The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  ***

  Tremayne and Yarwood continued working the case, re-interviewing the main suspects, checking out Old Sarum, looking for an angle. Clare had to admit that the reduced pace in the department did not suit her. For a few weeks, she had been busy, close to exhaustion, which was how she had managed to handle the return to Salisbury, but now she had time to remember. Even driving down Minster Street and passing Harry’s pub had proved to be painful. She wanted to visit his grave, but not yet.

  Tremayne had met up with Jean, his former wife, and they had spent the weekend at a hotel not far from Salisbury. They had discussed getting together on a more regular basis, even a holiday overseas, anathema to Tremayne, but he had agreed. It would have to wait, though, until they had dealt with the murder of Gordon Mason.

  Fiona Dowling almost revelled in her notoriety, of how she had risen from a foolish and then promiscuous schoolgirl to being the wife of Salisbury’s leading estate agent. She had even agreed to make a speech on the subject at the next meeting of her group.

  Len Dowling continued to sell residential property, even calling up Tremayne one Saturday morning with a firm buyer, and could he show them around his house. Tremayne made short work of his request, vowed to check out the man more intensely for his nerve in disturbing him after a few too many drinks the previous night.

  Clare had managed to secure the finance for the cottage that she was leasing and the purchase was going through, no thanks to Dowling who had tried to scupper the deal by telling the vendor that he had a better offer. As it turned out the vendor had been a friend of Mavis Godwin, and she remembered Clare fondly. There was no way that she was going to let a slug of a man take the house from the police sergeant, the vendor’s words not Clare’s, although she had to agree with the woman.

  Samantha Dennison had been seen around the town, back to driving the Aston Martin. Clare had seen her on a couple of occasions, had a coffee with her once. The woman was calmer than before, not as extravagant, judging by the reduced number of shopping bags.

  Although a sense of normality reigned amongst those who had been up at Old Sarum that night, Tremayne was still biting at the bit. The man wasn’t calm, far from it, and he was subject to the occasional bout of frustration, sometimes losing his cool with Clare.

  Geoff Pearson had been laid to rest, the entire dramatic society present, apart from the Dowlings, and a verdict of death by misadventure recorded. Tremayne didn’t hold with it, convinced that there was malice on Fiona Dowling’s part, but he couldn’t prove it.

  Superintendent Moulton, continued with his attempts to retire Tremayne. The last time that it had been mentioned, Tremayne had told him what to do with it. The end result – an internal hearing as to why a detective inspector had instructed his superior what to do with his badgering. The Police Federation would deal with it on his behalf, although he knew he’d receive a warning. Tremayne knew his time was coming to an end, but not before he wrapped up the murder of Gordon Mason. For several days, he had mulled over what to do. He still had suspicions about Fiona Dowling and her husband, supposedly reconciled and openly affectionate. Gary Barker and Cheryl Milledge seemed to be innocent bystanders, and Bill Ford was a grave man, although Tremayne did not believe that his sedentary lifestyle and his bland countenance were all there was to the funeral director. He had admitted to being a passionate man in his youth, the threesome with Fiona and Cheryl testament to that fact, but now the man seemed to have little interest in life, other than spending time with the dead of the city and taking off to London every week or two.

  Both Trevor Winston, a man who minced in his salon but not outside, and Jimmy Francombe, an enthusiastic thespian who had been drunk more than a few times around the city and suspended once from his school, seemed harmless to Tremayne.

  Freestone seemed a more straightforward man to read, more Tremayne’s age group, and the men shared similar tastes, similar vices. Freestone was not into horses, but he enjoyed a good smoke and a few too many beers on occasion.

  ***

  Time had moved on, too slowly for Tremayne. The man liked being busy, Clare could see that, and for weeks there had been no progress. Sure, the paperwork was up to date, but with no clear direction on how to move the investigation forward. Even interviewing those who had been present that night in Old Sarum had run its course. There still remained the fact that seven men alive and one dead included two murderers, but a tie-in between any two of them was tenuous. Apart from a possible rezoning that was not above board, none of the other conspirators was visibly linked.

  Bill Ford and Peter Freestone were friendly, but Freestone only had one stab at the man, whereas Ford would have had plenty. Even that, Tremayne felt, was not sufficient grounds to murder Mason, and besides, Ford was a funeral director, he was financially sound, and was only interested in maintaining the family business.

  And why, Tremayne wondered, did anyone want to risk being caught, spending time in prison? And again, why on a stage? It seemed ghoulish to him, as if the persons responsible not only wanted the man dead, they also wanted the notoriety of the unsolved murder, being the unknown assailant. It seemed strange to Tremayne, but then he had dealt with worshippers of ancient gods and human sacrifices in his time, and nothing would surprise him now.

  The death of Bill Ford did, though. It was four in the afternoon when the call came through. Clare was in the office. ‘Yarwood, get your coat,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Another murder.’

  ‘Someone we know?’

  ‘Bill Ford.’

  Upon their arrival, they found a distraught man standing outside in the reception area of the funeral home. ‘I found him,’ he said.

  Clare assumed he was there for a loved one. He would need to be interviewed later.

  In the room at the back, the same place where they had spoken with Ford before, they found the man lying in a coffin, his arms folded across his front.

  ‘Someone needs psychiatric help,’ Tremayne said.

  Clare could see what he meant. In the man’s chest was a Roman dagger. ‘It’s more than blackmail,’ she said.

  ‘We’ve been looking for a motive, but it’s been the wrong motive.’

  Around them, the crime scene team were filing in. Outside, in the reception area and on the street, the uniforms were following procedure. Inside, Clare and Tremayne moved closer to the body. ‘It’s a crime scene,’ Jim Hughes said. ‘Where’s your protective gear?’

  ‘Sorry, we’ve just arrived, the same as you,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I understand that, but from here on, it’s my show. I’ll let you know what I find.’

  ‘It’s clear what happened here.’

  ‘There’s no sign of a struggle, a dagger in the heart. It’s murder,’ Hughes said.

  ‘We’d figured that out.’

  Tremayne and Clare sat down next to the man in reception. ‘I came to organise the burial of my wife,’ he said.

  Clare could see that the man was elderly, and grieving. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. Can you tell us what happened here?’

  ‘I came here to check with Mr Ford that all was in order. There wasn’t anyone at the front, so I walked around to the back. I knew where my wife was as I had been here before. I found Mr Ford lying in one of the coffins. That’s all I can tell you.’

  Tremayne realised that the man had nothing to do with the crime. ‘We’ll need a written statement. Apart from that, you’re free to leave.’

  ‘What for? My wife is here. The burial is tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s a crime scene. I suggest you contact another funeral director, and I’ll see if your wife’s body can be released to you.’

  ‘Thank you. Can I see my wife before I leave?’

  ‘I’ll get you a set of crime scene protective gear.’

  ***

  With little more to be achieved, and pending Jim Hughes’s report, Tremayne and Clare returned to the police station. Tremayne phoned Pe
ter Freestone, made sure that he was available for further questioning.

  ‘You place a lot of reliance on that man,’ Clare said.

  ‘Not totally, but the man is observant. Bill Ford has been killed for a reason. We assume it’s related to what happened at Old Sarum.’

  ‘It’s a Roman dagger.’

  ‘Precisely, which means there are more than the two with metal blades that we originally assumed.’

  ‘It’s three now. How many more are there?’

  ‘It’s impossible to say. We weren’t able to trace where the blades came from, nor the extra daggers.’

  Freestone arrived at Bemerton Road Police Station within the hour; the man was distraught. ‘This means something else, doesn’t it?’ he said to Tremayne. They were sitting in Tremayne’s office, Clare as well.

  ‘We’ve assumed that the motive was tangible,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Gordon Mason was as a result of blackmail, or he knew something, threatened to talk. The latter of those two being the land deal.’

  ‘The first?’ Freestone asked.

  ‘Fiona Dowling and her relationship with Geoff Pearson.’

  ‘Why did Geoff Pearson die? Was it murder?’

  ‘Fiona Dowling admitted to the altercation, although she didn’t stay around at the site after Pearson’s death, suspicious in itself but not conclusive.’

  ‘Then why Bill Ford?’ Freestone asked.

  ‘Our investigations have shown nothing against the man. He led a solitary life, he’d admitted to knowing Fiona and Cheryl when they were younger. He’s not been involved in any criminal or dubious activities to our knowledge, and if he had known about Fiona Dowling and Pearson, he did not seem to be a man who’d use it to his advantage.’

  ‘So why is he murdered?’

  ‘And why is he placed in a coffin, his arms folded?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Someone with a sense of the macabre,’ Clare said.

  ‘Or someone who enjoys murder,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Whoever it is, he could be after me,’ Freestone said.

  ‘Even us,’ Clare said. ‘This person is obviously unhinged, and he’s probably one of those on the stage that night.’

  ‘That only leaves Jimmy, Gary, Trevor, Phillip and me,’ Freestone said.

  ‘Who else would know where to buy the retractable daggers?’ Clare asked.

  ‘It was no secret. I sent out a monthly report on the finances of the dramatic society. The information is all there,’ Freestone said.

  ‘If we discount you for the moment,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘For the moment? Am I still a suspect?’

  ‘I can’t negate the possibility.’

  ‘We’ve been through this before,’ Freestone said.

  Clare could see that the man was not comfortable in the police station. She left and went to get him a cup of tea in an attempt to calm his nerves.

  ‘It could be me next,’ Freestone said.

  ‘As well as Yarwood and myself.’

  ‘What causes people to commit such acts?’

  ‘You’d need someone other than me to answer that, but now I’m willing to concede that Bill Ford’s murder is as a result of a disturbed personality, not as a result of a tangible motive.’

  ‘You mean that this person is avenging the death of Caesar?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Then it could be any of us five,’ Freestone said.

  Clare returned and gave a cup of tea to Freestone, another to Tremayne. ‘What’s the plan, guv?’ she asked.

  ‘Interview the main suspects again.’

  ‘And the two women?’

  ‘Would they have had the strength to place Ford’s body in the coffin?’

  ‘Cheryl Milledge may have.’

  Chapter 22

  A few days after Bill Ford’s death, the primary suspects met in Len Dowling’s office. It was after seven in the evening when all those involved arrived. First at the office was Phillip Dennison, this time with Samantha. Soon after came Jimmy Francombe and Trevor Winston, and ten minutes later Peter Freestone, Gary Barker, and Cheryl Milledge. Fiona Dowling was already there with her husband.

  ‘What is it, Freestone?’ Len Dowling asked.

  ‘I thought that was obvious.’

  ‘One of us is a murderer, is that it?’

  ‘Precisely. Bill Ford was an innocent bystander. The man wasn’t having an affair with your wife or insulting Dennison’s. On the contrary, the man always behaved impeccably.’

  ‘How dare you disrespect my wife,’ Dowling said.

  Dennison could see the evening getting out of control. ‘It doesn’t help, trading insults,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not insulting anyone,’ Freestone said. Everyone was sitting down, all a little nervous as to what was happening to the group that had once met out of love for acting, but was now meeting to discuss a murderer.

  ‘It sounded that way to me,’ Dowling said.

  ‘Sit down, Len,’ Fiona Dowling said. ‘Let Peter talk.’

  ‘Thank you, Fiona. As I was saying, there were a number of motives for Mason’s murder. Maybe they weren’t sufficient to justify the taking of a life, but they were there.’

  ‘Get to the point,’ Dowling said.

  ‘The point is that one of us seems to enjoy murder. None of us is safe.’

  ‘Did you see Ford’s body?’

  ‘No, but I’ve seen a photo. It was one of the daggers.’

  ‘If someone killed Bill Ford, it must be because they had a reason,’ Cheryl said.

  ‘That’s an assumption. What I am saying is that someone is killing us off. Even if Geoff Pearson was one of those on the stage with a lethal weapon, there is still the fact that someone else is still alive. There are nine people here. One of this nine murdered Bill Ford.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that this person intends to kill us all?’ Dennison asked.

  ‘Why am I here?’ Samantha Dennison asked.

  ‘I’m sorry to say it, but your husband had a reason to dislike Gordon Mason, and you’ve become involved in our group by default. If your husband is not the murderer–’

  ‘I’m not.’ Dennison defended his position.

  ‘–if your husband is not the murderer,’ Freestone continued after the interruption, ‘then it is still feasible that someone else killed him on your behalf, or maybe it was someone defending Fiona’s honour.’

  ‘I don’t get what you’re trying to say,’ Dowling said. ‘You insult my wife, accuse Dennison of murder. Is that all this is tonight, a chance to vent your spleen, to take control of us the way you did the dramatic society?’

  ‘Len, listen to what I’m saying. There are nine here, and one of us is a murderer. That leaves eight people still alive. What if this person is determined to keep murdering? We are all potential victims.’

  ‘It can’t be Cheryl or me,’ Fiona said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We weren’t on the stage, we didn’t plunge a dagger into him.’

  ‘It doesn’t need to be one of those on the stage, does it?’ Samantha said. ‘Any one of us could have killed Bill Ford.’

  ‘At last the words of wisdom,’ Freestone said. ‘Samantha’s right. We’ve always assumed that Bill Ford was innocent, in that he had no motive for Mason’s death, but what if he did?’

  ‘And someone else wanted to remove the only remaining link to him and the crime,’ Gary Barker said.

  ‘It’s conjecture, but it’s possible.’

  ‘So who is it?’ Jimmy Francombe asked.

  ‘Let’s analyse it.’

  ‘That person could have a dagger with them now,’ Winston said.

  ‘He could,’ Freestone replied.

  ‘He?’ Francombe said.

  ‘Gordon Mason died at the hands of a man. Who killed Bill Ford is unclear. It could be a woman.’

  ‘It’s not me,’ Fiona said.

  ‘Nor me,’ Cheryl added.

  ‘Fi
ona and Cheryl, everyone in this room will declare their innocence,’ Freestone said. ‘The police cannot protect us, and they’ve no idea. It is up to us to protect ourselves.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ Trevor Winston said.

  ‘If everyone leaves Salisbury, then we’re all safe.’

  ‘I can’t leave,’ Dowling said.

  ‘What do you suggest?’ Winston said again.

  ‘We could hold a murder mystery night.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This week. We can meet at my house or Len and Fiona’s.’

  ‘We’ll use my house,’ Dennison said. ‘Do we need a script?’

  ‘We’ll replay the events to date.’

  ‘Are we involving the police?’

  ‘I would suggest that DI Tremayne and Sergeant Yarwood are there.’

  ‘Very well, this Friday at 8 p.m.’

  ***

  Jim Hughes’s report on Bill Ford’s death had revealed little more of value. The man had died after being stabbed in the heart with a dagger. There was no sign of a struggle, and the one stab had resulted in a rapid blood loss.

  ‘Whoever killed him cleaned up afterwards. The victim was a meticulous man, and he had sufficient cleaning materials,’ Hughes said in Tremayne’s office, a place that no longer held any fear for him since the CSE had gained the DI’s hard-won respect.

  ‘Male or female?’

  ‘We’re unable to tell you. Whoever it is, he’s becoming smart.’

  ‘He?’

  ‘A figure of speech. It could be a female. Mind you, it would have been difficult for a woman to lift the victim into the coffin, but not impossible.’

  ‘It’s possible, though?’

  ‘As I’ve said, I believe so. Who do you think is the murderer?’

  ‘It’s no clearer. Bill Ford was always seen as a neutral character: mild-mannered, polite, did not make scurrilous comments about the women, never attempted to force himself on them.’

  ‘Not a bad word against him, is that it?’ Hughes asked.

  ‘That appears to be the consensus.’

  ‘You believe the killer is deranged?’