by Ted Tayler
“Right, at least we know where to find them if we need them,” said Gus. “Although I can’t see that they can offer us anything at present. Blessing, can you call Maddy Telfer, please?”
“I tried her number as soon as we got upstairs, guv,” said Blessing, “but no reply. The school run is almost over. I can try again later, or do you want to speak to her?”
“Leave it to me, Blessing,” said Gus. “those photographs have given me an idea.”
Gus waited until after four o’clock, and then he made the call.
“Maddy, it’s Gus Freeman from the Crime Review Team. Can you spare me two minutes?”
“I suppose so, what is it you need to know?”
“We visited Bob and Elizabeth Duncan this afternoon. Bob mentioned Alan's photograph with a group of his colleagues taken when they were in Hong Kong. Can you recall it?”
“Yes, they had several photos on display in various parts of the living room, dining room, and hallway. Why do you ask?”
“Bob hadn’t seen that photo since before Alan died. He thought Alan might have taken it to work, to put on the desk in his office. I know it was a long time ago, but can you remember when you saw it last?”
“Now you’re asking,” Mr Freeman,” said Maddy. “I’ve got photos in our home that I walk past a dozen times every day. I’d spot if someone moved them, but I can’t swear that I’d notice if one disappeared. They become part of the furniture, well, you know what I mean.”
“I do, Maddy,” said Gus. “Can you at least recall who was in the photo?”
“The only one I knew was Alan,” said Maddy. “The other four were on the same submarine. Bob said he’d written their names on the back, but I never took the photo out of the frame to check. Why would I? I didn’t know them from Adam.”
“I understand,” said Gus. “What about a brief description?”
“Three of them were Alan’s age. The man standing next to Alan was tall, well over six feet, with dark hair, possibly mid-forties. The next guy was the shortest, perhaps five feet six inches, with ginger hair, and freckles. Then there was the heaviest one, blond hair, cut short. He was five feet, nine inches. The last guy was closer to six feet, well-muscled, crewcut, dark hair.”
“Any distinguishing marks?” asked Gus.
“Terrible Hawaiian shirts,” said Maddy, “apart from that, nothing dramatic. No large tattoos that I could see. I’m sorry, I’m not much help, am I?”
“Never mind,” said Gus. “I have another question. On the Friday before Alan’s funeral, you dropped a box into Elizabeth. Can you remember what it contained?”
“Oh, that was a box of rubbish from the factory. Alan’s ex-boss drove out to Biddestone one evening and told me that Alan had collected his bits and pieces together from the office and in his hurry to leave, he must have forgotten it. The cleaner found it on a chair beside his desk.”
“Can you remember when that was?” asked Gus.
“Friday, two days after Alan died. I was in no fit state to deal with it then. I spent the weekend with Anna and Wayne, and it went clean out of my head. A week later, I suddenly realised I still had it. I couldn’t see any reason to keep it, so I had put it into the boot of my car on Monday morning. In the end, it was Friday before I remembered to drive to Corsham and gave it to his Mum. I thought it might have sentimental value.”
“It wasn’t all rubbish,” said Gus. “We found the names and addresses of Alan’s friends. Maybe the men in that Happy Valley photo.”
“That’s interesting,” said Maddy. “I expect Bob will want to write to them. He didn’t have the opportunity at the time. Do you know? Running through that photo's details just now, I remember commenting on those shirts when we were with Bob and Elizabeth the Sunday before Alan died. I glanced towards the place where it usually stood, and it had gone. Alan asked his Dad a question on a different subject, and I never got the chance to ask Elizabeth why she moved it.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Gus. “What was it about Happy Valley that made it so important? Or was it one of the men in the photo? Could they have been the person Wayne said they saw by the pond on Saturday afternoon?”
“I do not know, Mr Freeman,” said Maddy. “Was there anything else? I need to get the children’s tea before Chris gets home.”
“We won’t keep you much longer, Maddy,” said Gus. “It didn’t take my team long to discover your true identity, Jenny. You changed your name from Jennifer Forsyth to Madeleine Mills when you escaped Marsden and Kyle Ellison. We established yesterday that Ellison had a motive to kill your partner. We haven’t checked yet if he had the opportunity. I agree that your husband, Chris, would have been in danger if Ellison was the aggressor. We’ll move on to other potential leads once we’ve confirmed that Ellison had an alibi for the time of Alan’s murder.”
“I don’t want my original name to come out, Mr Freeman,” said Maddy.
“There’s no reason for us to tell anybody that you changed your name, Maddy,” said Gus. “I presume Chris does not know?”
“No, he doesn’t,” said Maddy. “Nor did Alan. Anna and Wayne only ever knew me as Maddy Mills. I told you I wanted to leave my old life behind me.”
Maddy Telfer ended the call. Gus sat and thought for a while.
“That sounded useful, guv,” said Blessing.
“What did I learn?” asked Gus. “The box with the pocket diary left the factory on Friday afternoon, and Alan’s former boss took it to Biddestone. Maddy told us everything was a blur for the first four or five days after the murder. She spent the weekend with Anna, got home on Monday morning and thought she would let Alan’s parents have the few personal items that were in that box. Maddy says she forgot the box until Friday and delivered it to Elizabeth. Alan’s mother was distraught at the loss of her only child, so she put the box in a cupboard under the stairs and forgot it.”
“The timing is perfect, guv,” said Blessing. “Bob Duncan went to work on Monday and learned that Alan quit his job. He called Maddy on Monday evening, and she notified the police. DI Banks and DS Tallentire had already interviewed Maddy and Alan’s parents on Thursday and Friday. When they discovered the money, the box was outside in Maddy’s car. If they talked with Bob and Elizabeth the same day, or the day after, Elizabeth wouldn’t have realised the pocket diary's possible significance. When Banks and Tallentire spoke to Alan’s ex-boss and his work colleagues, why would anyone mention the box of miscellaneous items? It was like that trick that conjurers used to do on TV.”
“Which cup is the ball under?” said Gus. “Yes, the trick is to move the ball without the audience seeing it. Each party involved acted in total innocence in this particular matter. I can’t attach blame to anyone, certainly not Banks and Tallentire. It is what it is, but we can still take advantage of the diary and any secrets it contains.”
“Did Blessing miss anything, guv?” asked Neil Davis.
“I wouldn’t blame either of you for not picking it up, Neil,” said Gus. “I summarised the conversation, which allowed Blessing to complete the timeline for the shoebox. However, I didn’t include a sharp intake of breath in my summary.”
“When you told her we’d found her family, guv,” said Lydia.
“Exactly, Lydia. Mrs Telfer is anxious that her past doesn’t get resurrected.”
“That’s only natural, isn’t it, guv?” said Alex. “Kyle Ellison stalked Maddy and assaulted her.”
“Do we have a current address for Kyle Ellison?” asked Gus. “Check whether he has an alibi for Wednesday the twenty-eighth of May 2008. If he has, then we move on and let sleeping dogs lie.”
CHAPTER 6
Gus arrived back at the bungalow just before half-past five. He parked his Focus next to Suzie’s Golf and went indoors.
“How did the interviews go?”
“Productive, for a change,” said Gus. “We uncovered information that escaped the original investigation.”
“Oh, that doesn’t sound g
ood,” said Suzie. “Who dropped the ball?”
Gus explained why it wasn’t anyone’s fault. The box had moved just before the police arrived to carry out an interview or was in the boot of the victim’s partner's car. Maddy Mills, as she was then, was never a suspect. She still wasn’t.
“You can’t say Madeleine is entirely unconnected to the murder, Gus,” said Suzie. “She may not have murdered Duncan, or arranged for someone to do it for her, but if Kyle Ellison acted in a jealous rage, then their abusive relationship was the catalyst.”
“I agree with Maddy’s assessment,” said Gus. “If Ellison still professed undying love for her, four years after she ran away from Marsden, then Chris Telfer would have become his next target.”
“So, what do you think happened?”
“I haven’t worked it out yet,” said Gus. “From the outset, I’ve struggled to explain why a bright, intelligent girl went into hiding in Chippenham. We now know her true identity. I can travel to Leeds and interview four people. Her parents, Dave and Mary Forsyth, her brother Darren, and Kyle Ellison. Perhaps that will provide the answer.”
“How significant is that missing photograph?” asked Suzie.
“Alan removed it for a reason. I mulled that over in the car as I drove home. There were four men in the photo with Alan. If we can match names from the backs of the other photos in the Duncan home, then one of those four could have been the man Wayne Phillips saw waving at Alan by the pond in the village. Now that we have the pocket diary, we can contact each of Alan’s friends and interview them. Do you know what struck me as I drove into Urchfont?”
“That low-hanging branch near the Lamb Inn?”
“No,” said Gus, “If we can still identify everyone from the other photos in the house, then one person in the Happy Valley holiday snap is making his only appearance. Wayne was right. Alan recognised the man. Who knows, maybe the old friend had put in an appearance in Biddestone earlier that same week. We’ll never know. There’s just one thing bothering me.”
“Go on,” said Suzie.
“Wayne Phillips described the man by the pond as being of medium height, and medium build, with a crewcut. He was fair-skinned, in his late thirties, or early forties. I must remember to ask Alex Hardy to check hair colour with Wayne in the morning. It doesn’t gel. Two guys in the picture who had crewcuts back then were six-footers and had dark hair. One guy would be too old, we can rule out the redhead, and the blond fellow was heavily built and fair-haired.”
“Perhaps it was the man holding the camera?” suggested Suzie.
“That could be a brilliant suggestion, Suzie,” said Gus. “We need to match faces in the photos to names in the diary. Those ex-colleagues should be able to fill in the gaps. One of them will remember whether a member of the gang took that photo, or if they grabbed a fellow tourist to take the picture.”
“I aim to please,” said Suzie.
“Those conversations could prove valuable in solving my other problem,” said Gus. “Why did Alan Duncan follow a similar path to his partner and lie low in a small firm in Corsham when he was capable of so much more.”
“Love is blind?” suggested Suzie.
“Maddy Mills lived in Chippenham for ages before she met Alan Duncan,” said Gus. “She was hiding from Kyle Ellison. Alan left the Navy in a hurry, came home, and took a nothing job which his father arranged for him. It was to fill in while his son searched for something better. Perhaps Alan Duncan had no intention of finding a better job. He was happy to remain anonymous, like Maddy. Remember how they met? They got introduced thanks to Maddy’s friend, Anna Phillips. Without her intervention, would the pair have ever met? Maddy told us she had had no social life since heading south. Alan’s parents couldn’t recall their son having a girlfriend before leaving for his officer training stint in Dartmouth. No, I think when those two got together, there was an innate recognition of a kindred spirit.”
“Does that even exist, Gus?” asked Suzie. “I thought opposites attract.”
“When I read that book by Kierkegaard after Tess’s death, it encouraged me to look for other authors who might explain my feelings. I hung onto the copy of Tess’s old book and stored it in my shed at the allotment because it somehow kept my memory of her alive. You might find several other books on similar philosophical subjects in the spare bedroom. Kindred spirits are like-minded people who experience an instant connection of love and understanding. People who share common interests, values, or world views might get described as kindred spirits. From what I read in the murder file, Maddy said that as soon as Alan Duncan arrived at Anna’s leaving party with Wayne Phillips, she was ‘immediately drawn’ to him. The couple rarely spent more twenty-four hours apart over the next four years.”
“I’m not sure that’s healthy,” said Suzie. “We need our space, don’t we? I try to persuade you to come riding with me, but I know it will not happen deep down. I escape for half a day, even though I don’t want to escape. Does that make sense?”
“Of course it does, darling,” said Gus. “We have common interests because of our jobs. The vast majority of people who join the police have the same values and world views. We spend a large percentage of our time involved in our particular roles within policing. Still, when we come together at home, we have a wide range of topics of conversation where our opinions differ to fill our leisure time.”
“So we’re not kindred spirits then,” said Suzie.
“When I’m around you, I feel calmer,” said Gus. “Now, that could be because my spirit has realised that you know and understand me. I remember when we first met, on the day we arrested Leonard Pemberton-Smythe. You gave me a lift back to London Road.”
“And I was rude about your Ford Focus,” said Suzie. “I told you that my Dad used to have one years ago. Yet, you still asked Geoff Mercer to call me when you needed an extra pair of eyes to check on what was going on above Cambrai Terrace.”
“You agreed to drive over,” said Gus, “and accepted my invitation to lunch. Why did I ask? I felt as if I knew you right away. As if we’d always known one another. You sat here in this room flicking through my vinyl collection that same afternoon and didn’t laugh out loud.”
“I can see where this is heading,” said Suzie. “I remember looking through those albums the other evening, and it surprised me to find you hadn’t separated them into ‘yours’ and ‘mine’. That the albums I brought with me from home were mixed in with yours gave me a warm feeling. Do you think that was what it was like for Maddy Mills and Alan Duncan?”
“I don’t know enough about the pair to comment on that yet,” said Gus, “but one thing suggests they were experts at hiding their true selves. Maddy had already hidden her past by changing her name. Alan knew nothing of that. What did you make of the collection of shoeboxes in the spare bedroom?”
“Alan would have had several pairs of trainers. He was a runner, so that’s only natural. As a cyclist, he probably had more than one pair of shoes for that pursuit, too. The boxes offered a convenient hiding place for the cash he’d withdrawn from the bank, but why do you think they were significant?”
“Maddy didn’t run; neither did she cycle, yet she didn’t complain about the clutter in that spare bedroom. When Lydia and I visited Maddy’s new home in Chippenham, it was spotless, despite their two young children.”
“Which suggests that Maddy was happy to ignore her partner’s idiosyncrasies in a quest for maintaining her anonymity.”
“I knew it, we do think alike,” grinned Gus.
“Do you know what my Mum said to me?” asked Suzie. “She took me to one side the day we went to Worton to collect my things. She wished us every happiness and was glad that I’d found my soul mate.”
“Ah, now I’m on more familiar ground,” said Gus, “because soul mates can differ from each other. Kindred spirits are birds of a feather, while soul mates are more a case of opposites attract. You referred to that earlier. I think we’re more soul mates than kindred
spirits. One book I read described kindred spirits as co-conspirators. I didn’t understand what that meant until I started working on this case. Maddy and Alan both had secrets buried in their past that they would do anything to keep hidden. Something in their make-up drew them together. They interpreted the ease that existed between them as love. Maybe they should have remained friends. We know part of Maddy’s buried secret. In the days or weeks to come, I hope to discover Alan’s secret. Until we dig up full details of both, we won’t find Alan’s killer. I’m convinced of that.”
“You do have a busy time ahead of you,” said Suzie. “Why don’t we walk to the Lamb and eat there tonight?”
“That sounds a plan, Suzie,” said Gus. “If either of our friends is around they’ll steer the conversation onto more mundane topics. I’ve dragged you into enough philosophical analysis of relationships for one evening.”
“We’re good, though, aren’t we?” asked Suzie. “Whether we’re soul mates or kindred spirits?”
Gus could only think of one way to convince Suzie that everything was fine. They made it to the Lamb just before nine o’clock. Brett Penman met them by the door.
“I thought you two might have been at the allotment this evening,” he said. “I dropped by to invite you here for a drink. I start work in Wootton Bassett tomorrow. The rest of the gang are here already; I popped home to change.”
“We haven’t eaten yet,” said Suzie. “Things got away from us, and time has flown. We’ll grab a bite to eat and join you as soon as we can.”
Brett led them inside. His grandfather wasn’t in his usual seat at the bar, but Gus could hear his voice.
“You order, Suzie,” said Gus, “my usual soul food. I’ll just say hello to Bert, Irene, and the Reverend.”