The Singhing Detective

by M. C. Dutton

  The police station was buzzing with the change of duties, officers going off after night duty and the new shift coming on. Jazz looked around for signs of anyone interested in him. All looked OK and he went to find Sharon and Tony. They looked up and he whispered that they should all retire to the canteen so he could tell them his news.

  They had the murder case, which excited them. They huddled closer around the table as Jazz told them he had a meeting with one of the Holy Trinity that morning, which might help and give them a lead. Their job was to speak to intelligence and find out what was happening in the area regarding cannabis factories and how they were working; they would also find out who the main dealers in the area were and look up CRIS reports on them. He knew most of the answers, times don’t change much, but it was good to see information coming from a different angle. They arranged to meet at 3 p.m. in the canteen for an update. In answer to their question, he didn’t want to meet in the CID office, there were too many ears listening and there would be jealousy that they had the murder case. They could sit in a corner of the canteen and not be overheard.

  Again, he asked that they talk to residents in Wards Road to see if anyone knew anything, however small, that might help in this investigation. Sharon said she was going to talk to the dustmen that came every Thursday, just in case they had seen anything. Tony was going to talk to the postman. They were also going to re-interview the milkman as he was in the street every day. Tony thought that it might be helpful to find out if there were school children around. If so, he was going to interview them. Kids poke their noses into things they shouldn’t and hopefully they might get some information that way. Jazz was pleased, they were thinking outside the box. At last it didn’t feel like he was doing this alone. As he left the building, he ignored his name being shouted out and quickened his pace until he was past St Peter & Paul Catholic church. He was on his way to the temple just five minutes further down the road.

  Bam Bam wanted an early meeting, he had things to do. Jazz knew he was just keeping him in his place and that was OK. As long as he helped him find the murderers of Alice, he didn’t give a shit if he wanted to look the big, benevolent man to Jazz. It was 9 a.m. and Bam Bam said he wanted a 9.10 a.m. meeting. Why he was so fucking picky about 10 minutes Jazz didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to upset the man who was going to help him solve this murder. Bam Bam should never be underestimated. Whatever Jazz had done for him, he still expected to be treated with the respect due him. They were never going to be bosom buddies, business was business in his mind and Bam Bam was the Managing Director.

  It was busy in the temple for 9 a.m. The gossiping aunties, as the Sikh women who regularly cooked and cleaned and just met to chat were called, were there getting ready for a funeral feast. Jazz put a hankie on his head and took his shoes off. He made his way to a corner of the temple that was empty and waited. At 9.10 precisely, two of Bam Bam’s men came in and looked around. They spotted him in the corner and a minute later, Bam Bam entered and was escorted to where Jazz was seated. It was quietly done but caused quite a spectacle. Most people entered a temple in a humble fashion. Although there was no announcement that he had arrived, his heavies walking him across the temple floor made everyone discreetly look. Bam Bam was known to everyone and no one would have the bad manners or the nerve to stand and stare.

  After much huffing and puffing as he arranged his immense self onto a corner seat, Bam Bam mopped his beaded brow and, when fully settled, looked expectantly at Jazz.

  “So, how is Sandeep?” was the best Jazz could say as an opener. He thought about her every now and then and genuinely wanted to know if she was alright. Bam Bam smiled, he knew why Jazz mentioned Sandeep. Both knew what they were there for.

  The preamble last half an hour. Sandeep was now married to an Italian who owned a private hospital for cosmetic surgery. In answer to the question, Bam Bam said of course the man was a Sikh, but he was born in Italy. She was, according to Bam Bam, very happy indeed. Apparently there were no children yet. It was a worry because they had been married for four years now. Jazz thought that Sandeep must have been married off very quickly after the sect affair. He wondered also if no babies had anything to do with the abortion. Still, as long as she was happy. At least she would grow old beautifully. A lot of women would love to have a husband who could keep their looks with facelifts and face peels, whiten their teeth and make their boobs bigger. No dieting needed if you had liposuction. It sounded like a marriage made in heaven for a woman.

  They got one of the women who was a regular at the temple to make a cup of tea for them both. The women took it in turns to be there to cook and clean. It was their job to volunteer for these roles. It was also a good opportunity to meet with other women to talk and discuss everything that was going on in the community. None of the women there wanted to know what Bam Bam was doing though. They were scared of him and knew better than to mention his name. He had a reputation as a benevolent Sikh but when crossed, his fury knew no bounds and his influence in the surrounding area was enormous.

  Once he had been served a cup of tea and homemade cake, Jazz started at the beginning and told Bam Bam about Alice. He watched as Bam Bam demolished the six coconut cakes they had between them. Jazz was not hungry and didn’t want his. Jabba the Hut came into his mind but he got rid of such a thought quickly. He needed Bam Bam to help him and he wasn’t going to sit and ridicule him, even if it was just a thought in his head. He told Bam Bam about the cannabis factory and how it had been cleared quickly. Alice had died in there and was then carried into her house. Did Bam Bam know about this and who had done it? He told him it was personal, that he needed to find the killers to avenge Alice. He told him that he had the murder case but only for a short while. It was going to be handed over to the murder squad fairly soon. The look showed he was serious, he was almost pleading with Bam Bam to help him catch the persons who did this.

  Bam Bam wanted to know who Alice was. She was a westerner and for the life of him he couldn’t understand why it was so personal for Jazz. It took another hour for Jazz to tell the story of living close to Alice all his young life. He could have just brushed over the details but Alice deserved to be recognised for the person she was. She was important to his mother and she was more important to Jazz than he ever realised in his youth. It was only now that he was talking about her and the things she used to do with him and for him that he realised she had quite an effect on his upbringing. When his father died, Alice helped his mother get over it and in doing so, helped his mother keep in touch with Jazz, who had left home by then.

  His visits, rare as they were, were whirlwind visits that caused a commotion and an upset in routine and an upset in emotions when he left as quickly as he arrived. Alice was there to sit with his mother. He felt guilty at the thought and now couldn’t believe how selfish and how much of a bloody bastard he had been. He put it down to the ego of youth. His life had seemed so full and busy and his visits were annoying interruptions to his daily life. He loved his mother and he cared deeply for Alice but they were old women who he knew loved him so he never worked at pleasing them. In those heady days, he always thought his mother was happy just sitting and waiting for him. He laughed now at such an absurd way of thinking and how incredibly egotistical he was. All he could do now was find Alice’s killers and put them away. In some way, he told himself, this might make amends for any disrespect he might have shown to Alice and his mother.

  Sitting there in the temple, he thought he should beg forgiveness, but on the other hand, he thought, he should just get on with doing his job and catching the bastards who had done this. He turned to Bam Bam and said he needed the information as soon as possible. Bam Bam said he would do what he could and see him in the temple at the same time tomorrow.

  FRIEDA’S PROBLEM

  Jazz went back to the police station to find that Sharon had been told to interview Frieda Clarke. She had been arrested that morning and Sharon was seconded to interview her. Frie
da was a well known drunk who, when she went on a walkabout fuelled by too much cheap cider, would annoy and bother pedestrians and cyclists in her path. She was often arrested and was so well known in the magistrates’ court she had her own chair. Actually they put a chair in a corner to keep her away from people.

  Frieda had a problem brought on by bad diet and too much drink. Her stomach was revolting in more ways than one! She had the most terrible wind and every minute would pass a smell that could make strong men cry. There was no subtlety in our Frieda, when she passed wind, the bellowing noise made flocks of startled birds take flight and neighbours would bang on the walls. Frieda was oblivious to the fuss she caused and was very put out by the way people acted around her.

  Jazz made his way down to the interview rooms and peered through the one-way glass. He watched Sharon struggling to interview this woman, who regularly interrupted the proceedings with a slight move to the right of the chair as she ripped forth with a bellowing burst of trumpeting followed quickly by a stench that begged the question that something had died and rotted in the depths of her bowels.

  Nothing changes in Ilford, he thought. He remembered Frieda when he was here before. She was about 55 years old now and looking pretty ropey but still feisty and fed up with being arrested. He thought she looked a bit more ragged and thinner than the last time he saw her. Her clothes looked more worn and he suspected that buying drink won over buying essentials in life, like clothes and proper food. Last time he saw her she had more teeth, he thought. That was over five years ago, just before he was sent to Manchester.

  Some bright spark had put Sharon in the small interview room with Frieda. The poor girl would be nearly dead by now. He laughed at the thought and went to bale out Sharon. No one interviewed Farting Frieda in a small room. Times had not changed in all the years he had been away. It felt like he had never left Ilford.

  Sharon had some news. Whilst interviewing Frieda about her trying to stop a cyclist by kicking his wheels as he past her and scaring the hell out of him, Sharon asked if Frieda ever went into Wards Road. It turned out she had and Farting Frieda had seen something in Wards Road. The council owned a house in Meads Lane which was converted into flats and Frieda had a one bedroom ground floor flat. Frieda often walked the length of Wards Road to get to Ley Street and her favourite off licence. She was telling Sharon about a car she had seen quite often in the sideway of the house. It took painstaking questions to find out it was the house next to Alice she was talking about. She said the car was one of those big cars that presidents have. After questioning her about what it looked like and what badge it had on the back, it turned out to be a Mercedes. There were lots of Mercedes in Ilford and Sharon was about to give up when Frieda started to giggle and said that the number plate always made her laugh. Apparently it said PISS and she thought that was really funny for a number plate. Sharon was going to check it out and get back to Jazz. This was a bloody good break and he slapped her on the back for her brilliance.

  She thanked him for rescuing her and said the stench was appalling and now she was going to burn all her clothes and have a long shower. Jazz laughed and said everyone new in the station was given an interview with Farting Frieda as an initiation. She had passed. Sharon walked off muttering that she hadn’t passed half as much as Frieda had and in a loud voice advised Jazz not to light a match in the vicinity. He liked Sharon, she had the makings of a good Detective.

  He found Tony in the CID office phoning the post office; he was still trying to get through to someone who could tell him who delivered in Wards Road. They were in Ilford so Jazz suggested they walk round to the post office and ask in person. They couldn’t be ignored if they stood close enough to a post office manager.

  He should have known he had been in the police station too long not to be noticed. He wasn’t quick enough to get out of the CID room and was trapped. In the doorway of the CID room stood DCI Radley. Jazz was amazed, he had left his room. He was pointing his hand in the direction of Jazz and was telling him to move himself now into his office. Again he had a tirade of complaints that Jazz was not making himself available, answering his mobile phone and turning deaf when it suited him. This was a reference to his being called earlier that morning and just walking out of the police station.

  The troubled DCI was incredulous that Jazz could act in this way and that as his superior he was being ignored. He was about to suggest something unacceptable to Jazz, like taking him off the case, asking for his DS to be downgraded to a DC or putting him on gardening leave whilst his cases were investigated. Jazz couldn’t let this happen.

  As the DCI took a breath to put Jazz firmly in a place he didn’t want to go, Jazz jumped in. “Sir, we are making immense progress. Within 24 hours I have the car identified, I have contacts who are putting out feelers for me and I will have solid information to give you tomorrow afternoon, that is a promise! I am so focussed on this case that I am afraid I don’t hear outside influences and I haven’t answered my phone but that is because I am in the middle of getting this case and near to an arrest”

  The DCI opened his mouth to say something and then, resting his chin on his chest, thought for a few moments. “You have one more day to come up with something substantial otherwise it goes to the murder squad as it should.”

  Jazz relaxed inwardly and added, “You will have something to tell the press tomorrow, Sir, I promise.”

  With a nod and with “2 p.m. in my office tomorrow” ringing in the air, the DCI dismissed Jazz to carry on. As Jazz walked away, DCI Radley shouted to him, “And by the way, update me on Mr Singh and the scattering of his ashes.” Without turning, Jazz raised his hand to acknowledge he had heard.

  Bloody hell, he thought, I need something from Bam Bam and from Sharon and Tony that is going to keep this case with me. He also needed a sweetener when he broke the news to his DCI about the ashes. He grabbed Tony, who was banging the vending machine to get out the crisps he had paid for. Jazz clenched his fist and gave one swift punch to the side of the machine and the crisps fell down. He smiled. Nothing changes, he thought as he nodded to Tony to follow him. They went to the post office which was in Clements Road, off Ilford High Street. It would only take them five minutes to walk there if they didn’t fanny around, as Jazz would say.

  They found an officious manager who really couldn’t be asked to help them. After trying the friendly approach, Jazz lost patience and flashed his badge and proceeded to tell the jumped-up little shit that if he didn’t help the police, he could be looking at being taken to the police station and they could keep him there for hours. Then, of course, he added that he could also decide to give him a chance to think about it and knock on his door at 3 a.m. in the morning and march him down to the police station. The manager blushed at the thought and suddenly decided he would very much like to help in any way he could. It took about five minutes to find out who the postman for that round was. They had timed it right, he would be around somewhere because he finished his round at about 11 a.m. Jazz went off to find him.

  Tony had wandered off and was talking to staff who were sorting letters and parcels out the back in a large warehouse area. It was bright and noisy and full of people. There was music playing in the background; it was Capital Radio they were listening to as the jingle told listeners regularly. Tony went to the parcel section and got talking to a man named Lenny, who seemed to know everything there was to know about parcels and the area they covered. Lenny, as he told Tony, had worked there as a man and boy. He knew Wards Road, he said that they delivered there many times in the week. Apparently Royal Mail delivered Littlewoods or Great Universal books to a few houses and they were always ordering stuff from them. When asked about who lived there, he said something that made Tony very animated and rush to find Jazz.

  Jazz was waiting to see the postman when Tony grabbed him and said he had to listen to Lenny. Lenny was feeling quite good and important. He had said something that got the attention of the two policemen and now he w
as going to repeat it all but in his very best voice. With encouragement from Tony, Lenny cleared his voice and stood straight and tall.

  “It’s like this, I took the van on Wednesday to Wards Road. No 51 had ordered a package which I have to say weighed a ton. I nearly did my back in. All that bleedin health and safety stuff about carrying doesn’t help if yer knees ain’t any good.” He caught an impatient look from Jazz and returned to the story. He cleared his throat and got back on track. “So, I was proceeding down Wards Road and I espied two Chinese gentlemen going into the old lady’s house. They seemed to have a key and everything. Never thought a lot about it only I knew she lived there because she often was in her front garden in the good weather. I had seen her put out her milk bottle on Monday that week. I have spoken to her in the past because she took in a package for across the road once. A very nice old dear she was.” Lenny thought for a moment and added hesitantly, “It did seem strange, now you come to mention it, that two Chinese men should be going into her house.”

  He was asked if he could recognise them again and Lenny said that they were Chinese and they all looked the same to him. On being pushed a little further, he did say that one of them was quite small with an unusual hair cut. The sides were shaved so he looked bald except for a strip of hair through the middle of his head going down to a short pony tail. He was well-built and looked like he worked out. He reckoned this one was about 40 years old. The other one was quite young, about 25 years old. Jazz could feel the hairs on his arms standing up. This was getting really good. Lenny was a brilliant witness to have. He would be asked to go down to the station at some point to look at some mug shots to see if he could identify these men.