16. Lucy’s Lament
The statutes stand tall their secrets untold
Like dark silhouettes all silent and cold
The police had spent most of the morning at Michael Sands’ place, taking samples and dusting the furniture, which seems a shame really, because it had only been done just the day before.. The forensic squad worked hard bagging up pieces of evidence and sending off for analysis. The two empty pillboxes, exhibit ‘A’ and exhibit ‘B’ discovered under the table where they fell, were despatched accordingly, along with various samples retrieved from the scene, and the city morgue took delivery of Michael’s body to await a coroners report. Superintendent Tatton and Detective Sergeant Jenkins arrived on the scene to assume control and took a briefing from the officer in charge. They pulled rank on the scene of crime officer, Sgt. Evans who was most indignant about it. He explained that in his opinion it was a simple case of suicide so why bother a detective superintendent with it when he could deal quite adequately manage on his own. “Mr Sands was known to be volatile and depressed, he had never really come to terms with his injuries” the sergeant continued his synopsis of the situation. Derrick Tatton thanked him for his help assured him that they could manage here and would he go with a Policewoman to the Disability Living Trust to get some background on Mr Sand’s carers.
The D.L.T. was very helpful in making their records available to the police. Sgt. Evans together with the PWC began the laborious task of conducting preliminary interviews with all the names on the list. Marsha who found the body had already given a statement. Aysha although unhappy at her dismissal from Michaels employ was nonetheless upset to hear of his death. There were various other names on the list, contacts from the Trust, social workers and other ancillary workers. Many people had drifted in and out of Michael’s life; he did seem to discard them like old coats and a picture began to emerge of a man with no financial worries but a volatile temperament, nothing that Sgt Evans discovered did anything to change his initial diagnosis. The recent carers all agreed, however that lately Michaels temper had somewhat cooled due to the influence of Lucy. “She had a very calming nature; she was the sort of person you immediately warm to. She had that effect on people,” Marsha had said
When the WPC and Sgt. Evans came to see Lucy, she was a little surprised that they had not called earlier. At the initial visit to inform her of the death, they told her not to be alarmed, that a routine interview would follow where she would be required to give a statement. The WPC, Helen was very nice and understanding, realising the shock that Lucy was still suffering; she kept the conversation brief and factual. Bob sat in his wheelchair, periodically interrupting to say how wonderful Lucy was at caring for him. They covered the basics, how long she worked at Pitchers Gardens for Michael; did she get on with him? Was he a difficult man to know? Etc etc. Lucy was less than honest about her true relationship with Michael, partly for Bob’s sake and partly because she thought, it sounded rather ,well odd, and although she did not think so at the time, she wondered whether having sex with a disabled man was considered to be proper behaviour. Better to leave that bit out she thought. Sgt. Evans said that initial inquiries were now virtually complete and the most likely outcome, subject to the post mortem results, was suicide. Lucy agreed to come down the station later to fill out a statement formally. They told her they would inform her when the inquest would be but, as she was not working on the day Michael died she did not have to attend unless she wanted to.
Back at Pitchers Gardens, D.S. Tatton was listening to the audio tapes from Michaels’ diary, He had them labelled and taken away to the incident room back at base. The tapes shed a somewhat different light on the picture the police were building up. Despite pressure from his superiors and the need for a ‘good score’ and a quick conviction, Derrick tried to be fair, even if most times he was not. Derrick wanted to be thorough in his search for a suicide note and asked Jenkins to check the computer in Michael’s office. “Chap like that might well go in for a high tech version” he announced to a startled Jenkins, who said he just about knew how to switch a computer on. His rudimentary I.T. knowledge, however, made him an expert compared to his superior. Derrick detested machines; he was an old fashioned copper. The Sergeant switched on the machine and the screen flickered into life, he clicked on the Tree icon with the file name ‘Family Tree’ underneath. Jenkins manoeuvred the mouse to the legend: ‘Open existing database?’ He double clicked and a password box appeared; He typed in the letters carefully only to be met with the response ‘File Not Found!’ “Good” he said to himself and closed down the computer. He returned to the other room to see his boss deep in thought.
“Nothing in there Sir, just personal stuff” he broke Derricks concentration “You don’t think this was suicide do you Derrick?” he asked the Superintendent
“No, there is no reason. There is no note; there is conflicting reports from the carers and now we have an engagement ring” he held up the jewellers receipt towards Jenkins.
The tapes referred to the engagement, and it puzzled Detective Superintendent Tatton.
“Why would a woman already married be getting engaged” he posed
“Did Michaels Sands know she was already married do you think?” Jenkins answered
“I don’t know, I don’t think so” came back the reply “but we can’t prove she intended bigamy can we?” he stood looking at the chair where Michael’s body had been “We might be able to convince a jury of murder though Michael Sands was a very wealthy young man. Put us right up the charts that would – loads of brownie points- and the old man might well drop the other matter if we could swing this one
So, he had a suspect. He had circumstantial evidence; he even had a bit of a motive. All he needed now was proof that a crime had been committed!
Dark and deep the bubbling waters meander through the meadow green
Overheard clandestine meeting of the people no one’s seen
Voices talking on the wind carried into a new day’s morn
Hiding all from prying eyes and seeking solace in the dawn
Tall Elms that hide the secret world. Information passed and money spent
Listen to his lies, he knows too much;….and where youth and innocence went
The hospital on Humberside where Larry had been taken after the attack on his van, discharged him after a few days. He was quickly, on the phone to Jack Starr, who had agreed, although somewhat reluctantly, to come up and drive him back home.
“What’s going on Jack? - I've had enough”
“I dunno but I intend to find out” Jack stared hard at the windscreen trying to discern whether or not the crushed insect was 'indeed just that or damage to the glass caused in the attack on Larry
“Who would want to hijack. a load of ink?” Larry interrupted Jacks entomological ponderings.
He was incredulous “They were waiting for me Jack, they knew I would be coming”
“Look” Jack thought it about time to put Larry fully in the picture “There's something I think you should know”
“What's that then?”
“The only people who knew about that trip were Hunterprint, Pointers and the police”
“Yeah, so, I know that, what are you getting at?” Larry began to lose patience
“If you will let me finish; I don't-mean the police as in my lot, It's the locals, they've been sniffing around for drugs, poking their noses in and putting a few others out of joint”
“Drugs?” Larry was astounded, he was no prude and certainly was not naive but drugs, this wasn't the East End “Look, you never said nowt about drugs”
“I couldn't now could 1, you wouldn't have done it would you”
“You set me up you bastard - you coppers are all the same” Larry's pride was hurt far more than his body. His injuries in-fact were only superficial although he still ached .Like a lot of men was a complete baby when it came to pain
“That's not fair. You have been well looked after. The local boys have fucked up not us. They've ruined the whole operation, It all blew up when that young lad died at the club, Simmons, He was some sort of dealer. The local D. S. got a bee in his bonnet and tried to score some points. and then that RTA with the girl as high as a kite, It just snowballed out of control, the left hand never knows what the right ones is doing always been the same in the force. It all had to be kept under wraps, you know that.”
Larry sat in silence, not knowing what to make of the whole affair. He knew Mark and it was not that long ago he sat next to him and Sarah-Jane in the cab from Tratford. She looked fine then, perhaps a bit too talkative and hyperactive. Larry put that down to her youth. Funny old business this he thought, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He was still angry with Jack for not being up front with him to start with. Sure, it paid well, he was on a good earner, and he liked Jack, he got on well with him; but hell he wasn't a copper why should I risk my neck he thought., but he kept his thoughts to himself.
The journey back to Chesford did not take long. Jack maintained a steady 70 mph all the way only slowing down once or twice to negotiate the interminable cones on the motorway. Therein lays another puzzle: traffic cones that spring up overnight. Is there a factory farm somewhere in Wales that has cornered the market in red and white plastic cones? Do they just breed in the darkness and multiply to cause havoc in daylight hours? And why oh why is there never anybody working on that bit of the road that is coned off?
…………………………………………………………
Lucy was not in when the nice police officer called to ask her to accompany him to the police station 'to assist with their inquiries'. She had given her address as 12 -The Corale, which was the place she had obtained temporarily for Bob. She did not intend to stay there indefinitely, but with Michael gone, she was not sure what to do and could hardly go back to the bungalow. Bob answered the door, a task made easier from his wheelchair by the low handles with which the bungalow had been equipped He told the officious constable that Lucy had gone to visit a friend in hospital and would be back shortly. He would pass on the message and she would no doubt come down to the station later.
“I'm sure that will be all night, Sir. Tell her to ask for Detective Superintendent Tatton” the policeman handed a card to Bob
“You have already interviewed her you know” Bob remarked
“Yes Sir, I am aware of that, we just need confirmation of some of the points in her statement”
“You're not arresting her or anything are you? Bob queried. His mind beginning to spin, darting in and out of questions and excuses, like a discovered miscreant.
“Oh no Sir, nothing like that as I said, just one or two loose ends to tie up”
“Okay fine, I'll see she gets the message she will be in touch. Goodbye officer” Bob took great pleasure in closing the door on the young officer. He knew the way the police worked and began to suspect something was amiss. Why are they so keen to talk to Lucy again so soon? They have had a statement. What else can she tell them? They obviously don't believe her! They think she's done him in! Nonsense, Robert he argued, just like his mother Bob always called himself Robert when he was serious. He continued the rhetoric with his inner psyche What if she lost that wicked temper of hers? She belted you once, remember - seven stitches and a six hour wait in casualty. (They were not very busy that day so Bob was seen quickly!) What if she did do it? - What then? Bob a never received answer to his inquires, because of Lucy's arrival; she was back full of good news about Sarah-Jane. Bob was quite pleased at the news as well, after all he felt responsible even though he had no control over the accident.. He often thought whilst he was in hospital how different things would have been if he had stayed in Newcastle; he would not be in a wheelchair now, and that girl wouldn’t be in a coma. It was that damn letter that started it all - bloody banks!
The recovery of Sarah Jane had helped Lucy come to terms with the shock of Michael's death,but she was still wandered around in a bit of a fog,- absent looking and staring 'in disbelief at theevents unfolding before her. She was most unlike her normal self, since leaving Bob she had become self assured, self reliant, efficient and energetic; but now she lapsed into lethargy, became forgetful and distant. Bob had noticed the change and put it down to the trauma of the situation. He told her that the police wanted to ask her some more questions, and would she mind going down to the station.
“They sent a car for you, I think it must be important.” Bob ventured. Lucy gave him one of her all too common vacant looks and said.
“Yes okay I'll go when I've had a drink and something to eat”
……………………………………………………………………..
At the front desk, after telling the receptionist her name, Lucy was told to wait for D.S. Tatton. He arrived some time later. The fact that she had been kept waiting over half an hour did not seem to bother her, she was still in a daze, and even though her despair was tempered with the joy of seeing Sarah-Jane, she was still in a self induced fog of dreams; she just could not believe what was happening to her.
“Thank you for coming Mrs Simpson” Derrick emphasised the 'Mrs Simpson' to see if there would be any reaction. There wasn't! “Let's go somewhere quiet”- he said pushing open a door to a small interview room. A policewoman stood by the doorway and Jenkins sat waiting to operate the tape player. Lucy froze when asked if she would like her solicitor present
Journeying through fields of conscience away from the troubles of mind
Chasing through the forests of blackness, leaving deceit behind.
Whispers silent on the wind, dreams of young life dashed
Secrets hidden, hopes destroyed. Another cheque is cashed.
What really annoyed him was the deception. He had been paying wages for months. God in heaven! How did I not see that coming? He went through the recent employees in his mind Larry Yesman or Mark Hero, one of them two I'd bet my life on it. Still it was a masterstroke 'losing' that ten grand order - no business could survive a blow like that. No choice, he had to call in the receivers. That should keep them busy for a few weeks trying to find the missing invoices. He chuckled to himself. He had covered his tracks extremely well, losing a few thousand pounds, missing delivery notes presumably lost by the driver (or that incompetent clerk in the accounts office) Any ‘suspect’ invoices had been destroyed. They could probably -get him on some business misdemeanour- not filling in the designated forms, as the government required or some other technical offence. They might even prove embezzlement, but that would be difficult. Anyway, they would have to find him first.
The road was wet, and driving a little tricky especially as the grey boxes mounted every few miles occasionally flashed to warn of their presence and to provide funds for the Police benevolent fund. He could ill afford to appear on camera after so much careful planning. They would find the car soon enough and work out where he was headed; he would rather it be later, much later.
Jack Forman was a very private man. He moved up to Chesford about ten years ago and bought the old vicarage at Fennersbank, a large Victorian house, (although mansion might be a more appropriate term) set back from the main road and hidden by its own small woodland. A 900-metre long gravel drive twisted and turned its way to the front facade and he had installed a security light to illuminate the blackness as one drove up through the orchard up to the house itself 'The Vicarage' had become his new base equipped with all the modem trappings of a business executive. In fact, all the gismos the Fat Man could buy… and he did buy, he loved gadgets, especially expensive ones. He enjoyed his wealth and enjoyed parading it. An invite to an evening soiree at ‘Chez de Jack’ was much sought after in the surrounding villages. He would miss the old place, and probably not make as much money as he wanted on it either. Damn the police! Bloody incompetents “I need a quick sale” he had told the agent on the phone “I'll be going abroad soon and I want it all completed before I go”
Jack pulled onto the motorway, the engine purring delightfully, as the revs increased Within a few miles, he saw a sign for the Services and turned off the roads damp grey surface towards the brightly lit concourse. Driving over to the far corner of the Services, he parked up and lit a small cigar. He plugged the mobile into his laptop and keyed in the number to log onto his on-line bank. He needed to check the balance on his accounts and to see whether the bankers draft had cleared. It had. £450,000 he had asked for £600,000. Still he had made quite a handsome profit, and now at least he had cash. He quickly transferred the funds he required to the relevant accounts and logged off. He finished his cigar and walked over to the Avis returns box where he deposited the key, then slowly and unobtrusively he walked across the bridge to the other side of the motorway to pick up the silver grey Jaguar that awaited him. He found the key in the exhaust where they had left it and zoomed off smooth as silk, still admiring his ingenuity at evading the ever-tightening web.
The cold mist of a winter morning hung precariously in the air as Mark struggled to throw off the soft warn duvet. The radio alarm was already alive with the dulcet tones of Terry Wogan's Irish brogue; although why he wore noisy shoes, no one knew. The weak yellow light of the sun was vainly attempting to break through the grey mood of the sky, a mood that reflected Mark’s own demeanour. He had to call into the factory today to see the men from the D.T.I. They specifically asked if he could be present to go over some invoices with them and generally show them the ropes. It meant he had to be in for 9 o'clock something he had not had to do for a long while on a Saturday, but he had promised because they said he would be free in a couple of hours so he would still be able to get to the hospital to see Sarah. Jack Starr, the foreman had asked Mark to come in on this particular Saturday and Mark had agreed more as a favour to Larry than anything else, after all it would be him or Larry that would get the blame for any lost delivery notes.
By the time Mark reached the Addison’s Estate, the mist had cleared, but it was still not warm and he could see his breath in front of his face. The large hangar, cleverly disguised as a warehouse that housed Pointers Inks stood before him casting a large dark shadow over the poorly lit streets in the run down neighbourhood Jack was already there to unlock the factory and greeted Mark in what he thought was an over friendly manner. Over friendly for Jack that is. Jack had never been one to indulge in small talk but now he chortled on about the factory being bought as a going concern by Hunterprint as their supplier in the south. Mark was not interested; he had already set himself up with an interview on Monday at the council. The Velvet Sun Factory held little fascination for Mark any more, not that it ever did. It was only a job. The dark suited accountants with their briefcases and laptops followed Jack and Mark into the accounts office “I'll be upstairs in Mr Forman's office, if you want me” announced Jack “Mark's got to get off early to visit his girlfriend in hospital- so finish up here first and I'll talk with you later.”
“Thank you Mr Starr” said one of the pinstripes “we won't need to keep Mr Hero long we just need some clarification on the odd purchase invoice and familiarise ourselves with his filing systems”
Mark retrieved the file of job dockets from the grey metal cabinet narrowly avoiding getting his fingers trapped; he was used to the sharp spring on the drawer by now. 'March Orders' the logo read He flipped through the file and realised quickly that some dockets were missing. Double-checking with the Purchase invoices, he could see that some documents had been removed “I can't help you Mr Forman must have removed some of the invoices, he may have taken them home, you'll have to talk to Jack”
“Can they be tied up with the delivery notes?” the bespectacled accountant asked
“I suppose, they are in that bottom drawer” Mark pointed to the long flat filing cabinet by the door“And the Purchase Ledger?” the suit continued
“The top office upstairs” Mark replied
“Fine, we'll just enter up the figures we've got here then we can tie up any blanks in the records later. No computer back up then?” the senior pinstripe reminded Mark of the accountants in a Monty Python sketch his mannerisms were annoying to the point of distraction.
“No, I always asked for one but technology did not figure in Mr Forman's plans. Sometimes for quickness I used enter some figures up at home and print them off, you know end of year stuff here's one of my sheets” Mark handed the neatly printed A4 sheet over to a John Cleese look alike, who peered through the bottom of his bifocals?
“Hmm, good I think we have all we need from you now. We have a lot a work to do. We will contact you through Mr Starr if we need to talk to you again”
“Thank you and Goodbye then” Mark said, pleased to leaving the men from the ministry to their own devices. He secretly wondered if it was a job requirement to be boring and staid and could not stop himself from imagining them performing 'silly walks' all around his office. He strode out and into the silent factory. It was eerie, no banging of pipes from the old boiler pans or clanking of chains from the lifting equipment. The acrid smell from half-finished varnish and ink added to the unusual scenario as Mark moved briskly through the workshop towards the main exit “See you again soon Mark” Jacks' words startled Mark and he jumped, as he turned round to see Jacks' smiling face. No one before could ever remember seeing Jack Starr smile. “Thanks for coming in. I'm lost with all that paperwork.,” he continued
“Its okay, glad to help “said Mark not realising he had had a choice about coming in on a Saturday morning Jacks behaviour puzzled him. The whole situation was unreal; weird; I need that council job he thought to himself as he left the environs of the Velvet Sun Factory.
Listen to the voices echoing in your mind,
harken to the sound of sadness
and the secrets you may find
that appear before her weeping eyes
then fade away into blackness…………………..
At her second interview Lucy had decided it was time to come clean and be completely truthful, partly because Bob had sussed something was wrong and partly because she had begun to worry herself. She thought the police did not believe her about the relationship with Michael, perhaps they knew something - the diaries, yes that was it. She knew how fastidious Michael had been about those damn diaries. She detailed her intimacies with Michael, wondering all the time what the police might make of it. D.S. Tatton raised his eyebrows once or twice but made no comment. He asked Lucy about the engagement ring and the will. Mr Longton from the solicitors had already testified that Michael had gone against his advice in altering the will. He had suggested change but warned about Lucy being the main beneficiary. He thought it too soon! The post mortem had also provided the police with further grounds to question Lucy. There was bruising on Michaels neck and throat, its cause was unknown but was consistent with having been forced fed. Death was a result of poisoning. He had ingested five times the normal dosage of his medication Lucy could shed no light on either discovery
The detective thanked Lucy and issued a routine warning not to leave the area. This worried Lucy even more. She did not like D.S. Tatton’s tone it made her feel like a suspect in a murder inquiry, which of course is what she was! The new information Lucy had given in her altered testimony, however, greatly interested Derrick Tatton. The police had already made contact with the original surgeon who treated Michael Sands after his accident, as part of the general background to the case, so now he left a message for Mr Lloyd the consultant at the private hospital to call the station. To be honest the detective found the very idea of love making between an able-bodied young woman and a disabled man a bit distasteful. He noted how Lucy now lived with her husband who was also in a wheelchair.
“This world is sick Jenkins” he finally voiced his thoughts to the Sergeant
“Not for us to judge though is it Sir?”
“It is if she's going around bumping 'em off Keep a tail on her will you Pete and I’ll get
Sheila to see if there's any history on her”