by Ted Tayler
“What happened to your goodies?” asked Gus.
“I carried them back home,” said Kassie. “You just polished off one of them earlier.”
“Very nice too,” said Gus. “Ah, there you have it, Kassie. Rhys Evans doesn’t cook for himself. Put the word out among your friends. Find out where he ate, what he ordered, and start planning a menu. Rhys may not enjoy cakes, but he has to eat. Perhaps you can find another way to his heart.”
“No, it’s time to move on, Mr Freeman,” sighed Kassie. “For me, and you. Suzie will wonder what kept you. And the curtain twitched at number 73 just now. It wasn’t to be.”
“We’ll find Mr Right for you in due course, Kassie,” said Gus. “Well, now I’m up-to-date with your hot gossip, I’d better make tracks.”
“That wasn’t it, Mr Freeman,” said Kassie, grabbing Gus’s arm. “I was just catching you up with the latest disappointment in my love life. No, I went into Devizes later that night and met friends for drinks. I was on a mission. When we fell out of the last pub I remember going in, I saw that detective friend of yours. He was working with you for a while.”
“Rick Chalmers?” asked Gus. “He lives locally, I believe, and his marriage ended a while back. He’s another one who doesn’t cook for himself and exists on takeaways. Was he out with friends too?”
“One female friend, Mr Freeman,” said Kassie. “That’s why I was pleased to have this conversation alone. She hasn’t breathed a word about a change in her relationship status and doesn’t have a clue that I saw them together. My hot gossip concerned Rhys Yogi Evans as far as she knew.”
“Amelia Cranston,” said Gus. “She would be Rick’s type. I’m not surprised. That young lady doesn’t waste an opportunity to latch onto a detective that might further her prospects of joining the Crime Review Team.”
“Amelia? No, it wasn’t her, Mr Freeman. It was Vera Butler who was all over Rick Chalmers like a rash.”
“That’s a turn up for the books,” said Gus.
“I had such high hopes, Mr Freeman,” said Kassie, shaking her head. “Now, Vera’s followed your lead and grabbed a younger model.”
“Good for her,” said Gus. “Right, time for me to get to Urchfont.”
“Will you tell Suzie the news?” asked Kassie as she extricated herself from the car.
“You can’t keep secrets for long in this town, Kassie; you know that. Suzie will hear soon enough. Vera and I are history, and whoever your colleague sees is her business. How do you think Suzie would react if Vera’s love life were the first thing I mentioned when I got through the door?”
“I see what you mean, Mr Freeman. Least said, soonest mended. Do you ever listen to that radio?”
“Sorry? That was a sudden change of subject, Kassie. It works, but I don’t enjoy the music they play in between the verbal diarrhoea.”
“I love Ariana Grande,” said Kassie. “What do you listen to at home then, Mr Freeman?”
“Sister Rosetta Tharpe would be my first choice,” said Gus.
“What, a nun, the same as Mother Teresa?”
“Not a nun, Kassie,” said Gus. “They both wanted to light the light on those in darkness on the earth. So, yes, I suppose they were similar souls,” said Gus.
“You’ve lost me, Mr Freeman,” said Kassie Trotter as she closed the door.
“Yes, I rather thought I had,” said Gus as he started the car and headed home.
CHAPTER 4
Gus parked the Ford Focus next to Suzie’s GTI and looked at the radio. Had he ever used it for anything other than a check on the weather or road conditions? If so, he couldn’t recall when. His satnav was in the glove compartment to avoid it getting nicked, and on the odd occasion he plugged it in, he muted the annoying voice.
How could anyone carry on a sensible conversation if the radio was continually thumping away in the background? He preferred the quiet that enabled him to think without interference, or the opportunity to exchange opinions with a colleague on a case. When he travelled with Suzie, they chatted whenever there was something to say, but they were equally happy to travel in silence.
Car designers had a lot of explaining to do. Music should be appreciated ‘live’, not alone in metal, plastic, and glass bubbles. Gus knew it drove people mad. He’d seen the evidence many times as they passed him on the road, singing to themselves at the top of their voice.
Someone banging on the car roof shattered the silence.
“Are you ever coming indoors?” asked Suzie.
“Sorry,” said Gus, “Kassie had more stories to tell than I dreamed possible. She was so chatty that she forgot to give me that doggy bag she promised. Have you eaten?”
“I ate that salad I mentioned on the phone,” said Suzie. “It’s too warm to sit indoors. I’ve got a glass of Chardonnay in the back garden with your name on it. We can chat while you decide what you want for dinner.”
Gus trailed along behind Suzie as she walked past Tess’s climbing roses to the small patio at the rear of the bungalow. Suzie was right; this shady spot was ideal for the evening. Food could wait for an hour.
“How was your day?” asked Suzie.
Gus went through the Stacey Read case's final throes with her and the latest murder file the team had received from Kenneth Truelove. The Alan Duncan murder had occurred before Suzie’s time with the detective squad at London Road. Death on the county's northern border made the local newspapers for a day or two, but the trail went cold quickly, and the world moved on.
“It sounds a tricky problem,” she remarked. “What did Kassie Trotter have to say that was so urgent?”
“Kassie’s hopes of a wedding to a hunky rugby player appear to have faded fast,” said Gus. “Rhys Evans is more into yoga than sticky buns.”
“Poor Kassie,” said Suzie. “Have you decided what you’re eating yet?”
Gus went into the kitchen to check the fridge and the freezer. He wasn’t short of options, just time. While watching Suzie enjoying a second glass of white wine through the window, he spotted their list of essential telephone numbers next to the waffle maker. Gus ordered a pizza which the young girl assured him would arrive in thirty-five minutes. If he couldn’t eat the whole thing, he was sure Suzie would feel peckish later. Gus returned to the fridge and removed the second bottle of chilled Chardonnay, just in case.
Tuesday, 31st July 2018
When Gus drove away from the bungalow at eight-thirty, Suzie was behind him for a change. He was keen to get to the Old Police Station for the start of interviews on the Alan Duncan case. Suzie had lingered in the bathroom this morning. Gus had vague memories of days like that with Tess.
He had found it better not to pry. If there was anything to know, he heard about it when Tess was good and ready, and not before. He assumed Suzie would be the same. As they reached the London Road HQ, Gus looked in his rear-view mirror and gave her a wave. Suzie flashed her headlights before turning into the car park. Gus made a mental note to wait until Suzie spoke first tonight.
The Crime Review Team car park was busy. Blessing Umeh was reversing into a parking space under polite instruction from Neil Davis. Alex Hardy and Lydia were already upstairs because Lydia’s red Mini sat in a safe spot in the extreme left-hand bay.
Luke Sherman drove up and waited while Neil and Blessing completed the manoeuvre with no damage to Neil’s car or Blessing’s. Gus and Luke parked in the remaining bays and then joined the others by the lift doors.
“Blessing’s getting better, guv,” said Neil.
“Thank you, Neil,” said Blessing. “There’s no need to highlight my shortcomings.”
“Did you have any further thoughts on my last question yesterday, guys?” asked Gus as they travelled up in the lift.
“The money, guv?” said Neil. “I can’t make head nor tail of it yet.”
“Until we know more about Alan Duncan’s life, we can’t work it out, guv,” said Luke.
“What do you think, Blessing?” asked Gus.
“It seemed an odd amount, guv,” said the young Detective Constable.
“Exactly,” said Gus.
Neil and Luke exchanged a glance as the lift doors opened. Another of their boss’s cryptic remarks. What did it mean?
“We have thirty minutes before we’re due at Madeleine Telfer’s home,” said Gus. “How long will that take us at this time of the morning, Alex?”
“Twenty minutes, guv,” said Alex.
“Come on then, Lydia,” said Gus. “We’ll see whether your boyfriend is right. Let’s not keep Mrs Telfer hanging around.”
Gus and Lydia returned to the ground floor.
“Shall we take my car, guv?”
“Can you drive in those heels?”
“Fair comment. Alex drove us in from his house this morning.”
“I would have suggested I collected you from your place in Chippenham,” said Gus, “but I didn’t want to ask if you’d be at home.”
Lydia laughed.
“My place is on the Devizes side of Chippenham, guv. It would be perfect for you to have picked me up on the way to Cepen Park. I don’t know why we don’t just get rid of both places and find something big enough for both of us closer to the office.”
“That feels like a commitment, doesn’t it,” said Gus.
“We’re happy as we are, guv. I don’t see that changing. I think Alex wanted to keep his options open when you suspended him. That’s behind us now, and we’re looking forward to a future together. As long as we’re with the CRT, everything will be perfect.”
“I can’t control that one hundred percent, Lydia,” said Gus. “As long as the senior team at London Road continues to support us, then there shouldn’t be an issue. A new person at the top might prefer to move one of you into a different role. There’s still an old-fashioned view that couples can’t work together successfully.”
“Fingers crossed then, guv. I’m glad you had your satnav with you, guv,” said Lydia, “I wouldn’t have found Redwing Avenue so quickly. It’s a rabbit warren around here, isn’t it?”
“That must be Madeleine Telfer,” said Gus, “just parking her new Ford Kuga on the driveway. She’s moved upmarket since her days in that two-bedroomed semi in Biddestone village. I wonder what her husband does for a living.”
The lady of the house stood on her doorstep with key poised. Her hair and clothes looked immaculate, in keeping with her surroundings. Lydia had to remind herself that the woman was forty-three years old and had two young children.
“I’d better park on the road,” said Gus. “My beaten-up Ford will get an inferiority complex.”
“I don’t think Mrs Telfer wants you to sully her pristine driveway with your motor, anyway, guv, based on that look she gave us,” said Lydia.
Gus and Lydia walked up the short driveway to meet Madeleine Telfer.
“You’re the detectives I’m expecting, I presume?”
“We are, Mrs Telfer,” said Gus. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation indoors.”
Madeleine Telfer opened her front door, and a Bichon Frise puppy came bounding along the hallway. Lydia prevented its escape, and once the door was closed behind them, Madeleine dragged the puppy into the kitchen.
“Monty will keep yapping and making a nuisance of himself,” she said. “Please, come through to the lounge.”
Lydia wasn’t surprised at the layout of the main living room. It matched a high percentage of rooms they visited, focusing on a giant screen on the wall, and plenty of comfortable seating.
Madeleine Telfer sat in a chair by the mock fireplace with her hands together in her lap. Lydia sensed a slight tension in her manner. Old memories, perhaps.
“My name is Freeman,” said Gus. “My colleague, Ms Logan Barre, and I work with a Crime Review Team for Wiltshire Police. No unsolved murder case is ever closed. It’s a decade since the original team failed to find out who murdered your partner, Alan Duncan. We hope to have more success.”
“It’s been so long,” said Madeleine. “So much has changed. I’ll never forget Alan, or what happened to him, but surely, if there were leads to discover they would have found them at the time? What is there that you can do, apart from using advances in DNA to re-analyse the evidence they gathered? Not that they had much of that in the first place.”
“We ask questions that didn’t get asked in the original investigation,” said Lydia. “There’s always something that comes to light.”
Gus smiled to himself. In a few words, Lydia had achieved plenty. She had confirmed once more why he valued her contribution to the team so highly, and Madeleine Telfer’s reaction proved that she had a secret. How important that would be in solving the ten-year-old mystery or not remained to be seen.
“Your accent suggests you weren’t born in this part of the country, Mrs Telfer,” said Gus.
“Call me Maddy, please, everybody does,” she replied. “My family lived in a village outside Leeds. The Yorkshire accent has softened over twenty-five years, but I’ll never lose it altogether, Mr Freeman.”
“You moved to Chippenham when you were eighteen, is that right?” asked Lydia.
“I left school at sixteen, and had three firms I worked for close on me in the next eighteen months. When the unemployment rate hit ten percent, I decided that there was nothing for me up North. I came here and was fortunate to get a job at the call centre.”
“That was the company at Bumper’s Farm?” asked Gus.
“That’s right,” said Maddy. “I loved it there, great colleagues, and although there was a high turnover of staff, and pay wasn’t much to write home about, a handful of us stuck it out because we became friends.”
“Friends such as Anna Phillips,” said Lydia.
“We’re still mates today,” said Maddy. “Anna and her husband, Wayne, live nearby.”
“In Woodpecker Mews,” said Lydia. “Yes, we’re aware of where they live.”
“Why did you choose Chippenham?” asked Gus. “Did you know someone here, or have a relative living in the area, perhaps?”
“I didn’t know anyone,” said Maddy, looking at her hands in her lap. “My relatives lived in Yorkshire.”
“A daunting prospect for a young woman to leave home and travel two hundred miles to a strange town. What was your family’s reaction when you said you were leaving home? Did you apply for the call centre job before you left Leeds, or was it a necessity after you found yourself somewhere to stay? Talk us through that if you will.”
“I wanted my independence, Mr Freeman,” said Maddy. “You must have met eighteen-year-olds that have left home in search of a new beginning. There doesn’t have to be an ulterior motive.”
“Did the detectives ask about your family ten years ago, Maddy?” asked Lydia.
“Why should they? It was Alan who died. I’m not close to my parents or my brother and sister. We don’t live in each other’s pocket like some families. We have our lives to lead.”
“The grandchildren must have made a difference,” said Gus.
“I send photos of Oliver and Emily to my parents with their Christmas card. Chris is too busy with work to take time off to drive up there. They wouldn’t expect it, anyway.”
“What does your husband do for a living?” asked Gus.
“He’s a successful property developer,” replied Maddy. Lydia thought it was the most animated she’d been since they arrived.
“The file we received from the original investigation told us everything we needed to know about how you and Alan met,” said Gus. “How long had you lived in Chippenham before you got together?”
“Three years,” said Maddy.
“Did you meet anyone else in those three years?” asked Gus.
“No, I didn’t,” said Maddy.
Lydia noticed Maddy’s hands clasped together tightly, and her knuckles white. They should keep probing. There was something there.
“Did you have an unpleasant experience in Leeds?” she asked. “Was th
at what caused you to run away from home?”
“I didn’t run away,” said Maddy, her voice raised. “That’s not what I said. I told you I decided to leave. I wanted to go it alone, and I did.”
“There must have been a few disappointed young men here in town,” said Gus. “You’re an attractive woman, Maddy. Was there a particular reason you turned them down?”
“I don’t remember,” said Maddy.
Gus knew she was lying. He’d carried out a thousand interviews like this one.
Maddy Telfer didn’t kill Alan Duncan. He was sure of that, and despite the passage of time, people remembered all manner of details. A good copper knows when they’re telling the truth. A sure sign that they’re lying is when they say they don’t know, or can’t remember.
“We’ll return to that, Maddy,” said Gus. “What did you do when Alan went running on Wednesday evenings?”
“I did the housework, watched TV shows Alan didn’t enjoy. It was only for a couple of hours.”
“You never left the house? Why not drive into Chippenham or Corsham?”
“Why? There was nothing I needed. My social life was with Alan.”
“Was that the same on Saturdays when Wayne Phillips came over to Biddestone to take Alan away for the afternoon? Did that not concern you?”
“Not you too,” said Maddy. “The papers hinted Alan was gay, just because he used to be in the Navy. It’s not compulsory, you know.”
“I didn’t give it a second thought, Maddy,” said Gus. “I just wondered whether you suspected Alan and Wayne were seeing other women.”
“Anna would have known, so would I. Neither of them could cheat like that. It was the cycling they enjoyed. I was happy that they got on. Anna and I were already friends. It was a relief that our partners had become good mates.”
“How long did Wayne and Alan know one another before you met?” asked Lydia.
“Several months, I believe. You would need to ask Wayne. Alan never told me a date. He just said they met through a love of cycling.”