The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘The outcome?’

  ‘The youth recovered. Devlin O’Connor was held over for aggravated assault. It was a possible prison sentence, but strings were pulled.’

  ‘He got off?’

  ‘A five hundred pound fine, court expenses against him. He didn’t pay.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘Where we’re going tomorrow.’

  Chapter 18

  It was eight thirty in the morning when Tremayne and Clare crossed the border into Devlin O’Connor’s territory. Up the road, they could see his Land Rover coming at a rapid speed to waylay those who had failed to check with him.

  Clare was driving, Tremayne was nursing his sore calf muscles after a mile at slow walking pace on the treadmill, with the instructor promising to raise the speed the next time. Even after that, he had lifted weights for ten minutes, miniscule compared to what some of the others were lifting, but enough to make his arms ache. Clare had looked over at him, decided against offering a comment.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ O’Connor said.

  ‘We’re police officers,’ Tremayne leaned over from his side of the vehicle and shouted over at the Land Rover.

  ‘We don’t like visitors up here.’

  Tremayne got out of Clare’s car and walked around to the open window of O’Connor’s vehicle. ‘Now look here, O’Connor, you’re not the lord and master around here. There’s been a murder behind your gatehouse, and your testimony that you were at home fast asleep doesn’t stack up. And if we want to go and knock on the door of the main house uninvited, we have the authority, not you. Do you have any more to say, or do I have to arrest you for obstructing two police officers?’

  ‘We get the occasional sightseer up here. Some of them don’t like it when I turn them around.’

  ‘If it’s a problem, put a gate and a guard at the entrance.’

  ‘That costs money.’

  ‘How come you didn’t know about the gold? You seem to know everything else that happens around here.’

  ‘They never told me you were coming.’

  ‘They, meaning the main house?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Yarwood said they were friendly.’

  ‘They are.’

  ‘Then why hassle us? Do you have any guilty secrets up here, growing marijuana, a secret opium den?’

  ‘Of course not. I do my job. Others may think it’s a cushy number, but it’s not. We get the occasional drunk with a gun, fancies a pheasant or a deer. I’ve got to deal with them, somehow not get shot, but I can’t shoot back.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll not touch them.’

  ‘Deer?’ Clare said.

  ‘You’ll see them close to the main house,’ O’Connor said.

  ‘We’ll be in touch later. We need to talk to you again,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘You’ve got my number.’

  ‘We have.’

  O’Connor put the Land Rover into first gear and drove off.

  ‘An unpleasant man,’ Clare said.

  ‘A man who doesn’t miss much. He must know more than he’s telling us.’

  ***

  It was remarkable, Clare thought, as she and Tremayne were shown around the Georgian mansion. She was the one with the clear voice, the one who pronounced her vowels, enunciated her words, and there they were, the owners of the house, English aristocracy, and they were wholly charmed by Tremayne.

  They loved his accent, his downtrodden look, they even wanted to hear about him at the gym, and how many murders he’d solved, the villains he had put away.

  ‘This is my great-grandfather,’ his lordship said. ‘He was in the military, the rank of Colonel. The one over here, the imperious-looking gentlemen, he was a rogue, hanged as a spy by the enemy during one of the colonial wars.’

  Tremayne had to admit he was enjoying the guided tour. He wasn’t sure why, and he had visited a few stately homes when he was younger, but here, there was no monotone guide, no ropes closing off the private quarters. This time they went everywhere, including the separate bedrooms of the lord and his lady. Even the children’s bedroom, another room painted and papered in dark red velvet. ‘There’s a ghost in here. All our guests want to try it out, most don’t last the night.’

  ‘I don’t believe in the unknown,’ Tremayne said. ‘There’s always an explanation.’

  ‘Neither do we, but no one stays in the room.’

  ‘Maybe you’ve tricked it out.’

  ‘Not us, but it’s a good idea. Do you reckon you could spend the night in that room?’

  ‘I reckon so.’

  Clare was staggered when Tremayne received an invite to come for dinner within the next month and to sleep in the room. She was even more staggered when he accepted.

  Tremayne didn’t need to worry about his pinkie finger or the etiquette of how to drink a cup of tea. The four of them sat in the kitchen, each with an old mug.

  ‘Apart from the title and the estate, we’re regular people,’ her ladyship said. ‘It’s just that people expect more from us.’

  ‘Jealous, I suppose,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘It’s a lot of work looking after a place like this.’

  ‘Devlin O’Connor seems to have his finger on the pulse.’

  ‘O’Connor’s a rough man, but there are some who see plenty, believe it’s theirs to take.’

  ‘Is that why you tolerate him?’ Clare said.

  ‘He’s a decent man, and we trust him.’

  ‘We need your take on what’s happened down at the gatehouse,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘We’ve followed it with interest, not that we can add much to what you already know. The gatehouse has not been used for a long time, and neither of us has walked around the back of it,’ his lordship said.

  ‘Did you know Tony Mitchell?’

  ‘We knew him through the village fete. He often won a prize for his vegetables. Apart from that, we didn’t see him often. We’re not here a lot of the time, either. Business in London, trips overseas.’

  ‘Were you surprised when the gold was discovered?’

  ‘Shocked would be a more appropriate word. We knew about the gold being stolen from the van, not far from here, but not that it was on our land.’

  ‘Devlin O’Connor?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I know he looks a likely character to be involved, but we’ve always found him to be honest,’ Lord Linden said.

  ‘Several million pounds of gold would tempt anyone.’

  ‘There’s plenty in this house that’s worth that sort of money.’

  ‘Not so easy to melt down,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Not that difficult either, and small items here and there add up. Some of them would be worth good money.’

  ‘Is this place alarmed?’

  ‘Yes, but there are a dozen people on the estate who come in here when we’re away.’

  ‘Coming back to the murders,’ Tremayne said. ‘Gavin Mitchell, did you know him?’

  ‘No. We read that he was a relative of Tony Mitchell.’

  ‘He was, although they were not close. Tony Mitchell had known that the gold was on your land for eighteen years, and he never touched it. So did Ethan Mitchell’s ex-wife. He was murdered in St Mark’s in Salisbury.’

  ‘We know the church,’ her ladyship said.

  ‘I don’t think there’s much more we can add, do you?’ his lordship said.

  ‘Not for now,’ Tremayne said.

  Both he and Clare stood up and made for the back door of the house. ‘That mug you were drinking from,’ his lordship said. ‘Antique, worth several hundred pounds.’

  ‘And I was going to take it as a souvenir,’ Tremayne said without smiling.

  ‘No, you weren’t, Detective Inspector. And remember, Saturday fortnight, informal, just the family and a few friends, and bring your wife. Sergeant Yarwood, Clare, you as well. And make sure to bring someone.’

  ‘I’m single.’

  ‘A pretty woman like you,’ he
r ladyship said. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ***

  Selwyn Cosford looked at the man standing in front of him. He looked young enough to be a grandson, but he wasn’t, and he was not agreeable.

  ‘Mr Cosford, I don’t see how we process your claim,’ Paul Rudd of Gainsford Insurance said.

  The two men were at Cosford’s mansion. Both were seated in the library, both were hostile. Cosford recognised the degree-educated, process-driven pen pusher. Rudd knew the ugly face of aggressive capitalism. Even Rudd had heard of Cosford before driving down the long sweeping road that was Cosford’s driveway. He had parked his Ford Fiesta behind a Jaguar. He knew it was Cosford’s by the personalised number plates.

  A uniformed butler had opened the door for him. After that, the walk to the library past the artworks, past a statue which he was sure he’d seen in a museum in London. Rudd laid claim to being a bibliophile, reading at least two books a week, but in that room, there were thousands. He walked around as he waited, saw titles he had read, others that did not interest him, and others that he wanted to read but were not readily available.

  ‘A great collection,’ Rudd said on Cosford entering. The two men had exchanged the usual pleasantries, discussed literature and favourite authors, before directing their conversation to money, namely Selwyn Cosford’s recovered gold bars, and why he was entitled to them. It was then that the two men realised that a common interest did not cross the divide that separated them.

  ‘Eighteen years ago, when you settled on my claim, you paid the cash equivalent. Today it’s worth over five times that.’

  ‘I’ll concede the point,’ Rudd said, who knew the reason why he was dealing with Cosford. He was the man who had knocked back more claims, some legit, most fraudulent, in the four years he had been with Gainsford Insurance. He knew that Cosford was a chancer, assuming his reputation, his weekly television programmes, would somehow save the day.

  ‘Then what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘What do you want me to do? We paid out the claim amount, as agreed. You signed a declaration that all was in order, end of the matter.’

  ‘For you, but here we are. The gold’s been recovered. It’s got a substantial premium on what you paid me, and inflation has only gone up sixty-three per cent. I’m out of pocket, and the insurance company has made a killing.’

  ‘On the contrary, Gainsford Insurance has covered the deficit for those eighteen years and has not earned any interest on the money. If I did the calculations, it could well be that you owe us money.’

  ‘How dare you come in here and threaten me.’

  ‘I’m not threatening. I’m here because you are a valued customer. It was you who requested that we use a different transport company.’

  ‘I had written approval from your company.’

  ‘You had an authorised letter from an employee who no longer works for us.’

  ‘A competent man,’ Cosford said.

  ‘Is that why you, Mr Cosford, subsequently employed him? Believe me, if I had been in the company back then, you would not have been given insurance. Mr Cosford, quite frankly, you represent a poor risk. There have been several claims over the years, some suspicious.’

  Cosford studied the young man, a schoolboy when the gold initially went missing. He liked what he saw, a fighter. A man similar to him at that age: brash, determined, aggressive.

  ‘Paul, I can call you Paul, can’t I?’

  Rudd recognised the smarm offensive. ‘Yes, that would be fine.’

  ‘And you must call me Selwyn.’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t do that. My upbringing, your age.’

  ‘Very well,’ Cosford said. He wasn’t sure if Rudd was honest, or whether he was trying to maintain a distance.

  ‘We paid out on a painting that was damaged in the house. Was it repaired?’

  ‘It was. It cost me more than your pay-out.’

  ‘And its value?’

  ‘The market for a Turner is not good.’

  ‘Mr Cosford, our estimate is one million pounds. You have it insured with us for one million one hundred thousand, am I correct?’

  ‘Probably. I leave the incidentals to others to deal with.’

  ‘In that case, I can deal with your people, not you.’

  ‘I have a special interest in the gold.’

  ‘Mr Cosford, you have a special interest in the money, or is this another of your games. You’re notorious for reading the small print on any legal contract, bending it to your interpretation, bringing in experts to debate the intricacies. It was how you managed to claim six hundred and fifty thousand for a Ferrari, even when it was being driven by your granddaughter?’

  ‘She was insured, and you said she was not.’

  ‘She was insured to drive it between certain hours, and in certain weather conditions. I wouldn’t have paid. If you have such disregard for vehicles of that calibre, then you are a …’

  ‘Philistine?’

  ‘That’s not a word I would use, but yes.’

  ‘I’ve another one in the garage. Several in fact. Do you want to see them?’

  ‘Personally, yes. Professionally, no. Mr Cosford, your claim is null and void. We at Gainsford Insurance will not be compensating you for any financial loss that you may feel you have incurred with these twenty bars. They will remain the property of my company and will be credited to the account of Gainsford Insurance once they have been sold.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Cosford said.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘The way you handled yourself. It’s not often I meet someone who can stand up to me.’

  ‘I’m sure it isn’t.’

  ‘The cars. Are you ready now?’

  ‘Are you willing to sign a document that you will not make any further claim on Gainsford Insurance?’

  ‘I’ll bring in the lawyers, see what they can do.’

  ‘You’ll not win.’

  ‘Maybe I won’t, but it’ll be fun trying.’

  ‘Mr Cosford, you are a devious man who plays with people. It’s no wonder that you’ve been so successful.’

  ‘The cars are in the garage. Let’s go.’

  While Rudd checked out the vehicles – Ferraris, Jaguars, Rolls Royces – Cosford made a phone call.

  ‘Maggie, you know you’re always joking that you’d marry a man like your grandfather?’

  ‘There’s no one like you, Granddad.’

  ‘There is. He’s at my place. Get over here and take him for a ride in one of the cars.’

  ‘Ten minutes.’

  Selwyn Cosford could see that he could kill two birds with the one stone. Someone for his favourite granddaughter, and a chance to still win with the insurance company. Rudd was right, he knew that, but then Paul Rudd was of the same ilk as him. He could even be the man to take over from him when his time came. His son, Maggie’s father, the spoilt child of a wealthy man, wasn’t.

  Chapter 19

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Tremayne said. He was sitting in his office and leaning back with his arms behind his head.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Clare said.

  ‘Martin and Ethan, not the smartest two men, strike lucky with a van carrying gold bullion.’

  ‘Hardly lucky, both are dead.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I do. But you conducted the investigation eighteen years ago.’

  ‘I was still wet behind the ears, then. A bit like you, Yarwood, and I didn’t have a mentor, only a boss.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘The man was competent, but he was taking it easy. No ulcers for him, plenty for me.’

  ‘You’ve no ulcers,’ Clare said.

  ‘I will with the way you and Jean feed me.’

  ‘Apart from that.’

  ‘The twins steal the gold. They’ve got twenty bars of gold in the boot of a car, another twenty hidden. They don’t know what to do, and they argue.’

  ‘It wasn’t out of character.’r />
  ‘No. But why hide twenty bars?’

  ‘They only had a car. Each of those bars weighed over twelve kilos, that’s twenty-five pounds each. Maybe it would have been too heavy for the car. A thousand pounds, that’s close to half a ton.’

  ‘I don’t buy it. They had some arrangement with someone, and for whatever reason, it didn’t work out.’

  ‘There were plenty of places where two vehicles could have met, transferred the gold across.’

  ‘I can still see the hand of Selwyn Cosford behind this,’ Tremayne said. ‘He could have said to the twins to hide half, keep half, and then he’d contact them afterwards.’

  ‘But it all went wrong, and Martin was killed by Ethan. The end result was that Cosford had no gold, only the insurance money. If he had played it right, he could have had the insurance as well as the gold, and he’d have no difficulty moving it out of the country. The Middle East, India, no questions asked.’

  ‘Tony Mitchell’s a friend of Cosford’s, and he had a map. Why didn’t he tell Cosford?’

  ‘Unknowns, yet again. Mitchell and Cosford were men who had a shared history. That doesn’t make them friends. You investigated this thoroughly eighteen years ago,’ Clare said.

  ‘I know, but we couldn’t get anywhere. In the end, a conviction for Ethan Mitchell, a promotion for me,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘For the investigation?’

  ‘In part, but I was due.’

  Tremayne took out a packet of cigarettes, put it back in his pocket again.

  ‘You’re allowed five a day,’ Clare said.

  ‘You two are driving me crazy, you know that.’

  ‘We know it, but Moulton will have you out of here if you don’t look after yourself.’

  ‘He’ll have us both out if we don’t find a murderer.’

  ‘What about the drivers of the van? How come the twins were able to get into the driver’s compartment? Even if it were not full security, they wouldn’t have left the doors unlocked.’

  ‘The vehicle was checked. No fault found, and Ethan had smashed the driver’s window with a mallet.’

  ‘But why was the vehicle stopped, and how did the twins know?’

  ‘Yet again, you’re going over old history,’ Tremayne said.