Buried Secrets

by Ted Tayler

  Alex and Lydia returned to the car park.

  “You didn’t ask him about the old days that Tilly mentioned,” said Lydia.

  “I’d seen enough,” said Alex. “Did you see the prices of their main course?”

  “If you want the best, you have to pay for it,” said Lydia.

  Alex drove them along the lane, keeping a weather-eye open for Nipper jumping out from a gateway, but they reached the chapel unscathed.

  Lydia knocked on the wooden door of the cottage next door. There was no knocker or bell.

  “Are you the police officers?” said the plump, bespectacled lady who opened the door.

  Lydia could tell that Mrs Spiers had popped in to warn Mrs Huggins that they were on their way. Alex reckoned that Tilly and Val attended the primary school in the village together, shortly after WWII.

  “We are, Mrs Huggins,” said Alex. “I’m DS Hardy, and my colleague is Lydia Logan Barre.”

  “Tilly said you were after that car I saw,” said Val Huggins joining them outside on the front path. “I told Mr Banks at the time that I saw a Vauxhall Zafira several times a week in the weeks before poor Mr Duncan’s murder.”

  “Was this in the village, or just on Cuttle Lane?” asked Alex.

  “It drove up and down this lane,” said Val Huggins, waving her tea towel to demonstrate. “You didn’t get many people using the lanes. You needed to be a local to know they were there. Of course, more people drive on them in the past couple of years since they started that satnav nonsense. We never had cars using the lanes as a rat-run to reach the A420 when my Vic was alive.”

  “If I showed you a photograph, would you recognise the driver?” asked Alex.

  “It was a long time ago,” said Val Huggins. “Go on; I’ll give it a go.”

  Alex showed her the photo of Drew Taggart. She shook her head slowly.

  “Don’t think that was him,” she said. “He had a different look. I’d better be careful what I say, but there’s a place near the roundabout on Bath Road as you enter Chippenham. One of those car hand wash places where half a dozen lads jump on your car as soon as come to a halt.”

  “We know what you mean, Mrs Huggins,” said Alex. “What about this chap?”

  “That’s the right look,” said Val. “I couldn’t swear to it in court, it was so long ago, but that could well be the driver. Was he something to do with what happened to Mr Duncan?”

  “We don’t know, Mrs Huggins,” said Alex. “If we could identify him and find him, we’d like to talk to him.”

  “Do you still get joggers on the lane, Mrs Huggins,” said Lydia.

  “The younger element loves that health kick stuff, don’t they? My Vic played football in the winter and cricket in the summer. Add that to forty hours a week on shifts at Westinghouse in Chippenham, and he didn’t have time or energy for much more exercise. What time is it?”

  Alex realised it was much later than they hoped.

  “You’ll catch Greg if you drive into the village later,” said Val Huggins. “He used to run faster ten years ago, but Greg was running before Mr Duncan moved into the village.”

  “Does he live on Cuttle Lane, Mrs Huggins?” asked Lydia.

  “No, Greg lives opposite the bus stop by the duck pond at number eighteen. You can’t miss it.”

  Alex drove them into the village.

  “Let’s hope he’s in,” he moaned. “We’ll miss Wayne Phillips at this rate, and I’m getting hungry.”

  A bald man in his late sixties opened the door to number eighteen.

  “Greg?” asked Alex.

  “Greg Meakin, that’s me. What’s this about?”

  Alex explained who they were and why they had called on him.

  “I saw Alan most Wednesday evenings,” said Greg. “The police interviewed me at the time. I was running on Challows Lane when he passed me. Alan was alive and well at six-thirty eight, or thereabouts.”

  “Did you ever speak to one another?” asked Lydia.

  “Nodded at one another,” said Greg. “Alan wasn’t much of a conversationalist.”

  Unlike Tilly Spiers and Val Huggins thought Alex.

  “Did the police ask whether you saw anyone else?” asked Lydia.

  “What, someone running with Alan, or after him, d’you mean? No, I saw no one else pounding the pavements that night. Alan was a loner. When he first moved into the village, I asked him if he fancied company on his runs. He wasn’t interested.”

  “Was there much traffic at that time of the evening?” asked Alex.

  “One or two cars, I suppose,” said Greg.

  “You don’t recall seeing anything or anyone unusual?”

  Greg shook his head.

  “Can’t help you with that one, I’m afraid.”

  “Never mind, Mr Meakin,” said Alex. “Thanks for your time.”

  Alex and Lydia walked away.

  “Someone or something unusual,” said Greg Meakin. “I can’t remember anything that night, but I spotted an unfamiliar car over the road at the weekend. A bloke parked on the other side of the pond for four hours in the afternoon. Never saw the car before or since.”

  “When you say the weekend,” said Alex, “you mean four days before Alan Duncan died.”

  “It must have been,” said Greg. “I couldn’t make the bloke out. He just sat in his car for hours on end and never moved. I went for a run later in the day, and he had gone when I got back.”

  “Did you see him outside the car at any point?” asked Alex.

  “No,” said Greg. Lydia sensed he was nervous.

  “I noticed your Velux roof window, Mr Meakin. Do you have another hobby, apart from jogging?”

  “Astronomy,” said Greg. “I have a telescope in the bedroom upstairs. I don’t make a habit of using it for anything else. But that day I ran upstairs to take a closer look. He drove a Vauxhall Zafira, and I got a good look at him through the windscreen.”

  Alex showed Greg Meakin three photos.

  “Anyone you recognise here?” he asked.

  Greg Meakin pointed at the mystery man.

  “That’s the feller,” he said.

  “Many thanks, Mr Meakin,” said Alex, “we’ll let you get on. Will you go for a run later?”

  “Not tonight,” said Greg. “I damaged my left ankle at the weekend.”

  “Bad luck,” said Lydia.

  “Not really,” said Greg. “At my age, I should know better than to climb ladders to clean my windows.”

  Alex and Lydia returned to the car and left the picturesque village of Biddestone behind them.

  “Meakin can’t be short of money, Alex,” said Lydia. “He owns a cottage in a prime spot, has a new car parked outside, and those high-powered telescopes don’t come cheap. Why doesn’t he pay for a window cleaner?”

  “He seemed nervous admitting that he used that telescope to check out our mystery man. It makes you wonder what else he can see from that window. I don’t think Gus will want us to worry about that, though. Meakin had nothing to do with Duncan’s murder.”

  “Funny how things turn out, isn’t it?” said Alex. “We’re on our way to ask Wayne Phillips if he can identify someone from a handful of photos. That’s redundant now. When we left the office, I thought the Crown would be our only chance of finding an eyewitness. Inside forty-five minutes, three villagers came out of the woodwork with useful information.”

  “To be fair to Banks and Tallentire,” said Lydia, “they spoke to Tilly Spiers and Val Huggins. The murder file mentioned a woman who saw the Zafira several times in the weeks before the murder. A jogger confirmed Duncan was alive at around twenty to seven. As for the mystery man, the best description the police received was from Wayne Phillips. That was so bland that it could fit anyone.”

  “I hope Wayne Phillips is still home when we get there,” said Alex. “It’s twenty past six already.”

  Alex stopped outside the house on Woodpecker Mews for the second time that day

  Way
ne Phillips appeared in the doorway with a sports bag in his hand.

  “Don’t tell me you want to talk to me again,” he groaned. “Can’t Anna help you?”

  “We’ll only detain you for a minute, Mr Phillips,” said Alex. “We have several photographs for you to view. Recognise anyone?”

  Wayne dropped his sports bag on the driveway and looked over Alex’s shoulder.

  “That guy three from the end on the right,” said Wayne. “He’s the man who waved at Alan from the other side of the pond. No doubts. Who is he?”

  “Not a clue,” said Alex. “But you’re the fourth person in the last hour to confirm they saw him in Biddestone in the weeks leading up to your friend’s murder.”

  “Alan knew that bloke,” said Wayne. “Why he denied it, I don’t know.”

  “Did Alan ever talk about his career in the Navy?” Lydia asked.

  “I told your colleague this morning that Alan loved the life but had had enough,” said Wayne looking at his watch. “Don’t you two talk to one another?”

  “Things can move quickly on a case like this,” said Alex. “We debriefed this morning’s meetings with our boss, but there’s been no time to update one another on the detail we got from you and Anna.”

  Lydia didn’t quit. The five-a-side football could wait.

  “Did Alan ever mention any of the places he visited when he was on leave?”

  “I took Anna to Paris for a romantic weekend a year or two after I first met Alan. We visited the Eiffel Tower. Alan said he’d been to Paris with his mates, but they visited Longchamp to watch the Prix de L’Arc de Triomphe. Wherever we went, Alan could always go one better. He’d visited the Pyramids, Sydney Harbour, Cape Town. You name it. Well, that’s what the adverts said wasn’t it. Join the Navy to see the world.”

  “Did he never mention any of the mates he went with on these trips?” asked Lydia.

  “Never,” said Wayne. “Can I go now? It would pay you to put a name to that bloke in the photograph rather than waste your time pestering me. It strikes me he’s your killer. He’s had a ten-year head start.”

  Wayne Phillips grabbed his sports bag and threw it in the back of his car. Alex and Lydia stood by their car and watched him reverse off the driveway and speed away.

  “He wasn’t happy was he?” said Alex.

  “And he was breaking the speed limit,” said Lydia.

  “Let’s get home, freshen up, and go out for something to eat. I’ve had enough for today.”

  In Urchfont, Gus had spent an hour at the allotment after driving home from the office. It was an excellent spot to sit and run through the events of the day.

  Gus hoped Alex and Lydia continued to make progress in Biddestone and Chippenham. He was confident that Blessing would offer more possibilities with the Hub’s help in the morning.

  Although he couldn’t see a clear path to the killer as yet, today’s events had raised his hopes of success.

  “Evening, Mr Freeman,” said Bert Penman. “It won’t get done if you sit and look at it.”

  “Ah, Bert, good to see you,” said Gus. “No, gardening and detecting follow a similar path. I’ve sat here, mulling over our latest case. Perhaps I need to stop thinking and do something. If only I knew what.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find the right course of action, Mr Freeman,” said Bert. “Where’s Miss Ferris this evening?”

  “Suzie wanted to visit her parents,” said Gus. “I’m sure she’ll be home if I wander up the lane in a few minutes.”

  “A fine young woman is Miss Ferris,” said Bert.

  “You’ll get no arguments from me on that score, Bert,” said Gus. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard how Brett’s first day went?”

  “Not yet,” said Bert, “He promised to ring me later. I suppose I’ll see him at the weekend.”

  “What’s the Reverend up to this evening? Will she join you in the Lamb later?”

  “When Brett ran me home from the pub the other evening, he mentioned a trip to the cinema,” said Bert.

  “Brett and the Reverend? I’m pleased to hear it,” said Gus. He made a note to tell Suzie that the budding romance hadn’t crashed and burned.

  “It’s just as well Irene has got no plans to go somewhere different,” said Bert. “I could garden here on my own six months from now.”

  “I don’t plan to move, Bert,” said Gus. “I’ll keep you company.”

  Bert shook his head.

  “I’ll lift a few potatoes, and see what I can harvest for the weekend, Mr Freeman. Time to get off home for you, I reckon.”

  Gus left Bert grumbling in the background and returned to the bungalow.

  Suzie was home.

  “How were John and Jackie,” said Gus.

  “You had better come in and sit down,” said Suzie.

  Gus went into the lounge. Suzie was sitting on the settee with a box of tissues in her lap.

  “What is it?” asked Gus. “Is it bad news?”

  Suzie patted the seat beside her. Gus sat.

  “Is it one of your horses, darling?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” said Suzie. “I didn’t go to see Mum and Dad this evening. I needed to confirm something. I’ve used the birth control pill ever since I was eighteen, so things don’t always run like clockwork. The first time I missed a period, I panicked, but it’s happened on odd occasions since. I dismiss it as another hiccup and carry on. This time, things felt different. Tonight, I learned why. I’m around six weeks pregnant; I’m so sorry, Gus.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought it was a crying matter,” said Gus wrapping his arms around her. “No method of contraception is foolproof, except celibacy, and that was never an option. What happened?”

  “It wasn’t deliberate,” said Suzie. “You have to believe that. I learned this evening that the oral contraceptive has a failure rate of four percent. I’m certain I didn’t forget to take one. It was just bad luck.”

  “There you go again,” said Gus. “Why is it bad luck?”

  “I don’t know whether I’m ready to be a mother,” said Suzie. “I asked you a fortnight ago whether you and Tess had wanted children. You can’t possibly want one now.”

  “I want whatever you want, Suzie,” said Gus kissing her on top of her head. He heard another tissue leave the box. “I love you. Nothing’s going to alter that. I’ll support your decision whatever you decide.”

  “Why are you so understanding?”

  “I don’t know any other way to be, Suzie. This is as new to me as to you. It’s exciting and frightening at the same time.”

  “I need time to think, Gus,” said Suzie.

  “Take all the time you need, darling,” said Gus.

  Thursday, 2nd August 2018

  Gus left the bungalow at eight-twenty and drove to the Old Police Station office.

  Somehow, he had to get his head straight and concentrate on the Duncan case. When he arrived in the car park, he remembered that Blessing was on her way from Worton to London Road. The others hadn’t arrived yet, so he had the place to himself when he got upstairs.

  Alex and Lydia arrived five minutes later. Alex gave Gus a summary of what had happened yesterday evening. At one minute to nine, Luke Sherman and Neil Davis exited the lift. Neil seemed pleased with himself.

  “I can’t wait to tell you the news,” said Neil. “Melody’s expecting. We waited until the twelve-week scan to get confirmation that everything was progressing as it should. The doctor told her last night that there was no reason to worry about a recurrence of the problems we had before. Mother and baby are healthy.”

  “That’s splendid news, Neil,” said Lydia. “Give Melody our love. It is good news, isn’t it, guv?”

  “I told Gus when we were on the nature reserve two weeks ago that we were waiting until we were sure,” said Neil. “It hasn’t come as a surprise.”

  “When will you let Blessing know?” asked Luke.

  “Blimey,” said Neil. “She’ll think I
deliberately kept her out of the loop. I’ll call her at London Road in a while.”

  “Back to business,” said Gus. “Neil, you and Luke must update the Freeman files with what you learned from those meetings in Corsham and Chippenham yesterday. Alex and Lydia have some tidying up to do on yesterday evening’s matters. Can you give Luke and Neil the gist of what you told me earlier?”

  “Yes, guv,” said Alex. “We’re no closer to identifying the Eastern European gentleman in the photograph that Blessing brought from the Duncan home. However, Wayne Phillips and two village folk are positive he’s the man who stalked Alan Duncan in the weeks before he died. Tilly Spiers, a dog walker, placed him at the Crown on Wednesday the twenty-first of May 2008. Wayne Phillips and Greg Meakin saw him by the duck pond on Saturday the twenty-fourth. Greg was the jogger who told DI Banks that Duncan ran past him at twenty to seven on Wednesday the twenty-eighth. One more witness, Val Huggins, saw the Zafira on Cuttle Lane frequently and that photograph was the only one that resembled the driver.”

  “What’s our next move, guv?” asked Alex.

  “Is there anyone we haven’t spoken to that could add to our knowledge?” asked Gus.

  “Connor Tallentire, guv,” said Luke.

  “Lady Davinia, guv,” said Neil.

  “I’d better handle her,” said Gus. “Perhaps you could make the arrangements and accompany me, Luke.”

  “No problem, guv,” said Luke.

  Gus headed for the restroom. Alex remembered something from yesterday evening.

  “What do you know about the Crown, Neil?” asked Alex.

  “Now, or in the dim and distant past, Alex?”

  “Way back, in the Seventies,” said Alex.

  “My Dad never drank there,” said Neil. “He spent most of his time in pubs in Devizes and Swindon. Why do you ask?”

  “Our dog walker hinted that the place had an unsavoury reputation,” said Alex.

  “Times have changed, Alex,” said Neil. “A pub like that, in the middle of nowhere, on the main road, it was probably a haunt for people looking for a certain type of company.”