‘Aye, I did. Then I usually have a walk around at night after supper, before I go to bed.’
George lived in the manager’s cottage which was part of the quarry complex. A check of the quarry each night would take him only a few minutes and I knew he was a diligent employee of the company who owned it. Making such checks would be something he would do with great care.
‘So you didn’t hear a car or anything?’ I asked. ‘Notice people about?’
He shook his head. ‘No, nowt. I just did my rounds as usual and found it like it is now. The minute I saw what had been done, I rang your office and waited for you fellers to get here.’
As we chatted, Sergeant Blaketon arrived, parked his car outside George’s office and spotted us beneath the powerful light which illuminated the store. He emerged from the car, put on his cap and made his way towards us.
‘So Rhea,’ he said, when he arrived slightly out of breath after the modest climb. ‘What’s happened?’
I briefed him on the situation as provided by George. He asked when I had last checked the store and I told him it had been ten days earlier; I added that during my routine night and early-morning patrols I hadn’t noticed any suspicious vehicles or trespassers near the quarry gates. I hadn’t had any reason to suspect someone was planning this raid or that the store had been previously targeted, and George confirmed this view.
Living so close to the quarry, he was in an ideal position to see or hear trespassers, but had never encountered any. Tonight’s raid had therefore come as a total surprise. I picked up the damaged lock and told George I was retaining it as evidence, hopefully in the event of us catching the perpetrator. If we did, and if we found the cutters he’d used, the marks they’d left upon the hasp might be identifiable. I itemized the stolen explosives and their accessories, listing the manufacturer’s names and markings, and said we would immediately circulate a description to all our stations, both locally and nationally.
With some luck on our part, and bearing in mind George had discovered the crime very soon after it had been committed, we might find the thief still in possession of the explosives. I knew our night patrols would be constantly alert.
George had a spare padlock and so he secured the store and said he would now notify his superiors. I would drive to Ashfordly Police Station to record the crime and circulate details, and I would commence my enquiries immediately.
‘And when you’ve completed your crime report, Rhea,’ said Blaketon. ‘Get yourself around all the other stores on your beat. Check them all before you go off duty. Let’s hope no more have been done. I’ll instruct your night-duty colleagues to do likewise when they come on duty. We’ll check all explosives stores in our section overnight. It looks as if you’ll be working overtime!’
‘Very good, Sergeant,’ I said.
I had intended working late anyway, in an attempt to trace Gordon, but I did not think this theft would add greatly to my hours of duty. There were not many such stores on my patch — only three — and I was able to visit each before I would normally have booked off duty. But I almost overlooked a fourth. It was at the reservoir site. They did have a small store which, in the early stages of the work had contained a substantial amount of explosives but which was now fulfilling a much more reduced role as the work was nearing completion. There was very little blasting to be done at this stage. I had enough time for a brief visit to the site before finishing this tour of duty. When I arrived, Ken Rigby had gone home but the night security guard responded to the bell which I rang at the gate.
‘Evening, Constable.’ He was a stout little man with a black moustache beneath a dark peaked cap. I thought he looked like Adolf Hitler and noticed he did not offer to unlock the gate to admit me.
I realized he was going to make me stand outside for our conversation. For the moment, I was prepared to accept that, at least until I had explained the reason for my presence. Then I wanted to be let in.
‘Evening.’ I did not know his name but felt such details did not matter. ‘I’m here to tell you that an explosives store has been raided at Thackerston. Some rolls of quarrying explosive have gone, with detonators and fuses. The raid was some time after five o’clock this evening. So I’m here to make sure your store is secure.’
‘It is,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve checked it. It’s one of my regular jobs. I check it every hour on the hour. And I make an entry in my duty log to that effect. Very keen on such things is this company. And so am I.’
‘I’d like to see it,’ I said.
‘I’ve orders not to admit nobody once the main gate is locked.’ He did not smile but studied me through the thick wire mesh. ‘And that means nobody.’
I felt like telling him that ‘not to admit nobody’ meant he had to admit everybody but he wouldn’t have understood the full import of making use of the double-negative in such a way.
‘I have a statutory duty to inspect all explosives stores on my beat,’ I said. ‘That is why I am here. If you do not admit me, I shall report you for obstructing a constable in the execution of his duty. And that will mean a court appearance and if you are convicted, which you would be, then you’d have difficulty getting another job in security. You’d be a man with a criminal record.’
‘There’s no need to take that attitude!’ he bristled.
‘I think there is, seeing as you are being very obstructive,’ I grinned. ‘So, how about letting me in?’
With some misgivings, therefore, he admitted me, locked the gate in my wake and led me through the site to the store. Similar in construction to that at Thackerston Quarry, I was pleased to note that it was secure and made a note in my pocket book to that effect.
‘See? I said it was all right,’ he muttered.
‘So you did, but I had to see it for myself. That’s my duty. Now, is everything else all right?’ I asked this Black Adolf.
‘Are you checking up on me?’
‘No, why should I want to do that?’
‘So what else do you want to see?’ he almost snarled.
‘Nothing,’ I smiled at him. ‘This is your responsibility, not mine. But I like to know if there’s been any problems of a criminal nature . . . it’s something I always ask when I visit this site.’
‘Nowt apart from them bolt cutters,’ he grunted.
‘What bolt cutters?’ I asked with considerable interest.
‘Them what’s been missing since this afternoon,’ he said. ‘They told me when I came on. They didn’t think nobody from outside’s nicked ’em; more like somebody what’s working here ’as taken ’em home I shouldn’t wonder, to do some cutting job at home. They asked me to look out for ’em in case they’re lying about the place. Went missing from the tool store, they did.’
‘They’ve not been reported to the police, have they?’ I asked.
‘Now how can I know the answer to that?’ he grunted.
‘Because you are a security man. I thought you might have known the answer. But I am interested in them.’
If the theft of the bolt cutters had been reported to any police station or officer, I would have known, so it seemed the company had dealt internally with the matter. But in this case, there was an added factor. I decided not to elaborate the reason for my interest but when I asked if he could describe the bolt cutters, he said he could not. All he’d been told was that a pair of bolt cutters were missing and he’d been asked to watch out for them on his nightly rounds. They could be lying anywhere on site.
So, I asked myself, did we have a site worker who was stealing explosives, or did we have someone who had managed to gain access to the site and who had stolen the cutters specifically to gain entry to the Thackerston explosives store? The two incidents might not be connected but in the realms of criminal investigation, such coincidences could be rarely discounted. If bolt cutters were missing from the reservoir site since this afternoon and a pair had been used to steal explosives less than five miles away, then a link of some kind was highly feasible.
&nbs
p; I had to talk to Ken Rigby about the bolt cutters and guessed he would still be with Deirdre Precious at her home; apart from that, I had to make a final check to see if Gordon had returned or left any messages and so I drove the short distance from the site to Ramsdale House.
The entire place was illuminated like a lighthouse and when I knocked, Deirdre came to the door, tearful and harassed.
‘Any news?’ she asked, even before I was admitted.
I shook my head. ‘Sorry, not a sighting. All our patrols are searching right now and when the night shift comes on, they’ll continue until dawn.’
Ken appeared in the doorway behind her; he was clutching a glass of whisky and heard my comments.
‘Anything I can do?’ he asked.
‘Not really, but I’m here on another matter,’ I said.
His face adopted a worried appearance and I wondered what else he might have been up to, in addition to his liaison with Deirdre. But, I reasoned, a lot of people look guilty when a police officer suggests they’ve been wrongdoing! I was invited in and given a mug of coffee whereupon I explained about the theft of the explosives and the use of the bolt cutters. I concluded with, ‘I called at your site a few minutes ago for a chat with Black Adolf, and he said you’d mislaid some cutters today.’
‘We have, but I didn’t want the police involved; it’s an internal matter, Nick, it happens all the time. We get stuff nicked by the workforce, sometimes they fetch it back, sometimes we write it off. If we rang you every time something was stolen, you’d never be away from the place. So are you saying our cutters were used for that job?’
‘I’m saying bolt cutters were used, and we know you’ve lost some. Would yours cut through the hasp of a security padlock?’
‘No problem. They’ll cut anything from iron bolts to chicken wire by way of nails, screws and wire washing lines! Wonderful tools.’
‘If yours turn up, can you let me know?’ I asked him. ‘And if we find any bolt cutters thrown away after that explosives raid, can we show them to you? I’ll be searching the scene in daylight. You’ve no men with you, have you, who might resort to nicking bolt cutters and then explosives?’
‘Not to my knowledge, Nick. If it was one of our staff, you’d think they’d have raided our own store, wouldn’t you? We haven’t much there, but there’s enough left to blow a useful hole in the ground.’
‘That makes sense. OK, but if the cutters turn up on site, could you let me know?’
‘Sure, but why?’
‘We can do forensic tests to see if they were used for shearing that lock, and there might be prints on the handles too.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll call you, Nick. And I hope you didn’t upset our guardian angel!’
‘The Prince of Darkness, you mean? I upset him no more than he upset me,’ I grinned. After reassuring Deirdre that we were doing everything we could to trace Gordon, and asking her to ensure she called Ashfordly Police Station the moment she heard anything from him, I departed. I decided to go home and have some supper. As Mary would be expecting me home at 10 p.m. she’d have a meal ready and I decided to make use of it to sustain me through the night’s extra work.
Before going home, though, I drove to Ashfordly Police Station to update Sergeant Blaketon about the bolt cutters and he said he would incorporate that additional information in our crime circulars. Also, I told him there’d been no word from the missing Gordon.
I went home for my quick meal, thinking that in addition to keeping an eye open for Gordon, I’d be wondering where I might find the abandoned bolt cutters and/or the stolen explosives. As I talked over my day’s activities with Mary while enjoying the hefty supper which might have to sustain me all night, I found myself admiring one of Gordon’s paintings on my kitchen wall.
I’d bought it some months ago and it showed a dark view of the reservoir overcast with dense black clouds. It was then I remembered Gordon’s words. He’d said, ‘I hate it all, that dam, that reservoir . . . it’s destroyed my life.’
And as I recalled his venom as he spat upon his own painting, I realized Gordon might want to destroy the dam, the reservoir and all they represented.
Chapter Twelve
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 1564–1616
For a few minutes, I was unsure of my own suspicions but the more I considered the possibility, the more I realized Gordon could be planning to destroy the dam. Being the contractor’s official artist, he did have ready access to the site which meant he’d be familiar with the layout as well as the location and purpose of the various temporary buildings. In addition, he’d know something about the security system such as the time Black Adolf had his breaks. Gordon’s presence on the site, even during a mid-afternoon, would not be unusual which meant he could have had an opportunity to sneak into the tool shed to remove the bolt cutters. And if he’d been carrying his easel and painting gear at the time, he would have been able to conceal the cutters among his belongings. It would have been much more difficult, however, to have raided the site’s explosives’ store while people were around — that’s if he knew of its presence.
It was while contemplating that scenario, that I recalled he’d worked in the Rural District Council offices, one of his responsibilities being licensing.
Local authorities were responsible for various licensing matters under a number of statutes ranging from horse-riding establishments and refreshment houses to hackney carriages by way of pet shops, keepers of petroleum spirit, theatres and more. Although the police issued explosives licences and certificates, the range of local authority licensing responsibilities did include the general administration of the provisions of the Explosives Act, 1875 and the Control of Explosives Order, 1953. It meant Gordon would know the locations of all existing local explosives stores and their likely contents but he might have been unaware of the reservoir store because it was so recent. It might not have been installed while he was still working for the council.
I could add to these considerations my theory that Gordon would not have disposed of the cutters after severing the padlock at Thackerston because he’d need them later; he’d want them to cut a hole through the wire fence around the reservoir site so he could gain access to the dam compound under cover of darkness when Black Adolf was otherwise engaged. For a few minutes, I sat with my mug in my hand, staring at the picture on the wall as if in a trance, then Mary nudged me and asked, ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’ve just realized who’s nicked those explosives and what he’s going to do with them!’ I whispered hoarsely.
‘Who?’ she asked.
‘Gordon Precious!’ I said, with a brief explanation of my reasoning.
‘Surely, even if his wife had gone off with that foreman, he wouldn’t blow up the new dam, would he?’ She was incredulous at my suggestion. ‘He’s not that sort of person, surely?’
‘I’m not happy with the state of his mind,’ I spoke quietly. ‘So put it this way, now that I’ve aired my thoughts, would you risk doing nothing to find him?’
‘So what can you do? You don’t know where he is!’
‘I think I know where he’s heading with his bagful of stolen quarry explosives. I’ve got to find him and stop him!’ I said, rushing to the telephone.
I rang Sergeant Blaketon and explained my theories. He listened intently and agreed with my reasoning, saying, ‘Right, Rhea, get yourself over to Ramsdale. Find that foreman and tell him, then wait for me. I’ll have to inform the duty inspector at Sub-Division, and then give me time to rustle up as many constables as I can at short notice. And I think we’d better adopt a softly-softly approach, no blue lights and blaring sirens. We don’t want to panic him into doing something even more stupid than he intends.’
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br /> ‘Right, Sergeant.’
‘We’ve got to search that place, the entire dam and reservoir complex, and we’ve got to stop Precious, otherwise Aidensfield will finish up as a sea of mud with God knows how many deaths . . . it’s imperative we find him, Rhea! See if the foreman, what’s his name . . . ?’
‘Rigby,’ I said.
‘Yes, see if Rigby can muster some helpers as well. There is an emergency plan for problems on the site, we discussed it when I first called on him.’
‘Right, Sergeant,’ I said.
‘And don’t do anything stupid before I get there!’ he grunted, before slamming down the telephone. I rang Deirdre Precious’s home number and asked to speak to Ken Rigby. After saying there’d been no word from Gordon, she handed the phone to him.
‘Ken,’ I said. ‘Listen carefully. We need your help. We think Gordon raided that explosives store I mentioned earlier; if it is him, he’s taken some fuses and detonators too. We think he’s got your bolt cutters as well, and I reckon he’s going to try and blow up your dam. You don’t have to ask why!’
‘Oh my God!’ he almost screamed. ‘That man must be mad . . . it’s nearly full — if that lot gets away you can say goodbye to most of your village. Right, what can we do?’
‘I’m going to the site now,’ I said. ‘I’ll meet you there in, say, fifteen minutes? Can you arrange as many site workers as possible, to help us search the site for Gordon? And for the explosives. Wait for our officers to arrive. We mustn’t alarm Gordon; we might precipitate his actions. We need a softly-softly approach. Ask them to assemble outside the site and wait for us. In the meantime, can you think of all the places he might place the explosives to gain maximum effect? We need to search those places first. Get everyone there as soon as possible; if you’ve any explosives experts, bring them along.’
‘Right.’
‘And my sergeant is bringing as many police as he can muster at short notice . . .’
‘Gordon shouldn’t be able to get into the site at night,’ said Ken.
CONSTABLE AT THE DAM a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 19) Page 19