The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘For a while, but he had five wounds.’

  ‘So we can assume that the end result would be death. When he finally collapsed he didn’t move again.’

  ‘Which means that someone was certain that he would be dead.’

  ‘Only Freestone had the opportunity to place the blade precisely.’

  ‘It’s still speculation, guv.’

  ‘It’s good policing, that’s what it is.’

  ‘A visit to Freestone?’

  ‘Not yet. Who else have we got to interview?’

  ‘Geoff Pearson, and then Gary Barker and Cheryl Milledge.’

  ‘The town bike.’

  ‘Don’t let Superintendent Moulton hear you saying that,’ Clare said.

  ‘Why? We’re looking for motives here, not Sunday School teachers. If she’s got a background, then she’s got skeletons.’

  ‘We’ll interview Pearson first. He’s in Southampton at the university there.’

  ‘Yarwood, you can drive.’

  Clare noticed Tremayne pick up his newspaper. ‘You’ll not get to the races this weekend.’

  ‘That’s why you’re driving. I need to check the form. I can place my bets online.’

  ‘Bets?’

  ‘Okay, some lose, some win. A man has got to have a hobby. What do you expect me to do, take up stamp collecting?’

  ‘An interesting thought, but you don’t look like a stamp collector.’

  ‘I look like your senior, be careful with the lip.’

  As they left the office, Clare was glad to be back. She had missed the curmudgeon with his inability to pick a winning horse, his questionable attempts at ironing his shirt with its frayed collar, and his drive to solve a murder.

  ***

  Southampton, the largest city in the area, was only twenty miles away. Clare phoned ahead to ensure that Pearson would be available. Thirty-five minutes after leaving Salisbury, they were seated in the cafeteria at the university.

  ‘I’m studying archaeology and anthropology. It’s a three-year course, I’m hopeful of finishing in two.’

  ‘Is there much money in that?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘There’s enough. It’s a vocation, at least to me. The same as policing, I assume.’

  ‘A lifetime of poverty then.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Pearson said.

  ‘We need to understand what happened,’ Clare said. In the daylight, she could see that Pearson was an attractive man in his late twenties. Apart from a scar on his face, she would have described him as handsome. He was also well-dressed.

  ‘Mason could be a tyrant, but I couldn’t wish him dead.’

  ‘That’s the first time we’ve heard him called a tyrant,’ Tremayne said. He was sipping a cup of tea that Clare had purchased for him. It tasted of cardboard, but Tremayne had thanked her. She was still at the sensitive stage, he could see that, and his acerbic comments were moderated, but her observation about his betting skills had struck a tender spot, the reason he had told her to be careful. Not that he meant it, he knew that, but everyone wanted to offer a comment as to how he was wasting his money, but what did it matter. He didn’t throw his money away on trivialities, such as clothing, and he could see that Yarwood spent plenty. Even Geoff Pearson, judging by his clothes and the expensive laptop he had placed on the table, spent more than his fair share, and he was at university, supposedly studying hard with no income.

  Betting on the horses, to Tremayne, was his hobby; the fact that he was not very good at it did not change the fact that it kept him occupied when there was no case, a healthy distraction when there was.

  ‘Tyrant may be a little extreme,’ Pearson said. ‘Did you know the man, when he was alive, that is?’

  ‘I don’t remember him. I know Peter Freestone though.’

  ‘It’s not surprising you didn’t know Gordon Mason. The man was one of life’s morose people.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Clare asked.

  ‘A negative personality, the sort of person that after five minutes in their company, you’d end up leaving sadder than when you had first met.’

  ‘Elaborate on that statement,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Okay. The man did not like alcohol, gays, lesbians, anyone not like him.’

  ‘How would you describe him?’ Clare asked.

  ‘A killjoy. The type of person you’d not invite to a party.’

  ‘Would he have come?’

  ‘Not to one of mine anyway.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I’m twenty-six. What sort of parties would you think they are?

  ‘A lot of alcohol, a lot of sex, a lot of people having a good time,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I’ll agree with your first and last analysis, not so sure about the sex,’ Pearson replied. He looked over at Clare and smiled.

  ‘Did Mason approve of you?’

  ‘He thought I was brash, a little too sure of myself.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘I’m always confident, never let anything get me down. Mason used to get angry in rehearsals. I’d see the positives, he’d be looking for the negatives. I’m a cup half full, he was a cup half empty.’

  ‘His dislike for you, a reason to wish him harm?’

  ‘Not me. I always used to have a laugh at him.’

  ‘To his face?’

  ‘In the pub afterwards with Gary and Cheryl.’

  ‘Gary Barker and Cheryl Milledge?’

  ‘I’m friendly with them.’

  ‘We’re told that Gary Barker is not an ambitious person,’ Clare said.

  ‘That’s true, but I choose my friends based on whether I like them or not. I’m not their judge. If Gary wants to drift that’s up to him. Personally, I don’t.’

  ‘And Cheryl Milledge?’

  ‘What have you heard?’ Pearson asked.

  ‘We’re asking the questions,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I’ve known Cheryl for a few years, a heart of gold. She’s a drinker, more than Gary, more than me. She’s been around.’

  ‘Been around?’ Clare said.

  ‘She had a reputation as being easy when she was younger.’

  ‘Was she?’

  ‘Since she’s latched on to Gary, she’s changed.’

  ‘For the better?’

  ‘I’d say so. She still drinks too much, and she’s got a raucous laugh, but as I’ve said, a good person. She’d give you the last coin in her pocket if she had to.’

  ‘Does she have money?’

  ‘Enough for a beat-up old car, and a half share of the rent on a bedsit up Devizes Road she shares with Gary.’

  ‘Is that sufficient for her?’

  ‘They don’t want much out of life.’

  ‘As compared to you.’

  ‘I want to do archaeology. It’s not the way to a fortune unless you can get a programme on television, old ruins of England, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Is that part of your plan?’

  ‘It’s in the back of my mind. You need to be pushy, presentable. I think I’ve got it.’

  ‘You’ve got plenty of brass, I’ll give you that,’ Tremayne said. Clare could tell that the DI liked the young man.

  ‘Who would want Gordon Mason dead?’ Clare asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. Not many of us liked the man, but he was easy to ignore. Why would anyone want to kill someone else? It makes no sense to me.’

  ‘Gary Barker, Cheryl Milledge?’

  ‘Not a chance. They’re harmless, even if a little rough around the edges.’

  ‘Are they?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘You know about Cheryl. Gary just goes with the flow. His language can be a bit colourful.’

  ‘Swears a lot?’

  ‘Not when he’s sober, but after a few drinks, he will. You’ve probably seen him around.’

  ‘I don’t recollect him.’

  ‘You will, once he’s had a few.’

  Chapter 6

  The last time that Clare had had fish an
d chips out of a cardboard box was in Bournemouth, not more than a forty-minute drive from Southampton. Then it had been accompanied by a bottle of wine and a wedding proposal from Harry Holchester, but now it was with Tremayne. He had insisted on stopping to eat before they carried on; she would have preferred a sandwich.

  She enjoyed being with the man, watching his technique, observing his mannerisms, his foibles. For a man who pretended not to be intellectual, not personable, not caring, he was letting his guard slip, at least with her.

  Behind that rough exterior there was a man who cared, an intelligent man who could collate all the evidence they were gathering, all the information about the people they were interviewing, and come up with a reasoned chain of events, a motive, a culprit.

  ‘Come on, Yarwood, the day’s young,’ Tremayne said. He was out of his chair, his oily chips gone, the fish, if it was indeed fish, gone as well.

  Clare took her box with its half-eaten contents and dumped it in the bin at the door. She made a note to not come back to the greasy shop, its disinterested staff behind the counter slapping the fish in batter and then in the boiling oil.

  She looked at her watch. It was two in the afternoon.

  ‘We’ll find Gary Barker at his work. You’ve got the number?’

  ‘I’ll phone him.’

  ‘Good. You’ve got the keys,’ Tremayne said. It was good that she enjoyed driving, Clare thought. If she was there, she was in the driving seat, while he took the opportunity to catch up on a little shut-eye, the horses, or just to lie back, close his eyes and consider the case.

  They found Gary Barker working at a garden centre close to the river in Harnham, a pretty part of the city. Apart from the weather, which was wet, and the mud underfoot where Barker was busy with a spade, it would have been pleasant.

  ‘Sorry, I’ve got to get the plants in the ground today. If I leave them, they may not take.’

  ‘You know a lot about gardening?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘Green thumb. You’re here about Mason?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t important.’

  ‘Five minutes, and I’ll be with you.’

  Ten minutes later, instead of the five, Gary Barker graced them with his presence. The three were sitting in a greenhouse to one side of the office. ‘They don’t like me slacking,’ he said.

  ‘We’re here investigating a murder. Surely they’ll understand.’

  ‘Not them, a miserable pair.’

  ‘I could square it with them,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘They don’t hold with acting either, and they positively hate Cheryl.’

  ‘Why are you concerned with what they think?’ Clare asked.

  ‘They’re my parents, not that I let too many people know that.’

  ‘Why do they hate Cheryl?’

  ‘My parents, old school.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Seeing the young lady’s here, I’m not sure I want to say.’

  ‘I’m a police officer,’ Clare said. ‘Say what you need to.’

  ‘I’m the only son, and those two, my parents, have some dated ideas.’

  ‘I’m not sure we understand.’

  ‘Back when they were married, it was one man, one woman, virgin on the wedding night, total fidelity, a glass of wine at Christmas.’

  ‘They must have liked Gordon Mason.’

  ‘He was their sort of man.’

  ‘Was he yours?’

  ‘What do you think? It wasn’t as if I hated him. I just ignored him, laughed it off, had a few jokes in the pub at his expense.’

  ‘Your parents part of the joke as well?’

  ‘I don’t tell anyone about them unless it’s important.’

  ‘It’s important now.’

  ‘That’s why I’m telling you. Anyway, back to Cheryl. I love the woman.’

  ‘We’re aware that she has a chequered past,’ Clare said.

  ‘Chequered, that’s a good word. Cheryl, God bless her, has had a chequered past: married once, engaged to another, lived with a couple of other men.’

  ‘And your parents disapprove?’

  ‘To them, she’s the devil’s spawn.’

  ‘To you?’ Clare asked.

  ‘We’re kindred spirits. I’ve got a few things that I regret. I deal with the present and Cheryl’s with me. What she may have done in the past is none of my concern, and it’s certainly not my parents’ either.’

  ‘Have they met her?’

  ‘Once. They didn’t like her. It ended badly.’

  ‘Are you the only son?’

  ‘That’s what they don’t like. My father’s not well, another few months, no more, and my mother’s starting to forget.’

  ‘You’ll inherit?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t tell anyone if you don’t have to. Everyone sees me as a loser, but I’m not. I could make something of this place.’

  ‘And they don’t want Cheryl involved?’ Clare said.

  ‘They don’t want anyone involved, not even me, but with Cheryl, it’s venomous.’

  ‘You played Cinna?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘That’s where we met, at the dramatic society, Cheryl and me.’

  ‘You’re both keen?’

  ‘We love dressing up, and we take it very seriously.’

  ‘Did you have any problems with Gordon Mason?’

  ‘Not me. He’d sometimes go on to Cheryl about her being a fallen woman.’

  ‘How did you take it? How did she?’

  ‘She’d give him the sharp edge of her tongue.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘He’d not talk to me unless it was necessary.’

  ‘Because of your parents?’

  ‘He got on well enough with them. I know they’ve tried to stitch me up, negate my inheritance. They took advice from Mason.’

  ‘Were they successful?’

  ‘I keep my eyes peeled. I saw the correspondence.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I took legal advice.’

  ‘Does Cheryl know about this?’

  ‘Not in detail. She’d be the classic bull in the China shop.’

  ‘And you need a subtle approach?’ Clare said.

  ‘They could always run down the garden centre, sell it for a pittance.’

  ‘Would they do that?’

  ‘They’re total bastards, so was Mason. The three of them, Bible-bashing hypocrites.’

  ‘It’s a motive to kill Mason.’

  ‘That’s why I’ve told you. If you’d found it out from someone else, it would reflect badly on Cheryl and me. I only need to wait a few more months, and this place is mine. We’ve got great plans for here. Cheryl’s a smart woman, she’ll look after the administration and the financial; I’ll look after the plants.’

  ‘We need to talk to Cheryl,’ Clare said.

  ‘Seven this evening, 156 Devizes Road. Is that fine by you?’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Tremayne said.

  ***

  It was late afternoon before the two police officers left Gary Barker, not long enough to interview anyone else before meeting Barker’s girlfriend. Instead, they returned to the police station on Bemerton Road. Superintendent Moulton was in the reception area as they entered. ‘Good to see you back, Sergeant Yarwood,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Clare replied.

  ‘How’s the case going, DI?’ Moulton asked.

  ‘We’re interviewing the suspects. There are a few that have motives.’

  ‘An arrest soon?’

  ‘We’re working on it.’

  ‘Keep up the good work,’ Moulton said as he left the building.

  ‘A changed man,’ Clare said.

  ‘Another few weeks and he’ll be on about my retirement again,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘You don’t like him much, do you?’

  ‘What gave you that idea?’

  ‘Your curtness with him.’

  ‘Why pretend? He doesn’t think much of me,
I don’t think much of him. You’ll learn, Yarwood. You don’t need to be friendly to everyone. Do your job, take no nonsense, get results; they’re more important.’

  ‘Office politics?’

  ‘If you’re Moulton, but you’re not. You’re shaping up to be a good officer.’

  ‘Shaping up?’

  ‘You’re not there yet. Stick with me, and you will be.’

  ‘That’s what I intend to do. What do you reckon to those we’ve interviewed so far?’

  The two had settled themselves back in Tremayne’s office. The man was leaning back on his chair again, the front two legs off the ground.

  ‘Barker had a reason to dislike the man; I’d say it was sufficient as a motive.’

  ‘Could Barker’s solicitor put on a caveat to prevent a sale?’ Clare said.

  ‘That seems weak to me. Check it out, see what you can find. If his parents own the business, then how can its sale be stopped? I know there are laws about divesting assets to the children to save on inheritance tax, but that doesn’t apply here. It’s strange that Gary Barker was so affable, yet, according to him, his parents are total bastards.’

  ‘Maybe they aren’t. We need to talk to them.’

  ‘Not today. We’ve got an appointment.’

  ‘Do you want me to drive?’ Clare asked.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ***

  For someone who was hopeful of taking over his parent’s garden centre and the house that came with it, Gary Barker and Cheryl Milledge’s bedsit did not impress either of the two police officers. The first-floor apartment with a fold-down bed secured to the wall was not a place that Clare warmed to, nor did Tremayne. Clare knew his style of living, having been to his house on a couple of occasions. It was nothing special, he’d admit to that, singularly lacking in any of the touches that convert a house into a home. Cheryl Milledge was a busty individual; Clare could not describe her as beautiful, or even attractive. However, the woman was welcoming on their arrival.

  ‘Take a seat,’ she said. Clare looked around in dismay. Every possible space was covered with magazines or old newspapers. ‘Here, that'll do,’ Cheryl said, as she pushed a pile of papers to one side.