“Everything we knew about Gerry Hogan points that way, Alex. He was an honest man who avoided scandal. When Carl Wallace told him Rachel’s mother, Kate, was the girl he slept with that night, everything he had worked so hard to protect was running through his fingers like sand. He could see only one way out.”
“What a mess,” said Lydia.
“I feel sorry for the boys,” said Blessing. “They lost their mother in a tragic accident. Now they have to live with the thought their father didn’t get murdered in a random attack, but he shot himself. If that wasn’t bad enough, both Sean and Byron seemed to like Rachel. How will this affect their relationship now? They could be her half-brothers. Lydia’s right. It couldn’t be much more of a mess.”
“The metadata on those Facebook photographs is academic now, Blessing,” said Gus. “I don’t suppose Divya has got back to you with news yet, has she?”
“She’s only just started work, guv. I’ll call her,” said Blessing. “If Divya can attach location labels to those images, it will strengthen Carl Wallace’s assertion that he stayed in Bristol after leaving Leyhill. The labels will neaten the bow on the files you hand in at London Road.”
“That sounds sensible,” said Gus. “I’ll call Vera Butler in a few minutes to see if our leader will grant me an audience. If I have to leave before you receive the data, perhaps Divya can meet me in the foyer at London Road and hand me the necessary information?”
“I’ll tell Divya to keep an eye out for your Ford Focus, guv,” said Blessing.
Gus gave Blessing the thumbs-up. He still had at least an hour of work ahead of him before he could make that trip.
“Those of you whose files are already complete,” he said, “can you clear the decks ready for our next case, please?”
Gus heard a groan from somewhere on his left but ignored it. He needed to set up his meeting. He called Vera.
“Good morning, Ms Butler. How are you this fine Monday morning?”
“Not as chipper as you, Mr Freeman. Do you want to know when the Chief Constable is free?”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” said Gus.
“Noon,” said Vera. “He says it will have to be a working lunch.”
That made a change, thought Gus. They’d never had lunch before. A cup of coffee and a sticky bun was the extent of the catering to Kenneth Truelove’s office before his elevation. Gus foresaw problems for Geoff Mercer’s waistline.
“Are you and Kassie Trotter preparing executive lunches these days?” asked Gus. “Or will it be inedible finger food large corporations have served up for decades?”
“Geraldine Packenham is responsible for the changes, Gus,” said Vera.
“I imagine that means vegan food is eaten while attempting a painful-looking position on a yoga mat,” said Gus. “I’d prefer a Zoom meeting; if I knew what it was. Lydia understands that stuff. The Packenham woman has got to go. She’s disrupting the status quo.”
“We’ll expect you at noon then?” asked Vera.
“I’ll have a completed case file in one hand and the other hand extended to receive our next cold case. If this Packenham regime continues, I might need to join an athletics club to learn the art of baton changing. I could be in and out in seconds.”
“There won’t be any cold sausages or cheese and pineapple chunks on cocktail sticks,” said Vera. “The food comes from a company that runs a fleet of refrigerated vans to deliver their goods. Their sandwiches, bloomer sandwiches, sub rolls, tortilla wraps, bacon and sausage baps, panini, pasta salads and salads are hand prepared daily. They try to source the best produce locally whenever possible and only use local suppliers.”
“I hope the public never learns that this outrageous expense is coming out of their wage packets,” said Gus. “You mentioned a bacon bap. Put me down for one. Reduce Geoff Mercer’s order from two to one. I’ll see you at noon, Vera.”
With that, Gus ended the call.
It was time to tie those loose ends together. As Gus stepped through his files, he reflected on the interrupted weekend that had just passed. The trip to Malaga meant there was little time for him and Suzie to do anything on Saturday except eat and sleep.
Suzie told him she had driven to Worton for her final hack around the local tracks and lanes on her favourite horse. Then in the afternoon, she’d called Vicky Bennison for a brief chat. Gus was happy to hear Suzie hadn’t let the grass grow under her feet. Vicky wouldn’t rush back to work with the people she believed failed her in her hour of need, but Suzie making a move within twenty-four hours of him and Vicky’s first meeting showed a commitment to mend fences.
Not that Gus had needed reminding, but soon after Alex dropped him off at the bungalow, Suzie told him she had called the surgery and asked them to arrange her twelve-week scan for the second week in September.
After two plane journeys sandwiching a hot, sticky day, Gus was tired and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. When he awoke just before seven in the morning, he’d tried to work out when the baby might arrive. His best guess was the second week in February. Gus wondered about the central heating. Would the little mite cope with another Beast from the East like the one that arrived this year?
Gus was still making a mental list of the things he needed to check were in order when Suzie had stirred beside him.
“Are you ready for an early breakfast?” he asked.
“Did you sleep well?” asked Suzie.
“I’m as hale and hearty as any sixty-one-year-old can expect,” he’d replied.
“In that case, my vote is for brunch,” said Suzie.
Later, after
