Bitter Pastoral_A DCI Caleb Cade Crime Thriller of rural Ancaster County.

by John R Goddard

  Creel stays calm, opens my file and stares at the top sheet which is handwritten in his scrawl, “Since you have chosen not to deny the breach of procedure yesterday or today, you are herewith formally warned that this case is being run by Major Crime Team 1 led by DCI Odling, nothing to do with you. All the evidence so far points to the woman being homeless, with no identity on her, how do you know different?”

  Odling is triumphant, “He examined the body, disturbed the crime scene, broke all the rules when he first attended Monday morning, grounds for suspension, Sir.”

  Creel crouches forward, like a bullfighter anticipating the killer thrust and his victory, “Well, did you break with procedure in that ditch Monday, and again today in the field?”

  “I did.”

  Are they about to actually high five each other as Odling moves towards me and Creel rises? A repeat of ‘The Box’ looms, perhaps with a different ending but I do not care. I take up a fighting stance and ache for the next few moments even as I hear the door open, knowing it will be reinforcements they have arranged.

  With that, a softer voice calms, “You asked for me to attend Chief Superintendent Creel?”

  29

  ACC Hamnet flicks a light switch by the door, bathing the room in light as she takes a seat at the head of a nearby conference table.

  “Forget the cloak and dagger lighting, shall we?” she says, a pointed finger ordering us all to join her, the angry hatred in the room ignored.

  Creel’s face, body, tone is vicious as he moves and begins in high falsetto, “DCI Cade has just admitted he broke all procedures, examined the body and crime scene in the ditch when he should not have been there in the first place. And he ‘passed by’ again today.”

  I nod in agreement as the ACC turns a withering look on me and asks, “Remind me again why you were there and a uniform was not called immediately DCI Cade?”

  I explain. Again. I got Sam’s call, thought him confused as he was garbling about bodies - that of a fox and a woman, did not want to waste police time and so went to check myself as it was only a few miles away, and answer the plea ‘from a lifelong friend.’

  Odling’s thick fingers are laid on the table, Creel is scribbling verbatim notes in a leather backed file as fast as he can. The scratch of his sleek fountain pen is all that can be heard as I pause, allowing him to catch up.

  “Naturally I went down into the ditch to check whether the woman could be saved, first priority, as any rookie cop would. She was dead. Only then did I call it in.”

  Odling is loud, blunt, “She was clearly dead, eyes staring. You decided to get involved to help cover up your ‘lifelong friend’s crime’ by messing with my crime scene.”

  It is not a question. Creel is amused at my plight, finally nailing me for an offence that could see me sacked. The ACC looks from them to me, clearly puzzled that I have even given them this opportunity.

  I shrug, “Always a chance of life. If dead, there was no other responsible choice than to examine the body - she was perched precariously on two stakes sticking out of the ditch, I thought she might fall in and be either lost or at least badly contaminated so I carried out a cursory examination, photos and all, even as I was phoning the death in officially. I wore a crime scene suit, gloves, mouth cover and disturbed little, Ma’am.”

  The ACC examines some of the crime scene photos I show on my iPad and nods as I say, “I did nothing that any of us would not have done in the circumstances.”

  Creel and Odling are deflated as I go on, dripping sarcasm, “DCI Odling will be aware of the perilous situation of the body from when he got in the ditch and examined it in situ later.”

  My fellow DCI bridles.

  We all know he did not go near the body but he recovers a little to bluster, “Not sure it was that precarious.”

  The ACC pushes the photographs in front of him, he stares sightlessly at them before continuing in a rush, “And you still took the only witness, and likely suspect away for over an hour so I could not question him - about his van having collided with the woman, same white paint colour, same glass as his headlight, forensics reports, on the dead woman.”

  Another shrug, “I did not know how long you were going to be, he was only a witness to me, a cold old man in heavy snow and below freezing conditions, he needed a hot drink.”

  The ACC’s voice is sharp, “But evidence DCI Cade suggests he hit the homeless woman. You must have seen that”

  I shake my head, “Why stay and report it if he did? I know the man, religious, law abiding, he would call it in and hold his hands up. If he did it. He didn’t.”

  The ACC sighs heavily, “But we all know people do things in the heat of the moment all too often. Cover up.”

  There is silence. On this reading, Sam should have been kept at the crime scene.

  Time to lance the boil, “He is only a witness who found the body, the car that hit the dead woman is silver, its headlight glass high end, Bentley or Rolls Royce would be my guess, those are the traces I found on the body and detailed in my photos and evidence bags, not white and not an old tatty van’s glass. Which by the way was undamaged in my photos.”

  I show them, Creel and Odling grudgingly pretend to examine them and the time stamps.

  The ACC’s voice is chill at Odling, “Any idea how the wrong paint, headlight glass got there …….and Mr Aystrup’s van got damaged how?”

  A pause, “After the fact?”

  The question hangs.

  ***

  Time for the coup de grace as Valentine would say when once trying to teach me his beloved fencing, ‘the sport of Kings’ as teenagers.

  “And she is certainly not homeless.”

  Creel instinctively shrinks away from Odling, who sits up to his full military bearing, produces a pristine white hankie and wipes his face and hands with it.

  “And you know that how?” the ACC asks.

  I bring up more photos of the dead woman’s clothes as I say, “Her clothes, lingerie, boots, overcoat are new and very expensive, not bought locally, London I imagine. Her hair, nails, skin, all very well cared for. Definitely not homeless.”

  The ACC turns fully to face my accusers, voice witheringly drawn out, “DCI Odling, comments?”

  The Fudge lives up to his reputation for blaming everyone bar himself, his voice firm, “DC Whittle and young Josh Sunley from Forensics with good old reliable Andrew Miller - I gave them their head on this one, perhaps too much and they, ugh, we rushed to judgement.”

  He stands, “We are overwhelmed, but I will get my squad on it as a priority. I will have to check how the cock up, er, mistake about the van’s paint and glass got on the body and …”

  The ACC cuts in, stays his movement to the door, “No. You will not.”

  30

  The tone is abrupt, “Garrett, DCI Odling’s Major Crime Team 2, I want every file - digital and printed version, every notebook for this week, on my desk within fifteen minutes. Warn them, any collusion, failure to help and people will be out of the building without clearing their desks or a pension. Same with the notebooks of Sunley and Miller in Scientific Services.”

  Her eyes swivel to Odling and Creel, “Take the Sergeants, Flower and Mohammed, with you, put Powell on the digital files recovery and encryption for my and your eyes only. The squad can continue all other cases save for the woman in the ditch. Gather the team up and I will be there shortly to advise them myself.”

  A biting final point as her eyes show pure contempt, “And every constable who attended the scene, first response especially then onwards, have them in for interview this afternoon - finished shift, on leave, whatever. All this, my eyes only.””

  The ACC lays her phone down, studies the Sam Aystrup file she has found on Creel’s desk and reads while pacing. Only the ticking of a tall grandfather clock in the corner of Creel’s plant-ridden spice-laden office, reverberates now in the silence.

  “We four will stay here for the next thirty minutes while t
hat is done,” she says quietly. “Meanwhile, I need your notebook for this week please DCI Odling. And yours DCI Cade.”

  The ACC lets the silence lengthen again, a technique I saw her use often on suspects when I was first a DC in Major Crime and she headed C.I.D.. I have no idea who is the suspect here, possibly all of us. Garrett is the recently arrived Superintendent who heads up the newly strengthened Professional Standards Department, a tight group of newcomers set up to investigate any deviations from procedure, malpractice, corruption or gross inefficiency before the ACC decides with the Chief Constable on whether the matter can be dealt with internally or needs referring to the Independent Police Complaints Commission for independent investigation and judgement.

  Finally, she asks, “So, where do we go from here?”

  I look openly at her, the other two study their pads and hands laid on the conference table, faces like thunder.

  Creel coughs and speaks firmly while looking downwards, “Ma’am, I have the right to a representative to be with me for any meeting like this that I am trapped into and would like a lawyer present too.”

  The ACC’s look would freeze a rampaging elephant, “Duly noted.”

  She goes on, “Hard to see how I can reprimand you DCI Cade for acting as you did. For sound reasons, in my opinion.”

  The other two bristle even before she goes on, “I really should suspend you immediately DCI Odling, at worst for shoddy police work.”

  Her hand quells any response, “This has the rank smell of worse about it beneath the surface which would mean referring it and you to the IPCC for external investigation but we will see.”

  Odd how Odling looks angry and scared at the same time as Creel moves to stand but is ordered, “Stay put Chief Superintendent, of course, this all reflects badly on you too.”

  He does not respond she continues, “Any investigation will want to know how much you either knew of all this and thus condoned the incompetence or worse. Or you did not notice what you should have done and are therefore incompetent yourself.”

  Creel’s face is like scraped white bone, his cheeks translucent with his eyes bulging. No one has spoken to him like this in many years and he can only stutter in trying to find an answer.

  The ACC pushes back a strand of loose hair and pulls the cuffs of her blouse neatly precise below her business suit jacket sleeve as she becomes more emollient, “If we do not go the official route with the IPCC - and the Chief Constable and I will decide after we have studied all the files and witness statements - the problem is how and who deals with the case of the dead woman.”

  Odling protests quickly, vehemently, “But I know the case, have dealt with it from the start, Ma’am.”

  Her look is cutting, stopping him instantly. She does not need to say, ‘And look what an inefficient mess, or far worse, you have made of it.’ He simply does not get the deep hole he is in. Of his own making. Or does he? In which case, why does he want control of the hit and run so much?

  ***

  The clock ticks on for five minutes, ten, fifteen, twenty. My mind speeds to my mother and Martha Loam, neither of whom answered repeated calls as I sped over here.

  The ACC turns towards me as I cough and hesitate after her withering comment, “DCI Cade, you have more revelations?”

  Calmly I say, “I was just going to talk to the DCI and Chief Super quietly and confidentially about this before their, their witch hunt, sorry, … approach to me personally took a direction that did not allow it.”

  All three stare at me as the grandfather clock gently chimes the hour, “Both of these officers were present at Albion House for the dinner party on the night in question, and in their cars near the crime scene around the time the death actually happened.”

  The two sit, both deathly white. The ACC is openly aghast as I continue.

  “They were seen by reliable witnesses and I have no doubt their cars will be on CCTV on the A roads you have to pass to get there and perhaps on Albion’s own CCTV cameras. Likely the car that hit this woman came from Albion as the dozen or so guests at a grand dinner left.”

  The ACC is trembling with suspicion as I hammer home the advantage over the two who seem smaller, hunched away from this new assault, “Both colleagues must recuse themselves entirely as both are at least a relevant witness.”

  I love the dramatic pause so beloved of Shakespearean tragedy before I say huskily, “And as things stand, possible suspects.”

  The ACC stares first at Odling, whose gaze is doggedly above her head, and then at Creel, who snorts quietly.

  “Excess of zeal led them to forget the niceties, I am sure,” I finish ironically.

  “Excess of zeal indeed,” the ACC repeats ominously.

  Disbelief, anger, contempt leaps out from the ACC even as she stands and the two nod their heads in admission.

  Creel whispers “Dinner party, my wife and I were guests at Albion, left early though …” and his voice trails to fragility and then nothing.

  Odling goes from his normal putty puce through red to beetroot, sweat dripping from his slightly balding head down his face even as he recovers himself, “I was with their security staff on official business, Albion owners, the Hakluyts are Special Protectees too.”

  The ACC is brutal, “Major Crime is not the section responsible for protection of identified rich or powerful individuals DCI Odling, that is Special Branch, so why were you there?”

  “Reassuring the owners, personal capacity, know them,” he squirms, his voice thin.

  The ACC’s voice is slashing, “You know billionaire bankers personally DCI Odling, I find that hard to believe? And if so, I should have been told, by you.”

  She studies Odling’s grubby notebook as he admits his visit is not in his note book and that he left without being aware of any death.

  In the silence that follows these revelations, I just hope no one asks me who my witnesses are. There are none, as yet, save for the digital camera which showed me their two vehicles coming out, cars I knew the registration numbers of. I do not want to reveal the camera’s visual evidence quite yet, and certainly not to Odling and Creel who should have been informed as soon as I found it.

  I do not mention that the images on the camera seem to prove they are not actually suspects, but will let that emerge later when they are off the case, their private agenda is shredded and my squad hopefully might have control as I should have had from the beginning.

  ***

  ACC Hamnet remains standing as silence reigns again.

  “DCI Odling, your squad have a brand new prestigious geographical area to cover, a lesser work load which you have demanded for five years at least, and yet you insist on grabbing this out of area hit and run when it could be left to uniform or Cade’s new team?”

  Odling’s hands are his only interest as the ACC goes on, “Beyond me. Malice DCI Odling? Or something else?”

  “Answer me man. Silence is not an option here. Now.”

  He does not, will not even look up to meet her stare.

  A knock on the door brings the appearance of Chief Superintendent Garrett. Another ex-military man, his square face is like granite with crew cut grey hair above. The files and note books are all recovered on her desk or encrypted for her eyes only if digital, he reports. She says he should begin checking them all, prior to officers being interviewed. They will discuss it in two hours, with all of his small team present for ‘first impressions.’

  As Garrett departs, the ACC claps her hands almost girlishly and says, “As for you three. Business as usual Chief Superintendent Creel and DCI Odling.”

  Their relief is clear in their faces and the way they sit up only to be blighted by what follows.

  “For the moment”

  Faces fall with what follows, “Save for the case of the dead woman and Sam Aystrup and Duane Rudd, you do need to officially recuse yourselves - letters on my desk by two p.m., otherwise I will officially remove you for reasons deleterious to your records.”
<
br />   I almost gasp at them both not being instantly suspended and under external investigation, but restrain myself, realising there must be a bigger picture I am not privy to.

  I mask my relief as she goes on then, “The dead woman case comes to you, DCI Cade, laddered though, so not a priority if bigger cases come in, and you report to me on this and not the Chief Superintendent. Your other cases proceed, reporting to me also. You and I will talk about the alleged assault in the cafe but it seems handbags to me, half a dozen of one.”

  I venture that I will need to interview Odling and Creel soonest, and need to know the others present at the Albion House dinner party and what the gathering was about.

  Creel shakes his head resolutely, staring at his hands on the desk, “Private life, nobody’s business but mine.”

  It is clear that none of us, not even Odling, can quite believe this, nor what Creel says next, “I will talk to the Police Superintendent’s Association representative and the Chief Constable too before responding in any way. I shall also have a lawyer present for any formal interview. Tomorrow, as I do not feel well.”

  The ACC is clearly flabbergasted, “You are getting off lightly here, Calvin, do not make things worse for yourself. Be warned. The Chief will not want to hear a word from you either.”

  She asks him for a list of the guests at the Albion House dinner party.

  Creel sighs, stands up and departs the room without replying. I shake my head. It is a dangerous game. Any inquiry will find his attitude on this incomprehensible. Creel is being a fool to himself. He simply could not be involved in the case of the dead woman, and should have known that from the beginning without my needing to tell him. It must be important indeed for him to risk thirty years of conniving and backstabbing for status and position. The ACC must be thinking along the same lines.

  Perhaps richer pickings are on offer elsewhere? That must be the answer. Creel is simply not important enough to be dining with a billionaire banker and his friends. Unless they have a reason? With the ACC, he could just be badly misreading the new situation, of course; too used to his arrogant dominance to realise the world has changed abruptly. He is a policy, management and numbers wonk who follows the police manual but has no real sense of right and wrong despite, perhaps because of, being self-righteously Christian.