The Trials of Sally Dunning and a Clerical Murder

by Miller Caldwell

  About The Author

  Miller Caldwell is a Scottish-based novelist. He graduated from London University having studied African industrial development, traditional African religions and the colonial history of West Africa. He has had articles published in health magazines and The Scottish Review.

  In a life of humanitarian work in Ghana, Pakistan and Scotland, he has gained remarkable insights into human nature. He brought an African President to tears in West Africa in 2000 and he confronted Osama bin Laden in Abbottabad in 2006. He retired from being the Regional reporter to the children’s hearings as he had mild cognitive impairment. He was, for twelve years, the local chair of the Scottish Association for The Study of Offending. He also served on the committee of the Society of Authors in Scotland, as its events manager

  Miller plays a variety of brass, woodwind and keyboard instruments. This is mentioned because they provide a break from writing. Married, he has two daughters and lives in Dumfries.

  The Trials of Sally

  Dunning

  and

  A

  Clerical Murder

  Miller Caldwell

  Copyright © 2018 Miller Caldwell

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  Matador

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  ISBN 978 1788034 371

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  Dedicated To Robert and Eunice

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks are due to David Watt, formerly of AFNOR (Association Française de Normalisation) - the equivalent of the BSI (British Standards Institute) in the UK. He is a translator, reviser and proof reader, who came to my aid and sorted out my muddling sentences. What a new friend he is indeed. To my dear friends Robert and Eunice without their support this book would not have seen the light of day. To my agent Mathilde Vuillermoz who keeps faith with me while answering all my demanding questions. And to Jocelyn who leaves me to daydream, walk the dog, garden, shop, and cook. In the process of these chores, I work out my next line.

  Contents

  The Trials of Sally Dunning

  Introduction

  1.Lost

  2.Nicknames

  3.Codes and Numbers

  4.When the Cat is Away

  5.Malta Romance

  6.A Surprise for Sally

  7.Harmonica

  8.Sisterly love

  9.A&E

  10.Identity Parades

  11.Romance

  12.Light at the End of the Tunnel

  13.The Trial

  14.The Verdict

  15.Payback Time

  Sally’s Music

  Postscript

  Interview with the Author

  A Clerical Murder

  Introduction

  Prologue

  1.Overburdened

  2.A Bridge Over Troubled Water

  3.Happy Clappy Lizzie

  4.A Flat Note

  5.It Takes a Worried Imam

  6.The Open Door

  7.Absent Minds

  8.The Ramblers Gather

  9.They Heed the Call

  10.Out of Class

  11.Getting in Tune

  12.A Change Afoot

  13.A Clerical Murder

  14.Taking Stock

  15.The Funeral

  16.The Cremation

  17.Suspicions

  18.Soundings

  19.Things Boil Over

  20.The Repercussions

  21.Behind the Silver Cloud

  22.An Interrupted Meal

  23.You Are My Sunshine

  Spot Checks

  Interview with the Author

  Reading Group Questions

  Books by Miller Caldwell

  The Trials of Sally Dunning

  A crime story about an autistic victim

  Introduction

  In society the prevalence of mental disability has been much neglected in recent years. There are a plethora of ailments of the mind. I retired from work at the age of 53 on account of MCI. What? That’s mild cognitive impairment. Within my own family there are relations with Bi-polar and dementia conditions. In fact, before we die we are almost certain to have some form of mental illness, or a developmental disability, even if it is just a peg or two along from the neutral position of the wellness continuum.

  The protagonist in this tale, Sally, is a fifty-three year old woman. She is a very pleasant individual with a good sense of dress. She polishes her shoes with vigour each day. She shows a shy smile to all and sundry and those who see her delicate sweet face must assume there is a lucky man sharing her life.

  Sally shares her life with her mother in their rambling Victorian mansion on the outskirts of Wigan in Lancashire. She helps her tidy her garden. She polishes her mother’s car meticulously for her weekly outings to play Bridge and her daily shopping. To all intents and purposes, Sally and her mother are good neighbours even although the nearest house is five hundred yards away.

  However when Sally was born she received too much oxygen. This meant her brain was affected and now she has the learning age and personality of a ten year old. She also suffers from an Autism Syndrome Disorder (ASD). This definition encompasses cases of Autism and Asperger’s syndrome. It is the term for the learning disabilities which affect 2.8 million people in the UK.

  This protagonist’s character is based on two people. Firstly there is my 65 year old cousin, Brian, who was blinded at birth. He has a mental age and ability of a ten year old. That personality is added to the autistic friend I have recently acquired as a friendly neighbour.

  1

  Lost

  She was lost. She wasn’t used to this situation. She was a methodical woman whose daily chores did not deviate much from day to day. Yet she could not explain where or why she was there that night. Devotion to an ailing mother was her only concern and her current predicament could not help her.

  She was in Wigan, of that she was sure. It was after all, the town she was born in fifty three years ago, yet she was sure she was lost. Dark shadows followed her that night. The suspicious trees whispered but gave no valuable information. It was eerie. She stood still. She looked around.

  She tried to remember where she had been. It was simply an evening walk that had gone so terribly wrong she recalled. She did not wander late at night normally. What she realised now was everything took on a different perspective in the dark. When she saw the entrance to the Plantations something attracted her to its path. Maybe it was the bark of a friendly dog or
a whistle. She could not remember. Perhaps the silent flight of an owl caught her attention. Whatever it was had led her to her present distress.

  There was no shortcut home she realised and she was now deep into the park. She was unsure how to retrace her steps. Then she saw clouds part and the half-moon appeared, lighting up a passing veil of a cloud. It gave sufficient light for her to realise she was close to the Douglas River in Wigan’s Plantations but the stream’s course wound round and round again, giving no direction to solve her predicament.

  ‘Y’ll right, luv? Ye lost?’ a voice approaching from behind said in a curt manner. The girl wore black. Trousers, jacket and peaked skip, all were black. Her trainers were lighter, with splashed mud on both shoes. Her peaked cap was back to front. The girl, probably around her mid-twenties, stood close to Sally. She repeated herself. Then her eyes flirted from side to side.

  ‘Yes, lost,’ said Sally standing slightly bent, shaking her arms and focussing her eyes somewhere beyond the girl.

  ‘You mean you are lost or have you lost your dog?’ she asked looking around.

  ‘No. No dog. I don’t have a dog. I had a cat. It died. I’m lost.’

  The woman realised this was not a usual conversation. Perhaps she was just gullible, soft, an easy touch, perhaps even an easy target. The sort of person she could find useful or ...maybe....perhaps she was, just lost.

  ‘So where do you live?’ she asked raising her eyebrows at this enigmatic individual.

  Sally hesitated. She took a moment to reply to this stranger. She gazed at her with the eye of the cautious. No, she had never seen her before.

  ‘Leyland Mill Lane,’ she eventually said tugging at her jerkin sleeve.

  ‘Okay, follow me, luv,’ the girl said turning round and flipping her cap once more to the front.

  Sally was pleased to have been found and more than happy to be on her way home with her rescuer.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Sally asked in a very direct manner.

  The young woman looked at Sally for a moment.

  ‘My name’s Donkey,’ she said with a tease of a smile.

  ‘Donkey?’ Sally’s lips widened a little. Perhaps a joke was about to hit her. Would she understand it?

  ‘Yeah Donkey, it’s my nickname. Have you got one?’

  Sally had had nicknames in the distant past; Stupid, Dafty, Dreamy, Spaceman but these did not last long once the joke was out. The teachers made sure of that. Nor were they names she wanted to keep.

  ‘Nicknames? No, I’ve no nickname. I’m Sally.’

  They continued in silence until the gates of the park were behind them. Traffic flowed both ways; many cars had recently left the hospital car park just out of sight to the left, and were now joining the busy night traffic. Taxis, buses and cars mingled. The Panda crossing gave a quiet buzz on its night duty as a man crossed with his poodle, on his late night walk.

  ‘I know where I am now,’ said Sally with the excitement of a child playing hide-and-seek.

  Donkey looked around, lowering the peak of her cap closer to her eyes.

  ‘Best make sure I get you home safely.’

  ‘Yes, home safely, to mum,’ she replied shaking her hands once again.

  They crossed the road. Donkey took out a cigarette from her jacket pocket and lit it.

  ‘Want one?’ she said offering a cigarette protruding from its packet.

  ‘No, I don’t want one.’

  ‘You mean, you don’t want one now?’ she asked with a slightly threatening voice.

  ‘No, not one now.’

  ‘Have you ever smoked?’ Donkey asked drawing in the cigarette’s smoke.

  ‘No, I’ve never smoked,’ she replied looking straight ahead holding her breath.

  Donkey replaced the rejected cigarette back into her Regal packet of twenty and from her torn pocket brought out another. It was not white; it was a hand rolled brown reefer. She lit it.

  ‘Here, try this. If you’ve never had one you won’t know if you like it.’

  Sally’s shoulders were tense but her hand reached out. She did not want to displease her rescuer. She took her first puff. She did not inhale; she just puffed and spluttered out the weed’s smoke.

  Donkey smiled. ‘That’s ma girl. Good isn’t it?’

  Sally smiled back, still anxious to please her rescuer. She was reluctant to return the joint to her lips again but she did so, a couple of minutes later, as its length decreased.

  Donkey put her hand into her other inside jerkin pocket. Her fingers fumbled around. ‘Like the cinema?’ she asked.

  ‘Cinema, the pictures? I’ve not gone for a long time.’

  ‘You’d really enjoy A Man called Ove. It’s a comedy. It will make you laugh. Okay, here’s the ticket, luv,’ she said thrusting it into Sally’s midriff.

  The ticket was now in her hand. She looked at it with confusion. ‘I can’t pay now.’

  ‘You don’t have to pay. Hey, we’re friends. I’ve an extra ticket anyway. A friend couldn’t come. Donkey keeps her friends,’ she said thumping her back.

  Sally was initially unsure how to react. Her social skills were restricted. But in time she saw the sentiment as sincere and so nodded profusely, smiled her agreement to this new relationship and said so formally.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ she said at last, placing her cinema ticket in her gloved hand.

  Eight minutes later, they were on the outskirts of town, it was now a 40 mph zone. Sally pointed down the road.

  ‘I live along here.’

  Donkey’s eyes closed in concentration. She saw no house lights ahead.

  ‘I’ll see you home, best that way. There’s not much lighting around here.’

  ‘No, not good lighting.’

  They proceeded until they reached Sally’s drive. It was a long snaking path with a large Victorian house situated at the top of the incline.

  ‘You live here, luv?’ asked Donkey in disbelief.

  ‘Yes, with my mother.’

  Donkey looked at the dark foliage as they progressed up the drive. She noticed good cover if needed.

  She saw the detached stone-built three story dwelling. Ivy gripped its front wall. Her eyes lingered on the white painted bay windows at the front, and then they drifted upwards to the attic in the red tiled roof. Moonlight seemed to shed light through the window onto a low light canopy. Possibly a snooker table was up there, Donkey concluded with a tight grin. A double garage joined the building with a modest five-seater Vauxhall Meriva under its roof. Sally’s house seemed palatial to her.

  ‘Bet your house is worth a million.’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  Donkey held her breath ‘So you are a wealthy woman?’ she said shaking her head in disbelief.

  ‘Yes. My dad died and left me a lot of money.’

  Donkey could hardly hide the smile breaking out over her face. Sally’s words were like music to her ears. She was onto a winner. Sally was not a potential drug courier after all. Instead Donkey sensed a golden goose.

  ‘Okay Sally. 7.30 p.m. on Saturday night. We’ll meet you at the Empire Cinema centre. Anjou Boulevard. Know where I mean?’

  ‘Yes, at Robin Park.’

  ‘That’s it. Oh, by the way, I’ll be with my partner, okay?’ Donkey said hoping Sally could accept this arrangement.

  ‘Your partner?’ enquired Sally.

  ‘Yes, I’ve lots of friends,’ smiled Donkey patting her shoulder.

  Sally wondered who her friend might be. Would she know him? She asked anyway.

  ‘Bones is what he’s called.’

  Sally smiled. ‘Nickname?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s his nickname. He’s my partner.’

  Before Sally went to bed that night, she told her mother she had made a new friend. She had found her when she was los
t and had brought her home and what’s more she had given her a cinema ticket. Her eyebrows were arched and her smile extended from ear to ear at the prospect of the film. Her fingers shook in excitement. Then she waved the ticket before her mother’s eyes.

  ‘It’s for Saturday. She’s going with me, Mum. We’ll meet at the Empire cinema.’

  Her mother Elsie smiled. She approached her daughter and gave her a hug. ‘That was very kind of her,’ she said. A glow of happiness came over her on hearing the news of a thoughtful new friend for her autistic daughter.

  ‘Yes, mum. Donkey is very kind.’

  ‘Donkey?’ she asked with a tortured look.

  ‘Yes, mum. She has a nickname.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she said with a degree of relief. ‘That’s unusual,’ she concluded.

  Elsie walked through to the wall calendar behind the kitchen door and made a note of Sally’s outing to the cinema on Saturday. Beside it she wrote: Prepare sandwiches for Sally and her new friend.

  2

  Nicknames

  Sally’s bedroom was almost stark. Her walls were white and clean. Her bed had a conservative grey and blue diagonal stripe and matching pillow. Her bedside desk offered the only other insight into her life for she had harmonicas in every major key laid out in size-ranking order on the wooden surface. Speakers were inserted into the wall and a stack of CDs towered up past the end of the orange and blue floating balloon curtains. Sally spent hours playing her harmonicas. She played classical, folk, traditional and marching tunes. She played by ear and she was attuned to any song which Chris Evans or Ken Bruce played on BBC Radio 2 in the morning, as well as all the programmes Classic FM had to offer, both in the afternoon and at night.

  Sally’s siblings were not at home. Her older sister Becky treated skin conditions as a NHS consultant dermatologist in Manchester and her brother, Alec, was professor of Chemical Engineering at Bristol University. Sally had little idea what that entailed but she knew her brother had travelled all over the Far East sorting old and failing chemical installations. But now she knew he taught at the university. The Dunnings met at the family home at the usual Christmas and Easter seasonal events. Thanks to her dark blue Opel, Becky was able to visit more regularly calling round to see her mother and to lavish love on her sister Sally. She always had a cuddle for her.