“Usual time tonight?” asked Gus.
“Somewhere between five-fifteen and five-thirty,” said Suzie.
Gus took her in his arms and kissed her.
“We’ll be late if we don’t get a move on,” she said.
They left the bungalow and walked to the cars. Suzie’s Golf made it to the gateway first as usual. Gus’s Focus needed a minute to remember what came after the turn of the key in the ignition. Gus gave his customary wave as Suzie turned into London Road. Then he joined the procession of vehicles behind a slow-moving vehicle he remembered reading about in the local newspaper last Friday.
The abnormally wide load destined for a Ministry of Defence camp in Gloucestershire threatened to cause him to start the day on the back foot. Gus turned on the radio for the first time in ages. If he was to get delayed, at least he could listen to music. Three tunes later, he switched off the radio. It was a sin to call them tunes. When did someone decide two-thirds of songs should feature rap artists?
Gus parked in the Crime Review Team’s allotted rank of parking bays at the rear of the Old Police Station. The clock on the dashboard said five minutes past eight. Ah, he checked it so rarely he hadn’t altered it at the end of March when the clocks moved forward an hour. Gus was five minutes late because of an abnormally wide load.
Gus travelled in the lift to the first floor to find his team hard at work. Lydia Logan Barre looked up from her computer monitor and gave Gus a thousand-watt smile. Lydia had dressed conservatively for the ten o’clock meeting with Theo Reeves. By her standards, at least.
Lydia’s black shoes had four-inch heels, and the black leather skirt almost reached her knees. The scarf that attempted to control her wild, red hair was the colours of the rainbow to match the short-sleeved top she had elected to wear.
“We’d better get going, guv,” she said. “Alex reckons it will take us forty-five minutes to reach Theo Reeves’s place in Oakley Road.”
“Let me grab a notebook and pen, then we’ll be off,” said Gus. “Has everyone got something useful to do?”
“Still collecting everything I can find on Graham Street, guv,” said Neil.
“Searching social media for Martyn Street and Stephanie Reeves, guv,” said Blessing.
“I could help with that, guv,” said Luke. “Until you get back with ideas on who you wish to interview next, I’ll be at a loose end.”
“We should get back by twelve,” said Lydia.
“Maybe not,” said Gus. “It might help me get my bearings if we drive the route that Marion Reeves took the day she died.”
Lydia and Gus made for the lift and descended to the ground floor.
“Did you hear about Blessing’s weekend, guv?”
“No,” said Gus, “Why, what happened?”
“Blessing visited her parents, and her father dropped a bombshell. He’s started the ball rolling on an arranged marriage. Her father is strong on tradition, and Blessing is reluctant to go against his wishes. We can’t afford to lose her, guv.”
“I can’t see Blessing agreeing to go along with that arrangement,” said Gus.
“She’s hoping her mother can persuade her father that whoever Blessing marries, it will be her decision. Is there anything you can do?”
“It’s not for me to come between father and daughter,” said Gus. “An arranged marriage differs from a forced marriage. That’s been illegal in this country for four years. Her father can’t force Blessing to marry against her will. Let’s hope common sense prevails, and Kelechi allows his daughter to marry for love whenever she finds the right partner.”
Lydia stood by her Mini and waved her car keys.
“Come on, guv,” she said. “You know it makes sense.”
Gus lowered himself into the bucket seat, buckled up, and hung on for grim death.
Gus had been a passenger in this Mini before and knew what to expect.
A few minutes ahead of her forecasted arrival, Lydia turned onto The Avenue and then drove onto Oakley Road. The estate had a mix of three, four and five-bedroomed properties. Gus wondered what possessed planners to accept so much variety in extensions and conversions.
Back in the Sixties, Pete Seeger had sung of ‘little boxes’ that all turned out the same. Here Gus spotted properties that started life with the same floor space, but one owner had extended the front room on the ground floor to align with the covered porch. The porch was left open next door, as it had been originally, and a two-storey side extension had sprouted instead. The entire street was a mish-mash, where no two properties were alike.
“Wouldn’t it have been cheaper to move?” said Gus out loud.
“For Theo Reeves, do you mean, guv?” asked Lydia.
“Don’t mind me,” said Gus. “I’m a dinosaur.”
Lydia didn’t know what Gus was on about, but she had spotted Theo Reeves's property where he’d lived with Marion and the two kids.
“Here we are, guv,” she said. “Still only five to ten.”
Gus guessed that the eighty thousand pounds Theo and Marion Reeves had set out to spend in 2011 concentrated on the interior. From the outside, it looked like a standard four-bedroomed detached property with a double garage. Until they got inside, he wouldn’t know whether Theo Reeves had extended the property at the rear or added an en suite bathroom with gold taps to the master bedroom.
Lydia rang the bell. Gus saw the net curtains twitch on the next-door property.
A tall, smart-looking gentleman wearing a white shirt and black trousers answered the door. His black leather shoes didn’t bear a hint of a mark. His silver hair was cut short, with a side parting. Gus wondered whether the word elegant was the correct one to use for a sixty-five-year-old retired graphic designer.
“Theo Reeves?” asked Lydia. “We’re from Wiltshire Police. You were expecting
