by Ted Tayler
“We’ve got lots to tell Gus,” said Lydia. “He’s going to get a surprise.”
“We won’t know until we catch up with him later whether we’re one step ahead of him or two steps behind,” said Alex.
“Spoilsport,” said Lydia.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at Bourne Hill police station.
“It’s barely eleven o’clock,” said Alex. “Neil won’t be here yet, and Warren Baker isn’t expecting anyone until twelve. We shouldn’t have any problem getting through Reception. I gave our names to the desk sergeant when I called to tell him Neil and Blessing would be in later.”
“We could get a coffee,” said Lydia. “I promise not to look at you too affectionately. In case word gets back to London Road that we’re an item.”
“I’d rather call Warren Baker to see if he’s here. If so, we’ll crack on with the interview and wrap it up before Neil and Blessing arrive.”
Alex was right about the desk sergeant. There was no problem getting signed in and issued with a Visitor’s badge. It took longer for Lydia; of course, the desk sergeant was only human.
“Can you tell me whether Warren Baker is in the building?” Alex asked as Lydia donned her visitor’s badge.
“He’s in the forensic department, DS Hardy. The map on the wall will guide you where you want to go. I’ll phone Mr Baker to tell him you’re on your way.”
“Don’t,” said Lydia, “we’d like to surprise him.”
“Yes, miss. Whatever you say.”
The five-minute drive from Bourne Hill to Churchfields had hardly given Luke’s car time to warm up. As he entered Stephenson Road at a quarter past ten, he wondered where Gus wanted to stop.
“Shall I park where Marion Reeves did, guv?” he asked.
“No,” said Gus. “We’re visiting the light-engineering firm on the left. No job too small. That’s our first port of call. Then we’ll walk to the funeral directors for a chat with Maurice Duffield.”
Luke decided it was best to let Gus take the lead. He wasn’t altogether sure how this visit could help matters.
Gus led the way through the works entrance. A man in a hi-viz jacket was leaving a Portakabin ten yards inside the compound on their left.
“Can I help you, gents?” he said.
“Wiltshire Police,” said Luke. “We need to speak to someone in charge, please.”
“That’ll be me. Bob Frisk. This is my business.”
“Have you been here long, Mr Frisk?” asked Gus.
“Call me Bob. The Grand National jokes have worn thin over the years.”
“Have you, Bob?” asked Gus.
“I opened this place in 1990. Okay, let’s get it out of the way. That was a good year for people called Mr Frisk, wasn’t it?”
“It won’t heal if you keep picking at it, Bob,” said Gus. “Can we discuss the eighteenth of March, seven years ago? The day a woman died in her car, not forty yards from where we’re standing. Were you here that day?”
“I was,” said Bob. “The police evacuated eighty percent of my workers and asked each of us if we’d seen anything. Nobody saw a thing.”
“Did you have many visitors that day?” asked Gus.
“We don’t keep a log,” said Bob. “We offer a service that appeals to the businesses on this site. People are always popping in with an urgent job. They might want a replacement part for a vital piece of kit they use or a simple repair. So, our gates are always open. We could survive with the work this site generates, but we don’t turn away jobs for private individuals or businesses from anywhere in the city. We’ve got an excellent reputation for efficient service.”
“Have you ever done work for the Wilton House estate?” Gus asked.
“I don’t recall them approaching me,” said Bob Frisk. “It wouldn’t do any harm to add them to our clientele. Almost like having ‘By Royal Appointment’ on our letter heading.”
“Although you don’t log visitors in and out, surely you record the jobs you’ve done to raise invoices?” asked Luke.
“You need to speak to Jasmine in Accounts. Don’t worry; it’s not far. She’s in the Portakabin. Second office on the right.”
Gus watched Bob and his hi-viz jacket disappear into the machine shop to their right. No wonder nobody heard anything that day. There was a high level of activity inside.
Gus and Luke walked up the steps to the portacabin and went inside. Luke knocked on the second door on the right.
“Jasmine?” he said as he opened the door.
Luke had expected a younger woman.
“Yes, dear?”
“Bob said you could help us trace invoices for work done in 2011,” said Luke.
“Did he now?” said Jasmine. “It depends on who’s asking.”
“We’re from Wiltshire Police,” said Luke.
“I knew he couldn’t get away with it forever,” sighed Jasmine. “I prayed it wouldn’t come out until I retired in three years.”
“Jasmine,” said Gus, “we’re the police, not HMRC. Our case doesn’t concern the cash-in-hand jobs Bob does for friends on the site. We won’t breathe a word, honest.”
“Right, so when did you say it was?”
“Monday, the eighteenth of March in 2011,” said Gus.
Jasmine pushed herself up from her chair and walked to a rank of grey metal filing cabinets.
“It’s always the bottom drawer,” she complained. Luke could tell that bending over to retrieve the correct folder could prove difficult and embarrassing.
“Let me help, Jasmine,” he said. “How are the folders labelled?”
“You’re a lifesaver, young man. Are you married?”
“I am,” said Luke.
“Just my luck. March 2011 should be the fifteenth file back.”
Luke found it in seconds and handed it to Jasmine.
“The eighteenth, you said. We were busy that day. What name are you looking for?”
“Street,” said Gus.
“Nothing under that name,” said Jasmine, flicking through the folder. “Any idea what type of job it was we did for this firm?”
“Were there any running repairs for a private individual?” asked Gus.
“A Mr Jackson wanted a replacement part for a ride-on mower,” said Jasmine. “The customer brought the damaged item in on Friday. The machine shop supervisor decided he couldn’t salvage it, so we made a new part. It was a simple job; we charged the customer fifteen pounds. They paid in cash when they collected it that day.”
“I don’t suppose the file mentions what time they collected their order?” asked Gus.
“No, we wouldn’t record that detail.”
“Let me return the file for you, Jasmine,” said Luke.
“Bless you, dear. Is that all I can do for you both?”
“You’ve been a great help,” said Gus. “Many thanks.”
Gus and Luke left Jasmine in Accounts and walked back outside. Bob Frisk wasn’t in sight.
“Onwards to Duffield’s Funeral Home, Luke,” said Gus.
“Arthur Jackson, guv? Could it be him?”
“Patience, Luke. Let’s see what Maurice Duffield has to say first.”
They walked to the next premises on Stephenson Road.
“This used to be a gym?” asked Luke.
“Hard to imagine, isn’t it?” said Gus. “The offices are around the side.”
Maurice Duffield looked up when they walked through the door. He didn’t look pleased to see them. Gus thought that was just as well. If they had come here to arrange a funeral, it wouldn’t do for Maurice to jump out of his chair with a beaming smile.
“Was there something else we can help you with, Mr Freeman?”
“You’ve made significant changes here since you took over, Mr Duffield,” said Gus. “Can you recall what the security arrangements were when it was a gym?”
“They had a five-digit entry code on the front door members received to enable them to enter,” said Maurice. “Each
member had an individual locker assigned to them, accessed by a key. The showers and changing rooms were at the rear. The lockers were on either side of the building. Gym equipment was scattered throughout the centre of the main room.”
“Who was the first person to visit this building after you took it over?” asked Gus.
“I came with my brother,” said Maurice. “There was a good deal of detritus that needed clearing. Much of the gym equipment had gone by then. The lockers remained. Several were locked, and we had to check there was nothing inside them of any value. The tiled ceiling in the shower area was on the floor; frozen pipes, I imagine. Why the water and electrics weren’t cut off as soon as the gym ceased trading, I don’t know.”
“Two years before you took over, it was closed for maintenance from time to time,” said Gus. “If they didn’t shut off the utilities then, I don’t suppose they bothered when the business closed. What else did you find lying around?”
“Someone started a fire over there by the lockers on that side. They left a pile of ash scattered across the floor. The lockers themselves revealed little. A few pairs of trainers, t-shirts, shorts, hats, gloves, a few boxes. We had the place cleared within two days, ready to convert to its new usage.”
“Boxes?” asked Luke. “Did you find a lunch-box by any chance?”
“An empty one, yes, I believe we did.”
“Many thanks, Mr Duffield,” said Gus. “DC Umeh can sleep easy tonight.”
Gus and Luke walked back along Stephenson Road to the car.
“It will be noon before we get to Bourne Hill, guv,” said Luke. “What did you want to do after we’ve spoken to Warren Baker?”
“When we get to the car park, we’ll call the office. They might have found a fresh lead. Unless they’ve been sitting on their hands throughout the morning.”
Luke called the office as soon as he parked the car.
“No reply, guv,” he said.
“Try Alex’s mobile,” said Gus.
“Alex, it’s Luke. Where are you? You’re kidding. Okay, we’ll see you in a minute.”
“Are they inside?” asked Gus.
“Alex said they used their initiative. Neil and Blessing interviewed Genevieve Harding. He and Lydia talked to Serena Campbell, and because that conversation ended abruptly, they came here and waylaid Warren Baker.”
“What did he have to say?” asked Gus getting out of the car. “Come on. We’re missing the fun.”
“Baker denied everything at first,” said Luke. “Blessing told him Genevieve Harding had confessed everything. DS Tom Kellett had something on Baker and used it to get him to lose Marion’s mobile phone.”
“The FLO had nothing to confess,” said Gus. “She phoned her lover to warn him his links to the sex parties could surface if Marion’s phone held incriminating evidence. Blessing was fishing. A smart girl, that one.”
“Baker took the bait, guv. He started singing like a chorister in Salisbury Cathedral. Neil found the missing phone in the evidence room tucked into a box relating to a death in custody from decades ago.”
“Excellent choice,” said Gus. “No copper’s would open that box again unless he had to. It will be fascinating to learn what information Marion’s phone held.”
“After what we’ve uncovered today, guv, does it hold the name of our killer?”
“I’m confident it does, Luke,” said Gus.
EPILOGUE
Friday, 24th August 2018
Gus arrived at the Old Police Station office at a quarter to nine. He and the team had spent yesterday afternoon pulling together the results of the different conversations that had taken place across the southern end of the county on Thursday morning.
By four o’clock, everyone agreed they had identified the killer.
A thorough search of Derek Preston’s property uncovered the remaining photos taken by John Preston when Kathy was a young woman. Derek had hidden them in a compartment he had fashioned in the boot of his car. Gus asked Neil and Blessing to transfer the photos to Divya in the Hub at London Road.
“I’m sure Divya understands the need for discretion,” said Gus. “Make sure she’s the only person who handles them.”
“Understood, guv,” said Neil.
Police had recovered Derek Preston’s phone when they arrested him in Portsmouth. A quick analysis confirmed the content and timing of the message he sent Marion Reeves.
Marion’s phone stayed at Bourne Hill for a complete analysis of its contents and call history. The phone wasn’t password-protected, nor had she made any attempt to hide the real names of her contacts. DS Tom Kellett had been right. Although Gus didn’t recognise many names on the list, it would be a simple task to compile the network of partygoers Graham Street and Dave Francis had assembled.
It would take time to combine the information gathered from the photos and the mobile phone. But Gus was confident they could identify locations and dates. Gus knew the Chief Constable had to set up a specific task force to carry the case forward. Kenneth Truelove would ensure it got handled better than Operation Conifer.
Luke Sherman returned to the room that Bourne Hill had set aside for the team.
“Do you have good news, Luke?” asked Gus.
“Arthur Jackson will be here in the morning with his solicitor, guv. The interview room is booked for noon.”
“Alex will accompany me here to Bourne Hill,” said Gus. “Luke, I’d like you to start the search for Maureen Glendenning first thing tomorrow. Lydia, Blessing, and Neil can assist you once they’ve updated their digital files with today’s events.”
“Got it, guv,” said Lydia.
“The three of us must find time to update our files on Friday. This time tomorrow, I want to be ready to hand the final Reeves case data over to the Chief Constable.”
“Okay, guv,” said Alex.
“No problem,” said Luke.
Gus had driven to Urchfont and parked outside the bungalow before half-past five.
Suzie arrived ten minutes later and listened to the evidence they had gathered as they sat on the patio.
“I didn’t see that coming,” she said after he’d revealed the name of the killer.
“It’s been a long, tiring day,” said Gus. “I need a quiet evening and a good night’s sleep.”
When he awoke this morning, Gus felt refreshed and ready for another gruelling day. The rest of the team were hard at work. Gus had just started updating his section of the Freeman files when his phone rang.
“The DNA results are back, Gus,” said Geoff Mercer. “They confirm Jeff Cummins is Rachel’s biological father.”
“Thanks, Geoff,” said Gus. “We’ve been expecting them. I must inform the family.”
Gus picked up his car keys and headed for the lift. He had to inform Rachel Cummins and Sean, and Byron Hogan Gerry’s death was a tragic but genuine mistake.
“Everything alright, guv?” asked Alex.
“Best laid plans, Alex,” said Gus. “At least we can tie the Hogan case in a bow now. I’ll drive to Bourne Hill from Trowle Common. Meet me there before twelve.”
The lift doors closed before Alex could answer. It was all-systems-go this morning.
At noon, Gus and Alex entered the interview room. Alex had already checked everything was ready. He went through the preliminaries while Gus studied the people on the opposite side of the table.
“I thought it best to employ the services of a solicitor,” said Arthur. “This gentleman is Mr Edward Vince.”
“Thank you, Mr Jackson,” said Gus. “Let’s begin. My first question concerns the ride-on mower you use when mowing the grass between the lines of fruit trees on the Wilton estate. When and how did it get broken?”
“I thought we’d cleared away every piece of rubbish that fell from the trees over the winter. The mower hit something hard on Friday afternoon, and a piece almost snapped in half.”
“You took that broken part to Frisk Engineering, didn’t you? The firm on Steph
enson Road on the Churchfields Industrial Estate, next to the gym.”
“The sign says no jobs too small. I knew we needed the mower on Monday. They couldn’t repair it straight away. I had to go back.”
“How did you get to Churchfields on Monday?”
“I took one of the quad bikes. I had to get there and back as soon as possible.”
“What happened when you came outside with the new part they’d made?”
“I took off my fleece because it was hot in the building. I put it on the quad bike. When I looked up, I didn’t understand why the cars were there.”
“You saw Derek Preston, one of the builders, didn’t you, Martyn?”
“The man sat in the car with Mum. They were hugging each other. I didn’t like it. The man got out and went back to his car. I waited until he drove away and then went to ask Mum why she wasn’t at work.”
“Did you sit next to her?” asked Gus.
“I had to move things first. There were photos on the seat. The lady looked like Mum in the pictures, but she was naked and doing dirty things. I can’t remember what happened after that.”
“Did you carry your walkie-talkie with you that morning?” asked Gus.
“Mr Jackson called me first thing; then he said he’d call again when it was lunchtime.”
“Do you carry a knife with you when you’re working?”
“Yes, but it’s always in the sheath on my belt. It’s sharp.”
“You say you don’t remember what happened after you saw those photos. What do you remember about what you did later?”
“Mum told me it was wrong to have feelings for someone else when you were married. She said the family was everything, yet she lied. She was with that man. I couldn’t even be friends with Stephanie; Mum told me that was wrong. She said people shouldn’t say one thing and do another. It made me angry.”
“Where did you go when you got out of the car?”
“I was dirty, so I went to the gym.”
“Did you take anything from the car?”
“I had to take the photos. I couldn’t let anyone else see them.”
“How did you get into the gym?”
“Five, one, nine, four, five. I took off my clothes and had a shower. There weren’t any towels, but people always left clothes hanging on pegs and forgot to collect them. I dried myself and looked into the open lockers. I found tracksuit bottoms and a top that fitted me. There was a box of matches in one locker. I sat and ate my lunch while I watched the photos burn.”