Fatal Decision

by Ted Tayler

  One consolation was that he was good at those things. He would find the truth in these pages, look deeply into the eyes of witnesses and suspects and learn their secrets. The blood pumping in his veins once more. The hunt would be on. He’d missed that buzz.

  Not much had changed in the paperwork he found inside. Most of it was familiar to him. When this murder first hit the headlines, he’d been farting about with a dispute between neighbours over a boundary fence that escalated to a fight. Not just the husbands but the wives joined in too.

  It was clear from the contents of the folder that Culverhouse suffered like so many before him. He couldn’t let the case go, probably kept returning to it even though his superiors wanted his total concentration on something more pressing. Good coppers dreaded a case like Daphne Tolliver’s. One they couldn’t solve.

  For at least five years it had eaten away at Culverhouse, keeping him awake at nights. The very fact he’d arranged a reconstruction of the murder five years on proved that. It was true reconstructions were well-suited to a TV programme such as Crimewatch. It made good television. Although the public swallowed the idea that they were a good thing, Freeman always thought it smacked of desperation. All avenues have been exhausted. Let’s dress a WPC as the victim and see if anyone remembers seeing her. Gus wasn’t a fan.

  He noted one fresh item teased from the memories of the good townsfolk as a result of the broadcast. A birdwatcher saw Daphne with her dog chatting to another man twenty minutes before she died. However, there didn’t appear to be any progress in identifying that person. The additional clue didn’t form part of the reconstruction, so the man’s memory wouldn’t have been jogged. Even if he watched the programme he might not have come forward. There were a dozen reasons for that eventuality.

  Nevertheless, it was naive to accept an eyewitness’s opinion that the couple knew one another, therefore everything was alright between them. They may have looked to be chatting amicably but one wrong word could have flicked a switch in the other man’s brain. The graphic images of the victim suggested she suffered a sustained and vicious attack. Whoever she met in that clearing was hell-bent on stopping her from living to tell the tale of what was said or what was seen. Gus reckoned the identity of the unknown man was a line of enquiry worth pursuing.

  If he was to be involved. Did his superiors really need his old-style policing methods, or had the request come out of pity? Did they plan to occupy his mind with fruitless digging into age-old cases the best young brains failed to crack?

  Darker clouds crept across the sky and dusk wrapped a chill hand around his shoulder. It was time to tidy up, lock the shed and make his way home. A single malt with his name on it sat indoors and enough time for a last review of the case notes.

  He would sleep on it. The ACC gave him twenty-four hours to come to a decision. He needed every second.

  Thursday, 29th March 2018

  Gus Freeman slept late. He had read through the thick folder once again. The ACC was right. They needed to find the person responsible. Daphne Tolliver didn’t have an enemy in the world until that evening. Gus was unconvinced by any suggestion in the newspaper article that a serial killer had struck in the area. His nose told him it was someone local, and that Daphne was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her killer had a secret they would do anything to protect. That narrowed the field.

  The temperature struggled to reach double figures by lunchtime and a stiff breeze helped the passing clouds scud across the sky. The rain was only hours away. The only consolation being the breeze which would usher the showers on to the next county within the hour.

  Gus considered what might happen if he accepted the ACC’s offer this afternoon. Would they ask him to start work as early as next Monday? Were his two officers and the graduate already poised to join him? Surely, they couldn’t have recruited people when he had given no sign that he was keen.

  Did Geoff Mercer have someone else in the wings ready to grab the role if he refused it? That was more his style. No doubt he had a mate from the funny handshake brigade. He’d heard the rumours.

  There was little doubt the police service was now far more inclusive and diverse. The Freemasons was an organisation for men, which was inconsistent with the values and reality of the modern police service. That had been the most significant factor in reducing the influence of the secret organisation to the margins in recent years.

  Female officers continued to complain reform was blocked by members of the Masons, and their influence in the service continued to thwart their progress. People from black and minority ethnic communities also agitated for greater representation. They accused Masons in the police of covering up for fellow members and favouring them for promotion over more talented, non-Mason officers.

  Since Gus retired the Police Federation passed new rules on how it ran itself. These new rules aimed to end the fact its key senior officials were white and predominantly male. The new regulations meant Freemasons leading to an old boys’ network were much less likely in the future. That still didn’t preclude Geoff Mercer pulling a fast one and helping one of his brethren.

  Their paths crossed over the years. Gus thought him to be a candidate for an OBE. No matter what type of case he supervised the rest of his team put in the hard yards and Mercer always managed to take the plaudits from the top brass. He’d tried it on with Gus on one occasion when their teams ran a joint operation involving a gang of ram-raiders that terrorised half the county for several months.

  “Excuse me, Geoff,” he’d said, elbowing the Detective Inspector aside as the press rushed to interview them outside the Swindon County Court, “you can’t expect to get the glory for other buggers’ efforts.”

  The pompous ass had drifted away like a deflated balloon. A lot of water had flowed under the bridge since then. Mercer wouldn’t have forgotten it though and others congratulated Gus at the time for taking the chancer down a peg. That would have hurt him and possibly slowed his progress for a while.

  Perhaps that was why the ACC was so quick to remind him Mercer was now a senior officer and he needed to give him the respect his rank deserved. Geoff had certainly climbed further up the greasy pole than Gus ever managed. No doubt, he had help, based on Gus’s assessment of his capabilities.

  Gus clung on to the ACC’s promise that the teams reporting to Mercer were free to run things as they saw fit. They suffered no interference from above. If Gus wrapped up a case or two in short order, Mercer wouldn’t have an opportunity to get his own back. This afternoon promised to be fun.

  The morning was slipping away from him. The Community Shop next to The Lamb could cater to his basic needs over the coming days. His freezers were well-stocked. He wouldn’t starve. Gus ran the hoover around the rooms and dusted where he thought it was needed most. He lifted the lid of the laundry basket. Not enough in there to warrant putting on a wash until the weekend.

  He thought back to yesterday. He automatically threw on the same clothes again this morning. Well, on any normal day he would potter in the garden, or at the allotment. It wasn’t a fashion parade. Staff in the local shop didn’t bat an eyelid if he strolled in wearing his gardening clothes. They’d seen more bizarre sights. Mrs Ida Lubbock popped across the road for a pint of gold top milk one morning in her nightie. It left nothing to the imagination. They kept a close eye on her at the care home now, in case she got the urge to wander.

  Gus stripped off his sweater, shirt and trousers. They were grubby, with a lingering odour of Eau de Bonfire.

  “Sod it, I might as well do the lot,” he muttered, and a pair of socks and his underwear joined the growing pile. “The question is, can I find something to wear?”

  Tess bought most of his clothes. Gus wouldn’t have chosen some of it, which explained why so much of it looked nearly new when he opened the wardrobe door. There seemed an awful lot of it. His suits were tucked away on the left-hand side. After he retired, he vowed never to wear one again except to a funeral. Little did he know
.

  The few items he enjoyed wearing were straight ahead. It made sense to have them readily available. Items like the pink shirt, the polo neck jumper and the mustard-coloured cardigan were as far from the centre as possible. He’d been forced to wear them at least once to avoid upsetting Tess’s feelings. His hand hovered over the familiar shirts and trousers, deciding which sweater to choose.

  “Do I want to impress them?” he asked himself, “they wouldn’t have thought much of my appearance yesterday.”

  Gus stood in his clean underwear and socks. Time for a change. The pink shirt might look good with his navy blue suit. Tess had sent his suits to the dry-cleaners before storing them away in zip-up garment bags. He found the trousers tight on the waist but then he remembered the extender button that offered a half-inch relaxation. Ah, joy of joys, he’d be able to sit without being cut in half. Where did Tess hide his ties? A rummage around in a few drawers produced the navy blue one he needed to complete the ensemble.

  He ran a hand through his hair and risked inspecting the results in the full-length mirror on the inside of Tess’s wardrobe door. What would Vera the Vampire make of him in a suit? Was this what this dress-up malarkey was for?

  “I thought we agreed that we didn’t need complications?” he asked his reflection.

  He couldn’t go in stockinged feet. Did he still have a pair of proper shoes? Gus hunted through the bottom of his wardrobe and located a pair of lace-up shoes, black, size ten. He was suited and booted.

  He looked at his feet. The shoes had been in the cupboard since Tess’s funeral. He never needed anything smart. They were dusty and lacked any real shine. Gus couldn’t remember whether he had any shoe polish in the house. He would never have thought to buy any.

  “I’ve made enough of an effort for one day. Time to return to my inner rebel.”

  With that, he shone his shoes on the back of his trouser legs. Sorted.

  The drive into Devizes was more eventful than yesterday. The first of the heavy rain showers met him head-on as he passed the town’s football ground in Nursteed Road. When he arrived at the junction to join the A361 the traffic was threading its way past a broken-down oil tanker opposite The Crammer.

  A glance at his watch told him he’d make it with minutes to spare if he was as lucky finding a parking space as yesterday. As soon as he pulled off the main road and looked through the trees at the available parking spaces in front of the main building, his heart sank. Not a gap to be seen.

  Up ahead, a bright yellow sports car was reversing. An Alfa Romeo 4C Spider Convertible no less. Gus had seen it here yesterday and wondered which of the top brass was trying to recapture his youth. At least the numpty hadn’t left the top down. There was nothing worse than driving in a sports car when your arse was in a puddle, so they told him. He would never have fifty grand to splash out on even a 2015 version of the big banana, anyway. So he had to take their word for it.

  Gus waited for the car to leave enough room for him to pass and grab the vacant spot. Geoff Mercer would be tapping his watch and tutting now. Gus was impatient. He wanted to get into the building. What did the numpty want now? Instead of driving towards the exit the car stopped and the driver’s side window lowered with a movement as smooth as silk.

  It wasn’t a fifty-year-old boy racer, Gus realised. It was Vera the Vampire. She wanted to speak to him.

  Gus prayed his window would lower without sticking or dropping of its own volition. Just one of the innovative design extras Ford hadn’t intended to be released on an unsuspecting public.

  “It might be a tight squeeze,” she said, breathlessly.

  Vera had encouraged him to park in her space.

  He knew he had a stupid grin on his face caused by her innocent remark. Gus straightened his tie in case she didn’t notice the improvement in his appearance. He had to do something to distract her attention and get rid of the indecent image he himself enjoyed.

  “You look very smart. Good luck this afternoon. Bye.”

  With that, Vera left. The Alfa was out of the car park and halfway into the town centre before Gus edged his ageing Ford Focus into her parking space.

  A different young officer manned the Reception desk today. Gus signed in and waved his Visitors Pass at him, then bounded up the stairs two at a time. He was out of breath when he stood outside the ACC’s door, but he gathered himself and knocked before entering. Truelove stood by the window again. Gus wondered whether he witnessed the exchange between him and Vera.

  “Sorry, I’m a minute or two late, boss,”

  “Mercer couldn’t make it until a quarter past two, no rush,” replied the ACC.

  Gus Freeman sighed and sat. Typical.

  “Mrs Jennings has the afternoon off today. Young Kassie will serve our refreshments this afternoon. With a K, if you please. Whatever happened to normal first names, Freeman, eh?”

  Gus couldn’t care less about how she spelled her name. All he could think of was Mrs Jennings.

  Call yourself a copper? How did you not notice a bloody wedding ring? Of course, she’d be married. Nobody in their right mind would leave Vera on the shelf.

  What a prize prune he must look in this suit and a pink shirt. Dressed up like a dog’s dinner.

  CHAPTER 5

  Somewhere in the background, Gus heard the door open and voices.

  “Ah, you’ve arrived, Geoff. Let’s get the formalities over with and get cracking.”

  The Superintendent’s physical appearance hadn’t altered over the years, He still resembled a balloon.

  “Welcome back, Freeman,” said Mercer.

  Gus shook the small, sweaty hand that snaked out from the corpulent body. A memory of an image of one of the Mr Men entered his head. Not a great start.

  “Thank you, Sir,” Gus replied. No point in antagonising the bloke.

  “I’ve explained the way this Crime Review Team is designed to function, Geoff. Freeman has the documentation required to get the ball rolling. When we met yesterday, we agreed that he could mull over the proposal overnight and inform us today whether he was happy to accept the consultancy role.”

  “What do you think of the set-up, Freeman?” asked Superintendent Mercer, “is it something you could manage? I appreciate you’ve been out of the loop for a while. Things have changed in the intervening period. Your operating procedures may need to be reassessed. The officers we’ve chosen to help you are experts in what is acceptable language and what’s not.”

  “I believe I’ve always known what’s what, Sir,” replied Gus.

  He cursed himself for the comment sounding abrupt.

  The ACC had moved away from the window and sat in his executive chair. Mercer remained standing. The reason for this was clear. If he had sat in the chair beside Truelove, it would be tricky to see the short-arse over the family photographs adorning the ACC’s desk.

  “Play nicely, you two,” said the ACC, “I hope we can move on from the issues you had when you were both serving detectives. There are victims involved in these cold cases who deserve our very best attention. Let’s consign the petty squabbling to the past.”

  “That’s fine by me,” said Gus, “I can see where you were coming from on this Tolliver case. Whoever was responsible needs to be caught.”

  “So, does this mean we have a green light to proceed with setting up the team?” asked Truelove.

  “It does,” said Gus, “but there’s the odd issue I need to resolve first. For instance, how much time will I need to commit?”

  “A cold case is far different from a live investigation, Freeman. The way I see things, your team would work normal office hours, five days a week. If you felt you needed to step outside a basic nine to five, you just clear the overtime with me first. We’re running a tight ship.”

  “Superintendent Mercer will be your immediate superior, as I explained,” said the ACC. “I suggest he shows you around the Hub later. You can see for yourself where a large percentage of your information will b
e generated. This consultancy role will differ from your previous experience. Less stressful, I hope, but just as satisfying. In the old days, you both worked a hundred hours a week and had no idea when you would get home. When you ate a meal without the phone ringing…”

  With that, the phone rang. The ACC answered.

  “I thought I said to hold my calls, Kassie?”

  The conversation was brief. When it ended, he replaced the phone and stood.

  “The Chief Constable and the Police and Crime Commissioner wish me to join them at once. The balloon’s gone up somewhere.”

  He’s stood just beside you, thought Gus.

  “I’ll get Kassie to bring through the refreshments. I may be a while. Geoff, I suggest you carry on with Freeman’s list of issues. Once they’re resolved, if everyone’s happy, then perhaps the team can become operational from Monday week. Is that achievable?”

  Truelove stood by the door waiting for a reply.

  The two men still eyed one another with caution.

  “Provided this list isn’t too long, I believe we can make it happen,” said Mercer, smiling at Gus for the first time. It was disconcerting.

  The ACC left the door open. A chubby teenager wheeled a tea trolley into the room. Kassie Trotter was unlike any clerk Gus had ever seen when he was a serving officer. Kassie’s right arm bore a full-sleeve tattoo from the shoulder to the wrist. The intricate design in a myriad of colours featured Japanese dragons and stylised flowers and foliage. The sleeveless black vest she wore made it easy to see it in all its glory. Her black jeans fitted where they touched. One side of her head was shaved and the remaining mane of black hair tinted electric blue at the tips.

  “Do you want sugar?” she asked, a spoonful hovering over a china cup on the trolley.

  Gus shook his head. Her eyebrows were thick and black. They seemed to be stencilled higher than nature intended. The girl looked permanently frightened. As Gus stared at her ear piercings, nose ring and labret, he thought it odd that she looked frightened.