Strange Beginnings

by Ted Tayler

  “I don’t understand what that has to do with anything,” said Ralph. “But when I reached sixteen and left school, I told her I’d decided I wanted to work in forestry. Climbing trees in the open air every day appealed to me. My mother never mentioned my father’s name before that day. I hoped to take a full-time course and aim for Level Three qualifications, but my mother said she couldn’t afford to support me. I had to start work straight away. Graham Street had never acknowledged me as his son. He wouldn’t give her a penny to help. So, I started at the bottom until I could get enough wiggle room to work four days a week and set one aside for college.”

  “You made it to the top with no help from Graham Street,” said Gus.

  “It took me ten years longer than it should have,” said Ralph.

  “So, when Martyn Street started working here, you decided to get your own back on a lad you discovered was another of Graham Street’s children. That was what was behind the bullying.”

  “I couldn’t understand why Martyn had Street’s name. I did some digging and learned that Marion used to be married to my father. Graham Street couldn’t bring himself to marry my mother. What was wrong with her? Then I heard a rumour Martyn had money waiting for him from his father as part of the divorce settlement. I wasn’t happy and took it out on the lad.”

  “Martyn fought back, though, didn’t he?” said Alex.

  “Doesn’t realise his own strength, that one,” said Ralph.

  “Arthur Jackson told me one of Martyn’s favourite jobs was helping you. He enjoys clearing the debris from the ground as you clamber in the upper branches with your chainsaw. A job the two of you carry out in the Spring to allow the mowing season to begin.”

  “Martyn said that?” said Ralph. “Well, I never. I misjudged him. Many people make that mistake because they think he’s backward. He’s slow on the uptake, not stupid.”

  “What vehicle do you drive, Mr Tucker,” asked Gus.

  “A Chevrolet truck, Mr Freeman. It’s a large unit with huge tyres.”

  “A lady who works here, Serena Campbell, described it as a monster truck,” said Gus.

  “I wish,” said Ralph. “My truck’s big, but not that big. It’s ideal for the work I do.”

  “Do you take Martyn in your truck to carry out this Spring clean operation?” asked Gus.

  Ralph Tucker roared with laughter.

  “I thought you were detectives,” he said. “Any of the ground staff who need to be in that part of the estate make their own way. Often they need to ferry heavy equipment to the far corners of the estate. Arthur Jackson’s team has six quad bikes at their disposal, plus several Ifor Williams Trailers for their gear and any rubbish they take back to base. Arthur keeps in contact with them by walkie-talkie. Is that news to you as well?”

  “No, we heard how Arthur kept tabs on where everyone was,” said Gus. “When we spoke to Theo Reeves, he said Martyn walked everywhere because he couldn’t pass the theory element of the driving test.”

  “That’s what I mean about misjudging the lad,” said Ralph. “Martyn would never pass a test to get a licence to drive on public roads, but he can bomb around the wide-open spaces of the grassland and forest on a quad bike. I doubt Arthur has seen him. There’s plenty Arthur doesn’t see these days. He’s happy to sit in his office, checking where everyone is on his two-way radio. Arthur moves his crew around a map on the wall like moving chess pieces.”

  “Where were you on the day of Marion Reeves’s murder?” asked Gus.

  “Steeple Langford,” said Ralph. “A village six miles from here. A farmer had a couple of ash trees that needed felling. They were infected with this ash dieback fungus. The farmer wanted to leave them alone, but they stood on a public footpath. I spent Monday and Tuesday there. I can give you the farmer’s details if you want to check.”

  “We may need to check later, Mr Tucker,” said Gus. “When you were digging around for information on Martyn Street, did you discover any other children Graham Street fathered?”

  “You think I’ve got more half-brothers and half-sisters living nearby, do you? No, I was only interested in Martyn because he worked here.”

  “When did you learn your father was dead?” asked Alex.

  “I was in the Greyhound last night,” said Ralph. “People were talking.”

  “A massive heart attack,” said Gus.

  “My father was in his seventies,” shrugged Ralph. “He never acknowledged I was alive. Don’t expect me to care he’s dead. The man brought it on himself from what I heard in the pub. Chloe Zafferelli was her name, the woman he was in bed with at the time. I hadn’t heard the name before. Bill, the landlord, told me that was because she was a high-end call girl who charged at least two grand a night for her services. How Bill knew, I didn’t ask. He reckoned there was nothing normal about the services she provided. It takes all sorts, doesn’t it?”

  Gus and Alex had to agree that it did. Neither of them could think of a good reason for speaking to Ms Zafferelli that could be argued was part of the case they were investigating. It was time to move on.

  “Something else I can help you with?” asked Ralph Tucker.

  “Did you ever ask your mother how she came to know Graham Street in the first place?” asked Gus.

  “My mother was just sixteen when she met him in town,” said Ralph. “Street was twenty-one. He wasn’t the wealthy man he became in later years. I like to believe they had genuine feelings for one another. But he did the rounds, didn’t he? The only woman he married, though, was Marion. Martyn was the only child that carried the Street name, and because the lad wasn’t perfect, Graham Street cast him adrift just as he had me, and heaven knows how many others. My Mum is sixty-six now and not in the best of health. I think it’s best to draw a veil over the entire episode as if it never happened.”

  Gus and Alex sat at the table and watched Ralph Tucker walk to the café door.

  “Do we drive back to the office now, guv?” asked Alex.

  “Call Bourne Hill, first. Let’s see if they’ve caught Derek Preston.”

  Alex made the call while Gus visited the toilet. When he returned, he saw Alex giving him the thumbs-up.

  “Police caught Derek Preston queuing for the Isle of Wight ferry in Portsmouth, guv.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Gus. “I admit, I was concerned he might do something stupid. Why the Isle of Wight, I wonder? There aren’t any extradition problems I don’t know about, are there?”

  “Hardly, guv,” said Alex. “He just wasn’t thinking straight. We can interview him in the morning at Bourne Hill.”

  “Right, you can head back to the office and get your files updated. Keep the rest of the team in the loop. I need to find a quiet spot to plan my questions for Preston. Oh, Alex, ask Luke to tell Warren Baker to be in his office at lunchtime tomorrow. We’ll talk to Preston first, and then I want to revisit the Churchfields Industrial Estate.”

  “Are you not following me back, guv?” asked Alex.

  “No, I’m driving to Urchfont. Sherlock Holmes used to describe a tricky case as a three-pipe problem. My allotment stands next to a church with an organ that boasts many more pipes than that. Yet, I still don’t think it’s enough.”

  Alex left Gus standing by his Ford Focus, staring into the distance. He made his way out of the Garden Centre car park and took the A360 back to the Old Police Station office. It appeared Gus was formulating those questions already.

  Thursday, 23rd August 2018

  Gus rolled out of bed at half-past seven. Suzie stirred but resisted the temptation to join him. They had spent two hours yesterday evening on the allotment before a meal at home and an early night. Conversation was at a minimum. Suzie allowed Gus to do the pondering he needed. She sensed he was ready to feel the collar of another killer. Whether he shared his thoughts with her before he left for Salisbury was a mystery.

  Gus had showered and dressed when Suzie finally shook herself free from the tangled sheet that covered
her. As she padded softly to the bathroom, Gus called out:

  “Coffee and cereal?”

  “Fine,” she replied.

  Gus was sitting at the table, toying with a piece of sausage, trying to soak up the remains of the yolk from his fried egg. The concentration on his face caused Suzie to burst out laughing.

  “Are you still struggling with getting your ducks in a row, darling?” she asked.

  “When we left the allotment last night, I thought I had it,” said Gus. “Then in the night, I started having doubts and lay there for ages going through my thought processes. The result was different every time. I’m missing a vital piece of my jigsaw, Suzie. I think I know where to find it, but part of me hopes I’m wrong.”

  “You can’t have the answer you want, Gus,” said Suzie. “You must accept the answer the facts prove. You know that better than anyone.”

  Gus swallowed the final tasty morsel, drained his coffee cup, and sighed.

  “It will be strange visiting Bourne Hill nick today,” he said. “I spent many happy years there, but so many faces have disappeared.”

  “Derek Preston is first on your agenda, isn’t he?” asked Suzie. “Are you certain he’s not your killer?”

  “I asked myself whether Stuart Milligan had a reason to lie about the time Derek Preston got back to Oakley Road. They were friends from school and have worked together for twenty years. Of course, he may have lied to protect his friend and their business, but my hunch is quick cash was the only thing on Preston’s mind that morning.”

  “What if Marion Reeves wasn’t the only partygoer his mother, Kathy, kept photos of from her time in the group?” said Suzie.

  “That was a question I added to my list at around four this morning,” said Gus. “Marion may not have been the first blackmail victim. A thorough analysis into Preston’s financials now he’s in custody will reveal the truth. The team at Bourne Hill will already have searched his house, car, and the firm’s van. If Preston took Marion’s photos away with the six grand in cash ready for another sting, they’d find them.”

  “You need to leave, darling,” said Suzie. “It’s a quarter past eight. I’ve got time for a slice of toast before I leave for London Road.”

  Gus kissed Suzie on the top of her head and collected his car keys from the hall table.

  Forty-five minutes later, he was standing in Reception at Bourne Hill, waiting to suffer the usual nonsense of getting past the desk sergeant. He needn’t have worried.

  “Mr Freeman, we were expecting you.”

  The fresh-faced youth was far too young to have been here when Gus was a serving officer. Yet, somehow, he’d made a sergeant. Gus wasn’t sure that he’d started shaving.

  “Am I first to arrive?” asked Gus.

  “DS Sherman arrived five minutes ago, sir. He told me you were on your way.”

  That explained a lot, thought Gus. He signed in, accepted the shiny Visitor’s badge, and listened intently to the directions provided by the desk sergeant. Gus didn’t tell the youngster he’d interviewed a hundred criminals in that interview room before he was born.

  He found Luke Sherman stood in the corridor outside the room.

  “We tossed a coin, guv,” said Luke. “There wasn’t much difference in distance to travel between Neil and me. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “The more, the merrier, Luke. Neil hasn’t been out of the office on this case, but there’s still time. The advantage of those digital files is that everyone on the team is singing from the same hymn sheet. I’ll show you my list of questions while we wait for Preston to appear with his escort. Chip in if I’ve missed something.”

  “Got it, guv,” said Luke. “I spoke to the custody sergeant soon after I arrived. Preston will be with us in the next two minutes.”

  Gus and Luke entered the interview room, and Luke checked the recording equipment. Everything was set. A knock at the door heralded the arrival of the forty-six-year-old builder, Derek Preston. If he slept last night, it didn’t show. He wore a grey sweatshirt and jogging bottoms and trainers with no laces.

  Luke went through the preliminaries while Derek Preston studied the table top.

  “Good morning, Derek,” said Gus. “You know who I am. Gus Freeman, the man you agreed to meet for a chat yesterday afternoon at a house on Sarum Close. While I was indoors chatting to your friend and colleague, Stuart Milligan, you sat outside in the van eating your lunch. What possessed you to dash off to the Isle of Wight? Don’t answer that. We know about the photographs.”

  Derek Preston lifted his head, and Gus knew they didn’t have to suffer a series of no comments. The dam was about to burst.

  “My life has been a mess ever since my Dad died,” he said. “John Preston was the only father I knew. When I was growing up, it didn’t register that my Dad was so much older than my Mum. When I took Ellie, my girlfriend, home to meet my parents, she said she was surprised, but that was the last time she mentioned it. We’ve been married for eighteen years this year. Nine years ago, Dad passed away. John never had cancer or heart problems, he was eighty-eight, and everything just shut down. After the funeral, Mum told me a man called Graham Street was my father. She’d got pregnant soon after leaving school. Mum worked in a tobacconist’s shop, and John was the owner. His wife had recently died of a heart attack in her early forties. They had no kids. Mum and John married in 1972, three months before I was born.”

  “How old was your mother?” asked Gus.

  “They married on her seventeenth birthday,” said Preston.

  “A marriage of convenience?” asked Gus.

  “At the start, maybe,” said Preston. “As a child, I never doubted they cared for me. How they felt about one another, I couldn’t say. Mum missed John; I know that.”

  “Did you know Graham Street?” asked Luke.

  “Only by reputation,” said Preston. “Loads of money. He liked to flaunt his wealth. When Stuart and I were old enough to drink, we saw him in pubs and clubs in Salisbury on weekends. Street went nowhere alone, and there were always young women hanging on his every word and a gang of rich friends in tow. I knew he had once been married to Marion, and that made Martyn some relation to me.”

  “Did Kathy tell you how they met?” asked Gus.

  “After John died, she just told me she had been a foolish young girl, flattered Graham Street had noticed her among the many pretty girls in the city. I knew how good-looking my mother was when I was a teenager. All my mates, including Stuart, fancied her. Mum didn’t add to what she told me after John died, then the following summer, she fell ill. Typical of Mum, she’d suffered on and off for a couple of years without bothering the doctors. She died in January, just two months before Marion Reeves’s murder. The solicitor told us there were complications they found when they read her will. I never understood it, but they warned us it would take time to get probate agreed. We had a huge mortgage, three kids who never stopped growing, and we were desperate for that cash. Mum and John lived in a two-bedroomed bungalow that needed work. I kept promising to spend time on it but never did. I knew the money it raised would get us out of trouble, but we needed something right away.”

  “You found the photos when you cleared their house?” said Gus.

  “They were in a small case just inside the loft,” said Preston. “It was locked, and I couldn’t find a key. When I prised the lock open with a screwdriver, I had the shock of my life. I recognised Marion Reeves straight away. There were dozens of pictures of people doing all sorts. I’m broad-minded, Mr Freeman, but it turned my stomach.”

  “Why do you think Kathy had these photos?” asked Luke.

  “I didn’t know the full story before I found that case. At work, I saw Marion every day. When I saw those photos, I knew someone took them a long time ago. She looked so young. Eighteen or nineteen, maybe. I couldn’t talk to Stuart, but I couldn’t look Marion in the eye after that.”

  “You mentioned people,” said Gus. “Does that mean Marion wasn�
�t the only woman in the photos? Did you recognise anyone else? The men, perhaps?”

  “I was just relieved not to find any of my mother, Mr Freeman. Although, from what I learned later, she must have destroyed them. Somebody took them twenty-five years before I found them. Many of the men and women in the photos would be dead or aged so much I couldn’t identify them.”

  “Did you doctor the photos featuring Marion Reeves to mask the identity of the others involved?” asked Gus.

  “I did that on my computer at home. It wasn’t difficult. I thought if Theo and Marion Reeves could afford eighty grand to spend on tarting up their house, another ten grand wouldn’t be hard to find. I knew Marion wouldn’t want those pictures to see the light of day.”

  “When did you approach Marion to tell her what you had found?” asked Luke.

  “I sent her copies in an envelope in the post,” said Preston. “I’d done nothing like it before and realised it was stupid as soon as I put the envelope in the post box. I mean, I wrote the address myself and even licked the stamp.”

  “How much money did you ask for?” asked Gus.

  “I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” said Preston. “I sent the photos, nothing else. Then, on Monday, I arrived on Oakley Road a few minutes before Stuart. I watched Theo leave, then Stuart reversed the van into the driveway. Stephanie cycled away on her bike, and I called Marion’s mobile when I reached our van. As I started unloading my gear, I sent Marion a text, hinting that I was watching the house, and told her to meet me on the industrial estate.”

  “Why there?” asked Gus.

  “If we’d gone to a secluded spot, you could guarantee someone would pop up from nowhere and remember seeing two cars. Places such as Churchfields are always busy, so two more parked cars wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention.”

  “What time did you reach Churchfields?” asked Luke.

  “Half-past nine, or just after. I was two cars behind Marion on the main road. She had just pulled up by the kerb when I entered Stephenson Road. I parked in front of her, got out and walked back. I’ll never forget the look of embarrassment on her face when she realised it was me. When I sat beside her, I apologised for what I’d done. It sounds crazy, but I liked Marion. She was a lovely woman. I told her I was desperate for money. She handed me an envelope filled with cash. I asked how much it was, and she said six thousand pounds. Then Marion started crying. She said she had no more money. Marion told me it was what remained of the money Graham Street gave her when they divorced. I asked her if she knew my mother. Marion nodded and said Kathy and John were regulars at parties she attended. I was ten years old and spending weekends with my grandparents when those photos got taken. We were both in tears by then. I wanted to hand back the cash, but Marion insisted I took it. I gave Marion the originals and the negatives of every photo I found in that case. She told me Graham Street was an evil man with friends in high places. Marion begged me to steer clear of him and not say anything about what I’d found. We hugged one another despite what had just occurred, and as I was getting out of the car, Marion said something odd. Remember Maureen Glendenning. I didn’t have a clue who she meant. I walked to my car, drove to Oakley Road, and parked up the road from the house because I needed five minutes to get myself together.”