A Genuine Mistake by Ted Tayler (miss read books txt) 📗

signs on the wall informed the newcomer that Mr Bruce Atkins was in Room Two, while Ms Natalie Flook occupied Room Three. Clients could also find Unisex toilet facilities located on the first floor.

Neil rang the bell attached to the wooden ledge in front of a glass partition, separating the hallway from an inner sanctum. Behind the glass, Gus could see two female members of staff. Both looked to have been with the firm since Nicholas Barrett was a young man. A white-haired lady studied them over her glasses. Her grey-haired colleague turned her head to join her.

Gus checked his watch. Two minutes to ten. What was their problem? Any idiot could work out that Mr Barrett was in Room One, where else, and on the ground floor. Gus marched along the corridor. The left hand side of the partition slid open two seconds later.

“Do you mind? You haven’t confirmed who you are and what business you have on these premises.”

Gus turned back to see it was the white-haired lady that possessed a voice that could cut glass.

“Detective Sergeant Neil Davis, Wiltshire Police, ma’am,” said Neil, showing her his warrant card. “Mr Freeman and I are here to talk to Nick Barrett. Our appointment is for ten o’clock.”

“Does this Mr Freeman have a warrant card that I can examine?”

Gus showed her his consultant’s card.

“That looks more like a library card. Are you sure you two are together?”

“Mr Freeman is my boss, ma’am. Can we get to Mr Barrett’s office now, please? We know that time is money in your game.”

“It’s far from being a game, young man,”

It appeared that the grey-haired lady went to the same finishing school as her colleague.

“I’ll tell Mr Nicholas that you’ve arrived.”

“I think he knows,” muttered Gus.

It was only fifteen seconds but felt much longer before the door at the end of the corridor opened, and Nicholas Barrett stood in the doorway and beckoned them forward.

“Please, come in. Times have changed, I’m afraid. We can’t have just anyone barging in off the street. Solicitors at other firms around the country have suffered serious assaults in their chambers. Daphne and Suzanne act as our resident pit-bulls. They retired from their posts as doctors’ receptionists and moved here three years ago. We haven’t had a scrap of trouble since. Sit, make yourself comfortable. The girls will bring us refreshments in a few minutes.”

Finding a seat wasn’t an issue as there were half a dozen chairs in the large office. Comfort was another matter altogether. Nick Barrett had inherited an excellent facility with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the rear garden. The fixtures and fittings owed more to Joseph, his grandfather, than the twenty-first century, although the substantial desk that kept the two detectives at bay did contain a laptop.

Nick Barrett didn’t appear to be in a rush to get to the point of the meeting. Perhaps he was waiting for his girls to deliver the coffee and biscuits before getting to business.

Gus wasn’t that worried. The breathing space gave him time to take in his surroundings. The clock on the left-hand wall had hung there for nigh on a century. The elaborate walnut case surrounded a dial that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the railway station concourse they’d just left. Gus wondered whether the loud tick was part of the solicitor’s bag of tricks.

Tick. One pound. Tock. Two pounds. It served to remind clients that the bill was rising all the time. He moved in his wooden chair to get comfy and failed. The door behind him opened, and Daphne and Suzanne entered. Where was Kassie Trotter when you needed her?

Bone china cups, what else? Saucers and spoons too. A separate jug of milk and a bowl of sugar cubes. Daphne was in charge of pouring the coffee. Suzanne was hors de combat and wore a wrist support. Gus hadn’t spotted that under the sleeve of her cashmere cardigan in the inner sanctum. The grey-haired lady’s role was to carry a tray laden with Bourbon and Garibaldi biscuits.

“Thank you, ladies,” said their employer. Daphne and Suzanne left without making a sound.

The tick on the clock seemed to get louder as Nick Barrett stirred two lumps of sugar into his milky coffee.

“To business then, gentlemen,” he said, sitting back in his chair.

“DS Sherman contacted you and informed you that we were taking a fresh look into your friend’s death,” said Gus. “I want you to tell me everything you remember about your good friend, Gerry Hogan.”

“Where do I start?” said Nick Barrett.

“From the beginning, sir,” said Gus, “and don’t leave anything out.”

  CHAPTER 4

Gus knew they were in for the long haul. The man hiding behind the impressive desk enjoyed being the centre of attention. By giving Nick Barrett free rein to talk about himself just as much as Gerry Hogan, they could learn an awful lot.

It was easy to read through a murder file and absorb details of the victim, the suspects, and the eye-witnesses, without getting behind the words on the paper and analysing the leading players' genuine character in the drama.

Gus wondered how Gerry Hogan, an intelligent, hard-working, faithful husband and partner, suffered a pompous prig like Nick Barrett.

“It’s so long ago now, Mr Freeman,” said Barrett. He took a bite out of a Bourbon and sipped his coffee. “We met at Fitzmaurice Grammar in September 1969. We remained in the top stream together for the next five years, although we weren’t always in the same classes when we chose O-Level subjects. Gerry had already decided that the Sciences weren’t his forte, and frankly, as he was hell-bent on finance as a profession, they were next to useless. We both studied Mathematics and English Language, of course. Gerry was more of an athlete than I and had other friends