by Edward Figg
She waited for a bus to pass and then steered the car out into the stream of traffic.
‘OK. That phone call was to the DCI. We’re now off to meet him and a some of the others. We’re going to meet ‘em up on the Morton Estate. We’re off to see Reggie Hunter and do a bit of hunting for ourselves. Namely trying to find two hundred and ten quid or maybe what’s left of it.’
She was driving too fast as she approached the roundabout and as she entered it, she braked hard causing Hollingsworth to bang his head on the side window. He rubbed the side of his head and glared at her.
She gripped the wheel feeling his eyes burning into her. ‘Sorry about that.’ She smiled, ‘I’m not too familiar with the streets here yet.’ She tried making a joke of it. ‘The middle of the road is a stupid place to put a roundabout.’
Hollingsworth was not in a laughing mood. He was about to make a remark about women drivers but being as she out-ranked him had settled for tightening his seat belt instead. It felt the safer option.
Kirby decided to make sure Hollingsworth had the full picture and as they drove along she set about explaining everything, including what the DCI had said to her back at Kent Street. She told him why the DCI had given her the photos.
Hollingsworth, satisfied he now had all the facts, nodded, smiled and said, ‘Bleeding hell. Now it all makes sense. You have to hand it to him. If it’s right what young Dunmore said about being away from the counter less than a minute, then this Hunter must be one cool-headed arsehole to take a chance like that. He’s one crafty sod that’s for sure.’ He sat back thinking about it. ‘I am happy enough to forgive you for not confiding in me all the details back there at the store but not for trying to throw me through the bloody side window,’ he said. His head still smarted.
******
So as not to alert Hunter, Kirby pulled onto the kerb and parked the car just around the corner from his house and waited for the others to arrive. It was a full ten minutes before she saw a patrol car pull in behind with two PCs in it. Behind them came Carter in his car. With him was DC Jill Richardson.
Carter got out and called them together. He briefed them then patted his pocket to make sure he’d not forgotten the search warrant. PC Andy Miller was armed with a red battering ram should it be needed for the front door. It was known affectionately as the big red key.
Cherry Tree Gardens did not live up to its name. It consisted of only eight houses. It was a case of false advertising as there was not a cherry tree in site. In fact, on closer inspection, there was not a tree of any description. It was a blatant misuse of a street name. ‘There should be something in the Trades Description Act that prevented naming streets like this one,’ thought Carter. It was a lifeless street in more ways than one.
The front garden of number two, Cherry Tree Gardens cried out for attention. The design definitely didn’t come from out of Better Homes & Gardens. The grass, if you could call it that, had not been cut since one man and his dog had left the meadow. The mower had long since died and lay belly up in the middle of the garden by a bird table. With its four wheels pointing skyward it gave it the impression it had feet. It looked just like a dead turtle. What was first thought to be a bird table turned out to be a standard lamp with a board fixed to the top of it. The frame of the lamp shade, with bits of the original material hanging from it, was still in place. No respecting bird in his right mind would be seen dead using it.
The small garden gate that blocked their way was hanging on by only one hinge. It was no obstacle, and as Carter pushed it open, it fell flat at his feet. He looked down at it as if giving it the last rites and then stepped over it and continued on down the path. Luke Hollingsworth, bringing up the rear, picked it up and tossed it into the long grass.
Carter sent PC Reg Stanton off around the back of the house, to block off the only escape, should Hunter decide to do a runner out of the back door.
They team approached the front door. Carter listened at the letter box. ‘I can hear the telly.’ He straightened up and pressed the doorbell. To his surprise, it worked. He kept his finger there until he heard a woman’s voice screaming and cursing, saying that she was going to tell whoever was pressing the bloody bell, to bloody stop.
The brassy, overweight, blonde women who opened the door took one look at PC Andy Miller, gave a startled cry and said, ‘Shit.’ She followed with a string of verbal abuse and tried to slam the door shut. Carter, anticipating the move, had placed one foot over the threshold to stop it from being shut. He then pushed the door hard, sending it slamming back against the wall and pushing the woman back down the passage.
‘Now then Rosie, is that any way to greet visitors?’ Carter said.
‘Piss off the lot of you,’ she hissed, ‘we ain't done nothing. This is harassment. It’s out and out persecution. Oi, look what you’ve gone ‘n done. You’ve gone and busted me bleedin’ door. Who’s going to pay for that then? Who, then? Tell me that? Yer a bunch of arseholes.’
‘So,’ he said, pushing past her and waving a sheet of paper at her. ‘We have a warrant. Complain to the Commissioner. I’m sure he would love to hear from you. Right, now we’re here to see his lordship. Is he receiving guests? I do hope so. I would hate to have come all this way for nothing and find he’s out,’ he said, sarcastically. ‘Where is he Rosie? No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. In the morning room reading the Financial Times?’ He looked sceptically at her.
A voice bellowed out from the kitchen. ‘What the bloody ‘ell is all that noise about? What’s going on out there?’
She yelled out a warning, ‘It’s the Old Bill.’
Carter moved quickly down the hallway and poked his head around the door. ‘It’s me. Hope I’m not intruding? I have an invite for you from Her Majesty. She wants you back at her hotel. There’s a room reserved for you at Maidstone.’
Hunter was sitting in his underwear at the table, the top of which contained a number of empty beer cans. A full one was still in his hand.
‘Shit,’ he exclaimed. ‘Chief Inspector Carter.’ He stood up, and threw the can at him. Carter nimby side stepped. It missed him, bouncing harmlessly off the wall and spilling Fosters all over the floor. Hunter quickly got up from his seat and tried to make good his escape through the open back door. He quickly gave up on the idea when he saw PC Stanton materialise and block the way. Hunter swore.
‘Thinking of going for a jog in yer jocks were yer Reggie? Not a good idea. You might catch cold,’ said Stanton.
Carter turned and spoke. ‘Luke, Marcia. Have a look upstairs. Jill, check out the living room. Miller, stay by the front door.’
Rosie Hunter pushed past them and went over to her husband. She stood with feet apart and her hands on her hips. Her face took on a look of defiance. The look said it all.
In the sitting room sat was a small boy, aged about ten. He was busy reading a comic. No doubt he was the architect of the bird bath. The television volume was turned up high and with the living room door shut he had not heard their grand entrance. He remained blissfully ignorant. He was not aware of them until Jill Richardson made her presence known by coming into the room and turning off the telly.
‘Oi! what the bleeding heck do you want? Just who the bleeding hell do you think are you? Turn it back on silly cow. Who do you think you are? You have no right to come in here and turn my fucking telly off. Who are you anyway?’ he shouted.
Jill Richardson pulled out here warrant card. She stuck it under his nose and said, ‘Here is my right, you nasty, evil little gnome.’
‘Geez’ he sniffed ‘you’re a shitting copper? I hate bleedin’ coppers.’ He looked up at her from the couch for a few seconds, cocked his head sideways and said, ‘You’re not a bad looking bird for a copper. Show us yer tits darlin?’
‘For a little kid, you’ve got a big mouth. Any more of that,’ said Richardson, raising her hand ‘and you’ll end up getting a smack around the ear, you little tyke.’
She stood over him. ‘Why
aren’t you at school?’
‘Coz I don’t ‘ave to go if I don’t want to. My dad said so. I ’ate bleedin’ teachers and I ‘ate bleedin’ coppers.’
Looking around, her gaze fell on a large cardboard box in the corner of the room that showed it had once contained a large flat screen television. That television now took pride of place under the window. The box, in which it came was clearly marked Hartman’s Department Store.
The boy, seeing her looking at it, proudly said. ‘My dad brought it yesterday afternoon because the old one packed up last week!’.
‘The cheeky bastard,’ thought Richardson. ‘Taking the money and then going back to the same store later to buy the telly. That takes balls.’
She searched through the rest of the room and then headed off down the hall toward the sounds of the raised voices.
Carter was still in the kitchen fighting a barrage of verbal abuse from Rosie Hunter when Richardson walked in.
‘If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a dozen bloody times. ‘E was here all bleedin’ day with me. He never went out. We ‘wuz both watching telly together.’
Hearing that, Richardson said, ‘So Missus, explain to me how you managed to watch a telly that you didn’t have?’
‘What the bleedin’ ‘eck are you talking about?’ piped up Reggie Hunter.
Richardson smiled ‘Well, according to that ‘polite’ young son of yours in the other room,’ she said sarcastically, ‘Your telly went on the blink over a week ago, you got that nice new one yesterday.’
The Hunters went silent. They turned and looked worriedly at each other. Along with worry there was a look of confusion and shock on Reggie Hunter’s face. He had been dropped in the proverbial by his own son.
At that point, young Hunter walked in to the kitchen. Rosie hollered out loudly. ‘You little shit. I’ll kick your bleeding arse.’
‘Well,’ said Carter. With a contented smile on his face, he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘Seems like your alibi is up shit street old son.’
At that moment, Kirby called from upstairs. ‘Boss. You’d best come up and take a look at this.’
When Carter walked into the bedroom the first thing he noticed was the chaos. There were women’s and men’s clothes strewn all over the place and bedclothes on the floor.
‘When you do a search you certainly do the thorough job.’ he said, staring around the room.
‘That’s not down to us sir,’ chirped Luke Hollingsworth. ‘It was like that when we came in.’ He spread his arms out. ‘This family is just plain bloody untidy. You should see the kids’ room. It’s a friggin’ disaster area.’
He then indicated the wardrobe with its doors wide open.
‘Uniforms,’ said Kirby, rifling through them. ‘Six of them. They all belong to different department stores. Your hunch was right sir.’
When they went back downstairs, Carter confronted Hunter with what they had found and set about filling in the gaps.
‘I took the liberty of doing a bit of checking before I came here today.’ He smiled across the table at Hunter. ‘The last time you came out of prison your probation officer found you a job at Westerns Clothing factory. Among the many things they manufactured were uniforms for various department stores. According to them, you left after only a few weeks, complaining of back problems. My guess is that you saw an opportunity and conjured up this little money-making scheme. You nicked some of them uniforms. By wearing ‘em in those big stores at a busy time you hoped to get by unnoticed. You waited until the assistant was out of the way then helped yourself to some of the cash in the till. You were smart enough not to take all the money in case someone noticed and raised the alarm while you were still in the store. You were lucky at Hartman’s because the assistant had only been there a couple of weeks and didn’t know all of the staff. He was on his own at the time. The other assistant was off on lunch break. The lad was only away from the till a while but he did notice a man coming from the direction of his counter. That man was you. You had on a Hartman’s uniform so naturally he took no notice. He thought you were just another employee. It was certainly brazen that’s for sure. Fair do, it took some guts. I’ll give you credit for that. But this time me old son your luck ran out, because the lad from Hartman’s picked you out straight away,’ Carter said, pulling from his pocket and waving a sheet of passport-sized photos at him. ‘He recognised your handsome face.’ Carter gave a smile of satisfaction and said, ‘you’re well and truly nicked.’
Rosie Hunter just sat with her mouth open.
‘I’m saying nothing until I’ve seen my lawyer,’ said Reggie Hunter. ‘I’m innocent. You’ve got the wrong man.’
Carter cautioned Hunter. ‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
If there was a law about keeping an untidy garden, Carter would have willingly charged the man with that as well. He called Stanton, then called down the hall to Miller. ‘Put the telly and the uniforms into your car and take them back to Kent Street. Hunter can ride with us.’
They left the house with the sounds of abuse from Rosie still ringing in their ears. Young Hunter tried his level best to cripple PC Stanton by kicking him in the goolies while removing the television. The kid was left with tears streaming down his face after Rosie had cuffed him around the ear for telling them about the busted telly. He stood staring at the empty space on the coffee table where once his beloved telly had stood.
In Carter’s eyes, it had been a good result. ‘A pint at the Black Bear was in order. The first round’s on me.’
Chapter 8
Wednesday 15th September
The mood in the CID room that morning could only be described as subdued, rather than relaxed. The only occupants that looked healthy, normal and chipper, were Baxter, Reid, Lynch and Turner. They had not been at the celebrations the night before. It was easy to see the ones that had. What had started out as just a pint in the Black Bear developed into a bit of a session. After five drinks and a karaoke session under their belts they all trooped off to the Indian Restaurant for a curry. It was close to midnight before they staggered off in search of a taxi.
Luke Hollingsworth felt like his tongue had grown a beard; his head was throbbing. He looked tatty. He felt tatty.
‘Why, oh why, did I have to go and suggest a bloody karaoke?’ he asked himself. He though back to the duet, I Should Be So Lucky, that he’d sang with Jill Richardson when she’d tried to imitate Kylie Minogue. Just the thought of it made him shudder.
Looking for some form of relief, he rummaged around in the drawers of his desk looking for the packet of Panadol he kept for emergencies. This was certainly one such time. He found them and popped four in his mouth, washing them down with lukewarm coffee. He screwed up his eyes as the sound of the swing doors being pushed open echoed through his head.
Through the doors marched Superintendent Watkins. She walked to the centre of the room and looked around. ‘Well done people.’ She put her hands together and applauded them ‘That was a good result yesterday. Six crimes cleared up in one hit. Good collar. The gods on high are pleased.’
There were muttered thanks from Jill Richardson and Marcia Kirby. The best Hollingsworth could produce was a weak smile and a slight up and down movement of his head.
Watkins stood with hands on hips slowly eyeing them. Her gaze came to rest on Hollingsworth. She looked him up and down. ‘Constable! You look like shit. Sleep in your suit last night, did you?’
‘No ma’am.’
‘Go and smarten yerself up.’
Doing his best to appear normal, but not feeling it, he got up from his desk and headed off to the locker room.
She carried on walking over to Carter’s office door, tapped and entered. Carter too, was nursing a bit of a hangover, but his was only a one Panadol job.
She pointed over her shou
lder. ‘I’m surprised they’re not more enthusiastic about yesterday’s result. Good work all round,’ she said, pulling up a chair. She sat down and put a file on the desk.
‘They celebrated a bit late last night. They may have overdone it a wee bit,’ he said. ‘I plead guilty as well.’ He could still feel the remnants of last night’s tandoori chicken churning around in his stomach.
‘Ah well, boys will be boys,’ she said, as she opened the file. ‘I’ve been looking through CID personnel files and we have an abundance of sergeants.’ She tapped the open file. ‘In fact, we have one too many.’
He raised his voice just a little too high. ‘No way.’ It was loud enough to be heard through the open door, causing heads to turn in his direction. Realising it, he got up from his desk, walked over and shut the door. He came back to the desk, ‘Sorry, but I just can’t afford to lose anyone, not with this murder investigation still underway. I’d object strongly to either Kirby or Baxter being transferred. I’d fight you on that one,’ he said, sternly.
‘You just hold your horses a moment Bob. You don’t have to fight anyone. Hear me out. I don’t intend for you to lose anyone. You keep your team. What you need here is someone to take some of the load off of you. What you need is an inspector.’ She paused waiting for a reaction. ‘You agree?’
Carter gave it some thought then nodded.
‘Ok then. Ted Baxter has passed his Inspector’s exams. Do you think he’s up to the job, what do you reckon?’ She studied his face, waiting for a response.
‘Ted Baxter is a bloody good copper and in my opinion, it would be a good move. He’s well ready for it. He’s well-liked and respected by all of us. I suggested that to Superintendent Marsh on several occasions. He always fobbed me off with stories of budget restraints.’ He asked, ‘Do you think HQ will give it the green light?’
‘Don’t you worry about that, Bob.’ She tapped the side of her nose with her finger. ‘I know just the person to talk to. Leave it to me, it’s as good as in the bag. I’ll get on to it and recommend they bump him up.’ She sat back, folded her arms and smiled.