Strange Beginnings

by Ted Tayler

  “Divya, good to see you again.”

  “Blessing told me you needed these for your meeting, Gus. We found nothing untoward on the images Carl Wallace posted online. They came from within the Bristol area, with the majority focussing on Filton. The regularity of posts and photos across his social media accounts doesn’t suggest he spent a long period anywhere other than Bristol or Bath.”

  “Thanks, Divya. That was what I expected to hear. Taken in isolation, it seems a waste of effort, but it serves to support everything Carl Wallace told us in an interview. Not everything the Hub handles is a game-changer, but your contribution has added value to the work we mere foot-soldiers had to carry out on this case.”

  “We’re a facility that’s ready for you to use whenever the need arises, Gus,” said Divya.

  “Don’t worry,” said Gus. “The Chief Constable will make sure I don’t forget that fact. The Hub is his baby. At first, I thought he needed justification for the expensive set-up costs, but there have been odd occasions when your people have provided us with the golden key to solve a mystery. I’d better let you get back to your computers.”

  Divya smiled and made her way out of the main building towards the Hub.

  Gus took the stairs two at a time up to the first floor, just because he could.

  Nobody saw him, which was a minor disappointment.

  He couldn’t spot Vera Butler or Kassie Trotter. Geoff Mercer was standing by the ACC’s office door.

  “Are you making plans, Geoff?” he asked.

  “Kenneth had his belongings transferred over the weekend,” said Geoff. “He thought you might need a guide to help you find his office.”

  “I can’t recall ever getting an invitation to visit either of the incumbents since my return to the fray,” said Gus. “There have been so many; it’s hard to distinguish one from another. Was the furniture upgraded on each occasion?”

  “I took a peek first thing this morning,” said Geoff. “I reckon they got rid of the fixtures and fittings Sandra Plunkett favoured and reinstated the stuff Leonard Pemberton-Smythe’s mate used before he had to resign.”

  “Every expense spared then,” said Gus. “Now I understand how they can afford the executive lunches. Shouldn’t we be heading over to the dark side? It’s almost noon.”

  “Kenneth was giving an interview to the press at eleven forty-five,” said Geoff. “That should be over in a few minutes. Then he wants us out of his hair by two o’clock as he’s got a financial management meeting with the Police and Crime Commissioner.”

  “What was the meeting with the press about?” asked Gus as they arrived outside the Chief Constable’s door.

  “A member of the public discovered firearms on a Swindon industrial estate,” said Geoff. “The local rag thought the area was out of control and accused the police of treating the estate as a no-go area.”

  “No truth in it, surely?”

  “That’s what our new Chief Constable told them. We shall not rest. No stone unturned. You know Kenneth’s style. He can be persuasive.”

  “Yes, he has a way with words,” said Gus.

  A red-faced Kenneth Truelove appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “There’s a glow surrounding his persona, isn’t there?” said Gus.

  “It’s the shiny new insignia on his uniform. That’s a brand-new white shirt too,” said Geoff.

  Kenneth had now joined the pair outside his office door.

  “Did the meeting go badly, sir,” asked Geoff.

  “It went, Mercer,” grunted the Chief Constable, opening the door and walking inside.

  “I told you he had a way with words,” said Gus, quietly, as he and Geoff followed their leader into the light, well-appointed office.

  “To business, gentlemen,” said Kenneth. “Give me the bottom line on the Hogan case, Freeman.”

  Gus placed the file folder on the desktop as neatly as possible. The desk was always cluttered in the ACC’s old office and enjoyed the lived-in look, but the new oversized desk was all straight lines and dust-free.

  “Carl Wallace maintains Gerry Hogan turned the gun on himself when he suspected that Rachel Cummins was his daughter.”

  “Good heavens,” said Kenneth. “What did you make of that, Mercer?”

  “I agree with Gus’s assessment, sir. I don’t think it was murder.”

  “John Kirkpatrick won’t come out of this smelling of roses,” said Kenneth. “How did he miss that possibility six years ago?”

  “If it walks like a duck, sir,” said Gus.

  “I suppose so. A prominent business owner shot in the head on his doorstep. My first thought would be who wanted him dead. It wouldn’t be, hang on, is there any chance it was suicide?”

  “Nothing in the interviews with family and friends pointed us in that direction, sir,” said Gus. “Except the same theme running throughout his life. That Gerald Hogan was a decent man who always tried to avoid trouble.”

  “We must pass it to the detective team at Polebarn Road in Trowbridge, Freeman,” said Kenneth. “They can prepare a case for the Crown Prosecution Service.”

  “On to the next case then, sir,” said Gus.

  “I’m sure you want something that allows you and the team to find a killer, Freeman,” said Kenneth. “This one was rather gruesome if I remember rightly. The victim was Marion Reeves, a forty-four-year-old wife and mother. She died on the eighteenth of March back in 2011. You didn’t work on the case, Freeman, but it occurred in Wilton, not five miles from your police station on Bourne Hill.”

  “There was a station closer than that, sir,” said Gus. “The Wilton Road station closed back in 2014, and I believe there’s a proposal for the premises to get sold at public auction. Village stations can play a vital role in helping to keep rural communities safe. Or at least to feel safe. Of course, I’m a voice in the wilderness. Marion Reeves worked in Salisbury, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, Marion Reeves was a manager at a printing firm. Her husband, Theo, was a fifty-eight-year-old graphic designer with an office in Wilton. The couple had married in 1991 and moved into a family home in Wilton. Marion’s son from her first marriage, Martyn Street, was three years old, and he lived with Theo and Marion. In 1993, Marion gave birth to a daughter, Stephanie. Both Theo and Marion had good jobs, and the couple thrived financially. In 2010, extensive renovations began on the Wilton property that would cost around eighty thousand pounds. On the fifteenth of March 2011, Marion Reeves withdrew six thousand pounds in cash from her bank. The police believed this money was for the completion of another phase of the building process.”

  “Why do some business people insist on cash?” asked Geoff Mercer.

  “Not everyone is as tech-savvy as you, Geoff,” said Gus. “I once tried negotiating the minefield they used to call the Bankers Automated Clearing Services to make a payment transfer. It was fraught with danger. One slip, and I could have sent my forty pounds to the wrong account altogether. When you hand cash to the guy who did the work for you and get a signed receipt in return, there’s no problem. He won’t come knocking at the door saying you haven’t paid him, will he? Imagine the headaches if you wanted to pay a building firm five or six grand every week for three or four months. I’d feel happier paying them that way, the same as Marion Reeves, and let the builder worry about the taxman.”

  “Time marches on, Freeman,” said the Chief Constable. “Vera and Kassie will be here with lunch before we know it. Let’s get on. Right, Marion Reeves withdrew the cash on the fifteenth. Three days later, on the eighteenth, Theo Reeves left for work at eight-fifteen in the morning. That was normal behaviour. As for Marion, Theo had no concerns; she was bright and cheerful that morning. The builders arrived just as Theo Reeves drove away from the house. It was customary for Marion to talk to them before they started work. She had made arrangements with her employers to start work thirty minutes later each day and only take thirty minutes for lunch. Theo said it was usually around eight forty-five when
his wife left home.”

  “What about the children?” asked Geoff. “Did they witness any discord between the couple? Or see Marion arguing with the builders, perhaps?”

  “The couple’s daughter, Stephanie, was eighteen,” said Kenneth. “She was a matter of weeks away from sitting her A-levels at South Wilts Grammar School on Bemerton Heath. The Reeves’s home was on Oakley Road in Wilton. Stephanie cycled the three and a half miles to school every weekday, a journey that took her between fifteen and twenty minutes. Stephanie left home at twenty-five minutes past eight. She told the police her parents were fine when she got downstairs that morning. They rarely argued. After her father left for work, her mother chatted to the builders while Stephanie ate her breakfast.”

  “Did the older lad still live with his mother and step-father?” asked Gus.

  “He did,” said Kenneth. “Martyn Street, twenty-three, had already left for work at eight o’clock. Martyn worked with a Grounds Maintenance team at Wilton House for the Earl and Countess of Pembroke.”

  “An early start,” said Gus.

  “The family home is one and a half miles from Wilton House,” said Kenneth. “Martyn couldn’t afford a car, so he walked to work. Thirty minutes each way. He spent most of his working day on his feet when the estate was open to the public. The Pembroke family has been there for over four hundred years. They had one hundred and forty employees back in 2011. Martyn had plenty of witnesses to say he arrived at work at eight-thirty that morning, and in normal circumstances, wouldn’t leave until five in the afternoon.”

  “The Grade I buildings attract film crews,” said Geoff Mercer. “Not that it applies to the case. They shot scenes for ‘Tomb Raider’ there last year. I think the film came out in March.”

  “It doesn’t sound something I would watch, Geoff,” said Gus.

  “They based it on a video game,” said Geoff. “Lara Croft. Have you ever heard of her?”

  “No, the last actress I remember seeing at the cinema was Meryl Streep. Tess was keen on watching whatever she starred in. I fell asleep twenty minutes into the film.”

  “Lara Croft isn’t an actress, Freeman. She’s a character from the video game,” said Kenneth. “Don’t look at me like that, Mercer. My children played video games. I’ll never claim to be down with the kids, but I’m not ignorant. I think now would be a good time to take a break.”

  Kenneth made the call, and a knock at the door heralded the arrival of Kassie Trotter and Vera Butler.

  “It will take getting used to seeing you three in the West Wing,” said Kassie, wheeling her trolley across the plush carpet.

  Gus could always rely on Kassie to surprise him with a fresh look when he visited London Road. Since their heart-to-heart over Rhys Evans and her news of a single sighting of Rick Chalmers getting up-close-and-personal with Vera, he had seen little of his young friend.

  There was no missing Kassie’s hairstyle. If that wasn’t too grand a name. Kassie’s head was shaved on the left-hand side, while the dark tresses that cascaded over her right shoulder had streaks of red and electric blue.

  As Gus wondered whether to risk glancing below Kassie’s shoulders, Vera whispered in his left ear.

  “One bacon bap, Gus, and a black coffee, no sugar.”

  “Thank you, Vera,” said Gus. “How’s Kassie coping with the changes to her routine?”

  “We distribute the healthy food options Geraldine Packenham insists on during these shortened lunch breaks. Then, when her back’s turned, mid-morning and mid-afternoon, we still conduct a busy trade on the sticky buns and cakes.”

  “You enjoy being part of a group, don’t you, Vera?” said Gus. “When we met, you were one of the FEW, and now you’re a member of the DRM. The Devizes Resistance Movement.”

  Vera didn’t comment. There seemed to be trouble on the other side of the room.

  “Come on, Mercer,” said Kenneth Truelove. “We haven’t got all day. What’s up now?”

  “I ordered a sausage bap and a tortilla wrap, sir,” said Geoff. “My bap’s gone missing.”

  Gus tried not to smile. He mouthed a thankyou at Vera as she left the room with her trolley.

  “What do you reckon to my tattoo, Mr Freeman?” asked Kassie.

  She bent forward to give Gus a better view of the recent addition between her left shoulder and elbow pit. Kassie’s bluebirds and love hearts quivered.

  “It looks fiery, Kassie,” said Gus.

  “Well, it is a dragon, Mr Freeman.”

  “No, I mean, you should keep an eye on it. I hope it hasn’t got infected.”

  “I’ve got my antibacterial ointment, Mr Freeman,” said Kassie. “I’ve got to apply it myself, of course. I’m still looking for the man of my dreams.”

  “When we finish here, Kassie, can I come and see you?” asked Gus. “The boss won’t let me stay for afternoon tea. He’s far too busy. Perhaps, I can sneak away with one of your illicit cakes later?”

  “You need to be careful, Mr Freeman. The enemy has eyes everywhere. I’ll get one of my cream slices to you before you leave, don’t fret.”

  After Kassie closed the door behind her, Kenneth Truelove looked ready to carry on with the outline of the case.

  “My compliments to the chef, sir,” said Gus. “I had my doubts when I heard from Vera that Ms Pakenham had engaged new caterers, but I was pleasantly surprised.”

  “So was I,” said Geoff. “And I think I know who to blame for my short measures.”

  “Where was I,” asked Kenneth. “Ah yes, we’d dealt with the whereabouts of the younger members of the family. The firm Theo Reeves employed for the renovations was MP Builders Limited. Stuart Milligan and Derek Preston had worked together for two decades. Both were in their late thirties, married with children. Milligan told the police Mrs Reeves was later leaving that morning. Marion Reeves said cheerio and drove away at five minutes after nine.”

  “Did Marion Reeves pay the builders the money she withdrew from the bank the previous Friday?” asked Gus.

  “Milligan and Preston claimed Mrs Reeves didn’t mention money,” said Kenneth.

  “That’s odd,” said Geoff. “I would have thought if the money were for the builders, she would have handed it over on Friday evening, not first thing Monday morning.”

  “It’s something we can follow up, Geoff,” said Gus. “If Milligan and Preston were a well- established firm, they could have got a wife to bank their cheques and cash. To save breaking off work during the day to make a special trip into Salisbury.”

  “Are MP Builders still trading, sir,” asked Geoff.

  “I believe so,” said Kenneth. “Anyway, at five past nine, Marion left her builders alone at the property to start work. She set off to drive to Salisbury in her white Lexus RX350.”

  “Very nice,” said Geoff. “Christine keeps looking at one of those.”

  “At nine-thirty,” said Kenneth, “witnesses reported a car of the same colour and make on Wilton Road near Quidhampton.”

  “That’s the A36,” said Gus, “It only takes ten minutes to drive from that part of Wilton into Salisbury. Where did she stop for twenty minutes? Unless there were an accident or major roadworks, she should have passed Quidhampton three or four minutes from home.”

  “At a quarter to twelve,” said Kenneth, “police received a call from an employee at the Churchfields Industrial Estate, Bemerton. He’d discovered a woman’s body in the driver’s seat of a white Lexus. Someone had stabbed Marion Reeves in the chest and stomach. The police surgeon suggested the wounds came from a narrow, four-inch blade. He estimated the time of death at ten o’clock.”

  “At ten in the morning, an Industrial Estate like that would be busy,” said Gus. “Surely, somebody saw something?”

  “Nobody witnessed the Lexus arrive,” said Kenneth. “Marion Reeves parked on a side-street between a light-engineering firm and a gym. Nobody saw anyone near the car, inside the car with the victim, or the murder itself. So, who killed Marion R
eeves, and why?”

  “Who ran the investigation?” asked Gus.

  “Billie Wightman was the DI in charge,” said Kenneth.

  “Ably supported by DS Matt Price,” said Gus. “I knew Matt. He was a good lad. As for Ms Wightman, let’s say we never saw eye to eye.”

  “I hope that won’t be an issue, Freeman,” said Kenneth. “Wightman checked Marion’s diaries for details of anything to explain why she didn’t travel directly to her place of work. There were two diaries. One was physical, which they found in her handbag in the Lexus. The other was digital, on a laptop in her office at the print firm. There was no sign of any arranged meeting, nor anything to explain the need to visit that particular Industrial Estate.”

  “Which way did Wightman take her investigation, sir?” asked Gus.

  “She asked the family, the builders, and her work colleagues who they thought Marion Reeves could have met. Nothing useful came from that. Then Wightman pursued the notion Marion was cheating on her husband.”

  “I’m not surprised,” said Gus. “Billie’s husband was a uniformed copper at Bourne Hill. He left her for a younger woman. An affair wouldn’t have been my first thought based on the history you’ve given us so far, sir. Marion Reeves was a happily married, successful woman.”

  “Wightman’s idea may have had merit, looking at things from a different angle,” said Kenneth. “Theo Reeves didn’t marry before he met Marion, but he had several former lovers. Wightman and Price traced and interviewed the lot but found nothing to support the idea one of them killed Marion Reeves for the opportunity to reunite with Theo.”

  “What happened to the cash?” asked Gus.

  “We know the builders didn’t get it,” said Geoff. “What’s to say it was in her handbag that day? She could have handed it to someone else between Friday and Monday morning.”

  “Fair point,” said Gus.

  “Forensics showed the murder took place inside the Lexus,” said Kenneth. “Theo Reeves confirmed nothing had been stolen from his wife’s handbag. Her cards, keys, mobile phone, and a modest amount of cash were still inside. The six thousand pounds in cash were never recovered, but it might have gone before Monday morning, as Geoff said.”