Doreen was swiftly, in her estimation, growing old. Her birthday was in another month and she would hit thirty-five. Although she looked her age thanks to premature lines around her eyes and bags beneath them, she rarely bothered with makeup. She liked to keep her long fair hair pinned back in a sort of loose bun which was in vogue prior to the war. The great war! It made her look appallingly frumpish to any potential suitors. To endorse the fact, she was always dressed in a knee length skirt and white blouse and black shoes. She tended to buy items from catalogues in multiples so there was always something to wear that was identical to the day previously.
One thing she had in spades was a great personality with compassion for those in need, but her Mother was her problem. Being an only child, she felt it was her duty to care for her in her old age, and Lavinia took full advantage of it, dictating terms as though Doreen was still a child. Any man who had the temerity to appear on the scene was soon put off by the authoritarian matriarch. Books had become Doreen’s life and deliverance.
Now, Doreen was busy typing and stole a peek at John and raised her eyebrows and pulled an expression as if to say, ‘I don’t know what he’s up to.’ Paul was close on their heels entering the office with three cardboard cartons of cakes and a couple of spare packets of ‘dunking’ biscuits all in a Waitrose bag. Prodow seemed very happy and greeted Paul’s return.
“Got the cakes, good. I’ll let you finish making the tea as you know where everything is. Unfortunately Mr Groves can’t make it today which I know will upset you all,” and he guffawed before continuing, “We’ll wait for Jimmy and then get started.”
Paul got all the cups out and a couple of ‘borrowed’ plates from the canteen on which he placed the cakes. A new carton of milk was removed from the small exhibits fridge which thankfully rarely contained anything else. Maybe a blood or DNA (DeoxyriboNucleic Acid) sample inhabited it for a couple of days prior to delivery to the laboratory for analysis, but nothing else. Most importantly, the milk was not likely to be contaminated. Alison had nearly resumed her natural colour and was examining a computer screen in an effort to look busy, and John just sat at a desk doing nothing. Prodow happily engaged Doreen in conversation about her latest books and said he had read a few of them and went on to discuss their merits.
Paul was engaged handing out the teas and coffees when Jimmy entered the office. Once Jimmy had submitted the statement to Paul and been served a tea by Doreen, Prodow told everyone to have a cake. Then they all settled down to see what he had to say. He started off by saying that Olivia Munroe was going at the end of the following week to the crown court at Lewes for pleas and directions by the Judge as to the conduct and progress of the impending trial. All the relevant disclosure papers had already been prepared by a retired Met Detective who was employed as a PCW (Prosecution Case Worker) in the major incident room at Brighton and the CPS had been briefed by DI Groves.
Sipping his tea, he paused, then bit into an individual fruit tart savouring the fruit.
“From what you have all achieved and found out up to now leads me to believe she is probably innocent. In addition, we are still no nearer to confirming the victim’s true identity. The problem is, unless you have ascertained new evidence today: we don’t know who did it. I feel that I am going to have to tell the prosecutor and then the Judge. Comments?”
Jimmy was up for the challenge, and discussed in detail the engineers visit and ‘Gary’. As he spoke, Alison caught John’s eye and noticed him shake his head from side to side very slightly. They all discussed methods of tracing ‘Gary’, and Paul took on the onerous tasks that were mooted and agreed. From what Prodow was saying, they appeared to have a week at the most left in which to sort the matter out before Munroe was released and the whole squad would be re-formed to start the enquiry up again. Paul suggested asking the Judge to remand the matter for a fortnight to give them more time to truly identify the victim and prove either way Munroe’s involvement if any. Prodow accepted that it was the immediate course of action he had considered and would pursue it.
Alison apprised the group that she had eventually been able to speak to the records clerk at the MOD who was surprised to hear that the ID card marked Jeffery A Anderson was still in existence. They had been informed during the war by the local Police that Mr Anderson, who had been a procurement official, had been killed during an attack on a train by German aircraft near Drayton Railway station in West Sussex. Cause of death had been recorded ‘as a result of enemy action’.
There were, according to the person at the MOD several riders to the report which informed the clerk at the time that Anderson’s wife had been killed when his home address had been destroyed by a bomb on the very same day. A search of the house found no trace of Jean his young child, so she had been listed as ‘Missing. Presumed dead’. No other enquiries were made to trace relatives.
The last report was according to Alison the most interesting.
“The lady said that Jeffery Anderson had at the outbreak of war been issued with a .38 Webley revolver and fifty rounds of ammunition. Neither of which had been recovered. I told her we had recovered a Webley and ammunition and she has given me a serial number of the missing gun.”
She handed the paper with the number on to Jimmy who went to his Exhibit Book. They all sat quietly and waited.
Jimmy said, “It’s identical.”
John said, “Why did Armstrong have it hidden in his garden?” No one answered because they were all thinking the same.
Paul broke the silence.
“I think Alison needs a congratulatory round of applause after our unwarranted criticism yesterday, she has redeemed herself.”
They all started to clap and Alison grew redder. The pucer she went the louder and faster they clapped.
“Sod you all!”
Everyone burst into laughter including Alison. Gradually, they all calmed down.
Then as if imparting a confidence, Prodow went on to say that he had decided to retire as soon as was practicable, and between them all, he had been offered a job for two days a week working for the solicitor’s where he had obtained the will. He had the small gathered host to thank for that as it was they who had sent him to the firm in the first place, hence his ‘lavish’ outlay on the cakes. There was then various chit chat between them all with John as the only person present proffering the opinion that the case would be solved before he retired. Doreen excused herself and left to go home for tea and onto her second book club meeting of the week.
Prodow left the office and as he was approaching the head of the stairs, called to John from the corridor. It was obvious to all that he wanted a private word, and John followed him out to see what was on his mind.
As soon as he could speak quietly enough, he asked, “Are you going to be able to work this other matter out in time?”
“Yes.”
“How’s Alison getting along?”
“She’s good.”
“Before I retire, I’ll arrange for her to be transferred permanently to the CID if that’s what she wants” and with that, he bounded off down the stairs calling his farewells as he went. John went back into the office and after a short time both he and Alison left Paul and Jimmy in the office and headed for Alison’s sporty little Fiesta.
55
Friday 10th June 2011
They drove less than half a mile to the huge car park at Chichester Gate keeping their own counsel en route. She parked as close to Frankie & Benny’s restaurant as she could and they went in for a meal. The two cakes she’d consumed had only served to prevent her stomach letting everyone know she hadn’t eaten properly for some time. It didn’t matter now, anywhere would have been sufficient for her because she was so hungry she felt she could have ‘eaten half a cow.’ Then the concept instantly repulsed her, but didn’t do anything to put her off. She knew there was going to be no holding back or eating healthily. It was going to be the full monty! Thoughts were swirling around in her head, drifting in an
d out. ‘How the hell does he go so long without food or drink?’ Then she came to the illogical conclusion he must have been a camel in a previous life. ‘Is this what lack of food does?’
Both were acknowledged with enthusiasm by the young ‘meeter and greeter’ called Davide, who Alison thought wore a pleasantly perfumed cologne. Asking them to follow him to their table, he spun round and took off like a greyhound with Alison dogging his heels. The two cakes she’d eaten earlier had failed to alleviate her hunger and so weren’t worthy of recognition.
Within five paces John slipped and clattered to the floor. Neither Davide nor Alison, who had both heard the commotion, bothered to turn round or break step in their reckless pursuit to reach the allotted table. Gathering himself up, and apologising freely to the person who aided him from the floor, he followed them to the designated table. The menu was thrust into her clutching hands as the ‘meeter and greeter’ sped off to find his next customers. Within seconds a waiter was next to the table asking for their drinks order. It was bordering on harassment.
Alison could not have cared less.
As soon as they were alone, John took a mobile phone out of his pocket and turning it on found the saved numbers and dialled Alison’s mobile from the list. She looked astonished as her phone rang from within her handbag.
“Now you have my number on your phone.”
“Where did you get that from?”
“When we came in, Simon gave it to me when he helped me get up off the floor.”
Alison raised her gaze to the door and the route they had taken to the table but saw no single diner.
“Sometimes you really worry me.”
They ate a full nourishing meal and both checked the clock on the wall at regular intervals until 6.15pm when they walked to the till and paid Davide. Both noticed his French accent had slipped slightly towards ‘Estuary English’.
Whispering to her, “Shows you can’t believe everything that people want you to believe. That’s a good lesson for you!”
Alison chose not to reply.
Leaving by the main door, they sauntered from the gloom within the restaurant into the bright low light of the evening sun. Both paused and took a few seconds to readjust to the daylight. Then strolling a further fifty yards along the pedestrian precinct, they stepped into ‘Lloyds’ an upmarket, busy and bustling wine bar. Buying a good, slightly overpriced chardonnay, they took their bottle and glasses to a couple of comfy looking seats under the stairs. There were a few other people from the Police Station in the wine bar having an early drink after work before heading off home, who acknowledged them in passing. They chatted about their histories with Alison revealing a lot more about her past as she drank more wine than did John. Very heavy set men in black suits started to appear and take up strategic locations around the wine bar and at the front door. All the bouncers, or ‘door personnel’ as they preferred to be called, liked to be in place well before 7.30pm.
Just prior to 7.30pm, John reminded Alison to keep her phone where she could see it. As if an act of precocious defiance, she took it from her bag and plonked it on the low table in front of them next to her glass.
“There. Happy?”
“I am.”
John said goodbye and made his way to the exit where he engaged a bouncer in some friendly banter for a few minutes before walking off back towards the Police Station.
He followed the footpath as it meandered through the precinct and round past the fitness centre which was deserted. Then he intentionally staggered a little as he walked at a ponderously sluggish pace. Within seconds he heard footfall quickly gaining on him from behind. Suppressing the urge to turn, he continued along the footpath. A soft voice seemed to echo in his head from his right ear.
“They are five yards off. Turn around… Now.”
As he pivoted about, something hit him on the right shoulder which knocked him to the floor. A sharp pain to his rib cage caused him involuntarily to curl into the foetal position. The shoe he saw was a dirty brown brogue as it passed his eye and glanced off his nose and onto his cheek. That really hurt more than his ribs. Then he heard the call from a distance that he had been waiting for.
“Police. Stop where you are” which caused his attackers to immediately run in the opposite direction.
“Are you ok John?”
“I ache like hell. Did you get it on film?”
Ian said, “Yeah. Two of them. Definitely foreign. Your cheek is bleeding quite badly. I think you need a couple of stitches. I’ll call an ambulance.”
“Cheers.”
*
It only took four minutes from the anonymous call being received for an ambulance to arrive. The paramedics also thought he needed a couple of stitches and a once over from the A and E staff at St Richard’s Hospital. Being relatively early in the evening, the casualty unit was practically empty and the staff were snatching hot drinks and taking a quick breather ready for the drunks and assaults that would fill it later. The ambulance crew deposited him on a trolley in the casualty unit and left after handing him into the care of an officious nurse.
Clipboard in hand, she took down his answers recording his personal details in the boxes provided.
When she had what she wanted she said, “The doctor will be with you shortly. These notes will be entered onto a computer and you can have a printout should you wish.”
Before he could consider a reply, she had left the curtained cubical. John lay on the trolley and reflected on the assault. They had a blunt weapon which had struck him on the shoulder. His head had not been the main target although by turning it may have put them off, but he thought not. If they wanted to cause serious harm, they would have probably used a knife. By turning, he hoped to have protected his head and body from any knife attack. Only one kick had been made to his ribs and one to his face. All in all, he had not been seriously assaulted and he knew the object was to temporarily incapacitate him which would mean him having time off work. Now he knew for sure, they had confirmed the target was Alison.
The doctor pulled the curtain aside and strode into the cubicle leaving it open for all to see in.
“What the hell have you been up to now?”
“Hello Carol.”
A nurse stepped into the cubicle with a small silver tray containing odd looking instruments and pulled the curtain closed behind her.
“Don’t bother Zara. I’ll sort this idiot out.”
Looking slightly bemused, the nurse deposited the tray and left the cubical to find the staff nurse in charge to press her concern at the doctor’s behaviour towards the patient. She would not have worried had she known the casualty doctor was a very close personal friend and their beds had been shared more times than either could remember.
Carol examined him and offered ‘blanket stitch’ if he wasn’t going to see her within a week, or ‘ace needlework’ that would not leave a scar if he promised a visit. A visit was promised and the stitches were inserted neatly and uniformly small. Once they were completed, she insisted on checking his rib cage as she stated she wanted him in full working order for his visit. Assessing his ribs to be bruised but not broken, she arranged for an x ray the following day just to make sure. He tried to get up off the trolley and she tapped him on the forehead gently with some tweezers to knock him back down so she could check his shoulder. It also seemed to be ok but requiring a confirmation x ray. Massaging it with both hands, she leant forward and whispered in his ear letting him know exactly what was being lined up for his visit. He swore to himself he would be there within the week.
56
Friday 10th June 2011
“The cop is out of the way. Probably a broken rib or two. Should put him off sick for a while.”
“Any problems with him?”
“No. Not really. They had to run before they made sure. Some other Police were in the area.”
“That could be a problem. Could they be recognised?”
“No. Too far for them to have been
seen. They weren’t even chased. No problem.”
“I hope not.”
“She’ll be alone now.”
“Be careful.”
“She’s easy.”
“Keep a grip of it. No more problems.”
“OK.”
57
Friday 10th June 2011
At 8.pm, Alison was unintentionally sinking gradually deeper into the soft leather of the armchair that she had made her own since arriving. It was due to the amount of wine she had already consumed and now the remnants that she was trying to wring from the bottle and the dregs in her glass. Her mobile, now sitting next to the bottle on the low table where she could keep it in constant view started to flash a bright white light. It began to vibrate and started to dance across the table and then played a cardinal version of Bizet’s Carmen which attracted a few turned heads due to its excessive volume. She hadn’t sorted it out after she and John had dismantled it.
She examined the screen which appeared blurred. A displayed number was pulsing with a blue light which meant nothing to her but that was no bar. Clamping it to her ear she answered in a slurred voice.
“Hallo.”
Ian introduced himself to her and she blurted out that she thought he was somewhere in Kent because she’d seen it on the Sat Nav. He mildly rebuked her for mentioning it over an unsecured phone line in a wine bar and then gave her a sanitised version of what had happened to John. Brushing off her questions about his injuries, he told her that John was just getting checked over at St Richard’s and would be out within a couple of hours at the most. Continuing without giving her any chance to interrupt, he revealed he had filmed John’s assailants and the assault. He said that he had already e-mailed a copy to both Ginger and her Dad in an effort to try to identify, via their respective sources, the attackers.
Her head seemed to rapidly sort itself out and she started to think rationally. Now she could think clearly and speak cohesively she managed to interrupt. She assumed that the hospital receptionist would inform the Police about the assault.
An Urgent Murder Page 17