by Ted Tayler
“What time did you go inside the house?” asked Gus.
“Ten to ten, or thereabouts,” said Preston. “I made a brew and chatted to Stuart before we got stuck in. He had Heart FM on the radio, and we listened to the ten o’clock news headlines. We cheered when the piece about the Lapland experience came on. The two blokes got sent to jail. Quite right too, Ellie and I were gutted for our kids when we saw how little they were getting for the money we paid.”
“What did you think had happened when Theo arrived home from work later?” asked Gus.
“I didn’t have a clue,” said Preston. “Stuart worried his precious Steph had got knocked off her bike. Then the police lady arrived, and Theo bundled us out of the house. He said he’d let us know when he needed us again. When the news filtered through later in the day, I knew I was in trouble. Marion was alive when I left her, Mr Freeman. You must believe me. I didn’t kill her.”
“No, I don’t believe you did, Mr Preston,” said Gus. “Just a couple more questions, and we’ll let you get back to your cell. What did you do with the cash?”
“I paid it into our joint account in Barclays on Tuesday morning,” said Derek Preston, “and walked over the road to Lloyds to bank our business cheques. The ones I told Stuart I was going into town to do the day before.”
“When you got out of Marion’s Lexus, did you see anyone near the car?”
“Several vehicles passed me in both directions,” said Preston. “I didn’t see anyone walking if that’s what you mean.”
“Thank you, Mr Preston. It’s been most enlightening,” said Gus.
Derek Preston looked confused.
“Is that it? What happens now?”
“The CPS will consider what charges you will face, Mr Preston. That’s none of our concern. We’ll carry on looking for Marion’s killer.”
When Preston left the room with his escort, Luke sat back in his chair.
“That sounded convincing, guv.”
“It confirmed what we already knew, Luke. The field is narrowing with every person we interview. Let’s visit Churchfields once more. I’ve got questions that need answers.”
“That John and Kathy Preston were involved in those parties must have come as a shock to Derek Preston, guv,” said Luke.
“John was the cameraman,” said Gus, “unless I’m much mistaken. Serena Campbell warned me this affair went deeper and higher than I imagined. I wonder what Marion Reeves meant by her last comment to Derek Preston?”
“Blessing told us people believed Maureen Glendenning moved to Spain, guv. She had a child by Graham Street in 1966, six years before he got Kathy Mellor pregnant. Nobody has seen Maureen since 1968.”
“We’ll look into it once we’ve solved Marion’s murder,” said Gus. “I’ll leave my car here. You can drive, Luke.”
While Gus and Luke listened to Derek Preston’s story, the rest of the team had work to do. Neil arrived in the Old Police Station office at nine o’clock.
“I wondered who would get the gig with Gus to interview Preston,” said Alex.
“Luke asked me to call heads or tails,” said Neil. “He reckoned it was heads, so he’s gone to Bourne Hill to meet Gus. We should get on with talking to Genevieve Harding and Serena Campbell.”
“What did Luke do about Gus’s meeting with Warren Baker?” asked Alex.
“Luke called him to delay their meeting until lunchtime. Why?” said Neil.
“Genevieve Harding lives the other side of Salisbury, doesn’t she?”
“Redlynch,” said Blessing, “a village several miles further on from Downton, where Gus used to live.”
“What are you thinking, Alex?” asked Lydia.
“If we’ve got to go that way, why don’t we speak to Warren Baker?”
“Another coin toss?” asked Neil. “One where I can check the result.”
“No need, you can go to Redlynch and back to Bourne Hill, Neil,” said Alex. “You haven’t left the office on this case yet. Take Blessing with you, as she did the work of finding the lady. Lydia and I will follow up on Serena Campbell. She lives near enough to Salisbury for the four of us to keep in touch and then meet up at Bourne Hill later.”
“When we’ve got something to pass to Gus and Luke, we can call them,” said Neil.
“It beats sitting in the office waiting for news,” said Blessing.
Neil contacted Genevieve Harding and said they were leaving right away.
“We’ll get to her place by half-past ten,” said Neil. “Alex, can you call Baker and let him know we’ll be at Bourne Hill for noon. Let their desk sergeant know to expect DS Davis and DC Umeh.”
“No worries, Neil,” said Alex. “Good hunting.”
Neil and Blessing headed for the lift and were soon on their way out of town.
Lydia’s phone call found Serena Campbell at home in Bemerton Heath, Serena told Lydia she was working in the café this afternoon, but if they needed an hour of her time this morning, she would stay home until they arrived.
“If I drive via Devizes, we should get to her cottage by ten o’clock,” said Lydia.
“I’ll drive,” said Alex. “There’s no rush.”
Lydia and Alex took the lift to the ground floor, and Alex drove them towards Devizes. It was a team effort, after all.
CHAPTER 13
Neil and Blessing arrived in Redlynch at twenty past ten.
“This village is like Mere, isn’t it?” said Blessing. “Lots of old buildings, a small population, and houses dotted around that are way out of my price range.”
“If the rumours concerning our former Family Liaison Officer are correct, Genevieve could live with someone who can well afford to buy a decent house here,” said Neil. “We won’t find many priced at less than half a million.”
“This is it,” said Blessing, “well, it’s got kerb appeal. Roses around the door, well-kept gardens. How old do you think this house is, Neil?”
“The earliest parts of the house are from the nineteenth century, and someone has extended and improved it several times since. The satellite dish has only been on the roof for two decades.”
Blessing giggled.
“You knock, Neil. I can’t see a doorbell.”
Neil knocked on the solid wooden door, and Genevieve Harding answered.
The Freeman files showed that Phil Youngman had described the former FLO as curvy and attractive. Neil had to agree, and at forty-eight, she left him tongue-tied.
“DS Davis, I presume?” said Genevieve.
“Yes,” said Blessing. “And I’m DC Umeh. We need to talk to you about the Marion Reeves murder case.”
“Come in, please,” said Genevieve. “Excuse the mess; the dogs were frisky this morning after I took them for a walk. I’ve shut them in the conservatory, or else you wouldn’t get a second’s peace. We can talk here in the living room.”
“The dogs must be splendid companions,” said Blessing. “Do you live here alone?”
“I do these days,” said Genevieve, “Tom, my partner, died eighteen months ago.”
“We’re sorry to hear that,” said Neil. “We hoped to speak with him. Where did Tom work before he retired? Sorry, I assume he was older than you. Perhaps our information was incorrect.”
Genevieve sighed and sat in a chair beside the inglenook fireplace. Neil and Blessing stepped around cushions and newspapers the dogs must have disturbed when they got back indoors to sit on dining chairs beside a small oak table.
“It was inevitable someone would ask me about this in the end,” said Genevieve. “Tom did everything he could to keep a lid on it. When I heard of Graham Street’s death, I thought it might be over at last. What do you want to know?”
“Where did Tom work?” asked Neil. “What was his name? We didn’t find anyone in the county who matched the description of the mystery man we uncovered during our case review.”
“Tom Kellett worked in Winchester,” said Genevieve. “It’s a thirty-five-minute drive from h
ere. He retired as a Detective Superintendent with Hampshire Constabulary. Tom always worked in Hampshire, and he and his wife lived closer to Southampton for many years.”
“When his wife died of cancer in the early Eighties,” said Blessing, “were you already seeing one another?”
“Heavens, no,” said Genevieve. “I was seeing someone else then.”
“A married man?” asked Neil.
“Yes,” said Genevieve.
“How did you and Tom meet?” asked Neil.
“What have you learned so far?” asked Genevieve.
“We’re asking the questions, Ms Harding,” said Blessing.
“Graham Street invited me to a party in the country in 1984. I was seventeen. I met Marion that night. She and Graham had only been married six months.”
“Did you know what you had agreed to?” asked Blessing.
“Oh yes,” said Genevieve. “I was looking forward to it. I’m sorry if that shocks you, but I couldn’t get enough of what I enjoyed with any of the young men I met. My married lover didn’t go to the parties, but he had whet my appetite. Graham Street and Dave Francis showed me there were places I could go to satisfy my urges. Tom’s wife died, which would have meant he couldn’t get an invitation to the parties anymore. We spent time together that first night, and I knew we were compatible. When he called to ask if I’d accompany him the following weekend, I said yes right away. We moved in together soon after and enjoyed the scene for another fifteen years at least. As years passed, the repercussions of getting found out increased and bothered him. He’d worked hard to get as high up the ladder as he had.”
“Let’s talk about the eighteenth of March in 2011,” said Neil. “Where were you when you got the call to drive to Oakley Road?”
“At Bourne Hill,” said Genevieve. “I told you I met Marion in ’84. Over the next four or five years, her relationship with Graham deteriorated. Marion wanted out, but Street was a nasty piece of work. I was happy for her when she finally walked out on him. Marion met Theo Reeves, and I learned they got married. So, when I received the name and address, I realised the incident at Churchfields involved Marion. I called Tom right away. He said he’d deal with it.”
“What did you think that meant?” asked Neil.
“Whatever it took to keep our names out of the case,” said Genevieve. “Tom had been involved in things from the beginning. He felt he owed some loyalty to Street and Francis, but most of all, he wanted to protect the others we met with most weekends.”
“The rich and famous who Street and Francis rubbed shoulder with,” said Neil.
“So, you do know something of what went on.”
“A friend of Marion Reeves gave us details of these parties but was afraid to give us names.”
“Serena,” said Genevieve. “That makes sense; they were close. Serena and Dave Francis were married for a while.”
“Who did Tom call after you rang?” asked Blessing. “We have his name. You might as well confirm it for us now. We’ll interview him later today.”
“Tom’s biggest fear was Marion’s mobile phone. Although she had left the scene by 1990, Tom knew the phone numbers of two dozen founder members were on that phone in the late Eighties. He couldn’t risk the police getting hold of it, so he called Warren Baker. Tom knew what a sleaze the man was; they’d worked at the same police station in Southampton. Tom was his superior officer and covered up an incident involving a Portuguese cleaner. On that Monday morning in 2011, Tom called Baker and reminded him he owed him one. Baker made sure the mobile phone didn’t reach Bourne Hill.”
“That confirms what we knew,” said Neil. “Thank you. Did Tom do anything else to influence the original investigation?”
“Billie Wightman needed little convincing,” said Genevieve. “Tom steered her away from anyone who could connect the case to the sex parties. Matt Price wanted to speak to friends of Marion, like Serena. I worked with Billie on several cases, Tom drove into Salisbury the day after the murder, and I arranged for us to bump into Tom casually. He asked how the enquiry was going. Billie was looking at Theo and other men in Marion’s life. When Billie told him Matt’s idea, Tom suggested she stuck to her guns. The killer was a man Marion knew, he said, why interview a girlfriend she might only have known for a few years?”
“A month later, the detective team hadn’t uncovered a single suspect,” said Neil. “The case went cold. Billie Wightman, Matt Price, and the rest of the team moved on to a new case.”
“Can I get in trouble for what I did?” asked Genevieve.
“Tom Kellett used his position to pervert the course of justice,” said Blessing. “He’ll never face charges now. Warren Baker tampered with evidence, which is a serious charge. All you’ve admitted to was making a phone call to your partner. If we find you played a more significant role, we’ll be back.”
The barking from the conservatory grew louder. Genevieve stood up and followed Neil and Blessing to the front door.
“How long do you think it will be before the story hits the newspapers?” she asked.
“I don’t know whether the whole story will ever come out, Ms Harding,” said Neil. “Many people who attended those parties have died in the past forty years. You told us earlier you and Tom stopped going fifteen years ago. Will there be a party somewhere this weekend?”
“Where there’s a demand, there’s always someone willing to supply, DS Davis,” said Genevieve. “After Dave Francis went to prison and Graham Street dropped off the scene, everything fizzled out, as I understand it. I’ve no way of checking.”
Neil and Blessing drove back from Redlynch to Salisbury and parked in the Bourne Hill police station car park. Neil called Alex Hardy for a catch-up on their meeting with Serena Campbell.
“This is like the old days,” said Lydia as Alex drove them towards Devizes. “Gus keeps us apart, doesn’t he?”
“The Trudi Villers case, you mean?” said Alex. “Yes, we did several interviews together back then. Gus wants to make sure the top brass at London Road doesn’t think one of us should get moved out of the CRT. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“No way,” said Lydia. “I enjoy it too much.”
Alex soon found Serena Campbell’s tiny cottage on the Heath, and he and Lydia walked along the cinder path to the door. The doorbell gave a half-hearted ring when Lydia pressed it. The bell sounded as tired as the decorative order of the house it belonged to.
“We keep meeting, DS Hardy,” said Serena. “Who have you got with you this time?”
“Lydia Logan Barre,” said Lydia. “We’re colleagues serving on the Crime Review Team with Mr Freeman.”
“Of course you are, dear,” said Serena. “I never smiled at my colleagues as you did as you walked from the car.”
“When we spoke with you the other afternoon,” said Alex, ignoring Serena’s comment, “you said a senior police officer attended parties when you and Marion were young women. We can’t trace anyone on the Wiltshire force matching your description. Why is that?”
“He lived in the county,” said Serena. “Perhaps he worked over the border in Hampshire. I didn’t ask; I just knew he was a high-ranking officer. Dave Francis encouraged me to ask the man what he wanted me to do for him, not find out what he did for a living.”
“Have you thought any more about revealing names of people involved in these parties?” asked Lydia.
“Not a chance, dear,” said Serena. “Since Mr Freeman started poking around, more attention has focussed on me than I would prefer. I’ve kept a low profile for years, and nobody here knew anything of my past. Marion and I were careful when we met not to get tongues wagging. Yesterday evening I had a call from Ralph Tucker. He wanted to know if I remembered his mother, Sonya. Of course, I didn’t. Graham Street started fathering kids before he dreamed up the idea of the parties. Then Tucker mentioned the police arrested a builder called Derek Preston. He asked whether I knew his father. What could I say? I denied knowledge of having h
eard the name. Was it Preston who killed Marion? As soon as Tucker said the name, it fell into place. John Preston took his young wife Kathy to parties. He got off seeing her with other men. John always had a camera with him. Derek wasn’t his son, though. I remember Kathy Mellor with Graham when she was fifteen or sixteen. Tucker wanted to check Derek was another of Graham’s kids. I didn’t give him the satisfaction. If you’ve got your man, why do you need to ask me about that senior police officer?”
“We like to corroborate evidence we gather from various sources,” said Alex. “We can’t rely on people telling us the whole truth.”
“I must get ready for work now,” said Serena. “Have you got what you need from me?”
“If we think of something else, we’ll drop into the café this afternoon,” said Lydia.