by Ted Tayler
The bloody traffic through the town centre doesn’t, Gus thought.
“Am I to understand my team is under review, Ma’am?” he asked.
“I haven’t been in post long enough to have a timetable yet, Freeman. Let’s say; I’ll be watching you. Good afternoon.”
Sandra Plunkett strutted from the room.
Kenneth Truelove stood and walked to the window; normal service could resume.
“Bloody hell, Freeman. I could have done without that woman becoming my new boss. I hoped for a honeymoon period after last week’s coup, followed by fourteen months of calm waters until my retirement. Sit, man; you’re making the place untidy.”
“I didn’t want to claim the high ground, Sir. Sandra Plunkett and Geoff Mercer could model for the weather house couple.”
“From memory, that weather house lady came out when it was sunny and warm. The man’s appearance signalled bad weather. I think the roles would reverse if Mercer and Plunkett ever got involved. Our new Chief Constable signals dark clouds ahead. Geoff Mercer, on the other hand, seems to be in far better humour since you’ve been with us.”
“I try my best,” said Gus.
The ACC was right. Geoff sat firmly in the CRT corner if push came to shove. Provided the ACC kept the Police and Crime Commissioner happy his team could complete the programme that had tempted him to return.
“What did you want to talk to me about, Sir? Before Ms Plunkett hijacked this meeting. I take it she’s not married.”
“There’s a press release in a file on my desk somewhere. I’ll find it before you leave. What I want to discuss is last week’s amazing turnaround. On Wednesday, when Brendan Curran was here, you were light-years from solving the Villiers case, how you kept your cool after the incident the next morning and then came up with the answers, I have no idea. That was awesome.”
“Awesome? I’m surprised to hear you use that American term,”
“Blame my grandchildren, Freeman; and the youngsters my wife and I run into at our meeting house. Somehow, on this occasion, it felt the right expression.”
“Thank you, Sir. A team effort, as I’m sure you realise. Despite the obvious reservations of the Chief Constable, Wiltshire Police will gain significant benefit from my sojourn. However brief that may be. Davis and Hardy will be better detectives, and young Lydia will outshine the lot of us given the right opportunities.”
“You lead by example, Freeman. That’s good enough for me. The more knowledge you can pass on to those three, the better. All good things must end though. I keep harping on about my retirement next year, but I anticipated the CRT still being in place when I left. I dreamed of you training a second or even third batch of likely lads and lasses before you finally retired. Sandra Plunkett might put the skids under that.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” cautioned Gus, “we’ve been very fortunate with our first two cold cases. They remained unsolved because simple questions didn’t get asked at the time. We can appreciate the reasons for that. If the force had the right resources and adopted a more robust approach to serious crime, things might have been different.”
“I think someone has expressed this opinion, Freeman. We have to operate with the system we have, no matter how much we wish it operated otherwise. Things will never return to before 1965.”
“Don’t worry, Sir. Nobody outside these four walls will hear that comment. I think the new breed of copper would have a touch of the vapours just reading an account of a hanging, let alone attending one. The black cap had been consigned to history a decade before I joined the force. Several old hands in Salisbury worked on cases where a killer received the death sentence. One of my Sergeants said we would rue the day they withdrew the option. He said no matter how barbaric the process appears to the public if they saw the horrors carried out in killings he witnessed, they would lobby to reverse the decision in a heartbeat. Far worse murders get committed today than that old Sergeant could ever imagine. There’s no going back, as you say, but will society ever move forward while evil exists among us until it dies a natural death?”
“You’re a deep thinker, Freeman. No wonder you get a handle on these cold cases. I imagine you would enjoy a change of scene. What do you know about Swindon?”
“I’ve spent many wasted hours at Crown Court there, Sir. Other than that, they’ve got an average football team and a Magic Roundabout. Nothing significant comes to mind from the last hundred-odd years. The town’s railway history is a distant memory these days. Is that where our next murder occurred?”
“The victim was Laura Mallinder, a twenty-seven-year-old sex worker. Her employer found her body at nine thirty-five on the evening of Sunday, the twelfth of June 2011. The details are in this folder; if I can find it. Here we are, right next to Sandra Plunkett’s life story. Get yourself back to the CRT office and have a read of both files. I haven’t discussed this latest case with Geoff Mercer yet, but we’ll set up the necessary contacts for you to access the proper personnel at Gablecross. The detectives who investigated the murder are still there. You can use interview rooms; have someone accompany you with a warrant card and so forth. I see no reason you can’t continue using the Old Police station as your base. Ask Geoff Mercer for help if that proves an obstacle. I encourage you to continue to use the Hub’s research facilities.”
“I don’t know how we’d cope without it, Sir,” replied Gus, tongue firmly in his cheek.
Gus took the two files from the ACC.
“Are any of the serving officers likely to cause us a problem, Sir?” he asked.
“It might be best to consult DS Hardy on that matter, Freeman. He will know the lie of the land. Even though he’s been on the sidelines for the past eighteen months, his insight will be better than any gossip I’ve gleaned. Will there be anything else?”
“I realise you have your hands full with the new Chief Constable and last week’s organised crime caper. But I want you to press for a response from OCTF over Frank North’s murder. His funeral is next Monday afternoon. Two o’clock at the West Wilts Crematorium.”
“I’m not sure I can make it, Freeman. I’ll ensure a message reaches Mercer and Ferris that suggests they drum up a few officers to attend. We owe the poor chap that much. As for Brendan Curran and his cronies, I can only promise to do my best. Rest assured, I’ve not forgotten the matter.”
“Thank you, Sir,” said Gus. Time to head home. The school run was over; office workers still had an hour to suffer.
There was nothing to gain from rushing. The Mallinder girl had waited seven years for someone to find her killer. Gus hoped she’d forgive him for not getting his team on her case until the morning.
Once back inside his bungalow, Gus organised a schedule for the days ahead. They would spend the remainder of this working week in preparation for this Mallinder case. If he could get to his allotment over the weekend, it would be a chance to get to grips with the chores May might present. Next Monday afternoon was set aside for Frank’s funeral. As for the following Friday, the camera installers had left a message yesterday to say they would arrive at nine am. Gus wondered how long it would take him to learn how to access the feed on his smartphone. Progress can be slow for a sixty-one-year-old when technology is involved. Safety was a priority, though, and it would be time well-spent.
Thoughts of time spent in Swindon during the next few weeks prompted a swift check of his provisions. He mustn’t let this increased activity associated with the consultancy role lead him into bad habits. That’s why the allotment had become so important. He had to keep that going to provide his fresh fruit and vegetables. He made a note to visit the supermarket one evening after work to stock up with items he couldn’t grow himself.
As he knocked up a mushroom omelette for his evening meal, he decided to call Vera Jennings later. He owed her a night out. Vera had played the role of a stood-up date last Thursday evening. The ploy was to convince anyone associated with the Rexha gang that Gus had died in the as
sassination attempt that morning. That move had bought the Organised Crime Task Force precious hours as it prepared its widespread dawn strike on Friday morning. The gang were none the wiser until too late.
DI Suzie Ferris had helped with that misdirection. She had arranged for Gus to hide on her father’s farm for ten hours. He owed Suzie something too, but quite how to repay that debt was another matter. The younger woman had made clear her feelings toward him.
Gus tried to put those thoughts out of his head as he ate his meal. The background music didn’t help. He had chosen an album at random. Eva Cassidy was easy listening on a warm Spring evening, but Suzie had also picked it when she visited him the other day. Eva was another piece of common ground they shared. He dispensed with the musical accompaniment and concentrated on the Sandra Plunkett file.
Gus poured a glass of white wine and sat in his favourite chair in the lounge. With the ACC’s file on his lap, he placed his drink on the table next to him. Under the coaster lay a scrap of paper. He didn’t need to rescue it to know what it said. It was a quote that had touched his heart after Tess’s sudden death. The ACC said earlier today he reckoned he was a deep thinker. He had always thought long and hard about the cases he’d handled. It was only after his wife’s death he’d considered other matters to the same degree.
‘One must first learn to know himself before knowing anything else. Not until a man has inwardly understood himself and then sees the course he is to take does his life gain peace and meaning.’
He brushed a finger around the coaster and thought of Tess as he sipped his wine.
What would she make of him today? Time to delve into the wild world of the stern-looking weather house lady.
‘Sandra Plunkett was born in Rugeley, Staffordshire in 1970. She attended the Abbotts Bromley School, where she developed a passion for the creative and performing arts. After graduating with a degree in Film Studies and Media from Keele University, she joined the Staffordshire Police force as a Constable and worked in Cannock. Sandra got promoted to the role of Sergeant in 1993, Inspector in 1997 and Chief Inspector in 2000. She attended the accelerated promotion course at Bramshill Police College in Hampshire and transferred to West Mercia Police as a Superintendent in 2003. She got promoted to Chief Superintendent in 2005 and was head of Professional Standards at Hindlip Park on the outskirts of Worcester. In 2009 she completed the Strategic Command Course. In June 2011, she returned to Staffordshire as an Assistant Chief Constable in charge of the counter-terrorism unit. She was appointed Chief Constable in September 2014 for the West Midlands. Sandra was awarded the Queen's Police Medal for Distinguished Service in the 2015 New Year Honours. Sandra has lived with her partner, Naomi, in a small village near Lichfield since 1998.’
So that was who they were up against, thought Gus. A formidable woman on every level. Sandra had ticked the right boxes as far as her superiors were concerned. He had never flown high enough to be pointed towards the SCC, which was policing's most senior leadership development programme. It prepared police officers and staff for promotion to the highest ranks in the service. The course was open to Superintendent and Chief Superintendent ranks, and staff at equivalent grades, from all UK forces who had shown the potential to progress further in their careers. It was a statutory requirement for officers seeking promotion to Assistant Chief Constable and above in UK forces.
The course aimed to develop senior leaders in law enforcement to lead policing operations and organisations locally, regionally and nationally. It offered a unique opportunity to engage in a challenging leadership development programme, which benefitted from the broad range of experience and perspectives shared by others within policing and partner organisations, nationally and internationally.
Gus had never needed a personal development plan to support his continuing professional development. He had reached his limit and was happy with his lot. The problem with these biographies generated by the force’s publicity machine was that they remained exclusively positive. He needed to dig deeper for reports on cases that had got screwed on Sandra’s watch; even deeper to discover any dirt. Perhaps it wouldn’t be necessary. If he kept solving these cases, the new Chief Constable would find it hard to prevent the CRT from becoming a permanent fixture.
Gus decided on a change of pace and called Vera Jennings.
“Hello there,” she replied, “you left in such a rush this afternoon. Kassie was distraught.”
“Yes, I forgot to grab her buns. Can you apologise to her in the morning? So, my highbrow friend was distraught. I take it you weren’t that bothered?”
“That would be telling. Anyway, I hoped you would ring tonight.”
“Does the FEW have a social outing planned this week?”
“No, my diary is a wasteland. If we plan something though, can I be sure you’ll turn up this time?”
“I should hope to get shot at proves a once in a lifetime experience. I have every intention of being wherever we agree to meet.”
“OK, Friday suits me best. We could eat at the Waggon & Horses. I’ll drop by and pick you up around half-past eight. How does that sound?”
“It sounds terrific. Book a table. We know from our last visit it will be lively. If we fancy a boogie after our meal no doubt, there’ll be live music again?”
“Get you,” laughed Vera, “don’t let Kassie hear you say ‘boogie’ though. I don’t think anyone under the age of seventy uses that term.”
“Ouch,” said Gus, “it’s been so long.”
“Until Friday then,” said Vera. “Goodnight and…
“Sweet dreams,” replied Gus.
Wednesday, 25th April 2018
As Gus drove through Devizes on his way to work, he thought about the second file he had read through last night. The murder files on the young woman they were to reopen hadn’t received national coverage. Laura Mallinder’s chosen profession prevented her from receiving the sympathy other victims could expect.
How many times had he read reports of sudden death where the victim’s family and friends declared they were saints? Whether they died in an accident or got murdered, it never changed the dialogue. Nobody was ever a waste of space, a liar and cheat, someone you crossed the street to avoid.
Yet when a sex worker was involved, the crime drew far less attention. Regardless of the service they provided, they were still human beings. Their family deserved the same closure as any other that lost a son or daughter. Gus hoped the Crime Review Team could find answers the original inquiry failed to uncover.
Gus noticed a flurry of activity on the High Street as he turned into Church Street. The Food Bank had opened for business, and the Cancer Charities staff unloaded furniture items from a van parked outside. The ground floor of the Old Police Station showed no sign of recession.
In his rear-view mirror, he saw the boarded-up windows of the Ring O’Bells. Sadly, the pub Krystal Warner had managed until last weekend got mothballed. The landlords had erred on the side of caution and protected it against vandalism. When it might reopen was anyone’s guess. Gus patted his car on the roof as he left it in his parking space at the rear of the Old Police Station. He had no intention of mothballing his old friend. A glance along the line confirmed he was last to arrive — ten minutes to nine. The team had got the message. He let them know he had arrived as soon as he exited the lift.
“Right, this is our new task. We’re going to be knee-deep in the seamier side of Swindon for the foreseeable future.”
Three eager faces looked up as Gus breezed into the office.
“Our victim was Laura Mallinder; stabbed to death on the evening of the twelfth of June 2011. Laura worked in a massage parlour in the Broadgreen area of the town. She worked a three-hour shift on Sundays from six until nine. Her body was found just after half-past nine by the owner, Maggie Monk. Our twenty-seven-year-old victim sustained fatal stab wounds to her back. When the original investigation was closed, there were no known suspects.”
“I don’t rem
ember much about this one, guv,” said Alex Hardy, “my guess is DI Theo Hickerton handled it.”
“What was he like as a copper?” asked Neil Davis.
“Keen enough,” replied Alex, “but under pressure to get a result, or move on to the next case on the books.”
“Was that due to the sheer volume of cases; or the fact it was a sex-worker?” asked Lydia Logan Barre.
“The former, Theo would have asked the right questions,” said Alex. “He did things by the book when I knew him. With this killing, it’s tough to get people to talk. Which business are we talking about, guv? There are so many these days.”
“They weren’t shy of advertising what was available on the premises,” said Gus, “it closed within weeks of the murder. It traded under Gentle Touch, and Maggie Monk had run it since early 2008 without getting raided.”
“Was it above a shop, or in a private home?” asked Lydia, “I wouldn’t know the first thing to look for.”
“Maggie Monk owned the property,” said Gus. “A Turkish barber leased the ground floor. The massage parlour on the first floor was accessed through a separate entrance halfway along an alleyway between two adjoining units on the quiet side street.”
“If you lived next door, you would soon spot the steady number of male visitors,” said Neil. “When it’s a holistic spa on the High Street, it resembles any other hairdressing or beauty parlour. Lots of chrome, bright lights and a recognisable price list you can compare with the competition. Businesses such as Gentle Touch have subdued lighting and basic fittings.”
“How far did the initial investigation get?” asked Lydia.
“I’ve had a brief look through the murder file,” said Gus. “Despite the detectives’ best efforts and numerous appeals to the public for help, nothing concrete surfaced regarding motive. The post-mortem examination indicated Laura had been stabbed to death by an unknown attacker as she worked alone.”