by Frank Smith
Audrey left the gate and walked across the playground to meet her. Olivia paused to speak to another girl, then came on. She had almost reached her mother when her eyes opened wide in surprise, and she put up her arm and waved.
‘There he is, Mummy,’ she called. ‘That’s the man I told you about. See? He waved.’
Audrey turned, her eyes searching frantically among the children and grown-ups in the street. ‘Where?’ she cried. She turned back to see where Olivia was pointing.
‘There. Over there across the street.’
Audrey looked to where her daughter was pointing, and saw a grey-haired man turning away. Even as she picked him out, he walked rapidly away and disappeared around a corner. Audrey dashed for the gate, but children blocked the narrow opening, and Audrey had to force her way through. ‘Stay with Olivia,’ she called to one of the parents she recognized. ‘Please!’ She thrust her way through and was out in the street. She dashed across the road in front of a man on a bicycle, and shouted, ‘Sorry,’ as he swerved and swore at her.
She arrived at the corner, panting. There were several people in the street, but none of them looked anything like the man she was seeking. Still gasping, she began to walk down the street, but realized there would be no point. Besides, she had left Olivia at the school gate, and what if he had somehow come back? The thought was irrational; there was no way he could do that, but still, the sooner she returned to Olivia, the better.
As Audrey made her way back across the road, heart pounding in her chest, Olivia ran to meet her. ‘I’ve got to get more exercise, lovey,’ she gasped as she hugged the child to her. ‘I’ll get your dad to get the exercise bike down tonight.’
Saturday 6th April
WHERE IS LISA REMINGTON? was the headline that greeted Paget when he opened his newspaper on Saturday morning. It was followed by a sub-heading: Love Nest Stripped Bare by Police. A picture of Lisa filled half the page. It showed her in a provocative pose, modelling black lace underwear. They must have dug it out of the archives, because it was at least ten years old. A smaller picture of Bracken Cottage appeared in the bottom corner of the page, and the accompanying story not only took up the rest of the front page, but spilled over on to page three. Four paragraphs covered the known facts of the case, but no doubt the reading public would find the other eleven paragraphs of creative speculation far more titillating.
By nine o’clock, uniformed men had to be called out to keep traffic moving past Bracken Cottage, and it became a full-time job just keeping the Press and the more daring memento-seekers off the property. Peter Foster complained bitterly to the uniformed sergeant in charge, but even he could see there was little else the sergeant or his men could do. In the end, Foster shut himself away in his dark-room, and sat hunched up in a chair, alternately cursing the world at large, and weeping piteously.
Digging had ceased—at least for the moment. Nothing, other than a scrap of material that might or might not be relevant, had been found in the garden, and careful inspection of the area in the immediate vicinity of Bracken Cottage had shown no sign of the ground having been disturbed. Now, the only course to follow was the tried and true one of knocking on doors and asking questions in the hope that someone, somewhere, had seen or heard something that would point the police in the right direction.
Tregalles had turned in his report on the interview with the Tyson family, concluding that he thought it possible that Eric Tyson might know or have seen something, but it would probably take a psychologist to winkle it out. If nothing else turned up, Paget thought gloomily, they might have to seek help in that direction.
He spent the morning catching up on paperwork, but by twelve o’clock he’d had enough. He made himself a couple of sandwiches and a pot of tea, and set them on the kitchen table. But it looked so pleasant out there in the garden that he put everything on a tray and took it outside. He settled in an old cane chair, and poured himself a cup of tea. It was warm there in the sun. Paget put his head back and closed his eyes—and promptly fell asleep.
TWELVE
Monday 8th April
PAGET TAPPED the blackboard on which he had written in bold letters, TUESDAY—MARCH 12TH, and circled it. ‘To us, this case is barely one week old,’ he said, ‘but in fact what we’re looking at is a trail that is almost a month old, and that—’ he tapped the board again ‘—is the date we have to focus on. Because that, as far as we know, is when Lisa Remington was last seen alive.’
It was eight thirty in the morning, and members of the murder team were gathered in the operations room in Charter Lane to review the case, and to make sure that everyone knew exactly where things stood.
‘If Peter Foster’s description of the condition of the body is to be believed…’ Paget raised his voice as a murmur of dissent arose around him. ‘If Peter Foster is to be believed,’ he repeated, ‘David Gray was killed sometime between the afternoon of Tuesday, March 12th, and about five o’clock on Wednesday morning. Unfortunately, Dr Starkie cannot give us a more accurate time of death, so let’s assume, at least for now, that Peter Foster is telling the truth.’
The murmur grew more insistent, but Paget held up his hands. ‘Never mind what you think,’ he said. ‘Just bear with me for a moment. Now, let’s suppose that Foster is telling us the literal truth; that he came home and found a body in the bed, and he honestly thought it was Sean Merrick. For those of you who were not there, let me remind you that the man’s face was completely obliterated, and the body was naked. There was little to differentiate between Gray and Merrick under those conditions.
‘So, what is Foster’s reaction? He thinks that Merrick has forced his way into the cottage again, and that he has either raped Lisa or at least attempted to—remember, the man has a reputation as a bully and a wife-beater—and Lisa shot him. Where she is, he doesn’t know, but on the assumption that she will get in touch with him, he sets about covering up the crime. At first he phones friends to try to find her, but when that fails, he concocts a story about her being away on an assignment, expecting her to turn up any day. But she doesn’t return, and he is forced to maintain the fiction that Lisa is abroad.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting the stuff buried in the garden, sir?’ a young DC asked.
‘No, I’m not forgetting that,’ said Paget, ‘and I must admit it bothers me. But it is just possible that Foster is telling us the truth about that as well. Unlikely, perhaps, but possible.
‘However, let’s look at another possibility: the idea that Foster arrived home to find Lisa in bed with David Gray. In a fit of rage he grabs the shotgun intent on killing both of them. Now, based on the amount of shot Forensic recovered, and the grouping, two cartridges were fired from exactly the same position, suggesting that both barrels were discharged at the same time. That’s why so much damage was done to Gray’s face and upper body. But if Gray took the full force of the discharge, where was Lisa Remington? Was she also killed in the blast? Or did she manage to escape and slip away?’
Paget paused and looked around the room. ‘If Lisa did manage to escape, then where is she? If she thought her life was in danger, wouldn’t you expect her to run to the nearest place for help? Call the police? But no one admits to seeing her. No one, it seems, has seen or heard from her since that day.’
‘Which suggests that Foster did kill her,’ a young DC ventured.
Paget looked thoughtful. ‘In that case, why didn’t Foster put her body in the well along with that of Gray? There was plenty of room, so why go to the trouble of disposing of her body somewhere else? It would be more risky, so why do it?’
Ormside, who had come in for the briefing, spoke up. ‘The body could still be on the property,’ he said. ‘From what I’ve seen of Foster, he’s not stupid. He did a good job of doing that room over, and he went about his business as if nothing had happened. And we did find Miss Remington’s handbag and suitcase buried in the garden.’
‘True,’ said Paget, ‘but Foster claims that he didn’
t discover the handbag until later, and it was only then that he decided he’d better make it look as if Lisa had taken the bag and suitcase with her. It was too late to drop those down the well, so he buried them. It may not be what you or I would have done, but there is a certain logic to it.’
The noise level in the room escalated as members of the team began arguing the pros and cons among themselves. ‘So what do you think happened, sir?’ asked a female member of the team.
Paget shrugged. ‘To be quite honest, I don’t know,’ he said, ‘but there is another possibility, and that is that neither Foster nor Lisa Remington murdered Gray. Someone else did.’
‘Who?’ several voices said at once. Paget waved them to silence. ‘You sound like a bunch of owls,’ he growled. ‘Think about it. What about Merrick himself? Once we found out that he was alive, we more or less forgot about him, but who had been coming round to try to take Lisa away? Who got a load of shot up his backside the day before? Who would have gone berserk if he’d found Lisa in bed with someone else? From what we know about him, he’s capable of it, and he might well have forced Lisa to go with him. Perhaps locked her up somewhere.’
Heads began to nod, but Paget held up his hand. ‘That is only one possibility,’ he cautioned. ‘If our information is correct, Lisa Remington was not above sleeping with men who she thought might advance her career. And bear in mind that she was entertaining one lover while living with another. Who else might have been visiting Bracken Cottage while Foster was away is anybody’s guess. And I must remind you that we know nothing about David Gray, except that he was about to be married to Janet Freeman. What, for example, might happen if Janet Freeman found out about the affair? Here was her fiancé off sleeping with another woman the very day their wedding invitations were to be sent out. How do you think she might react if she found out?’
‘Bloody hell!’ said someone as a groan went up around the room. ‘That means…’
‘That means that we have a hell of a lot of work to do,’ Paget cut in, ‘and the sooner we get started, the better. Tregalles is on his way to London to follow up on Merrick, so that end is covered, but the rest of you will have more than enough to keep you occupied.
‘Len,’ he said to Ormside, ‘I’d like you to extend your area of enquiry to include the villages of Brecken Cross and Chedstone, and conduct a door-to-door in both those villages. I know you’ve been around the farms and cottages in the area, but I’d like you to do them again. Prod their memories, and concentrate on that date of March 12th.’ Paget took the chalk and circled the date heavily.
‘And set up a road-block near Bracken Cottage. Ask everyone using the road whether they were on the road that Tuesday. If they were, get a statement from them. Someone has to have seen something, so let’s get out there and find them.’
Paget dusted chalk from his hands. ‘We’ve already had over forty reports of sightings of Lisa Remington since her picture was in the paper over the weekend, and Saunders, Davis and Gregson will be following those up with the local forces around the country. Meanwhile, we have work to do over at Freeman Protronics. I’ll need two people this morning.’ He looked around the room. ‘Weller and Melrose. You will be doing interviews there with me. Be ready to go in half an hour. Anyone have any questions? No? Good. Then let’s get on with it.’
* * *
IT TOOK SOME SHUFFLING on the part of Mike Freeman’s staff, but by ten o’clock various people had vacated their offices to allow Paget and his two DCs to conduct interviews. Paget had looked over David Gray’s office the Friday before, but it told him nothing of the man himself.
He did know, from the Missing Person report, that Gray had no close relatives. Gray was the only child of a single mother, and she had died some years ago. His grandparents were still alive, but they lived in Aberdeen, and when contacted by the police, said they had never had anything to do with David, and had no interest in him. In fact, they claimed that his mother had never contacted them again after they turned her out when she became pregnant, so they knew nothing of the boy.
As for other relatives, Gray’s mother had no brothers or sisters, so it was pretty much a dead end there. Prior to joining Freeman Protronics, Gray had been employed for five years by a software company based in Manchester. His employment record with them was excellent, but as far as his personal history was concerned, they had nothing on file the police didn’t already know.
So, with nothing more to go on than that, Janet Freeman was Paget’s only hope. If anyone knew anything about Gray, it should be she. After all, she had been about to marry the man, so it seemed safe to assume that she knew something about his personal life.
The trouble was, how willing would she be to talk about him under the circumstances?
* * *
JANET FREEMAN was tense. He could see it in every move, every gesture, and at least part of the reason was obvious. Two sides of her office were made of glass, and no matter how hard they tried not to, the people working in the main body of the open office kept glancing in.
‘Look,’ said Paget, ‘I know how difficult this must be for you, Miss Freeman. Is there somewhere else we could talk? Somewhere more private?’
Janet Freeman threw him a grateful glance. ‘There’s a little place across the square,’ she said hesitantly. ‘A café. It won’t be very busy, now, and they have booths.’
‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘How’s their coffee?’
‘It’s very good, as a matter of fact.’
Janet Freeman was right. The coffee was good, and there were only a handful of people in the place. Janet raised her cup and regarded Paget over the rim. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and she looked as if she’d hardly slept throughout the weekend.
Paget began his questioning slowly, trying to build a picture of David Gray. But it seemed that Gray had told her very little about himself. ‘It didn’t seem important,’ she told him. ‘We were too busy planning for the future to talk much about the past. At least, I was,’ she ended bitterly. ‘I should have listened to Frank.’
She brushed a wisp of hair away from her face. ‘He was right,’ she went on, ‘but I didn’t want to believe him. In fact, I told him he was acting like a spiteful child.’
‘This would be Frank Porter?’ Paget said.
Janet nodded. ‘Frank was the first one to join us when the work became too much for Dad and me, and we had to expand. Until David came along, Frank and I … Well, it was taken for granted, I suppose, that he and I would get married some day.’
‘You say he was right,’ Paget said. ‘What, exactly, did you mean by that, Miss Freeman? What did Frank tell you about David Gray?’
Janet Freeman looked down at the table. ‘He said that David was trying to worm his way into the firm; that he was more interested in Freeman Protronics than he was in me. I thought he was just saying that to get back at me, to hurt me, but it seems that he was right.’
‘Did anyone else try to warn you against David Gray?’
Janet frowned and looked down at the cup in her hands. ‘Not in that way, but it took Dad a while to get used to the idea of my marrying David,’ she said slowly. ‘We argued about it; in fact we more or less agreed to disagree, but he was coming round.’
‘Why was he against your marrying Gray?’
Janet Freeman remained silent for a long moment before answering. ‘I think he was frightened,’ she said softly. ‘Not of David, but of my leaving him. You see, he’d never admit it, but I think the heart attack made him realize that he is not immortal, and if I married David, he’d be on his own. Perhaps not right away, but we both knew that David was ambitious, and if he decided to move on and I went with him…’
Janet looked up at Paget. ‘I just hope all this doesn’t set him back again,’ she went on. ‘His blood pressure was up when he took it Friday evening, and he’s been like a cat on hot bricks all weekend. I wish he’d learn to settle down. But then, that’s always been his problem. He could never learn to rela
x.’
‘Is his condition serious?’
Janet Freeman shrugged. ‘If he takes care of himself, no,’ she said. ‘But you’ve seen him. He drives himself. Always has. And he won’t ask for help. He could have died last time, and all because he was too stubborn to call me. He has this button beside his bed, you see. It’s connected to a buzzer in my room, and he only has to push it for me to be there in seconds. But will he do it? Not him! “Don’t like to disturb you, Janet,” he tells me. “You needed your sleep.’”
Janet shook her head despairingly. ‘So he ends up in hospital with a broken rib as well as blood pressure off the end of the scale.’
‘What happened?’
‘He had a bad attack during the night,’ she said. ‘He took his tablet, but it didn’t work, so instead of ringing for me, he got up, even tried to dress himself, then started down the stairs to ring the doctor. I’ve tried to get him to have a telephone extension in his bedroom, but it’s like talking to the wall. Anyway, he tripped over his trousers at the top of the stairs and fell. That’s how he broke his rib. If it wasn’t so serious, it would be laughable. I asked him why he got dressed, and do you know what he said?’
Paget waited.
‘He said he thought the doctor might send him to hospital, so he wanted to be ready.’ Janet closed her eyes and clenched her fists in a gesture of frustration. ‘He also said he would have left me a note so I wouldn’t worry. What do you do with a man like that, Chief Inspector?’
Paget chose to regard the question as rhetorical. He caught the eye of the waitress, and motioned to their cups. She was a young girl, not long out of school, and she seemed more interested in a group of young people gathered around the till than in serving paying customers. She came grudgingly, and poured the coffee, slopping it over into his saucer. The girl turned to Janet, but she put her hand over her cup and shook her head.