“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 surgeon 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
