Strange Beginnings: The Freeman Files Series: Book 13

by Ted Tayler

  Strange Beginnings

  (The thirteenth case from ‘The Freeman Files’ series)

  By

  Ted Tayler

  Copyright © 2021 by Ted Tayler

  This ebook is licensed for your enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please buy an additional copy for each recipient.

  All rights are reserved. You may not reproduce this work, in part or its entirety, without the author's express written permission.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: - www.thecovercollection.com

  A Harmsworth House publication 2021

  Other books by Ted Tayler

  We’d Like To Do A Number Now (2011)

  The Final Straw (2013)

  A Sting In The Tale (2013)

  Unfinished Business (2014)

  The Olympus Project (2014)

  Gold, Silver, and Bombs (2015)

  Conception (2015)

  Nothing Is Ever Forever (2015)

  In The Lap of The Gods (2016)

  The Price of Treachery (2016)

  A New Dawn (2017)

  Something Wicked Draws Near (2017)

  Evil Always Finds A Way (2017)

  Revenge Comes in Many Colours (2017)

  Three Weeks in September (2018)

  A Frequent Peal Of Bells (2018)

  Larcombe Manor (2018)

  Fatal Decision (2019)

  Last Orders (2020)

  Pressure Point (2020)

  Deadly Formula (2020)

  Final Deal (2020)

  Barking Mad (2020)

  Creature Discomforts (2020)

  Silent Terror (2020)

  Night Train (2020)

  All Things Bright (2021)

  Buried Secrets (2021)

  A Genuine Mistake (2021)

  The Long Hard Road – Collection (2021)

  Where to find him

  Website & Blog: – http://tedtayler.co.uk

  Facebook Author Page: – https://facebook.com/AuthorTedTayler

  Twitter: – https://twitter.com/ted_tayler

  Instagram: - https://instagram.com/tedtayler1775

  Ted Tayler’s Email Sign-up

  Want to keep up to date with all the latest news?

  Sign up here – http://tedtayler.co.uk

  I promise never to share your email with anyone else.

  I’ll only contact you when I have something new to share.

  I never send more than twelve newsletters a year.

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Monday, 20th August 2018

  “This must be the first time we’ve all been here by a quarter to nine,” said Neil. “Except the guv, of course. Thanks for a splendid night Friday, by the way. Melody enjoyed meeting up with everyone.”

  “Did you all have a relaxing weekend?” asked Luke.

  “Hardly,” said Alex. “Gus and I didn’t get back from Malaga until late on Saturday. Although, I suppose half a weekend is better than none.”

  “Or it would have been,” said Lydia. “I heard from my mother on Saturday lunchtime. My father and his partner flew into Edinburgh later that afternoon. There was no way we could get up there and back before this morning to be with them, especially as Alex slept until noon on Sunday.”

  “Eleanor decided to allow Chidozie to contact her then?” asked Blessing.

  Neil heard the lift descend to the ground floor. Gus Freeman was on his way.

  “We need to catch up on your news later,” he said. “I don’t know about Luke, but I’ve got no juicy gossip to offer. Melody and I spent a quiet two days with our feet up in the garden.”

  “I drove to Englishcombe village for Sunday lunch with my parents,” sighed Blessing.

  “That sounds as if it went well,” said Luke. “We want to hear your story later.”

  Blessing gave a more profound sigh.

  Gus entered the office at one minute to nine and was pleasantly surprised to see a full house. He wondered why the conversation had faltered.

  “Has Alex filled you in on the finer details of Saturday’s events yet?” he asked.

  “Not yet, guv,” said Alex. “We were just asking one another what we’d been up to since Friday night at the Waggon & Horses.”

  “Well, I need the loose ends on the Hogan case tied in a neat bow as soon as possible. I want the files ready to deliver to Kenneth Truelove. I’ll get my report on Saturday’s events into the Freeman Files and then call London Road for a meeting with the big man.”

  “Have they finally confirmed him as Chief Constable, guv?” asked Neil.

  “I called Geoff Mercer yesterday evening, and he updated me on a couple of matters,” said Gus. “Yes, the appointment will be effective from the first of next month.”

  “Is that a permanent appointment, guv?” asked Luke. “You know what I mean. Will he be in post until his scheduled retirement, or will this just be until they find another candidate from around the country?”

  “Good question, Luke,” said Gus. “No doubt, they have a bright, young thing destined for stardom. Someone who ticks the politically correct boxes.”

  “They tried that with Sandra Plunkett. guv,” said Neil. “Wouldn’t it be better to stick with a copper’s copper rather than try to appease the minority groups with somebody who isn’t up to the task?”

  “You’d better not let the top brass at London Road hear you say that DS Davis,” said Gus. “Your career will come to an abrupt halt. I imagine we’ll get a new face in eighteen months to two years. Kenneth’s wife agreed to postpone her cruises, not cancel them altogether. Eighteen months is a decent time for this team to build on its successful start. My position was always temporary. Once I’ve knocked you into shape and can let you get on with things without me holding your hand, I’ll step aside.”

  “We’ll miss you, guv,” said Lydia.

  Truth be told, Gus would miss the banter and the thrill of the chase.

  Gus sat at his desk reviewing the details of Saturday’s journey to the sun-kissed shores of the Mediterranean. He and Alex hadn’t seen the sea except as they came into land at the airport. The Playa Malagueta was a mere name on a road sign he’d spotted as they headed towards the police station.

  When they left Bristol International, Gus believed they were on their way to arrest Gerry Hogan’s killer. Carl Wallace was firmly in the frame. It just goes to show you can’t judge a book by its cover. Even though violence wasn’t his stock-in-trade, there were enough black marks against Carl Wallace’s name to suggest they had the right man.

  Yet, as soon as Carl had spotted them, their prime suspect was eager to co-operate.

  Gus had a hunch that a confession was the last thing on Carl’s mind, and so it proved. When they interviewed him, Carl confirmed many of the elements of his conversation on the doorstep of Hogan’s home on Trowle Common.

  Carl Wallace had learned from his father, Lawrence, that Rachel Cummins had left her mother’s home in Haslemere, Surrey, in 2006. Katherine Cummins had a vague recollection that Rachel moved to the West Country. It hadn’
t taken Carl long to trace the personal trainer. Wallace was serving a custodial sentence at HMP Leyhill in Gloucestershire, so he had time on his hands.

  Carl soon found Rachel advertised extensively both online and in the local press.

  Lawrence had told him Katherine reckoned Rachel lived with a wealthy, older man. Neither he nor Kate knew the man’s name, but Carl uncovered it. Rachel’s business address was the same as that of local business owner Gerald Hogan, a widower with two young sons.

  A heated conversation in a bar between Lawrence Wallace and Rachel’s father, Jim Cummins, had exposed potential leverage for blackmail. Jim Cummins had got engaged to his girlfriend, Kate before she flew to Australia to visit relatives. She wanted to see the country before returning for their wedding in April. Rachel was a honeymoon baby as far as everyone was concerned when she arrived on the second of January, but Jeff Cummins became suspicious.

  The marriage ended after eighteen months. During their heated discussion, Lawrence Wallace bragged to Jeff about getting together with Kate, just as he had hoped when they were teenagers. They had been an item in the days before Jeff Cummins arrived in town and stole his girl. In the end, Kate and Lawrence’s relationship also foundered. Perhaps she finally realised he was as a big a sleaze as Rachel had always maintained.

  Gus did not know what Kate Cummins was doing these days. But Lawrence had held onto the knowledge he’d gained of what her ex-husband had said in their argument. Kate, or Kat as friends often called her, had shared one drunken night of passion with a guy she only knew as Batman because of his t-shirt. Kate discovered Batman’s true identity only hours before flying home to the UK from Darwin. The man she slept with was Gerry Hogan.

  Lawrence Wallace had convinced himself Gerry had to be Rachel’s father. The timing was right. Kate’s insistence that she and Jim have sex almost as soon as she’d got home from Heathrow sealed the deal. Jim believed Kate was desperate to cover her tracks.

  Lawrence thought Carl was better placed to act on that information. His son had moved to Bristol to live after leaving HMP Leyhill and was familiar with operating on the wrong side of the law.

  Carl Wallace had told Gus and Alex that buying the Beretta Tomcat in the city was a piece of cake. He’d taken the train from Temple Meads to Bradford-on-Avon. Hopped on a bus to Trowle Common and walked to Hogan’s front door on May the sixth, 2012.

  Gus had thought he’d known the sequence of events from there. As Carl Wallace gave them his version, Gus understood why so many people they talked to insisted Gerry Hogan was a decent man. A man who went out of his way to avoid trouble. Someone for whom even the hint of scandal would be avoided at all costs.

  As Gerry had stood on his doorstep, listening to Carl Wallace tell him Rachel could be his daughter, his world collapsed around him. The girl with the cat on her t-shirt. It was just so plausible.

  Gerry had grabbed the gun Carl pointed at him and turned it on himself. Suicide was preferable to an accusation of an incestuous relationship.

  Everything Carl Wallace told them about what followed the fatal shot made sense of the weapon and the missing white gloves. Carl confirmed he’d dropped the Beretta down a drain and the gloves into a waste bin at the railway station. After a night on a park bench in Bath, Carl had flown to Malaga.

  He’d worked hard in local bars for the past six years and never got into trouble. On Saturday night, Carl had flown back to Bristol under escort, and someone else would get asked this week to prepare a case against him for the CPS. Gus was glad he wasn’t involved. Only two people knew whether Carl was lying, and one of them was dead. The CPS would probably cut their losses. No jury would find Carl Wallace guilty of murder, but Carl had taken a gun with him that night, whether or not he intended to use it. Why load one bullet if you didn’t plan to fire the weapon? No, there was enough to put Carl Wallace away for five years. Wiltshire’s new Chief Constable would have to be satisfied with that.

  Alex Hardy interrupted his reverie.

  “I’ve had a return message from Bronwen, guv,” he said. “It arrived here not long after we left on Friday afternoon.”

  “Don’t keep us hanging, Alex,” said Gus. “Spit it out.”

  “The girl Bronwen met on the plane was always Cat to her, because of her t-shirt. Her name was Katie or Katherine, and she came from a place in Surrey, but Bronwen can’t remember the name. Hazel something.”

  “What now, guv?” asked Alex.

  “I called Geoff Mercer yesterday, as I said. Carl Wallace returned to the UK under escort, and Jeff Cummins has agreed to a DNA paternity test. We’ll know the results on Thursday or Friday.”

  “You were inclined to believe Carl Wallace, weren’t you, guv?” said Alex.

  “Everything we knew about Gerry Hogan points that way, Alex. He was an honest man who avoided scandal. When Carl Wallace told him Rachel’s mother, Kate, was the girl he slept with that night, everything he had worked so hard to protect was running through his fingers like sand. He could see only one way out.”

  “What a mess,” said Lydia.

  “I feel sorry for the boys,” said Blessing. “They lost their mother in a tragic accident. Now they have to live with the thought their father didn’t get murdered in a random attack, but he shot himself. If that wasn’t bad enough, both Sean and Byron seemed to like Rachel. How will this affect their relationship now? They could be her half-brothers. Lydia’s right. It couldn’t be much more of a mess.”

  “The metadata on those Facebook photographs is academic now, Blessing,” said Gus. “I don’t suppose Divya has got back to you with news yet, has she?”

  “She’s only just started work, guv. I’ll call her,” said Blessing. “If Divya can attach location labels to those images, it will strengthen Carl Wallace’s assertion that he stayed in Bristol after leaving Leyhill. The labels will neaten the bow on the files you hand in at London Road.”

  “That sounds sensible,” said Gus. “I’ll call Vera Butler in a few minutes to see if our leader will grant me an audience. If I have to leave before you receive the data, perhaps Divya can meet me in the foyer at London Road and hand me the necessary information?”

  “I’ll tell Divya to keep an eye out for your Ford Focus, guv,” said Blessing.

  Gus gave Blessing the thumbs-up. He still had at least an hour of work ahead of him before he could make that trip.

  “Those of you whose files are already complete,” he said, “can you clear the decks ready for our next case, please?”

  Gus heard a groan from somewhere on his left but ignored it. He needed to set up his meeting. He called Vera.

  “Good morning, Ms Butler. How are you this fine Monday morning?”

  “Not as chipper as you, Mr Freeman. Do you want to know when the Chief Constable is free?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” said Gus.

  “Noon,” said Vera. “He says it will have to be a working lunch.”

  That made a change, thought Gus. They’d never had lunch before. A cup of coffee and a sticky bun was the extent of the catering to Kenneth Truelove’s office before his elevation. Gus foresaw problems for Geoff Mercer’s waistline.

  “Are you and Kassie Trotter preparing executive lunches these days?” asked Gus. “Or will it be inedible finger food large corporations have served up for decades?”

  “Geraldine Packenham is responsible for the changes, Gus,” said Vera.

  “I imagine that means vegan food is eaten while attempting a painful-looking position on a yoga mat,” said Gus. “I’d prefer a Zoom meeting; if I knew what it was. Lydia understands that stuff. The Packenham woman has got to go. She’s disrupting the status quo.”

  “We’ll expect you at noon then?” asked Vera.

  “I’ll have a completed case file in one hand and the other hand extended to receive our next cold case. If this Packenham regime continues, I might need to join an athletics club to learn the art of baton changing. I could be in and out in seconds.”


  “There won’t be any cold sausages or cheese and pineapple chunks on cocktail sticks,” said Vera. “The food comes from a company that runs a fleet of refrigerated vans to deliver their goods. Their sandwiches, bloomer sandwiches, sub rolls, tortilla wraps, bacon and sausage baps, panini, pasta salads and salads are hand prepared daily. They try to source the best produce locally whenever possible and only use local suppliers.”

  “I hope the public never learns that this outrageous expense is coming out of their wage packets,” said Gus. “You mentioned a bacon bap. Put me down for one. Reduce Geoff Mercer’s order from two to one. I’ll see you at noon, Vera.”

  With that, Gus ended the call.

  It was time to tie those loose ends together. As Gus stepped through his files, he reflected on the interrupted weekend that had just passed. The trip to Malaga meant there was little time for him and Suzie to do anything on Saturday except eat and sleep.

  Suzie told him she had driven to Worton for her final hack around the local tracks and lanes on her favourite horse. Then in the afternoon, she’d called Vicky Bennison for a brief chat. Gus was happy to hear Suzie hadn’t let the grass grow under her feet. Vicky wouldn’t rush back to work with the people she believed failed her in her hour of need, but Suzie making a move within twenty-four hours of him and Vicky’s first meeting showed a commitment to mend fences.

  Not that Gus had needed reminding, but soon after Alex dropped him off at the bungalow, Suzie told him she had called the surgery and asked them to arrange her twelve-week scan for the second week in September.

  After two plane journeys sandwiching a hot, sticky day, Gus was tired and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. When he awoke just before seven in the morning, he’d tried to work out when the baby might arrive. His best guess was the second week in February. Gus wondered about the central heating. Would the little mite cope with another Beast from the East like the one that arrived this year?