The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘She was fun though, made an old man feel young again.’

  Clare had to admit that the man, old enough to be her grandfather, had an easy way about him. Most men his age would have been sitting in front of a television or hobbling around, but he was alert and full of life.

  ‘Tony Mitchell knew where the missing gold was,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I didn’t know. Why?’

  ‘He had known for seventeen years, possibly from the time it was stolen. We found proof. Are you saying he never mentioned this to you?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. I owed the man a debt of gratitude, but we didn’t keep in regular contact. Our lives moved in different areas. I’m gregarious, always looking for the next opportunity. Tony was self-effacing, not a party animal. I invited him out here a few times over the years, but he only came once, and then he sat down, barely talking to anyone. The reluctant hero, that’s what he was. More of a Clark Kent than a Superman, but when the chips are down, he was there for you.’

  ‘But you had phoned him a few times recently.’

  ‘Of course. His relatives, even if he wasn’t close to them, are dying. I’m not about to phone Betty or her sister, but I felt I should call Tony. He was glad to talk, more talkative than I ever remember him. We were planning to meet up in the next week, go for a meal.’

  ‘Is that it? Did you know Betty and Julie?’

  ‘I knew them. Not well, but Salisbury’s a small place. No doubt you know everyone,’ Cosford said.

  ‘He does,’ Clare said.

  ‘Seriously, my relationship with Tony Mitchell goes back a long way. Check with the War Museum. They’ll have a record of us in Malaysia. Better than that, wait a minute.’

  Cosford left the room. ‘What do you reckon?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘He tells a good story. It could be true.’

  ‘Some of it may be, but it’s too coincidental.’

  The door to the library opened and in came Cosford. ‘Here you are,’ he said, as he handed Tremayne a black and white framed photo.

  ‘That’s me, the skinny fresh-faced youth with the pimples. On my right, that’s Tony.’

  ‘I can see the resemblance,’ Clare said. She was standing behind Tremayne looking over his shoulder.

  ‘Your eyesight’s better than mine. Selwyn, I’ll take your word that you and Tony Mitchell were in Malaysia together. It still doesn’t answer why the gold was buried no more than two hundred yards from his house, and he had a map.’

  ‘I can’t help you there. If there’s nothing else you need, I’ve got to go up to London.’

  ‘Are you driving?’

  ‘Not me. I’ve got a chauffeur.’

  ‘Pretty?’ Clare said.

  ‘I doubt if he would appreciate being called pretty. George has been with me for over twenty years. You might find him pretty if you like 50-year-old men with a beer gut.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Chapter 17

  Tremayne was working on hunches. The conversation with Selwyn Cosford had left him unconvinced. It was if the man had been prepared for his and Yarwood’s visit, and the affability, the ready answers, the finding of the grainy picture of a group of soldiers in the jungle, was pre-organised.

  It was correct about Tony Mitchell, and his medal; Clare had checked. Also, Selwyn Cosford had been one of those who had been saved by Mitchell. A hero the man may have been, but it didn’t obviate him from murder.

  Tremayne knew he and Yarwood needed to dig deeper, to apply some lateral thinking to the problem. ‘Yarwood, my house, tonight at 8 p.m. Jean’s cooking dinner for us.’

  It wasn’t often that Clare was invited. ‘Special occasion?’ she said.

  ‘We’re going to solve these murders at the dining room table. White wine will do.’

  ‘You’re very presumptive that I’ll bring a bottle.’

  ‘You’re the sort who always turns up with something, and if it’s a cake, I can’t eat it.’

  ‘You’re not satisfied with what Cosford said?’

  ‘It’s not only him. It’s the whole case up until now. Too many people knew about the gold and where it was hidden. How can that be?’

  ‘No one, barring a saint, could resist that much money.’

  ‘A saint and an honest police officer,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Saint Tremayne, it has a nice ring to it,’ Clare said.

  ‘Of the holy order of losers.’

  ‘Jokes aside, how could it stay there that long? People must have walked across there a few times, and there was graffiti on the back of the gatehouse. The local tearaways must have got up there.’

  ‘Not with that estate manager. What was his name?’

  ‘Devlin O’Connor. He doesn’t miss much. We should go and see him again, find out what he knows.’

  ‘He’ll know something, men like him always do. Probably got an inflated opinion of himself, imagines that because he reports to them up at Longmore House, he’s more important than he is. What about this guided tour that you’ve been promised?’

  ‘The invite’s still there. Do you want to come?’

  ‘Make it tomorrow morning, early.’

  ‘It’s a tour, not a chance for you to grill the owners, and definitely not a chance for you to case the joint.’

  ‘You’re making my halo slip. I promise not to notice the antiques and the paintings on the walls.’

  ‘You won’t, and who knows, they may even invite you for tea.’

  ‘I’ll need practice with lifting my pinkie finger.’

  ‘I’ll make sure they give you a mug. I don’t want them changing your proletarian ways.’

  ‘Peasant stock and proud of it. Not like you, Yarwood, with your expensive education. And remember, my house at 8 p.m.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Good. I’ve got to go. Jean’s got me on a treadmill at a local gym. All that money down the drain. I could as easily go for a walk every morning.’

  ‘But you won’t, and Jean knows it.’

  ***

  Clare walked around the police station. Not that she didn’t have work to do, but Homicide without Tremayne in his office somehow seemed incomplete.

  She found Accounts, checked on her expenses, realised they always entered her bank account on the last day of the month. It was time wasting, and she knew it. On the top floor of the building, Superintendent Moulton was in his office. He was a man who believed in an open door. He saw her walking down the corridor outside. ‘Sergeant Yarwood, a moment of your time, please.’

  Clare, sensing trouble, kept walking. ‘Yarwood, you heard me,’ came the raised voice of the superintendent.

  ‘Sorry, sir, a million miles away.’

  ‘Rubbish. You were worried that I was going to ask you about Tremayne.’

  ‘Some of that, I suppose.’

  ‘Look here, Sergeant. Let’s not beat around the bush. The man’s getting on, and his health’s not good. A great track record, better than anyone else in this building, but we can’t ignore the facts.’

  ‘I’ll defend DI Tremayne, you know that.’

  ‘Good for you, but there’s going to come a time when he won’t be up to it. What’s the plan? Has he discussed the possibility?’

  ‘He’s aware of his own mortality, but policing is his life. What else has he got?’

  ‘He’s not on his own.’

  ‘Jean is there most of the time.’

  ‘At least he’ll have company. Not the sort of person for an animal, is he?’

  ‘The creature would starve. Not that DI Tremayne would be cruel, on the contrary. He’s got a soft spot for animals and wayward criminals. It’s just that…’

  ‘Tremayne is Tremayne, is that what you’re trying to say?’ Moulton said.

  ‘That’s it. The poor animal would be at home wondering where its dinner is, and Tremayne, he’d be giving a villain the third degree.’

  ‘I’ve protected him so far, I don’t know how much lo
nger. We’ve all got someone we report to, even me.’

  ‘He’s on a get fit regime. He’s at the gym now.’

  ‘Tremayne in a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  ‘Not the prettiest of sights, I’ll grant you that,’ Clare said, realising that she was enjoying her conversation with the superintendent.

  ‘Your current murder enquiry, how’s it going?’

  ‘Three dead now, sir.’

  ‘There’s pressure for me to bring in extra help. I know that you and Tremayne work better the way you are, but what can I do to stave off the help?’

  ‘Say an arrest is imminent.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Not really. So far, we’ve retrieved all the gold, so the motive for further murders has gone.’

  ‘Has it?’

  ‘That’s the theory, although there are still plenty of unknowns. More than one person knew where the missing gold was, but no one had taken it. Millions of pounds ready for the taking and no one took advantage. The Mitchells, none of them are flush with money, all except one of the women who remarried after Martin died. He died eighteen years ago, as you know.’

  ‘Before my time. Tremayne was the arresting officer.’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘And no attempts to find the gold back then?’

  ‘There were, but none were successful,’ Clare said.

  ‘And now it all becomes easier.’

  ‘You’re not thinking…?’

  ‘Dereliction of duty, Tremayne not following through?’

  ‘I can’t believe that,’ Clare said, perturbed by Moulton’s comment.

  ‘Neither can I. Back then he was a junior officer, just starting out. He did a great job considering his rank, and he had a DI to report to, the same as you. Not an easy man by all accounts, but he’s dead and buried now.’

  ‘Is it relevant?’

  ‘I suppose not. But it makes you wonder if Tremayne’s old DI was covering for someone. Back then, there was less accountability, less cross-checking. The reason that so many of Salisbury’s finest law enforcers dabbled in taking a few backhanders. Not so easy these days, but it still goes on. Does he intend to say a good word for Gerry Mitchell, the would-be master thief?’

  ‘He’s not too keen, but he’ll do it for Mitchell’s mother.’

  ‘That’s his problem. He could be arresting her tomorrow.’

  ‘He’s arrested people before that he’s liked. He’ll not enjoy it, but he’ll do it, and you know it.’

  ‘Just make sure he doesn’t make a fool of himself. And get him fit, or fitter than he is now. It’d be a shame if I had to stand him down, but like Tremayne, I’ll do my duty.’

  Clare left Moulton’s office, a smile on her face. She had seen the human side of Superintendent Moulton, and she had liked it.

  ***

  Tremayne, a man who enjoyed a pub lunch, usually a steak with chips, and a few pints of beer to wash it down, was not pleased with the repast placed in front of him. ‘It’s for your own good,’ Jean said. She had dressed for the occasion, had her hair done. Clare had only had the opportunity to check her makeup at the police station. Her next-door neighbours had fed her cat.

  ‘Not enough to feed a bird,’ Tremayne said. It was the loving repartee between two people glad to be sharing each other’s time.

  ‘It looks good to me, Jean,’ Clare said.

  Tremayne had poured the wine, white, at his request. He was correct in specifying the colour, as Clare knew she would not turn up empty handed at anyone’s house for a meal without bringing wine. To do so would have smacked of bad manners.

  On the plates in front of them were roast chicken with potatoes. A bowl of salad sat to one side.

  ‘And what did Moulton have to say?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘No talking shop tonight,’ Jean said.

  ‘What do you want me to talk about? Horse racing, the state of the nation?’

  ‘You’ll not win, Jean,’ Clare said.

  ‘The man’s obsessed. I hope you’re not.’

  ‘I think I am.’

  ‘It’s time you found yourself a nice man and settled down.’

  ‘She has,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Please. He asked me out, I’ve said yes. It hardly constitutes a deep and meaningful relationship.’

  ‘Okay, a one-night stand.’

  ‘Tremayne, how can you talk to Clare like that?’ Jean said.

  ‘Yarwood’s used to it.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I am.’

  ‘How’s your food?’ Jean said.

  ‘It’s lovely, delicious,’ Clare said. Tremayne mumbled his compliments.

  ‘What do you fancy in the 2.30 at Goodwood?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘And what’s that for?’ Jean said.

  ‘You told me not to talk about the current investigation.’

  ‘You see what I have to put up with.’ Jean looked at Clare, raised her hands in a gesture of defeat.

  ‘I need to tell Tremayne about Superintendent Moulton, anyway,’ Clare said.

  ‘Did he give you the normal routine about my retirement?’

  ‘He was more interested to see you in your gym outfit.’

  ‘You two had a good laugh at my expense, is that it?’

  ‘Sort of. He still wants results.’

  ‘Sorry, Jean,’ Tremayne said. ‘It can’t be helped.’

  ‘That’s fine. It’s nice to have Clare here, isn’t it?’

  ‘If you say so,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Ignore him,’ Clare said.

  ‘The same at work as he is here?’ Jean said.

  ‘He’s a pussycat here.’

  ‘If you two are finished,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘We’re finished. Talk about your murders, if you like,’ Jean said.

  ‘I’m not comfortable with Selwyn Cosford,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Your reasons?’ Clare said.

  ‘Nothing firm, but the man’s successful, highly educated. He plays the game, and he plays to win. He could have still been behind the original heist.’

  ‘And if he was, what’s it got to do with the murders.’

  ‘That’s the point. It doesn’t really. Martin and Ethan had the gold in the boot of their car. But if it was intended for Cosford, one of his insurance fiddles, then why were the two brothers arguing?’

  ‘They were arguing over the twenty bars in the boot of the car, not the forty that were taken.’

  ‘Are you implying that Cosford may have been the intended recipient of the twenty that Betty knew about?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Then why put them in that hole behind the gatehouse? Why not somewhere else, a pre-arranged drop-off point.’

  ‘Plausible deniability.’

  ‘Cosford did not know where the gold was, and he wanted it that way. And if the Mitchells are arrested, he can still claim the insurance money. It’s risk-free to him, with an added bonus if he pulls it off.’

  ‘But Ethan Mitchell never mentioned Cosford,’ Clare said.

  ‘He never mentioned where the gold was buried either. Cosford could have set it up, so the twins didn’t know it was him, and at some time in the future, when and how we don’t know, Cosford would have made a one-off payment and retrieved the gold.’

  ‘After the insurance claim has been settled.’

  ‘He would have had to place a great deal of trust in the Mitchells.’

  ‘Cosford’s a local man. He would have known their father, even Martin and Ethan. Over a period of time, he could have quizzed them, come up with an evaluation as to whether he could trust them.’

  ‘Tony Mitchell advising?’

  ‘Possibly involved. He knew where the gold was. It could be that he was there when the gold was buried, the intermediary between the twins and Cosford. Now we know that Tony Mitchell was a trustworthy man, a war hero, and he had saved Cosford in battle. That sort of bond is not easy to break.’

  ‘It’s complex, but
it’s possible. But why was the gold in that hole for twenty years?’

  ‘Cosford would know, but he’s not going to tell us.’

  ‘A motive for Tony Mitchell’s death?’

  ‘It’s possible. War buddies aside, Cosford doesn’t want anyone knowing the truth.’

  ‘Mitchell would never have spoken.’

  ‘An assumption. What if the man was ill, his mind starting to wander. Cosford’s let him live all these years, knowing that he knew where the gold was, but now there’s no gold. And Cosford’s a man who likes to win. If we arrested Tony Mitchell as an accessory to the gold heist, the man might have told us all we needed to know.’

  ‘We never suspected him.’

  ‘In time we would have. Cosford would have known that, so he acted.’

  ‘Gavin Mitchell?’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense. Betty was willing to tell him where it was.’

  ‘Others in the family may have wanted some of it. Gavin’s led a boring, less than successful life. He’s reaching an age where he’s starting to reflect on opportunities lost. He’s keen to make his mark, see the world, even find himself a woman, young or old. The others in the family are debating, ready to get together with Betty and agree to share. Gavin’s done the calculations, realised there’ll not be enough for him.’

  ‘He’s wandering around blind up at the gatehouse.’

  ‘What options does he have? He’s smarter than Martin and Ethan. He knows that Betty is not a strong woman, and he knows how much three bars of gold weighs. He’s desperate. He’s ferreting around, hoping that he’ll stumble across the gold. He has a torch and a metal detector. Given enough time, he would have found it.’

  ‘Not with that estate manager, O’Connor. He wouldn’t miss much.’

  ‘If he had seen Gavin, he would have been suspicious. Anyone that goes near Longmore Park is soon picked up by him. There have been complaints about him roughing up people before. I checked. Charges were laid against him once after he stopped a couple of youths who were walking along a public footpath, a little too close to the estate for him. One of them gave O’Connor some lip, and he gave him and his friend a smack on the head with the staff that he carries. One of them was in intensive care for a few weeks, possible brain damage.’