by Ted Tayler
“But you can understand why he did what he did,” said Alex. “It seems quite sensible. Gerry set money aside for the boys and stipulated that they shouldn’t get their hands on it and squander it in their teens. By the time they reached twenty-five, they would be better prepared to cope with a sudden financial windfall. Belinda was also going to inherit a sum of money. Based on the sort of bloke that Gerry Hogan appeared to be, then that would be a sum that reflected her input to the family after Evelyn’s tragic death.”
“Two hundred thousand pounds, Alex,” said Gus.
“His financial services business was doing well,” said Luke.
“In the vital first forty-eight to seventy-two hours of a murder case, the detective team did everything one might expect,” said Gus. “The only neighbour that hinted at what might have happened lived half a mile away. He heard what he thought was an engine backfiring, followed by a motorcycle speeding past his house. Now, it’s possible the murderer arrived on a motorcycle, argued with Gerry Hogan, shot him, and then escaped on the bike.”
“Why only possible, guv?” asked Blessing. “It sounds plausible to me.”
“I’m not saying it didn’t happen that way, Blessing,” said Gus. “When the ACC ran through the report this morning, I found the timing interesting. Rachel answered the door when it rang at six-thirty; she called Gerry, who went to see what the man wanted. Sean didn’t leave the games room until six forty-five. The neighbour couldn’t confirm the time that he heard the motorcycle. There was too much of a gap between Gerry reaching the front door and Rachel discovering the body at a little after six forty-five. It’s unlikely, I admit, but someone else could have visited the house after the first man left. The motorcycle needn’t be involved in any way, shape, or form. The neighbour’s recollection of a sound he heard on Sunday evening could have been anywhere between six o’clock and nine.”
“When did Belinda learn about the new will?” asked Lydia.
“She contacted the family solicitors first thing on Tuesday morning,” said Gus. “In the will that Belinda believed was relevant, she was the sole executor. Belinda soon learned that another will existed where Rachel Cummins was now in charge of proceedings. That was when the proverbial hit the fan. John Kirkpatrick had Belinda in his ear every day, wanting to know why they weren’t treating Rachel as a suspect. He told her they had considered whether the murder was carried out by a professional rather than just a local with a grudge. They hadn’t dismissed it out of hand, but several things didn’t add up, and so they shelved it until new evidence surfaced.”
“The timing you mentioned didn’t add up, guv,” said Alex. “A hitman would have shot Gerry the second he was on the doorstep, not stand around arguing the toss for almost a quarter of an hour.”
“Whoever it was,” said Neil, “they carried a gun to the house. They were prepared to kill, but the extended conversation could suggest they went to negotiate, not assassinate.”
“Negotiate what though, Neil?” asked Blessing. “Gerry Hogan ran a successful business giving financial advice to fellow-professionals. The vague description of the man on the doorstep didn’t sound like the sort of person Gerry Hogan would represent, even allowing that it was a Sunday evening. As my father says, there’s casual, and then there’s casual.”
“What type of gun was it, guv?” asked Luke.
“A semi-automatic pocket pistol,” said Gus. “A Beretta Tomcat.”
“How do we know that?” asked Luke.
“It turned up in the autumn of 2012,” said Gus. “Matthew Knight, a local councillor, got fed up with local people moaning about drains getting blocked by falling leaves and standing water on several of the roads across the Common. After a phone call and a flea in the head of the Environmental Protection Department's ear, a road sweeper visited Trowle Common and cleared the drains and gullies. It was common for the sweeper operator to find shoes, coins, mobile phones, and watches. When he spotted the small gun drop out, at first, he thought it was a novelty cigarette lighter. It wasn’t much bigger than the palm of his hand.”
“How far away from the house was the gun found?” asked Alex.
“Over a mile,” said Gus. “Yes, questions were asked why they hadn’t found it in May. John Kirkpatrick had limited resources, and as each day passed, the trail grew colder. They confined the search area to several hundred yards around the property. The Beretta went for forensic examination and proved to be the murder weapon. There were no fingerprints. The pistol had sat in a drain for five months, and every criminal worth his salt removes every trace of DNA before discarding a weapon.”
“So, the detectives had a body and the murder weapon,” said Lydia, “but no motive.”
“That about sums it up,” said Gus. “I reckon we should call it a day for today. We start looking for that motive in the morning.”
CHAPTER 3
Gus glanced at the clock on the office wall as he headed for the lift. It was half-past four. He hoped the others made full use of the extra free time. Gus had a feeling they were in for a tough week.
The drive home to Urchfont wasn’t as painful today. Gus tried to forget that he could be in the sweet spot between the end of the school run and the commuter crush by leaving thirty minutes earlier each day. Fat chance of that happening.
When he drew up in front of Tess’s climbing roses, he remembered his first task once he got indoors. A hunt for their Last Will and Testament. Suzie wasn’t home yet. He had thirty minutes at least before she made it here from London Road.
Gus collected the mail from the doormat and laid it on the hallway table. A glance told him it was mostly junk mail and letters re-directed from Worton Farm. He laid his jacket on the back of a chair in the kitchen and wondered where to start.
The logical place was the main bedroom for most people, but Tess had had a system. If it wasn’t going to get looked at again, like the free local newspaper, then it went straight into the recycling bin. If she or Gus received a letter that referenced a date for an appointment or an event they wanted to attend, the details went on the kitchen's His and Hers calendar. The letter and its envelope could then get shredded. In due course, the contents of the shredder transferred to the recycling bin.
Gus went along with this draconian system because it dramatically affected the amount of rubbish the couple gathered. He knew only too well from visits to witnesses' and suspects’ homes that people hoarded all sorts of items. They barely had room to move, and because there was so much trash, they couldn’t find a blessed thing.
Gus had let the system slip since Tess died. He had ditched the His and Hers calendar and made sure that whichever type he bought as the New Year dawned; it had enough space each day to keep a record of appointments and notable events in his social calendar.
His hand hovered over the door handle, and he tried to visualise the contents of the various drawers and cupboards in the main bedroom—a large brown envelope with antique lettering, something that looked official. Gus was sure that he would have seen it in the past few months, especially since Suzie burst into his life. Suzie wasn’t always hoovering and polishing every spare minute, but she did help to keep the bungalow neat and tidy.
As Suzie searched for places to stow her bits and pieces, she would mention seeing a drawer or a shelf that she might put to better use. Gus soon reasoned that there was one place that Suzie would have left undisturbed. The dressing-table drawer in the spare bedroom. The room he would soon have to start calling the nursery.
He and Suzie had stood in the spare room at the weekend and discussed how to redecorate it. Something more practical and modern would replace the old dressing table. The full-sized bed had to disappear. Gus opened the drawer and a hint of Tess’s favourite scent, Chloe, escaped into the atmosphere.
Gus had never got around to throwing away the personal items that retained so much of his memories of Tess. When Suzie had told him she was moving in, he’d transferred them to the spare bedroom. He hadn’t want
ed Suzie to feel that he was clinging to the past and not committing himself one hundred percent to their relationship.
Suzie was the only person to have slept in that back room since he’d moved here from Downton. He thought the items would remain undisturbed for decades when he switched the drawer's contents from the main bedroom. Little did he know it would get used in a few months for a new arrival.
Gus opened the drawer and removed the chiffon scarf Tess had treasured that he’d used to cover her things. He picked up the brush that still held strands of her greying hair. He ran his fingers over the necklace he’d given Tess on her thirtieth birthday. Was it time to let them go?
Gus remembered the occasion when he’d returned home, and someone had trashed the place. The gangsters who murdered poor Frank North had left Gus a message. The police found an Order of Service printed with his computer and printer lying on top of this chiffon scarf. That death threat letter was no longer here. The police had entered the document into evidence.
What else lay in this drawer before he’d pushed it to one side to make room for Tess’s possessions? Gus studied the fronts of several hard-plastic folders that Tess must have stored here for safekeeping. Put out the flags! He’d found one that, according to Tess’s handwriting on the label, carried the deeds to the bungalow, their will, and Gus’s commendations and awards.
What possessed her to keep that rubbish, thought Gus. He grabbed the will and closed the folder on the Long Service and Good Conduct awards, the Chief Constable’s Commendations, the Certificates of Excellence, Certificates of Recognition, and Bravery Awards.
Gus made a mental note to check what Tess had determined was worth preserving in those other file folders. That would have to be soon because the dressing table would be bound for the recycling centre or burnt in the back garden.
The folder labelled BMD probably contained hatch, match, and dispatch certificates that covered the relevant ones for him and Tess and their parents and possibly grandparents. Family history was one area where Tess’s draconian system didn’t apply. She’d kept everything.
The sound of Suzie’s VW Golf arriving on the driveway interrupted his trip down memory lane. With the large brown envelope securely tucked under his arm, Gus ventured outside to greet her.
“Hello, darling,” he said. “Welcome home.”
“Are you okay?” asked Suzie. “Did you only work half-day today?”
“Cheeky,” said Gus. “We reached a sensible point to call a halt after giving our new case the once-over, so I sent everyone home thirty minutes early.”
“What on earth have you got there,” she asked, nodding at the envelope. “It looks positively archaic. Is that papyrus, or vellum?”
“It’s my will,” said Gus. “Or at least, it was how things stood three and a half years ago. I’ve never revisited it to bring it in line with my changed circumstances. Don’t take this the wrong way. I haven’t had a note from the Grim Reaper telling me my time is almost up, but I do need to be sensible at my time of life.”
“You are a treasure, Gus Freeman,” said Suzie as they walked indoors together. “Can I have first dibs on your vinyl collection? It would be good to get it in writing.”
“I’m glad to see you’re taking the matter seriously,” said Gus. “Time can be short. Our latest victim, cut down in his prime at fifty-four, demonstrates that to great effect. I’m a few years older, I admit, but we had things in common. He was a successful professional with no enemies. He had a beautiful young partner and two teenage sons from an earlier marriage. On a pleasant Sunday evening, he stepped outside his front door to speak to someone, and that was it. Bang!”
“I’m going to shower and change,” said Suzie. “I suggest you don’t wander around the house all weekend with that document under your arm. Find somewhere safe to stow it until you can give it your undivided attention. I’ll make myself scarce on Saturday morning for one of the last occasions until after the baby’s born. Why not have a crack at updating the contents then? I’ll gladly read it through with you in the afternoon. Unless you have other plans?”
“We need to clear the dressing table drawers in the nursery,” said Gus. “The sooner we can empty the bedroom to give us scope for your planned refurbishments, the better.”
“We do have time before that becomes urgent, Gus,” said Suzie. “Don’t forget what happened to Melody Davis. She and Neil had everything ready for the baby, and stress brought on a miscarriage. Let’s take things a day at a time.”
“Let’s pray there’s not a murder in the family to raise our stress levels then,” said Gus.
Gus carried the envelope through to the lounge and looked for a suitable spot. He slipped it onto the end of the rack of vinyl albums. He’d get a reminder every time he hunted for a record to accompany his musings about a case that there was something he’d forgotten to do.
Suzie returned, refreshed, and dressed in casual clothes. Her hair fell loose on her shoulders.
“That’s better,” she sighed. “I feel human again once I’ve got my uniform into the wash basket or the wardrobe.”
“I’m not sure the about-to-be-crowned Chief Constable will appreciate one of his senior detectives considering the uniform made her inhuman,” said Gus.
A cushion hit him in the small of the back as he headed for the bathroom.
“Don’t take all night in there,” said Suzie. “Although I have a lousy start to my days, it doesn’t affect my appetite in the evenings. Thank goodness.”
“If you’re twiddling your thumbs while I have my shower,” said Gus. “You could phone the Lamb and book a table.”
Gus rejoined Suzie fifteen minutes later.
“Are we good?” he asked.
“Despite everything,” she said, “yes, we are.”
“I meant, for a table at the Lamb,” said Gus.
“They never refuse me,” said Suzie. “I threaten to wear my uniform the next time I’m in the pub. That seems to do the trick. We have your favourite table by the window, by the way.”
Gus held out a hand, inviting Suzie to join him. She made a meal out of levering herself off the settee and closing the three-yard gap.
“Just practising, darling,” she said.
They left the bungalow and walked along the lane arm-in-arm.
“If you’re hungry,” said Gus, “you can have a starter, main course and dessert tonight.”
“Are you sure we can afford it?” asked Suzie. “We have extra expenses ahead.”
“True,” said Gus as he opened the pub door, “but I’ll save a fortune now you’re on soft drinks for the next seven months.”
As soon as they got inside, Gus heard a familiar voice.
“Evening, Mr Freeman, and Miss Ferris.”
Bert Penman was sat on his usual stool by the bar. That was where Gus expected to see him most nights before Irene North entered the equation. There was no sign of Frank North’s widow this evening.
“Bert’s a tad squiffy,” whispered Suzie.
Gus had to agree. It appeared Bert had sat on that bar stool for a considerable time.
“Irene not with you tonight, Bert?” he asked.
“The Reverend is visiting her in the hospital,” said Bert. “Irene is suffering from a nasty bout of food poisoning.”
“Oh, we’re sorry to hear that, Bert,” said Suzie. “When did this happen?”
“The Reverend called the ambulance to Irene at lunchtime today, Miss Ferris.”
“Will you be visiting her tomorrow, Bert?” asked Gus.
“I’m not sure it’s my place to do that, Mr Freeman. People might talk.”
“You and Irene have become good friends,” said Gus. “Apart from the Reverend, who else in the village is going to drop in on her? A few of her older friends aren’t in the best of health, and public transport isn’t what it was. I’m sure that Brett will drive you there and back tomorrow evening. If push comes to shove, Suzie or I can arrange something.”
�
��That’s very neighbourly of you, Mr Freeman,” said Bert. “I haven’t troubled the hospital with my presence very often. But I do remember my Cora saying the days felt more like forty-eight hours long when she was stuck in the Royal United for days on end.”
“Will Brett be in later?” asked Suzie.
“It depends what time he gets back to Urchfont with the Reverend,” said Bert.
The landlord caught Suzie’s eye. Their table was ready.
“We’ll leave you to finish that pint of cider, Bert,” said Suzie. “We’re going to order a meal, and I expect you’ll be getting off home.”
Bert looked at the small amount left in his glass.
“They’re not closing early, are they?” he asked.
Gus shook his head. Bert wasn’t going to change his ways, not for Irene or anyone else.
Suzie examined the menu and the specials board.
“I can’t decide what to have,” she said.
“I’m having steak,” said Gus, “followed by sticky toffee pudding. I’ll get the drinks while you come to a decision. A large glass of Merlot and orange juice and lemonade coming up.”
“You’re not helping, Gus Freeman.”
“I am trying,” said Gus. “I’ve just spotted Clemency Bentham through the crowd. Brett won’t be long behind her. Would you prefer we eat alone tonight?”
Suzie nodded.
“Ask after Irene and tell Clemency to pass on our good wishes.”
Gus threaded his way back to the bar and spotted Clemency chatting to Bert. She gave Gus a wave. While Gus was waiting for his drinks order, Brett Penman tapped him on the shoulder.