Buried Secrets: The Freeman Files Series: Book 11 by Ted Tayler (that summer book TXT) 📕

forty hours a week on shifts at Westinghouse in Chippenham, and he didn’t have time or energy for much more exercise. What time is it?”

Alex realised it was much later than they hoped.

“You’ll catch Greg if you drive into the village later,” said Val Huggins. “He used to run faster ten years ago, but Greg was running before Mr Duncan moved into the village.”

“Does he live on Cuttle Lane, Mrs Huggins?” asked Lydia.

“No, Greg lives opposite the bus stop by the duck pond at number eighteen. You can’t miss it.”

Alex drove them into the village.

“Let’s hope he’s in,” he moaned. “We’ll miss Wayne Phillips at this rate, and I’m getting hungry.”

A bald man in his late sixties opened the door to number eighteen.

“Greg?” asked Alex.

“Greg Meakin, that’s me. What’s this about?”

Alex explained who they were and why they had called on him.

“I saw Alan most Wednesday evenings,” said Greg. “The police interviewed me at the time. I was running on Challows Lane when he passed me. Alan was alive and well at six-thirty eight, or thereabouts.”

“Did you ever speak to one another?” asked Lydia.

“Nodded at one another,” said Greg. “Alan wasn’t much of a conversationalist.”

Unlike Tilly Spiers and Val Huggins thought Alex.

“Did the police ask whether you saw anyone else?” asked Lydia.

“What, someone running with Alan, or after him, d’you mean? No, I saw no one else pounding the pavements that night. Alan was a loner. When he first moved into the village, I asked him if he fancied company on his runs. He wasn’t interested.”

“Was there much traffic at that time of the evening?” asked Alex.

“One or two cars, I suppose,” said Greg.

“You don’t recall seeing anything or anyone unusual?”

Greg shook his head.

“Can’t help you with that one, I’m afraid.”

“Never mind, Mr Meakin,” said Alex. “Thanks for your time.”

Alex and Lydia walked away.

“Someone or something unusual,” said Greg Meakin. “I can’t remember anything that night, but I spotted an unfamiliar car over the road at the weekend. A bloke parked on the other side of the pond for four hours in the afternoon. Never saw the car before or since.”

“When you say the weekend,” said Alex, “you mean four days before Alan Duncan died.”

“It must have been,” said Greg. “I couldn’t make the bloke out. He just sat in his car for hours on end and never moved. I went for a run later in the day, and he had gone when I got back.”

“Did you see him outside the car at any point?” asked Alex.

“No,” said Greg. Lydia sensed he was nervous.

“I noticed your Velux roof window, Mr Meakin. Do you have another hobby, apart from jogging?”

“Astronomy,” said Greg. “I have a telescope in the bedroom upstairs. I don’t make a habit of using it for anything else. But that day I ran upstairs to take a closer look. He drove a Vauxhall Zafira, and I got a good look at him through the windscreen.”

Alex showed Greg Meakin three photos.

“Anyone you recognise here?” he asked.

Greg Meakin pointed at the mystery man.

“That’s the feller,” he said.

“Many thanks, Mr Meakin,” said Alex, “we’ll let you get on. Will you go for a run later?”

“Not tonight,” said Greg. “I damaged my left ankle at the weekend.”

“Bad luck,” said Lydia.

“Not really,” said Greg. “At my age, I should know better than to climb ladders to clean my windows.”

Alex and Lydia returned to the car and left the picturesque village of Biddestone behind them.

“Meakin can’t be short of money, Alex,” said Lydia. “He owns a cottage in a prime spot, has a new car parked outside, and those high-powered telescopes don’t come cheap. Why doesn’t he pay for a window cleaner?”

“He seemed nervous admitting that he used that telescope to check out our mystery man. It makes you wonder what else he can see from that window. I don’t think Gus will want us to worry about that, though. Meakin had nothing to do with Duncan’s murder.”

“Funny how things turn out, isn’t it?” said Alex. “We’re on our way to ask Wayne Phillips if he can identify someone from a handful of photos. That’s redundant now. When we left the office, I thought the Crown would be our only chance of finding an eyewitness. Inside forty-five minutes, three villagers came out of the woodwork with useful information.”

“To be fair to Banks and Tallentire,” said Lydia, “they spoke to Tilly Spiers and Val Huggins. The murder file mentioned a woman who saw the Zafira several times in the weeks before the murder. A jogger confirmed Duncan was alive at around twenty to seven. As for the mystery man, the best description the police received was from Wayne Phillips. That was so bland that it could fit anyone.”

“I hope Wayne Phillips is still home when we get there,” said Alex. “It’s twenty past six already.”

Alex stopped outside the house on Woodpecker Mews for the second time that day

Wayne Phillips appeared in the doorway with a sports bag in his hand.

“Don’t tell me you want to talk to me again,” he groaned. “Can’t Anna help you?”

“We’ll only detain you for a minute, Mr Phillips,” said Alex. “We have several photographs for you to view. Recognise anyone?”

Wayne dropped his sports bag on the driveway and looked over Alex’s shoulder.

“That guy three from the end on the right,” said Wayne. “He’s the man who waved at Alan from the other side of the pond. No doubts. Who is he?”

“Not a clue,” said Alex. “But you’re the fourth person in the last hour to confirm they saw him in Biddestone in the weeks leading up to your friend’s murder.”

“Alan knew that bloke,” said Wayne. “Why he denied it, I don’t know.”

“Did Alan ever talk about his