by Marian Phair
“I don’t see what you find so funny, I feel sorry for him, I wouldn‘t want to be in his shoes. Our job would be so much easier if news reporters, and the like, couldn’t hide behind the ‘Confidentiality of Sources’ ruling. This law needs changing, in my opinion. They should be forced to testify in court and reveal how they got their information, and the same goes for priests and doctors.”
“I disagree with you there, Jim. I think they should be entitled to protect their sources. If the law was changed, it could put people off from coming forward with evidence that will help us do our job more efficiently. Speaking of jobs, we’d better get our backsides into Fletch’s office while we still have one. I’ll notify the others.”
Inside his office, Jake Fletcher paced up and down, waiting impatiently for his team to assemble. When they had all crowded in, he moved to his seat behind the desk, and sat down. The officer’s stood around in silence waiting to hear what he had to say.
“Well, what have we got? Somebody had better have come up with something for us to work with, since forensics are taking their usual bloody time with their test results.”
He looked around at the sea of faces, his eyes settled on the rookie officer, Tom Holmes, who was fidgeting uncomfortably with his notepad. Other eyes followed his, and embarrassed by all the attention, the young officer’s face flushed. Seeing this, Jake asked, “Well ‘Sherlock,’ have you got something for us, or have you just got ants in your pants?”
Sergeant Dick Frankton, spoke up, drawing their attention to him for the moment.
“We can’t get anything out of Clive Marston, chief, he refuses to reveal his source. I questioned him myself when he was brought in, and had to let him go as we had nothing to charge him with. We can’t charge him for withholding information, due to the Confidentiality of Source….”
“Yes, yes, I know all about that confidentiality crap, we all do.” The DCI interrupted him. “Its no more than I expected. I was hoping to put the skids under him, and appeal to his sense of duty to help the law in this case.”
He turned his attention back to Tom Holmes. “Well, Holmes, the way you’re fidget-arsing about, have you something you want to share with us, before I tell you all what you’ll be doing today?” The young constable’s face reddened as all eyes turned on him again.
“Well, chief, um sorry, sir.” Tom flipped opened his notepad.
“Its either chief, or sir, lad, but I haven’t been knighted. Not yet anyway. I know the men refer to me as ‘Fletch,’ mostly behind my back. So I’ll leave it up to you how you chose to address me, just as long as it isn’t derogatory,” Jake told him.
“Yes, sir, er, chief. I’ve been going through Evelyn Bradley’s diary like you asked, and one name appears on nearly every page.” He referred to his notes, aware he had everyone’s attention.
“A, Brian Slegger. I’ve checked this name out on the system, and he is not on police, or military records. Yesterday, I checked the electoral roll, and no one of that name appeared.” Tom Holmes paused, he was afraid of ridicule if he told them what he had done next.
“So what you’re trying to say, and going a long way around it, is, we’re back where we started, is that it?” his boss asked.
“No, chief, there’s more. On my break, I played around with the name Brian Slegger, to see how many names I could make from it. I was just passing the time.”
He looked around in embarrassment before continuing. “I checked the local electoral roll again, just out of curiosity, and found a Basil Green. After some more messing with the letters, I came up with Brian Slege. I investigated further, and found out Basil Green has a middle name. Brian Slegger is an anagram of Basil Roger Green, and a Roger Green is living here in Abbeville, at number forty two Vine Street”
“Now that’s what I call detective work! Well done, Holmes,” Jake said proudly.
“We can all take a leaf out of Constable Holmes book, and do what we’re paid to do, keep the public safe and catch the bad guy’s.”
The DCI was silent for a moment, as he pondered how he could deploy his men to get the best results from them. He swiftly assessed their individual skills as he looked from one man to the other. Sergeant Dick Frankton didn’t take any nonsense from anyone, and had been known to use undue force in the past, to get results. While the duty officer for that day, Jim Clarke, was merely killing time until his retirement in a few months. Officer Pete Morgan had a silver tongue, and a winning smile. People opened up to him, and overcame their reluctance to speak, when he asked them questions. On the other hand, his regular partner, Sergeant Colin Harris, was a stickler for doing things by the book, and following procedure, Jake knew that he could use this to his advantage, and made his decision accordingly, as he looked around at his team. “Right, Frankton and Harris, I want you to get back to Bradley’s Butcher shop, and check everything, and I mean everything, in, and around the area. Knock on doors, ask questions, someone must have seen or heard something.” Turning to Pete Morgan, he said, “I want you and PC Holmes to find out all you can about this Roger Green, and if necessary bring him in for questioning. The rest of you, follow your normal duties for the time being. I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me. You can give me your briefs when you have something. Carry on, men, let’s put a stop to this madness before anyone else gets hurt.” As they all trooped out of his office, Jake succumbed to his fifth cigarette of the day, and a quick glance at his wrist watch told him it was still only nine thirty.
The first officer’s to report back, an hour later, were Frankton and Harris. They had discovered a chest freezer, crudely wired up to a twelve volt battery, in what appeared to be an abandoned storage unit, just a few yards away from the rear of the butcher’s premises.
“We reconnoitred the area at the back of the premises, on that small patch of waste land. In the building we mentioned, was this battery operated freezer. I know a bit about these, because the missus was on about getting one for the mother-in-laws cottage a while back, and I had to look into it,” Sergeant Dick Frankton, told his boss.
“The twelve volt is the lower voltage freezer, and cuts out at eleven point four, and cuts back in at eleven point seven. This low voltage cut-out, protects the compressor motor from damage, and a thermostat controls the compressor. The advantage these have over other freezers, is their quiet operation. Unlike other freezers they don’t have an internal fan, which is the cause of most of the noise from conventional freezers.”
Jake Fletcher held up his hands to stop him speaking. “Ok, you’ve sold me on a battery operated freezer. Now you’ve given me your sales pitch, tell me what was the point of all that?” He felt his temper rising for the third time that day.
Sergeant Harris took over the conversation. “I think we were meant to find this freezer, chief, it was still running silently off the battery, and it wasn’t even locked. There was a thin film of frost inside, it was empty, apart from one small item, and there were signs that a body had been stored in it, and a few drops, of what appears, to be blood. It looks as if we have found out where Lucas Bradley’s body was put, after he was killed, before he was moved and hung up in his own freezer. This also means the killer has got a hold of Lucas’s set of keys, and he was able to go back and forth as he pleased, while he did the job. So far no one has seen or heard anything.”
“I take it you’ve asked forensics to take a look and get samples,” he asked them.
“Yes chief,” Dick Frankton replied. They’re on to it, and the area is all taped off.
I expect it won’t be long before we’ll have our friend, Clive Marston, sticking his nose in again when this gets out.”
“You mentioned something small was found in the freezer, what was it?”
“Yes, lying on the bottom of the freezer,” Colin Harris said, “We found a white rose.”
CHAPTER 34
Claire Green was watching the T.V. in her front room, when she heard a vehicle pull up outside. She glanced out of the window.
“Well, I suppose we’ll find out in a minute or two when I answer the doorbell,” he called back to her.
Two police officer’s stood on the doorstep, and he recognised the older, dark-haired officer with the pleasant face. He had seen him many times in and around the town, but the younger officer with the piercing blue eyes was a total stranger to him.
“Good morning, are you Mr Basil Roger Green?” the younger officer asked.
“Yes, I am, but I much prefer to be called Roger. How can I help you officer’s?”
“We are making inquires into the death of Evelyn Bradley, whose body was discovered last week,” Pete Morgan told him. “I wonder if you would mind answering a few questions?” Before he could answer, Claire Green called out from the front room.
“What’s going on, Roger, what do they want?”
“They just want to ask me a few questions, love.” he called back to her.
“My wife’s an invalid and I’m her full time carer, you’d better come in, or we’ll be shouting back and forth until she finds out what she wants to know. I was just making tea, could I offer you both a cup?” he said, stepping aside so they could enter.
“Not just now, thank you, we’re on duty. I’m afraid this isn’t a social call,” Pete Morgan informed him
Claire Green, sat in a leather armchair, her wheelchair beside her. Pete Morgan nodded his head in greeting and said politely, “Good morning, Mrs Green, sorry to disturb you, we won’t keep you from your tea, we just need to ask your husband a few questions.” He gave her a reassuring smile.
“That’s all right officer, please have a seat both of you.” She pointed to the settee.
“Thanks, all the same, but I prefer to stand. I sit down most of the day,” Pete Morgan told her. Tom Holmes took up her offer.
“I’m sure you’ve heard on the news that Evelyn Bradley was murdered,” he said, as he sat down beside Roger on the settee.
“Yes, such a terrible thing to happen, we were both shocked when we heard about it,” Roger told them.
“Well, we are collecting DNA samples from all of the males in the area. I wonder would you mind providing us with a sample of your DNA?” Tom Holmes asked him.
“DNA, I don’t follow you. Why would you want a sample of my DNA?”
“What was not released on the news, was the fact that Evelyn Bradley was twelve weeks pregnant at the time of her murder,” Pete Morgan said.
Claire, who had been sitting quietly listening to their conversation, gasped.
“Oh, that poor woman. How tragic. This is really a double murder, then. It’s terrible, poor Lucas. What will he do now, I wonder?”
“That still doesn’t tell me why I should give you a sample of my DNA,” Roger told him. “She was a married woman after all!”
“Yes, that’s perfectly true Mr Green, but there’s more to it than that. We’re acting on other information; and I’m not permitted to say more at this stage. You will be required to supply a sample for us, as will all males in Abbeville over the age of eighteen,” Tom Holmes stated.
Pete Morgan stood quietly to one side, content to let his colleague do the talking for the moment. He watched the flickering emotions on Roger Green’s face, as the questions were asked of him, Roger expression changed again, when he asked, “Would you mind telling us where you were on the night of the fifteenth, Roger, which would be last Thursday?” Pete Morgan called him by his chosen name, to throw him off balance.
“Last Thursday I was at home. I’m at home every night. I have to take care of my wife.” He looked across at his wife as he spoke. Claire confirmed this, saying. “Roger hardly ever goes out at night, if he does its only for an hour or two, he never leaves me alone for long.” Her husband gave her a piercing look. Seeing this, she stopped talking, and remained silent.
Pete Morgan hadn’t liked the look of Roger Green from the moment he opened his front door to them. He had stood unsmiling, his stooped, lanky figure, filling the doorway. The officer’s eyes had quickly taken in the old fashioned, sleeveless V-necked pullover, with its bold, fair-isle pattern. The stripped, button-down collared shirt, grey flannels, and brown slippers, completed his attire. Roger’s dark brown hair was plastered back on his head with some kind of gel, his persona belonging back in the fifties.
Roger sat fiddling nervously with the knot on his tie, loosening it slightly. With the fingers of one hand, he undid the top button of his shirt. The officer noticed a two inch long gash across the back of Roger’s hand.
“What happened to your hand, Roger, that looks like a nasty cut you’ve got there?”
Pete Morgan noted the startled expression that darted across Roger Green’s face when the officer mentioned the cut on his hand. Roger stopped fiddling with his collar and looked at the back of his hand.
“Oh that, I was doing something for the wife, and the knife slipped, its almost healed now, so I thought I’d let the air at it.”
“It looks like the cut went pretty deep,” Pete Morgan said.
“It certainly did,” Claire piped up, “His clothes were covered in blood.”
Roger glared at his wife. “Shut up, Claire, the officer’s don’t want to hear about my hand.” Turning back to Pete Morgan, he said, “Women, they’re all the same, they make mountains out of molehills. The cut wasn’t that bad, it did bleed a bit, but no more than you’d expect.
Tom Holmes, changed the subject. “How well did you know Evelyn Bradley, Mr Green?”
“Not that well at all, really. Why?”
“We found her diary, and your name appears on nearly every page. Can you explain why Evelyn Bradley would write about you in her diary, Mr Green?” Tom asked.
“My name? That can’t be right.” Roger sounded puzzled.
“I can assure you it is. So you have no idea would she would write your name so often in her diary?” Tom asked him again.
“I’ve no idea. Like I told you, I hardly knew the woman.” Roger sounded agitated.
From out of the blue, Officer Morgan asked, “What size shoe do you take, Roger?” He smiled genially as he asked the question.
“What? Shoe size,” now Roger really looked perplexed. “Why do you want to know my shoe size?”
“Just asking, more or less out of curiosity,” the officer told him.
“Size eleven if you must know. Now you tell me why you wanted to know that?”
“Well to be honest with you, Roger, my partner and I have a little bet with each other on the side. To relieve the boredom when we’re on the beat, we try to guess peoples shoe sizes according to how tall they look,” Pete Morgan said, smiling.
“That’s bloody silly. How can you tell who wins?” He sat sneering at the grinning officer.
“We stop and ask them,” Tom Holmes said, joining in the conversation, although he wasn’t sure what Pete Morgan was trying to achieve with these questions.
Roger looked across at his wife. Who had remain silent since his put down.
“You see, Claire, this is what’s wrong with society today. Police officer’s playing silly bloody games out on the streets, wasting the tax payer’s money, instead of out there catching the criminals, and doing the job they are paid to do.”
Pete Morgan brought the conversation back to the shoe size.
“You’re what? Around five foot eight? Size eleven seems big for that height.”
Tom Holmes caught onto what his colleague was trying to find out in his unusual way of questioning. It had to do with the bloody footprints, found at the murder scene, of Evelyn Bradley.
“I’m six-two, if you must know. So how does that fit in with your silly little game?”
“I guess that
means my colleague wins this one,” Tom, said.
Roger looked from one officer to the other, as he tried to figure out what little game they were really playing. They hadn’t mentioned Evelyn’s diary again, thank God. Why the hell would the silly bitch write his name in her diary? He wondered what else she might have written in it about him. If the police already suspected he had been her lover, they would have come out with it by now, so he guessed they really had nothing much to go on. These two officer’s’ were just a couple of dick-heads, in his opinion. He remained silent, waiting to see what would happen next.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wife glance at her wrist watch keeping a check of the time. The next statement made by Officer Pete Morgan, shocked him back to the reality of the situation he was in, and Roger, unable to control himself, started to perspire profusely.
“We need to establish who fathered Evelyn Bradley’s unborn child, and that’s why we require a DNA sample, Roger. Providing your DNA will help to eliminate you from police inquires.”
“Why, because Lucas was infertile, and his missus took a lover? That’s got nothing to do with me. Suppose I don’t want to give you a sample, after all, I do have my rights you know.” Roger shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Pete Morgan noted Roger used the past tense. when referring to Lucas and the news of Lucas’s murder, and the finding of his body had not yet been released to the media.
Claire looked at her wrist watch again, and then across at her husband.
“Give them a sample Roger, and get it over and done with. I don’t want police hanging around here all day. In case you have forgotten, I’ve a doctor’s appointment in fifteen minutes.”
“No, I hadn’t forgotten,” Roger said, slightly agitated at his wife’s interruption.
“I’ll drop by later, after I’ve taken my wife to her appointment, and give you my sample then, if that’s okay?”
“That will be fine, Mr Green. We’ll expect you later then, thank you both for your time,” Tom Holmes said, getting to his feet.