The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  Bob wondered why the bullying, the targeting, had been levelled at Gerry and not Marcia, but Marcia had summed it up: ‘They feel they need to protect me at school. With Gerry, his attitude doesn’t help. They’re children, they don’t understand what they’re doing to him.’

  Marcia had only been thirteen when she had so profoundly stated the reasons, but Bob knew she was an attractive child, and then an attractive adult, the same as her mother, whereas Gerry was tall and he had the Mitchell forehead and nose, the receding chin. Marcia was beautiful, Gerry was not handsome.

  Bob had known one thing in the lead-up to Ethan Mitchell’s release, the life that he had led with Betty would be irrevocably changed, and he could not allow it. He was the protector of his wife and her children. The man of no action, of limited ambition and curiosity about what lies around the next corner, would need to act and decisively, but he did not know what or how. And then Ethan Mitchell was back in Salisbury, and he was dead.

  ***

  The Reverend Trevor Jameson walked through his church. He was sad. A church to him was a place of sanctity, a place to worship the Lord, but in one foul instant it had become a place of murder. And he knew why: the Mitchells. He knew that in another few months he was to retire from preaching and would spend his time tending his garden at the back of a house he had purchased in a small village. There he would spend his remaining years in solitude and peace, but his life had been disturbed; his church had experienced violent death.

  He had feared the return of Ethan Mitchell as much as others had. The man had been one of his parishioners, a man who rarely missed Sunday service. Jameson had not disliked Ethan, only felt uneasy in his presence, and then three days after he had last spoken with him, he had killed his brother. The Mitchell’s lawyer had asked the reverend to be a character witness at Ethan’s trial. He had agreed, but his speech had been monosyllabic and predictable. Words such as reliable, a believer in the good book, a loving husband and father were tantamount to a negative. He knew he should have enthused more about the man on trial for murder, used words such as a credit to his family, a man with excellent prospects, a friend, but he had not, and the jury had sensed his reluctance.

  ‘Reverend Jameson.’ A voice disturbed his thoughts. Was it the Lord? Had he come to ease the pain he felt after a murder had been committed in his church?

  ‘Reverend Jameson, Detective Inspector Tremayne.’

  Slowly the vicar looked around and focussed on the two people standing in front of him. ‘I’m sorry, a million miles away,’ he said.

  ‘Detective Inspector Tremayne, Sergeant Yarwood,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Yes, of course. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Ethan Mitchell.’

  ‘Tragic, and here in this church. How could anyone commit such a sin in the house of the Lord?’ Jameson said.

  ‘People commit a crime anywhere,’ Clare said.

  ‘We can’t hold any more services here, not until it’s been re-consecrated.’

  ‘It’s still a crime scene,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I understand, but why would someone kill Ethan Mitchell and in here?’

  ‘According to the letter we found in one of the man’s pockets, it was his brother.’

  ‘Gavin?’

  ‘No, Martin.’

  ‘That’s not possible. I conducted his funeral. You were here.’

  ‘Reverend Jameson, someone was in this church with Ethan Mitchell. Where were you?’

  In the rectory. I always have an afternoon nap from two in the afternoon, up until four.’

  ‘Who would know this?’

  ‘Everyone. It’s not a secret.’

  ‘The church is open during that time?’

  ‘Always. Your crime scene investigators said there were two people in here. Martin, I remember him from when he was young up until he died. It was him in that coffin.’

  ‘We know that,’ Tremayne said. ‘The issue is who else could it have been, and how did they get so close to Ethan?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Ethan and Martin were a strange pair, so alike, yet not close.’

  ‘Inseparable, even when they wanted to be.’

  ‘One would say something, the other would finish the sentence. It’s as if they were telepathic.’

  ‘They weren’t. Why did someone lure Ethan to this church? He could have been seen.’

  ‘Ethan was the more religious. He believed in the afterlife, heaven and hell. He might not have believed in Martin coming back from the dead, but he would have been unable to stay away,’ Jameson said.

  ‘And you, Reverend Jameson, what do you believe?’

  ‘I’ll accept the possibility of Martin wanting revenge, but in this church, it was a man.’

  ‘Your proof?’

  ‘He was down behind the altar when Ethan came in. Your crime scene team found the evidence.’

  ‘We’ve seen the preliminary report,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘It’s the missing gold that everyone’s thinking about,’ Jameson said.

  ‘Mitchell was shot within minutes of entering the church. There wasn’t time to tell whoever where it was.’

  ‘Why? What if Ethan was frightened enough to tell Martin?’

  ‘Why tell Martin?’ Clare said. ‘He already knew, and if he’s dead, what use is it to him?’

  ‘If it wasn’t Martin, then who was it?’ Jameson said.

  ‘We thought you might be able to help.’

  ‘Not really. The Mitchell family used to come here, Betty without fail. Ethan most times.’

  ‘How about Gavin?’

  ‘He rarely came. He’s more cynical than his brothers. He’s not a believer in our saviour, not much interested in anything from what I’ve been told.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Tremayne said. The three of them were sitting in the front row of the church pews.

  ‘I’ve been here for many years, and I know the Mitchells very well. Maybe it’s because Gavin was the older brother, but I think he was jealous of Ethan and Martin.’

  ‘Why be jealous?’

  ‘It’s the same with sisters, one pretty, the other plain.’

  ‘One gets all the compliments, the other gets the platitudes about their good nature, and how they’ll find themselves a good man,’ Clare said.

  ‘That’s it,’ Jameson said, ‘but with Gavin and his brothers, it was always the focus on how alike the two were and what a shame that their elder brother didn’t have a twin, or how the two had a unique bond.’

  ‘I’ve not seen that in Gavin,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Not now, the man’s grown up, but when he was younger, he was looking for attention and not receiving it. Whether it’s had any bearing on his subsequent life, I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Could the missing gold have been buried in here?’ Clare said. ‘That would explain the significance of this place.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Jameson said.

  ‘Do you know?’

  ‘Ethan and Martin were married at the same time, Ethan to Betty, Martin to her sister, Julie.’

  ‘Were they twins?’ Clare said.

  ‘Betty was one year older than Julie, although they look similar. Ethan and Martin were good-hearted in their own ways, but not attractive to women. They were eighteen years old, and both still attending the church on a regular basis. Betty and her sister, they had come to Salisbury with their parents, were here for the first time. Betty’s eighteen, Julie’s seventeen, and the two of them act like twins, similar clothes, similar hairstyles. They see Ethan and Martin are instantly drawn to them. The two young women reciprocate.’

  ‘A love match?’ Clare said.

  ‘One week later, the men are hand-in-hand with the women. Ten days later, it’s a Wednesday, 3 p.m. and the two couples are in the church.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘It’s raining outside. They’ve nowhere to go. For some reason, I come back to the church early. The front door’s bolted, but I’ve a key to the vestry and i
nto the church. I come in to look around, maybe put the prayer books in their places, and there are Ethan and Betty on one side of the church, Martin and Julie on the other.’

  ‘What were they doing?’

  ‘They weren’t holding hands.’

  ‘Making love?’

  ‘Yes. They see me and hurriedly attempt to get out of the church, but they’ve locked the front door. It’s not so easy to open, and I manage to sit them down and give them a stern lecture.’

  ‘What happened?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘They’re embarrassed, especially the two women. Ethan and Martin are excited. They were probably virgins up until then, and there they are with two attractive females. Ethan and Betty, they tell me they are serious about each other. Martin and Julie tell me the same. I tell them they need to give it six months to be sure, and they agree.’

  ‘And no more lovemaking in the church,’ Clare said.

  ‘They knew my displeasure. Anyway, six months go by, and all four are still eager to marry. Their parents agree, and they are married in this church. In time, Gerry and Marcia are born. Martin and Julie had no children. I believe it was medical, something to do with Julie, but I never enquired. Ethan and Betty seemed to be the better marriage, although Martin and Julie kept together for a few years before separating and going their own ways.’

  ‘Martin’s ex-wife?’

  ‘She’s still around. I see her from time to time.’

  ‘We now know why 3 p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon is significant,’ Clare said. ‘Nobody forgets the first place they made love.’

  Chapter 6

  Julie, Betty’s sister and the former wife of Martin Mitchell, was not pleased to see two police officers on her doorstep. ‘I’m just going out. Is this important?’

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Tremayne,’ Tremayne said as he held up his warrant card.

  ‘And you are?’ the lady of the house said, looking at Clare.

  ‘I’m Sergeant Clare Yarwood.’

  ‘Why are you here? If this is about Ethan, I separated from his brother over twenty years ago.’

  Clare looked at the house where the woman lived. It was large and in an affluent neighbourhood. In comparison to her sister’s house, Julie was living the good life.

  ‘May we come in?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Make sure to wipe your shoes on the mat first.’

  Inside the house, the two police officers sat on chairs in the kitchen, although kitchen denigrated the splendour of the room with the latest appliances, the marble-top work areas.

  ‘We’ve worked hard for this,’ Julie said.

  ‘We?’ Clare said.

  ‘Eric and me. I met my husband around the time Martin died. He’s a builder, done well for himself.’

  ‘Your sister’s not doing so well,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘That’s Betty’s choice. She chose to marry Bob, not that he’s a bad man, but he’s got no ambition. Eric’s an achiever, so am I. Martin held me back.’

  ‘Children?’ Clare asked.

  ‘One boy, he’s fifteen. The doctors always said it was me when Martin and I tried to have a baby. It just goes to show how wrong they can be.’

  ‘Ethan’s dead.’

  ‘I know. Betty phoned me, so did Gavin.’

  ‘You’re not upset?’

  ‘Should I be? Martin died eighteen years ago, and the last time I saw him was two weeks before Ethan shot him. I’ve not seen Ethan since.’

  ‘Where did you see Martin?’

  ‘At Betty’s.’

  ‘Martin spent a lot of time at her house.’

  ‘I always checked with Betty first, and besides, if I ran into him, we’d be polite to each other.’

  ‘When did you last see your sister?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘We met in the city, had a bite to eat and a chat. We’re still close, but Betty lives a different life to me, and Eric has no time for people who have no drive.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I can forgive Betty for being the way she is, but not Bob, and certainly not Ethan. He was a low achiever, the same as Martin. I’m not surprised that their lives turned out the way they did.’

  ‘Ethan was in St Mark’s church after receiving a letter from Martin,’ Clare said.

  ‘Betty mumbled something about it, but it made no sense to me.’

  ‘Are you glad he’s dead?’

  ‘Not because of Martin, but what was he going to do around here? We all knew Ethan, even you, Tremayne. The man was going to cause trouble. His death is a blessing in disguise.’

  ‘That seems to be the general view,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘What do you expect? Betty’s moved on, so have I. None of us wanted to be reminded of what happened, and none of us wanted to see Ethan. He was a leper to us, but somehow he expected a warm welcome.’

  ‘We’ve seen no reason to believe that is what he expected. All we know is that he was in that church on Wednesday at 3 p.m. because of a letter that was purportedly written by his dead brother.’

  ‘It couldn’t be him. We all know he’s dead.’

  ‘We all know, and Ethan wasn’t likely to believe it either, but why?’

  ‘I know the significance of the day and the time,’ Julie said.

  ‘So do we. The Reverend Jameson told us.’

  ‘We were all young and silly back then.’

  ‘The missing gold, what do you know about it?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Nothing, you know that,’ Julie said. ‘The police and the insurance company looked for long enough, and no doubt half of the villains in Salisbury, but nobody ever found it. It’s not as if any of us prospered from it.’

  ‘You’re living well,’ Clare said.

  ‘I didn’t for some years, not until I met Eric. What we have is due to hard graft, nothing else.’

  Tremayne and Clare knew it to be true. Eric Wilson was well known throughout Salisbury and the area as a builder of quality houses.

  ***

  Tremayne, not a person to sit in the office and type up reports, headed over to Forensics on his and Clare’s return to the police station.

  ‘You’ve come at the right time,’ Louise Regan said. She was sitting down, having removed her glasses.

  ‘Don’t I always?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Not you. The writing is a forgery, almost perfect. The heavy hand used shows concentration, an effort to copy Martin Mitchell’s writing.’

  ‘Professional?’

  ‘A gifted amateur could have managed. Mitchell’s writing style was not complex. A professional wouldn’t have made a mistake with the ink.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There’s been an attempt at ageing the letter, but the ink’s recent, the last two months. That can’t be hidden.’

  ‘Was the forgery done in Salisbury?’

  ‘Impossible to tell. It could have been done in prison, even by the dead man.’

  ‘Someone met him in that church, shot him,’ Tremayne reminded Regan.

  ‘It doesn’t stop the murdered man writing the letter, and another person being in the church, does it?’

  ‘It doesn’t, but it complicates it.’

  ‘That’s up to you, Tremayne. The letter’s a forgery, the writing is recent. I’ll put it into an official report, but there’s nothing much that is going to help you with your enquiry.’

  ‘My money is on one of the man’s family being guilty.’

  ‘Gambling’s not one of your strong skills from what I’ve heard,’ Regan said.

  ‘I do alright.’ Tremayne knew that his lack of success with betting on the horses was well known. He’d prefer not to be reminded of it, but he had no intention of stopping. To him, it was no costlier than a hobby, and it gave him pleasure, even if at the bemusement of others who should mind their own business.

  Tremayne returned to Homicide, but not before standing outside the building for a smoke. He had started to cough more of a morning in the last couple of months than he had previo
usly. He was concerned that it was a sign of illness to come. His father had smoked, more than he did, and he had lived until his late eighties, but then he had never experienced stress, never investigated a murder.

  Inside the office Clare was hard at work, typing on her laptop. ‘Anything interesting?’ she said as he walked past her desk.

  ‘It’s a forgery,’ Tremayne said. Clare could smell the cigarette on his clothes. It was offensive, and she could have complained, but that wasn’t how their relationship worked. She put up with his smoking; he put up with her occasional melancholy.

  ‘Forty-five minutes,’ Clare said.

  Tremayne could see the moistness in her eyes. ‘Do you want me to go with you?’ he said.

  ‘Today, I would. It’s three years this week since Harry died.’

  The two left the police station, Clare driving. The village of Avon Hill, once so sinister, was almost pleasant as they drove through it.

  At the churchyard, they walked over to where Clare’s long-dead fiancé was buried. ‘Not much has changed since you were last here,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘After today, I’ll only come on special occasions. I’ve been in mourning for too long,’ Clare said.

  Tremayne knew that was what she wanted to do, but he knew she was a sensitive woman, and she would continue to visit the man’s grave for a long time into the future, or until she met someone else. The vicar came over. ‘Tremayne, Clare, how are you both?’

  ‘We’re fine,’ Tremayne said. He thought the vicar’s comment to be insensitive. How could his sergeant be expected to be fine? She was standing next to the grave of a man she had loved.

  Tremayne moved away with the man. ‘Avon Hill, what’s it like?’ he asked.

  ‘Those that are still here are overly religious. It’s as if they’re atoning for their sins.’

  ‘Their only crime was that they allowed the paganists to hold sway over the village for so long.’

  After Clare had finished placing some flowers and had said a few words, she walked over to Tremayne and the vicar. ‘I could do with a drink,’ she said.

  The local pub is under new management. It even won an award for its cuisine,’ the vicar said.