The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Anywhere except there,’ Clare said. Tremayne could only agree. It was from there that the paganists had commenced their death march down to the church, intent on mass murder.

  ‘We’ll find somewhere on the way,’ Tremayne said.

  In the car, as they were leaving the village, Clare turned to Tremayne. ‘No more sitting at home with only a cat for comfort. From now on, I intend to enjoy myself, find someone else.’

  The two police officers found another pub. The publican was jovial – it seemed to be a quality that all publicans had. ‘A pint of beer and a glass of wine,’ he said. ‘How about something to eat?’

  ‘A steak for me,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I’ll have a salad,’ Clare said.

  ‘You’ll waste away, not eating.’

  ‘You’re making up for me.’

  ‘Ethan and Martin have a sister,’ Tremayne said in an attempt to stop Clare thinking about her late fiancé.

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Poor as a church mouse. She lives in a council flat, barely makes enough to feed herself. She may give us an insight, she may even know who the murderer could be.’

  ‘She may even have the gold.’

  ‘She could not have removed it from wherever it was.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Chapter 7

  Tremayne was correct in telling Clare to wait and meet Sandra Mitchell before passing judgement on the woman. The block of flats where she lived, no more than a two-minute walk from the police station on Bemerton Road, was not an impressive building. It had been built in the early sixties when the demand for public housing was at its peak, and the government of the day was willing to embrace the less fortunate. Six stories, two lifts, a graffitied entrance to the building, with all the flats fronting onto an outside walkway. Tremayne remembered checking out a flat in the building when he had first arrived in the city. He and his colleagues had rejected the flat, as they were into partying, and the flats were not conducive to a few drinks, a few sing-alongs, and too much noise.

  Even back then, the building had been depressing. But now, although it had been freshly painted and some maintenance had been done, the lift up to the third floor rattled as it slowly made its way up to Sandra Mitchell’s flat.

  ‘Next time, I’ll take the stairs,’ Clare said.

  ‘Next time, I’ll join you,’ Tremayne said.

  The lift came to a jarring halt, the doors slowly opened. ‘I need a cigarette,’ Tremayne said.

  Clare looked over at her senior. She did not like the look of him. It had only been in the last few weeks that she had noticed a deterioration in his condition. The man, of a morning, coughed until he had drunk a mug of coffee and had smoked his first cigarette. The weather was not suitable for being outside, even at ground level, but in that open passageway on the third floor the cold wind was biting.

  ‘Don’t take long,’ Clare said. ‘We’ve got to interview this woman, and then there’s plenty else we can be doing.’ She knew she should have mentioned his cough, and the fact that he wasn’t looking well, but she decided against it for the moment. She realised she would have to at some stage, and why hadn’t Jean said something to him? With Tremayne savouring his cigarette, Clare moved away and walked to the other end of the outside walkway. She made a phone call.

  ‘Hello,’ the voice at the other end said on answering.

  ‘Jean, it’s Clare. Just a quick call. Tremayne, he’s coughing, not looking too good.’

  ‘I’ve noticed, but you know how sensitive he is about criticism.’

  ‘I do,’ Clare said.

  ‘It’s up to us to look after him, although he mustn’t know we’re in collusion.’

  ‘Agreed, let’s meet soon and discuss what to do.’

  ‘He’s a cantankerous man, but you can’t help loving him, can you?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Clare ended the call.

  ‘Who was that you were talking to?’ Tremayne said as he wandered up the walkway to Clare.

  ‘No one important. What number is the flat?’

  ‘315.’

  Tremayne knocked on the door of the flat. It opened.

  ‘Tremayne, it’s been some years,’ Sandra Mitchell said.

  Clare could see why the woman could not have picked up the missing gold. She used a wheelchair, and she looked very frail.

  ‘Can we come in?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Please do, and who’s the pretty young woman with you?’

  ‘Don’t tell her she’s pretty. She’s hard enough to deal with as it is.’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Clare Yarwood,’ Clare said as she put her hand forward to shake Sandra Mitchell’s hand.

  ‘Tremayne, he doesn’t mean what he says, you know that?’ Sandra said.

  ‘I know he’s sparing with his compliments.’

  ‘And besides, you are pretty, regardless of what Tremayne may say.’

  ‘If you two have finished criticising me, can we come in?’

  The small one-bedroom flat was spotless, with not one item out of place.

  ‘The place is a credit to you,’ Clare said.

  ‘I like it tidy, and I’m always here.’

  ‘You used to get out and about,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘If Betty comes over, she’ll take me out, but she’s been worried for a few weeks about Ethan, and now he’s dead.’

  ‘Why are you in the wheelchair, if you don’t mind me asking?’ Clare said.

  ‘A foolish accident. I was sixteen, the love of my life was seventeen, and he had just bought himself a motorbike. He thought he was invincible. I’m on the back, and we’re hurtling around the corners, leaning this way and that, until the front wheel gave way on an oily patch. He ended up in the hospital for a couple of weeks, I ended up in the wheelchair.’

  ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘Nothing to be sorry about. There’s nothing I can’t do, and if I need, I can hobble around on crutches for a short distance.’

  ‘The love of your life?’

  ‘I sometimes see him around. I don’t know what was so special about him then, and it’s certainly no longer love, more like pity.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘His life hasn’t turned out so good. From what I’m told, he’s been married a couple of times, the second wife taking the house and the children. Nowadays, you’ll find him propping up the bar in a pub somewhere.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I married a good man. We had twelve years together, Norman and me, but he died a few years ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Clare said.

  ‘No need to be. We never had much in the way of money, but we were content. It was cancer that got him in the end. Anyway, you’re not here to talk about me, are you?’

  ‘No,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Ethan’s coming back here was always going to raise anger, reawaken memories that should have been long forgotten.’

  ‘If he had knocked on your door, would you have let him in?’ Clare asked.

  ‘After so many years, I would have.’

  ‘At the time of Martin’s murder?’

  ‘We were all confused. Ethan and Martin, they were always trouble, but they were family. And both of them were kind to me. When Martin died, we had the double problem of his murder and Ethan being the murderer. It sapped the spirit out of our parents. They did not live long after that. Our mother became obsessive around the house, and she wouldn’t even go out, except on infrequent occasions, and our father, he was remote, always shaking his head and mumbling to himself as to why.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘For some time, I was emotional, but then Norman came along, and we were married within a few months. The last time my mother left the house was when she came to our wedding.’

  ‘Ethan was in St Mark’s church because he had received a letter from Martin,’ Tremayne said. ‘Did you know this?’

  ‘Betty phoned.’

  ‘Julie?’


  ‘She hasn’t phoned yet.’

  ‘Is she the same as Betty?’

  ‘She’s married well, considers us all a little beneath her, but she’s good to me.’

  ‘Betty told you about the letter and Ethan being in the church. Can you understand why?’

  ‘Ethan and Martin, two men who thought alike. When they were young, they loved the attention, but when they got older, it annoyed them.’

  ‘But they were always together.’

  ‘They couldn’t help themselves. If one was thinking of going to the pub or wherever, the other would be thinking the same. It’s eerie, but that’s how it was.’

  ‘Ethan’s in that church. He’s waiting for Martin, knowing it can’t be him,’ Clare said. ‘What do you think was going through Ethan’s mind?’

  ‘Ethan’s confused. He’s been in prison for seventeen years for killing his counterpart, his nemesis, himself. He’s in Salisbury because he has nowhere else to go. He couldn’t have resisted the invitation.’

  ‘Could he have believed it was his long-dead brother?’

  ‘I’d not seen him for over ten years. Back then, he wouldn’t have, but prison changes people.’

  ‘It does and not always for the best,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘No one in our family wanted to see Ethan, but no one would have turned him away. If we were not sure what to do, how about Ethan? Maybe he was glad to be free, maybe he wasn’t. He’s had all those years of the prison looking after him. It would have been his support mechanism, and now, he’s on the outside, and he’s looking to us to take over from the prison authorities, but we can’t. We’re not a bad family, no worse than most others, but we can’t show compassion regardless of how much we want to.’

  ‘And how about you, Sandra? Are you pleased Ethan’s dead?’

  ‘I’m pleased for everyone involved, even Ethan. Now, we can get on with our lives.’

  ‘The missing gold?’

  ‘It’s just an inert metal. Of what use is it to me?’

  ‘To the others in your family?’

  ‘They would appreciate it, who wouldn’t?’

  ‘But you wouldn’t.’

  ‘What use is the money to me? I’ve no interest in expensive cars, trips to the continent, or a mansion. This place serves my needs.’

  As Tremayne and Clare walked the short distance back to the police station, they discussed the visit with Sandra.

  ‘She seems fine,’ Clare said.

  ‘She probably is, but it doesn’t mean she told us the whole truth, does it?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘How do we find out?’

  ‘We interview others who know the story.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘The two security guards on the night the gold was stolen.’

  ‘Do you know where they are?’

  ‘I did eighteen years ago.’

  ‘Which means I’ll be searching on the internet for updated contact details,’ Clare said.

  ‘It’s either you or me,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘We don’t have that long. I’ll find them for you.’

  ‘I knew you would.’

  ***

  As Tremayne left Bemerton Road Police Station that night, it was past nine in the evening. A lone man approached him. ‘Inspector Tremayne,’ he said.

  Tremayne, not used to being accosted outside the station, looked at the man; an instant judgement was needed. Was the man dangerous? Was he aggressive? Was he a threat?

  Tremayne decided that none of the three applied.

  ‘I’m Bob Galton, Betty’s husband,’ the tall, thin man said. Tremayne could see he was not the sort of person to cause trouble. He wore a suit, the tie undone. In one hand he carried a newspaper, in the other a small bag. ‘Can we talk?’

  ‘In the police station?’

  ‘I’d prefer a pub,’ Galton said.

  ‘A man after my own heart,’ Tremayne said.

  The two men strolled across from the station and entered a pub. It was not Tremayne’s favourite, as the publican was unique in that he was not jovial or agreeable, and his beer was not the best.

  ‘What is it? Tremayne said after he had bought himself and Galton a pint each.

  ‘I’m worried for Betty.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She failed to tell you the truth.’

  ‘Ethan had contacted her?’

  ‘No. It’s more serious than that. I need your word that you’ll not act against Betty for what I need to tell you.’

  ‘If it’s a criminal offence, then I can’t give you that promise.’

  ‘I need to trust you. Betty’s a good woman, law-abiding, the glue that unites our family. If she’s arrested, then I have judged you wrong.’

  ‘Why are you risking her freedom?’

  ‘Betty knows where the gold bars are hidden.’

  Tremayne, shocked by the revelation, picked up his pint of beer and drank it down in one gulp. He then looked in the direction of the publican and lifted the empty glass.

  ‘How long has she known this?’

  ‘Two days after Martin died.’

  ‘How?’ Tremayne said as he picked up his replenished glass of beer.

  ‘Betty visited Ethan at the Police Station. He slipped her a piece of fabric ripped from the bottom of his shirt. On it was written the instructions as to where to find it.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘He loved and trusted Betty, the same as I do. That’s why I’m telling you.’

  ‘Does Betty know you’re here?’

  ‘She suspects that I will do anything to protect her. We haven’t spoken about my meeting you tonight.’

  ‘And meeting with me is protection?’

  ‘Before, when Ethan was in prison, everyone thought he knew where the gold was. No one suspected that someone else might know, but now, it’s all changed.’

  ‘Do you know who killed Ethan?’

  ‘Not me, nor Betty. I’m what you see, middle management. I don’t get involved in crime or loutish behaviour. I do my job, go home to my wife, look after her children, although with Gerry that was difficult.’

  ‘He speaks highly of you, so does Marcia.’

  ‘A lovely woman, and in many ways, Gerry’s a good man. He’s respectful to me, kind to his mother. Unfortunately, the Ethan Mitchell blood runs through his veins.’

  ‘You met Ethan,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘A couple of times when he was in prison. We got on fine, and he understood Betty divorcing him and marrying me.’

  ‘What has Betty done with the knowledge of where the gold is?’

  ‘Nothing. She’s kept the secret all these years.’

  ‘Did you know?’

  ‘Not until after Ethan died. Betty told me then.’

  ‘And now you’re telling me. Why?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? Whoever killed Ethan knew something. Either it was the location of the gold or the name of somebody who knew. Betty’s in danger, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘We need this gold in our possession,’ Tremayne said. ‘Do you have the details?’

  ‘Not me. What about Betty? Is she in trouble with the police?’

  ‘Why did she keep it secret?’

  ‘I don’t know, but she never told anyone, nor did she want the gold. As she told me, crime only leads to violence and death and sadness. She is quite possibly the most honest person you’ll ever meet.’

  ‘You were right to tell me. We’ll need to talk to her tonight.’

  ‘The sooner, the better. If you have the gold, then whoever killed Ethan has no reason to kill Betty.’

  ‘Or you,’ Tremayne said. ‘You’ve seen the instructions. I’m right, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bob Galton replied meekly.

  Chapter 8

  By the time Tremayne arrived at Betty and Bob’s house, it was nearly eleven in the evening. It had started to rain, a slight drizzle, which reflected the downcast mood the detective inspector felt. He knew that he d
id not want to arrest Betty, wasn’t sure if he could avoid it. She had concealed vital evidence for eighteen years; evidence that could have possibly helped at her first husband’s trial. And if the gold were not found after the woman handed over the information she had, then it would reflect poorly on her. Although judging by the way that she lived, she had not benefited from the money.

  Bob Galton waited in his car, as did Tremayne. After a few minutes, Clare drove up. She parked her car and walked over to Tremayne’s. ‘New evidence?’

  ‘I wanted you here. This changes everything.’

  The three, Tremayne, Clare, and Bob, walked up the short pathway to the house. Once inside, Bob showed the two police officers to the sitting room and put on the electric fire. He then left them and went upstairs.

  After a few minutes, Betty entered the sitting room. ‘Bob’s told me,’ She was wearing a dressing gown with slippers on her feet. ‘I’ve not been near it.’

  ‘You’ve concealed vital information. It’s a criminal offence, I could have you arrested,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘You agreed to protect her,’ Bob Galton said, leaping to his wife’s defence.

  ‘Mr Galton, we did not discuss that. You came to me out of concern for your wife. No doubt commendable, but there are other realities here.’

  ‘You’ll not arrest Betty?’

  ‘It depends on what she tells us.’

  Betty looked over at her husband. ‘You did the right thing, whatever happens,’ she said.

  Clare could see genuine love between the two people.

  ‘Betty, where’s this information that Ethan gave you?’

  The woman reached into her dressing gown pocket and pulled out a piece of white fabric. Clare took hold of it and held it up to a light in one corner of the room. ‘I can just about make it out,’ she said. ‘We should ask Forensics if they can enhance the writing.’

  ‘Not tonight,’ Tremayne said. He took out his phone from his pocket and called Louise Regan. ‘We’ve got a rush job,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you ever go to bed?’ Regan said.

  ‘It’s an important lead. What time will you be in the office?’

  ‘What time do you want me?’

  ‘Five.’