Arthur of the Red Robe

by Gerry Spoors

  As there was no New Year’s Day Bank Holiday, Gerry had to be up early on 1st January to catch the No. 39 bus from Newbottle to Newcastle, walk up from Worswick Street Bus Station along Northumberland Street to the Haymarket to catch the No. 33 bus to Gosforth. He would get off at Broadway West, where the Civil Service site was located. The Forensic Science Laboratory had been there since 1952, when Sam Dawson and his colleagues were relocated following the closure of the Harrogate Lab in a major country-wide reorganisation.

  ***

  “So what’s this all about, Sam?”

  “Well, Gerry, I understand a man has been found dead in the back of a car and I’ve been told he’s been shot.”

  Having only been at the lab for a few months—he started on 15th August, the day before his 18th birthday—this was the first time Gerry would actually be going out on a case. He’d been to the rifle range to learn a bit about ballistics and striation marks and even spent a couple of days doing a road-traffic survey, collecting information on the make, model and colour of cars passing a certain point. This was because one of Sam’s specialities was in the identification of cars involved in accidents (particularly hit and run) and often, when presenting evidence in court he was asked about the chances of another, for instance, blue Austin 1300 having been at the scene at the same time and day. This survey would help him give an opinion.

  Gerry also had an ongoing project in which he collected some of the paint samples, submitted by the police and scenes of crime officers when vehicles were involved in accidents and other crimes, and stored them in tiny screw-top sample bottles labelled with the make, model and paint structure. Each make and model had a particular paint structure and this could be used as a sort of paint ‘fingerprint’. In fact, on one occasion Gerry found a piece of paint on the clothing of a child killed in a hit and run accident on Tyneside, and Sam had alerted the police to look out for a white Ford Consul, probably with damage to one of its front wings. Within a day, such a car had been found in Sheffield. The driver was shown to have been on Tyneside on the appropriate day, the paint matched, bloodstains were found on the car of the same blood group as the child, and there were eye-witnesses. Gerry gained much satisfaction from this outcome. And it showed how important his routine work was.

  And now, not just an ordinary case, thought Gerry—a potential murder! Or maybe Sam really had just brought him along to show him the way to Peterlee. As they drove through Easington Village, they noticed in front of them a small convoy of 2 police cars, one leading and one following a breakdown truck which was towing a large saloon car. It had been snowing through the night, and there were a few inches lying on the ground. There was still snow on the roof and bonnet of the car being towed, for despite the motion of the truck and the angle of the car, the snow had frozen and was staying put. The convoy was moving extremely slowly!

  Sam and Gerry followed the convoy into Peterlee Police Station Yard and parked about 25 yards away from the breakdown truck. As the snow had now melted a bit, Sam was now confident that the car was a green Rover 3-Litre Saloon—a beautiful car, and Gerry knew that it was a practically new car as the registration number ended in C, which was 1965. Presumably the owner was fairly well off!

  After an external examination of the car by Scene of Crime Officers, with Sam keeping a close eye on proceedings, the rear car door was opened. Gerry couldn’t see the inside from where he was at first, but could hear various comments to the effect that the dead man was a Pakistani from South Shields. Maybe the police had been on to the DVLA with the registration number, but anyway, that turned out to be far from the truth and eventually, Gerry managed to manoeuvre himself to have a peek. The body seemed to be that of a big man with a large beard and glasses. This was the first corpse that Gerry had ever seen.

  Sam explained that after photographs of the body in situ and of the inside of the car had been taken, Scene of Crime Officers would painstakingly take samples from the inside of the car, particularly from around the body. Then the body would be moved for a post-mortem investigation. Gerry spent the rest of the morning inside the police station as it was a bitterly cold day and he only had a jacket on, as he didn’t possess a coat. He looked at pictures on the station wall and answered questions from police and admin staff who wondered who he was. He was too shy to ask any questions of them.

  At lunchtime, he sat next to Sam and Detective Superintendent Murdoch—who was the officer in charge—and two others. He learned various snippets of what was going on and particularly that the deceased was not a Pakistani, and neither was he from South Shields. He hadn’t been formally identified yet, as they were afraid to search for a wallet or some other form of identity in case they interfered with bullet holes in the clothing and so on. Gerry was asked if he wanted to be present at the post-mortem. He didn’t know if he’d be up to it, but as he wasn’t particularly squeamish, he said he would.

  The mortuary was a single-storey building at Easington Village, a couple of miles from the police station. When Sam and Gerry arrived, the body had already been taken inside, ready for investigation. Following further external inspection of the clothing, as a preliminary examination had been made whilst the body was still in the back of the car—the police took out the contents of the man’s jacket pockets. The only thing that stood out in Gerry’s mind was a wallet, stuffed with notes—£153, to be exact. At that time, Gerry was earning about £10 per week, so you can imagine what an impact that made on him. Also in the wallet was a picture of the dead man with a woman and Roy Orbison, who was a massive star. The driving licence had on it the name Roderick Stone and gave his address as Hillside Avenue, South Gosforth.

  Gerry’s Memoir – Part 2

  Rod Stone had been out very late—even later than usual—so he quietly opened the locked door of his detached house, thanking God that his wife hadn’t left her keys in the inside of the lock. She’d done that before and despite knocking and banging on the door, she hadn’t heard him so he’d been forced to go to the local public phone to phone home! Anyway, he was in and he gently crept upstairs so that he didn’t disturb his wife, Barbara. He thought he’d got away with it, but as he began removing his clothes a bedside lamp came on and Barbara said: “Where the bloody hell have you been? It’s 3 o’clock!”

  Rod started rambling on about having to go to Hartlepool, where he had a club called Archie’s, as there had been some trouble and he’d needed to sort it. But his wife would have none of it. She was livid and shouted: “Don’t give me that shite! You’ve been with that Henderson woman—that little whore!”

  “No I haven’t, I’ve told you where I’ve been, so just go to sleep.”

  “I’m not taking any more crap from you—I bet you’ve been shagging her for months—you’ve been seen with her!”

  “Well, of course I’ve been seen with Dorothy, she’s a co-director of the Company and sometimes I need to discuss matters with her privately, so sometimes it’s convenient to have a drink with her away from the office.”

  “What? You’ve really dropped yourself in it now—I was talking about her sister Jane!”

  Under his breath, Rod said, “Jesus Christ!” and then tried to put some words together, but he’d had too much to drink. All that came out was: “Jane? What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. My friend Jean saw the two of you leaving Wheatley’s in Gateshead together.”

  “Well, I was doing Dorothy a favour as Jane didn’t have any transport—I was just helping her out.”

  “Oh, really! So why did you have a receipt for a new TV from Rumbelows?”

  Rod’s brain was buzzing—he couldn’t cope with a barrage of questions at this time of the morning. So he put his trousers back on, limped down the stairs and out of the front door. Barbara burst into tears, then looked at the T.V. receipt and decided she would visit the delivery address in the morning.

  Rod got into his dark green Rover Saloon and headed towards Jane’s flat in Jesmond, on the east side of Newcas
tle but stopped to get his thoughts together. He’d really got himself into a bit of a mess and alienating Barbara wouldn’t help at all. Barbara knew what he was like and he felt certain she would come round, as she had done on previous occasions. However, he just might have overstepped the mark this time. He usually had a bit on the side, but now he had two going—sisters, at that. Dorothy was a Director at Calypso Leisure Clubs Ltd, of which he was the Managing Director. It had been set up with the substantial help of the Valente Family, who owned many clubs in London. A couple of years earlier, they had decided to expand their business and thought the North East of England would be ideal. So they bought out existing night clubs, working men’s clubs and other ‘Social’ Clubs as well as opening some new ones. Rod had already been in the club management business but in a fairly small way. But the Valentes saw in him the right man to run the region for them. He became a substantial shareholder in the company, although they held the majority of shares. However, he insisted on having his mistress Dorothy Henderson as his second in command, as she’d helped him run the clubs since he started and she was very useful to him in other ways. In reality, Dorothy only held a small percentage of the shares, but Rod paid her a salary.

  The business deal that Rod had with the Valentes was that he drew a very good salary and a dividend from the shares, but he had his own plan, which he carefully concealed from them. He had separate accounts with each of the club managers—even the working men’s clubs, which were supposedly run by committees, but he made deals with them so that they were all looked after. There had been some rumblings from the Valentes, but he felt that he could keep them at bay as business had been very good indeed.

  Rod sat in the car for about 30 minutes, wondering what to do. He was also heavily involved with Jane, Dorothy’s sister. He was paying rent for her flat and furnishing it and keeping her in nice clothes and so on. In return she was giving him her much more ‘youthful’ attention. At 22, she was 10 years younger than her sister, and yet much more adept at pleasing him. But he had got himself in too deep. And he was now in debt. He was behind on payments for his huge mortgage, and he was still paying for his luxurious car. No one knew about it, but as well as the expense of looking after three women, he’d started gambling and that wasn’t going well either.

  He decided he was going to have to chuck the two sisters before they found out about each other and before he went bust. He’d got away with it for so long because Dorothy lived in Newcastle’s West End, while Jane lived in Jesmond. The question was how to chuck them without creating havoc.

  After nearly falling asleep in the car he thought it best to go back home and sleep in a separate bedroom. He’d be able to get a few hours rest before having to confront Barbara again. When he got home, he managed to slip into the spare room and if Barbara had heard him, she wasn’t letting on. It was gone 4 a.m. by now.

  Rod woke with a start at about 9:30 that morning, went downstairs and realised that Barbara wasn’t there. He grabbed a cup of coffee, then noticed a letter propped up against the radio in the kitchen. It was very brief: “You’ve gone too far this time—I’ll sort you out, you bastard!”

  Meanwhile, Barbara had gone to the address on the TV invoice: 7a, St. Leonard’s Terrace, Jesmond. Although she didn’t drive, it was easy to get the bus to Jesmond. She pressed the bell next to 7a on the main door, but no one answered at first. She tried again but still nothing. Then just as she was pressing it again, the door opened to reveal a very pretty young woman, who had obviously just got out of bed. Although she’d only seen her briefly before, Barbara recognised her as Jane Henderson.

  Jane nearly collapsed when she saw Barbara. She knew immediately that it was Rod’s wife and just stood open mouthed, stunned into silence for few a seconds. She’d met Barbara once before at some company ‘do’ that Rod had arranged—that was before he had bedded her. She said: “Hello, Mrs Stone, what can I do for you?”

  “What can you do for me? What can you do for me?” came the reply. “I’ll tell you what you can do, you can confirm my suspicions that he’s knockin’ you off! He’s got you shacked up here, hasn’t he?”

  “You’d better come in.”

  Once inside they stood in the kitchen and Barbara said:

  “So how long has it been going on?”

  “Oh, a few months—can’t remember exactly.”

  “And how often?”

  “Oh, two or three times a week! Sometimes during the day but mostly before or after he went to the clubs of an evening.”

  Barbara was building up to her next words, which gradually increased in tone like a crescendo in a song. “So, two or three times with you and me lucky to have it once a month!”

  Jane said: “How did you find out about me? I thought you’d have known about Dorothy first!”

  “So it’s true, then. I always had my suspicions about Dorothy, but I didn’t want to lose him, and I wouldn’t be able to live as well as I do without him—so like a fool, I usually turned a blind eye—as long as it didn’t become common knowledge! But then last night the bastard dug a hole for himself which he couldn’t cover up.”

  “Aye,” said Jane. “He’s been shaggin’ Dorothy for ages, probably years.” At this point, Barbara exploded with a string of expletives that somehow, quite poetically described her feelings. Jane continued, “I was round hers when he came calling, and I could see he fancied me straight away. I didn’t really know what was going on between them, but I was about to find out. I was sharing a flat with two others at the time, and he soon found out where it was. I just thought he was so rich and what a chance this would be to get a place of me own. So, we started off in his car—he liked Jesmond Dene or along by the river in Gateshead, but then I was able to sneak him into the flat now and then. Trouble was, he had an insatiable appetite so he suggested me getting my own flat, and he would pay. So, he found this flat and sorted out the bond and he pays the rent and all the expenses. I do work afternoons and Saturdays, so I’m quite well off, really.”

  “I bet you are,” said Barbara, who was now looking really calm—whether it was the calm before the storm, Jane didn’t know. Barbara went on: “So does Dorothy know anything about this?”

  “Naa, all she knows is that I managed to get a flat of me own. She knows I have a fella of me own and I told her he’s married and quite well off. But she hasn’t a clue that it’s Rod—she’d kill the pair of us if she found out! She has fallen out with me as she thinks I’m a whore for knockin’ around with a married bloke, even though she does the same.”

  “So, Mrs Stone, you don’t seem angry anymore!”

  "Angry’s not the word, but what can I do? I didn’t really have any money of my own and he’s kept me in a good lifestyle. I think I’ve known since I married him in London. Then over the years, the sex has reduced so that made me think he was getting it elsewhere. Do you think that’s what women want him for, or is it his apparent wealth? I mean he’s overweight, and looks older than his years. But it’s not your fault, Jane—maybe it’s mine for sticking with him. Jane, it’s gonna have to stop—he’s making a fool of me. I’m going home now—he should be out of bed by now, and I’m going to have it out with him for once and for all.

  “By the way, Jane, do you happen to have Dorothy’s address?”

  Jane pleaded: “Mrs Stone, you can’t go to see her, she mustn’t find out about Rod and me—she’ll kill him and me if she finds out, I’ve told you!”

  “No, I’m not going to see her, but I am going have my day with my so-called husband.”

  Reluctantly, Jane gave her the address and Barbara left, leaving Jane shaking in case the whole thing escalated. On the bus on the way home the words ‘she’ll kill him and me if she finds out’ were going round and round her head. She didn’t think for one minute that this would happen, but it might sort Rod out and he’d lose both of his tarts. Although she hated him by now, she knew that she’d be in a bad way if they split up. She might lose her nice house and lifestyl
e.

  Who would have ever thought that she would one day entertain the likes of Roy Orbison, Dicky Valentine, Billy Fury and even Bob Monkhouse? Rod would sometimes have them back home after they played in one of his clubs, or they might even stay overnight! They had nice furniture and would occasionally eat out at a fancy restaurant in Newcastle, but Rod would often get her taxi home as he had important business to deal with. Yeah, she knew what sort of business.

  ***

  Rod was a Newcastle lad, but he’d got badly injured when he fell off the quayside during a brawl. This had left him with a slight but permanent limp. After leaving school at 15, he worked in a few shops but he really wanted to join the army. So when he was 18, he tried to enrol but he was rejected because of his limp. So he joined the Merchant Navy, where a limp was neither here nor there. And he loved it. He joined cargo ships that travelled to Europe, the Far East and even South America. This is where he got his taste in girls, especially exotic ones. He wasn’t sending any money home or anything so he spent it all on women!

  He sailed around the world for four or five years, but then realised that he was never going to get anywhere and decided to stay in London for a while. He had digs in the East End and used to frequent pubs, some of which were illicit gambling houses with girls attached. He got to know the business and was soon heavily involved in gambling and providing entertainment for the punters. It was at this time that he met Barbara. She was a corker and really seemed to love him, despite his background. She probably felt she could tie him down and dampen his enthusiasm for other women. So they got married!