by Ted Tayler
“My copper’s nose. It never fails.”
Gus strolled through the crowded bar toward his friend’s voice. He found Bert Penman plus the usual suspects, in the far corner. Irene North sat next to Bert, hanging on his every word. At their time of life, did it matter whether they were soul mates or kindred spirits? Irene’s late husband Frank had been a petty criminal all his life. Bert was as honest as the day was long. Somehow, those two found comfort in their companionship. Irene was ten years younger than the retired butcher. Funny how nobody seemed too concerned with an age gap when you were on the last leg of your journey. Of course, ten years differed from thirty. Next to Irene sat the Reverend Clemency Bentham. She had dispensed with the Laura Ashley tonight and wore a maroon blouse with her clerical collar, over black trousers. Gus tried to recall a Saint’s day at the end of July that might have caused Clemency to work a long shift.
“Gus, Brett tells us you’re joining us later. We haven’t seen you both for days,”
“My apologies, Reverend,” said Gus. “Duty calls. I don’t need to remind you of that. No sooner than we put one case to bed, then my superiors have another emergency.”
“Now you know what life is like when you’re wearing this collar, Gus,” said Clemency.
“I’ve kept an eye on your plants, Mr Freeman,” said Bert. “They haven’t run wild yet, but you can’t leave them alone for too long. The land is very much like a woman, Mr Freeman.”
That started a fit of the giggles from Irene North. Brett returned from the bar with the party’s next round of drinks. Gus thought that a soft drink was preferable for Irene.
“Suzie asked me to tell you a table will be free in five minutes,” said Brett. “What’s kept you away from here for so long?”
“Bert was just berating me for ignoring my plants,” said Gus. “but my team and I had a tricky case to solve in Swindon. Suzie and I spent a pleasant afternoon on the allotment the Saturday before last. That must have been our last visit, I suppose. Time flies when you’re having fun. I’ll find Suzie, and we’ll have our meal, then we’ll join you.”
Gus made his way to where he’d left Suzie, but he couldn’t see her. He looked around the bar and spotted her returning from the loo.
“Where are we headed?” he asked. Suzie pointed behind him. A teenage girl was preparing the circular table for two more diners.
“I decided on a salad,” said Suzie. “It’s still too warm for anything heavy. I ordered a steak for you, with a side salad and a children’s portion of chips. Was that okay?”
“You know me better than I know myself,” said Gus.
“Now you’re teasing me,” said Suzie.
The food arrived and was delicious as always.
“Do you want another glass of Chardonnay?” asked Gus after they had eaten. He waved his empty glass of Merlot to show that he was ready for another.
“You carry on, Gus,” said Suzie, “I’ll have one of those soft drinks that the Reverend enjoys.”
“Fair enough,” said Gus. “The gang are seated in the far corner. You make your way there, and I’ll fetch the drinks.”
Five minutes later, the six friends gathered in the corner. Around them, the busy bar emptied.
“I think someone wants to make a speech,” said Clemency.
Brett Penman stood and raised his pint glass.
“Thank you for making me so welcome since I arrived in this country. I knew my grandfather loved this part of the world. Until I saw things for myself, I imagined it was the countryside and the weird weather you guys get, but actually, it’s the people. I moved into my new place yesterday, and my belongings from Canada will be here before I know it. Tomorrow, I start a fresh chapter in my life, with my first day at the veterinary clinic in Wootton Bassett. I know what to expect. Lots of variety, dozens of anxious owners, and hundreds of temperamental pets. I can’t wait to get stuck in. Starting a new job can be a traumatic experience, but I know that I'll be coming home at the end of each day. That’s how I think of Urchfont, and Wiltshire now. It’s my home.”
“I’m sure we wish you the best in your new job, Brett,” said Gus. “The place must seem quiet without him, Bert?”
“I spent many years alone after my Cora passed, Mr Freeman. I know what to do.”
“I’m sure you do, Bert,” said Suzie.
Gus spotted the Reverend watching Irene North. Clemency was probably thinking the same as him. Bert wouldn’t get much time alone now that Brett was out of the way.
The landlord politely reminded his last few customers that he’d called last orders ten minutes earlier. Clemency Bentham was the first to make a move.
“My trusty steed is outside,” she said. “I’ll walk home with you, Irene, if you wish?”
“That would be most welcome, my dear,” said Irene.
“I’ll drive Bert home,” said Brett. “Are you two okay?”
“We walked along the lane to get here,” said Gus, “it won’t be a hardship to walk back.”
Gus waited for Suzie to pay another visit and watched as Brett helped his grandfather into his car's passenger seat. Clemency Bentham pushed her bicycle towards the turning to the housing estate where Irene lived, and Irene trotted beside her, still talking nineteen to the dozen.
“Ready?” said Suzie.
“I wonder if we’ve missed something,” said Gus.
“In what way?”
“The Reverend bringing her bicycle meant Brett couldn’t offer to take her home.”
“Where is this house he’s renting from Monty Jennings?”
“I don’t remember Brett telling us. Vera will know. I’ll ask her the next time I’m at London Road.”
“Perhaps it’s close to the rectory, and Brett creeps across the back gardens late at night.”
“I don’t think Clemency would approve,” said Gus, “let alone the Bishop of Salisbury.”
They walked along the lane in silence. Gus opened the front door, and they went indoors.
“What now?” Gus asked.
“Tomorrow is another day,” said Suzie.
Wednesday, 1st August 2018
“Will you be late tonight?” asked Suzie.
“Not if I can help it,” said Gus. “I plan to be in the office today. Alex and Lydia are interviewing Anna and Wayne Phillips this morning. Luke and Neil are in Corsham this morning and Chippenham this afternoon. I may need to send Blessing Umeh on the occasional short trip, but I should get home by half-past five with luck.”
“I might pop over to see Mum and Dad after work,” said Suzie. “I won’t be later than seven. Do you want to cook tonight?”
“It would be my pleasure. Nothing too heavy, though, right?”
“I do love you, Gus Freeman.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Gus. “Now, I’m getting out of bed. We have thirty-eight minutes to take a shower, have breakfast, and get dressed for work.”
As he stood in the shower, Gus tried to remember why thirty-eight minutes rang a bell.
Forty minutes later, he sat in the Focus and watched Suzie’s GTI edge into the lane.
He prayed the Highways Department hadn’t found another stretch of road between Urchfont and the Old Police Station that desperately needed resurfacing. He could still make the office by nine.
Suzie indicated right and turned into the London Road HQ with a brief wave.
Gus waved back and switched his thoughts to Alan Duncan. Why had he worried? It was plain sailing right into the town centre, and he parked the Focus next to Alex Hardy’s car. Good, they were upstairs already. Alex and Lydia didn’t need to leave for half an hour for their ten o’clock appointment with Wayne Phillips. As he got out of his car, Neil Davis edged into the bay on the other side of Alex.
“I’m so thoughtful, aren’t I, guv?” he said.
“You’ve left Blessing with a choice of the vacant bays at either end, Neil. Very astute.”
Neil and Gus travelled up in the lift. Alex and Lydia were hard at
work.
“I have a question to add to your list this morning, Alex,” said Gus. “Can you get Wayne Phillips to improve on the description he gave of the man he saw at the duck pond? What I’m after is his hair colour. Wayne said that the guy had a crewcut. Any extra hints he can add will be much appreciated.”
“Got it, guv,” said Alex.
“Anything new Luke and I need to look for, guv?” asked Neil.
Gus shook his head.
Blessing and Luke emerged from the lift.
“Left or right, Blessing?” asked Neil.
“I reversed in next to your car, Neil,” said Blessing. “I didn’t want to risk doing any more damage to the boss’s car than a long life has accomplished.”
“Are you ready to leave, Neil?” asked Luke. “We’ve got places to go, people to see.”
“Sorry, Luke. Yes, I’m on my way.”
Luke and Neil went downstairs and headed for the Corsham factory where Bob and Alan Duncan once worked.
“What should I focus on today, guv?” asked Blessing.
“You can follow those two part of the way to Leafield Industrial Estate, Blessing,” said Gus. “I want you to revisit Bob Duncan.”
“It’s Wednesday, guv,” said Blessing. “Elizabeth will be in bed all day.”
“I’m aware of that, but we need to make progress on this case, Blessing. To do that, I need copies of every photograph Bob has of Alan and his fellow submariners. That’s copies of the front and back, properly labelled so that we can match them. If he knows the first name for someone who appears under a nickname, make a note of it. Every scrap of information will help when we analyse the pocket diary. Bob may not know the answer, but was it Alan’s camera? Did he ask a passer-by to take a group snap, or was it one of his colleagues behind the shot? Keep pressing him for as much detail as he can remember.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Blessing. “What about Elizabeth?”
“If anyone could get something from her, it would be you, Blessing,” said Gus, “Don’t push Bob too hard on that subject. If she wants to speak, don’t stop her, but I doubt that she’ll come down from her bedroom.”
“Shall I call him first, guv?”
“No, Bob will want to delay matters until tomorrow. If you’re on the doorstep, looking like you mean business, he’ll be putty in your hands.”
“Got it, guv,” said Blessing. She was halfway to the lift.
“Blessing is a character, isn’t she guv?” said Lydia.
“I imagine you’ve seen a significant improvement since you met her in Leamington?”
“It’s you, guv. You bring out the best in people,” said Alex.
“I demand nothing less, Alex,” said Gus. “I find that works best.”
“We’ll get going, guv,” said Lydia.
“Good hunting,” said Gus.
With the place to himself, Gus opted for an early coffee. The quiet office would allow him to continue the musing he had started on the road into town earlier. After half an hour, the only conclusion he had reached was that as he’d never mastered a 3-D jigsaw, he was in trouble.
Gus stopped musing and flicked through the pages of the pocket diary. He produced a list of names from the address section at the back with postal and e-mail addresses, landline, and mobile numbers. Plus anything that Alan Duncan had recorded in the diary's daily area relating to a person on the list.
Gus skimmed the company’s internal meetings and briefly considered whether the killer was someone Alan had argued with at work. When Luke and Neil returned later this afternoon, he would check whether personnel they interviewed suggested a possible name. Gus checked meetings that Alan held with visitors from other companies, some from the UK, others from overseas. Gus hunted for a name not included in the address section. He couldn’t find one.
Where next? Gus wondered where DI Phil Banks was working these days. He remembered the two lead detectives in the original investigation were at opposite ends of the country, but couldn’t recall seeing details. He called Geoff Mercer at London Road.
“Good morning, Gus,” said Geoff. “How can I help?”
“Do you remember Phil Banks, Geoff? Did you two ever cross paths?”
“Gosh, yes, frequently. You know me, I trod on Phil’s toes trying to get my face in a more prominent spot in any photographs taken after a successful court case. He hasn’t spoken to me in years.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Gus. “Perhaps you’re not the right person to ask then. I wanted to know where to find him.”
“Bradford,” said Geoff. “West Yorkshire Police. He moved north around eight years ago. Phil Banks operates out of Trafalgar House. He worked on the Duncan case that you’ve just started on, didn’t he?”
“Yes, Geoff,” said Gus, “I wanted to get any background on the main players that didn’t make it into the murder file. If it was important, they shouldn’t have left it out, but I know there are so many imponderables. Banks was there, talking to the victim’s partner, his family, and friends. We’ve ploughed through the paperwork and crime scene data and carried out interviews with the people I’ve mentioned. However, I know that we’re only scratching the surface at present. I want an insider’s opinion of what one or more of them could be hiding.”
“I’ve got the number for Trafalgar House here, Gus,” said Geoff. “Banks was a Detective Inspector when he ran that investigation. He’s moved up the ladder since then, so watch what you say. Phil was always a tad precious. He won’t give you the time of day if he thinks you’re dissing him.”
“I’ll be on my best behaviour, Geoff,” said Gus, noting the number that Geoff gave him. “Shall I mention your name, and say you suggested he was the best man for me to speak to?”
“Don’t you dare; that’s a sure-fire way to end any conversation before it begins.”
Gus was still smiling when Geoff Mercer ended the call. It was too easy to wind him up; and too hard to resist an opportunity. An efficient sounding officer responded at Trafalgar House on the second ring.
“Is it possible to speak to DCI Banks, please?” asked Gus.
“Who shall I say is calling, sir, and what does it concern?”
“I’m calling on behalf of Acting Chief Constable Truelove of Wiltshire Police. Freeman is the name. My team is reviewing a case from 2008 that DCI Banks handled when he worked at Chippenham.”
“One moment, Mr Freeman,”
Gus recognised the piece of music that assaulted his ears at once. The Kaiser Chiefs were a local band, and for the West Yorkshire force to use them as background music when they put customers on hold was commendable. Gus wondered whether ‘I Predict A Riot’ sent the right message, though.
“Mr Freeman?”
“Is that DCI Phil Banks?”
“It is, what was it you were after?”
“Your impressions, sir,” said Gus. “What did you make of Alan Duncan?”
“What’s your background, Freeman?”
“Please call me Gus, sir. When I retired after forty years with Wiltshire Police, I was a DI in Salisbury. Kenneth Truelove rang me several months ago and asked me to head up a Crime Review Team. The Duncan case is our eleventh.”
“Dear God, you’re that Freeman. I kept hearing stories when I worked in Chippenham. Some of my superiors said you were a legend, and others reckoned you were lucky. How many cases did you say your team has handled?”
“Ten so far, sir,” said Gus.
“Any joy?”
“Nine out of ten, sir,” said Gus, “but we live in hope on the one that got away.”
“Nobody’s that lucky,” said Phil Banks.
“Thank you, sir,” said Gus.
“Well, I remember the Duncan case, of course, Gus,” Banks continued. “When you asked what I made of him, I thought it was a daft question that must have come from a civilian. Duncan was lying dead in a field when I first saw him. I got the call from Sam Hulbert, the uniformed officer that found the body. The police surgeo
n arrived on scene five minutes before DS Connor Tallentire, and myself. Our forensic people were on standby, but the night was falling fast. Preservation of the scene was paramount. Connor and I had to give SOCO the maximum opportunity for forensic recovery. The police surgeon was non-committal over the cause of death. Sam Hulbert had intimated suicide in his phone call to me. I decided we should establish a perimeter, close things down tight for the night once the body had left for the mortuary and get stuck in at first light. It would have taken hours to get proper equipment set up in a field miles from anywhere.”
“I don’t think I would have done any different, sir,” said Gus. “Whoever strangled Alan Duncan wore gloves, and it wasn’t until the surgeon examined the body more closely that he confirmed it was a homicide.”
“When they returned at five in the morning forensics discovered little evidence that might provide us with a magic bullet,” continued DCI Banks. “They found no blood, no weapon of any kind. The ground was hard and dry. There were signs that small animals had scuttled across the grass during the night, but the killer left nothing to lead us to them. We examined the ground from where the body had lain to the gateway twenty yards away. There were no fingerprints on the five-barred gate. The lane was dry and dusty. If the killer parked their car while they waited for Alan Duncan, then they chose a spot where there was no risk of leaving incriminating tyre tracks.”
“How did you determine that the murder took place in the field?” asked Gus.
“The mobile phone found on the ground beside Alan Duncan was our only clue. Okay, the murder might have occurred in the lane, and the killer dragged or carried the body perhaps thirty or forty yards and dumped it out of sight. But we found no drag marks in the lane or the field. If Duncan’s phone fell from his hand or his pocket during a struggle in the lane, we didn’t think the killer would bother to pick it up and move it. If it had been a robbery, they would have taken it.”
“What do you think were the sequence of events, then, sir?” asked Gus.
“The killer sat in his car until Alan Duncan came into view. DS Tallentire drove our car thirty yards further along Ham Lane and parked. I stood by the gateway and walked backwards until I saw him flash his headlights.”