‘Good to hear it Paul. You know we have found some of us can play instruments so it’s a music night. They’ve never played together before. You could be a good tutor for us.’
Paul looked round the room. If music was the night’s theme, he was in a safe zone. ‘The Muslim, what does he play?’
‘He’s helping out. I suspect he won’t be playing.’
Paul nodded. He thought as much. ‘So who has the sax?’
‘Look no further,’ Tony replied.
‘You on sax? Well, brass is looking good.’
‘Play your trombone loudly, hide my mistakes. Go bring yours in.’
Paul needed no further encouragement and he walked smartly towards the exit door. Some saw it as an abrupt departure and looked at Tony.
‘He’ll be back in a minute.’
The room swelled with the A note tuning each instrument. Karen’s fingers ran up and down the keyboard in an arpeggio but could only just be heard as her volume was set low.
‘Okay, finish your coffees then take a pencil and a piece of paper. Write down in order of preference your type of music you like to play. Mark then 1,2,3.’
Tony deposited the paper on the desk.
Tongues were peeking out of bottom lips as concentration gripped their thoughts. All, except Farook, who twiddled his pencil and stared blankly at the sheet.
Tony collated the papers and sorted the categories. ‘Three for folk; three for Jazz modern and traditional. Glad to see there’s no Hip Bop or whatever the youngsters jive to.’ The group laughed.
‘Alan , can you suggest a folk song start?’
Alan opened his blue, hard backed jotter collection of songs and flipped through from back to front.
‘He’s got the whole world, in His hands,’ he said feeling everybody should know the tune.
‘Bit churchy, isn’t it?’ asked Karen.
Alan sat back abruptly. ‘Only a suggestion. Have you got one?’
Karen had not an instant reply. Her ponderings took her eyes to the ceiling.
‘Dylan, The times are a-changin’, she said looking around for support.
And that was their first harmonious effort. Thereafter, the traditional jazz took over with Sweet Georgia Brown and Midnight in Moscow. The group gained in confidence as they played and Tony came in with his saxophone to give a solo spot in each song. His confidence grew too.
Tony knew he had been able to bring these patients out of their shells; out of their secluded environments and, despite their doctrinal differences, had them socialising beyond his wildest dreams. They had gelled. It was just what Tony had wished for. Times were indeed changing.
12
A Change Afoot
The following week the clients or musicians as they now saw themselves were anxious to return. Each wondered where their music might take them. Practice was the vehicle and they were enthusiastic. It seemed to bond them and make them forget about their illnesses.
That night a man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt sporting a moon symbol against a dark star-lit sky background arrived. He had black hair and an almost dark complexion. Nobody seemed to have any idea who this man was.
‘Can I help you?’ Tony asked.
The man smiled. He approached Tony and held his hand out.
‘You don’t recognise me, do you?’
Tony thought for a moment, his size, his voice, could only mean one thing.
‘Farook?’
‘I was Farook. I’m now Frank.’
‘Frank?’
‘Yes, changed by deed poll through my lawyer. Frank Armour, joining you, sir. Time to amend your files.’
‘I see. So your Muslim faith, er...where are you with that?’
Frank smiled raising his shoulders. ‘I’ve thrown in the towel. I’ve started to go to Alan’s church.’
‘And how will your Mosque see that?’ Tony enquired.
‘That’s why I changed my look. But this is the UK. I suspect they will leave me alone. God help me if they don’t.’
Tony looked across the room at Alan. He caught his eye. Alan put his thumb up as if announcing one convert had arrived in his fold.
‘I’m not a musician but with my larger taxi I can take the players around if they want to play for an old folks home or something like that.’
The idea caught on and they sat down to prepare a musical evening for the local home for the elderly, the Edendale Citizens Retreat.
Tony rang them that night and a date was arranged. They wished them to come one Friday evening and that meant two consecutive days practice. But each had found their voice through their instruments as Marty gave the drum kit a good whacking to keep their timing in order.
‘If we are going to a Home, then I think we should call ourselves something. Any ideas?’ asked Lizzie.
Heads nodded indicating it was a good idea then their silence put them into thinking mode.
‘The Singing Clerics?’ offered Karen.
‘I think we want to get away from our church anchors. What brought us together? Are we making progress? Sink or Swim is my offering.’
Some interest appeared to be shown for Lizzie’s suggestion. In fact after a few more suggestions were made, they came back to hers. Sink or Swim it became.
Tony did not see his clients in such a light but he was not going to interfere.
‘Then on Friday, we meet here at 7 p.m. Farook, I mean Frank, can then pack his taxi with keyboard, drum kit and he says you will all fit in. The home’s not more than three miles away anyway. Are you all able to come to our first concert?’ asked Tony.
There were no dissenters, just keen musicians who seemed to have found their calling through folk and traditional jazz music. Frank revelled in what he heard at the music practices through the tapping of his feet.
13
A Clerical Murder
Tony’s first patient on Friday morning had just left his surgery when the time honoured 11 a.m. coffee arrived with the local newspaper. Tony read the headline. It made him catch his breath. He opened out the tabloid and brushed it flat with his arm. His mouth was agape and his fingers ran through his hair. The headline was unambiguous. The former Imam was found dead last night. Police have cordoned off the area around his home and are making their door-to-door enquiries.
A murder inquiry. The report did not say how he had died, but a police statement would follow at midday. He had to hear that.
Tony’s hand was on the phone cradle. He was thinking through the consequence of what he might say. Farook was dead; Frank was dead. Anything said would no longer be in breach of his rights. The call was answered promptly.
‘Hello, police?
‘Yes sir. How may we help?’
‘It’s about Farook, the Imam’s murder. Who can I speak to about it?’
‘You need to speak to Superintendent Graham. I’ll put you through, now.’
Tony’s knuckles turned white on the phone, matching his face.
‘Hello, Dr Scriven?’
‘Yes. Er...I should say Farook, or Frank as he recently became, was one of my patients. I knew his background as I am sure you know too...you know...the bridge and river incident?’
‘Yes, we have a lot of intelligence from that day but this was not a cry for help this time. This was pure murder possibly by someone who knew him.’
‘You are certain about that?’
‘As certain as I can be at this stage. Mind you it’s early still. Don’t be repeating what I’ve said. The statement should clarify these details. Farook, or Frank as you say, was stabbed nine times on his bed.’
‘Good grief. I see what you mean,’ Tony said as the scene dominated his mind. The thought frightened him. Nine times he considered. God, how he must have suffered.
‘Anyway, you have some information to share?’
‘Yes, I think so. My case notes are complete. They may assist you.’
‘Then can I call to see you, today?’
Tony looked at his diary on line. ‘Last patient is at three. I’ll be free by four if that’s okay for you?’
‘Four it is then Dr Scriven. By then we will have issued a statement.’
They met for three hours that afternoon. The reason for Farook’s referral was analysed; his failing to return as the Imam; his disputes with the elders; his enthusiasm for the musical group finding a role in transporting the musicians; his change to western clothes and looks, his becoming a Methodist and finally his name change. It all pointed to one thing. Killed by apostate intolerance.
‘Yes, the dominating factor. But I fear the Islamic community will close ranks.’
‘I am sure they will but this is the UK not the North West Frontier Provence. They ought to respect the police enquiry.’
Superintendent Graham nodded. ‘After we find the murder weapon, that’s my next port of call.’
‘And what was the weapon used to murder Frank, may I ask?’
‘Dr Scriven, you will appreciate I cannot give you police intelligence at this stage, other than he was knifed to death. That is in the public domain. That’s all I can say.’
‘I see.’
14
Taking Stock
ALAN
It was time for Tony to review his mentally ill musical patients individually. He was particularly keen to hear from Alan. Appointments were made.
Alan arrived in good time for his meeting. He was a much more relaxed individual and felt he probably did not need any more counselling or medical intervention, but his guitar practices had resumed and he liked being part of a musical group.
‘How are you coping now, Alan?’
‘It’s not a cure I’m after, because that’s a solution. It’s more of a recovery. That’s a process.’
‘Good point. Is the recovery on track?’
‘Derailed by what happened to Frank.’
Tony nodded like a back-ledge car dog. ‘How do you see it?’
‘His murder?’
‘Yea.’
‘Open and closed I should think. It all lies in his past surely.’
‘I suppose so. I think that’s Superintendent Graham’s view too. Difficult to break down.’
Alan strode over to the window. His hands rested on his hips. He half turned round.
‘You know he began to attend my church?’
‘Yes he told me, remember?’
‘He sat with Paul. Two new members. They stood out of course. Paul led Frank in the singing as only a Salvationist can and Frank was making a grand effort to absorb his new faith.’
‘So Paul and Frank hit it off then?’
‘I should say so. Similar ages, I think.’
Tony stood up and placed his hands in his pockets. He walked round his office with Alan’s eyes watching his progress.
‘You know Alan, this murder ...perhaps it was overdue.’
‘What. You mean someone planned it sometime ago?’
‘If the murderer was from his own community, then there have been many opportunities before yesterday to cause him harm.’
Alan nodded wisely. ‘But the changes were all of a sudden more radical.’
Tony nodded. ‘Well Supt Graham seems to be getting to the bottom of it. Perhaps we should leave it at that.’
‘I wish I could.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tony asked showing concern.
‘If Farook died a Muslim, then his funeral should be underway. if Frank died a Christian, well, I will hold the service next week but it might be a difficult service.’
‘You mean doctrinally?’
‘Yes, but also security will be necessary, just in case.’
‘I see what you mean. Superintendent Graham should be kept informed. I can let him know if you like. And I’ll leave you to consider an appropriate service.’
‘Thanks.
‘But you, still on the tracks?’
‘Yes, I can say I’m almost back to normal. Sermons in good time and all the other parts of the job going well too.’
‘Almost?’ asked Tony raising his eyebrows.
‘Yup, it will always be now. Marriage I don’t treat lightly. I’m getting the balance right at last.’
LIZZIE
‘So probation it was. No prison. First time offender and a period of time to reflect on how your life should be. Not so?’ asked Tony wiping his nose.
‘A fine to compensate the driver and his car, £600 that was. But a year’s probation? That’s too long, far too long,’ she said throwing her hands into the air.
‘Shorter than a prison sentence you must agree when you consider probation is only once a week.’
‘Twice a month actually, providing I fully cooperate with the social worker. He’s a man, Colin something. You know what these social workers are like, all on first name terms on first meeting.’
‘And you are still taking the proscribed medication?’
‘Well actually my GP and I had a sort of contretemps over the Lomotrogine.’
Tony could imagine the scenario but enquired further. ‘Why?’
‘My body is God’s creation. A pill is like alcohol or drugs. They are not natural.’
‘You are sounding like a Christian Science member. They don’t go for treatment either.’
‘No, I’m not like them. It’s simple. Put into your mouth what God has approved.’
‘So does God approve of an obese person having a chocolate bar?’
‘God gives us a free will to do as we wish. It’s the thinking behind the action that determines the outcome.’
‘I see,’ said Tony having difficulty digesting what he had heard.
‘Well I think some very clever people have worked out how to make medication that works for specific individuals and that to me is a work of God.’
A moment of silence ensued as minds worked out the conversation.
‘My GP won the argument. I am still taking the pills you will be pleased to know.’
Tony relaxed. Thank God she was taking her medication. But her mind had already travelled in a different direction.
‘Frank, you know the former Farook; what a shock. Do you know who could have possibly killed him?’
‘No, but possibly from his own community.’
‘I never really knew him. I mean really knew him,’ said Lizzie pulling her cardigan zip up and down.
‘Yes, he was quite quiet.’
‘I don’t think he was married. Quite a lonely life perhaps.’
‘Yes, I believe so. I never heard of him speak about any partner.’
‘Will you be going to his funeral?’ asked Lizzie leaning her head forward.
‘Yes, I think I should. I was part of his life at its close. Will you attend?’
‘Of course I’ll attend. We want him to reach heaven don’t we?’
KAREN
Dr Karen Kane arrived for her appointment a little out of breath.
‘Relax Karen, you are not late.’
‘I am you know, seven minutes late. I am sorry.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Tony recalled her forwardness and wished to stay aloof as much as he could despite the warm feeling he had for her.
‘So how have you been?’
‘Probation for one year.’
Tony was surprised she had not confided in him about a court appearance. It disappointed him. ‘So it was a court case?’
‘A court case? Oh no, not that. The General Teaching Council gave me a year off. Subject to medical reports I will be able to return as a teacher in eleven months now. A bit less when you consider the long holidays we get at Christmas, Easter and summer.’
‘Ah then that’s promising.’
‘Yes,’ she said crossing her legs. ‘And it’s on full pay.’
Tony’s eyebrows arched in surprise.
‘Are you taking your Proloxin?’
‘No, not now. Loxapine, better on my stomach. I had issues with Proloxin.’
‘Some do,’ said Tony without enquiring any further. The moments passed seeking further conversation.
‘Terrible tragedy, you know, Farook.’
‘Yes, a big job for the police.’
‘I suppose the culprit came from his community.’
‘Yes, which community though? He had recently thrown in his weight to the Methodists and taken on a British identity.’
Karen’s stare fixed on the coconut shell on Tony’s desk. She ruffled her hair.
‘What’s in the shell?’
Tony followed her gaze to her desk. ‘Paper clips. Perhaps the odd elastic band.’
‘Very ethnic.’
Tony smiled gently. It had been an arts and crafts present from the ten year old who lived next door to him in Manchester. He had been a friend of his daughter.
‘The funeral. Will you be going?’ she asked.
‘Not sure when it will be. I suspect I should give it priority.’
‘That’s good.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I’ll be there too. Alan asked me to play the church organ. His usual organist will be on holiday.’
‘Karen, you are taking your medication. You have a year to relax from work and you are responding well. Perhaps I can conclude our medical appointments as long as you keep your medication under review at your GP surgery. How does that sound?’
Karen showed no delight in the suggestion. Worry was the look on her face. Tony was disappointed having satisfied himself he could take the premature risk.
‘Don’t you think you could manage on your own? With your keyboard playing with Sink or Swim, of course? I’m seeing you swim,’ he said hoping she might bite this bait.
The Trials of Sally Dunning and a Clerical Murder Page 21