by Ted Tayler
“So, you call them to book a table, and they keep you a parking space. Nice one.”
“It makes sense. If you were passing a pub with top-of-the-range cars outside in full view, doesn’t it suggest it’s a great place to eat? Everybody wins.”
“If I drove into this car park in my ageing Focus that young barman would scamper out with traffic cones to keep the riff-raff at bay.”
Vera laughed. Gus thought it was a lovely sound; he couldn’t wait to get inside the old pub and spend a few hours in her company.
They walked into the restaurant to be met by the manager.
“Mrs Jennings, how lovely to see you again. We have seated you and your guest here by the window. Is that acceptable?”
“It will be perfect,” said Gus, “I can keep an eye on the car.”
Vera elbowed him in the ribs as she passed. The manager left them to get settled and found something urgent to attend to on the other side of the large dining room.
“You’re incorrigible,” said Vera.
“I try my best. The manager looks to be recovering his poise. He’s pointed a waitress in our direction. We should soon get offered drinks while we peruse the menu. He might be a pompous prat, but I bet he won’t forget we’re against the clock.”
Gus chose a pint of cider. With Vera as his designated driver, there was no point rubbing her nose in it by guzzling a bottle of red wine with his roast lamb.
“You raised the subject of your marriage first,” said Gus, “so I feel able to ask; how is Monty faring?”
“The authorities appear satisfied he was ignorant of what the Rexha brothers were doing with the land and building Monty leased them. It doesn’t surprise me. If someone offered him a rent that was twenty per cent over the going rate, he wouldn’t automatically think there was something fishy. Monty would bank it for as long as he could, thinking they were mugs for not knowing better. It’s only a matter of time before the creditors are banging at his door, anyway.”
“Because your father was wise to him before the wedding you won’t suffer any backlash when that happens; I take it?”
“My share of the family money was never part of the marriage’s assets. The family solicitor assures us there’s no way Monty can force us to bail him out. After all, while we’ve been married, the money I’ve earned has helped keep him afloat for far longer than if he’d been single. I’ve been bailing him out for over two decades.”
Their food arrived, and the conversation switched. Gus could see from empty plates on nearby tables that nobody was going home hungry tonight.
“This tastes great,” said Gus, “you can’t beat fresh vegetables.”
“I don’t suppose you have enough time to spend on your allotment these days?” said Vera, “May is a busy time for gardeners, isn’t it?”
“The more time I spend with old-timers such as Bert Penman, the more I reckon that there isn’t a time when it’s not busy. There’s always something that needs attention.”
“I’ve arranged to have time off work on Monday,” said Vera. “Kassie has agreed to stay at London Road to look after those bigwigs that aren’t attending Frank North’s funeral.”
“I hope there will be a good-sized congregation,” said Gus, “Irene has enough family members barely to fill a pew. Bert will do his best to get the villagers there, so that will help.”
“Can I sit with you?”
“Of course. I imagined you would sit with Geoff, Suzie and anyone else they press-ganged into going from HQ.”
“I’m sure they won’t be far away from us. It’s not a joyous occasion, but it will be nice to meet up with Alex, Neil and Lydia again.”
“Oh, they’ve had their cards marked. They know they need to be there suited and booted. The way this Swindon murder is shaping up, we’ll be glad of a distraction.”
“Are you finding it tricky to get a handle on?”
“The length of time since it happened isn’t helping. The victim’s nature of business brings new problems. Everyone has an opinion on how to deal with the situation, but those at the heart of it are unwilling to speak out.”
“I can well imagine. The local councillors and residents don’t want it in their backyard. The more enlightened ones want it legalised. A few extremists want the girls burnt at the stake. As for the girls themselves and their clients, they prefer to keep calm and carry on.”
“We won’t solve that conundrum this evening,” sighed Gus, “do you fancy a coffee?”
Vera looked at her watch.
“It might be best to drive back to your place,” she said. “That meal was excellent. It would be a shame to spoil it by rushing a hot coffee because they needed the table.”
Gus watched the manager. He was weaving between tables, heading for the door as he and Vera settled the bill.
“Thank you so much for coming. I hope you enjoyed your meal.”
“It was lovely, thank you,” said Vera.
“Do we leave the parking space vacant for your next customer?” asked Gus. “I could save your legs and drop a traffic cone in plain sight if you wish?”
“That won’t be necessary, Sir,” the manager replied, still forcing a smile as he closed the door behind them.
“If you keep this up, there won’t be many places we can get a meal,” said Vera, slipping her arm through his as they walked to her car.
“I can always cook for you,” said Gus.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
The roads were quiet, and Vera was soon parking her Alfa Romeo next to the Ford Focus. As they walked towards the bungalow, she turned and looked back.
“They look an unlikely pair, don’t they?”
“Is that what people say about us?”
“Not to my face. They wouldn’t dare.”
Gus opened the front door, and they went inside. He headed straight for the kitchen and started fetching cups from the cupboard ready for the coffee. Vera laid a hand on his arm as he went to switch on the kettle.
“I’m sure you would prefer a drink,” she said, “you nursed that pint of cider through a starter, main course and dessert. You love a good single malt and so do I. Pour me a glass.”
Gus did as Vera asked. In the lounge, they sat together on the sofa.
“Does this suggest the first meal I cook for you will be breakfast?” he asked.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday. There’s no rush. If things go well, we might make it brunch, or even a late lunch, who knows?”
Gus wished he’d had time to turn over Tess’s photos. He wouldn’t have time to ask her if she approved.
CHAPTER 5
Monday, 30th April 2018
The weather forecast promised to be cool, partly sunny and with a light breeze. Gus sat in his old Ford Focus and thought of the numerous funerals he had attended over the years. Heavy rain or biting northerly winds had accompanied the vast majority.
Sometimes, the UK’s fickle climate had delivered both, while dark skies lowered to the rooftops. When Tess died, he travelled alone in this very car behind the hearse as it headed for the West Wiltshire Crematorium.
A light drizzle had started as soon as he stepped outside the front door. As the cortege travelled through Seend, the heavens opened. Neither had a family to justify the expense of a funeral car; hers was one of the first budget funerals. Gus had followed Tess’s instructions to the letter. Twenty or thirty years earlier than she hoped, but she had never wanted the service to include hymns or prayers.
Eva Cassidy featured on the playlist, and someone read a Joyce Grenfell poem Tess had liked. The humanist celebrant couldn’t help looking like a snake-oil sales associate, but he did as instructed. Tess’s colleagues from Salisbury College and teachers from various schools where she had taught sat on one side. His fellow officers and a handful of neighbours from their previous home in Downton occupied three rows of pews on the other.
When he stood outside afterwards, receiving the line of people, the sun inexplicably deigned to burs
t through the receding clouds. He felt wretched, and yet everyone else seemed brighter merely because the sun shone. Of course, they might have been glad to escape the confines of the room and the nondescript service.
Gus couldn’t have cared less. He was alone for the first time in his life.
In the days and weeks following that miserable occasion, he had alternated between throwing himself into work and drinking copious amounts of malt whisky. Neither did much to make him feel any less alone.
Somehow he dragged himself back from the edge. It would have been simple to give up the allotment and stop decorating the bungalow to concentrate on the drinking. For the next two years, he had muddled along, making the best of his lot. Any thoughts of sharing things with anyone couldn’t have been further from his mind.
In the blink of an eye, that changed.
He had stepped inside the London Road HQ for that first meeting with Kenneth Truelove and Vera Jennings had escorted him to the ACC’s office.
Last Friday evening had been their first real date. Before that, they chatted and flirted on several occasions at work. He had bumped into her on his trip to the Bear to have a drink with Geoff Mercer. Gus had planned to meet Vera for a quiet drink and invited his team along to join them to celebrate their first successful cold case. Then after a dramatic morning in which he narrowly escaped death, Vera came here with her distant cousin Suzie Ferris to ensure he was back in his bed the same evening. That was the sum of their relationship until Friday night.
Did what took place after they returned here mean he was no longer alone? Was that what he wanted? Or had he subconsciously found a busy office or encouraged others to join him on earlier occasions to provide a security shield? Was he ready for what might follow? Would Vera be content to keep things low-key? After all, her divorce would get finalised in early May, once bitten. Not just for Vera. This needed time for reflection.
Gus had never slept with anyone other than Tess. On Saturday morning, he opened his eyes to the bright light of day. Gus was immediately aware that he had a companion and that she was naked. He stared at the ceiling in shock for a few seconds as his fuzzy brain tried to decipher what had happened.
When fully awake, he remembered everything that had occurred in the last ten hours. He lay there, not daring to breathe and luxuriated in the sheer enjoyment of his first sex since Tess’s death. Then the guilt washed over him.
Gus left Vera sleeping. He showered and dressed. As he sat in the kitchen with a mug of strong black coffee, he heard movement in the bedroom.
“I slept well,” said Vera, as she came to stand by the kitchen door. She wore the shirt he’d worn last night. It looked good on her. Gus remained seated. Vera came over and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
“Last night was wonderful,” she said.
“I feel guilty for enjoying it so much,” Gus said.
“You shouldn’t,” she said, “look, I’ll get in the shower. Can you do me a favour? My car keys are in the lounge by my purse. Pop to the car, I’ve got a bag in the boot with a few casual clothes to wear today. Once I’m ready to face the day, we’ll have that breakfast you promised, and then we’ll talk.”
The awkwardness he’d anticipated melted away as the morning progressed. Gus cooked, they ate and then sat in the lounge with fresh coffee. He talked to Vera about Tess, and she spoke of her years with Monty, the good and the bad.
“Ever since we met, I’ve wanted last night to happen,” said Vera. “I hope that doesn’t make me sound a man-eater. I’m far from that, I promise.”
“Geoff Mercer encouraged me to ask you out. Geoff suggested I ask anyone out to jump-start my social life. The truth is, Tess and I had very little in the way of social life. We took an annual holiday together, and there were weekend trips to National Trust properties that we both enjoyed. Other than that, our careers kept us apart for long stretches at a time. Neither of us played a sport or joined clubs or societies; the thought of either activity had us breaking out in a rash. We preferred to spend those rare moments of calm by ourselves. It was always just the two of us against the world.”
“That was the marriage I craved,” sighed Vera, “of course, we had the children, who change your outlook. If we hadn’t had the kids, Monty would have carried on wining and dining, burning the candle at both ends. Life had to be one long party in his world. We needed to entertain the businesspeople he was schmoozing for his next big deal one weekend. Then the next we drove upcountry to celebrate a potential client’s birthday, anniversary or promotion. He needed to get seen in the right places. When the kids came along, I elected to stay at home. I was tired after caring for them throughout the week and fed up with the merry-go-round. Monty travelled to functions alone. We still entertained clients at home, but when the kids lay awake half the night, or God forbid one of them fell ill, it drove him mad. In the end, he splashed out huge sums of money for caterers. He told me it meant I could avoid lifting a finger, even if it meant saving his business. As if it was my fault those get-rich-quick schemes of his fell flat.”
“I’m surprised you two lasted as long as you did,” said Gus.
“I wanted to make sure the kids were grown-up and independent. Once I was happy they would survive without the bank of Mum and Dad, I left him. I don’t think he noticed for a while.”
“What are your plans for later?” asked Gus.
“If you mean, after my divorce, the first thing is to sort out where I live. I’m renting a tiny cottage from my father at present. Monty has dozens in his portfolio, but no way could I move into one of those. Whether I can find something a little bigger, close to work that doesn’t break the bank, I’ll have to see.”
“I meant later today,” said Gus, “do you want to do something together this afternoon? Or will you be driving back to your cottage for the rest of the weekend?”
Vera stood up, walked across to his chair and took Gus by the hand.
“Come on, let’s go back to bed. We’ve waited long enough to break the ice. We could drive into the country for a drink and a meal early this evening. Then I’ll get off home to my bed. This is still new. I’m enjoying it too much to want to risk spoiling it. A little and often might be best.”
“I could have left those spare clothes in the car,” said Gus, as they reached the bedroom door.
“I hope that trip to my car and back didn’t exhaust you,” said Vera, “anyway, I’ll need something to wear tonight.”
Gus realised time was ticking. He should quit daydreaming and drive to the Old Police Station. The team had a morning’s work on the Mallinder case to get through first. Then this afternoon they would say goodbye to Frank North.
Cool, partly cloudy and a light breeze. What did Frank do to deserve this weather?
Gus’s drive through Devizes was pleasant this morning, for a change. The traffic flowed better than it had since he had started work again. Was this the Vera effect or was he wearing rose-coloured spectacles?
Gus couldn’t help recalling the events of Saturday afternoon and the cosy meal in a restaurant by the side of a canal afterwards. Everything had been perfect. Friday night’s urgency was in the past. A leisurely pursuit for mutual satisfaction took its place.
Vera had dropped him at the bungalow and then driven to her home on the other side of Devizes. They agreed to take things easy; they would both be busy in the coming weeks. Gus spent Sunday alone. He visited his allotment, and after an hour’s gardening, he sat and read for a while. When he returned to the bungalow, he considered the photographs dotted around. He didn’t want Tess hidden from view. She retained pride of place in the lounge and the hallway. He apologised to her as he removed her photo from their bedroom and placed it in the spare room. The guilt was still present but if weighed less now.
When Gus reached the Old Police Station, he found the rest of the team had reached the office ahead of him. They knew the score for today. Their outfits were in tune with the sombre occasion this afternoon
. What Stuart Fitzwalter might make of it was irrelevant.
“Good weekend, guv?” asked Neil.
“Quiet,” Gus replied, “what time was the Police Surgeon expected?”
“If you recall, I had to leave a message, guv. I invited Fitwalter to attend first thing.”
“We must hope that for Fitzwalter first thing isn’t late morning,”
Gus spotted the crutches laid on the floor beside Alex’s desk.
“Have you been practising over the weekend?” he asked.
“A little and often, guv,” Alex replied.
“Good,” said Gus, “my sentiments exactly.”
“I believe that’s our guest I can see on the CCTV, guv. Shall I go down in the lift and escort him up,” said Lydia.
“Perfect, now perhaps we can make progress,” said Gus.
Stuart Fitzwalter entered the CRT office and took in his surroundings. He was in his early fifties, sandy-haired and wore rimless spectacles. His clothes reminded Lydia of the care-worn lecturers from her student days.
They were just the right side of scruffy to pass for academic chic. Stuart's brown eyes flicked from person to person. When he spoke, Lydia realised he must have been born within a few miles of her foster home in Dundee.
“You asked me to pop in for a chat,” he said, “so, here I am. This place knocks spots off anywhere I’ve worked in before. As for my appearance, I can only apologise. The invitation didn’t mention wearing my best bib and tucker.”
“Don’t fret, Stuart,” said Gus, offering his hand. “We have a funeral to attend after lunch. The office, on the other hand, looks this good every day. I’m Gus Freeman. I was a DI before I retired, and I’m now a consultant leading this Crime Review Team. We need your input on the Laura Mallinder murder from June 2011. Grab a chair and let’s chat.”
“Laura Mallinder, yes, what a dreadful business. I hadn’t had to deal with anything like it. I thought I knew what I was letting myself in for when I switched from a country practice to assist the police. In my ignorance, I believed that a largely rural county such as Wiltshire suffered its share of accidental deaths on its roads and in various factories and farms. Brutal stabbings of young women statistically were supposed to be a once in a career occurrence in the county. Laura died within ten days of my move to Gablecross.”