by Ted Tayler
“Where will they stay?” asked Gus.
“Lucknam Park Manor Hotel, Colerne,” said Bert.
“Very swish,” said Suzie, who had rejoined them.
“Brett will hire a car, and that hotel is an excellent base for visiting Bath, and anywhere in Wiltshire.”
Gus listened to Bert, Clemency, and Suzie chatting about the potential visits that Bert’s daughter and grandson might enjoy. When the food arrived at their table, he tucked into his steak. An evening like this was just what was needed. A few chips would have helped, but good company and the pub’s warm ambience helped him relax at last.
His mind was clear. After a good night’s sleep, he would enter the fray with renewed vigour. The answer to Grant’s murder was there somewhere. They just weren’t looking in the right place yet.
CHAPTER 8
Thursday, 21st June 2018
Gus didn’t need the alarm in the morning. Suzie dug him in the ribs at half-past seven.
“Rise and shine,” she said, “I need to drive home before I go to work.”
Gus padded silently into the bathroom. He showered and dressed, then wandered into the kitchen to find that Suzie had already eaten. As he searched for bacon and eggs in the fridge, she emerged from the bedroom wearing his pink shirt.
It still looked better on her than it ever had on him.
“My turn in the shower,” she said. “A fry-up, are you sure that’s wise?”
“It may not be wise, but I need it after a heavy night out.”
“That’s your fault for trying to match Bert Penman drink for drink. That man has hollow legs. Bert’s unlike any eighty-five-year-old I’ve ever known.”
“How many have you known?”
“None, in the biblical sense. Not that it’s any of your business. Other than that, perhaps two. Where are you off to, today?”
“HMP Bristol,” said Gus, “just visiting with Lydia.”
“Have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow night at around six. Is that okay?”
“Perfect. Take that shower, or you’ll be late on parade.”
Gus restricted himself to one egg and two rashers of bacon. In the interests of balance, he drank two large mugs of black coffee. He wasn’t ready for anything, but as close as he had any right to be.
When Suzie returned, glowing and full of youthful exuberance, Gus wondered how he’d got so lucky. They clung to one another for several seconds before she pulled away to look at him.
“Will we still be like this if I’m here all the time,” she said, “or is this only because we won’t see one another for thirty-six hours?”
“An interesting question,” said Gus. “I shall have to give it a good deal of thought and deliver my philosophical wisdom on the matter tomorrow evening.”
“You say today is merely a visit to Horfield?” asked Suzie as she stood by the front door. “You’re mad, you know, perhaps Lydia should leave you there.”
Gus listened to Suzie’s car repositioning the gravel on the driveway and put their breakfast things in the dishwasher. He was collecting Lydia on the way to Bristol, so he needn’t leave for another forty minutes. Gus tried to remember whether he had a picture frame lying idle in the house for Joyce’s letter.
“DS Sherman and DS Davis to see DI Trefor Davies,” said Luke, as he and Neil arrived at Marlborough Police Station for the first of today’s interviews.
“There’s a Jaguar in the car park,” said Neil. “I bet that’s the oily solicitor’s.”
“Iverson can wait. We’re okay for time,” said Luke, “ah, here comes Trefor Davies now.”
“Good morning, lads,” said Trefor, “your victim awaits. Burnside has his minder with him, so stay sharp.”
Luke and Neil followed Trefor Davies along the corridor and entered the room.
Henry Burnside didn’t look up from whatever interested him on the carpeted floor. Patrick Iverson checked his watch. He needn’t have bothered. The wall clock in front of him read nine o’clock precisely.
“Thank you for attending this morning, Henry,” said Luke, “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m DS Luke Sherman, and my colleague is DS Neil Davis. We work with a Crime Review Team looking into your father’s murder in 2014. I wouldn’t be surprised if we didn’t find his killer this time. We’ve chatted with three members of your family so far, and everyone’s been most helpful.”
Henry looked up when he heard that comment.
“What have they been saying about me?” he asked.
“I don’t think your name cropped up that often, from the reports I’ve read,” said Neil.
“Davis, was it?” asked Henry. “Did your father get himself killed a few weeks back? We’ve got that in common then. Hurts, doesn’t it? Especially when the coppers never gave a toss about finding out who did it for four years.”
Iverson gave a polite cough.
“Stick to the narrative, gentlemen. You know very well that the conversations you’ve had to date have produced nothing of any significance.”
“Can you confirm your whereabouts on Sunday the twenty-fifth of May in 2014?” asked Luke, “between the hours of six in the morning and noon.”
“The same place I told the coppers the day after my father got shot,” said Henry.
“Did you ever have cause to visit the unit on the Cheney Manor Industrial Estate as part of your role in the family, um, import-export business?”
“I went there, yeah, so what? We don’t use it anymore.”
Luke studied Henry Burnside. He was three inches shorter than Gary, two years younger but as much as two stones lighter. The shaved head and tattooed neck was an attempt to make him appear more menacing. It only made Henry seem scrawny and scruffy.
Yesterday, Gary, his elder brother, dressed in a smart, casual manner. You could easily get fooled into thinking he was an honest citizen, even if his gold accessories were over the top. You couldn’t do otherwise than think Henry was a wannabe thug.
“Where do you carry out the punishment beatings these days then, Henry?” asked Luke.
“That might have gone on in Dad’s days,” said Henry, “I’m not saying they did. We run a legitimate business now.”
“Do you remember when Blake Dixon died at the snooker club?” asked Neil.
“Of course, it was in the papers. Dad got accused of that, but it was rubbish.”
“Grant used that club a lot, didn’t he?” asked Neil.
“We all did,” said Henry, “Gary still does.”
“If you needed to teach someone a lesson, say like Howard Todd, after the snooker club got too risky, where would you do that?” asked Neil.
“Toddy moved out of the area,” said Henry, “and he never left a forwarding address. Our Kerry’s still got holiday pay in an account for him.”
“Did you know he was a drug dealer when you took him on?” asked Neil.
“Grant Burnside was an equal opportunities employer,” said Iverson. “Gary told you yesterday how the family always had to fight for everything they achieved. Grant felt it only right to offer Mr Todd a helping hand.”
“You’re very strong on the family aren’t you Henry,” said Luke. “Didn’t you ever itch to be top dog? When you started, you had Grant shouting the orders, and we know what a hard taskmaster he was. As soon as he’s dead, Gary takes his place. Did you wonder about that? Could Gary have wanted to move things along more quickly?”
“You’re a nut job,” said Henry, “probably an only child. Family is everything. We stick together, no matter what. Dad would have carried on until he thought it time to pass the baton. Nobody would have tried to get him to step aside. Gary is the eldest, and it stands to reason that he would take over. There was no question about it. No argument. Nothing can tear us apart. You can try to spread seeds of doubt as much as you like, but you’re wasting your breath. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ve got a business to run.”
“One last question, Henry,” said Neil. “If none of the Burnside family did i
t, nor any of the enemies you checked for yourselves, then who do you think killed your father?”
“That’s what you reckoned was your job. The first thing I heard when we got here,” said Henry, shrugging a shoulder. “If you get a name, you better keep it close to your chest, because if word gets out, I won’t give them great odds of lasting twenty-four hours.”
“Our boss is visiting Vic Hodge about now,” said Luke. “Perhaps he knows where you rented the replacement warehouse space.”
“Vic’s a good soldier,” said Henry, “he and Gary grew up together. Vic won’t tell you anything.”
“Vic hasn’t got Denver Drewett there to remind him what to say,” said Luke, “and Mr Iverson’s here with us this morning. Vic isn’t the brightest, and Gus Freeman can be very persuasive. We can’t help Denver. He’s in the wind, but we can help Vic Hodge. I wonder what deal might be on the table?”
“The same thing applies. I’d give Vic twenty-four hours,” said Henry Burnside.
“I still represent Mr Hodge when asked,” said Iverson. “Why didn’t you inform me you were seeing him this morning?”
“No comment,” said Luke.
Henry Burnside got up and walked out. Iverson followed him. Joseph Burnside would be in Reception waiting to come through.
As soon as they were alone, Luke and Neil did a quick high-five.
“I wanted to say that. Did you see Iverson’s face?” said Neil.
“Yes,” said Luke, “but we didn’t get much more than confirmation that Todd was supposedly an employee.”
“I pressed him on the gang using the snooker club too,” said Neil. “Gary spent more time there than the others. I don’t know whether it helps, but I didn’t get the impression Henry spent much time with Gary since Grant’s death.”
“Another few minutes and Joseph will be here. We’ll ask him the same questions unless you can think of anything else we could try?”
“Do you reckon Gus wants to hear what Henry had to say? I could send a text to Lydia with the highlights. It might prove handy when they’re chatting to Hodge.”
“It can’t hurt, Neil,” said Luke. “If you’re going to do it, get on with it. Iverson and Joseph Burnside are already outside in the corridor. Joseph’s receiving his final briefing.”
Neil composed a quick text and sent it to Lydia.
“I thought Horfield would be a depressing place, with the prison being the major reason for people recognising the name,” said Lydia, “but it’s attractive, isn’t it?”
“I believe it’s become one of the most in-demand places to live in Bristol,” said Gus. “That’s because of the A38 Gloucester Road running through the middle, and the independent shops, bars, and restaurants that line either side.”
Gus had allowed sufficient time to negotiate security at HMP Bristol. Vic Hodge was one of around seven hundred Category B prisoners housed there. At a few minutes before ten o’clock, a prison officer escorted Gus and Lydia to the interview room.
“Hang on, I’ve got a text message, guv,” said Lydia, fishing around in her bag for her phone when she heard it buzz.
“Check it quickly, and then turn it off,” said Gus.
“It’s from Neil. You had better read it.”
Vic Hodge arrived outside the door on the dot of ten. He was a giant of a man. Lydia was glad there would be a large table between them. Gus continued to read the message as a warder led the prisoner into the room.
Hodge sat on the metal chair and studied the two faces opposite.
Hodge’s escort and the prison officer stood against the back wall.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet us today, Vic,” said Gus, handing Lydia her phone. “You don’t mind if I call you Vic, I hope?”
“It doesn’t bother me,” Hodge replied.
“My name is Freeman, I’m a consultant with Wiltshire Police, and we’re taking a fresh look into your old boss’s murder. Do you remember that day, Vic?”
“I’m hardly likely to forget, am I?” muttered Hodge
“What were you doing that morning?” asked Gus.
“Grant wanted us to work for him, out at the warehouse.”
“You’re serving a sentence for demanding money with menaces,” said Gus. “What type of work might Grant want you for, I wonder?”
“It’s four years ago now. I can’t remember,” said Vic.
“Did you ever visit the snooker club with Grant?”
“We went there often enough,” said Vic. “Gary liked to play. That wasn’t my thing.”
“Have you heard from your old mate, Denver, since you’ve been here?” asked Gus.
“I haven’t heard a word from Denver since I got nicked.”
“No, Denver did a runner, didn’t he? Your mate left you to face the music. You were carrying a gun that day, and they threw the book at you. Gary and his brothers kept their distance, didn’t they? There was no way they were getting dragged down with you. Would it interest you to know that Henry and Joseph are speaking with my colleagues right now? Mr Iverson is holding their hand, making sure they don’t come to harm. Meanwhile, you’re here alone. Odd that, isn’t it, Vic? The Burnsides are always so passionate about the family unit. I bet you and Denver got told you were family too. Each of you surrounded by a protective shield. Iverson was always on hand. He was there to tell you the best course of action that Sunday morning, wasn’t he?”
“Mr Iverson was there, yeah, Gary didn’t know what to do.”
“It was a difficult problem, I’ll grant you that,” said Gus, sitting back in his chair.
Lydia wondered where he was going with this. Neil’s text had told them nothing, and yet he had a big grin on his face as he handed her back her phone.
“I forgot to mention that we spoke to Gary yesterday afternoon. Sorry. We know why Grant asked for your help at the unit out at Cheney Manor. Howard Todd had crossed the line, and an example had to be made. You, Denver, and Gary went looking for him, found where he was hiding, and Grant picked you up in the Mercedes. It was too risky to use the snooker club after that messy business with Blake Dixon. So, you started using the quiet unit at the back of the Cheney Manor site when a punishment beating was necessary. Only, with Toddy, it was way past that, wasn’t it? He had to disappear for good. After it was over, Grant delivered Toddy to McHugh, and you and Denver had to clean up the mess. When they got back, Grant got shot, and Gary called Iverson. What did he tell you? Keep the doors shut. Don’t let the cops inside. Tell them you just arrived. Then Gary rang for the police and the ambulance. Have we got everything right, Vic? Anything you think we’ve missed?”
Vic sat in silence for at least two minutes while Gus let him think things over. He could almost see the cogs turning.
Lydia realised that Gus had pieced the scraps of information they had gathered to concoct a plausible scenario. It sounded believable, the way he explained it. Could they prove it in a court of law, though? Were Gus’s assumptions even correct? If they weren’t, then why hadn’t Vic already accused Gus of fishing? Lydia expected Hodge to deny any involvement, or reply ‘no comment’ to everything. Hodge had just kept staring at the table and let Gus ramble on with his hypothesis.
Vic looked up, and Gus could see in his eyes that the man had resigned himself to his fate. The gamble had succeeded.
“I can’t believe they told you that much,” said Vic, “not with Iverson there to do what they pay him to do. Kerry was right. He’s a snake. We should both have got out sooner. There’s no chance of that now.”
That was different, Gus thought. Nobody mentioned Kerry Burnside and Vic Hodge in the same sentence before.
“Do you get many visitors, Vic?” he asked.
“Kerry comes every week when she can. Nobody else has been near the place,”
“How long have you and Kerry been together?” asked Lydia.
Vic gave her a wry smile.
“It’s not like that. Neither of us ever had anybody. Look at me. I never had a hope in
hell with the plain girls I met, let alone someone as pretty as you. Gary and the others made fun of Kerry because of the way she looked. There was no way we could have seen one another. Gary would have made our lives miserable. It was after I got sent to prison for this stretch that Kerry wrote and asked if she could visit. The longer everything went on after Grant died, the more both of us realised it was wrong.”
Gus left that for a while. He was unsure what had gone on after Grant died, apart from the increased reliance of the gang on the drugs trade. Grant’s traditional robberies were history after he died. Everything centred on trafficking and dealing. Was that what Vic meant? Gus tried another tactic to get Vic talking. Now he’d started, the floodgates might open.
“How did you get involved in crime in the first place,” asked Gus. “You were at school with Gary, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, when I was growing up I watched the older boys who were doing well, making money, driving flash cars and that, you know? They were all doing gangster stuff. By the time I was eleven, I was thieving and selling drugs alongside Gary and Denver. It was only a short step to carrying a weapon. Denver had a knife, so I got one. I didn’t enjoy that way of life, and anyone who tells you they do is a liar. You’re waiting for your door to get kicked in. It could be the law, or it could be guys from another gang. Either way, it spells trouble. Look at me now. I’m forty next year with three prison stints, including this one. They charged me with demanding money with menaces. I asked for the money. Okay, perhaps I shouted, but it was the gun that did for me. Why did I carry it? It was purely for protection. I never wanted to have to use it. After I’d taken it with me for a few months, I forgot I even had it. It was second nature to stick it in my pocket. I’d check I had everything before I left home–keys, wallet, watch, gun. How stupid is that?”
“It’s always about choices, Vic,” said Gus, “when did the Burnsides take you on?”
“By the time I was eighteen, I was as big as a house and strong with it. Gary used Denver and me for our muscles. We waded in when any trouble started, and nine times out of ten, we managed it with our fists. We put the occasional boot in too when people didn’t stay on the floor. Gary asked Denver and me to join the firm because Henry and Joseph were useless in a fight. They never got involved in any rough stuff. If someone was out of line, they passed the word to Grant, and he told Gary to sort it. Gary called us in to put the frighteners on people. That’s it. We weren’t killers, Mr Freeman. That’s the truth.”