by Ted Tayler
Alex and Neil realised they had a shed load of work on their hands. Time to graft.
“It’s a grand day for a walk, guv,” said Lydia, striding towards the lift.
“We’ll see you two in an hour, try not to miss us too much,” said Gus.
He joined Lydia, and they emerged into the car park in bright sunshine. Gus had left his jacket and tie in the office. He was still warm. His female companion had taken note of the mild lecture he’d given her last week. Lydia’s colour scheme was less bright, with a striped blouse and black skirt. A printed bamboo headband had tamed the explosion of curly hair. She looked stunning, and Gus noticed admiring looks from every sex as they walked along the High Street.
Hark at him; he thought, every sex; it was hard to keep up with the different options available these days. He wondered whether they would identify fifty-seven in his lifetime. Good luck designing something as simple as a public convenience in the future. Unisex toilets solved the issues of space limitations when ‘Gents’ and ‘Ladies’ became contentious. He tried to envisage the ultimate one-size-fits-all building. He gave up. There weren’t areas the size of a football pitch available in any cities and towns that he knew. Something had to give. He hoped he wasn’t around, so his bladder needed to cope with it.
“Penny for them, guv,” said Lydia.
“Perfect,” said Gus laughing out loud.
Lydia decided it must be an age thing and let it slide.
The pair continued to walk in silence past the Crown pub, into Market Square and beyond until they reached the river bridge. Before the bridge there were five steps to a walkway, then twenty yards farther on five more steps brought them onto Riverside Walk.
“How long since we left the Old Police Station,” asked Gus.
“Eight minutes,” Lydia replied, “but we need to check with Steve Li. Was Trudi sauntering along, walking at a steady pace as we were, or was she in a hurry?”
“Well done. Mr Li was the only witness to see whether she was on a mission to get home or in no hurry. Youngsters spend a lot of time these days wandering with their heads stuck in their phones. Trudi wasn’t scrolling through her messages, or catching up with social media, was she? That hadn’t exploded yet. A world without Facebook. How did we manage?”
“She could have been speaking with someone. Maybe agreeing to meet them,” suggested Lydia.
“Another question for Steve Li,” said Gus, warming to the task. “The phone call may have been later, after Trudi passed Market Square, or here on Riverside Walk. Nobody would have seen or heard her then.”
“What a pity the police never found her phone.”
“Did anything that was missing strike you as odd?” asked Gus. “Her skirt, underwear, phone and shoes.”
“The police believed she was raped and murdered,” said Lydia. “It makes sense that the killer removed her clothing. Her shoes could have come off in the struggle. Mobile phones are always worth a few quid on the black market.”
“What was it Mr Spock used to say on Star Trek? It does not compute, Captain?”
“Before my time, guv,” said Lydia.
Gus sighed.
“Hang on. I’ll come back to that. Is this the exit onto the Greenwood Estate?”
Lydia left the pathway and walked up the slope to the road.
“Yes, guv. There are houses as far as the eye can see. The local primary school is fifty yards to my left.”
“I made that five minutes, agreed?”
“Bang on five minutes by my watch. It’s this way, guv,”
Lydia wondered why Gus wasn’t joining her.
“Come and join me,” called Gus, who was now under the bridge continuing along Riverside Walk.
“Why would Trudi have come this way, guv?” asked Lydia, running to catch him.
“The place Trudi and Krystal shared was on the north end of the Greenwood. In another two minutes, judging by the bridge I can see ahead, we’ll have another exit onto the Estate. So, was it easier to access the property from there, rather than thread her way through various roads and alleyways? Trudi discovered this pathway was dangerous late at night, but she might have thought there was less risk than among the dark alleyways on that notorious council estate. There’s another possibility. Did she meet her attacker on this side of the bridge? Was her body moved to the hedge near the slope we’ve just passed? Look around you. There are precious few hiding places for a body on this side of the bridge.”
Lydia tried to make sense of it. Last week, a stroll through the countryside in Lowden Woods had made things more transparent in both their minds. Today, her head was spinning with the new variables her boss was adding into the mix.
“Do you have the actual address for the two girls?” Gus asked.
“I’ve read it, but I can’t remember it, sorry.”
“Call Neil. Get the street name and the number,” said Gus, walking back to the first exit.
Gus wandered across to the hedge behind the tree line. The murder site had altered so much in the past fifteen years; it was unrecognisable. They would learn nothing there.
Lydia had received the answer they needed from Neil.
“44A Kingfisher Close,” she said.
“I toured the Greenwood with Neil last week,” said Gus, “it’s well signposted. You go through the roads and alleyways. I’ll take Riverside Walk. Just a steady walk. Time yourself, and we’ll compare notes. Remember what I said about what was missing from the body while you’re walking. If you haven’t solved it, I’ll try to explain outside 44A.”
Gus found Kingfisher Close as soon as he climbed the slope from Riverside Walk. The even numbers were on his left-hand side as he made his way along the pavement. There was no sign of Lydia.
It had taken him three minutes from the murder site. Gus basked in the sun’s heat.
He finally spotted her on the corner of the street and waved. Lydia closed the gap between them.
“Blimey, did you run?” she asked.
“No, a steady walk. Three minutes.”
Lydia looked at her watch.
“Eight minutes. I know why that is, guv, and if I lived here, I’d use the Riverside Walk every time. You can’t cover the ground through the estate as the crow flies. You head along one street, and an alleyway takes you into the next. The connecting street or alley is never directly opposite. You either head for the main road or continue to criss-cross the estate via the alleys. There are no shortcuts for a stranger.”
“That confirms what I thought. Trudi’s attacker could have come from town, from behind her, or either of the two Riverside Walk access points off the Greenwood.”
“I’ve thought about the missing items,” said Lydia, “I still can’t see how we couldn’t explain them as I suggested.”
“Oh, they could,” said Gus, “but only if there were a series of attackers, and they had different motives.”
“You’ve lost me, guv,”
“Start with our rapist. Let’s assume he’s local, he knows Trudi, and he has a grudge. The first thing we know is that he must have been in the Ring O’Bells that night. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have known Trudi worked late. Our man also knows Trudi’s route home, if she’s walking. He lies in wait far enough away from the Imperial Dragon that Steve Li doesn’t see him. Then he follows Trudi to the riverside and attacks her near the first bridge. Trudi loses her shoes. He rips off her underwear and skirt and rapes her. The situation changes and the rape isn’t enough for him. Either during the attack or straight after, he stabs Trudi to death in a frenzied attack.”
Lydia had an idea. Was this what Gus meant?
“Why didn’t he use a condom?” she asked.
“Good girl. That’s one question we should ask,” said Gus. “Show me a criminal who doesn’t know DNA is the last thing they should leave at a crime scene. Lewington didn’t leave many clues did he on any of his genuine attacks? If our man’s planned this attack, he would have taken every precaution not to get caught. H
e had no use for the clothes or shoes. He had no use for the purse and mobile phone. So why are they missing?”
“Could the motive have been a robbery?”
“That was one of my hypotheses,” said Gus, “a mugging that went wrong. An addict was looking for cash and a mobile phone to buy their next fix. Again, the shoes may have come off in the initial contact. It doesn’t explain the removal of the other items from the scene. Then, I considered whether we have two crimes — a mugger who nicks her purse and phone. Trudi’s pissed off but continues to walk home. What option did she have? When she thought her night couldn’t get any worse, her killer jumps out from the bushes...”
“Oh, come on, you can’t seriously believe that,” cried Lydia, “anyway, what about her shoes? Neither of those attackers would take them.”
“What size feet does Tony Virgo have? Trudi was a size six. That’s a legitimate explanation for the shoes. Maybe he’s a drag artist. Nothing in the murder file to suggest otherwise. What’s the betting that he and Tristram perform in the clubs over in Benidorm. A few cut and blow-dry gigs for pensioners won’t balance the books. He grabbed the shoes, thinking someone had discarded them and went to investigate the shape he could see behind the trees. When the emergency services arrived he could hardly admit he’d stolen the victim’s shoes, could he?”
Lydia couldn’t believe her ears.
“Are you winding me up, guv? Okay, I’ll check when we get back to the office, but far-fetched doesn’t cover the scenario you’re painting.”
“Finally,” said Gus, with a grin, “we’re on the same page. I said it didn’t feel right. There’s only one possible scenario that fits. Over the next week, our interviews will tell us whether or not I’m right.”
“Tell me what that is,” implored Lydia. “I can’t imagine how you’ve worked out the answer from what few real facts we know.”
“Don’t rush ahead too far. I haven’t got the answer. We haven’t finished fact-gathering yet,” said Gus. “Let’s walk back into town via the main road through the Greenwood. It’s the only route I can find for the taxi to have used on the night. When we talk with Amy Pollock, we’ll see whether the timings work. If not, it will blow my theory out of the water.”
“Do we tell the boys you think you might have cracked the case?”
“Easy, tiger. So far, I’ve only produced a scenario that fits the facts,” said Gus, “I haven’t worked out who did it.”
“I’m more confused than ever,” said Lydia.
“It’s always darkest before the dawn,” said Gus, “you’ve done well today. Don’t admonish yourself. Do you want another question to answer?”
“Is it a question with only one sensible answer?”
“What happened to the murder weapon?”
“Well, the killer wouldn’t have left it at the scene, would he? It was a short-bladed weapon. Easy to conceal in a pocket of his jacket or jeans. A Stanley knife, or a screwdriver. Something similar to the weapons Lewington carried to threaten his victims. Even though we know Lewington didn’t do it, it’s still the most likely type of weapon. The killer would never have left it for the police to find.”
“Keep thinking,” said Gus, “criminals can often be stupid; it’s the simplest mistake that traps them. As you say, the killer wouldn’t leave a knife for us to find. Don’t mention my theory to the lads. There’s a long way to go before we can nail the killer.”
“I understand, guv,”
It took them over twenty-five minutes to walk back to the Old Police Station. Gus told Lydia to suggest to Neil and Alex that they take an early lunch. He wanted to drive home. He needed his head clear before this afternoon’s meeting with the ACC.
It had been a strange morning.
Gus was unaccompanied on his trip back to Devizes.
He must have caught his escort on the hop. Maybe a consultant was only entitled to be shadowed from five o’clock in the evening; a spur of the moment decision over half a days holiday confused matters. When he met with the ACC later, he should ask whether he needed a note for permission to skive off early.
Gus recognised there were two upsides to the situation. It meant he wasn’t under constant surveillance by his side. Also, the Albanians might have someone ready to pounce if he stepped over the line and entered the lane behind Cambrai Terrace; but he wasn’t worth sitting on while he went about his regular duties.
After a quick lunch, Gus walked to his allotment. Bert Penman was working on his own patch today. He stood and admired Bert’s efforts.
“Not looking too bad is it, Mr Freeman?” said Bert, leaning on his fork for a breather.
“You’ve worked wonders, Bert,” he replied.
“Enjoy this next few days of sunshine, Mr Freeman. We’ll pay for this. You mark my words. I don’t usually have to water in my little darlings as early as this. My water butt is only half full. We may have had a bitter spell to finish the winter, but the days of February fill-dyke are long gone.”
Gus understood Bert’s age-old expression. It was one the old-timers still used; even though similar truisms had become redundant with the rapid progress of climate change. February had traditionally been a month when rain or melting snow filled the watercourses in England.
Out here in the countryside, far from the nearest river, allotment holders had a series of water butts or old dustbins to collect rainwater. Every precious drop was needed to keep their plants alive. With rising temperatures in the summers, the threat of a hosepipe ban was only a brief dry spell away. At least the various methods they used to collect something from every stray shower protected them from that restriction.
“So, you’ve found a few moments to come here to think. This latest job of yours is tricky, am I right?”
“It is. You know me too well. I wanted to use the time before my next meeting, going over things in my mind.”
“Say no more, Mr Freeman. I’ll ask one final question, and then I’ll leave you to your thinking. Have they found out who killed poor Frank yet?”
“It’s something I can’t handle, as you know, Bert. I’m always hopeful of an early arrest in cases such as Frank North’s.”
“Fair enough. I only asked because I’m taking vegetables over to Irene later. I just hoped I could give her a piece of good news. She hasn’t even been able to set a date for the funeral yet.”
“I’m meeting with someone later who might tell me when the body will be released. I can’t promise I’ll be able to update you on the case though.”
Bert nodded. He knew the way the world worked.
Gus watched him return to his labours. His fork turned over the soil with practised ease. Work he’d put into his allotment over the years saw the clod of dirt fall apart into lumps no bigger than breadcrumbs. No wonder his vegetables grew so well. They didn’t have to struggle through layers of clay to the surface. This was paradise.
If only he could stay here all afternoon. The conversation with Bert had eaten into his thinking time. Gus went over his ideas about Trudi Villiers’s murder. It was a reasonable hypothesis, but everything hinged on the timings. If one of those was out of synch with his proposition, the whole thing collapsed.
The interviews would prove fascinating. Gus reminded himself of Terry Davis and his handling of the case. It was imperative he didn’t make the same mistake and tried to make the facts fit his hare-brained ideas.
Lydia had wanted him to share those ideas with Alex and Neil. There was no way he’d do that.
Alex had to go into those interviews with an open mind. Lydia might accompany him on those visits. He needed to reinforce the warning he’d given her this morning. She was still only a raw recruit, even if she showed the potential to become a good detective.
It was time to head for London Road. He only prayed that the ACC let him stay long enough to sample Kassie Trotter’s chocolate eclairs.
CHAPTER 8
Gus arrived at London Road with several minutes to spare. He had time to sign in, get
upstairs to the administration floor and locate Vera Jennings well before his two o’clock meeting.
Vera was chatting with Kassie Trotter. Nothing new there. They both gave him a beaming smile as he approached. A clear sign they had been talking about him and desperately trying to hide the fact.
“Good afternoon, Mr Freeman,” said Kassie, “you look stressed. Are you sure you’re getting enough sleep?”
Ah, they had been discussing Suzie Ferris and her overnight stay. The rumour mill was in full flow. Suzie had promised what happened on protection duty stayed there and that she didn’t tell Vera everything. There was no point stirring up a hornet’s nest. Least said, soonest mended.
“I’m getting enough, thanks Kassie,” he replied, then wished he hadn’t.
Vera raised an eyebrow on the young girl’s behalf. Kassie’s sat way up on her forehead already.
Vera steered him away from Kassie’s desk.
“I missed you earlier,” said Vera, “I hear it was a lively meeting. Suzie thought you were about to punch one of the nation’s highest-ranked officers.”