A Normal November: The Freeman Files Series: Book 15

by Ted Tayler

  “A lonely existence,” said Alex. “Matt said he wasn’t sure whether young Stan had a wife. He didn’t recall him ever mentioning grandchildren. Matt didn’t know where in the UK young Stan lived. Do you know?”

  “If he has a family, he’s never brought them here to Ponting Street,” said Harry. “Young Stan came home for his mother’s funeral. He was alone then and stayed with his father for two weeks. Stan parked the tractor unit for his truck across the road, I remember. How often has he been back since? Hard to tell because it’s only ever a flying visit. Young Stan often parks his truck in a lorry park on the A420 and gets a lift into town. He stays one night with his father, two nights at the most, and then he’s off again.”

  “We’ll speak to Stan Jones tomorrow,” said Alex. “He can fill in the gaps then.”

  “Would young Stan have known Ricard Chaloner, Harry?” asked Lydia.

  “I don’t see why, Miss,” said Harry. “There were a good number of years between them, and they lived in different parts of town. Richard’s family came from Pinehurst. I think Stan Jones and his wife moved into Ponting Street as soon as they got married. Young Stan would have left school not long before Richard started the garage business. The lad worked nights for a couple of years before leaving home; after that, he became a trucker. So their paths might have crossed; briefly, I suppose.”

  Alex looked at Lydia, who shrugged.

  They had run out of questions for Harry Simpkins.

  “We’ll let you get on with your day, Harry,” said Lydia. “Thanks for being so patient. It’s unlikely you or Matt will deliver the silver bullet to blow this case wide open, but Mr Freeman tells us it’s small steps, in the right direction, that will get us to the solution we seek. You and Matt have pointed us toward our next steps.”

  “Your boss is an odd character,” said Harry. “I sensed Matt struggled to keep his temper in check earlier.”

  “I’ve learned so much from Mr Freeman in a brief space of time,” said Lydia. “What he teaches isn’t in books.”

  “The man is a legend,” said Alex. “We haven’t found a case he couldn’t crack yet.”

  Alex and Lydia left the office together. Harry strolled along behind. Matt Merchant was explaining something to the young apprentice as they peered at the engine of the Toyota. When he spotted Alex and Lydia, he stood up straight.

  “Are we out from under the spotlight now, then?” he asked.

  “You were never suspects,” said Alex. “Many thanks for letting us use the office. If we need to come back for further information, our colleague DS Sherman will ring you.”

  Alex slipped into the passenger seat of the Mini and prepared himself for another hair-raising trip along the M4 as they returned to the Old Police Station office.

  “There was one case we didn’t solve to Gus’s satisfaction,” said Lydia. “That Burnside character shot at the Cheney Manor Industrial Estate.”

  “The red-haired sniper,” said Alex. “We thought we had a lead on him, but the heavy mob from London descended on the Hub and our office to whisk away any evidence we’d gathered. That murder appears to be a no-go area for Gus Freeman.”

  After leaving Alex and Lydia at the garage on Ponting Street, Gus Freeman drove via Drake’s Way and the A4312 towards Oxford Road. Ten minutes later, he stood in the visitor’s car park of Gablecross Police Station. He steeled himself for what lay ahead.

  The place was a rabbit warren, and once he’d negotiated Reception, he had to find Raj Sengupta’s office. The Detective Inspector was head of cybercrime. If it was easy to find his office, it said little for his chances of keeping the public safe from online scammers.

  Gus needn’t have worried. While he filled in the wordy visitor’s book at Reception, someone phoned Raj. Before Gus had time to collect his lanyard and pass, Raj stood beside him, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  “Good morning, Gus,” he said. “Follow me. We’re just around the corner.”

  Gus had visited the Hub at London Road frequently. He thought he knew what to expect from Raj’s domain. Subdued lighting, screens as far as the eye can see, and computer nerds whose behaviour swung from raucous frivolity to frantic bursts of keyboard activity. How wrong he was. All quiet on the Gablecross front, and not a single person looked up as he followed Raj to his office.

  “You wished to speak to me about the Chaloner case?” he asked.

  “You were the SIO, Raj,” said Gus. “What can you tell me?”

  “Tom Spencer attended the murder scene and the autopsy,” said Raj. “I paid a brief visit to the garage to get a feel for the case. The theft of the money and jewellery were a strong indication it started as a robbery. My guess was Chaloner resisted. There would have been plenty of hand tools in the workshop he might have grabbed. The killer panicked and shot Chaloner. I doubt the employees could be certain whether any hand tools on the premises were in a different place from where they left them the previous evening.”

  “There were no signs of a struggle,” said Gus.

  “My point exactly,” said Raj. “Chaloner grabbed for a weapon, got shot and fell to the ground.”

  “What did you make of the punctured bicycle tyre?”

  “It kept Chaloner at the garage,” said Raj.

  “How did you expect Tom Spencer to find the killer?”

  “I told him to arrange house-to-house enquiries on Ponting Street. I expected someone to have seen something suspicious.”

  “You found a witness on Ponting Street at the right time. He described the driver of the white van arguing with Richard Chaloner. A man roughly the same age as Chaloner. Can you recall the witness’s name?”

  “Two years is a long time, Gus,” said Raj.

  “We found Ralph Robinson, tucked away in the appendix of the murder file handed to me by the Chief Constable. Can you explain that?”

  “I was told to bury it by a senior officer at this station, Gus,” said Raj. “Robinson was looking for a woman.”

  “The TV documentary claiming prostitution was on the increase again in the Manchester Road and Commercial Road area had got under the skin of the great and good of the town,” said Gus. “They told everyone what a pleasant place Swindon was to visit for business and pleasure. First, the well-publicised double murder earlier in the year, and then Richard Chaloner’s death. It wouldn’t have looked good if Ralph Robinson’s name and what he was up to appeared in the press. Didn’t it dawn on you that the white van man could have been the killer? If Tom Spencer had pursued that man’s identity with the same diligence as you took burying a witness, we needn’t be reviewing the case.”

  “We did the best we could with the information we had,” said Raj Sengupta. “The top brass wanted a result. Tom was getting nowhere, and then suddenly CCTV caught a theft almost on the garage’s forecourt. It was one of several catalytic converter thefts that occurred over weeks. I convinced Tom it was the logical course of action. He threw our limited resources into finding the car thieves.”

  “Why did you have limited resources?” asked Gus.

  “We were three weeks into the murder investigation. I was off work every few days with migraine headaches, and we’d got no breaks. My boss reduced the size of my team by a third. Two weeks later, we switched focus altogether. Tom Spencer joined a team investigating hate crime attacks while I transferred to cybercrime. It was most unsatisfactory. I wanted to end my time as SIO with a win.”

  Gus thought that was a tall order, given the time the man had spent in the field.

  “It might not be too late to salvage something from the wreckage,” said Gus. “We’ll keep digging for clues. The catalytic converter thefts were nothing to do with that garage. It’s possible other cowboy outfits around Swindon handled stolen goods, but Richard Chaloner wasn’t among them. I assume you’re busy, Raj, so I won’t take up any more of your time. It’s hard to tell, though. How can you work in such silence? I’d forever be thinking my staff were asleep.”

  Gus left t
he office before Raj Sengupta could reply. The Chief Constable had been right in his assessment. Raj was in a better place these days and couldn’t harm any ongoing criminal investigations.

  As he made the return journey to the Old Police Station office, he wondered what the others had discovered.

  Luke Sherman had been busy while the rest of the team was interviewing in Swindon. He chased DS Tom Spencer halfway across North Wiltshire and traced the detective to a farm outside Lyneham. Tom agreed to meet with Luke at Gablecross first thing in the morning. Once that was out of the way, Tom could resume his hunt for those responsible for the agricultural machinery thefts.

  Luke thought Gus could send someone else for that meeting if that was how the wind was blowing. Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned the West Mercia job. Ever since he had, Luke sensed Gus was shoving him to the sidelines.

  Luke tried to push his feelings of unease into the background. He needed to concentrate on the other task Gus had suggested. Who had a motive to kill Richard Chaloner? What event from the past were they missing? What was it that prompted someone to walk into the garage two years ago and shoot him in the chest?

  Social media was a dead end. Luke couldn’t find evidence that Richard Chaloner had ever opened an account on any major sites. Luke dug deeper, wondering whether dating sites were Richard’s thing. Chaloner hadn’t married until he was forty-four, but he was far from being a loner. He was a social animal. Luke hunted for Richard’s name in local press reports. That proved more successful. Adverts appeared from the turn of the century, but the business attracted no bad press.

  Luke couldn’t find a single disgruntled customer who felt Chaloner had overcharged them for work carried out. None of the local authority departments had ever inspected the premises and found issues that ended with a fine or a day in court. Then, Luke spotted a charity event for the local hospital Richard had sponsored. Luke shook his head; the guy was a saint. It was hopeless.

  Blessing Umeh and Neil Davis were the first to return to the fold. As they exited the lift, Luke could tell they felt their trip had been worthwhile.

  “I sense you got something new from Eve Chaloner,” he said. “Do tell.”

  “We have an excellent description of the gold chain,” said Neil, “but that wasn’t the real gem.”

  “Careful, Neil,” said Luke. “You’ll crack a genuine joke one day.”

  Blessing came to Neil’s rescue. It was only fair; he’d left her the best bit to tell Luke.

  “Eve Chaloner told us Richard was involved in three organisations where he could have formed a connection with the man in the white van.”

  “I’ve struggled to find Richard online,” said Luke. “Before you got back, I was trying to see whether he appeared in the local press. Nothing so far that would lead to someone wanting him dead. So what was he involved in?”

  “The Round Table,” said Blessing, “CAMRA, and a Folk Club in Highworth.”

  “That’s terrific,” said Luke. “We can take one each and start hunting for press reports and potential flash points. I can go back to the social media sites now. Those organisations are certain to have an online presence. Richard might not have opened a personal account, but if he were an active member, his name would appear, not highlighted, in items posted.”

  “The local branches of CAMRA and the Round Table could have a sizeable membership,” said Neil. “but I imagine the Folk Club would be the easiest to tackle first, to eliminate it.”

  “Don’t be too hasty,” said Blessing. “The person we’re looking for could be like Richard Chaloner and belong to all three.”

  “Good point, Blessing,” said Neil. “Can you set the ball rolling, Luke? First, we’ll update the Freeman Files with the account of our interview with Eve Chaloner, and then we’ll pick up whichever thread you wish.”

  “That sounds a good plan, Neil,” said Luke.

  Thanks to Lydia’s heavy right foot, she and Alex weren’t long behind Blessing and Neil returning to the office. They, too, wanted to get their files updated before committing to anything new. While Alex was in the restroom fetching coffee for everyone, Lydia told the others what they discovered when they first arrived in Ponting Street.

  “Matt Merchant looked ready to punch Gus on the nose,” she laughed. “We could tell yesterday that Gus didn’t believe the catalytic converter thefts had anything to do with Richard Chaloner’s garage. He thought it was the quickest way to resolve the issue. He left for Gablecross soon after.”

  “What were the highlights of your interviews?” asked Blessing.

  Alex returned with the coffees, and Lydia waited until everyone was ready.

  “Matt Merchant thought the driver of the white van was at least an acquaintance of Chaloner’s,” she said. “He told us he’d reflected on the day of the murder and decided they weren’t total strangers. The van driver didn’t attend the wedding, so we need to look somewhere else for the connection.”

  “We’ve got ideas on that,” said Neil.

  “Matt reckoned the young lad on the pavement across the road between one and two was more likely to be a drug dealer than anything else. He’s used to seeing strange young faces in the area. Matt said it’s people who travel from London and spill out from the railway station looking for vulnerable targets.”

  “Matt could be right,” said Luke. “Once you eliminate the possibility of an organised crime gang and the theft of valuable car parts, the younger faces don’t fit the back story. Anyone with a beef with Chaloner would be close to his age or older. He didn’t come into contact with many people in their early twenties at either of the clubs or societies he’d joined.”

  “We learned more about Stan Jones, the other neighbour on our list of interviewees,” said Alex. “He’s been a widower for several years, but he has a son, also called Stan, who drops by once in a blue moon.”

  “Young Stan’s a trucker,” said Lydia. “He drives here there and everywhere in this country and Europe, according to Matt Merchant.”

  “What hid Harry Simpkins have to say?” asked Neil.

  “Everything Harry told us tallied with Matt Merchant’s account of the day of the murder,” said Alex. “He gave the same story for the first stage of the investigation and Richard’s relationship with Eve. One thing differed, but I can’t see how it could lead to Chaloner’s murder. The house on Shrivenham Road had a safe which Chaloner used to hide cash they received through the business.”

  “It’s a stretch to say he hid it, Alex,” said Lydia. “Harry told us although most clients paid by bank transfer or cheque, there were still those that settled the smaller repair bills in cash. Chaloner could have had a safe installed at the garage, but nobody was on the premises from six at night until eight the following morning, and then a long period at the weekend. Why expose the business to unnecessary risk? When he left to cycle home at night, he took any cash off the premises.”

  “What happened to the cash?” asked Neil.

  “Harry said Richard used it a couple of times each year to pay their wages,” said Lydia.

  “That was when the firm’s bank account didn’t have enough funds to allow the money to get transferred in the normal way,” explained Alex.

  “Hardly a killing offence,” said Neil. “Did Harry see any of the unidentified persons?

  “He saw the white van man,” said Alex, “but couldn’t add much to what we knew. Harry didn’t see the young lad. He knew more about Stan Jones’s son, though.”

  Lydia was explaining what happened to young Stan when he was seven or eight years old when they heard the lift return to the ground floor.

  “Just after one o’clock,” said Neil. “Gus is on his way. Let’s park what we’ve gathered so far, hear what he has to say, and then give him the highlights of what we’ve learned.”

  Nobody had an alternative course of action, so they sat and watched the lift doors.

  Gus soon emerged and seemed surprised to see everyone had beaten him back to the
office.

  “Speeding again, Lydia?” he asked.

  “Only a little, guv,” she replied.

  “Was there any coffee in the pot when the last person left the restroom?” asked Gus.

  “I was last to use it, guv,” said Alex. “I’ll fetch your coffee.”

  “Thanks, Alex, I need it,” said Gus. “I scored one from two this morning. I eliminated the possibility the catalytic converter thefts had anything to do with Richard Chaloner and the garage….”

  “We heard that, guv,” said Blessing. “Lydia said you almost got a bloody nose.”

  “I’m light on my feet for a man of my age, Blessing. Anyway, my cunning plan worked. Sadly. Raj Sengupta added nothing good to what we already knew. The man was a liability. He buried Ralph Robinson’s name because it didn’t suit the picture of Swindon the brochures painted.”

  “The picture where the only red lights were on the traffic lights, guv,” said Neil.

  “That’s the one, Neil,” said Gus. “I don’t know who to blame most. Raj spent half of the first weeks of the investigation off sick with migraine headaches. They’re not much fun, I grant you, but why didn’t the top brass stick someone else in to help Tom Spencer? The poor devil had to carry the burden alone. When the CCTV episode dropped in his lap, Sengupta clung to it as a drowning man does to a life raft. Although it wasn’t the right lead to follow, the top brass didn’t know that at the time. What did they do? Took one-third of the team off the Chaloner case and assigned them to other duties. Two weeks later, the entire investigation stuttered to a halt. What did they expect? It’s the same as the Chief Constable taking everyone except Alex away from me this afternoon and asking me on Friday why we haven’t got a result.”

  Alex had returned with a black coffee. Gus sighed and took a sip.

  “Right, I’ve got that off my chest. Now, who wants to go first?”

  The room fell silent as Lydia recounted the tale they’d heard from Harry Simpkins.

  “That poor boy,” said Blessing.

  “He’s a grown man now, Blessing,” said Luke.