“I have a stack of case reviews on my desk, Freeman,” said the ACC. “I grab the first one off the top every time. Your team will have to get used to taking pot luck.”
Kenneth Truelove lifted the weighty file from the pile and perused it.
“This case is more recent,” he said. “Only six years ago. Someone shot the poor devil on his doorstep on the outskirts of Trowbridge. Gerald Hogan was a fifty-four-year-old financial services professional who worked as a financial advisor, providing investment management and evaluating tax strategies for a range of clients. Gerry, as his friends and family called him, was playing snooker with his two sons, Sean and Byron at their home on Trowle Common. Sean was eighteen and Byron sixteen. Gerry’s partner, Rachel Cummins, a thirty-year-old personal trainer, was in the home gym.”
“That could make for an interesting family dynamic,” said Gus.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Freeman,” said the ACC.
“Sorry, sir. I’m sure that whoever handled this case the first time around asked the right questions. The murder file will highlight any shenanigans.”
“The financial services game must pay well if Hogan had a large enough property to accommodate a snooker room,” said Geoff Mercer.
“If I might finish the outline of the case, gentlemen,” said Kenneth. “The attack took place on Sunday, the sixth of May at half-past six in the evening. Gerry and the boys were having a few frames before watching the World Championship final from The Crucible Theatre in Sheffield. The doorbell rang once, but nobody reacted in the games room. The boys hadn’t heard it because they had the TV on for the build-up to the evening session. Rachel had to towel herself down and dash from the gym to the front door. On the doorstep, she found a man, half-turned away from her, who asked for Gerry Hogan. Rachel was annoyed at getting dragged away from her fitness routines. She left the man outside while she dashed towards the games room at the back of the house and shouted for her partner.”
“Could she supply an accurate description of this man?” asked Gus.
“Rachel carried her towel with her to the front door,” said the ACC. “She told the detectives that she was more interested in covering her sweat-covered top half and not giving this guy or the neighbours a cheap thrill.”
“The gunman didn’t register then,” said Gus.
“Ms Cummins said he was tall, white, and casually dressed. As she didn’t get a look at his face, she couldn’t give the police an accurate assessment of his age. As she said to DI Kirkpatrick in 2012, it was unusual for someone to turn up uninvited, but she never queried why this man wanted to speak to Gerry.”
“What happened next?” asked Gus.
“Rachel returned to the gym. The sons told the police that they carried on the game they were playing. All three were too far from the front door to hear anything that happened on the doorstep.”
“What about the neighbours?” asked Gus. “Did nobody hear raised voices, sounds of a scuffle or an argument? The attack occurred early on a Sunday evening. You can guarantee there would be a dog walker somewhere in the vicinity. Couldn’t the police find someone on their way to or from a church?”
“We know it was a sizeable property, Gus,” said Geoff. “The name of the area where they lived suggests wide and open spaces surrounded it. My first question would be, how did the killer get there? Was he on foot? Did Rachel Cummins see a car outside on the roadway?”
“A neighbour heard a motorcycle accelerating past his house that evening,” said Kenneth. “He couldn’t be sure of the time, but he heard it backfire, and then it buzzed past sounding like an angry wasp. Ms Cummins said there was no car in their driveway. She was only at the door for a few seconds. The last thing she wanted to do was stand there in a sports bra and lycra bottoms talking to a stranger.”
“I doubt the motorcycle connected to the murder as it wasn’t a high-powered machine,” said Gus. “Perhaps the sort of moped a teenager might ride? What about the backfire the neighbour mentioned?”
“Let me run through the sequence of events that we can verify,” said the ACC. “The front doorbell rang at around six-thirty. Rachel Cummins answered the door, and only ten seconds later, she was hurrying to the back of the house to call her partner. Gerry left the games room to talk to the man on the doorstep. Rachel returned to the gym. Sean and Byron finished the frame of snooker they were playing when their father left. Sean opened the games room door at six-forty-five. The front door was half-open. Sean called out to his Dad that Ronnie O’Sullivan and Ali Carter would soon get introduced to the crowd. The boys were keen not to miss a ball getting potted. Rachel heard Sean shout and decided the interruptions to her exercising had destroyed the mood. She donned a t-shirt and came through to the hallway to see what was keeping her partner. Rachel peered around the door to find Gerry lying on the gravel outside. He’d been shot in the head at close range. A single shot to the temple.”
“Well, that changes everything,” said Gus.
“Why?” asked Geoff Mercer. “The neighbour said he heard a backfire, and then a motorcycle went past his house.”
“The man Rachel saw might not be our gunman,” said Gus. “Would Gerry Hogan step outside to talk to a stranger who might have posed a threat? It’s more likely he would stand inside his home with one hand on the door for security. He would want to get rid of the bloke quickly. Remember what Gerry and his
