CONSTABLE AT THE DAM a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 19)

by NICHOLAS RHEA

  I was sure the convivial atmosphere would be to his taste and must admit I wondered if he would find another romance — some Ashfordly ladies were ripe for picking. During one of my visits to his office, he lamented his cold and lonely nights in Claude’s caravan but smiled at his joy at finding the Oak Tree. He did tell me, however, that he missed Deirdre while stressing he had been true to his promise not to contact her.

  In his days as a guest of Claude Jeremiah Greengrass, Ken had to drive past her house on his way to work but assured me Deirdre had no idea he’d spent two miserable weeks in such close proximity, adding she did not know he was now boarding at the Oak Tree in Ashfordly. She worked in Ashfordly, as I knew, but I was aware that when Sandra North Fashions was open for business, Ken would be working six miles away in the middle of the moors. I also knew that he’d leave the inn each morning to drive to Ramsdale long before Deirdre arrived in Ashfordly and he’d return in the evenings long after she had gone home. The chances of them meeting either in the town or during their journeys to work were therefore remote, so I believed. So far as chance meetings were concerned, I did not envisage the very masculine site foreman wishing to enter Sandra North Fashions in Ashfordly because it was very much a ladies-only emporium. It was full of expensive lingerie, skirts, stockings and the things that only a woman would buy, although some men might venture within to buy their loved one something frothy and flimsy.

  But it is always wrong to say categorically something will never happen.

  My experience told me that if it was remotely possible for Ken and Deirdre to meet again, however accidentally that might be, then it would happen. In an area with such a low population, it was inevitable. In spite of that, if and when such a meeting did occur, it could be argued the respective parties were not really trying to avoid one another. It might even be said they were doing their best to engineer such a reunion, albeit with all the guile necessary to suggest its casual innocence.

  If they did meet again, would it be due to unbridled adult lust or the innocence of true love? I cannot comment because I have no idea of the torment experienced by them in the months they were apart. From time to time, though, while remaining mindful of Gordon’s role in this affair, I was acutely aware that my action had led to their separation. But was I also responsible for them being reunited — with all the consequences that followed?

  Their reunion happened many months after my fateful discovery in the car. As I hadn’t seen Ken and Deirdre together since that time, I assumed their romance was over. I was quite sure Deirdre had decided to remain with Gordon in the role she had created for herself but in spite of their reassurances, perhaps I was wrong?

  During those months, of course, the dam and reservoir work was proceeding apace. One could see the beginnings of the huge concrete base of the dam deep below ground level and while all this activity continued to shatter the tranquillity of Ramsdale, I maintained my occasional visits to Gordon. His earnings were increasing and his name was becoming known across a wider area.

  He had shown a commendable commercial streak in producing small reproductions of his work, such as postcards and table place settings, and thus he was beginning to enjoy the success for which he strove. Over that winter, spring, summer and autumn I regularly dropped in for coffee and a chat; I had bought several watercolours for myself and my family, some in miniature form, and although we could not be described as close, I do think Gordon valued me as a friend. And throughout, I never hinted that Deirdre had been unfaithful and neither did he. Sometimes, she was in the house when I called and, so far as I could see, the relationship between her and Gordon was happy and calm.

  For me, it meant the threat of a domestic drama had subsided. Deirdre was supporting Gordon and he was becoming a success; Ken was overseeing the most remarkable transformation Ramsdale had ever witnessed and the harmonious relationship between the contractors and local people had been maintained. From a professional point of view, I had no complaints. Everything seemed fine, even if the natural features of that lovely dale were changing slowly.

  As that mild winter faded from our memories and spring arrived with colour and light, there was a flavour of anticipation in the air. I was sensitive to this and could see that people were beginning to appreciate the new but different beauty of Ramsdale with its man-made lake. Whereas few had visited Ramsdale in the past, many were now contemplating its forthcoming charms. As anticipated, commercial firms were showing an interest in developing lakeside enterprises in conjunction with Swanland Corporation so that future tourists and visitors could be accommodated.

  There were rumours of a small marina, for example, with a café and water-ski centre, but Claude had not made any progress with his caravan site. Weeds were now thriving upon the slopes of Mount Greengrass and his solitary caravan remained the only sign of his presence.

  During the Easter weekend of that year, I was withdrawn from Aidensfield on the Saturday and instructed by Sergeant Blaketon to patrol Ashfordly on foot. My hours would be 10 a.m. until 6 p.m. with three quarters of an hour for refreshments, taken at Ashfordly Police Station. I would take sandwiches and a Thermos flask. There was nothing unusual in this — Ashfordly was a mecca for tourists so a police presence was required throughout the twenty-four hours of every public holiday.

  I did not mind this duty — time passed quickly because of the interchanges between myself and visitors, particularly those who wanted to know things like the history of the castle, the reason for the monument in the market square and where I kept my truncheon. An added bonus was the Saturday evening off duty, a rare event.

  Coincidentally, Deirdre Precious was working in Sandra North Fashions that Easter Saturday, the first really busy day since the Christmas period and her hours were from 9.30 a.m. until 5.30 p.m. She was one of three female staff in the shop — under normal circumstances, I would never have known this tiny facet of Ashfordly’s trading life. Later, when reviewing the situation, it did seem the fates were working against poor Gordon. He was spending the day at home with his beloved easel, well away from the crowds.

  Ken Digby was also working. Work did not stop at the reservoir over the bank holiday, the only breaks being on Christmas Day and Boxing Day. That Easter Saturday, therefore, he had expected to be fully engaged on the site but someone from Ken’s head office had other ideas. One of the company directors had expressed a wish for a personal meeting with Ken in Ashfordly that day, mixing business with pleasure. He had suggested lunch and so Ken had booked a table for two at the inn where he lodged. The appointment confirmed, Ken therefore made a point of returning to the Oak Tree Hotel to get washed and changed; he and his boss would rendezvous in the bar at 12.30 p.m.

  Thus Deirdre, Ken and myself were all in Ashfordly at the same time that Easter Saturday.

  And so was old Mrs Carruthers from Aidensfield.

  Mrs Carruthers, Florrie to those who knew her, was not a native of Aidensfield, however, having arrived some twenty years ago from Middlesbrough. Upon settling here, she had broadcast to the village that she had retired, aged sixty, from her job in a Teesside clothing factory. She had arrived alone and rented a cottage near the railway station but to this date, no one knows anything about a Mr Carruthers, if indeed there had been one. Whether Florrie was a widow or was divorced or had undergone something rather obscure in the realms of marriage, we never knew. She was well into her eighties and managed on her pension, helped by selling home-made buns in the Aidensfield stores. They were very nice, always spicy and full of currants, and we often treated ourselves to half a dozen of her Aidensfield cakes.

  The problem with Florrie was her reputation for being light-fingered.

  Although I have every reason to believe her reputation was justified, she had never, to my knowledge, appeared before a court or even been charged with any offences of shoplifting or other types of stealing. I learned of her reputation from Joe Steel, owner of the Aidensfield stores, who would watch her while she pottered around his premises.
She, on the other hand, would hang around until another customer entered to distract him when her sleight of hand could make a hen’s egg or a tin of soup vanish with more skill than the finest magician. Her ability to make nylon stockings vanish from their sales displays was well known too, both in Aidensfield and Ashfordly. She was known to take things from houses as well — some thought her tactics were nothing more than souvenir hunting because during her visits she would take little things from the kitchen — an egg cup, spoon, box of matches, ballpoint pen or thimble, but rarely cash. Usually, the items were too inexpensive for the losers to bother to inform the police and many accepted Florrie for what she was — a light-fingered thief. I knew of several instances where losers simply took back their own belongings from her house, and she never complained either.

  From information gleaned over the years, I knew Florrie was a compulsive thief of small portable articles. There is one tale which perfectly illustrates this. She went into a garage to buy a pint of paraffin for her Primus stove, and when she left (after paying for the paraffin), the proprietor noticed that a sparking plug had vanished from the counter. Why a little old woman without a car would want a sparking plug was rather puzzling, especially as the plug was a dud.

  This did illustrate her inability to keep her hands off anything that was both small and portable, and it seems she liked things she could easily hide in her coat, shoes, hat, bag or clothing.

  Sometimes she would join a bus trip to Scarborough, Redcar, Saltburn, Whitby or even York and Harrogate. In large towns, her reputation did not precede her although most of the other passengers were aware of her doubtful skills. It was impossible to warn all the shopkeepers in those distant towns but from time to time following her visits, there were crime circulars featuring a little, grey-haired old lady in a purple coat who had rushed out of a shop clutching a box of Elastoplast, a tin of sardines, a bottle of tomato ketchup or some other thing. If Florrie was questioned in such cases, she always denied the crime and had, by then, disposed of the evidence. Cafés were a particularly rich hunting ground for her — knives, forks and spoons vanished almost as soon as she approached a table and when self-service became the norm in our shops, she found new skills at sweet displays and could work wonders with a Mars bar or tube of fruit gums. Although she was never caught on such expeditions, the fact that the stuff disappeared from shelves and displays while she had been on the premises was sufficient for us to point the finger of suspicion at Florrie.

  Occasionally, I did wonder what would happen if I succeeded in getting her to court. I felt sure the magistrates, in their infinite wisdom, would look upon her with the utmost lenience, particularly due to her age and the fact she had no criminal record.

  They would never know she had a house full of stolen goodies while I would suggest locks and chains were put on all ashtrays in the court’s corridors.

  It follows that when I saw Florrie pottering around Ashfordly that busy Saturday afternoon, I wondered how many chocolate Easter eggs would disappear into her voluminous clothing or how many spoons she would spirit away from local cafés. I did alert one or two shopkeepers but they’d all seen her — apparently, the tradespeople of Ashfordly had created a type of early-warning system to alert one another to the presence of known shoplifters. This applied whether they were a professional team from West Yorkshire or Teesside, or a lone-operating pensioner from Aidensfield. As I patrolled the town, therefore, I came to realize the shopkeepers were well prepared to deal with Florrie.

  The snag was that thousands of other people were also in town. Florrie would make good use of them as a cover for her activities and in that, she was an expert. Try as I might, I could not keep her in sight; she made wonderful use of crowded places, back alleys, rear entrances to shops and cafés, toilets, pubs and other places as she dodged and wove through the streets. I did consider a search of her bags and pockets, but without a specific complaint from a shopkeeper, I would be treading on dangerous ground. Besides, a large male police officer searching a little old lady is not good for our public image, in spite of her culpability. I guessed she would shout and scream to make things appear worse than they were; she might even accuse me of indecently assaulting her!

  Extremely wary of the restrictions under which I was compelled to operate, all I could do was wait and watch. Perhaps, if I made myself conspicuous around the marketplace, some shopkeeper would call upon my services if Florrie was caught stealing.

  It would be around three o’clock when drama came to Ashfordly marketplace. All the players were in position and I was sedately patrolling Bridge Street, using the outside edge of the footpath as I had been taught. This was done for visible daytime patrolling while at night we used the inside edge to keep ourselves within the security of the shadows. As I was proceeding about my duties, Deirdre was inside her shop which was busy with visitors and locals alike, all seeking something rather special for Easter Sunday. At the same time, Ken Digby had just emerged from the dining-room of the Oak Tree Hotel to say farewell to his boss. The Oak Tree was at one side of the square marketplace, and Sandra North Fashions was almost directly opposite, on the other side of the square. Ken and boss had had a most enjoyable lunch and as Ken’s boss climbed into his car which was parked in the marketplace, Ken noticed me. He waved; I saw him and responded, interpreting the wave as a message that Ken wanted to talk to me. From his gestures, I understood he would come across when his visitor had driven away.

  To await his pleasure, I halted where I happened to be at that moment, i.e. the pavement outside Sandra North Fashions. I must admit I never thought that either Deirdre or Florrie was inside. Eventually, Ken strode quickly through the crowds; he crossed the road and came to a halt directly in front of me.

  ‘Hi, Nick,’ he said affably. ‘Glad I caught you.’

  ‘I never expected to see you in town,’ I greeted him.

  ‘Business lunch,’ he said. ‘One of our big wigs wanting some detailed information about the dam’s foundations. He could have come to the office, but thought I’d appreciate a working lunch!’

  ‘A nice thought. So, what can I do for you?’ I asked.

  ‘One of our men is fifty in a couple of weeks’ time. He wants to throw a party in the works canteen, with booze. I know we can have functions there, but I was wondering about the legality of having alcohol on the premises, whether we can sell it for example, either to our own people or to guests . . .’

  I was about to explain the relevant law to him when the door of Sandra North Fashions burst open and a little, grey-haired old woman hurtled out with astonishing speed. Fleet though she was, she possessed all the control of a beginner on roller skates, i.e. she had no control at all. She crashed into me and threw me off balance; instinctively, I stepped aside to lessen the impact, but collided with Ken who in turn staggered and almost disappeared under a bus whose driver seemed to think that waving his fist and hooting his horn was a useful thing to do. Simultaneously, Deirdre Precious galloped into the street shouting, ‘Stop that woman . . .’

  It is not easy to say precisely what happened next, but I did reach out almost instinctively and found myself clutching the collar of Florrie’s overcoat. She was brought to a very abrupt halt as Deirdre collided with her shouting, ‘She’s a shoplifter . . . oh, it’s you Nick! Thank God . . . hold her, she’s been nicking nylons!’

  ‘Right, at last!’ I breathed, saying, ‘Florrie, come here. You’re under arrest . . . now, get inside the shop this minute! We’re going to search you, all of us . . .’

  As the air turned bright blue with the onslaught of Florrie’s highly choice language, I called to Ken, ‘I’ll see you later, Ken, about that party . . .’

  But he was standing in the middle of the pavement with his arms around Deirdre and both were laughing with uncontrolled happiness. My immediate reaction was that this meeting was by no means engineered and I could only marvel at their open joy. But the scene did make me wonder if they’d ever stopped seeing one another . . .
whatever had happened in the past, they were extremely happy now.

  ‘I’ll come in.’ Deirdre caught my eye and noted my reading of the situation.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ said Ken, and I did not know whether he was talking to me or Deirdre.

  To cut short a long story, I struggled into the shop with the squirming, cursing old lady at arm’s length, picking up a trail of objects she was discarding as we moved into the premises. She was doing her best to get rid of any evidence I might find upon her, but when I asked her to turn out all her pockets, in the presence of Deirdre Precious, we found some nylons and three pairs of expensive ladies’ gloves, all stolen from Deirdre’s shop.

  The objects she had discarded had been stolen from other shops and cafés — sweets, tea spoons, a tin of mustard powder, a box of Oxo cubes, a cigarette lighter and umpteen other small things were found among her haul. I would have little trouble tracing them to shops in Ashfordly.

  Having secured the evidence and found a reliable witness against Florrie, I told her she was going to be reported for summons for stealing the items and she burst into tears. I did not arrest her because that would have meant a trip to the police station followed by possible detention in the cells, at least temporarily, but her detention would require the presence of a policewoman. The nearest was on duty several miles away and she might be committed to some important job at her own station. The detention of any female was always problematical, hence my action to limit the difficulties.

  But I had caught Florrie, and that pleased me. Over the years, she had deprived a lot of people of their belongings and deserved a prison sentence, but I knew that would never happen. At a hearing before Eltering Magistrates Court a week later, Florrie was put on probation, her age and clean record being taken into account. When the case was over, she returned to Aidensfield and immediately stole a tube of toothpaste and a bar of soap from Joe Steel’s shop. It is true that he never saw her take them — but they were on display when she went into his shop and they’d gone when she left. No one else had been in the shop.