Monday, 6th August 2018
Gus heard the alarm at half-past five and rolled out of bed. He had showered and dressed in time to get two slices of toast and a cup of coffee inside him before Alex arrived outside.
“Tell Alex to drive safely,” called Suzie.
“I’ll call you tonight from Liverpool,” said Gus.
He grabbed his bag and headed for the front door.
“Morning, guv,” said Alex. “Early starts don’t suit Lydia. I guess Suzie didn’t get up with you either?”
“Six o’clock is halfway through the night in her eyes,” said Gus.
It was too early to tell Alex that Suzie was suffering from morning sickness. She had followed him into the bathroom half an hour ago, feeling wretched. Although they had shared the news of Suzie’s pregnancy with John and Jackie Ferris yesterday afternoon, Gus didn’t want any distractions on this trip. Perhaps, if they brought the case to a successful conclusion, he could arrange a team get-together next Friday night to make the announcement.
As weekends went, the one just behind them had been memorable. After Suzie returned from her morning ride on Saturday morning, they spent the afternoon in the spare bedroom making plans. They walked to the Lamb for a snack in the evening. Bert Penman had a few words of advice for Gus about the state of his allotment. Gus promised to tackle the growing pile of tasks as soon as they had put his latest case to bed. Irene North dragged Bert away to talk about something other than gardening, and he and Suzie enjoyed a conversation with Brett and the Reverend which topped off a quiet, but satisfying Saturday.
It surprised Alex at how quiet his boss was today. Perhaps it was the early start. He wanted to go over several points concerning the interviews that lay ahead, but Gus was deep in thought. Alex took the shortest route to the M4. The sooner they were on the motorway network, the better. It was never easy to make progress on country roads first thing on a Monday.
“When do you plan to stop?” asked Gus, emerging from his reverie.
“Every couple of hours, guv, depending on our progress.”
“If you need me to take a spell at driving, I’m ready, Alex,” said Gus.
“I’ll shout if my leg plays up, guv, but if we take regular breaks, I should be okay.”
Alex approached the checkpoint at HM Naval Base Clyde at three forty-five. The security staff were expecting them. They impressed Gus at how smoothly they got them from outside the gates to the office where the interviews would take place.
“These guys could teach London Road Reception a thing or two,” he grumbled.
“It was a long trip, guv,” said Alex. “I asked whether they could fix us up with coffee. Finger’s crossed.”
“A tot of rum in it wouldn’t go amiss,” said Gus.
“They’ve stopped the daily ration, guv. Our first interview is with Chief Warrant Officer Max Hughes, guv,” said Alex. “He knew Alan Duncan for the longest period. They were at Dartmouth together.”
There was a sharp knock at the door, and Max Hughes entered the room.
“I’m Max Hughes, Taff to my mates. If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask. The news of Alan’s murder came as a shock, I can tell you. His father, Bob, rang me out of the blue on Saturday morning. Ten years, not a whisper. We knew one another from training, you know. Lovely bloke, Alan. We always got on well. Hark at me, rambling on. What did you want to ask?”
Max Hughes took a seat. Gus recognised Taff from the photographs. The ginger hair had a tinge of grey these days, but apart from a few extra pounds around the waist, he hadn’t altered much.
“We’re interested in the photos Alan sent his parents,” said Gus. “You can add context and detail that weren’t forthcoming when our colleagues investigated the murder ten years ago.”
“I see,” said Max. “I hope I can remember where and when they occurred.”
“No need to worry,” said Gus. “Our computer whiz kids have dealt with that.”
“Of course,” said Max.
“What was Alan Duncan’s role as Weapon Engineer Officer?” asked Gus.
“He led and managed a team of up to sixty technicians,” said Max. “they included specialists in IT and communications and people with a unique knowledge of explosives and electronic sensor systems.”
“Alan kept the craft fully operational and ready for action, I presume?” said Alex.
“The Vanguard is a state-of-the-art fighting machine,” said Max. “Alan had to guarantee the performance of our weapons and sensor systems. So that we could always fire quickly and with accuracy, he worked with the world’s most advanced defence systems.”
“Did you ever hear from him after he left the Navy?” asked Gus.
“A Christmas card for the first two years,” said Max. “An occasional text, asking how things were going. Of course, I could only respond in general terms.”
“You appeared to be great friends, based on the photographs we found at his parent’s home,” said Alex. He spread the photos on the desk in front of the Welshman.
“We were,” said Max, “but Alan knew the score. When you’re in, you’re in.”
“As soon as Alan was no longer a serving officer, everything you had in common disappeared,” said Alex.
“Exactly,” said Max. “I would have looked him up when I retired, phoned him, to see if he wanted to come out for a beer. That won’t happen now.”
“Bob Duncan called you at the weekend, you said,” asked Gus.
“Right out of the blue,” said Max. “It shocked me. A car crash would have been bad enough, or cancer, but murdered. That stunned me.”
“Did Bob tell you what Alan did after he left Faslane?” asked Gus.
“He mentioned a small engineering factory,”
