Silent Terror Page 4

  “Come on, Freeman,” snapped Kenneth Truelove. “I haven’t got all day to watch you day-dreaming.”

  The ACC stood in the doorway of his office. Gus noticed that the dress uniform he’d mentioned last week was getting an outing, and there was no denying it. The ACC was carrying excess timber.

  Gus sensed Vera Butler and Kassie Trotter hovering for a quick chat before he disappeared behind the ACC’s door. If he’d left home a minute earlier, perhaps they might have briefed him on any balloons flying out of control in the vicinity.

  Geoff Mercer came scuttling along the dark corridor that led to his office. He looked out of breath. What the heck had happened since yesterday? Everyone seemed to be in a rush at HQ this morning. Gus wasn’t as concerned about what was getting the ACC het up as how it might influence the time he remained here. He had places to go, vegetables to harvest, a visit into town for a haircut. Ah well, let’s get it over.

  Geoff Mercer didn’t offer Gus any insight as he went into the office ahead of him. The ACC had already sat at his desk, which was never a good sign.

  “Did you receive a call from Gareth Francis yesterday, Freeman?” asked the ACC.

  “He called to thank me for solving several crimes his new colleagues at Gablecross should have sorted,” said Gus, “nothing out of the ordinary. Oh, and he mentioned that Vic Hodge and Kerry Burnside were ready to co-operate. I think he said that Vic was singing like a bird. Why, what’s the problem?”

  “Gareth thought you ended the call abruptly. He is considering an official complaint.”

  “I blame the modern approach, Sir,” said Gus, “this sensitivity training that officers receive these days isn’t doing you any favours. DI Francis said he was looking forward to working with me again. I thought you moved him twenty miles up the road, so I never needed to work with him again. He’s not the worst detective I’ve encountered, but he ranks in the top three.”

  “I calmed him, Gus,” said Geoff Mercer. “I think you’ll escape censure on this occasion. You do have to watch what you say to people these days. Every word can be open to interpretation.”

  “Did he get the right answers from Kerry Burnside?” asked Gus.

  “It was a disaster,” said the ACC. “Patrick Iverson suddenly appeared at her office when Gareth and DS Latimer were due to conduct the interview. Ms Burnside switched from giving them chapter and verse to a series of no comments.”

  “I begged Gareth to take it easy with her. She struck me as someone who would clam up if he treated her as being in the same bracket as her brother, Gary. Kerry wasn’t even as involved in the darker side of the business as Henry and Joseph, let alone the stuff Gary carried out. Kerry received no love or kindness throughout her life from any male family member. Suzie Ferris could have got her to give us so much more. What’s happening now?”

  “Iverson is pinning his hopes on discrediting Hodge’s statement,” said Kenneth Truelove. “Iverson told Gareth Francis that Hodge would say anything to get his sentence reduced.”

  “Did Gablecross take Henry and Joseph in for questioning?” asked Gus.

  “They waited until they had completed the interviews with Hodge and Kerry Burnside,” said the ACC.

  “So that pair have had another twenty-four hours to get rid of the evidence,” said Geoff Mercer.

  “There’s one saving grace,” said Gus. “Gary’s dead, and Hodge and Drewett aren’t in town to do another clean-up job. Henry and Joseph don’t have the stomach for that. There are still other witnesses we could turn.”

  “What do you mean, we?” asked the ACC. “you handed everything your team gathered over to Gablecross. It’s not your job to see the case through to the bitter end.”

  “I meant London Road, Sir,” said Gus, “I know it won’t be popular, but get the case back and let Geoff oversee it here at Devizes. Use Suzie Ferris and another female detective to persuade Kerry Burnside there’s a way that she and Vic Hodge can come out of this with only a few scratches. We know Kerry contacted Gina Burnside and encouraged her to let what remains of the Burnside family help get her on her feet. One way or another, Henry and Joseph’s drug ring has to get shut down. We can’t allow Iverson to end his career on another win for the Burnside gang.”

  “You’re right,” said the ACC, “it would be unpopular. I think I’ll send DI Ferris to Gablecross to work alongside DI Francis for a month. Her task will be to do as you suggest. Explore every avenue to help Gareth end the Burnside gang’s grip on the town. If that means Vic Hodge and Kerry Burnside get off with a slap on the wrist, so be it. The bigger picture is what counts. I think we can rely on DI Ferris to convince Gareth Francis it was his idea.”

  Geoff Mercer and Gus Freeman shared a look. In a month they could guarantee that if Suzie delivered the goods, then the whole idea would have been the ACC’s. Another feather in Kenneth’s cap that justified the PCC’s decision to ask him to step into the breach as Acting Chief Constable.

  Gus wasn’t worried about who took the credit as long as they got the desired result.

  He hoped that Kenneth Truelove realised that his chances of being offered the Chief Constable’s role full-time would improve dramatically if Gus’s suggestion did the trick.

  The ACC had stood up and returned to the window. Gus wondered whether he saw any balloons in the sky. Was that all that got him so het up earlier?

  “Do you have anything new for me, Sir?” asked Gus, eager to get on with his day.

  “It’s too soon to discuss that,” said the ACC, returning to his desk. “Mercer talked me through this Grant Burnside business yesterday and guess what? I had a call later in the afternoon from Jack Sanders. I haven’t spoken to the fellow in five years, and couldn’t understand why a retired DCI was ringing me. Sanders told me he had a lengthy conversation with you, Freeman, but he was disappointed that you didn’t appreciate the obvious connection between the events he described.”

  “I couldn’t follow the logic, Sir,” said Gus. “I spent a large part of yesterday evening at home trying to make the pieces fit for Grant Burnside’s murder. Colonel Sanders told me a tale about a girl called Tanya Norris, who disappeared several years ago. Four dodgy individuals who Jack asserted were exploiting two dozen teenage girls followed her in quick order. How that had a connection with our red-headed sniper from Cheney Manor, I’m at a loss to explain.”

  “What about Mercer’s point concerning the inter-gang warfare at the turn of the century? Surely, that must have piqued your interest?”

  “Geoff told me of that affair before I started work here,” said Gus. “It’s far easier to believe that four members of one gang got taken out, and then their colleagues responded with four thugs from the gang they blamed. Geoff mentioned a doctor who got tied up in that business too. Perhaps he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The doctor wasn’t as white as snow. He was selling drugs to the gang leader when their rivals took their revenge. My immediate reaction was that it was a tit-for-tat affair, rather than someone highlighting to the police in a very bloody way that they weren’t doing their job.”

  “Is that how you view the Swindon situation then Gus?” asked Geoff Mercer.

  “That’s not so easy to explain,” said Gus. “I’d want to know where Tanya Norris went after she left the hospital. Who collected her, and why was Tanya willing to go with them? For the previous two years, according to Jack Sanders, she hadn’t been able to trust anyone. Her sole purpose in life, working for these four men, was to service dozens of Muslim men every day of the week. Several years have passed since, but where is Tanya Norris today?”

  “Where do we look for her?” asked Geoff Mercer.

  “Social media,” said Gus, “if there are any photographs of her online the Hub whizz-kids should find them. Tanya’s parents came from Oxford; they must have pictures of her before she ran away from home at twelve. Get the experts to age those photos and start the hunt. If she’s alive, then Tanya will be out there somewhere.”

  �
��Who drove that Porsche?” asked the ACC. “The one that raced out towards Shrivenham, or wherever. Those brothers in the BMW disappeared, and the car was a burned-out wreck before daybreak.”

  “The two events aren’t necessarily connected,” said Gus. “Half a dozen burn-ups occur on dual-carriageways and bypasses across the county every night. We’ve got unmarked high-performance cars parked on the side of the M4 with officers doing nothing more than watching for cars travelling over the limit. The Porsche and the BMW raced for a while, and then they went their separate ways. Jack Sanders never mentioned CCTV evidence placing them on the same road together after the first time they appeared on camera at those traffic lights. Maybe the brothers crashed the car later that night and trashed it. Were both brothers banned at the time? Had they ever taken a driving test in this country? Tax. Insurance. Was that BMW stolen? Was it being driven under the influence of alcohol, drugs, or both? There are plenty of reasons to explain those things we know happened. Why hasn’t anyone seen those four men since? Now that’s a different matter; but who’s to say they didn’t move to Bradford or return to Pakistan? Jack Sanders believes that someone killed them because they were allegedly responsible for the worst kind of sexual exploitation. Where’s the evidence of that? Why wasn’t Gablecross aware of what was happening on their patch? Don’t tell me. Social Services knew girls had gone missing from care homes, but they didn’t want to rock the boat.”

  “I need to make it my business to find out why that gang never got hauled in,” said the ACC. “So, you think Jack Sanders’s idea was fanciful, Freeman, is that it? You don’t believe there’s a sinister hand at work.”

  “I don’t dismiss it entirely, Sir,” said Gus. “We need more information first. If we trace Tanya Norris, she could give us more names. At least twenty young girls disappeared by the time the BMW stopped smouldering. I’d want to talk to several of those girls.”

  “Which leads us back to Grant Burnside,” said Geoff Mercer.

  Gus spotted a glance between the two men on the other side of the desk.

  “Okay, if you’ve got something to say, say it,” said Gus.

  “The Crime Review Team didn’t use the Hub resource much on the last two cases you tackled,” said Kenneth Truelove. “I stressed its importance when you returned to work. Next Monday, you will have three Detective Sergeants at your disposal, plus the two ladies. I propose that DS Hardy works here at London Road in the Hub.”

  “What’s the aim of that secondment, and how long would it last?” asked Gus.

  “His task would be to find the red-headed sniper,” said Geoff Mercer. “and it will take as long as it takes.”

  “Alex is good, as you well know,” said Gus. “I could have him back by Tuesday.”

  “Something lies hidden behind what happened in 2002 and the events in Swindon,” said Geoff Mercer. “If Alex identifies Grant Burnside’s killer, then the ACC and I wish to question that man on every suspicious death reported in the interim. First, we want to know whether he acted alone.”

  “You’re determined to pursue this theory that there’s a group of vigilante killers out there that nobody has spotted. Not just Wiltshire Police, but every force across the country. Next, you’ll be calling Brendan Curran and getting the Organised Crime Task Force to help you take down these people.”

  “It crossed my mind,” said the ACC.

  Gus was going to say they should let this hypothetical vigilante group get on with it. If they took out two dozen hardened criminals, it was two dozen less for the police to handle. He was saved from an ear-bashing from the ACC by a knock on the door.

  It was coffee-time, and Kassie Trotter entered the room with her trolley.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Ah, you’re a lifesaver, Kassie,” said Gus as she handed him his coffee.

  “Well, I’ve got the buoyancy tanks, Mr Freeman,” she replied.

  “Have you forgotten what I said about watching every word you say?” Geoff asked Gus.

  Gus was going to protest his innocence when the ACC chipped in.

  “I’ve got a spare tyre, Kassie,” he said. “You can see what your buns are doing to my dress uniform. I struggled to get the buttons done up this morning.”

  “Just as well I made another Madeira cake then,” said Kassie. “Vera will wheel my cakes through the door in a tick.”

  Kassie saw the sad face that Geoff Mercer adopted.

  “Don’t worry, Mr Mercer,” she said. “I can offer you something more substantial. I know you’re partial to a Chelsea bun.”

  “So am I,” groaned the ACC.

  Vera arrived in the doorway. Gus thought her hair look shorter. It suited her and made her look ten years younger.

  “A slice of Madeira for me, please, Vera,” he said. “I don’t want to spoil my appetite for tonight.”

  “Another night out?” asked Vera with a smile. “You’re never home.”

  “I’m dining with friends,” Gus replied. “Bert Penman’s daughter and grandson are in the country for a few more days. We’re eating at the Lamb.”

  “Vera will think of you while she’s home alone with a packet of crisps,” said Kassie as she breezed past Gus with her trolley and headed for the door.

  When the door had closed behind them, Kenneth Truelove sighed.

  “A packet of crisps. I can’t remember when my wife last let me have one crisp, let alone a packet.”

  “I’ve heard that exercise is good for you, Sir,” said Gus.

  “Retirement would be better,” said the ACC. “Now, where did we get to?”

  “You wanted me to agree to lose DS Hardy for an indefinite period the minute he returns to work, Sir.”

  “Well?” asked the ACC.

  “No problem, Sir,” said Gus, “but what about DI Ferris? Will she work normal office hours while she prevents Gareth Francis from becoming a liability? We can’t afford for him to foul up chances of convictions in the Burnside case.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” said Geoff Mercer, “do you agree, Sir?”

  Kenneth Truelove nodded and walked to the window. Regular service could be resumed.

  “Where are we off to for our next cold case then, Sir?” asked Gus.

  Geoff Mercer shook his head, trying to stop Gus.

  Gus realised it might have been him that let go of that balloon he was concerned over earlier. Was it one of his old cases that the ACC wanted reviewing? That could be awkward.

  “Do you remember the Wakeley case, Freeman?” asked the ACC. He didn’t move from the window.

  “I worked in Salisbury at the time, Sir. It affected everyone. It was a nasty business.”

  “Who ran the investigation?” asked the ACC.

  “DCI Melvin Jefferson was the Senior Investigating Officer,” said Gus. “I was due to be on the team with him. We worked together on dozens of cases. Mel asked me to take charge of the investigation into a series of armed robberies. That was the case with the three villains I watched go to prison for the maximum term at Crown Court the day Tess died. I had worked on that caper for months, so I missed the Ursula Wakeley investigation.”

  “Are you happy to review a case that your friend and colleague handled?” asked the ACC.

  “Of course, Sir,” said Gus. “I came back to solve cold cases. I won’t cherry-pick. The Mel Jefferson that I knew would have run a tight ship.”

  “Who took your place on the team?” asked Geoff Mercer.

  “DI Fabian Kite,” said Gus.

  “Was that his actual name?” asked the ACC.

  “His mother was a big fan of the singer Fabian, Sir,” said Gus. “If Elvis hadn’t arrived on the scene, Fabian Forte might have been a bigger star for longer. Hollywood came calling, and he made several films as well as having half a dozen hits in the Billboard Top 100 at the same time.”

  “No doubt you’re right, Freeman,” said Kenneth Truelove. “Your musical knowledge is greater than mine. I thought they named him after Robert Fabian.”
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  “Fabian of the Yard, you mean,” said Geoff Mercer. “My parents watched that programme. It was one of the first CID shows on British television. Your colleagues must have given DI Kite a torrid time, Gus.”

  “Not because of the pop singer, or the cop show. Fabian Kite was young, handsome, and a Freemason. He had everything going for him, except a nose for solving crimes. After two years on the detective squad, Mel Jefferson suggested he got moved sideways into an office job. I believe he went into Human Resources.”

  “The murder occurred five years ago now,” said the ACC, returning to his desk. “I’ll refresh your memory on the basics.”

  “The crime scene photos were chilling from what I recall,” said Gus. “When I was knee-deep in paperwork relating to that string of robberies, I didn’t get the chance to do much more than glance at the whiteboards in the squad room. It always felt over-the-top for a mere break-in.”

  “The murder took place on Wednesday the sixteenth of January in 2013,” said Kenneth Truelove. “Ursula Wakeley, a seventy-eight-year-old spinster, got stabbed to death at her remote bungalow near Mere, Wiltshire. Ms Wakeley had lived in her parents’ home all her life. The three-bedroomed bungalow stands on Shaftesbury Road several hundred yards from the Two Counties Farm, now a popular camping and caravanning site.”

  “Not that it was busy at that time of the year,” said Gus. “I remember the south of the country suffering a severe cold snap that January. So most folks got wrapped up warm and indoors by five o’clock in the afternoon at the latest. What time did the attack take place?”

  “The police surgeon estimated the time of death at between ten o’clock and midnight,” said the ACC.

  “Who discovered the body?” asked Gus.

  “Ursula Wakeley used a handyman to carry out her gardening and house maintenance tasks,” said Geoff Mercer. “Don Hillier, sixty-eight, arrived at ten o’clock on Thursday morning.”

  “Was he due to arrive that morning?” asked Gus.