“Hello Henrietta, my name is Janet and I have also been conned by Terry Newman. He has taken £20,000 from me and I hoped we might help one another.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Yes I do and I’ve got a photo of his bank statement on my phone. Do you want to meet at the pub at the top of the road near his ex-wife’s house? Do you know the one? What about 7pm tonight?”
“You are on, but how will I know you?”
“I know who you are. I will come to you.”
She desperately wanted to tell Simon about the phone call but didn’t want him to lecture her on the questionable prudence of chasing ghosts, as he had spent the afternoon at friend’s funeral and was both inebriated and maudlin. Henrietta put a cold supper on a tray and left him in front of the TV whilst she went out to ‘meet a friend for a quick drink’. Simon grumbled about being left to his own devises yet again but felt too tired to argue. When his recorded programme came to an end, he turned the television and lights off, placed his tray on the side in the kitchen and solemnly went upstairs to bed alone.
July 25th 2015.
“Still here Beaty? I thought your shift was earlies this week.”
“Yes Sir, I was just checking some files.”
“I heard you’ve got a new bloke, so leave that until tomorrow and get off home before you lose him.”
“Sir, any news on the woman found in the car this morning?”
“She didn’t come round whilst I was there, but I didn’t stay long.”
“Did you find out her name Sir?”
“Henrietta Champion. Why?”
“I feel sorry for her.”
“Don’t, she’s not dead. Besides we have to accept that sometimes victims fall by the wayside and there is nothing we can do. Goodnight love.” DCI Warburton left for home.
Heather was left alone in the large office, where she sat quietly staring into space, troubled by the detective’s choice of words. She had wanted to join the force since she was a school girl and was driven by her desire to be part of an organisation which served and protected society as she truly believed in saving innocent lives and punishing criminals. Staring at the memory stick which she held respectfully in her hand as if it were a small time bomb about to go off, she felt confused and nauseous. She wasn’t sure if she felt sick because she had not eaten properly all day or whether it was because she had broken the professional code and become emotionally disturbed by the story she had just read. She quickly made a space in the bottom drawer of the desk and locked away the un-sealed evidence bag but discreetly popped the pink memory stick in her pocket. She wanted to read the other files in the privacy of her own home and would return the stick to the evidence bag in the morning and deal with the late logging of the items once she had taken time out to think. She stood up to stretch out her stiff arms and back, grabbed her jacket and bag and left for home.
She sat in her pyjamas with a microwaved supper, fired up her computer and inserted the pink memory stick to read the rest of Henrietta’s files. She was astounded by what she began to unveil: Documented notes of the innumerable phone calls and trips Henrietta had made to speak with the police, the plethora of rejected complaints she had made to the Police Complaints Commission, the number of letters to members of parliament for help and intervention and the sickening number of failed attempts to appeal for the permission to have a hearing in Court.
It was the early hours before Heather finally dropped into bed that night feeling exhausted and exasperated, her eyes stinging from the tears of frustration she had shed. She thumped her pillow repeatedly as she tossed and turned and wondered what she should or could do. Something certainly needed to be done! Whatever course of action she decided upon, she realised it was most certainly time for a change in attitude towards the sexual and psychological abuse of women by the police force she loved and served.
The Unsuspecting Housewife Page 30