The Trials of Sally Dunning and a Clerical Murder

by Miller Caldwell

  ‘What have we got, Ricky?’ the sergeant asked.

  ‘Looks like an overdose and assault. Her face took a beating,’ he said. ‘Unusual, she seems an older woman.’

  The female officer approached the dog walker taking out her notebook.

  ‘I’m Constable Karen Dunbar. Did you see what happened?’

  ‘Yes, well probably not all of it.’

  ‘Your name please?’

  ‘Ronald Pattison.’

  ‘Double “t”?’

  ‘Yes. I had just entered the Plantations and the two thugs had been kicking the woman when she was down. She put up no fight.’

  ‘Did you see the attackers clearly?’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t know them. Never seen them before.’

  ‘Would you know them if you saw them again?’

  ‘Yes, I might. If they were together.’

  ‘How old were they? What were they wearing?’

  ‘Mid-twenties, maybe early thirties, I’d say. Both in dirty old trainers. The taller one, the man, had a grey top and the woman a blue one. They were both in tracksuit bottoms. One pair was a sort of maroon with a white stripe down the sides, that’s what he wore. The woman’s tracksuit was plain light grey.’

  ‘And did you see the actual assault?’

  ‘Oh yes, both of them were kicking her.’

  ‘On the body?’

  ‘Yes, and kicks to her head too. That’s when I shouted out at them and they stopped.’

  ‘Right sir, I just need some personal details. Your date of birth and address please.’

  Sally only saw a light flooded ceiling as she lay in bed 4 in the A&E triage area of the Royal Albert Edward Infirmary, on Wigan lane. Slowly the effect of the drug eased and when a nurse approached she made some tentative enquiries.

  ‘Can you tell me your name, luv?’

  Sally wondered who this woman was. She had not seen her before. Why was she asking for her name?’

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You are in hospital. You had an overdose of drugs. Remember?’

  ‘No, I don’t take drugs,’ said Sally trying to sit up and protest the suggestion. But why, she wondered, was she there? Why was she in pain?

  The nurse looked at her wrists. There was a grazed mark which showed a slight swelling over a web of red scratches.

  ‘Looks like you’ve tried to inject, love?’ she said raising her wrist.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said Sally raising her voice with a dazed and confused look in her eyes. Tears seemed to be forming behind her glazed eyes.

  ‘The evidence is that you do drugs my luv. I’ve seen many cases like yours over the years,’ she said twisting her arm so that the scratches were brought to Sally’s sight.

  Sally looked down at the wrist the nurse was inspecting.

  ‘I was cleaning Mum’s gutters. I was up the ladder clearing the soggy leaves. The gutter scratched me.’

  The nurse made a note of her comment and twisted her head as if to ask herself if she was telling the truth.

  ‘Tell me your name and address,’ she asked.

  ‘I’m Sally Dunning. I live with my mum in Wigan in Leyland Mill Lane.’

  ‘And where do you work?’

  ‘I don’t work. I look after my mum.’

  A full-time carer, thought the nurse. The interview stopped abruptly as two policemen arrived. They took off their hats and drew alongside Sally’s bed.

  ‘You are the patient found in the Plantations an hour ago or so?’

  ‘Yes. I was in the Plantations.’

  ‘Okay I’m Constable McGuire and Constable Sinclair is my colleague. We’d like to ask a few questions.’

  Sally tried to sit up but the pain in her midriff caused her to sink back flat on her back.

  ‘So you were in the Plantations, yeah?’ asked Sinclair.

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘And you were beaten up?’

  ‘Yes, that’s why I am here, isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess so. So who hit you?’

  Sally thought for a moment. Nothing was coming to mind. She was clearly stressed.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You mean you don’t know or you won’t tell me who beat you up?’

  ‘I don’t know who beat me up,’ she said drawing her knees up and clenching them over the bed sheets.

  Dr Basil Ainsworth approached, his stethoscope swinging with each step. ‘Officers, if you have finished with my patient, I will require a CT scan quite soon.’

  ‘Doctor, I think we are almost finished. Sally, one last go eh? Who hit and kicked you?’

  ‘I don’t know, I really don’t. I can’t understand it. I walked into the park. I remember that. It must have happened very quickly. Why me? Why was I hit? I’ve done nothing wrong,’ was all Sally could say and it was all Sally knew about the assault.

  Elsie bit her lip and walked up and down the hall like a caged panther. Sally had not come home and it was past 11 p.m. Perhaps she had got lost again. Maybe she was out with her friends. She called her mobile but it wasn’t turned on. Perhaps she was with new friends. They would surely look after her. Wigan was a friendly town after all. It was this thought which prompted her off to bed and sleep overcame her anxiety.

  She woke before the usual time of 6.55 a.m. and turned on Radio 4. She lay in bed dreaming, awaiting the 7 a.m. news bulletin. But before the BBC gongs of the hour struck, she called through to Sally as the previous night’s anxiety returned. There was no reply. She got out of her bed and went to her room. She opened the door only enough for a shaft of light to enter, but enough to see that her bed had not been slept in. Never had this situation arisen before. She shivered. Had she been run over? Had she had a heart attack? Morbid fears grew in her mind. What should she do? No point informing her sister or brother at this stage; they were too far away. The thoughts kept flooding her mind. She put on her dressing gown and dialled the police.

  ‘Can you help me, I’ve lost my daughter?’

  ‘Your daughter? How old is she? When did you last see her?’

  ‘Sally is fifty-three; fifty-four later this week and she’s autistic. Sally Dunning.’

  ‘I see. Can you describe her?’

  ‘She’s about five feet eight, with bubbly brown hair. She has tics which make her shiver from time to time. Oh and she was wearing a light blue pullover last night when she went out.’

  ‘Good. And when you say that you have lost her do you mean she did not come home last night?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. She was not in when I went to bed,’ she said twisting the telephone cord around her fingers.

  ‘Does she have friends? She might have had a sleep-over? Does she go to any place often, a dance hall for example?’

  ‘Not really, no nothing like that. She sometimes goes for a walk but that could be anywhere.’

  ‘Was she at a pub last night?’

  ‘Oh no, I can’t see her going into a pub.’

  ‘She might ring you soon or arrive back. She is a grown woman after all.’

  ‘Yes she’s an adult but she is autistic. I’m not sure where she’ll be. But you mentioned a friend. Yes, she’s got an accountant friend. Perhaps that’s where she’s been.’

  ‘I’ll put out an alert. We’ll get back to you if we trace her.’

  The call eased Elsie’s mind. A first overnight for Sally, she smiled. Well, better late than never. She dressed and had breakfast. As she was drying the dishes, a patient van drove up to the front door. She threw the dishtowel over the drying rack and made for the door, rubbing her wet hands on her apron. A man in a charcoal sports jacket opened the vehicle’s rear door. A car accident was all Elsie could think of, poor Sally.

  ‘Back home for the wounded soldier. Be prepared for a daughter with a smashed up f
ace. But she’ll recover,’ the volunteer driver said.

  Elsie saw Sally step down the couple of steps unaided. She smiled at her mother. She came forward to inspect her and support her.

  ‘What in the name of....’

  ‘She’ll be okay in a couple of days,’ said the man returning to his patient van and the engine started up. It glided down the drive and was soon out of sight.

  ‘Now in you come and tell me all about it, Sally. I was really worried when you did not come home last night.’

  ‘I was in the hospital last night,’ said Sally holding her mother’s hand.

  ‘But your face dear, what happened?’ she asked looking at her swollen face and bruised haematoma above her right eyebrow. Evidence of some sort of attack surely, she thought.

  ‘I don’t know Mum, I don’t know,’ she said and her face told no lies.

  Shortly after, they heard a car draw up to the front door. Elsie went to investigate. She saw its diced colours.

  ‘It’s the police Sally. What do they want?’

  Sally did not reply. She merely stood still in the hall like a grandmother clock and waited for the front door to open.

  When it did, Constable Andrew Barnett stood before them along with his colleague Constable Pam Eddy.

  ‘Ms. Dunning? Ms. Sally Dunning?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sally looking through the officer.

  ‘Can we ask you a few questions?’

  ‘Can I help, officer, you know Sally is autistic.’

  ‘I’d prefer not, at least not at this stage of our enquiry. Maybe later. We’ve got to know what happened to your daughter,’ said Constable Barnett.

  ‘And so do I, I assure you.’

  ‘We all do. This is however an enquiry, as my colleague said, we would like to talk to Sally alone first,’ said a sympathetic Pam. Elsie nodded.

  ‘Are you going to charge Sally?’ she asked with her hand almost over her mouth.

  ‘No, she’s been a victim of a crime. I assure you Sally will not be charged.’

  Elsie’s hand dropped and she ushered the officers into the lounge.

  ‘Would you like a coffee?’ she asked them.

  ‘No thank you. We hope we will not be too long and we are very busy today,’ said Pam wondering how this autistic witness might respond. They sat down with Sally as Elsie left, closing the door behind her.

  ‘So Sally, tell me about what happened yesterday. The whole day so I get an understanding,’ said Constable Barnett.

  Sally took a moment to gather her thoughts.

  ‘I got out of bed and had Shreddies and toast. Then I went to brush my teeth. After that I got dressed. In the morning I hoovered the hall carpet and dusted around the shelves......’

  ‘Okay Sally, take it from when you left the house.

  Sally stopped. Had she upset the officers? They asked her to tell them what happened and now they did not really want to know, she thought.

  ‘In the afternoon I had lunch. I finished an apple and then I went to clean my teeth.’

  Constable Barnett looked at his colleague and she showed the blank page in her notebook. Her eyebrows lifted an inch or so. Then she pouted her lips. No point upsetting this autistic witness. Her ability to remember detail might just solve the case, thought Constable Eddy.

  ‘Then I went out to meet my friends....’

  ‘Who are your friends Sally?’ asked Pam, glad that they were making progress with the interview.

  ‘My friend is an accountant.’

  ‘An accountant? Hmmm. Do you know his name and his firm?’

  ‘Er....that’s Bones. It’s not his real name. It’s a nickname. He does not have an office. He works from home.’

  ‘Bones, you say. And you mentioned friends. Was there another friend with him?’ asked Pam who now was writing with confidence.

  ‘Yes, she has a nickname too.’

  ‘Really? What was her nickname then?’

  ‘His friend, his partner, is called Donkey.’

  ‘Bones and Donkey, I’m not surprised.’

  Sally smiled. ‘You know my friends?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Sally. We know your friends Donkey and Bones, don’t we constable Eddy?’

  ‘We sure do. But how are they your friends, Sally?’ she asked.

  ‘I got lost in the Plantations and Donkey brought me home.’

  ‘That was good of her, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, and they bought me a ticket to go to the cinema.’

  ‘Can you remember what film you saw?

  ‘Yes, it was very funny.’

  Constable Eddy smiled supportively. ‘Do you remember the title of the film?’

  Sally thought hard. ‘It was...about a man....’

  ‘A Western?’ asked Constable Barnett.

  Sally frowned at him. ‘The film was called, A Man...Called Ove.’

  Constable Barnett sucked his pen. Then he tapped it against his notebook. ‘Sally, has either of them given you any drugs?’

  ‘No, no drugs. I don’t take drugs.’

  ‘The fact is Sally you had been given a drug and that’s what made you fall to the ground.’

  ‘But I don’t take drugs.’

  ‘No, I agree, but you had been given a drug before you were beaten up,’ said Barnett engrossed in Sally’s child-like delivery.

  ‘So, who gave you the drug?’ asked Constable Eddy.

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t remember.’

  ‘Okay, Sally, don’t worry you’ve been a good witness. You have given us something to be getting on with.’

  After the police left, Elsie made a cup of tea for Sally. She took it to her bedroom where she found her polishing her harmonicas. She wanted to ask so many questions but felt Sally was not ready to tell her. She knew she would tell her in her own time in her own way.

  She returned to collect her cup half an hour later but the cup was still full. Sally was sound asleep in a world of her own.

  10

  Identity Parades

  Ronald Pattison hesitantly entered the Wigan police station. He had never done so before. He had phoned on a couple of occasions about things he had now forgotten about, in the distant past. He climbed the steps to the front door feeling unsure. It was a new experience.

  ‘Mr. Pattison, come this way,’ said a man whose shoulder tab indicated Special Constable. Ronald thought he was either a special volunteer policeman or in the special branch. This menial job suggested the former.

  ‘Have a seat in this room while we get the identity parade ready,’ he said ushering Ronald into the sparsely furnished room.

  Some twenty minutes later after Ronald had sat looking at a blank wall save for the “Have You Seen This Man?” Poster, he was asked to follow the Special constable and was taken along a solid concrete corridor. It led to three or four steps and after climbing them he noticed a glass window on the left and a seat half way down the aisle.

  ‘It’s a one-way glass mirror, sir. You can see the men but they can’t see you. Now, do take a seat. When they are standing to face you, you will see they are all holding a number before them on a card. Write down the number of the alleged male attacker you think you remember seeing. Or perhaps you’ll remember him as he fled from the Plantations. Okay, any questions?’

  Ronald shook his head. ‘No, I understand,’ he said still feeling tense but secure with the arrangements. A side door was opened and in walked a line of out-of-step men. They turned right in no certain fashion, each holding a number from 1 to 8. Ronald realised another lineup would be required for the female attacker. Nevertheless he was confident he would be able to identify the male offender. He passed his eyes from left to right and then right to left and back again. It was not such an easy task after all, he thought. Their statuary stance made it tricky to come to a quick conc
lusion since both assailants were bent and running away on that dreadful day. Indeed, Ronald could not remember their faces with great accuracy. The officer asked if he had come to a conclusion.

  ‘Yes and no. Numbers 2 and 8 have caught my eye.’

  ‘You sure about Number 2?’

  Ronald hesitated. He gave the man another look.

  ‘Yes, particularly him, No 2. Yes, he’s fixed in my mind, but…. perhaps…. number 8 is a very close second.’

  The officer pouted his lips. He realised his plain clothed detective inspector, who had been asked to stand in as he came off duty, had just been identified as No 2, one of Sally’s attackers. It was hard for the Special to hide a broad smile. However No 8 pleased the policeman. It was a definite result. It was Bones.

  Half an hour later eight females arrived and stood in line. Once again Ronald took to the one-way mirror and ran his eyes along the line.

  ‘Number 4 yes, definitely. That’s the woman,’ Ronald said pointing and nodding his head at the same time. He was sure. Donkey had been identified.

  A shout came from the attic.

  ‘What’s the matter, Sally?’ asked her mother putting down the Daily Mail newspaper.

  Sally came running down two flights of stairs and arrived in front of her mother.

  ‘What did you do with my comics?’ she said with a furrowed brow.

  ‘Your comics? What do you mean, Sally?’

  Sally’s arms shook by her side and her open mouth was fixed for a moment. ‘My comics. They are not there.’

  ‘Your comics are not in the boxes?’ she asked with a puzzled face.

  ‘No, not in the boxes.’

  ‘You are sure? Let me see for myself.’

  Elsie walked up the stairs breathing harder at each flight. A missing necklace and now Sally’s comics, she wondered what next she might discover. She entered the bedroom. She got down on her knees to look for the comics. ‘You are right, the comics are not there and I’ve certainly not moved them.’ She looked at Sally who returned the look of astonishment. ‘Goodness me, they are definitely not here. I don’t understand it. Sally are you sure you did not move them?’