by Stan Mason
‘That’s right,’ related Roach sitting opposite the detective. ‘I want to find the man who killed my wife.’
‘Interesting!’ The detective scanned his new client’s face. ‘What information do you have so far,’ he asked intently, ‘about your wife and the details leading to her death? But before we do that, perhaps you’d fill in these forms.’ He handed a folder which contained a few sheets of paper over the desk.
Charles took the folder and glanced at the sheets before looking around the office. It was quite bare with two desks, some wooden chairs, and a wall of shelves filled with file boxes, each one representing a past or current case. A secretary sat at the other desk typing a report on a computer. ‘Small office,’ he commented although he didn’t intend to criticise.
‘That’s the way we like it,’ returned the detective blandly. ‘Business is expanding all the time. We have three men out in the field working on cases. It’s not in this office where the detection takes place.’
‘Of course not,’ he responded, impressed that the business had three men working out in the field. He started to fill in the forms with some personal details before looking up and explaining why he had come. ‘My wife was killed by a hit-and-run truck driver,’ he explained briefly. ‘All I know about it is the date and the time of death.’
Melford frowned and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Pity you weren’t around when it happened.’
‘But I was. I was walking beside her when she was struck down.’
‘What was the vehicle like?’
‘It was a very large lorry.’
‘Did you manage to get the make of the vehicle? Were there any marking or words on the side of it? Did you get part of the registration number? Did you see the driver’s face or his profile, or anything about him?’
Charles puffed out his cheeks ashamedly. ‘I’m afraid the answer’s in the negative. It was dark and drizzling with rain. It had been snowing and there was ice on the road. We both had on our yellow oilskins. It happened so quickly. By the time I’d gathered my wits, the lorry had driven off.’
The private detective gritted his teeth. ‘It would be helpful if you noticed the name or logo on the side of the truck. We’ll have to contact every company which takes or arranges deliveries in the south. It may end up a long list.’ His face broke into a smile. ‘I think I’ll handle this case myself. We get so many divorce cases and minor investigations but rarely get our teeth into a murder mystery. Keep thinking in case something comes to mind. You might remember it later... anything however incidental you might think it to be. If so, give me a ring day or night. We don’t close up shop here. Keep thinking!’
The banker finalised the forms in the folder and handed them back to the detective. From his point of view, it was a hopeless task but he felt that he had to go through with it. Even if they tracked down the lorry, which was debatable, they couldn’t be certain who was driving the vehicle. It could have been someone delivering goods from Europe. In any case, most employers would protect their staff to avoid complications... especially in a case of murder! There would be a wall of silence everywhere. He knew that from the debts that he tried to collect from some of the errant customers of the bank when he was in branch banking. No one knew where the customer had gone or anything about them. They simply didn’t want to get involved.
‘Do you know if any neighbours or passers-by saw the incident?’ persisted Melford as he glanced through the completed forms.’
‘No one came forward with any information. The weather was so bad that night it was doubtful whether anyone saw it.’
‘No other pedestrians? Someone else walking along the pavement?’
‘Not a soul. If there were, they don’t want to get involved.’
Melford gave a smile and clasped his hands in front of him. ‘That’s just it, Mr. Roach. People don’t want to get involved. They prefer to remain silent and keep their distance from the police or anyone in uniform. It may well be that a person walking their dog that evening saw the whole thing. Anyway, you leave it all to us. That’s what you’re paying for. We’ll sort it out and find the culprit. Now... if you’ll let me have a retainer... we’ll start work on it right away.’
The banker removed his cheque book from his pocket and opened the cover. ‘If you find the man, do you have to hand him over to the police first?’
‘You’re the client. We’re working for you on your instructions. When we find the man, we’ll write a full report and let you have it. After that it’s up to you to decide what should be done. All our clients have full confidentiality. We would never inform the police unless you instructed us to do so.’
Charles nodded slowly satisfied with the answer. He didn’t want to go to the expense of finding the errant driver so that the police could have him. He made out a cheque which he passed to the private detective. The deed was done! The plan had been set into motion!
‘Don’t worry,’ assured Melford talking the cheque. ‘Like the Canadian Mounted Police say... we always get out man!’
After leaving the agency, the banker suddenly realised that he was beginning to feel anger against the driver for the first time. Perhaps Mr. Hamilton, the psychiatrist, had forced him to feel that way as a means to get over his grief. He stared at his wristwatch to note the time. It would have been wise to head for the office but by the time he arrived there it would have been lunchtime. He walked along the road allowing his mind to tick over and eventually came to an amusement arcade. Perhaps the visit to the vicar was useful after all. The minister had given him some very sound advice... the need to take up leisure activities. He entered the arcade and went over to one of the machines. It had been years since he had come to one of these places. It was all different now. Everything was modern and electronic... not like the days when one had to pull a knob to set the balls into play on the old pin-table. Indeed, there was a great difference. Unlike the old days, money was no object this time. He could spend, spend, spend in an attempt to clear the frustration from his mind. He idled in the arcade for over an hour hardly caring whether he won or lost on the machines. In due course, he began to become tired having played practically every machine in the arcade and the enjoyment was beginning to wear thin. He drove home, read a book for an hour, made an evening meal, and went to bed very early. He was looking forward to the next communication from Jennifer but sleep did not come easily to him... he had to fight for it! The words of the clergyman kept echoing in his brain, stirring and churning over and over. At last, all problems drifted from his conscious mind and he fell into a light sleep. Once again, before the dawn, the voice of his late wife came to him in his middle ear.
‘Hi, Charlie, it’s all becoming much more clearer now. I was concerned at first, although concern doesn’t apply to anyone who comes across the bridge. I thought I might be judged harshly and relegated to somewhere in Hell but there’s no such thing as Heaven and Hell despite what anyone on earth might say or think. Let me tell you that individual personality is never destroyed. We’re allowed to experience a string of earthly lives until achieving near perfection of the soul. Subsequently, after a woman becomes pregnant, a soul is introduced into her body at some stage in the pregnancy. If the introduction doesn’t take place, a miscarriage occurs. On an error of introduction, for reasons I’m unaware at the moment, the child dies in an accident such as a cot death or is born sickly and dies later. When a soul reaches perfection, although I’m not certain of the standards applied, such souls become Gods... in a sense you could not possibly understand or they progress on a purely spiritual plane of existence. Hindus and Buddhists , teach that we escape from the miseries of earthly incarnations, into a mystical and blissful unity with Brahma, the Supreme Principal, or entry into Nirvana, in which the self is lost in the infinite. Such beliefs seem to conform with the situation here. If perfection isn’t achieved, the soul is reincarnated into a human-being, but t
he rules governing the process are beyond me. The personality may be tempered and changed on earth according to location, status, education and environmental patterns. For example, a child born in a poverty-stricken area of Africa which is suffering from prolonged bouts of drought will experience a completely different lifestyle to a child born of wealthy parents in New York. However being one of those children doesn’t preclude these individuals from switching places in another life. Of particular importance, Charlie, I’ve found out more about the control element I mentioned last time. It’s the existence of a Master soul on a dimension of which you could never be aware. The Master soul reached into the world of matter and built a personality there which didn’t incarnate. The personality became a vehicle by means of which the Master soul could investigate, experience and examine matter through its intimate linkage with a physical body. At the end of the life of the physical body, the personality was withdrawn and absorbed back into the Master’s soul, incorporating in the After a while, the Master soul reaches into the world of matter again and creates another personality which links with another body. And so on, over a chain of lives. To you, the Master soul would be known as God! This means that science and religion do not meet, have never met, and will never contradict each other. Science explains how mankind developed from low life forms in the sea. All that’s true. The Bible states that Adam and Eve were the first two people in the world. That’s true as well because the Master soul dealt with personalities one at a time in the beginning. There’s an obvious connection between he various lives which make up this kind of peculiar daisy-chain by virtue of the fact that they are all lives associated with the same Master soul. You may have problems digesting this information or getting other people to accept it. Isn’t life, either in the world of matter or in the spiritual world, absolutely remarkable! I’ll get back to you soon.’
There was silence in the bedroom after her delivery and Charles sat up in the bed fully awake. She didn’t say ‘Yucca’ this time he thought to himself. There was no ‘Yucca, Charlie, yucca!’ It was evident that she was losing touch with him and the personality she knew as Jennifer, his wife. With the added advice from the vicar, coupled with the communication from his late wife, there was a lot to think about. An awful lot to think about!
Chapter Ten
Except for the time he had broken his leg and burned his back, in the accident at the stock-racing track, Purdy had never suffered a day’s sickness in his life. It was generally recognised that good health, both mental and physical, were the prime feature of a happy existence, overriding all other standards such as money, status and ambition. Therefore the drive to the doctor’s surgery went very much against the grain. He had retreated to such a poor mental condition that, by his own volition, he considered the visit to the physician took priority over collecting another shipment of goods for delivery from Consolidated Stores. After the incident with the bogus fortune-teller, he realised that he needed urgent medical attention before his faculties deteriorated further. In no man terms, the woman he had killed was eating into his mind like a raging cancer destroying the very fabric of his reason. It had become imperative to exorcise her from his mind but he had no idea how to achieve that aim. He had failed to make an appointment with the surgery and went there at random without caring about convention. The nursing staff there wee less than sympathetic towards him, resenting the unshaven truck driver who demanded to see a doctor without going through the proper channels. Efficiency and order at the surgery demanded the co-operation of the patients. There was also the matter of courtesy and fairness to others to consider.
Purdy had no conscious on such mundane matters. He sat in a corner of the waiting-room near the central heating radiator watching a small spider weave its web over the lower part of the wall. There were numerous magazines piled on a small table but he had little interest in looking through any of them. He listened to the sound of the bells which echoed occasionally throughout the surgery relating to a mystic code understood only by the nurses employed there and he watched the lights go on and off outside the door of the doctor’s rooms. In between, there were brief messages on the internal communication system calling out the names of the patients, advising them which rooms there were to enter. All the time, patients were coming and going at every fifteen minute intervals while the truck driver waited in vain. After a long period of time had elapsed, he returned to the reception desk angrily demanding when he could see a doctor.
‘You’re on random selection,’ he as told by the appointment clerk. ‘Fifth on the list actually.’
‘Fifth on the list! What does that mean?’
‘It means that there are four people in front of you who didn’t bother to make appointments either. Don’t you have a telephone?’
‘Of course I’ve got a telephone!’
‘Well why don’t you pick it up to make an appointment. It’s very easy. Then when you make an appointment for say nine o’clock, you’re seen at nine o’clock ..give or take a few minutes. No... you can’t be bothered, can you? You walk in here as bold as brass and expect to get instant treatment by a doctor ahead of everyone else. Well let me tell you something. If you have consideration for the system, the system will look after you!’
‘I don’t need to hear all this,’ complained Purdy irately. ‘How long is it going to be? I can’t wait here for ever. I’ve got a business to run!’
‘A business to run! I bet all your customers have to make appointments if they want to see you!’ criticised the clerk caustically, annoyed at the casual attitude being taken to a carefully programmed system. ‘Well you’ll be delighted that three of them on the list have already been dealt with. There’s only one more to go before you. But don’t let it happen again or we’ll put you right at the back of the appointment schedule.’
He peered angrily through the protective screen. ‘You make it sound like a coin being put through a fruit machine.!
‘You’ll just have to be patient, Mr. Purdy!’
The truck drive went back to his seat to continue watching the progress of the spider building its new home. A further twenty minutes passed before his name came over the communication system. Entering the doctor’s room, he confronted a hard-faced physician of mature years who eyed him up and down quickly.
‘You failed to make an appointment,’ he alleged.
‘There were five of us,’ uttered the truck driver as a lame excuse.
‘You don’t seem to have visited us before.’
‘I’ve always been fit and well. I don’t like coming to doctor’s surgeries.’
The medical officer screwed up his face and pointed to a chair. Please sit down.’
‘The last time I saw a doctor was when I broke my leg in a stock-car racing accident. I also had serious burns down my back at the time.’
‘You don’t still drive stock-cars, I presume.’
‘Not any more.’
‘Do you have any problems with your leg or back?’
‘Not any more. They’ve both healed.’
‘What can I do for you?’
‘Take a look at me. What do you think?’
The doctor rubbed his eyes and stared at the patient. ‘Forgive me, Mr. Purdy, it’s been a long morning and I don’t want to play guessing games. What’s the problem?’
‘I came because I’m being driven mad. If you don’t help me I’m going to crack up.’
‘Mad?’ echoed the doctor raising his eyebrows. Fate had been firmly against him all morning with a host of malingerers and hypochondriacs.. Now it was adding insult to injury. ‘Why do you think that? What are the symptoms?’
‘I see yellow flashing before my eyes. You see she was wearing yellow when I hit her.’
‘When you hit her? Hit who?’ The physician took on a very tired expression which filled his face.
Purdy swallowed hard and his chest heav
ed. ‘You Won’t believe this but I don’t even know who she is. I’ve never met her. I’ve no idea of her name or anything about her.’
The doctor blew out his cheeks and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘When did all this come about?’
‘After I ran her down with my truck. But it wasn’t my fault. I swear it wasn’t!’
‘You knocked down a woman in your lorry. Was she injured mildly or badly?’
‘I reckon I killed her. I must have killed her!’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘That’s what makes it worse. You see I never stopped. I drove on. I’ve seen her ghost in front of me just as though she was there. She’s even spoken to me.’
The physician stared at him coldly. ‘Do you work on your own... is it your own business?’
‘I run my own business truck driving but the bank manager wants me to close it down. I can’t do that!’
‘It seems to me you’re under great pressure and strain from financial problems,’ commented the doctor. ‘Your mind’s riddled with guilt because you knock down a woman wearing yellow oilskins you believe you killed but you don’t know whether you did or not. I thought at first you were a malingerer trying to get time off from work but you run your own business. From what you say, the financial problems you’re suffering are paramount. You feel you’ve failed in life and you’ve let down your family. I’ll prescribed some tablets for you but you need to take a long rest. Take a holiday.’ He picked up a pen and began to write a prescription but the truck driver’s hand crossed the desk to come flat down on the doctor’s hand like a swatter killing a fly.
’I’m not taking any tablets and I’m not going on holiday. I came to get cured of seeing a woman in yellow and having to listen to her. I want you to stop it! That’s what I want you to do!’