by Tony Bassett
It was around this time we heard from Stephen Rigden’s family our neighbour’s death was no longer being treated as a possible murder case. A second post mortem examination of the body had given the cause of death as ‘acute myocardial infarction’ - a heart attack.
Stephen’s son, Michael, told us his father had been rushing from his lounge into the conservatory when he suffered this massive attack. There would still need to be an inquest, but the pathologist believed, while in the throes of his heart attack, he had crashed headlong into the double doors, smashing his head against the glass.
A family member had found the money that had been thought to be missing. It was inside Stephen’s desk drawer in his study. Stephen’s widow, Marion, had been confused at the time of her husband’s death because of her dementia.
Michael also told us a detective constable from Kent Police, who had been responsible for a team of officers carrying out a search of the home, had been disciplined. His superiors believed he should have included the desk in their searches.
If the money had been discovered earlier, Kent CID might not have wasted so much time and human resources on investigating the death.
The names of several people had been mentioned as possible suspects in the case. Obviously, they were all now free from suspicion. Poor Marion was also free to organise a funeral and lay her husband to rest.
11
While September is the harbinger of autumn, it is not until October we see the last vestiges of summer being shaken off and a new world dev eloping - a world of darker evenings, soup-sharing round the fire, chilly nights, early morning frosts and mists. It is also a time we recall omens from the past and ancient traditions.
Anne and I knew it was now time for Yusuf to apply for asylum. But just as we were about to arrange this, our lives were shaken by an event no omens had predicted. Yusuf was accused of a betrayal of trust. His job at the farm was placed in jeopardy.
On the afternoon of Friday, October the ninth, Yusuf somehow managed to cycle from the farm to our cottage. But I’m not sure how he did it. He was shaking and in tears when he arrived.
Anne put her arm round him and comforted him, while I made all three of us tea. It took us a long time to work out what had happened - and I am not sure even now, nearly a year later, I fully understand the circumstances.
But, little by little, as we sat round our kitchen table, his account unravelled.
‘Lucas ask me two days ago to take money to bank,’ he began breathlessly.
‘Slow down, Yusuf,’ said Anne.
‘I cycle to bank. I hand money to woman behind glass and she gives paper receipt,’ he continued, close to tears. ‘I cycle back and take receipt to Lucas. But today the security man says no money given to bank. They keep asking and asking: “Did you take money?” I say: “No. I give money to bank.” But they are not believing. They say: “Don’t come into work, Yusuf.”’
‘You’ve lost your job?’ I asked.
‘Yes. They say work finished.’
We questioned Yusuf for some time. Eventually, we began to understand more about what had transpired. Our friend had, for the first time in his role as the farm’s messenger, been asked on the Wednesday of that week to take a large envelope of money to the firm’s bank.
He had been given strict instructions by Sharp to take the envelope containing £950 to a branch in Canterbury, four miles away. Yusuf claimed he did exactly as he was asked.
He set off on my old bicycle with the package in his jacket pocket at around two pm and arrived at the bank at just after ten minutes to three. After queuing for twenty minutes, he was invited to the counter by a middle-aged blonde lady, one of the cashiers. He handed over the envelope, which she opened. She then found the company’s account on her computer screen and credited the money. Finally, she gave Yusuf a receipt. He then cycled back to the farm, arriving at about three forty-five pm and handed the receipt to Sharp.
Yusuf thought no more about it. However, earlier that Friday afternoon, he was called into the main office to speak to the farm’s head of security, Peter Cheeseman. An inspection of the firm’s bank account had led them to believe the money had not been paid in.
At this point, Anne went to the living-room, picked up the phone and called Sue Wickens. The farm secretary was reluctant to talk about the situation since an investigation had been launched. But she informed us that Yusuf had not been dismissed. Rather he had been suspended from work until the investigation was completed. When Anne returned to the kitchen, she relayed Mrs Wickens’ remarks to the two of us.
‘Don’t worry, Yusuf,’ she insisted. ‘You have not lost your job for good. You have been suspended.’
‘What does this mean?’ he asked.
‘It means you stop work for a short time,’ I said.
‘So I have not lost my job?’ he asked.
Anne explained: ‘Mrs Wickens says everything depends on the investigation. If the investigation finds you innocent, you will return to work.’
‘But if they decide I took the money...’
‘Then, sadly, they will probably say goodbye to you for good, Yusuf.’
‘So no guarantees,’ he said, surprising us with a newly-learned word.
‘No guarantees,’ Anne confirmed.
Yusuf appeared reassured a little on hearing this. He tried to resume his story.
‘Mr Cheeseman ask me about journey to bank,’ he said. ‘They ask me if anyone sees me on bicycle. They ask me who I speak to at bank. They ask if I take the money. I deny. I say: “You know I was given the money to pay in. Of course, I pay in. You think I want to lose job?”’
I was unsure how Anne felt, but I believed he was telling the truth. We had been suspicious of him after Stephen was fatally injured and wondered about our friend’s cut finger. Yusuf had told us the truth about that. Hadn’t he? This chain of events involving the missing money created some fresh doubts. But we both believed it was unlikely Yusuf would have taken the money.
Yusuf resumed his story. He said: ‘This Mr Cheeseman - he like secret police. I think he fail to get a police job. It was like a - how you say? - interrogate.’
‘Interrogation,’ said Anne, helpfully.
‘Yes, interrogation,’ Yusuf agreed.
He described how Mr Cheeseman paced from side to side as he questioned Yusuf. Eventually, dissatisfied with Yusuf’s account, he entered the private office of the managing director, David Finch, which was a few yards away. The two men held a private discussion, which Yusuf was unable to overhear. A few minutes later, Mr Cheeseman reappeared to say he was being sent home without pay until they had discovered the fate of the missing money.
Yusuf added that, when he returned to the accounts office, Lucas Sharp scowled at him as if to say: ‘What’ve you done with the money?’ Yusuf said nothing to him. Then, as he was collecting his jacket from a clothes peg, Sue Wickens entered the room and took Yusuf aside. She then fired more questions at him about the missing funds.
‘Did you or did you not take the money?’ she demanded. Again, Yusuf insisted he was an honest man. How could he have taken the money? He insisted to her that he loved his job and wanted to keep it.
‘She frown at me and ordered me to leave, so I come here,’ he sobbed.
Anne was concerned about our friend’s mental state. We had never seen him look so depressed.
‘Would you like a sandwich?’ she asked. Yusuf nodded. She made him a ham and tomato sandwich and we all had some more tea.
‘You’re in Britain, a country founded on principles of fair play and justice,’ I told him. ‘If you didn’t take the money, they’ll eventually realise you weren’t responsible. Would you like us to visit the farm and speak to Sue Wickens in person?’
‘Thank you both for your support,’ he replied. ‘But I think it’s best to
leave things as they are. They investigate. This takes many days. Then Yusuf will be found innocent.’
Anne beckoned me to follow her into the living-room again. ‘Back in a minute!’ she told him, closing the kitchen door.
Once we were alone, she asked in a low voice: ‘D’you think there’s any chance he took the money? They are such fools. How could they trust someone they don’t know with banking nearly £1,000?’
‘I can’t see how he would have taken the money,’ I retorted. ‘Look what he stands to lose -- his job and his accommodation. He wouldn’t put all that at risk. And you can see how upset he is. That speaks a million words. I bet it’s all a mix-up at the bank.’
Anne said: ‘I tend to agree. My only concern is that there might be some evidence we haven’t been told about.’
‘It looks bad for Yusuf, I grant you,’ I said. ‘But they’ve got a duty to treat these things seriously. There are rules about how an employer deals with an issue like this and they’re obviously just following guidelines. I’m sure this whole incident will turn out to be some kind of misunderstanding,’
At that moment, there was a knock on the living-room door. It opened and Yusuf’s head peered round.
‘Is everything OK?’ he asked. ‘I hope my problem at the farm hasn’t caused trouble.’
I immediately glanced towards him.
‘Yusuf, excuse me, but I have to ask you this. You didn’t take that money, did you?’
He looked at me plaintively. ‘Bob, on my father’s life, I tell you there’s been a mistake. I’d never take the farm’s money. I’m loving my job.’
I walked over to him and put an arm round his shoulder.
‘That’s the answer I wanted to hear,’ I said. ‘Look, we believe you.’
Anne came towards us. She said : ‘You have been honest with us, Yusuf. I expect you will be cleared as soon as all the facts are known.’
‘You’ll see that I’m innocent,’ he insisted. ‘I go now.’
‘Yusuf, you can stay a while longer if you want,’ I told him.
‘No, I go to the caravan. Thank you for the sandwich and the tea.’
Anne quickly said: ‘Don’t worry, Yusuf. I’m sure everything will turn out all right in the end.’
But I am not sure he heard her final words as our friend had already opened the front door and begun to cycle away.
I am sorry to have to say, perhaps understandably, Yusuf did not take his moment of disgrace in good heart. From the moment he heard the shameful words: ‘Don’t come into work,’ he suspected Sharp had engineered his downfall.
Kristina had overheard some of the staff in the orchards and in the pack-house gossiping. Sharp was spreading rumours Yusuf was in England illegally; he had no right to be in Britain; he was part of a criminal gang; and he was not to be trusted.
When she informed Yusuf of these alleged comments, it had not helped to improve his impression of Sharp.
Our friend tried to blot the idea from his mind, but the nagging thought kept returning Sharp was to blame for the loss of his job. He knew his accounts supervisor lived in Canterbury, but he was, for some time, unsure exactly where. Moreover, he wanted to believe he still had a small chance of gaining his job back. If he went round to Sharp’s house to challenge him, he decided this might upset his wife and children. That would not help the situation.
However, he knew Sharp was a regular customer at the Pilgrim’s Rest, the only public house in Sissenden, which was also known as the ‘Fruit Pickers’ Pub.’ After a week spent brooding about his suspension from work, he eventually became determined to confront Sharp and question him.
He mentioned this plan to Kristina. She totally supported him and the pair set out on Saturday, October the seventeenth for the roadside tavern.
Kristina told me later, when they arrived at the eighteenth century former coaching inn, a darts match was in progress in which the loathsome Sharp was taking part.
Yusuf decided to bide his time. He and Kristina sat in a corner, out of the way of the darts players, drinking with a small group of other Romanians from the farm.
Just before eleven pm our friend, who by all accounts had drunk five or six pints of strong lager, spotted his chance, according to Kristina. The darts match had finished with a victory for the home team. Sharp was making his way to the men’s toilets.
Emboldened by alcohol, Yusuf followed him to the urinals and, I was told, began by shoving him against the wall.
‘I been sent home because of you!’ Yusuf shouted. ‘You a complete bastard!’
‘Hold on, little man! Don’t you come making accusations about me. You shouldn’t even be in this country. You’re an ignorant peasant boy. You shouldn’t be picking apples here - you should be back home, sowing crops and looking after your camels.’
Yusuf apparently managed to punch his detractor - who was about the same height -- on the chin with a powerful right hook. Sharp fought back, and for several seconds the pair were trading insults and blows.
Two other men arrived in the toilet - one of whom was believed to be pack-house manager Ted Moreton. They prised the pair apart.
Yusuf was led away, but, as he left, he turned his head. ‘Tell more lies and I kill you,’ he reputedly screamed at his foe.
Kristina, who had been drinking vodka and orange all evening but somehow remained sober, was furious with Yusuf when he returned to his seat, she told me later.
As they began walking home, she told him: ‘That’s very clever of you - making threats to kill him. Don’t you want to get your job back? I thought you just wanted to talk -- to have it out with him.’
‘Men like that, you can’t talk,’ said Yusuf. ‘I was wrong to say I’d kill him. I’ve no intention of that. It was the fire of the moment.’
He looked over his shoulder as they walked in single file down the dimly-lit, tree-lined country road. There appeared to be no sign of his adversary.
Kristina told me: ‘Yusuf was full of regrets afterwards. He’s saying to me: “Ted Moreton saw me fighting. I hope he is not telling Mr Finch.”’
12
Anne and I were shopping in the city a few days later when we heard a voice calling from the other side of the street.
We both looked round. A short woman with long, straight, brown hair was waving at us. Anne realised it was her former school friend, Gemma Sharp, who was crossing the road to speak to us.
Gemma, who was without either of her children, appeared to have let her dress standards slip since Anne had last seen her.
While my wife looked smart in a blue patterned dress and fawn coat, Gemma was wearing a tatty pair of blue jeans, a turquoise top and an old, charcoal-grey jacket.
‘How are Bill and Richard?’ Anne asked.
‘They’re good. Bill’s doing great at school,’ said Gemma.
‘You haven’t met my husband Bob before, have you?’ said Anne. ‘Gemma, this is Bob, one of Bill’s teachers, I believe. Bob, this is an old school friend of mine, Gemma Sharp.’
I reached across and shook her hand warmly.
‘Yes, he’s doing fairly well. His essay on the Battle of Bosworth Field showed promise,’ I assured her.
‘Pleased to meet you. Anne and me lost touch a few years back,’ explained Gemma, who attended the same Canterbury secondary school as Anne.
‘I’ve started to see your Lucas from time to time,’ Anne stated.
‘You’re not working for Finch & Davies?’
‘Yes, I am,’ said Anne, who was careful not to mention the scandal engulfing the accounts department where Gemma’s husband worked. ‘I’m running English classes for the new staff. They’re going very well.’
Then Gemma took my wife by surprise by reaching across and hugging her.
‘It’s so nice to see you again
,’ she said. ‘We used to hang around a lot together.’
‘That’s true. We did. We had some good times, didn’t we, before boyfriends came along and spoiled things!’ laughed Anne.
‘Then marriage and kids,’ said Gemma.
‘We’ve not been so fortunate -- I mean, we haven’t had children yet,’ said Anne.
‘That’s a shame, but there’s still time. Anyway, we should try to link up one evening. Maybe we could go for a meal, you and me?’
‘Yes, I’d like that, Gem. Are you still in Broad Oak?’
‘Yes. Shall we swap numbers?’
Gemma consulted her mobile phone screen. She read out her number and Anne tapped it into her phone’s memory. Then she read out her own number for Gemma to record.
‘Let’s not leave it too long!’ said Gemma, as she headed off towards one of the department stores.
A few days passed. The farm managers celebrated Apple Day (October the twenty-first) with a festival at which hundreds of school children were invited for tours. Yusuf had previously been looking forward to the event. But when it came, he spent the day on his own, sulking inside his caravan.
But, on Thursday, October the twenty-ninth, Yusuf returned to the cottage with good news. The company had strongly suspected he had stolen the £950. However, Mr Cheeseman had contacted the bank and discovered, mercifully, the whole of Yusuf’s visit had been filmed by the bank’s CCTV cameras.
He was clearly seen queuing, handing over the money and being given a receipt.
Yusuf hugged me, kissed Anne and then performed a traditional folk dance in the living-room. He strutted round in a small circle, swinging his hips from side to side and waving his hands about.
‘Yusuf say the truth,’ he said. ‘I innocent.’
It transpired our friend had been framed by Lucas Sharp. Two payments were due to have been made into the bank that week - one on Monday and one on Wednesday.
Sharp had secretly pocketed a payment of £930 due to have been paid in on Monday. When Yusuf handed him the receipt he had received from the bank cashier on Wednesday, the supervisor had destroyed it.