A Normal November: The Freeman Files Series: Book 15 Read online

  “I’ll keep an eye out for the office mafia and collect my treat after meeting with Kenneth,” said Gus. “How are things in your world, Vera?”

  “Monty’s having issues with several of his tenants,” said Vera. “I’m glad I’m out of it. You remember what he was like; a prince one year and a pauper the next. He’s panicking over what the eventual Brexit deal will hold.”

  “I’m guessing several properties he bought-to-let got snapped up by people from Poland and the Baltic states,” said Gus. “If the divorce is painful, there’s a risk they’ll return home, and he’ll lose a significant proportion of his income.”

  “Exactly,” said Vera. “Some of the younger women have jumped ship already, without clearing their rent arrears.”

  “I’m surprised Monty stood for any arrears, based on what you’ve told me.”

  “He’s a single man these days, Gus,” said Vera. “I suspect he had an ulterior motive.”

  “Has he contacted you?” asked Gus.

  “Monty knows better than to try anything like that with me, Gus,” said Vera. “No, he’s sneaky. He dropped by my parents’ home to give them a sob story about how hard life was for a hard-working businessman in the UK.”

  “Monty didn’t ask for financial help, but he sowed the seeds,” said Gus.

  “That’s typical of Monty,” said Vera. “It’s always someone else’s fault when a get-rich scheme turns turtle. My father sensed Monty felt this latest downturn in his fortunes wouldn’t have happened if we were still married.”

  “No doubt Monty got short shrift from your father?”.

  “My father bailed Monty out frequently, as you know. He won’t receive any more help from that quarter. I feel sorry for Monty, but he brings it on himself.”

  “You were married to the guy for half the time you’ve been on this earth, Vera. So it’s only natural you still take an interest in what’s happening with him. He’s the father of your children. What’s done is done. You have your life to lead now, and Monty has to fight his own battles.”

  “You’d better get over to Kenneth’s office,” said Vera. “You’ll be late. Thanks for taking the trouble to listen.”

  “What are friends for, Vera?” said Gus. He spotted Kassie Trotter pointing to the second and third drawers on a filing cabinet by her desk and gave her a reassuring wave.

  Geoff Mercer emerged from Kenneth’s old office and caught Gus before reaching the Chief Constable’s door.

  “Any progress?” he asked.

  “With Luke Sherman, d’you mean?” asked Gus. “I haven’t spoken with him this morning.”

  “Don’t leave it too long, Gus,” said Geoff. “West Mercia was keen to secure a deal when they put the feelers out to me a while back. So if they hear a whisper Luke’s unsettled in his CRT role and interested in a move to the Midlands, they’ll snap him up before you can say West Bromwich Albion.”

  “We’ve got ages then, Geoff,” said Gus.

  The Chief Constable was at his desk when they walked through the door.

  Gus handed the Kendal Guthrie file to Kenneth Truelove.

  “Another one bites the dust, sir,”

  “Mercer tells me this success could have come at a high price, Freeman. You must keep better control over your people. That’s not your only fault. At the outset, I said you needed to take a serving officer with you whenever you interviewed a witness or a suspect. I received a complaint from Helen Guthrie at the weekend. She thought your manner surly and confrontational.”

  “It takes two to tango, sir,” said Gus. “She started it, wheeling in her farm manager and solicitor for what was supposed to be an informal chat. They weren’t interested in offering any help to find her father’s killer.”

  “I hope you won’t make a habit of flying solo, Freeman,” said the Chief Constable. “It sends the wrong message to the junior members of your team, evidenced by the calamity that almost befell DC Umeh.”

  “I’ll be more cautious in the future, sir,” said Gus, deciding not to mention he’d also visited Dave Vickers and Oscar Wallington alone the same day.

  “How is DC Umeh now?” asked Kenneth.

  “Fighting fit, sir,” said Gus. “Blessing had Thursday and Friday off work. I believe she drove over to visit her parents yesterday and seemed in fine form this morning.”

  “You should remind DC Umeh that her wellbeing is important to us, Freeman. If she needs to speak to someone about the emotional arousal from the events of Wednesday evening, then you must make sure that happens. Blessing may look fine on the surface, but frights such as that can lead to PTSD.”

  “Got it, sir,” said Gus. “I understand she’s spoken to someone already. From snatches of conversation I caught in the office this morning, good progress has been made, and someone has a firm grip on her emotions.”

  “Right, well then, perhaps we can park that matter for now. I want you both to watch this CCTV clip. That’s if I can remember how to work this blessed remote control. The quality of the image isn’t great, but you will get the gist of what’s occurring.”

  Gus and Geoff watched the screen, and Kenneth provided a running commentary.

  “We have a couple of likely lads, bold as brass, stealing a catalytic converter in broad daylight. This white van pulls up behind the target vehicle; its driver and passenger get out. The passenger does a walk-by to look at the car and check for nosy passers-by. Then the driver fetches a jack from the back of the van. He sets to work at the side of the car. The passenger removes a saw from inside his hooded jacket, and off he goes. You don’t need to put a clock on it. Thirty-one seconds for a piece of kit that could fetch at least one thousand pounds depending on the damage caused as they remove it.”

  “Inside two minutes, they were in the van and driving away,” said Geoff Mercer.

  “Although the image was poor, even I could read the number plate of the van,” said Gus.

  “False plates,” said Kenneth, “belonging to a VW Passat reported stolen seven weeks before the theft. Both men wore hooded jackets, and it proved impossible to identify them.”

  “Both men were white,” said Geoff. “The driver was perhaps six feet tall, while his colleague was six to eight inches shorter. We can make assumptions about their build, despite the baggy clothing, but there’s nothing for the Hub to use to match them with anyone in our databases.”

  “When and where did this theft occur?” asked Gus.

  “Towards the end of October, two years ago,” said Kenneth.

  “There must be more to this than the theft of a few car parts,” said Gus.

  “They may not look much,” scoffed the Chief Constable, “but it’s big business. Those catalytic converters contain two valuable metals, rhodium and palladium, and the price of those metals is on the increase. That’s attracted the interest of organised crime gangs who have acquired specialist tools to remove converters from cars. We’ve visited the local scrap metal dealers, warning them to be mindful when offered converters or exhaust systems. Some will contact us if they suspect they could have been stolen, but other dealers aren’t so scrupulous.”

  “Where did the theft take place?” asked Gus. “Those buildings in the background look familiar. Are we in Swindon?”

  “Just off Station Road,” said Geoff.

  “That is brazen,” said Gus. “Right, can you tell me why I had to watch this CCTV clip?”

  “I want you to take a second look at the murder of Richard Chaloner,” said Kenneth, handing Gus a copy of the file. “He owned a garage, perhaps half a mile from where this theft occurred. Chaloner was forty-four years old and had recently married a forty-one-year-old divorcee, Eve Allsopp. Chaloner had been a single man until the wedding, which took place a mere six months before he died. The victim was last seen alive at ten to six on Monday, the seventh of November 2016. Chaloner ran a small business that handled car body repairs, MOT’s, that sort of thing. He had two employees. Matt Merchant, twenty-nine, and Harry Simpkins, sixty-
one. Both men had worked for Chaloner for over ten years. Simpkins left work at the usual time at half-past five and walked to his home in Alfred Street.”

  “I wonder why Merchant stayed late?” asked Gus.

  “I’ll come to that in a moment, Freeman. Chaloner cycled to and from work,” said the Chief Constable. “Richard and Eve Chaloner had moved into a house on Shrivenham Road, the other side of the County Ground from the railway station.”

  “The County Ground is where Swindon Town play, Gus,” said Geoff.

  “I’m not a fan,” said Gus, “but I know where they play, Geoff. Gary Mallinder and Ian Hewson went to watch a match there. The stadium is only ten minutes from Gentle Touch, the massage parlour where Laura Mallinder worked. I’m familiar with the district.”

  Kenneth Truelove continued with his introduction to the new case.

  “As Merchant was leaving, he spotted Chaloner’s bicycle had a puncture. He went back inside to the office where his boss was checking invoices and completing worksheets. Chaloner went outside with Merchant to inspect the damage. It wasn’t a puncture; someone had deliberately slashed the tyre. Matt Merchant offered his boss a lift home, but Chaloner told him he’d finish the paperwork, fix the problem himself, and he’d see him in the morning.”

  “Did Merchant see anyone near the garage when he left?” asked Gus.

  “At ten to six on a miserable, wet, Monday evening in November,” said Kenneth. “What do you think?”

  “Too early for dog walkers,” said Gus. “Anyone with any sense would have been tucked up indoors eating a warm meal.”

  “Matt Merchant was first to arrive at eight o’clock the following day,” said Kenneth. “it did not surprise him to see the boss’s bicycle in its usual spot. He didn’t give it a second glance, parked his car, and entered the garage by the side door.”

  “Did he have a key?” asked Gus.

  “Both Merchant and Simpkins had keys for the side door and the office,” said Kenneth. “Whoever arrived first went inside and got things ready for the working day. Chaloner was a good boss, according to his employees. His customers appreciated the warm, friendly atmosphere he encouraged, and repeat business kept the little enterprise busy. The side door was open, and Merchant looked towards the office, expecting to find Chaloner sitting at his desk. The office was empty, but the lights were on. Merchant heard a sound outside. It was Harry Simpkins arriving for work. Simpkins flicked the light switches to illuminate the main part of the building as soon as he stepped inside to join Merchant. They saw Richard Chaloner’s body lying between two cars they had worked on the previous afternoon. Simpkins walked towards the body, but Merchant told him to stay clear. He went outside and used his mobile to phone the police.”

  “It makes a change for a member of the public to preserve the integrity of a crime scene,” said Gus. “Merchant sounds an upright citizen, am I right?”

  “He had a few brushes with the law as a juvenile,” said Kenneth, “but marriage and three kids have had a positive effect.”

  “He hasn’t had time to go off the rails,” said Gus. “Hold it a moment. I’m forgetting someone. You said Chaloner married six months before he died. Why didn’t his wife raise the alarm when he didn’t arrive home?”

  “Eve was in Halkidiki with three friends from work on a seven day hen night,” said Kenneth. “They’re all the rage these days. I was lucky to get a three hour stag do.”

  “Me too,” said Gus and Geoff in unison.

  “That must have burst the party balloons when news filtered through,” said Gus. “Who caught this case from Gablecross?”

  “The SIO was DI Raj Sengupta,” said the Chief Constable.

  “Ah yes, the cybercrime team leader,” said Gus. “He worked with Jack Sanders. Our paths have crossed.”

  “I wouldn’t want this to escape these four walls,” said Kenneth, “but Sengupta is in a better place these days. He performs a valuable role with the cybercrime team, but he was hopeless out in the field.”

  “Colonel Sanders was an old school copper,” said Gus. “I can’t see him and Raj seeing eye-to-eye. Who else did Raj have on his team?”

  “DS Tom Spencer,” said Geoff Mercer. “He’s from the same mould as Jake Latimer. Rough around the edges, plenty of local knowledge, and not afraid of hard work.”

  “When you read the murder file, Freeman, you’ll see that DS Spencer did most of the leg work. Stuart Fitzwalter was the police surgeon who attended the murder scene at the garage. He determined Chaloner died from a single gunshot to the chest. His killer was no further than three feet away. The time of death was between the hours of six and seven in the evening. The killer must have turned off the main lights as they left the garage but left the office lights on.”

  “Any evidence left at the scene? What was the motive?” asked Gus.

  “Forensics found no fingerprints,” said Kenneth Truelove. “One possible chance would have been the light switches, but Harry Simpkins obliterated any hope of that. DS Spencer always believed the killer wore gloves, so maybe Simpkins was off the hook. As for motive, Chaloner’s wallet was stolen, which his wife believed would have contained less than one hundred pounds. A gold chain her husband always wore around his neck was missing. The killer took a bank card for the garage’s business account from the victim’s desk and used it to withdraw four hundred pounds from an ATM in the town centre later that evening. Merchant stopped the card on Tuesday morning. The killer never attempted to use it again.”

  “What happened? Did the victim reveal the PIN without a fight?” asked Gus.

  “There were no signs of a struggle,” said Kenneth. “Remember, when Merchant left on Monday evening, Chaloner was working in the office. So the card was likely lying on top of the desk when the killer walked in. Matt Merchant confirmed Chaloner had the PIN written on a scrap of paper pinned to the notice board,” said Kenneth.

  “Terrific,” said Gus. “Chaloner was a very trusting boss. With security that lax, both employees could have helped themselves whenever they pleased.”

  “Come on, Gus,” said Geoff. “Merchant said it was a happy work environment. Someone withdrew the money on Monday evening. If Chaloner hadn’t died, he would have spotted the missing money once he checked his business account. Small firms such as that live hand-to-mouth these days. I doubt very much if the working balance would have hidden a four hundred pound black hole.”

  “How did DI Sengupta approach the case?” asked Gus.

  “He treated it as a robbery in the first instance. It seemed logical,” said Kenneth.

  “An armed robbery in a busy part of Swindon isn’t an everyday occurrence,” said Gus. “Why did the killer slash the bicycle tyre?”

  “The police believed that was a tactic to keep Chaloner from leaving with his employees,” said Kenneth. “The killer waited until Merchant left the premises. He wanted to guarantee Chaloner was alone.”

  “What was Sengupta’s first move?” asked Gus.

  “Sengupta organised his uniformed officers on a house-to-house, searching for eyewitnesses. Not to the murder, but someone tampering with Chaloner’s bicycle or acting suspiciously in the garage's vicinity.”

  “Why didn’t Chaloner wheel his bike indoors?” asked Gus. “There must have been room, surely?”

  “Force of habit,” said Kenneth. “Before the wedding, he’d lived in Pinehurst. He had made the two-mile journey every weekday since he opened the business. His bike wasn’t one of these top-of-the-range items that demand the rider wear lycra. Instead, it was a bog-standard machine with a comfortable saddle and panniers. Although Chaloner secured it to a metal fence while he was inside working, he never dreamt anyone would want to steal it. The bike was visible from the pavement, but whoever slashed the tyre had to walk past Merchant’s car to reach it.”

  “Where does Merchant live?” asked Gus.

  “Elmina Road, with wife Jess, and their three children,” said Kenneth.

  “Matt Merchant was y
oung and presumably fit,” said Gus. “Why drive to work from Elmina Road? It can’t be further than a ten-minute walk away. Harry Simpkins walked from Alfred Street, which was as far in the opposite direction.”

  “Merchant played six-a-side football on Monday evenings,” said Kenneth. “He had a fifteen-minute drive out towards Wootton Bassett via Great Western Way. His teammates confirmed he was at the Gerard Buxton Sports Arena between the hours of six-thirty to eight-thirty. His alibi was set in concrete, as was Harry Simpkins. Harry’s wife, Thelma, said he reached home at twenty minutes to six, as usual, and was eating his dinner at six. They walked the dog together at six-thirty and sat in front of the TV to watch The One Show at seven o’clock. Harry never left the house until ten to eight the following day to walk to work.”

  “Okay, so what did the interviews with the employees and the house-to-house enquiries throw up?” asked Gus.

  “Three persons of interest,” said the Chief Constable. “The first man was white, thirty-five to forty-five years old, wearing white overalls. Simpkins told police he turned up at the garage on Monday morning at around eleven o’clock. He hadn’t made an appointment and asked Richard Chaloner to look at an intermittent electrical fault on his van. Chaloner pointed out all three of them were busy at present on jobs booked in for regular customers. So they didn’t have time to stop. Simpkins was underneath the car he was working on and couldn’t see what happened next, but raised voices suggested the guy in white overalls wasn’t happy with his boss’s reply. When Simpkins next stood up, the van and its driver had left without getting what he wanted. Chaloner was in the office, calling a customer to say his car was ready to collect. He didn’t elaborate on the argument with either Merchant or Simpkins.”

  “Did the police find this painter and decorator, or whatever this tradesperson was?” asked Gus.

  “Harry Simpkins was lying on a trolley under the car, Freeman,” said Kenneth. “Hardly in a position to identify anyone or spot any writing on the side of the van. It was Merchant who gave the general description of the unexpected visitor to the police. He, too, continued working towards the rear of the garage on a customer’s car while the man stayed on the premises. Although he overheard snatches of the conversation, he couldn’t give the detectives a name.”