begin with,” he said, “I’ll bring you up to speed on the story so far. We’re interested in anything beyond the houses, rather than the houses themselves. On this first recce, I hope we can tell whether anyone is hanging around in the fields above us. It might be dangerous to get too close.”
“You didn’t tell me this might be dangerous,” said Suzie. “It’s okay; I carry my expanding baton and pepper spray in the car. I’ll pick it up when we walk back. That’s why us girls carry these huge handbags. I bet you thought it was just because they were trendy.”
As they strolled along Cambrai Terrace, Gus told Suzie of the strange goings-on Frank North had reported. Her eyebrows shot up when he mentioned Monty Jennings owned the land which contained the glorified shed.
“So, this poor old chap has been missing since late last night? What would they do if something illegal was happening on the premises and he stumbled on it?”
“That’s exactly the reason for me telling Frank to stay away,” said Gus. “Monty Jennings flies close to the wind according to Geoff Mercer. Violence doesn’t appear to be in his make-up.”
“He may have leased the place to someone else,” said Suzie, glancing over Gus’s shoulder as they turned in the cul-de-sac at the end of the road.
“I couldn’t see anyone,” said Gus, “how about you? Any sign of smoke?”
“Nothing at all. We can’t be sure there aren’t vehicles in the lane behind the houses. We’d have a better view if we walked up to the brow of the hill and cut across the field. If we pose as ramblers looking across into the valley, it won’t attract as much attention.”
“Smart move, dressing the way you did. You blend into the scenery.”
“You decided on smart casual, this time.”
Her laughter was infectious.
Gus knew at once she’d learned about his first meeting with the ACC. After three years dressing as he pleased and spending most of his spare time on his allotment, he drove to the London Road HQ in his gardening clothes.
Suzie trotted ahead of him to collect her baton and pepper spray from the boot of her car. She dropped the items into her shoulder bag, together with her warrant card. Suzie paused as she passed the strap of her handbag over her head to prevent it from being ripped from her by an attacker.
“There’s no telling to who Monty might have leased this place,” she said, “Vera says he’ll do anything to turn a quick profit.”
“That worried me too,” said Gus, “we’ve got three sizeable cities within twenty miles. County lines gangs have been growing in strength and numbers. If they’re involved in this, Frank North could have walked into a heap of trouble.”
The winding lane took them ever upward to the brow of the hill and disappeared into the valley. From the ridge, they could see the path running along the backs of the houses on Cambrai Terrace. At the far end stood the outbuilding. It was too substantial to call it a shed. The chimney was only an ornament today, but why would anyone need to add a chimney stack to a property designed to store tools and equipment? There was a vast expanse of greenery below them, broken by a scattering of housing throughout the valley. Hard to imagine there was anyone else alive in the world. The place was so quiet.
“No cars or people. No sign of Frank North,” sighed Gus.
“What do we do now?” asked Suzie.
“The logical place to look is inside that outbuilding.”
“We need a warrant to get inside without an invitation.”
“If they’re up to no good and we walk down the hill and knock on the
door…”
“They’d tell us to go away and disappear before we returned with a warrant.”
“We’ll leave it for today,” said Gus, “Geoff Mercer can arrange surveillance tomorrow. If he’s not back, then I’ll bend the ACC’s ear until he does the necessary. I don’t like the look of it, Suzie, but we can’t jeopardise what might prove a major operation by jumping in too early. There could still be a simple explanation for Frank’s disappearance.”
They made the walk in silence. Gus stopped to stand on the bottom rung of gates at the entrance to the fields for any signs of Frank. A lone car passed them as it struggled up the incline.
“Two little old ladies out for a sunny Sunday afternoon drive,” said Suzie.
“Seasoned criminals, in Agatha Christie country,” said Gus. “Sorry to interrupt your day with what turned out to be a waste of effort. Do you want to follow me back to my place? I can offer you a bowl of soup and a crusty roll.”
“If you’re sure I’m not keeping you from something important. Yes, please, the walk and the fresh air have made me hungry.”
For the first time in a long time, two cars pulled into the driveway of Freeman’s bungalow. They parked on the right-hand side, under the climbing roses.
“They’re beautiful,” said Suzie Ferris.
“My late wife Tess planted those. She hoped to trail them across the whole side of the bungalow in time.”
“There’s a long way to go, Gus, but they look sturdy enough.”
“Bert Penman, one of my neighbours on the allotments near the church reckons every plant has two choices. Live or die. Those roses are no different. I hope they continue to thrive because digging them up will mean one more memory of Tess gone.”
“I haven’t lost anyone close to me,” said Suzie, “both my parents are going strong. We lost my maternal grandmother when I was eight. She lived in New Zealand with my grandfather. I was old enough to understand what had happened, but I’d never met her in person. So, it didn’t have the same impact. Mum and Dad didn’t take my brother and me out for the funeral, either. Too expensive. Gramps and my Dad’s parents are in their eighties now and beginning to look frail.”
They had moved inside the bungalow now, and Gus showed Suzie into the lounge.
“Give me twenty minutes in the kitchen,” he said, “see if there’s anything among my record collection you fancy.”
Gus got to work on the soup. Suzie called through from the next room: -
“Vinyl’s making a comeback,” she said, “you were right to hang on to these, you’re in fashion again. My Dad’s got a live Yardbirds album from the early Sixties he reckons is valuable. He treats it better than he treats my Mum.”
“Not the one from the Marquee Club?” asked Gus, who now stood in the doorway. “I’ve always wanted to find a copy of that. Clapton murdered the vocals on ‘Good Morning Little Schoolgirl’, but the album was sensational.”
“It was a mono recording, so it sounds tinny compared to today’s stuff. None of that was my scene as you can imagine. Boyzone, Westlife and Britney Spears never got me hooked. I was only interested in horses.”
“I guess if you live in this area, it’s not a surprise. Where do you stable your horses?”
“I keep forgetting; you’re new to this part of the county. We have a large farm near Worton, and the stables are a stone’s throw from the main house. Horses have been part of my family for years. My Mum was a national champion, and Dad rode point-to-point until recently. Music and several other things have taken a back seat to my horses and my career.”
“You’re not related to Vera’s family, are you?” Gus asked.
“Distant cousins,” Suzie replied, “so, you’ve delved into her background, have you?”
Gus grinned.
“I like to know who I’m working with,” he said and returned to the kitchen to continue preparing lunch. Eva Cassidy’s voice accompanied his labours. Eva was one of Tess’s favourites.
“Is this too gloomy?” asked Suzie as she stood watching Gus pour the soup into two bowls. “I didn’t think, sorry. My Mum loves listening to this album.”
“We oldies can still pick them, then?” said Gus, inviting Suzie to sit. They ate in silence as the album moved track by track to the end of side one.
“That soup tasted great, Gus,” said Suzie, “just what I needed. Do you want a hand with the washing-up?”
“Leave it. I’ll put everything into the dishwasher. Are you rushing away?”
“What did you have in mind?
Gus missed the raised eyebrow. He was engrossed in getting the dishwasher stacked as Tess insisted.
“It’s still a pleasant afternoon,” he said, “we could wander along to the allotments. You can thank my patch in person for the excellent vegetables it provided.”
“Exercise is always beneficial after lunch,” said Suzie, “my Dad falls asleep in the chair by three o’clock. It’s his age, I suppose.”
“I never have that problem, young lady,” said Gus, “now, are we ready?”
As they took a brisk walk through the village towards the allotments, Gus noticed neighbours in their gardens stand and stare. Other couples he didn’t recognise strolling home from the pub nodded and said ‘Hello’. Nobody took a blind bit of notice of him any other time.
Suzie Ferris slipped her arm through his.
“Now they’ll have something to talk about,” she laughed.
When they reached the gateway to the allotments, she let go of his arm. Someone waved, eager to catch their attention.
“That’s Bert Penman,” said Gus, “the chap I mentioned. He’s looking after my patch while I’m working on these cold cases. I wonder what he wants?”
“Afternoon, Mr Freeman,” said Bert, removing his cap in the presence of a young lady. “afternoon, Miss.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Gus.
“There’s something over yonder you need to see,” said Bert, pointing to the far side of the allotments Gus could see a young man appeared to be comforting a woman, maybe his wife.
Gus started to run. Suzie chased after him. They saw a dark shape lying under the cemetery wall in the top corner of the field.
Gus recognised the overcoat and the worn-down soles of his shoes.
“Frank North.”
“That degree of damage can only mean one thing,” said Suzie Ferris.
“Two shots to the back of the head, execution-style,” said Gus.
“I’ll call it in. You know where Frank lives, tell his wife. For God’s sake, dissuade her from coming here. Whoever Monty Jennings has got involved with this time is bad news.”
CHAPTER 2
Monday 16th April 2018
The alarm brought a welcome interruption to the dream he’d been having. Gus rolled out of bed, padded to the shower, and was dressed before the events of yesterday crowded into his head once more.
What a mess.
Gus watched the sausage and a rasher of bacon frying in the pan. An egg lay in wait to the side.
Poor Frank North. No matter how many times he got nicked for thieving, he didn’t deserve that. A defenceless man murdered, for what? It wasn’t for money or his mobile phone. He carried neither that night.
Suzie Ferris switched from Sunday afternoon companion to Detective Inspector in seconds. She took control of the situation, and a host of police personnel descended on the allotments within the hour. Some would still be there. Gus knew he must leave well alone. There was nothing there for consultants. All civilians move along, please.
The last thing Suzie said before he left to visit Irene North was the amount of blood indicated the killer had dumped Frank’s body. They needed to look for the actual crime scene. His only thought was to ask her to discuss the matter with the ACC. Any future surveillance was pointless if Monty Jennings’s shed was the first place they visited after discovering the body.
It was a mess, alright.
Gus cracked the egg into the frying p
an. Bloody typical. A double-yolker. It was supposed to be lucky, but it didn’t feel it today. He tried to recall what he’d been dreaming about just before the alarm rang.
Vera Jennings was driving that yellow Alfa Romeo of hers through the village as Gus and Suzie Ferris strolled past the Community Shop. A perfectly innocent scene. Then Gus remembered a squeal of brakes and the roar of an engine. He had looked round to see the bonnet of the Spider closing on them. The alarm bell came in the nick of time.
“Perfect,” said Gus, and he wasn’t referring to his cooking skills.
Gus dished up his breakfast and flicked the switch on the kettle. A mug of coffee would be the ideal complement. The fry-up proved to be what he hoped it would be. Better than oats and yoghurt.
Later, when he stepped outside the bungalow, a warm and sunny morning greeted him. Gus wondered whether the ACC might postpone their meeting. The drive to London Road took longer every day. As he stopped at yet another set of temporary traffic lights, he thought back to Irene North.
Gus lost count many years ago the number of times he’d informed family members of the death of a loved one. It was never easy nor pleasant. He had walked from the allotments to her council house trying to get a grip on the words he wanted to say. He’d done the same thing on every previous occasion for his benefit. The person on the receiving end of the dreadful news never heard the specifics of what you said, anyway.
As he walked up the path, he spotted Irene rising from her chair and hurrying to the front door. She understood what was coming. Gus walked straight in, closed the door behind him, took hold of her arm and walked her back to her chair.
“Where did you find him?” she asked.
“On the far side of the allotments. We think Frank was there since last night.”