The Armchair Detective The Early Years (Special Editions)

by Ian Shimwell

  (Thoughtful music moves things on.)

  (We hear the sound of the door chime as TRENCH walks into Gordon’s DIY.)

  GORDON: Ah, Trench – how surprising to see you in here, again. Now, let me see, what do you want? More information on my marriage or more shoplifting scare stories?

  TRENCH: Believe it or not, Gordon – I have come in here to buy something.

  GORDON: My do-it-yourself store is at your tender mercies…

  TRENCH: Hammers.

  GORDON: Excuse me.

  TRENCH: Well, hammer actually. Where are they?

  GORDON: There’s a selection over there.

  TRENCH: Ah, this one will do.

  GORDON: Do you realise you have picked the most expensive hammer we stock? It has an integrated polymer-resin compound on the head to make a very tough fellow indeed.

  TRENCH: This will do then.

  GORDON: I’ll till it up.

  FEMAIL VOICE: Do you need any help out there, Gordon?

  GORDON: No dear, I mean oh dear – yes, you stay in the back stocktaking.

  (We hear the till being operated and TRENCH handing over the money.)

  GORDON: Anything else?

  TRENCH: You don’t sell belts, do you? Bright, red ones.

  GORDON: No.

  (A short passage of music changes scene.)

  OLD TOM: Come in, young man, the door is open.

  (TRENCH enters OLD TOM’s flat and sits down opposite him in the living room.)

  TRENCH: I’ve brought you a present, Old Tom.

  OLD TOM: What would I do with a present? Never mind, show it to me – and I’ll decide.

  TRENCH: Here you are, then.

  (TRENCH hands over the bag to OLD TOM.)

  OLD TOM: A hammer? What would..? I suppose Trench, I could knock some sense into you! I thought you were going to give me some cake to replace what your greed consumed on your last visit.

  TRENCH: Now, that’s gratitude for you. It’s made of a special resiny thingy, you know.

  OLD TOM: I suppose it might come in useful one day.

  TRENCH: That’s the nearest thing I’m going to get to a thank-you, isn’t it?

  OLD TOM: Put it in the kitchen drawer.

  TRENCH: The kitchen drawer?

  OLD TOM: Yes, it’ll go with the cutlery.

  TRENCH: If you say so.

  OLD TOM: And put the kettle on while you’re there.

  (TRENCH places the hammer in the cutlery drawer; puts the kettle on and returns to the living room.)

  OLD TOM: Naturally, buying the hammer from the imaginatively titled, Gordon’s DIY, would have given you yet another excuse to pester our friend.

  TRENCH: How did..? Don’t tell me. Of course, Gordon’s shop is advertised on the bag.

  OLD TOM: And on the price tag. Rather expensive, if you ask me.

  TRENCH: Oops, sorry about that. I forgot to take it off.

  OLD TOM: Evidently. Whilst you were mooching about the shops, did you make any progress on our phantom shoplifter?

  TRENCH: Err, yes… and no. Actually there’s not much to say on that subject.

  OLD TOM: Playing your cards close to your chest on that one, Trenchy? Don’t want me to steal your glory?

  TRENCH: It’s not that, Old Tom – well I suppose it is a bit. Do you know what I mean?

  OLD TOM: All right, as long as you follow my observational deductive process. You want me to concentrate on Gordon and Vicky’s personality problems. So, let’s concentrate on the cause: Gordon. What else have you discovered Dr Freud?

  TRENCH: Hah, yes. I think that Gordon’s red belt is significant. It might be something to do with his childhood – and probably has a connection with his mother. He claimed he took it from her. Vicky, on the other hand, appears to be self-delusional, believing she hasn’t changed at all since being married. And now it’s questionable that she is still even pursuing her one passion: Law. I suspect that Gordon is hiding the fact that his wife may be now working for him instead, in the shop.

  OLD TOM: And Gordon’s behaviour towards Vicky?

  TRENCH: Still as mentally controlling; bullying and abusive as ever. So, old friend, what next?

  OLD TOM: You mentioned Gordon’s mother. Much could be learnt from her. Find out if she’s still around – and if so, visit her. Discover how and where Gordon’s neurosis was nurtured.

  TRENCH: Righto.

  OLD TOM: We need to keep digging, young friend, keep digging to unearth Gordon’s psychological secret…

  TRENCH: I think I’ll make the tea first though.

  OLD TOM: Don’t forget to boil the water again.

  TRENCH: So we have to wait even longer for it to cool down. Yes, I thought so. I give up.

  (Mystery music indicates the end of Act Two.)

  ACT THREE

  (We can hear the hustle and bustle of the high-street shops as TRENCH, once again, walks along them.)

  JAMES: Err Trench, isn’t it funny bumping into you, around the shops again?

  TRENCH: Yes James, isn’t it? I don’t remember sharing my name with you.

  JAMES: My youngest brother Harold let your name slip, I’m afraid.

  TRENCH: No David with you today?

  JAMES: I only look after David on days beginning with ‘T’.

  TRENCH: Today and tomorrow?

  JAMES: Tuesdays and Thursdays.

  TRENCH: I’m working on a story involving the recent spate of shoplifting that’s inflicting the high-street. Have you noticed anything suspicious on your shopping trips with David?

  JAMES: Oh, I don’t drag David around the shops every day I have him. But when I have browsed through the retail outlets, I can’t say I have seen anything remotely susp… Wait a minute, I’ve sometimes noticed a group of lads I don’t like the look of.

  TRENCH: So, attractive people are more likely not to steal?

  JAMES: I’m going to have to go, Trench.

  TRENCH: James, you said Harold was your youngest brother – that implies you have another one.

  JAMES: Yes, there are three of us. What of it?

  TRENCH: It just seems unfair, that’s all. I know what you and Harold do, but not the other one.

  JAMES: If you must know, he runs a wholesale distribution warehouse down the road.

  TRENCH: Distributing what?

  JAMES: You’re very nosey, aren’t you?

  TRENCH: Comes from being a journalist. Occupational hazard, you see.

  JAMES: Ah well, he distributes the whole range of retail merchandise ranging from shirts to screwdrivers.

  TRENCH: And leather jackets..?

  JAMES: (Says angrily:) What?

  TRENCH: Oh nothing. I hope those suspicious lads keep away from Gordon’s DIY tomorrow, though.

  JAMES: Why?

  TRENCH: I know Gordon – we go drinking together. He’s refitting his CCTV cameras tomorrow, so they’ll be off-line all day.

  JAMES: Why are you telling me?

  TRENCH: In case you and David do the shops tomorrow. If you visit Gordon’s hardware store, keep your eyes open – you may catch the thief red-handed!

  (Busy music moves a little bit of time along.)

  SALLY-ANNE: Ah, Trench – I thought I’d find you shopping again.

  TRENCH: Sally-Anne, is there anybody else I’m going to ‘bump into’? I’ll probably meet Old Tom himself next.

  SALLY-ANNE: Now you are being silly. What have you been up to?

  TRENCH: Entrapment.

  SALLY-ANNE: Oh that? I’ve seen it. Zeta-Jonesy is in it, I think. Good ending, but I don’t like the middle bit.

  TRENCH: Finished?

  SALLY-ANNE: Yes. Explain what you really mean, then.

  TRENCH: Let’s just say I’ve dangled an awfully large carrot in front of our chief-shoplifting suspect. So, all that’s left is whether…

  SALLY-ANNE: … he takes the bait.

  TRENCH: Sally-Anne, you look rather too pleased with yourself. Have you found something out, about Gordon..?
r />   SALLY-ANNE: My contact in the town-hall has come up trumps. Gordon’s mother is still alive and living in a nursing home in the outer-suburbs of Stokeham.

  TRENCH: So, what are we waiting for?

  (‘Investigative’ music changes scene and time.)

  (We can hear slight squeaking as the wheelchair is pushed around the nursing home gardens.)

  SALLY-ANNE: It is very good of you, Mrs Hopkins, to agree to see us.

  MRS HOPKINS: Nonsense, I welcome anyone who will push me around these beautiful gardens. I’m usually stuck there, inside the so-called nursing home. I seldom have the chance…

  TRENCH: … to talk about your son, Gordon.

  MRS HOPKINS: Oh yes, I’ll talk about him, even to the Press.

  TRENCH: Even though it might not be entirely complimentary?

  MRS HOPKINS: Especially if it’s not complimentary.

  SALLY-ANNE: Am I right in assuming your relationship with Gordon has soured over the years?

  MRS HOPKINS: You could say that. I have not met or spoken to him for nearly twenty years - which suits me.

  TRENCH: And Gordon’s childhood. We would love to know.

  MRS HOPKINS: You can stop pushing me around.

  SALLY-ANNE: Sorry.

  (The wheelchair stops.)

  MRS HOPKINS: I like the view of those trees.

  SALLY-ANNE: Majestic or intimidating?

  TRENCH: Must have many roots that twist and turn in the murky depths… delving through the undergrowth.

  MRS HOPKINS: Twisting… murky depths… how appropriate.

  SALLY-ANNE: And we are interested in Gordon’s roots, Mrs Hopkins.

  MRS HOPKINS: Are you sure you’re from the local newspaper? Very odd line of enquiry, if you ask me.

  TRENCH: Remember, we showed you our identification.

  MRS HOPKINS: There’s nothing wrong with my memory, sunny Jim.

  (SALLY-ANNE laughs.)

  TRENCH: What was Gordon like as a child?

  SALLY-ANNE: Please tell us, Mrs Hopkins.

  MRS HOPKINS: Oh, very well. He was a bad boy; always crying; spoilt; selfish – and he even killed his own father, my husband.

  TRENCH: What? How?

  MRS HOPKINS: Even though I had told him many times not to play at the top of the stairs; he was doing just that, playing with one of his infernal cars. My husband was late for an appointment and was about to rush downstairs, when he tripped over his son – and fell to his death.

  TRENCH: (Says quietly:) Arriving downstairs perhaps quicker than he planned…

  SALLY-ANNE: How awful. You did convince Gordon though, that it wasn’t his fault, just a terrible accident?

  MRS HOPKINS: No, he caused his father’s death. I blamed him then as I blame him now. My son became argumentative and resentful.

  TRENCH: Hardly surprising.

  MRS HOPKINS: But I kept him in line with my belt. I beat him into submission – and began to control my awful excuse for a son. Control his thoughts… and fears.

  TRENCH: Was the belt bright red, by any chance?

  MRS HOPKINS: Why yes. It would amuse me to think he still has it. A painful reminder of his deserved retribution.

  SALLY-ANNE: And how did Gordon come to have the belt?

  TRENCH: A birthday present?

  SALLY-ANNE: (Says quietly so only TRENCH can hear:) Don’t.

  MRS HOPKINS: When the lazy so-and-so eventually did get a job at seventeen, I think, I went strike him to try to beat the memory of his father back into him – and the swine snatched my belt off me, and ran. Ran away. Never seen, or want to see him again.

  (Disturbing yet sad music ends this scene.)

  (We can hear SALLY-ANNE talking on the telephone and TRENCH typing away in the office. TRENCH taps a key particularly hard.)

  TRENCH: There, I’ve just sent my shoplifting report to our copy-editor.

  SALLY-ANNE: (Who puts the receiver down.) And I’ve just found out from university that Vicky has quit her Law degree for good. You know, I bet Gordon the controller has got her fetching and carrying for him in that grotty shop.

  TRENCH: At least we now know where the origins of Gordon’s bad behaviour evolved from.

  SALLY-ANNE: Mummy. Whatever happened to mother’s love?

  TRENCH: Lost down a flight of stairs? Poor Gordon, it wasn’t his fault. Maybe they should have safe parking areas for toy cars?

  SALLY-ANNE: Don’t think so, Trench. Daddy Hopkins simply went head over heels… into oblivion.

  TRENCH: Maybe I’ll leave a car or two on your side of the office. Might work on you.

  SALLY-ANNE: Now, who would hold your hand if I wasn’t here?

  TRENCH: Old Tom.

  SALLY-ANNE: And don’t say Old Tom.

  TRENCH: Consider it un-said.

  SALLY-ANNE: There was one thing I noticed about Mrs Hopkins.

  TRENCH: She’s no spring chicken? (There is no response from SALLY-ANNE.) She’s not bitter?

  SALLY-ANNE: Not quite.

  TRENCH: Then, prey what, Sally-Anne?

  SALLY-ANNE: She never referred to her son by name – Gordon. Did you notice?

  TRENCH: I noticed…

  SALLY-ANNE: Probably some way of de-personalizing the loathing she so obviously feels for her only child…

  (The office door is flung open.)

  TRENCH: Editor Law, I must protest – you nearly woke Sally up!

  GORDON: No, it’s Gordon.

  SALLY-ANNE: Hello Gordon.

  GORDON: I have come to warn you both to stay away. Stop bothering Vicky, she is very happy.

  SALLY-ANNE: Is that because you told her she’s happy?

  GORDON: Just keep away.

  SALLY-ANNE: Nobody tells us what to do, especially in our own office. Except Editor Law of course.

  TRENCH: Yes, belt up, Gordon.

  (GORDON storms off, slamming the door behind him.)

  TRENCH: Did you notice he was still wearing his mother’s red belt?

  SALLY-ANNE: I noticed…

  (Thoughtful music changes scene and time.)

  OLD TOM: Very interesting, Trench, very interesting. Not quite the Oedipus Complex, but there are certain similarities…

  TRENCH: Maybe Gordon’s mother always disliked him. Perhaps she saw him as a thorn; a barrier to her relationship with her husband.

  OLD TOM: And when he died, the contempt changed into a deep, brooding hatred…

  TRENCH: Manifesting itself in constant physical abuse and punishment.

  OLD TOM: Which brings us back to the belt, the bright red belt that could tell a thousand nightmares…

  TRENCH: And to put it bluntly, caused Gordon to become a control freak. Ruining his wife’s life from his own personal wreckage.

  OLD TOM: To stop this cycle of hatred, Trench, you need to confront Gordon… and break him, mentally speaking. He must be wearing the red belt though, that is the key to unlock his mind. Yes, I believe, the belt is vital.

  TRENCH: I plan to have it out with Gordon this lunchtime at his own DIY shop.

  OLD TOM: And while you’re there, young Trench…

  TRENCH: Yes?

  OLD TOM: Catch those damned shoplifters while you’re at it.

  (Music building suspense ends this scene and starts the next.)

  (We hear the door chime as TRENCH and SALLY-ANNE stroll into Gordon’s DIY.)

  GORDON: Trench, Sally-Anne – I thought I told you…

  SALLY-ANNE: (Says quietly to TRENCH:) What are we going to do, Trench? Gordon’s not wearing his belt.

  TRENCH: Carry on regardless.

  GORDON: I beg your pardon.

  TRENCH: You don’t beg anything or anyone, Gordon – you control, order…

  SALLY-ANNE: Is that why you’ve turned a passionate and fiercely independent woman – my best friend, into a snivelling, subservient wreck?

  GORDON: Nonsense.

  TRENCH: You were not to blame for your father’s death, Gordon.

  GORDON: How do you know? I was to
blame… Mother told me I was to blame. She beat the guilt further into me.

  SALLY-ANNE: Your mother controlled you, Gordon, in a reign of terror. And now, you are doing the same to Vicky. Can’t you see that?

  GORDON: I would never harm Vicky.

  TRENCH: Maybe not physically…

  GORDON: I want you to leave.

  TRENCH: Not yet, Gordon – you might need our help.

  GORDON: How do you work that one out?

  TRENCH: I’d keep an eye on that group of lads, especially with all this shoplifting going on.

  GORDON: What?

  TRENCH: Or maybe I wouldn’t, because I think the lads are just a paid diversion so the real thieves can get to work.

  SALLY-ANNE: I don’t follow, Trench.

  TRENCH: No, but young David over there sadly does. He follows his social services mentor. Hello James.

  JAMES: Hi Trench. Come on David, we’re going.

  TRENCH: Empty your school bag out, David. Just do it.

  DAVID: (Who sighs:) All right.

  SALLY-ANNE: Screwdrivers, electric drills, tools… and sandpaper. I don’t believe it.

  TRENCH: Nice little racket, wasn’t it James? Abusing your position in social services and manipulating a vulnerable child to do your dirty work. Of course, your brother’s wholesale business came in handy – to distribute your ill-gotten gains, for a tidy profit no doubt.

  SALLY-ANNE: Despicable.

  TRENCH: You and your brother’s activities dove-tailed quite nicely actually, but I don’t think Harold, the store detective knew of your devious dealings.

  JAMES: I told you to be careful, David – you stupid boy. I said this store was too risky, but you said, you said… I’m going to teach you a lesson with the leather from my belt.

  (We hear JAMES whip his belt off and is about to strike David…)

  GORDON: No, don’t.

  (GORDON grapples with JAMES.)

  JAMES: Get off me.

  GORDON: Mummy, please don’t hit him. I’m sorry, I know it’s my fault Daddy died. Hit me instead. (GORDON then shouts.) Vicky, fetch my Mummy’s red belt from the stockroom – I deserve to be punished.

  (We hear slow footsteps as VICKY approaches.)

  VICKY: I’m afraid that’s not possible, my sweet. I’ve chopped your red belt into pieces and thrown them into the incinerator.

  GORDON: It’s over, finally.

  VICKY: Come here, Gordon. I’ll hold you. And it’s an order, my order.