The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘One of my few luxuries. I’ve got a touch of gout, cold houses, not enough exercise. Still, I’m not complaining. How about you, Tremayne?’

  ‘Too many cigarettes, too many pints of beer. I’m on doctor’s orders, or should I say wife’s orders.’

  ‘A good woman?’

  ‘One of the best.’

  Clare waited for Tremayne.

  Finding their way back down through the house, they went out through the back door by the kitchen. The estate manager’s cottage was not far, semi-enclosed by a brick wall. After the opulence of the main house, the cottage was small in comparison. Clare put the key in the front door lock and turned it. The door opened slowly, creaking as it went.

  ‘I’ll take upstairs,’ Clare said as she climbed the narrow stairs, constructed in a time when people were smaller, and no doubt thinner. At the top of the stairs was a small passageway. At the far end, a bathroom. The cabinet was open and empty. She looked in the main bedroom, the bed clean and tidy. She looked in the wardrobe: no clothes, no shoes.

  Downstairs, Tremayne was finding the same. The man had gone.

  ‘Unusual,’ Clare said as she came back downstairs.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Eighteen years and nothing to show for it, no personal touches in the cottage.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ Tremayne said.

  Clare phoned up Jim Hughes, the station’s CSE. ‘We need a couple of your people to check out a cottage at Longmore Park. See if you can find any fingerprints.’

  ‘The murderer?’ Hughes asked.

  ‘He wasn’t high on our list until he took off. No forwarding address, no severance pay. Something’s not right.’

  ‘He’s left the Land Rover here. Put out an APB, will you?’ Tremayne said once Clare had ended her call with Hughes.

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Clare said. ‘He could have killed Gavin and Tony Mitchell,’ she said.

  ‘But why? The man couldn’t have been involved with the gold heist, and he’s been driving past the gold for years. Why, all of a sudden, would he start murdering people, and why Gavin?’

  ‘We’ll wait for the findings from the CSIs,’ Clare said. ‘We’ve got a funeral to attend.’

  ***

  With three of the Mitchell clan dead, it would have been logical to have a joint service. At least, that was what Julie, Martin Mitchell’s widow, had suggested. ‘Get all the hurt and sorrow out and over with at the same time,’ she had said.

  ‘Don’t talk crazy,’ Betty, her sister, had said in reply.

  ‘It’s your money, not mine. Eric knows about saving money.’

  ‘Your husband, Eric, is a sanctimonious pig. I was married to Ethan, and he’s the father of my two children. He gets a proper send-off, Mitchell style.’

  The church was not St Mark’s, the expected choice, but Betty had been firm that she didn’t want Ethan’s funeral in the same place where he had been murdered.

  St Francis, at the top of Castle Road, was chosen as the most suitable. Tremayne and Clare kept to the back. At the front, Betty sat with Marcia and Gerry. The convicted felon had been given special leave from prison to attend. A prison officer stood behind him.

  Also present were Julie and her husband, Eric. Bob was to the left of his wife, his arm around her. Betty was stoic, not crying, although looking very sad. Sandra, the sister of three brothers, was just to the left of Bob, her wheelchair slightly in front of the pews.

  The coffin was brought in. Tremayne looked around, saw a familiar face. ‘Just stay here, Yarwood. I’ve got someone I need to talk to.’

  Tremayne slowly edged to the left along the line of pews and then slid back three, causing some at the front to look around. He knew he should not be focussing attention on himself at such a solemn time, but it was necessary.

  ‘Selwyn, what brings you here?’

  ‘Guilt. I’ve told you that before. It was my gold, and it cost the man his life.’

  ‘That was Martin, this is Ethan.’

  ‘I know. What about the others? That’s four now.’

  The vicar stood, the congregation rising as well. The service was a blur to Tremayne. Gerry got up to say a few words, did better than Tremayne expected. He could see that Yarwood had moved closer to Sandra, Ethan’s sister, and had placed her arm on her shoulder. The woman seemed to respond to the gesture.

  Marcia spoke, as Tremayne knew she would. She mentioned the man’s many good qualities, glossed over the others. At the end, the coffin was borne by six men, Tremayne included, at a special request of the family. How many times, he thought to himself as he bore the weight on his shoulder, had he arrested someone, only to be a friend of the culprit and his family. He had to admit to some sadness as the man was placed inside the hearse for the short drive to the cemetery.

  Outside the church, before the cortege left, Cosford approached Betty. ‘Sorry about your loss.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Selwyn. Martin and Ethan were always trouble. Your gold or someone else’s, it wouldn’t have made any difference.’

  ‘Please give my condolences to Sandra. I don’t know her well, and I barely knew Gavin.’

  ‘Gavin was a fool, the same as his brothers.’

  ‘Regardless, it’s not a nice way to go.’

  ‘Tony’s funeral is in a couple of weeks. I’d like you to be there. Maybe you could mention what he did in Malaya.’

  ‘He wouldn’t like it known, but I’ll do it. He needs credit for it. His medals?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. You knew Tony, no fuss with him. He probably threw them out.’

  ‘Maybe. I’ll see if I can get replacements.’

  ‘We’d like that,’ Betty said as she climbed into the back seat of the limousine hired for the occasion.

  ‘Nice touch,’ Tremayne said to Cosford as the two men stood near the road, both knowing that what separated them was unresolved.

  Chapter 23

  Tremayne sat in his chair and looked at the report he had to prepare. It did not excite him, nor did the laptop. He was still a pen and paper man, and back in the early days a report did not take hours. All he had to do was to write it and then read it through once before sending it off. But now, there was the file to open, to date, to save, to insert the subject, the reference number, and that was before writing. And even then, there would be the closing of the document, the cross-checks where the computer would ask ‘Have you done this?’, ‘Have you done that?’

  Eventually, after more time than he considered worthwhile, he’d press the enter key, and the report would be sent.

  As Tremayne prepared to walk out of his office, disenchanted with the report, Jim Hughes walked in. ‘I thought you’d like it straight from the horse’s mouth,’ he said.

  ‘If you’re the horse.’

  ‘No shortage of prints in the cottage.’

  ‘Any of importance?’

  ‘Devlin O’Connor was convicted of attempted murder, spent five years in prison before being released. He used a different name back then.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  Hughes pushed four pages of print across the desk. ‘Read this.’

  Clare came into the office. ‘Anything interesting?’

  ‘You can read it after Tremayne.’

  ‘Five years for the attempted murder of a fellow student at university. According to this, there was a woman involved. She had been playing the field, and both of the men wanted her for himself. After a drinking bout in a Dublin pub, both men had gone outside, egged on by their friends. After ten minutes of name-calling and prancing around, O’Connor lost his temper, drew a knife and stabbed the other man in the stomach. O’Connor admitted that he was drunk and it was unintentional, so did the other man when he came out of emergency surgery. The judge sentenced our man O’Connor to prison. He had a different name then,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘Twenty-nine years, long enough for it to be forgotten.’

  ‘Does tha
t make him guilty of the murders of Gavin and Tony Mitchell?’ Clare said.

  ‘Not in itself,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘He took off, self-preservation. You can’t blame him.’

  ‘I’m not blaming him. I just want him back. The man knows something, and as you say, it’s self-preservation. That’s a good enough reason not to tell us the truth.’

  Devlin O’Connor was no longer a minor player. He was now major league. Clare upgraded the APB to critical, detain at all costs, the person is deemed potentially violent, possibly armed.

  ‘He can’t have gone far,’ Tremayne said, more out of hope than belief. Lord and Lady Linden were surprised when they were told.

  ‘He used to take the children fishing,’ Lady Linden said.

  ‘He was convicted for a one-off offence a long time ago. Under normal circumstances, and after so many years, we would regard him as non-violent.’

  ‘But now?’

  ‘He could be our murderer, but I’m not convinced. Too many variables, and if he knew about the gold, he certainly hasn’t benefited from it.’

  ‘You’ll place him under arrest when you capture him?’

  ‘We’ll remand him in custody.’

  ‘If he’s innocent, he’s welcome back here,’ Lord Linden said.

  ‘That’s very generous of you,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘The man has proved his worth to us. We’ll not hold his past against him.’

  ***

  Tremayne did not like people giving him orders, and especially not Selwyn Cosford. ‘I need you out here at my place, no excuses,’ had been the command.

  ‘Cosford, I’m not your hired help,’ Tremayne had said, but to no avail. The man on the other end of the phone was agitated. Tremayne knew Cosford to be a wily fox, not the sort of person to fall for the usual tricks, but an angry man, however induced, was likely to let something slip.

  Tremayne arrived at Cosford’s place at ten in the morning. Outside in the driveway was a car he had not seen before. Inside the house was a man he knew too well: Henry Barker, Cosford’s lawyer and a man Tremayne had crossed swords with before.

  ‘Tremayne, you’ve been talking to Colin Morrison, accusing him of being involved in the theft of my client’s gold,’ Barker, grey-haired and close to Cosford’s age, said. He was wearing a three-piece suit, one size too small.

  Tremayne recognised an attempt at intimidation. Don’t try it on with me, he thought.

  He could see Cosford standing to one side, almost as if he was the second at a boxing match. ‘You’re wasting your time, Barker. I’m investigating a murder, not a break-in at a kindergarten.’

  ‘Still with the smart answers. When did we last meet?’

  ‘Not long enough ago for me.’

  Tremayne knew that it would be better to treat the man with some respect, but he had always suspected him. He operated out of a small office in Salisbury. It was neither luxurious nor efficient, files of papers stacked on top of one another, yet he numbered Selwyn Cosford amongst his clients, and one or two other entrepreneurs who sailed close to the wind.

  ‘What were you doing with Colin Morrison?’

  ‘Is that any of your concern?’

  ‘It is if it throws doubt on Mr Cosford’s good character.’

  ‘Cosford’s able to look after himself. Or am I getting too close to the truth? Was there fraud? We still haven’t found this mysterious girlfriend. Who was she, Cosford? One of your floozies? She was the age you like. Attractive from what we’ve been told.’

  ‘You can’t come in here and start accusing my client.’

  ‘Barker, I wasn’t coming here at all. It was Selwyn who summoned me as if I was one of his staff. This is a setup, and you’re feeding me nonsense, hoping for me to compromise myself. To give you something that you can take to Superintendent Moulton to get me off the case.’

  ‘That wasn’t the purpose,’ Barker said, backing off slightly.

  ‘What was it, another bribe? I kept quiet about the previous one.’

  Barker turned to Cosford. ‘Is this true?’

  ‘Not a bribe, more an “if you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours”.’

  ‘For a smart man, you can be a bloody fool sometimes,’ Barker said.

  The lawyer turned to Tremayne. ‘Inspector, let’s be civil.’ Tremayne did not like the change in Barker, suspicious to him.

  Tremayne made a phone call. ‘In the house,’ he said.

  Turning back to face Barker. ‘Sergeant Yarwood is outside. I brought her just in case I need a witness, and it appears that I do.’

  Clare came in and took a seat in the centre of the room. Barker came over and shook her hand, smiled at her. ‘Please to meet you. Tremayne thinks we have a problem with him.’

  Clare had spent enough time in Homicide, and with Tremayne, to know a deceitful man, the sort of person who couldn’t lie straight in his bed of a night.

  ‘I’m here for Detective Inspector Tremayne. I’ll record the conversation if that’s okay with you and Mr Cosford.’

  ‘Of course it is. We are concerned that his visit to Colin Morrison is an attempt to cast doubt on Mr Cosford’s innocence.’

  ‘It’s not, and you know it,’ Tremayne said. ‘You intend to try and get me to back off. And so far, I’ve resisted placing the blame on Cosford, but he’s looking awfully suspicious, as is Morrison. Eighteen years ago, Cosford and Morrison were not as financially sound as they are now. The proceeds from the gold, as well as the insurance money, would have come in handy. And why’s Farrell able to set up a business in Ireland? That needs money, and the man had nothing after Morrison sacked him.’

  ‘Farrell?’ Barker said.

  ‘Aidan Farrell,’ Cosford said. ‘He was the driver of the security van, took a nasty hit on the head.’

  ‘Don’t pretend with me, Barker,’ Tremayne said. Clare could see that her senior was playing a dangerous game. He was not dealing with a couple of hooligans, but with smart people, influential people. People who played golf with the police hierarchy and would be on Christian name terms with a few politicians.

  ‘Okay, Tremayne, have it your way. I’ve been acting for Mr Cosford for a long time. I know all about the gold, and the Mitchells, and how you acted as a character witness for one of them recently. Are you trying to protect them? Battlers, are they, like you? And my client is the big bad wolf, ready to blow their house down?’

  Touché, Clare thought.

  ‘You’ll not pin that on me,’ Tremayne said. Clare could tell that he was rattled. It was not often that someone could beat him at his own game. She could see that Barker was not the sort of person to have up against you in a court of law.

  ‘What is it with Morrison? Is he a suspect?’ Barker said.

  ‘Morrison is a person of interest. And using another van to transport the gold smacks of subterfuge. There’s no way that a company involved in the transportation of so much of value would have allowed it to be transported in an unsuitable vehicle, and there’s no way an insurance company would agree to it unless there was collusion. What was your part in this, Barker?’

  ‘You were invited out here to discuss this matter.’

  ‘It was no invite. If I hadn’t taken you on, you’d have attempted to knobble me, offer me something I couldn’t refuse. Is that why the three Mitchells have died? Did they know something about you and Cosford and Morrison? You’re about the same height as Martin, do you have a gun?’

  ‘This is intimidation,’ Barker said. The man was red in the face. He looked as if he was about to take a swing at Tremayne. Clare stood up, ready to intervene.

  ‘Sit down, Yarwood. I want this man to take a swing at me. Then I can arrest him. It’ll give us time to check him out. He’s in on this, I’m sure of it. Selwyn, you’d better get yourself another lawyer. This one’s not going to save you. And as for Morrison, we’ll find out what he’s up to. Maybe you’re involved with him, and what he’s transporting, apart from gold bars and paintings that get
damaged.’

  ‘It may be time for us to leave,’ Clare said.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  It took two cigarettes before Tremayne calmed down. She thought he was going to have a coronary.

  ***

  Clare drove back to Bemerton Road Police Station, diverting long enough for Tremayne to have lunch with Jean.

  At the station, Superintendent Moulton was waiting in his office. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Tremayne.’

  ‘Cosford’s involved. We just need to ride him. Granted, he’s too old to have murdered anyone, but something’s amiss. I’m not sure what it is, but I intend to find out.’

  ‘Devlin O’Connor has been arrested.’

  ‘Is he comfortable?’

  ‘As comfortable as he can be.’

  ‘How long have you known about O’Connor?’

  ‘They picked him up in Wales ten minutes ago. Supposedly, he walked into a police station there, said who he was,’ Moulton said.

  ‘I still don’t think he’s our man,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘He was around the area where two people were killed.’

  ‘He’s a man who watches and listens. He knows more about the village of Emberley and Longmore Park than anyone else. Where are they holding him?’

  ‘Cardiff.’

  Time is of the essence. Cosford is covering his tracks, so is Morrison.’

  ‘What about the Mitchells?’ Moulton said.

  ‘They’re not as smart. We’ll see through them whatever they do.’

  Chapter 24

  ‘Why did you run?’ Tremayne asked Devlin O’Connor. ‘We had nothing on you.’

  ‘I didn’t want to leave,’ O’Connor said.

  The three, Tremayne, Clare, and O’Connor were sitting in the interview room at Cardiff Central Police Station on King Edward VII Avenue. Clare would have appreciated an hour to recuperate after driving the hundred miles from Salisbury, but Tremayne was keen to get to O’Connor. He had a friend from years back at the station and he had eased the two police officers through the building and into the interview room. O’Connor had declined legal representation.