The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘If you had stayed, then we’d have never found out who you were.’

  ‘You would have, that’s how the police work. It was a long time ago when I used that knife. I was a lot younger, hot-headed.’

  It was obvious from the man’s condition that O’Connor had been sleeping rough for a few nights. He had stubble on his face and scratches on his arm.

  ‘What happened?’ Clare said.

  ‘It’s nothing. I just headed into the forest. I needed time to think.’

  ‘What for? An alibi or a confession?’

  ‘Neither.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘After I had served my time, I drifted around for a few years, mainly in Europe. I changed my name, and it was good, but I wanted a quiet life. I knew what I had done, almost killed a man, and believe me, I’m still capable. I’ve got a ferocious temper, and a few pints too many, a few shots of a happy hour, and it could happen again. Up there at Longmore Park, they treated me well, no one asked questions.’

  ‘But you left.’

  ‘I had to.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I knew the gold was there.’

  Tremayne sat back in his chair and looked hard at the man. He saw a contrite man, not sure what to say or do. ‘Do you need legal aid?’

  ‘I’ve committed no crime.’

  ‘The gold?’

  ‘I saw Tony Mitchell around the back of the gatehouse.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘It must have been sixteen years ago. I could see him from a distance. I had been checking on a broken fence, and I had a pair of binoculars around my neck. I could see him in there, so I rested the binoculars on a fence post and focussed on him. He stayed about ten minutes and then he left. After he had gone, I walked around where he had been. It was early morning, a dew was on the ground, and it was not difficult to follow his tracks. I could see the metal grate. I knelt down and pulled it clear. I always carry a torch, so I shone it down.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘At first, nothing.’

  ‘Afterwards?’

  ‘I pulled some old clothing to one side with an old branch, and there was the gold.’

  ‘You didn’t take it.’

  ‘Not me. I put the grate back and got out of there in a hurry. I knew of the gold and the van that had been hijacked. It was before my time, but people in the village occasionally talked about it.’

  ‘But you never touched it, never told anyone.’

  ‘Inspector, believe me. I had nearly killed a man once. I’m pleased to be at Longmore Park, a dream job for me, and then there is all this gold. If I had told the police, my secret would be out. If I took some of it, I was a criminal. And I didn’t need it, either. I had a good job, a rent-free cottage. What else did I want?’

  ‘And if the job had ended, would you have taken the gold?’

  ‘Never. I knew my weaknesses, and stolen gold would not solve them. In time, I ceased to think about the gold, and then the murders started. If I had come forward all those years ago, then none of them would have happened.’

  ‘You can never be sure. It’s not for you to blame yourself.’

  ‘But I do. I remember that night when I drew the knife. I still have nightmares.’

  ‘What happened to the man?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, and the woman we were fighting over, I can barely remember her name. I’ve told you all I know. Are there any charges?’

  ‘You’ve not told us everything.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Gavin Mitchell.’

  ‘Do you think I could have killed him?’

  ‘You could have taken the twenty bars. Why would you bother with three?’

  ‘My cover was about to be blown. I could have been desperate.’

  ‘Did you see anything the night of his death?’

  ‘I saw someone. It was a dark night, moonless, and I could see a flashing light. I moved down there, slowly. I used to stalk wild deer in my youth so I could be quiet. Mitchell’s moving around, he’s got a metal detector. I know what he’s after, but I just watch. After some time, he looks as if he’s about to give up. I was going to grab hold of him, give him a piece of my mind.’

  ‘Threaten him?’

  ‘Probably. He needed to know that he was not welcome on private land. I’ve located his car, and I’m not far away. Then another person comes up the lane.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Let me finish. He sees the car, and he moves into the wood. He’s quiet, quieter than me. He disappears for twelve minutes. I checked on my watch. He then comes back out and walks down the lane.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Tony Mitchell.’

  ‘Are you sure? He was an old man.’

  ‘It was him. I don’t know why, but it was him.’

  ‘Did you check on Gavin Mitchell.’

  ‘I intended to, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I know I should have phoned you, but you’d not believe me. Tony Mitchell was well known, well liked, and I had a history of violence. I went back to my cottage, thought about what to do for a few hours. I then decided to check on the other man. It was daylight, and the sun was shining through the trees. I trained my binoculars on the area where I had seen Gavin Mitchell. I could see him standing up, motionless. I was about to go and check, but then the two women appeared. Sergeant Yarwood showed her badge, the other woman I knew was a Mitchell. There was no more I could do, except act as though I knew nothing.’

  ‘Tony Mitchell, are you certain it was him?’

  ‘Positive. He went into the wood. I didn’t see him kill the other man, and I didn’t hear anything. That’s the truth.’

  ‘It’s plausible. We know that Tony Mitchell was a war hero, no doubt skilled in moving through a Malay jungle without making a noise.’

  ‘Did you confront him afterwards?’ Clare said.

  ‘No. I was confused, not sure what to do.’

  ***

  Selwyn Cosford had taken a chance on Tremayne, only to have it backfire. And now the man had called him into Bemerton Road Police Station.

  Across from Cosford in the interview room, Tremayne. Alongside Tremayne, Clare. Facing her was Henry Barker, Cosford’s lawyer, and a man not to be trusted according to Tremayne.

  ‘Mr Cosford, you were a close friend of Tony Mitchell,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘We were acquaintances. He saved my life once. I owed him a debt of gratitude.’

  ‘What if I told you that Tony Mitchell killed Gavin Mitchell?’

  ‘I’d say you were in the land of make-believe.’

  ‘Why? The man’s capable of killing.’

  ‘The Malayan Emergency. We were soldiers. That came with the job.’

  ‘It must make it easier, though.’

  ‘It does. I had been there shooting across at the enemy. I could have killed someone, probably did.’

  ‘Did Tony?’

  ‘He was like a lot of men in wartime. He did his duty and then came home. He neither spoke about it nor reminisced, and he never went to reunions.’

  ‘What did he do? He seems to have spent his life without a woman.’

  ‘When he was younger, he used to get about. Not everyone’s obsessed with getting laid.’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘We were opposites, Tony and me, but we shared something that those who’ve not been in the heat of battle can understand.’

  ‘What was he doing at the back of the gatehouse?’

  ‘Why are you asking me?’

  ‘Was Tony good with a knife?’

  ‘He’d been trained, the same as we all had.’

  ‘You’re a similar age, similar build. It was dark, our witness could have been mistaken.’

  ‘Are you accusing my client of murder?’ Barker said. He was more circumspect, Clare noticed. He had already had one encounter with Tremayne, and the verdict was still out on who had won.

  ‘If Tony murdered Gavin, then why? Only three bars are
missing. It’s hardly worth your time and effort.’

  ‘A million pounds is worth it, but not murder. And besides, I’ve got an insurance claim going through.’

  ‘Successfully?’

  If my granddaughter is as good as I think she is, Cosford thought. ‘Yes. I’ll return the money from the original insurance claim plus agreed interest, taking into account inflation. And then the gold will be mine. It’s millions to me, it could have been…’ he said.

  ‘You nearly let it slip, Cosford. You’re losing your touch. Early stages of dementia, is it? Are you afraid you’ll not be able to hold it together for much longer, making contingency plans for when you’re dribbling, stuck in a bed, unable to say a word?’

  ‘This is scurrilous,’ Barker shouted. ‘This is badgering of the worst kind. My client is an important man and should be treated with respect.’

  ‘Your client is a man who has used civil law to his advantage for many years. The slippery road to the criminal is not that far. I suggest you advise your client to be careful in what he says. If Tony Mitchell is, as we think and Cosford states, an honourable man, he would not kill without reason. He saved Cosford’s life many years ago, maybe he was attempting to save it again, but why in that wood makes no sense.’

  ‘Unless Gavin knew something already, and the wood was the ideal opportunity,’ Clare said.

  ‘Yarwood’s right,’ Tremayne said. ‘What is it? What is everyone hiding? Did you still have a hold over Tony Mitchell? He was a brave man in Malaya, but what else did he do? Any atrocities? Did you and he, and your fellow soldiers, kill innocent villagers? Did you enjoy it, did he?’

  ‘It was war. Collateral damage is inevitable.’

  ‘Cold-blooded murder is not,’ Tremayne said.

  Clare could tell that Tremayne had hit a raw nerve.

  Selwyn Cosford was sitting back, his face downcast. ‘Memories are sometimes painful.’

  ‘An atrocity?’

  ‘Army intelligence. We had received information that the enemy was in a village in the jungle. We helicoptered in and then trekked for a couple of days. The village was empty. Tony took one side, I took the other. We then declared it safe. The other soldiers, twelve in total, entered through the centre of the village. Once they had cleared the jungle, the place came alive. The enemy had been hiding in the roofs, under the ground in makeshift pits. We had missed it. Tony sprang into action, I cowered behind one of the houses. I was the coward, he was the hero. He knew the truth, but never once did he mention it.’

  ‘Of the twelve?’

  ‘Five walked out alive. Another nine villagers used as shields by the communists died as well.’

  ‘And what did the army do?’

  ‘They covered it up, gave Tony a medal. After that, we rarely spoke. He had the guilt that he was only doing his job. I had the guilt that I was a coward. I couldn’t kill a man regardless of how much I wanted.’

  ‘Did you know about this?’ Tremayne said to Barker.

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Tony may have followed the man into the wood, but he couldn’t have killed him,’ Cosford said.

  ‘Then who did, and did Tony see the dead body?’

  ‘He had seen death enough times.’

  ***

  Betty Galton made her daily pilgrimage out to Ethan Mitchell’s resting place. It was next to his brother, Martin; a simple plaque for both. For anyone walking around the cemetery, the two plaques would have given no indication that one had murdered the other, and that the other had been killed too.

  ‘Every day?’ Tremayne said as he walked up behind the woman. She was kneeling down, pulling some weeds.

  ‘Bob sees it as somehow disloyal to him, seeing that I’m married to him now.’

  ‘It is, you know that. You may want to believe differently, but the twins were both losers.’

  ‘Ethan was the father of my children. I can’t deny him that.’

  ‘How’s Gerry?’

  ‘I saw him last week. He’s joined the gym, and he’s taking a few of the courses on offer.’

  Tremayne knew what the gym meant, as well as the courses. A chance to toughen up to be able to fend off others in the showers; the courses to pass the time.

  ‘Tony was in the wood with Gavin,’ Tremayne said. ‘He’s our prime suspect.’

  ‘Not Tony.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Tony was always so mild-mannered, and he had no issues with Gavin.’

  ‘He liked Marcia, as well. How about you?’

  ‘I got along fine with him. I used to take Martin and Ethan’s side whenever he criticised them, but he was right, the same as you. But when you’re young, it’s not always that clear.’

  ‘Why would someone kill Gavin? He wasn’t near the gold, and it was unlikely he would find it.’

  ‘Neither Bob nor Eric liked him very much.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Bob used to think that Gavin was a dead fish, and he was in many ways. Eric didn’t like him because he had no ambition.’

  ‘Ambition is not all it’s cracked up to be,’ Tremayne said, knowing that as a young constable he had been keen, volunteered for any stakeout, and a chance to show his inspector what an asset he was. Not that it had done him any good. Once the inspector’s superiors had started singing the praise of their new constable, the inspector’s attitude towards him changed. All the unpleasant jobs had started to come his way, and the opportunity to impress had gone. Six months later, so had the inspector, lung cancer.

  ‘Eric’s got some financial difficulties; Julie confided in me.’

  ‘He could be violent.’

  ‘He’s a tough businessman, but the economy is against him. He’s overstretched, that’s the term Julie used, although I don’t really know what it means. I didn’t want to let on that I had no idea what she was talking about.’

  ‘He’s borrowed more than he can pay back. If interest rates go up, the bank could call in its debt.’

  ‘He would be bankrupt, is that it?’

  ‘If not bankrupt, then their lifestyle would be at risk. He might be forced to sell the house, sell the fancy cars.’

  ‘Julie wouldn’t like that.’

  ‘Like it or not like, the banks won’t care. Is Eric a fighter?’

  ‘He’ll not give in easily.’

  ‘Capable of murder?’

  ‘You don’t think…?’

  ‘I don’t think. I deal in facts,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Selwyn?’

  ‘How do you know Cosford?’

  ‘He was a friend of my father, a friend of Tony. He’s another man who’ll fight.’

  ‘He already is.’

  ‘Do you mind, Tremayne? I would like a few minutes alone with Ethan.’

  ‘Is he listening?’

  ‘I’m a believer, every Sunday at church. He’s there, although whether it’s up or down, I’m not sure. How about you, Tremayne, do you believe?’

  ‘Too cynical, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that. We all need something to deal with the madness of our lives, the sorrows, the disappointments.’

  ‘And it helps?’

  ‘It does. Otherwise, I couldn’t carry on.’

  All of a sudden Tremayne felt sad, an unusual state for him. He realised that he had spent a lifetime in the underbelly of society, being exposed to all the weaknesses of people’s lives, the senseless deaths of too many. He walked away from Betty Galton, now on her knees, one hand resting on Ethan’s plaque, the other on the ground. He could see her mouthing words in silent prayer. For a moment he wished he could forget all that he had seen in his life. He kept walking, picking up the pace as he neared his car.

  Chapter 25

  Colin Morrison had plenty to worry about. The second truck in two days attempting to cross the English Channel from Calais had been stopped and subjected to a rigorous search. ‘Just routine, checking for illegals,’ according to the customs officer in charge.
Morrison knew it wasn’t.

  With the impact it had on his business, Morrison could only wish that it was better for those attempting to get a ride across the English Channel, than it was for him at the present time. Not that he often considered the less fortunate. He knew he was a driven man who had clawed his way from a nobody to somebody. Building up the business he had taken over from his father, a couple of old trucks that regularly broke down, to a fleet of over a hundred trucks had taken years, and he knew that if the police kept digging, they would find irregularities. It had been necessary to cut corners a few times, transport goods he shouldn’t have, not that it had ever concerned him, but now…

  Outside his office, another truck, fully loaded with antiques, was about to make the trip to a draughty castle at the end of a Scottish loch. One more addition to a Russian billionaire’s real estate holdings. Better him than me, Morrison thought.

  Morrison made a phone call. ‘What are the chances of calling off the next haul from the continent?’

  ‘Not good, unless you want to find yourself face down in a ditch somewhere.’

  Morrison hung up the phone, dialled another number, Tremayne’s number. A voice answered. Morrison slammed down the phone, hoping that his number had not registered.

  Tremayne, fitter than he had been in a long time, called over to Clare. ‘We’re going for a little trip.’

  Clare looked over at her boss, marvelled at the man’s changed appearance. It was as if he had lost ten years. He sat straighter, no more slouching half-on, half-off his chair. His hair had even regained some colour. Jean’s work, she thought. And the rough and heavy voice, the result of too many cigarettes, had mellowed. Even the air inside Homicide smelt better. Clare missed the old Tremayne, back when he had been the caricature of the archetypal older police detective. The man who always solved the case, when the younger, the smarter, were floundering.

  ‘Where to?’ Clare said. She could see developments.

  ‘London.’

  ‘The car needs fuel.’

  ‘You can stop on the way.’

  It was early morning; the traffic was in their favour. Apart from a stop at a service station on the way to fill the petrol tank, and for Tremayne to smoke a cigarette, they made good time. It was eleven in the morning when the two of them entered Colin Morrison’s premises. They could see the man’s car in its parking spot.