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A Full Churchyard

Page 20

by Nicholas Rhea


  He would select one of the elderly clients who lived alone – someone he considered vulnerable. He recalled Mrs Plumpton’s suggestion of Joe Knowles and Pluke’s suggestion about interviewing the old fellow. As a consequence he found himself heading for 17, Hauxwell Street. He did not know this gentleman and had no idea of his circumstances, although he hoped he would be able to communicate.

  He did not want any of the carers to be present and so in many ways this visit was something of a gamble. Hauxwell Street lay off the main road that passed the eastern outskirts of Crickledale; it was opposite the Tesco supermarket and about a five or six minute walk from the town centre. It was a terrace of brick-built houses on a large estate dating to around World War I. Each house had three rooms downstairs – a kitchen with an adjoining pantry, dining room and lounge with a toilet off the kitchen, and upstairs there may be two or three bedrooms, and a bathroom with a separate toilet. These houses were traditional, very warm and dry, quiet internally and ideal when living with good neighbours at each side. They were cool on hot days, with the pantry being ideal for the storage of food long before refrigerators had been invented. And now, it was possible for old folks to live downstairs. If they needed upstairs regularly then chair lifts could be fitted.

  When he arrived at No. 17, Hauxwell Street, he found the exterior rather neglected. There was an uncut lawn the size of a doormat, a couple of unpruned rose bushes and a surplus of weeds. Wayne strode purposefully up to the front door, pressed the bell-push and walked in, shouting, ‘Hello Mr Knowles, it’s Wayne.’

  This was a well-tried and tested tactic employed by police officers and the performance was also for the benefit of any neighbours who may be watching or listening. Inside he closed the door, stood in the entrance hall and shouted, ‘Mr Knowles. It’s me, Wayne.’

  ‘Hello,’ returned a weak voice.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In here.’

  The voice was downstairs.

  He peered into the front lounge that overlooked the street with a bow window, but there was no one. The room contained a settee and two easy chairs. It looked very comfortable and well tended. Next to it as he headed into the kitchen, was the dining room – but he found it had been converted into Mr Knowles’ bedroom. His single bed, a dressing table and wardrobe had been squeezed into the limited space, but it was comfortable.

  ‘Hello?’ called Wayne before entering. ‘Is that Mr Knowles?’

  ‘I didn’t know you were with the carers now, Wayne? Have you just joined? And have you brought the tickets?’ his voice was barely above a whisper.

  ‘I’m with the carers,’ he did not want to confuse the old fellow or alarm him by explaining his real purpose. ‘I’m helping out today but you know my name?’

  ‘You said it when you came in.’

  ‘So I did! So what are tickets you’re waiting for?’

  He found an elderly and very frail bearded man sitting in a comfortable chair beside the bed. He looked very thin with skin like grey parchment. The bed had been made and the room was tidy, so clearly the morning carer had been here. Mr Knowles was watching television; beside his chair was a small table bearing drinks of orange squash, packets of biscuits and a paperback book. The old man had the courtesy to switch off the television, muttering, ‘They put such a load of rubbish on nowadays. I don’t know why we can’t have wrestling like we used to. So you’re the new chap, Wayne, and I’m Joe, they all call me Joe.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Joe.’ And they shook hands.

  ‘I’ve seen you around, Wayne, not in here though, in town I mean but I’m no trouble to anybody. I can’t get about very easily so I spend most of my time here. I can’t do much energetic stuff, I’m 89 you know. I used to be very active, football, cricket, cross-country racing, high jump, hundred yards, all that sort o’ stuff but my heart started to go wonky . . . it’s not in very good shape right now. When I was younger, there wasn’t much I couldn’t do on a sports field but now I couldn’t even walk halfway across a football pitch.’

  ‘So is there anything I can get you whilst I’m here?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit, Wayne. Help yourself, you have one an’ all. You’ll find all the stuff in the kitchen, and milk on the pantry floor where it’s cold. So did you bring the tickets?’

  ‘Which tickets are they, Joe? I’m new, you see, I didn’t know about the tickets.’

  ‘Cup Final tickets, Wayne. Two, one for me and t’other for my pal. Jack Vivers, you mebbe know him. That other chap promised he could get some for me and either send them on with one of the other carers or fetch ’em himself. He promised I’d have ’em later today.’

  ‘What other chap?’

  ‘Him off the telly, Wayne, he comes here sometimes. Nice chap. He reckons he has a pal who can get Cup Final tickets cheap.’

  ‘It’s a bit early to be thinking of the Cup Final, Joe.’

  ‘Is it? I thought Middlesbrough was playing.’

  ‘Not to my knowledge but they did get into the quarter-finals recently. So are you fit to go the Final, Joe?’

  ‘Not on my own I’m not, no, but my pal said he would look after me. I’m not ill, you know, just old. We’d go on a bus, they do bus trips from Crickledale to t’Final so I’d be looked after. I hope he hasn’t forgotten about them tickets. Mebbe you could ask when you see him?’

  ‘I’ll do that, Joe. Now is he the only man who comes to care for you?’

  ‘He doesn’t come to care for me, Wayne, not like getting me out of bed and washing me and all that, or tidying up and cooking. Them young lasses come and do all that, mornings and afternoons. Sometimes evenings. This feller, you know him, you must know him. He’s that feller off t’telly, he comes and fixings things when they go wrong. My kettle kept blowing fuses, everything went off and he came to fettle it. Fettle my kettle, that’s good, eh? Fettle my kettle. . . .’

  ‘So when does this man come to see you?’ asked Wayne.

  ‘Not regular, not like them lasses. He’ll come when they call him in, when summat goes wrong. Like t’drains getting blocked, fuses blowing, new dabs o’ paint needed here and there, window catches not working properly. . . .’

  ‘And he’s one of the carers?’

  ‘So he says.’

  ‘So what’s his name?’

  ‘Summat to do with the telly, he is. I can’t think of his name right now.’

  ‘And the carer, the young woman. Who is she?’

  ‘Now you’ve got me there, Wayne. I can’t remember. Bonny young lass, very nice to me. Not Fiona, she’s here a lot, nice lass. Mrs Pluke comes sometimes if other folks can get here. Of an evening usually.’

  ‘But you’ve had the man before?’

  ‘Oh, aye. He can turn his hand to anything, he can even knock a meal up for me or write a letter t’Council if I have a complaint about ’em not emptying my bins, or grumble about folks dropping rubbish on t’street outside or t’street lights not working. Good folks, them carers. Very talented and helpful.’

  ‘So is there anything you want now, Joe?’

  ‘No thanks, Wayne, except that cuppa. Then there’s just them tickets when you can fix that. One of the lasses will be here later to see to my supper and wash up. . . .’

  ‘I could do with a cup of tea myself,’ said Wayne as he went through to find the kitchen and the tea-making necessities.

  ‘Everything’s in t’kitchen, Wayne,’ Joe tried to shout but his voice was too frail. ‘Help yourself then come in here and we can have a chat.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘I’ll tell you all about my younger days when I was a top athlete . . . won cups I have, you’ll see ’em on that shelf in my bedroom upstairs . . . solid silver some of ’em . . . go and have a look while t’kettle’s boiling. Some are more than seventy years old, that ages me, eh?�
��

  ‘You’re still very fit, but thanks, Joe. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Wayne left Joe for a while as he found the kitchen, filled the kettle and switched it on. He found a couple of mugs, some milk in a bottle on the cement floor, a teapot and caddy full of teabags. Whilst the kettle began to sing, he went upstairs to look at Joe’s collection of trophies. On the landing, all the doors were closed and so he opened the first and peered inside – it was a small room but fitted out with shelves with glass fronted doors and on the shelves were hundreds of scent bottles arranged in neat rows. Now they had dust gathering upon them and around them despite the protection of their glass doors.

  There was a single bed in the room, along with a small wardrobe and dressing table, and the pink décor with its floral theme suggested it had been a woman’s room. He closed the door and tried the next – it was a bathroom with a toilet incorporated; next to it was another door, also closed. When he opened it, it was clearly a man’s room, plainly decorated with magnolia paint and corresponding walls covered with emulsion of the same colour.

  Another single bed stood near the far wall, with a wardrobe, dressing table and armchair nearby. But here the walls were covered with more shelves, this time full of silver cups and shields, all being sporting trophies from Joe’s past. Most looked rather cheap but some were certainly hallmarked silver. There were ancient faded photographs on the walls too, all showing the young Joe in his sports gear and invariably holding a trophy of some kind.

  One frame on the wall contained a page from an edition of the Crickledale Gazette showing Joe holding a huge silver cup along with a caption saying, ‘Knowles Does It Again – Crickledale Joe Breaks Local Mile Record.’ But as Wayne examined each shelf, he noticed several gaps – cups had been removed and the circular clean patch in the dust that settled over the years without anyone cleaning it, revealed their former places. He counted four gaps. Wayne looked around the room to see if the missing cups had been placed elsewhere such as the window ledge or dressing table, but there was no sign of them.

  However, there was a further door on the landing and so he went to find out what lay behind it, and this time there was a large double room complete with double bed, wardrobe, dressing table and chairs.

  And this room also contained collectibles, row upon row of ink wells all arranged neatly along glass-fronted shelves on the western wall, whilst the eastern wall contained a similar display of snuff boxes.

  He examined the interiors of those display cabinets and there were several empty spaces all identified by their dust-free places; clearly, they had been removed very recently. None of the cabinets or shelves bore any means of locking or securing them and so Wayne wondered who had removed the items – but he had no idea what exactly had been removed. The value could not be ascertained either and of course, there would be no available description unless Joe could recall the details with clarity.

  He closed the door and returned to the kitchen where the kettle was boiling. He made two mugs of tea, found some chocolate biscuits in a tin and carried them all through to Joe on a tray, complete with a milk jug and sugar basin.

  ‘By gum, Wayne lad, you’re well trained in domestic matters!’

  ‘It takes years of practice,’ grinned Wayne, settling on the chair at Joe’s side. Joe helped himself to two teaspoons full of sugar. Wayne did not take sugar.

  ‘Well, Wayne, did you see my trophies? I reckon they need dusting and cleaning, but they’ll take no harm up there.’

  ‘I had no idea you’d won so many,’ Wayne was honest. ‘And in so many different sports. Nowadays they have pentathlons for folks like you!’

  ‘We just did it for fun, not for money. I was good at what I did.’

  ‘I noticed there were gaps among your cups, Joe, as if some had been removed?’

  ‘Aye, they have. And some of my snuff boxes and my wife’s scent bottles. And my ink wells.’

  ‘You were obviously keen collectors, you and your wife,’ complimented Wayne.

  ‘My wife. Sophie that is, started it off with her scent bottles, and when she died a few years back, I kept on finding new ones so I bought ’em for her room . . . we’ve gathered a right good collection over t’years. Folks say they’ll be worth a bob or two now. That’s why I always keep my doors and windows locked. I don’t want thieves coming in here to help themselves to my treasures, Wayne.’

  ‘But your door was open when I came in,’ Wayne pointed out. ‘I just opened the door and shouted.’

  ‘Aye, well, that woman who came early this morning said her friend was coming later today, this evening more than likely, to value my stuff, so I told her to leave t’door open so the chap could get in. I haven’t got one of them key-safes, I don’t trust ‘em. You carers have keys but if he hadn’t one I might not hear him knocking. My hearing’s not as sharp as it used to be.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I said to her I’d leave the door unlocked and he should come in, that would be OK by me. That’s why I thought you were him.’

  ‘Did she say what time he was expected?’ asked Wayne.

  ‘No, just it might be after his work tonight but before I go to bed.’

  ‘That’s a big risk, Joe. Leaving the door open for somebody you don’t know.’

  ‘Well, she’s honest enough, Wayne, like all you carers. I reckoned she wouldn’t send somebody in that wasn’t honest so I didn’t think there was a problem. I mean, Wayne. And I reckon you’re honest enough, being a carer.’

  ‘You place rather a lot of trust in your carers, Joe.’

  ‘I do, they’ve always been good to me. Never a bad moment, Wayne. And besides, I always keep the back door locked and bolted, so it’s just the front door that’s open and not many folks know that.’

  ‘Well, I must say the folk of Crickledale are generally honest and trustworthy, Joe. So what’s happened to those items that are missing?’

  ‘Oh, they’ll come back, Wayne. They were taken away by one of those lasses from t’carers, she said she knew a chap who would give an honest valuation, that’s the chap I’m expecting. Not that I want to sell ’em, of course, but it’ll be nice to know how much they’re worth if I ever need cash in a rush.’

  ‘So how long ago was that?’

  ‘I can’t say, Wayne, I get a bit confused nowadays. One day just fuzzes into t’next but I’m sure she came this morning.’

  ‘Could someone else have called? Have you a family, Joe? Someone who might inherit these antiques?’

  ‘No, we were never blessed with children, me and Sophie. When she died, I thought I’d give all my stuff to Crickledale Folk Museum but I’ve never got round to it. To be honest, I find it hard to part with any of ’em, Wayne. They’ve all got memories for me, me and Sophie.’

  ‘Perhaps you should donate them to the museum, Joe? They’ll be safe there. Would you like me to have a word with the curator?’

  ‘Oh, that lass from t’carers said she’d do that, Wayne. She said she would get that chap off the telly to come round here this evening and have a look at ’em all, the lot in fact, and take everything away to be assessed by experts, then he’d give me a valuation. In fact, I thought you were him coming early, Wayne. She said he’d come on Wednesday evening after tea so he must be due any time now.’

  ‘I’ll wait.’

  ‘What time is it now? I never know what time it is. Anyroad, mebbe you should meet him?’

  ‘I think that would be a good idea, Joe. Do you mind if I wait here?’

  But the alarm bells were already ringing in Wayne’s mind. Wednesday evening was when some of the deaths must have occurred so that the casualties were found on the cold floor next morning. Thursday was not the key date for the cold-case review – it was Wednesday. Today. That was when CVC Carers called, people died and precious items went missing . . . and when Furnival had his day o
ff. Pluke had mentioned the need to set a trap to catch the villains in action, with live bait.

  ‘Can I use your phone, Joe? To call my boss? It’s urgent. We’ll pay . . .’

  ‘Help yourself, it’s in the front room.’

  And so Wayne went to ring Detective Inspector Pluke.

  Chapter 18

  After listening to Wayne’s account, Pluke congratulated him upon his swift assessment of the situation. He agreed that it was the right moment to set a trap to catch those suspected of stealing from elderly people and at the same time, trap the suspected killers.

  ‘It seems we can discount Dr Simpson as being part of the killer team. From what you say, he was merely doing his job and he did alert the police if and when he thought something was wrong. Now we know the key moment was always when he declared a death to be from natural causes – that was just what the plotters wanted. Little did the doctor realize what would follow his diagnosis.’

  ‘I don’t think he was culpable, sir.’

  ‘Now we must consider Joe with his collection of trophies. I think he’s at risk, Wayne, so you’d better remain with him tonight,’ he advised Wayne. ‘I’ll arrange back-up from Inspector Horsley and his officers. I’ll contact you again, on Mr Knowles’ house telephone, the one you’re using now, for an update on our precise timing and other details. The phone is secure, is it? Will he overhear you?’

  ‘No, I’ll make sure the doors are closed and his television is on. He likes it loud in the room he uses as a bedroom. The phone’s quite a way from where he sleeps and eats. I bet he has a lot of unanswered phone calls!’

  ‘I’ll let you know my plans once I have sorted things out with Inspector Horsley. There’s no time to waste.’

  ‘I hope it all goes to plan.’

  ‘It will, Wayne. It will have to go to plan, we can’t afford slip-ups at this stage!’

 

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