by S G Read
‘Did you see where he went?’ Clayton asked.
‘Yes, he went into the lift but I didn’t see what floor he went up to and Billy wasn’t in then, he was out visiting friends. I knew Billy quite well, so if I can help you catch his killer I will do.’
Clayton thought about the man and how to trace his movements.
‘We need to find out where this man went.’ He declared. ‘Can you ask around to see if he visited anyone in the flats, Mrs. Thompsett?’
‘I can indeed. I know enough people in here to ask and I can get those who know others in here to ask them for me but the grapevine is not as fast as it could be. We all knew about the murder by the next day, except for flat eight. No one sees the people in flat eight too much, you could call on them and ask them personally.’
‘Thank you for your help Mrs. Thompsett, we will do that.’ Clayton answered.
They walked out of the flat and stopped at the lift.
‘Before we call on flat eight, I want another look on the roof.’ Clayton announced while they waited for the lift to arrive.
Instead of going down to flat eight, they went up and then walked up onto the roof. They walked out into the sunshine and before they moved away from the door to the lift, Clayton looked round.
‘You can’t actually see the pigeon coop from here.’ He said, he was actually thinking it but it was his way of letting Rebecca know what he was thinking.
‘No, sir: If it was a neighbour tampering with the pigeons, how did they end up by the water tank?’ Rebecca answered. ‘Could they have been lying in wait for him?’
‘With the water tank lid off, ready to throw him in it, surely a baseball bat would have been easier.’ Clayton answered. ‘Then they could have opened the tank and pushed him in.’
‘He would have had to be strong to do that, it is a big water tank, sir.’
‘Yes, you’re right, he would have to have been a man mountain to do that, so what the hell went on?’
They walked round the tank housing and over to the pigeon coop and after a walk round the coop, Clayton looked down at the box with the little graves in it.
‘That one is a recent one, sir.’ Rebecca declared, pointing to the end grave.
Clayton looked at her and then down at the grave again.
‘You’re right, it is new but where does that come in?’ He asked.
‘It might help to know when it died and how long it has been dead for, sir.’
‘You expect me to ask Bill to dig it up and take it to Chastity for a post mortem?’ Clayton asked.
‘I can dig it up, sir, it is only a pigeon’s grave after all.’ Rebecca declared and knelt down by the box.
‘No, if it is going to be done at all, it will be done by the book. If you think it is worthwhile, then we will have it exhumed!’
Clayton pulled his mobile out and phoned Bill.
‘Yes Kemo Sabe, to what do I owe this honour?’ Bill answered.
‘I want you to exhume a body.’ Clayton answered.
‘Who and where, Kemo Sabe and have you got an exhumation order?’
‘It is not a who but a pigeon and Sergeant Stone thinks that exhuming it might help. As it is a pigeon, we do not need any sort of paperwork on it, just you here with a trowel.’
‘Can’t she bring it back with her?’ Bill asked.
‘If it is going to be done, it is going to be done by the book, samples as well.’ Clayton answered.
‘Then I will come and do it personally.’ Bill declared.
‘We will wait to make sure all protocols are followed, we have some people to interview after you have arrived.’ Clayton advised him.
‘So what do we do while we are waiting?’ Rebecca asked.
‘Take in the view?’ Clayton answered.
‘It needs to be a good view to keep me occupied for an hour, it might take him that long to get here!’ Rebecca complained. ‘What are you going to be doing?’
‘Feeding the pigeons again and talking to them, it can be very therapeutic!’ Clayton answered.
‘All they do is go coo, coo!’ Rebecca argued.
‘Well you can actually stroke them, if you aren’t allergic to their dust.’
‘Why are they dusty?’ Rebecca asked.
‘It is something to do with their feathers.’ Clayton answered.
Not one to refuse a challenge, Rebecca went into the coop with Clayton. She helped him feed them and even stroked one or two.
‘I see what you mean about the dust, sir. Outside in the street you never notice it but close up with so many birds, it is obvious.’
‘And what are you two up to in there?’ Bill asked from the corner of the roof.
‘I am having a lesson in birds.’ Rebecca answered.
‘Well as long as you don’t come to me for a cure for psittacosis, I don’t mind.’ Bill answered.
‘I take it that is caused by the dust?’ Rebecca asked.
‘It is young lady.’ Bill answered.
‘That is a step up from Tonto, Bill.’ Rebecca declared.
‘You have never looked like a Tonto to me, Rebecca.’ Bill answered.
‘Or me.’ Clayton added quickly.
‘Thank God for that, I never did look good with a feather in my hair.’ Rebecca replied.
‘Which of our feathery friends do you want me to dig up?’ Bill asked when he was standing by the box of graves.
‘The one in the middle, the one which has recently been buried.’ Rebecca answered, as it was her pigeon, so to speak. ‘It is marked FTL.’
She watched through the wire of the coop and directed Bill to the right grave. He did everything by the book, taking photographs both before he disinterred the pigeon and after the pigeon was in an evidence bag.
He took measurements and noted them down in his book as he took them. Then closed up his tool box and took a couple of photographs of Clayton and Rebecca in the coop, with Rebecca clinging to the wire so that she could see what Bill was up to.
‘They always did say you should both be locked up Kemo Sabe.’ He exclaimed and then left them to it.
‘I must have looked like a convict, clinging to the wire like that.’ Rebecca complained.
‘Indeed, I will have to make sure I get a copy.’ Clayton answered.
‘Don’t you dare!’ Rebecca exclaimed.
Clayton did not answer her. They finished looking after the pigeons and returned to the lift, via the stairs.
‘Ring the next of kin to make sure the pigeons are not left to starve, if they have no interest, contact the pigeon club, or whatever they are called, to come and get them.’ Clayton ordered.
Rebecca noted it in her book as the lift arrived. They took it down to flat eight and walked up to the door. Clayton noted that the light fitting in the hall had been vandalised and it made him wonder if the tenant had done it for extra privacy.
‘I smell a rat and I don’t think knocking at this time is such a good idea, Rebecca.’ He announced. ‘We will go and read what they said when uniform called on them.’
‘What’s up, sir?’
‘I have seen this before, people who want extra privacy, often make sure the light outside their door does not work. I think we need a few friends when we call here next time, unless uniform has already taken their statement.’
They returned to the office and read through the files. Clayton could not remember their statement and it worried him.
‘So far no statement from that flat whatsoever!’ He announced. ‘Apparently they have tried on eight separate occasions, so we will go back with uniformed officers and try again. If we don’t get in we will put a team to watch the flat.’
‘Drug dealers, sir?’ Rebecca asked.
‘Could be either that or terrorists but they could also be on the night shift somewhere and heavy sleepers, either way I want to know what they saw, if anything. I also want to know if they had any visitors on the day Billy Bryant was killed. The person Mrs. Thompsett saw might just have been th
ere to buy drugs, or deliver them and nothing to do with the murder.’
They arranged for two uniformed officers to call at the flat while they watched from the end of the hall but no matter how hard the officers banged on the door they did not raise anyone from the flat. Several other flat doors opened and closed again but not the flat they were banging on.
‘Very suspicious.’ Clayton exclaimed. ‘I will arrange a discreet watch on the flat to see just what is going down.’
They returned to the office and Clayton was called to the chief inspector’s office when he arrived. He walked up without sitting down but let Rebecca go and make coffee. He did not expect to be long.
‘You wanted to see me, sir.’ Clayton asked when he was called inside.
‘Yes, this flat in Spectre Street, number eight, isn’t it. I’ve been given the hands off from high up and they advise us that the occupants are not involved in the murder.’ The chief inspector announced.
‘So they are already watching it then, or there is no way they can say that the occupants were involved.’ Clayton exclaimed. ‘A simple message down the line before we went in and nearly knocked the door down trying to get an answer, would have been pleasant.’
‘I did say as much to the irk that phoned me but I had to be polite as he was my direct superior.’ The chief inspector replied.
‘The superintendent?’
‘Yes and he was told from higher up, so stay away from the flat.’
‘We will sir and I will call off the surveillance I have arranged.’ Clayton answered.
‘That has already been done, Inspector Moore, and the sooner you solve this one so we can get out of there, the better.’ The chief inspector replied.
Clayton returned to his desk where his coffee was waiting.
‘It appears we have stepped on some toes, when we were trying to gain access to number eight.’ He announced as he settled into his chair.
‘Narcotics or anti-terrorism?’ Rebecca asked.
‘I have no idea but at least we do know that they are not involved.’
‘If they were telling the truth.’ Rebecca exclaimed.
‘I’m shocked, that you think our fellow officers might lie to us.’ Clayton answered sarcastically. ‘I will resign if I find that they were behind it after all!’
‘I certainly hope they aren’t then.’ Rebecca replied meaningfully.
‘So, if it was nothing to do with number eight, then we have to look elsewhere for our murderer.’ Clayton answered, not missing the meaning in her answer.
‘So we are back to square one.’ Rebecca declared.
‘No, we are merely waiting to see what this pigeon tells us.’ Clayton answered.
Rebecca looked at him but did not say anything. They returned to working on the case and when they could not move it forward they worked on other, lesser cases. Clayton still had the file on Mrs. Finnegan’s garden damage and chose to go out and see her.
‘I think we can go out and put this one to bed.’ He announced and held the file up.
Rebecca drove them to Mrs. Finnegan’s house and they walked up to the front door, admiring the garden as they went. When he rang the bell James answered the door.
‘Hello James.’ Clayton said in surprise. ‘Is Mrs. Finnegan in?’
‘Yes.’ He answered. ‘Mrs. F, it is Inspector Moore to see you with Sergeant Stone.’
He shouted the second part.
‘Well show them in James, I am sure they want to see your design of the back garden.’ Mrs. Finnegan called back.
They were shown in the lounge where Mrs. Finnegan was sitting.
‘I will be right with you Inspector Moore, I was just looking at James’ designs for the front garden.’ She said quietly. ‘What do you think of them?’
Both Clayton and Rebecca moved to be able to see the designs.
‘As you can see, James does have a talent.’ She added when they were both looking down at them.
‘He does, Mrs. Finnegan.’ Rebecca answered, although her knowledge of gardening was very limited as she lived in a flat.
‘These are very nice.’ Clayton agreed. ‘When you have done here you can come and design something for my garden.’
‘If you want me to.’ James answered.
‘Now come and see the back garden, it is almost finished.’ Mrs. Finnegan ordered.
‘First I need to know if you want to continue with your charge against these boys, regarding the vandalism to your garden.’ Clayton asked.
‘No, of course not, it was the best thing that could have happened.’ Mrs. Finnegan answered.
‘Good, I will cease with the case.’ Clayton answered.
They walked out into the rear garden and were shown around by Mrs. Finnegan with James explaining each part as they walked through it. They were both impressed by the workmanship and the design. The tour was followed by a cup of tea in the lounge before they returned to the office. They had not long sat down when Bill arrived to see them.
‘So it was your idea to disinter the pigeon, Rebecca?’ He asked.
‘It was, what did you find?’ Rebecca answered. ‘How did it die?’
‘That is the strange thing, considering the fate of the victim.’ Bill answered. ‘The pigeon was drowned!’
‘Drowned?’ Clayton echoed.
Rebecca did the same.
‘Yes, drowned.’ Bill repeated.
‘Why should a pigeon drown?’ Rebecca asked.
‘How could a pigeon drown?’ Bill answered.
‘Perhaps the lid to the water tank was off and the pigeon was thirsty?’ Clayton answered.
‘Do pigeons drink then?’ Bill asked.
‘Well there is water in the coop.’ Rebecca answered.
‘I think we need to talk to the pigeon fanciers club, or whatever they are called.’ Clayton declared. ‘Just to make sure of our facts.’
At that point a WPC walked in with a pile of paper and plonked them down in front of Rebecca. Rebecca nodded to the WPC and read the first paper.
‘It looks like we have the flat to flat enquiries from the block of flats opposite.’ She announced.
‘I will leave you to read that lot then,’ Bill exclaimed, ‘it should keep you bust for some time.’
Clayton held his hands out and Rebecca passed half of them over to him and they started reading. As there were a lot of papers it took some time to read through them.
‘Well it appears that they have their own pigeon fancier over there, so they blame him for any pigeon poop which they find and he is still alive and kicking.’ Clayton concluded.
‘That is what these say as well. No one saw anything suspicious in these flats at the time of the murder and no one wished Billy Bryant any ill will.’ Rebecca replied. ‘Some knew him and he did have some success with his pigeons but not as much as their pigeon man, Peter Graham, he won a lot of races according to the tenants who know him.’
‘I wonder who won the pigeon equivalent of the FA cup.’ Clayton replied lightly.
‘I think it is cruel. You take a pigeon mile away from its coop and then make it fly back while there torturer drives back in his car.’ Rebecca declared.
‘I think I should do the talking when we go to the pigeon club, if there is such a thing?’ Clayton exclaimed.
‘I can question someone regardless of their sins, sir.’ Rebecca replied.
‘I wonder.’ Clayton answered.
Rebecca merely smiled.
‘So we have no leads from the other block of flats to follow up and no new leads forthcoming from Raleigh Towers. So we will go and find out what we can from the pigeon club.’ Clayton declared. ‘So give them a ring and arrange an appointment as soon as you can get one.’
‘I will, sir.’ Rebecca answered.
Rebecca picked up the phone and made enquiries without getting too far until she was able to speak to the man who was actually the secretary of the club.
‘Success, sir. We have an appointment for seven o’clock tonig
ht with Wilson Davis, he is the secretary and has a day job but will be home by then.’
‘Seven o’clock it is then.’ Clayton replied.
They worked on and did not go home before seven, as they did not consider in was worthwhile going home and coming back again. They stayed there working. When the time came they drove to yet another block of flats and found themselves up on the roof.
‘I am sorry to drag you up here but I have to look after my pigeons when I get home.’ The man in the pigeon coop announced.
‘It is good for you to see us at such short notice.’ Clayton answered. ‘We need to know all you know about Billy Bryant, I believe he is a member?’
‘He is, or was, I had a notice of his death this morning.’ He answered.
‘Was he one of the best?’ Clayton asked.
‘He was, he was neck and neck with Peter Graham for the title this year but I think Peter would have taken it, his bird The Flying Peach would have won it for him, had it not died. When it died it meant that Billy’s bird Faster Than Light moved to favourite.’
‘So he was likely to win the cup then and the accolade that goes with it?’ Clayton asked.
‘Oh yes and there is a lot of money to be earned from the squabs of a champion.’ Davis answered. ‘It was a shame The Flying Peach died, he was faster than Faster Than Light, despite the speed the name suggests.’
‘How much money?’ Rebecca asked, seeing a possible motive where so far they had none.
‘The fastest bird can earn thousands of dollars just for siring squabs. The Americans are into pigeon racing in a big way now and are willing to spend such sums for squabs.’
‘I never thought that they could earn a lot of money for their hobby.’ Clayton declared. ‘It certainly makes a motive but now I have to work out who would gain by killing him.’
Rebecca was leafing through her notebook.
‘We saw FTL, the letters were on the cross in Billy’s bird burial box on the roof, wouldn’t that have been for Faster Than Light?’ She asked.
‘It sounds like it. If Faster Than Light is dead as well then Robert Shuster’s Speedy Gonzales moves to the fore.’ Wilson declared.
‘How can we be sure that the dead bird was Faster Than Light?’ Clayton asked.
‘We do have DNA samples of all racing pigeons, to make sure no one uses a ringer. I will let you have access to our files.’ Wilson answered.