Barking Mad

by Ted Tayler

  Gus decided he’d get on with the one job he could do without checking with Bert. He fetched his hoe from the shed. Almost from the first day he’d taken on this piece of land, Bert had told him to hoe at every opportunity to remove weeds and break up the soil. When the showers came, and they would before you knew it, that allowed water to soak into the earth. Gus passed the next hour hoeing, thinning out and watering.

  He did a little thinking on the new case too. It was only Saturday, and he’d promised to hold off until Monday, but old habits die hard.

  Mark Malone’s BMW had tinted windows, a lowered suspension, and a loud car stereo. He drove it at speed along the Beckhampton straight late at night back in 2015. That wasn’t unusual. It was hard to resist speeding on that stretch of road. Hundreds of drivers got caught speeding there every year in the old days. Several died in high-speed accidents.

  What made the Malone incident different was that fifteen minutes earlier he’d stopped at a JET garage on the A4 in Bath Road, outside Marlborough. A grey 7-series BMW stopped behind him, and the two drivers appeared to argue. The attack might have been a case of road rage or mistaken identity.

  As Malone reached the outskirts of Devizes, someone fired six shots with a handgun. Malone lost control of his car and hit several parked vehicles before ending up in a garden. He got hit twice in the head and died in the hospital later that morning.

  Malone lived in Bath and had driven from a friend’s house in Newbury. The original investigation headed by Gus’s old acquaintance DI Trefor Davies found nothing in Malone’s background to suggest his involvement in any criminal activity. The detectives working the case thought the reason for Mark Malone’s murder linked to the events before the shooting. There was no evidence of any long-running dispute with anyone in the Devizes area. There was little to suggest a targeted attack. Nobody could have anticipated Malone driving in that spot at that time.

  Gus tried to figure whether Devizes had any direct connection to the murder. Was it little more than a convenient spot between Newbury and Bath that presented itself to the gunman?

  So far, he hadn’t studied the murder file in depth. How did Malone earn a living? He was a week short of his thirtieth birthday when he died. The flashy car suggested Malone wasn’t short of money, but that didn’t always follow. He could have been living beyond his means like so many other young, thrusting entrepreneurs these days. That was something to check on Monday when they got to grips with this case.

  As Gus cleaned his hoe before putting it back in his shed, another thought struck him.

  Malone’s friends lived in Newbury. Why not head for the M4 and give that BMW a treat? Malone wouldn’t have been the first driver to press the pedal to the metal and cover the fifty miles in half an hour without getting caught.

  Gus knew he shouldn’t encourage drivers to break the law, but seventy miles per hour always felt too restricting on a motorway in perfect driving conditions. It was the numbskulls who drove at fifty through a built-up area when children were on the way home from school that irked him.

  He was lucky if his Ford Focus could reach fifty miles per hour these days, especially between home and work. Gus convinced himself it wasn’t the car’s performance that stopped him; it was the constant volume of traffic.

  As he drove along the lane towards his bungalow at a sedate twenty miles per hour, he filed away another question to add to Monday’s list. Why did Mark Malone travel across the county via the old A4 road to reach Bath? A route where the opportunities to give the powerful BMW a chance to show its paces were few and far between?

  As he turned into his driveway, Gus noticed that Suzie had beaten him to it. He parked beside her GTI, and she got out to greet him.

  “Miss me?” she said.

  “Hard to say,” said Gus, “I’ve been so busy. I hope you haven’t been waiting long. There was nobody here when I got back from Vera’s, so I popped along to the allotment.”

  “Don’t worry. I only arrived two minutes ago. How did the move go?”

  “It went smoothly,” said Gus, “we had four willing men to do the heavy work from the firm Vera’s father employed. Kassie Trotter came along to help. She supplied everyone with food and drink. Vera couldn’t trust her with her breakable items; you know Kassie. I dropped her off in the village with the few scraps that remained of her baked goods. I think she’ll have a full day in her little kitchen tomorrow.”

  Suzie smiled.

  “What?” asked Gus.

  “Didn’t you find it odd that Vera invited Kassie?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it until you mentioned it. Vera and Kassie work together every day. It makes sense that Kassie offered to help, doesn’t it?”

  “What was Vera doing this evening?”

  “She invited her parents over to view her new abode,” said Gus. “I think I see where this is heading now. Vera asked around mid-afternoon whether I needed to dash off anywhere. I said, not for two hours. Vera didn’t press matters, and I didn’t elaborate. The three of us then drank a glass of champagne to toast the new home, and when Kassie was ready to leave, we walked up London Road to retrieve my car from Geoff Mercer’s parking spot. You think Vera had Kassie in attendance to avoid any uncomfortable moments?”

  “It worked, didn’t it? I assume Kassie came into town on the bus and you’re too much of a gentleman not to offer her a lift home afterwards. Vera knew that. It meant you could disappear with a valid reason and not worry about later because you knew her parents were keeping her company.”

  “You’ve got it worked out, haven’t you?” said Gus heading for the front door.

  “I wouldn’t assume to have all the answers, Gus,” said Suzie, “how are you feeling, anyway?”

  “It’s been a tiring day,” he said as they stood in the hallway.

  “Have a shower, freshen up and get changed,” said Suzie, “I’ll keep busy until you’re ready and then we’ll go somewhere for a meal. Nothing too heavy. I’ll drive if you wish.”

  “We could walk to the Lamb,” Gus suggested.

  “That sounds a better idea. We can both have a drink then.”

  Gus broke into his reverie to put the finishing touches to his contributions to the Dennis Gates case in the Freeman Files. Lydia and Luke would soon wonder when he would start discussing their new cold case.

  “Coffee, guv?” asked Lydia, noticing her boss was no longer staring at his computer screen.

  “Perfect timing,” said Gus, “I’m almost done with the Gates files. I’d like to run through the bare bones of the Malone case and select items for the Hub to process. The murder file we’ve received from the ACC looks thin compared to the previous one.”

  “Mark Malone was only twenty-nine, guv,” said Lydia, “it’s no age, is it?”

  “You can say that again,” said Luke, “he was only eighteen months older than me. The same age as Nicky, almost to the day, when he died in 2015.”

  Lydia was on her way to the restroom when Gus’s phone rang.

  “Please don’t let this be another Blue Monday,” said Gus.

  “Good morning, Freeman.”

  It was Kenneth Truelove, the ACC.

  “Good morning, Sir,” said Gus, “how can I help?”

  “I need you and Geoff Mercer in my office at ten o’clock. Don’t be late.”

  Gus was about to reply when he realised the ACC had ended the call.

  “Trouble, guv?” asked Luke.

  “The ACC didn’t give much away, Luke, but my guess is there’s a balloon somewhere, and it’s still rising. I’ll finish this last paragraph, and then I can deliver the files to him in person. Let’s hope that reduces his stress levels.”

  Five minutes later, Lydia returned from the restroom with three cups of coffee to find Gus preparing to leave.

  “Was it something I said, guv,” she asked.

  “Trouble brewing,” said Luke, “Gus got the dreaded Monday morning call.”

  “What on earth has happened
now?” sighed Lydia as her boss disappeared behind the lift door.

  Gus reached the ground floor and exited the building. He threw his files onto the passenger seat and clipped on his seat belt. Here we go again. As Gus eased the Focus into traffic on the High Street, he resumed his thoughts of the weekend.

  Saturday night was the first time he’d visited the Lamb with Suzie. He and Vera always went further afield, sometimes to places where neither of them was well known. Vera was still married at the start of their relationship, so it made sense. Things eased in the last few weeks, but that had changed last Sunday after his confession.

  As Gus walked through the pub door with Suzie on his arm, he recalled that he and Tess rarely used the place. He’d been here with Neil Davis for Frank North’s wake; it wasn’t uncommon for him to have a quick pint with Bert Penman after a session at the allotment.

  It was a different matter to arrive with a woman half his age. Several heads turned their way and conversation stalled for what felt like minutes rather than seconds.

  “We’ve caused a stir,” said Suzie, “our secret’s out.”

  They had enjoyed a drink and a bar meal while chatting over the events of the day. It was very civilised, Gus thought. With each passing minute, the Lamb’s regulars lost interest in them, and when Suzie suggested they leave at ten o’clock, Gus didn’t think anyone noticed.

  Sunday was a leisurely day. Neither of them was in a rush to get out of bed. There were no pressing appointments, so Gus decided it required brunch. He worked in the kitchen while Suzie showered and dressed. After they had eaten, Suzie suggested a walk in the fresh air. They left the bungalow at two o’clock, and she drove them to Westbury. She and Gus climbed the hill near Bratton to enjoy the view and consider the history of the White Horse carved into the chalky grassland five centuries earlier.

  “Another Sunday, another journey back in time,” said Gus, “it’s amazing the number of places I’ve never visited in this county despite living here all my life.”

  “Modern life isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be,” said Suzie, “I’ve always wanted to slow down, take time to look around me, rather than speed by in the car. That’s the joy of riding like I did yesterday. It would be healthier for you too, instead of sitting by your garden shed when you want to mull over a case.”

  “Look, young lady, I still bear the bruises from that trip I took on horseback to your farm. I’m too old to start riding, thank you very much.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t try to change you,” said Suzie. “I fell for the grumpy retired detective. Come on, let’s get back. You can cook me something delicious and then I’ll leave you to catch up on your sleep.”

  Later that evening after Suzie drove home to Worton, Gus sat in the lounge with a large glass of Malbec. He watched nonsense on TV for an hour and then headed for the bathroom. There were a few additions beside his items in the shower and the bathroom cabinet. Well, it made sense, if Suzie planned to stay over regularly.

  This morning, when he had opened the wardrobe door to grab his pale blue work shirt and dark trousers, he had another surprise. He found his clothes squeezed into the right-hand side, just like the old days when Tess allowed him to occupy a fifth of the available space.

  Since her death, Gus had spread his few items of clothing along the rail, so it didn’t feel empty. He thought back to yesterday. He and Suzie both dressed casually, and he got a polo shirt out of a drawer to wear with the same pair of dark slacks he’d worn on Saturday evening.

  The extra clothing must have been put in the wardrobe since he got home from Vera’s. Of course, that was what Suzie was doing when she was keeping busy while he showered after getting back from Vera’s.

  Did this mean Suzie was moving in bit by bit? Or was it just enough things to survive a weekend? If he weren’t due to meet Geoff and the ACC to learn of yet another crisis, he would need to give the matter thought.

  How did he feel about what it might mean?

  One thing Gus was sure of as he bounded up the stairs to the administration area.

  How quickly things could change.

  Geoff Mercer spotted him from the other side of the room. He waved a hand, and Gus waved back. Vera and Kassie were on the coffee round. They had plenty of doors to knock on before they reached the ACC’s office. Geoff Mercer joined Gus outside the door.

  “Any idea what’s happened?” asked Gus.

  “Everyone’s tight-lipped this morning,” said Geoff, “it feels serious. I hope it’s news of Gardiner’s arrest.”

  Geoff knocked, and the ACC called them in. He sat at his desk.

  “There’s no way to soften the blow of this news, I’m afraid,” he said. “We received a call this morning from Staffordshire Police. As you know, the Chief Constable left early on Friday to spend the weekend in the Midlands. She joined her partner, Naomi Hall at their home near Lichfield. Yesterday evening a dog walker heard an engine running but couldn’t see a car in the vicinity. She realised the sound was coming from the garage.”

  “Dear God, no,” said Geoff.

  “She called the emergency services, and they got the garage door open. But it was far too late to save the occupants of the car who were Sandra Plunkett and Naomi Hall.”

  “Was there a note?” asked Geoff.

  “A tear-stained envelope addressed to the Staffordshire Chief Constable was inside the house,” said the ACC, “not much detail in the letter. Sandra apologised to her family and colleagues for a serious error of judgement in the past. No names, no pack drill.”

  “Sandra Plunkett couldn’t face the imminent disclosure of the facts surrounding the hit-and-run she covered up with Dominic Culverhouse,” said Gus. “She realised her career was over. The shame was too much to bear.”

  “There was worse to come if the IOPC linked her to Terry Davis’s murder,” said Geoff Mercer. “They can’t follow the money trail until Gardiner gets arrested, but if she and Culverhouse paid him to murder Terry as we believe, then a loss of career was the least of her worries.”

  “What have we done?” asked the ACC. He stood and walked to the window.

  “Our jobs,” said Gus Freeman.

  DS Geoff Mercer nodded his agreement.

  CHAPTER 2

  It was noon before Gus drove back to the Old Police Station office.

  Geoff Mercer persuaded Gus to stay with Kenneth Truelove until Vera and Kassie delivered the coffee and biscuits. After they left the room, the two friends attempted to calm the ACC’s nerves.

  “We did nothing wrong,” said Geoff, “Culverhouse and Plunkett did.”

  “The evidence we passed to the IOPC was damning,” agreed Gus, “Culverhouse and Plunkett have nobody to blame but themselves.”

  “What about Naomi Hall?” asked the ACC, “she didn’t deserve to die.”

  “We have no idea how much she knew of the incident six years ago,” said Geoff. “Naomi Hall came from Oakley and her and Sandra lived together for years. If she was innocent in this, could she merely walk away when her lover admitted what would happen? Perhaps, but how could we anticipate a double suicide would be the outcome?”

  “Who knows about the deaths?” asked Gus.

  “The Police and Crime Commissioner,” said the ACC.

  “I bet that woke him up,” said Gus, “he’ll wish he did something less stressful. That’s two Chief Constables he’s seen disappear since I returned to work.”

  Kenneth Truelove gave Gus a look that suggested he thought this was Gus’s fault.

  “Who’s taking charge in the interim?” asked Geoff.

  “Why do you think I’m getting stressed?” said the Acting Chief Constable. “All I asked for was a quiet rundown to retirement. No major crimes, no scandals, no headaches; not much to ask after forty years of faithful service.”

  “Life’s hard, and then you die,” said Gus.

  “That bloody Kierkegaard fellow again, I presume?”

  “Sorry, Sir, he can’t get the bla
me for that one.”

  “When are you going to announce this to the troops?” asked Geoff.

  “The media people are getting a speech prepared,” said the ACC. “The IOPC investigation is in its early stages, and they have yet to interview Culverhouse. Ricky Gardiner is still at large. The PCC hopes to finish this with as little fuss as possible. I can’t see how, but that’s the way he wants to play it. The only people outside this office who know the genuine reason behind the deaths are the Staffordshire Chief Constable and our Police and Crime Commissioner.”

  “So, you’ll inform everyone working for Wiltshire Police and the local media that the Chief Constable and her partner died in a tragic accident,” said Gus. “Or words to that effect. The hope is it will buy the IOPC time to nail Culverhouse and arrest Gardiner. Both events forecasted to occur early this week, anyway.”

  “Yes, the truth behind the double suicide will surface in time,” said the ACC, “they’ll delay the post mortem as long as they can. For two to three days. We’re very much relying on others to do what’s necessary. We can only sit and wait, not the situation I prefer.”

  Gus had to agree with him.

  There was a knock at the door. The Police and Crime Commissioner walked into the room. He glanced towards Gus and Geoff.

  “Our regular Monday meeting with the head of the Crime Review Team,” said the ACC. Gus closed his eyes. It might have been better to say nothing. Now the PCC will suspect we were discussing the hush-hush news.

  The PCC nodded and handed over a draft copy of the speech for the briefing and press release.

  “We should discuss this,” he said to the ACC.

  Geoff and Gus got up to leave. They knew when they were surplus to requirements.

  As the door closed behind them, Kassie Trotter ran over and grabbed Gus’s arm.

  “What’s going on, Mr Freeman?” she asked, “we knocked on Her Majesty’s door, and found it locked. Vera tells me her car’s not in the car park. Her Majesty was out of sorts last Friday. She wasn’t as bitchy as usual. As if she’d had enough, you know?”

  “You’ll hear soon enough, Kassie. Don’t fret. How’s Vera?”