A Genuine Mistake: The Freeman Files Series: Book 12

by Ted Tayler

  “Belinda ignored your point about the money Gerry left her, didn’t she, guv?”

  “I don’t think the money was the issue, Blessing,” said Gus. “I expect Gerry told her about the will he made after Evelyn died. He wanted to make sure of the boys' future in the event of his death. They were only eight, and six, at the time of that car crash.”

  “Belinda would have been their parent and guardian until they reached the age of majority,” said Blessing.

  “That situation changed when Gerry met Rachel, but Belinda wasn’t to know.”

  They reached the station car park and got into Gus’s car. Gus eased the Focus into the lunchtime traffic and drove towards Trowbridge.

  “Isn’t this the wrong way, guv?” Blessing asked.

  “It will be simpler to stay close to Bradford-on-Avon,” said Gus. “We need to be at the Hogan company offices by two o’clock. I’d prefer to pop into town for a snack, and we can continue to mull over the case while we make our way back. We’ll pass the Hogan house on Trowle Common going this way. I’ll point it out to you.”

  Gus hoped that Blessing enjoyed the type of snacks that Gregg’s offered.

  He needn’t have worried. As Gus drove them back towards Bradford, Blessing set the ball rolling.

  “You’ve handled more murder cases than I have, guv,” she said. “Do you know what would help in this case?”

  “A miracle?” asked Gus.

  “Perhaps. All the people I want to speak to are dead. Nick Barrett told you everything that happened while he and Gerry Hogan were at university or on that trip to Australia. You believed him. I want to ask Gerry if what his friend said was accurate.”

  “Well, we might be able to speak to other students,” said Gus. “Or a few of the girls Gerry knew in Australia.”

  “Then there’s Evelyn. She knew Gerry best. They were married for twenty years. If there were something iffy about Nick’s story, she would point it out. Evelyn knew Belinda for the longest time, too, so she could put you right if there were gaps in her sister-in-law’s account.”

  “I can see where you’re going with this, Blessing,” said Gus. “If we could only ask Gerry whether he ever wondered if Rachel was after his money, it might add strength to Belinda’s fanciful scenario. It is what it is, Blessing. Until I came out of retirement to head up the Crime Review Team, my murders were ‘live’ investigations. I was the first detective to try to solve the riddle. It was rare for other family members or witnesses to die before I got the chance to corroborate another person’s statement.”

  “You and the team have dealt with cases where the gap has been greater than six years, guv. It feels with this case as though there are more deaths and more uncorroborated statements than the norm.”

  “I can’t argue with that, Blessing,” said Gus.

  “We’ve still got forty minutes, guv,”

  “We’ll park the car, get a coffee and walk to the Marina. Neil tells me it’s a pleasant spot to sit and watch the world go by.”

  “A marina? Are we back to the canal again, guv?”

  “The Kennet and Avon, yes, the one that linked with the waterway in Swindon where they found Stacey Reade’s body. The Bradford Marina is less than a ten-minute walk from the car park, and Sean Hogan’s office is near to the marina.”

  “There’s a method in your madness,” said Blessing.

  “I do try, Blessing. Although, this case is driving me mad. Let’s see if we can find the coffee house that Neil mentioned.”

  Blessing settled into step beside her boss as they walked into a narrow street.

  “This is quaint, guv. It reminds me of Diagon Alley.”

  “Really, where’s that, Warwick?”

  “It doesn’t matter, guv.”

  “This place is The Shambles, Blessing.”

  “We can always try somewhere else, guv.”

  “That’s the name of the street, Blessing. It’s full of old-world charm and sits on the site of the medieval market stalls. In the early Middle Ages, this would have been an open space, except on market days, when traders could set up their stalls. Gradually the stalls became permanent structures and then were replaced by buildings, some of which remain. Like that pair of houses with timber fronts, we can see on the other side of the street. They’re also from the fifteenth century. Their cellars were once the town’s lockup.”

  “You know a lot about the history of Bradford-on-Avon, guv.”

  “You can thank Neil for that, Blessing. He couldn’t resist telling me everything he’d learned on a visit here with Melody.”

  They found the coffee house and were soon on their way to the canal towpath. Neil was right. It was a quiet refuge in the heart of the town, and there were several spare benches for them to watch the passing traffic.

  “Why do men of a certain age insist on lycra, guv?” asked Blessing as a grey-haired cyclist pedalled past.

  “No comment,” said Gus. A female jogger with an inadequate sports bra headed slowly in the opposite direction.

  “This spot is a magnet for families during the school holidays, guv,” said Blessing.

  “Too many people dashing to and fro to get the full effect of life on the canal,” said Gus. “When you watch the canal boats negotiating the lock over there inching towards Avoncliff, then you can appreciate the true meaning of leisure.”

  “We won’t find you jogging or cycling in the near future then, guv?”

  “Not likely. Suzie has tried to persuade me to join her on her weekly horseback ride. A gentle hack around the lanes and tracks between Worton and Urchfont. That’s more appealing.”

  “Of course, it is guv. You get to spend more time with DI Ferris. You should go for it.”

  “Has Jackie ever tried to tempt you? They have several horses in the stables.”

  “They frighten me, guv,” said Blessing. “I’m not a country girl like DI Ferris.”

  “Finished your coffee?” asked Gus. Blessing nodded and placed the cup in Gus’s outstretched hand. He walked to the other side of the towpath to put their cups in the waste bin.

  “Look out, guv!” cried Blessing. “Skateboard alert!”

  Gus managed to avoid the teenage skater who trundled past. There was no point shouting after him with the outsized headphones he wore.

  “I’d better watch where I’m walking,” said Gus. “Right, let’s get back to the main road. It’s safer.”

  They soon found the offices of Hogan Finance, established in 1992, and entered the reception area. A smartly dressed young woman looked up and greeted them with a beaming smile.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Emma. How can I help you today?”

  “We’re Mr Hogan’s two o’clock appointment,” said Gus. “Mr Freeman and DC Umeh.”

  “One moment. I’ll tell Mr Hogan that you’ve arrived.”

  Gus quickly took in his surroundings. One girl in reception. Two offices on the ground floor. He wondered who occupied the upper floor.

  “The entrance must be at the rear, guv,” whispered Blessing. “There’s an alleyway to the right-hand side of this building. There are no stairs visible from here, so they must be behind a false wall with an access point directly overhead. She wandered across to her left and knocked on the wall. The hollow sound brought a massive smile from Blessing.

  “Not very often that I’m wrong,” she said, “but I’m right again.”

  “Mr Hogan will see you now,”

  Emma had returned from the larger office of the two.

  Gus and Blessing walked in to meet the current head of Hogan Finance.

  Sean Hogan looked totally at ease in his surroundings.

  His office was light and airy, fitted with every gadget the modern CEO could want. Gus wondered how his father had looked at twenty-four years of age. Gerry had returned from Australia in November 1981, got married early in the New Year, was living in Clifton, and learning the finance business at the sharp end with a newly formed company. Gus doubted that Gerry would l
ook this cool.

  “Come in, please take a seat. When one of your colleagues called, he said you were opening the file again on my father’s murder.”

  “We never close the file until we’ve found the killer, Mr Hogan,” said Gus.

  “Right. So, what do you need from me?”

  “I have a basic understanding of what you do here, Mr Hogan,” said Gus. “Has it altered much since your father’s death? Are you taking the business in a different direction?”

  “Dad followed basic principles,” said Sean. “Daniel got schooled in the same manner, and I can’t see any good reason to change the range of products we offer. The packaging might get a revamp from time to time, but the core elements remain. Everyone has a different vision of their ideal future, Mr Freeman. That’s why we at Hogan’s work hard to understand the life goals a client aspires. I need to get to know the real person to help build a unique financial plan that delivers the lifestyle they have in mind. I want to know their needs, goals, and approach to risk. Some people are already making plans for their ideal future, but you would be surprised how many have made no plans whatsoever. A quick look at your current arrangements, for instance, would enable me to see whether they’re likely to deliver the goods.”

  “I’m not here to discuss my arrangements,” said Gus. “When your father set up this business, did he handle everything in-house?”

  “He came here from Hargreaves Lansdown, as I’m sure you know,” said Sean. “He left there with their good wishes, and there were no issues with him branching out on his own. My father understood how to advise on a range of investment services and products. To help him meet his client’s needs in those early years, he used managers from across the fund management industry. People that he believed possessed the right skills and expertise. As the years passed, Dad needed to rely on those managers less and less.”

  “You don’t employ many members of staff,” said Gus. “Your set-up is more of a lean, mean fighting machine.”

  “Which is precisely the model my father wanted,” said Sean.

  “Did you ever take an interest in your late mother’s work? Did she show you how to use a camera, for example?”

  “I was only eight when Mum died, Mr Freeman. The kit she used was far too specialised for us boys. We each had a ‘point and shoot’ cheap camera for days out with our parents. Mum died before we were able to appreciate just how good she was. Her studio was off-limits then, and it still is today. I would love to see her portfolio find a wider market. Her photographs appeared in dozens of magazines and periodicals. Maybe one day, I’ll ask Byron to take a look. He’s the artistic one. Perhaps he could catalogue her work and publish it in a book. My role would be to find the best place to invest the proceeds.”

  “You both spent a good deal of time with your Aunt, didn’t you?” asked Blessing.

  “Both before Mum died and afterwards. Yes, we couldn’t have got through it without her. Mum’s death devastated Dad. He was operating on auto-pilot for months. He spent much more time with Byron and me, making sure we were okay. He was a laugh.”

  “Really,” said Gus. “The people we’ve spoken to have told us what a great chap he was, but I can’t recall anyone mentioning his sense of humour.”

  “You know that Byron is a professional snooker player?”

  Gus nodded.

  “Well, I started playing at eight. Dad had always played. Nick Barrett played with Dad at the club on Market Street.”

  “We know it,” said Gus. “One of my sergeants went there the other evening.”

  “Dad showed me the rudiments of the game, and we had a knockabout on the table in the games room. Byron was too short to be able to join in at six years old, so Dad got him a stool. Byron was a natural, and Dad spotted his potential. Did you ever watch John Virgo on TV?”

  “I don’t recognise the name, sorry,” said Gus.

  “He was a professional player who still commentates on the game. Dad told us that the pros would go to small clubs like the one in town and play exhibition matches in the old days. Those nights supplemented their income in the days before colour television. It was hard to sell the game to TV companies when everything was black and white. Anyway, there weren’t as many tournaments as there are today. Virgo wasn’t the best player ever, so he covered his blunder with a joke when one of his trick shots went wrong. As time went by, the routine was more comedy than trick shots as he entertained the crowds with impersonations of top players, past and present.”

  “Did your father have a talent for impressions?” asked Gus.

  “Not really. Dad was hopeless. But for us boys, it was great just spending time with him. By the time Rachel moved in, it was obvious Byron could be an exceptional player.”

  “Did Rachel ever join in?” asked Blessing.

  “She used the time to work out in the gym Dad had installed for her. Rachel stuck her head around the door to call us for dinner or ask when we were going to bed on a school night. She never wanted to play.”

  “What did she think of your Dad playing the fool?” asked Blessing.

  “Dad wouldn’t have let anyone else see him like that,” said Sean. “He used to tell us there was a time for business and a time for fun. He let his hair down for a few minutes in that games room and had us in stitches. As soon as we walked back into the lounge or the kitchen, he was back to his usual, sober self.”

  “When did Byron start playing in the snooker club?” asked Gus.

  “I had to be sixteen before they allowed me to become a member,” said Sean, “but the committee listened to Nick Barrett’s advice that they could benefit from encouraging a special talent to blossom. Byron played his first tournament there soon after his fourteenth birthday.”

  “That was in 2010?” asked Gus.

  “That’s right. Byron won that tournament, and everyone sat up and took notice. Nick Barrett was right. The club’s image went up several notches, and better players from the region applied to join.”

  “You continued to play at home, just the three of you?” asked Blessing.

  “Yes, we did. Because Dad could tell that Byron needed to get used to proper match conditions, he tried to make things in the games room as authentic as possible. When the three of us played together, one of us acted as a referee and marker. Dad bought a pair of white gloves. While I watched Byron compile yet another hundred break against me, Dad pretended to be Jan Verhaas, the Dutch referee. He’d been on the World Snooker scene since 2003. Dad was tall and distinguished-looking, like ‘Jan the Man’, and he’d try to get the accent right when he called out the break. They were the happiest times I remember. Byron will say the same.”

  “How did you react to your father’s relationship with Rachel?” asked Blessing.

  “It was awkward, at first,” said Sean. “When Mum died, it felt as if we’d never get over it. I cried for weeks. Aunt Belinda had always been part of our family, and she did her best to fill the gap, but she wasn’t Mum. It was Dad who changed the most. He spent every minute of his free time with Byron and me. He never took us anywhere with Aunt Belinda. When he met Rachel, they just clicked. Byron and I were too young to understand what was going on, but right from the start, Dad included Rachel. We met her at a restaurant first, then a month or two later we went abroad on holiday together. A week in Portugal. After that, Rachel moved in with us. Rachel made Dad happy. She was always good to us, and not once did she ever try to become our Mum. She told us when we were on that holiday always to call her Rachel.”

  “The awkwardness soon disappeared, and you never doubted that she loved your Dad?” asked Blessing.

  “Never,” said Sean. “Aunt Belinda got it into her head that Rachel wasn’t good enough for Dad. The more she tried to split them up, the less time Dad had for her. Dad continued to spend as much time with us as possible, and Rachel took up the slack. Aunt Belinda wasn’t needed to babysit us anymore. I was thirteen when Rachel moved in. Dad only went out during the evening on a night
when Rachel didn’t have a fitness class. I went into the games room with Byron, or we watched TV with Rachel.”

  “Are you able to talk us through events on the evening your Dad died?” asked Gus.

  “I think so,” said Sean. “I’ve been through it enough times this past six years. I’ll never forget. Dad told us after Mum died that there was no time limit on grief.”

  “Was it a typical Sunday?”

  “We had decided to spend the weekend at home because of the World Snooker Final. We watched TV for long periods on Saturday. Whenever there was an interval, we dashed into the games room to play a few frames. We had a late breakfast on Sunday, watched the afternoon session, and Rachel cooked a meal for us to eat at around five o’clock.”

  “Was that normal?” asked Blessing.

  “No, we often ate at lunchtime, especially when the four of us were going out for the afternoon and evening. Dad thought it gave us more time to play snooker before the evening session started.”

  “You were in the games room when the front doorbell rang at six-thirty,” said Gus. “Why didn’t one of you answer?”

  “Byron saw the light flashing,” said Sean. “It distracted him, and he missed the last red. The black was on its spot, and he only needed the yellow for yet another century. He swore. Dad told him off. The light didn’t flash again, so we thought that either they’d gone away, or Rachel had answered. She was in the gym working on a new routine.”

  “Did you have a TV in the games room?” asked Blessing.