Strange Beginnings

by Ted Tayler

  “I don’t remember seeing any listing of the call history of that phone in the files,” said Gus.

  “You think Marion did arrange to meet someone?” asked Theo.

  “No idea,” said Gus. “Would you know the name of every person your wife had listed on her mobile phone?”

  “I would hope that I could name ninety percent of the people on that list,” said Theo. “There could have been a casual acquaintance I wasn’t aware of, or someone Marion knew before we met. I would hope that was true for most husbands. We had no secrets.”

  “Was your wife’s phone number the same one she’d had for a long time?” asked Lydia.

  “It was an old number,” said Theo. “Marion transferred it to her new phone every time she got a new one.”

  “Several phones, but the same number throughout your relationship?”

  “I’m certain, yes,” said Theo.

  “Seven years ago, the police questioned Marion’s colleagues at the printing firm,” said Gus. “They also spoke with people that you worked with at your offices.”

  “They did,” said Theo, “that was when I realised they were clutching at straws.”

  “Did you and Marion socialise with your work colleagues?” asked Gus.

  “Once or twice,” said Theo. “We didn’t have a Christmas meal every year like some firms. It was a handful of occasions during the marriage at most.”

  “Is it possible Marion met someone at one of those infrequent get-togethers and formed a long-lasting relationship?”

  “Absolutely not, Mr Freeman,” said Theo. “I trusted my wife, and I knew the people with whom I worked. None of them had an affair with my wife that led to her death. Your colleagues went down this path seven years ago. They found nothing then, and you won’t find anything now.”

  “You’ve been alone for seven years, Mr Reeves,” said Lydia. “Have you ever entertained the idea of a new relationship?”

  “Certainly not,” said Theo. “As you pointed out earlier, I was single until I was thirty-seven. I had twenty wonderful years with Marion. Now, I’m sixty-five and retired and not looking for someone to share my twilight years. My memories of Marion will sustain me. Is that it now? I don’t think there’s anything more I can add.”

  “We’d like to run through the events leading up to the murder, if we may, Mr Reeves,” said Gus. “My colleague and I intend to visit the murder scene after we leave here. It helps me establish the distances involved, the relationship and the possible relevance of buildings close to the side street where Marion parked her car. Her killer left that car covered in blood, yet nobody came forward to say they had seen someone.”

  “You don’t need to remind me of what happened to my wife, Mr Freeman,” said Theo Reeves. “The police spared me the trauma of seeing Marion’s injuries. When I identified her body in the morgue, all I saw was her face. That’s not an experience I would wish on my worst enemy.”

  “I apologise if you believe I was unnecessarily graphic in my description of events at the industrial estate, Mr Reeves,” said Gus. “I intend to uncover the truth of what happened that morning. If I need to ruffle a few feathers, then so be it. Seven years have passed, and people’s memories of the exact sequence of events change. There can be several reasons for that. They lied in the first instance or omitted certain steps that might implicate them or, at the very least, put them in a poor light. Other witnesses unintentionally get the sequence of events out of order even though they recall every single one.”

  Gus sat back in his seat as Theo Reeves absorbed the full impact of his comments.

  CHAPTER 5

  “How on earth do you tell fact from fiction?” asked Theo Reeves.

  “We keep asking probing questions to expose the reasons behind a witness not telling us the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” said Lydia. “The relationships within a family unit can alter significantly over time. Someone could come forward with fresh evidence today because they no longer have an allegiance to protect another member of the family.”

  “Are you talking about my family unit?” asked Theo. Lydia sensed his anger was bubbling just below the surface. A younger man might have lost control, but apart from a tension in his body that wasn’t there earlier, Theo Reeves remained calm.

  “My colleague was commenting in general terms on how we discover which of our witnesses is lying,” said Gus. “But I think you would agree; it’s fair to say relationships have changed between you and Martyn Street in the past seven years. They aren’t the same between you and Stephanie either. She was a teenage student living under your roof when Marion died. Now she’s an independent adult with a job, living with another man. No matter how often you see Stephanie and how amicable those meetings are, the situation has changed forever. You alluded to the possibility that Martyn and Stephanie’s relationship changed while they both still lived in this house. We don’t know how that changed, but now they live separate lives. If we ask them questions about where they were and what they were doing on March the eighteenth, they might give different answers to the ones they gave the police seven years ago. Do you understand how that could happen in cases that we handle?”

  “Yes, I suppose there must be instances where a husband or brother lies to protect a loved one who had become a suspect. Surely, you must see that didn’t apply in this case?”

  “Everything we know of this case hinges on evidence gathered by the detective team who worked on it in 2011,” said Lydia. “You are the first person we’ve spoken to this time around. Mr Freeman is checking each element of that evidence to make sure that it’s still valid.”

  “We’ve clarified why we need to go over the events leading up to the eighteenth of March,” said Gus. “So, let’s get back to the Friday before the murder. Marion withdrew six thousand pounds in cash from her bank. Did she tell you what she’d done?”

  “No,” said Theo. “I don’t know whether she kept the cash in her handbag all weekend or hid it somewhere in the house. I never saw it.”

  “Did you and Marion have a joint bank account?” asked Lydia.

  “We did,” said Theo. “Once we got married, I closed my current and savings accounts and opened new accounts in our married names. The account Marion retained was where she held the money her ex-husband gave her. That was Marion and Martyn’s money. I’d never considered it available for me to spend. Marion hoped one day Martyn could learn to drive, and she could buy his first car.”

  “You mentioned the balance wasn’t significant,” said Gus. “Did Marion ever tell you how much was in there after the divorce settlement?”

  “That was another hangover from the marriage to Street that wasn’t a subject for discussion,” said Theo.

  “What happened when solicitors dealt with probate after Marion’s death?” asked Gus. “How much money remained in the account, and how did the executors disburse it?”

  “The six thousand pounds Marion withdrew practically cleared it out,” said Theo. “Only a few hundred pounds got transferred into our joint account later that summer. Martyn was still living here, and Stephanie was revising for her exams. I could tell they were both struggling to come to terms with everything, and I used the money to pay for a weekend away at Centreparcs at Longleat. I picked a miserable, wet weekend, and Martyn had a panic attack in the escape room attraction. All three of us were on the verge of a breakdown. The whole thing was a disaster. Stephanie’s drinking spiralled out of control not long after that weekend.”

  “If we can switch back to the weekend before the murder,” said Gus. “What did you do as a family? Was there anything different in your routine? Did Marion go anywhere alone?”

  “The builders were here working on Saturday morning,” said Theo. “Martyn went into town before lunch and didn’t return until five or six in the evening. Then he watched TV in his room until late. Stephanie didn’t get out of bed until noon, but that was typical behaviour for our teenage daughter. I remember her wanting to kno
w if the builders had left yet. She didn’t like going into the bathroom for a shower while they were inside the house. The lock was temperamental. A new bathroom was on the list of jobs they still had to tackle. They had completed our en-suite in the master bedroom. I told Stephanie they were tidying up outside and that she could shower in peace. Marion and I were here throughout the morning. We didn’t venture out to the shops until after lunch. Stephanie cycled to a friend’s house for the afternoon. After Martyn arrived home, we had a meal together, and then Marion and I watched television here in the lounge. Stephanie sat with us, but she was on her phone most of the time. Any conversation was at a premium.”

  “How did Martyn get into town?” asked Lydia.

  “Martyn walked everywhere,” said Theo. “Time wasn’t important to Martyn. It took him twenty minutes to walk into town. He bought fish and chips at the same place every Saturday, then spent a couple of hours in the Greyhound Inn. After an hour in the park, two if he nodded off, he’d walk back home for his evening meal. Most Saturday nights after he reached eighteen, Martyn walked into town to drink with people he knew from work. That Saturday, he stayed home.”

  “What about Sunday,” asked Gus. “Did anything out of the ordinary happen?”

  “All of us spent a quiet morning at home before eating Sunday lunch together,” said Theo. “Martyn went into town again but was home earlier. Stephanie studied in her room during the afternoon. Marion drove over to Wilton House Garden Centre and returned around four o’clock. I watched football on TV.”

  “Was Marion buying things for the garden?” asked Lydia. “Your front garden looks to be full of mature plants and shrubs.”

  “She bought bedding plants,” said Theo, “and Marion visited the café for coffee and cake.”

  “Marion told you that when she got home?” asked Lydia.

  “She must have,” said Theo. “It’s hard to remember minor details after so long.”

  “Marion didn’t mention having met anyone while she was out,” said Gus. “Perhaps that was when the cash left her handbag.”

  “Are you suggesting someone was blackmailing Marion?” asked Theo. “That’s outrageous. What possible reason could there be for that line of enquiry?”

  “The builders weren’t expecting the money,” said Gus. “Marion didn’t withdraw that much cash for no reason, and it wasn’t among her possessions after the discovery of her body the following morning. Either she handed it to someone on Sunday afternoon, or the killer took it. We need to find out whether Marion shared coffee and cake with another person on Sunday afternoon.”

  “Was there nothing unusual that happened after four o’clock on Sunday?” asked Lydia.

  “Nothing at all,” said Theo, who was disturbed by the blackmail suggestion. “We were at home throughout the evening. There were no visitors or phone calls. Everyone was in bed by eleven.”

  “So, we now come to the day of the murder itself,” said Gus. He continued to watch Theo Reeves, looking for signs of stress. Was he hiding something, or was he finally coming to terms with the actual reason behind his wife’s death? The vital evidence that would lead to solving this case could emerge in the next few minutes.

  “I left for work at my usual time of eight-fifteen,” said Theo, “I drove the short distance along The Avenue into the centre and parked just off West Street. I took a two-minute walk to the company offices, stopping at a newsagent for a paper and a lunchtime snack en route. My morning was a succession of meetings. A dozen colleagues confirmed I didn’t leave the premises until the police called me at around twelve-fifteen.”

  “Did you make or receive any phone calls after leaving home and before the police called you?” asked Lydia.

  “I received two business calls from clients,” said Theo. “I can’t recall making any outgoing calls on my work phone. I didn’t use my mobile that morning.”

  “You saw Marion before you left the house?” asked Gus.

  “Of course,” said Theo, “we ate breakfast together. As I told the police seven years ago, Marion was fine. We hadn’t argued over the weekend, and we didn’t have words that morning. It was as normal a start to the day as one could wish. The builders were reversing their van into the corner of the driveway as I left the house. That was where they parked each day, to avoid hampering anyone visiting the house, or one of us getting in or out.”

  “You expected Marion to chat to the builders,” said Lydia. “To check everything was all set to continue with their work while the house was empty during the day.”

  “That’s right,” said Theo. “Marion would check what was on their schedule for the day and then make her way into Salisbury for work. She would see Stephanie off to school, and then maybe fifteen minutes later, she made a move.”

  “Stephanie cycled to school, didn’t she?” asked Lydia.

  “She did,” said Theo. “Marion would check Stephanie donned her helmet before leaving. You can imagine how popular one of those would be for an attractive eighteen-year-old girl. We just wanted her to stay safe. Marion told me Stephanie generally left about ten minutes after me, at twenty-five past eight.”

  “Did Martyn walk to work at Wilton House every day, Mr Reeves?” asked Gus. “In all winds and weather? Did he never ask for a lift from you or Marion? Or a fellow worker on the estate, perhaps?”

  “I told you already. Martyn walked everywhere. He enjoyed walking. Martyn would set off at eight from here on a journey that took thirty minutes. Martyn worked outside all year round, so he had clothes to suit every occasion. Martyn never complained. I don’t think it ever crossed his mind to ask for a lift.”

  “That Monday morning was different to others while the builders were on-site, though, wasn’t it?” said Lydia. “Marion usually left at eight forty-five, based on your timings. The builders told the police it was almost five past nine before Marion drove away that day.”

  “I can’t comment on that,” said Theo. “I was at work attending my first meeting.”

  “The builders maintained it wasn’t them that delayed your wife,” said Lydia.

  “Perhaps someone rang Marion,” said Gus. “Either on the landline or her mobile. It would explain why she got delayed and why she didn’t go directly to work as normal.”

  “We don’t need to remind you how long it takes to cover the distance between here and the Quidhampton area on the A36,” said Lydia. “A matter of minutes, regardless of the time of day.”

  “Yet, it was nine-thirty,” said Gus. “Twenty-five minutes after Marion left home when witnesses reported seeing her white Lexus RX350 on the main road into Salisbury. Where did she go in the meantime? Where was there to go? You’ve driven that route a thousand times, Mr Reeves.”

  “I don’t have a clue,” said Theo.

  “Where were you at eleven forty-five, Mr Reeves?” asked Lydia.

  “We’d just ended a meeting, and I was sitting in my office eating an early lunch. A colleague brought me a coffee at about noon.”

  “Marion died at around ten o’clock,” said Gus, “thirty minutes after those witnesses saw her car on the A36. Why do you think your wife drove to Churchfields, Mr Reeves? Was it to a firm she often visited, somewhere connected to her printing firm?”

  “I’m sure Marion would have mentioned it if she had,” said Theo. “I’d never known her to go to the Churchfields Industrial Estate before. There are lots of small firms operating out of there, even today. Not all the same businesses as were open back then, but it’s been a busy site ever since it opened.”

  “Exactly,” said Gus. “A busy little site, especially at ten in the morning. We know where Marion was at nine-thirty. It took her five minutes maximum to reach the industrial estate from that point on the main road. How on earth did Marion drive onto the industrial estate without someone seeing her? She parked her car on a side street at around nine thirty-five. Was her killer waiting for her? Did the attack start as soon as they got into the car, or was there an argument first? If blackma
il was behind the meeting and Marion had the money, why did she need to die? Why did nobody see or hear anything? At some point after ten, the killer got out of the Lexus, unseen, despite being covered in Marion’s blood and carrying a knife. Where did they go? How did they arrive on that side street in the first place? On foot, or by car? Why did it take another hour and three-quarters before an employee from a nearby business spotted Marion slumped over the steering wheel of her car?”

  “Your colleagues asked these same questions seven years ago, Mr Freeman,” said Theo Reeves. “I can’t explain, I’m afraid.”

  “Our colleagues missed something during their investigation,” said Gus. “We need to uncover what lay behind that clandestine meeting.”

  “What did you make of the incident with the pick-up driver?” asked Lydia.

  “I’m sorry, you’ve lost me,” said Theo.

  “The police heard from eyewitnesses who saw Marion talking to the driver of a pick-up truck on Friday after she withdrew the cash from her bank. Didn’t the police ask if you could identify that man?”

  “I have a vague recollection, but it wasn’t something Marion was likely to do, so I never gave it much credence. I expect he was just asking for directions.”

  “What did you make of it when the police interviewed Simon Turner?” asked Lydia. “That must have surprised you when they found his fingerprints inside the Lexus.”

  “Not at all,” said Theo. “I remember that stormy night, and Marion told me what had happened as soon as she reached home. Simon lives just up the road. It was the neighbourly thing to do. The poor chap didn’t deserve the third-degree for accepting a lift.”

  “That’s all the questions we have, for now, Mr Reeves,” said Gus. “We may return in the future based on the answers we receive from the other names on our list.”

  “You plan to speak to Stephanie, of course,” said Theo. “What about Martyn? Perhaps it would be best if you spoke to his manager, Arthur Jackson. He’s nearing retirement, which is a shame. Martyn will miss him. He’ll feel less threatened with Arthur in the room.”