The Trials of Sally Dunning and a Clerical Murder

by Miller Caldwell

  ‘I think you are a good psychiatrist. I’d miss my appointments.’

  ‘Don’t forget I play sax in the group. So you can contact me any time if you think an appointment is needed.’

  Karen wondered if she was being snubbed but there was something in Tony’s smile which was comforting. ‘Should I read anything into your wish to see less of me, professionally?’

  God, she’s on to me, thought Tony. I’m trapped.

  ‘Less of you professionally, yes. That’s my goal.’

  There was a silence which seemed to last forever. Karen stood up. ‘Well, if this is the last consultation, I must thank you for seeing me through my trauma.’

  She thrust her hand forward across the table. Tony stood up and shook it firmly and held on a few moments longer. Karen felt the connection made.

  ‘Then I look forward to our playing, together.’

  Tony smiled. ‘Not as much as I do. I look forward to being with you again.’

  It was an awkward moment for them both. Tony had implied a new relation had been launched and Karen, having shaken his hand, went to the door, a little confused.

  She opened the door and turned round. She smiled and slightly opened her mouth but no words came out. The door shut and the moment was over as Tony sank back into his chair.

  PAUL

  Paul declared that his life was on a new footing. He was freed from a loveless marriage and left the Salvation Army to break from the restrictions he had felt. The waiting room was however empty.

  Tony waited for him as Paul’s first priority was the loo. By the time Paul returned, Tony had his questions ready and in order.

  ‘But the Sally Ann was there for you when you needed them most,’ stated Tony.

  ‘That was a long time ago.’

  ‘Yes, but you were indebted to them, surely, weren’t you?

  Paul checked his i-Phone. He looked up and Tony had gone. A metallic rumble came from behind. Tony had gone to pull down the blinds as dusk was falling and in response he replied curtly.

  ‘Are you really in a better place as you say, Paul?’

  Paul put his phone away. He sighed. ‘I should never have married.’

  ‘Surely you wanted your marriage to last a lifetime when you got married.’

  ‘I fell into marriage. Pretty girl, fellow musician in the army.’ He sniggered. ‘Didn’t like the bows on her bonnet mind you.’

  Tony smiled as the picture appeared to him in his mind.

  ‘So what went wrong?’

  ‘It wasn’t just the court case. Bottom line is I am gay. She could not handle that.’

  ‘You just come out?’

  ‘I guess you are the first I’ve really told.’

  Tony wondered if the other Salvationists had come to that conclusion. Perhaps that was also a stumbling block.

  ‘So do you have a partner, a support?’

  Paul scratched his arm. Not yet. I’m going online to find someone my age.’

  ‘That takes time. I wish you success. Your health, any other problems?’

  Paul uncrossed his legs and placed his hands on his thighs. ‘Mind if I go to the loo again?’

  Tony was crouched looking for a book in his bookshelf when Paul returned. ‘How often are you up in the night, Paul?’

  Paul looked towards the ceiling as Tony returned his chair. ‘I think four or five times.’

  ‘Have you mentioned that to your doctor?’

  ‘No, should I? Isn’t it just aging?’

  ‘Maybe, but get it checked anyway. Looks like you may have an enlarged prostate.’

  Tony straightened his tie with a tug.

  ‘Will you be coming to Farook’s funeral?’

  Paul’s response was quick. ‘Hardly knew him.’

  ‘Well, it’s up to you.’

  Paul drew in his cheeks and took a deep breath.

  ‘Then count me out. Religion is less of an attraction these days. I want to wean off it for a while.’

  Marty

  Marty appeared in a warm orange heavy jumper wearing jodhpurs. She carried her helmet and a whip in her left hand.

  ‘Just come from a pony hack,’ she said stating the obvious.

  ‘You are a keen rider?’

  ‘Yes, four hours this morning. I should have made it less. I nearly forgot the appointment.’

  Tony threw his sport jacket on to his desk chair. ‘Drums still sounding?’

  ‘They certainly are, but not at night. The neighbours are not back till seven most nights so, I’ve got an hour or two to practise. Harmonica then takes over.’

  Tony saw Marty as a woman ready to accept her parent’s untimely death, as long as she had support.

  ‘Is it a large Baha’i community here in town?’

  ‘Twenty six strong with many sympathisers in attendance.’

  ‘A good support group?’

  ‘Yes, I’d say all of them are. They are an all embracing religion with respect for every religion and every person.’

  ‘You’ll be with them on the run up to Christmas, then?’

  ‘I could, I want to.’

  ‘Marty, I think you should take the lead in making that happen.’

  Tony caught a whiff of perfume. He was not sure if it was an expensive concoction or the sweet smell of some horse sweat but it was neither off-putting nor unpleasant.

  ‘About Farook,....’ she ventured. ‘Such a shock. We were only getting to know him. I simply cannot imagine what happened.’

  ‘There’s still no word about who did it. Police are frustrated, I hear. They’ve got nothing to say to calm the general public’s fears,’ said Tony.

  ‘You mean the murderer might do it again?’

  ‘No, not very likely but he or she remains loose in the town perhaps and that worries folk. With no concrete evidence the mind sometimes creates worry and unrealistic and sordid expectations.’

  ‘I would think the Muslim community would have more to fear.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the police will think one of them did it, surely?’

  ‘That’s the way most people see it,’ said Tony.

  Marty cleared her throat.

  ‘Frank was not musical. Yet I feel he was looking forward to being the roadie.’

  ‘Yes, he was becoming more westernised by the day,’ said Tony scratching his elbow through his shirt.

  ‘That was his downfall. Pity that. A dreadful way to go,’ she said with her eyes fixed on the wall behind Tony. ‘The musical group will continue?’

  ‘Oh I think so. I think we all get something good out of it.’

  ‘Yes, we certainly do,’ she said.

  ‘Will you attend the funeral?’

  ‘You know I hadn’t thought about that. I suppose I should, shouldn’t I.’

  ‘I leave that to you. I’ll be there. After all he was one of my clients.’

  The telephone rang the next day as Tony drank a glass of water. He placed the glass down on his desk and lifted the phone. It was the Methodist pastor.

  ‘Hello, Alan.’

  ‘Thought I’d tell you about Frank’s funeral. It will be next Friday.’

  ‘Next week Friday? How will that go down with his community?’

  ‘His community? Farook was Frank to us. He died on the cusp of becoming a Methodist. He loved singing the hymns. He’s not a Muslim anymore.’

  ‘No, he’s not. Not to you and me but what about his community?’

  ‘I did have one threatening call.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, he did not leave a name but his accent gave it away. He talked of us stealing their brother. I simply thanked him for his call and placed the receiver down.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone?’

 
‘I phoned the police. Superintendent Graham took the message and told me he and some other plain-clothed policemen would attend the funeral, on duty.’

  Ivan

  Ivan’s appointment was early. 9 a.m. early. It rarely suited Tony for such an early consultation but Ivan was an early bird and insisted that was when he’d attend.

  ‘So Ivan, tell me how you’ve been over the last week or two.’

  Ivan took a deep sigh. Then he smiled at Tony.

  ‘You will hardly believe it. I’ve gone and bought myself a new clarinet.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘As real as I am before you now.’

  ‘So what’s brought about the change?’

  ‘Reflection. You don’t know what you have until you lose it.’

  Tony looked at Ivan. He seemed to have lost some weight or perhaps his peppermint longitudinal striped shirt made him look more lanky. His clothes looked fresh and his shoes had been polished that day. He had made an effort.

  ‘You know some of my clients have formed a musical group. Sink or Swim we call ourselves. All amateurs like me with the sax.’

  ‘You play the saxophone? Well, I’d never have guessed.’

  ‘Why not? Even a medic has to relax sometime. The point is we have no high expectations. We gladly welcome the bum notes and no one blushes,’ Tony said with a degree of optimism in his smile. ‘You know Ivan a clarinet would be greatly welcomed to steady the ship. We have no prima donnas. Are you interested?’

  ‘You know I am. That’s the standard I need. No need to prove myself. Just turn up and play,’ Ivan said at a hurried pace. ‘When does the group meet next?’

  ‘We’ve hardly got off the ground. You may have heard about the recent murder.’

  ‘That Muslim guy, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, that Muslim guy we knew as Frank. He was to be our road manager, carting instruments and some folk to our playing venues. He was really looking forward to that. So we won’t meet up till after the funeral.’

  ‘Is he not buried yet? The murder was about five days ago.’

  ‘Ivan, Frank was not a Muslim at death. He was a Methodist.’

  ‘Wow, big change there. What’s the difference anyway? They are all searching for God, aren’t they?’

  ‘Big difference Ivan. Methodists say it in music; Muslims in a chant in unison.’

  Ivan bit his bottom lip. ‘I don’t know much about their faith but they do say Inshallah a lot, as if anything done seeks God’s approval.’

  ‘You know Ivan, sometimes I feel music is the real religion. It’s a sound that speaks to us, interprets our thoughts and delivers moods and feelings. So good in its own way. That’s what I like in religion,’ said Tony leaning back.

  ‘I’ve still to find a church home. I’m in no rush. The Salvationists are a lifestyle. I just want to be a church member.’

  ‘You can meet some of the band at Frank’s funeral Ivan.’

  ‘No I won’t be there. Don’t like funerals. Not the place to meet folk in my opinion.’

  ‘Okay, then I’ll phone you and let you know when the next practice will be, after the funeral.’

  ‘Suits me.’

  ‘I’m glad you are back on board with your music. It’s as good as medicine.’

  ‘It certainly is.’

  15

  The Funeral

  Frank’s cremation took place three days short of two weeks after his death. On several counts this annoyed the Muslim community. They sought a funeral as quickly as possible and immediate announcement of his death to his family. This ruling stemmed from the Middle East where a corpse would decompose rapidly in the heat of the desert but took no account of the refrigerated offerings of a western undertaker. The other matter was the crematorium. Burial was required for a Muslim funeral. Furthermore he had presumably not been offered the final ritual wash. This information was conveyed to Tony by Alan by telephone.

  ‘No, these are not my fears. It’s what they are saying.’

  ‘Who is saying this, Alan?’

  ‘Amed Aziz is one of my neighbours. I know him well. He told me what they are saying.’

  ‘And is Amed not one of the Mosque attendees?’

  ‘No, his prayers are said in his house, in a very sparse room. Only a carpet I remember.’

  ‘And why not prayers at the Mosque?’

  ‘The Sunnis attend the Mosque here in this town. Amed and his wife are Alevis, a cut off sect not recognised by orthodox Muslims. He knows many of course but through business and not the Mosque.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘It worries me that they still think he was a Muslim. Perhaps I should go and see them to calm things down.’

  ‘I’d advise against that Alan.’ A moment elapsed as he thought through his response.

  ‘I suppose so. The timing about informing his family seems strange though. What family he had would have known he was no longer the Imam and he was not married. He lived alone, did you know that?’

  ‘I was aware he lived alone. I had thought that was because of his position in the Mosque. He never spoke of his family members.’

  ‘Mmmm.....probably. But Tony I suspect there will be a few of them coming to his funeral tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, maybe. Perhaps I should alert the police about that.’

  ‘Good idea. Will you do that for me?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that right now.’

  ‘Okay see you tomorrow 11 a.m. Bye.’

  Tony had not been at Alan’s church since last Christmas. He could not remember the service of carols and lessons but he remembered the mulled wine and mince pies. He was familiar with the church premises and had attended some funerals there too. This funeral however would be different for the obvious circumstances but a concern for possible disruption was on Tony’s mind too when he lifted the phone.

  ‘Superintendent Graham? Hi, Tony Scriven here.’

  ‘Hello, hope you are well?’

  ‘Well, health wise I’m fine. Mentally I feel I’m slipping on the ice rink. Murder of a client is pretty rare. You feel the pressure too?’

  ‘Sure. So what’s the matter?’ he said looking at his wristwatch.

  ‘Frank’s funeral tomorrow, there is tension around from the Muslim community as you can imagine.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got cover for that.’

  ‘Perhaps a few plain clothes police at the funeral won’t go amiss. Would put my mind at ease.’

  ‘Don’t I know that? The killer could be among them and so I can assure you there will be several officers in plain clothes deployed as eyes and ears tomorrow.’

  ‘Huh..... I must be thinking like a policeman. Anyway, that’s what I was hoping you might say. I hear there will be a short service before heading to the crematorium.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve got both covered.’

  ‘Good. That’s reassuring. Can I ask, are there any leads yet?’

  ‘Sorry, intelligence is following several leads but that’s all I can tell you.’

  Tony thought about replacing the handset but he could not help himself dive deeper. ‘Mr Wright, Dan Wright my consultant pathologist colleague, confirmed the knife wounds. Unusual blade he thought.’

  ‘As I said, we are following several leads.’

  ‘Of course and I suppose there’s a pressure to give the public some reassurance and information. There will be no quick solution unless something unexpected and dramatic surfaces, I suppose.’

  Tony thought he heard the officer tap his pen against his writing pad. ‘Then I hope tomorrow I’ll get some good leads.’

  It was raining. Not the proverbial cats and dogs rain, more of a grey damp air, creating sheen on the pavements and drizzle on car windows. Tony parked in the Tesco car park and crossed the road to the church. He joined the mourners nodding to his clients a
s they arrived.

  Paul Risk was first to catch his eye. He was two rows in front of Tony. Paul held a handkerchief in his hand, occasionally wiping his eyes, as Karen began to play Vater Unser, a melody from Geistliche Lieder 1539 arranged by Johann Sebastian Bach 1685-1750. The pipe organ sounded like a whispering call around the aisles. Dressed in a black dress and heavy black coat, Lizzie stood up to accompany the music. Her soprano voice pierced the air and cleansed it as it did so.

  God of the living in whose eyes

  Unveiled thy whole creation lies,

  All souls are thine; we must not say

  That those are dead who pass away;

  From this our world of flesh set free.

  We know them living unto thee.

  Tony was impressed with Lizzie’s singing. Her expression and tone were exemplary; befitting the client whose acts of perfection dominated her life.

  Tony noticed three men enter. All wore dark Shalwar Kameez and sat together mid aisle. It gave him a shudder as the stereotype influenced his senses. He also seemed to identify the male and female police officers present and wondered if, despite the sanctified venue, they were armed. He hoped so, just in case. Lizzie held the music before her once again.

  Released from early toil and strife,

  With thee is hidden still their life;

  Thine are their thoughts, their works, their prayers,

  All thine, and yet most truly ours;

  For well we know, where’er they be,

  Our dead are living unto thee.

  Frank’s coffin was simple, not ornate just as all Muslim coffins are. On top of it lay two flags, the Green and White flag of Pakistan with its Muslim Crescent and Star and the Union Jack.

  Alan entered his pulpit in his black gown and stood to acknowledge the attendees come to pay their last respects to Farook Elahi, lately known as Frank Armour. A titter of quiet comments could be detected.

  ‘We stand to sing Hymn 604. Go, happy soul, thy days are ended, thy pilgrimage on earth below; Go by angelic guard attended, to God’s own Paradise now go.’

  Karen got us to our feet playing the first two lines in preparation for our lungs to fill and burst open on the right note. But the singing was edgy. Eyes strayed from hymn books. There were three verses, possibly four. Such was the distraction on Tony’s mind. He was glad to resume his seat while noticing Paul still held his handkerchief to his eyes.