17.Ode to the Marmalade Tree
The statues stand upright on plinths made of stone
When the wind whistles you can hear them all groan
Sarah had been making excellent progress in her recovery so Mark not wishing, to risk a relapse told her nothing of the attack on Larry, he thought it best to leave all that until later. Mark did tell her that Pointers had lost a lucrative order, which was true. Hunterprint cancelled their contract once they discovered the police involvement. They could not afford any bad publicity and certainly did not want to be associated with drug running or anything unsavoury, after all- they had their hands full producing pornography. Mark went on to tell Sarah Jane that he thought the factory would now close. He told her that he had been working with the receivers only that morning, and did not hold out much hope, although Jack seemed to think they would be able to salvage something. Mark was not waiting to find out, he had already applied to Chesford City council for a position. He was good at his job and considering his age he was both experienced and qualified. Sarah wished him luck in his new job. “I am so proud of you Mark. You are very clever,” she said.
The most important news that Mark brought to Sarah concerned Lucy Simpson, whom they now counted as a friend. Lucy had finally come to see Sarah yesterday and the two women got on famously. Now, however, the papers were full of the story about the suspicious death of Michael Sands. The prime suspect it appeared was Mrs. Lucy Simpson, indeed according to some reports she was the only suspect and the British press being, the responsible body that it is had already tried the woman and found her guilty. What a shame the death penalty has been abolished!
“She seems so nice and caring,” Sarah said
“Yes I know, I can't believe it” Mark- replied, “I think a lot of it is just paper- talk” Mark passed the Chesford Daily News over to Sarah; the photograph of Lucy was not very flattering but then neither was the headline: - ‘Carer Interviewed Over Wheelchair Death’ the sub headlines said an ex-nurse was accused of murder. Not strictly true; Lucy was under deep suspicion, certainly in Superintendent Tatton's eyes, but at this juncture she was not accused of anything. As usual, the papers were jumping the gun! Sarah glanced down the columns of newsprint without really reading the words and handed the newspaper back to Mark. She was bursting to tell him her news.
“I'm coming out on Monday” she said, “Well at least 1 am being taken to a clinic Dr. Bhatti knows in the Lake District” Mark looked at Sarah-Jane; he was very good at trying to look surprised
“Do you know exactly where this place is?” He said trying to make casual conversation. Sarah smiled “Grasmere, I think - have you heard of it?”
“Yes”
“I know it's a long way away but it's only for a few weeks. I had to go, but they said you can visit me you will won't you - It's not too far for you is it? You will come won’t you – please” Sarah looked pleadingly at Mark with her moon drop eyes
“Yes of course if you give me chance to get a word in” he laughed and stared into the dark pools of her eyes, wishing he could descend into their depths and disconnect the troubled soul from deep within his lover. Sarah interrupted his concentration “What's the genius thinking about now?” she commented.
“Oh nothing much, just puzzling over that copper we saw the other day with the detective Super, Jenkins, wasn't that his name?” Sarah looked blank, Mark continued, “I was trying to piece it all together, you said you knew him. Do you remember? He frightened you didn't he?”
“Come here and stop worrying, leave it all to the police. It's all over now. Three weeks, four at the most in the Lakes and I will be back for good. I promise I am done with all that. No more tabs. I might even finish school”
“You will if Edna has anything to do with it.” Mark announced. “She has been telling me all her plans for you, university or even the church, although that opportunity may have passed you by now.” He laughed loudly knowing full well the response he would get from Sarah
“University? - I never told her I wanted anything like that, and there is no way you would get me into a purple robe! It’s not even this year’s colour” She giggled “Anyway the Church is definitely out; I don’t think I could put up with all the sex and drugs” she smiled her mischievous smile back at Mark and he was happy to see her back to the bubbly self assured girl he had known since childhood.
“All I ever wanted is you” Sarah continued and kissed Mark. He responded stroking her hair and pushing his lips towards hers. It was only the possibility of an impending entrance from a nurse that prevented him from taking it further, and although the thought of discovery excited him he refrained ‘I have waited this long’ he considered to himself ‘I can wait a little longer’.
Darkness creeps upon the land
where danger loves to play;
And send its seeds into the night
to spoil some one else's day!
Mr Lloyd, the London surgeon contacted D.S.Tatton as requested. “No quite impossible” he said, “There is no possibility that Mr Sands would have been able to have sex”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely, the nerves in his spine were ripped from the bone, in essence, officer he had a broken back. We can heal the bone but not the spinal cord”
“Is there any possibility that it could have healed itself over a long period of time?”
“There is evidence to suggest that some repair can occur but it is quite impossible, in my experience for it to have healed sufficiently to enable vigorous exercise. Possibly a small amount of re-growth, but any thing else would be nothing short of miraculous. He embroidered his diagnosis with medical jargon as if trying to create an impression on the Detective Super and concluded by repeating his initial comment “Out of the question. Quite impossible!”
“Thank you for your assistance Sir.” D.S.Tatton put the phone down and turned towards his ever reliable assistant” The doc reckons Michael Sands could not have even washed his own face let alone have sex with our Mrs Lucy Simpson” Jenkins could hear the disdain in his superiors voice
“She seemed pretty convincing to me Derrick,” he said
“Yeah, I know, could be all in her mind though, you know what these people are like. She's obviously got a thing about wheelchairs” Jenkins did not what 'these people' were like and thought his boss a 1ittle hard on Lucy. He quite liked the woman; he found her personality warm and inviting, during the investigation he had developed a bit of a soft spot for her, but there again he may have had a good reason for assuming her innocence. He replied to his superior “Like a fantasy you mean?” He queried, “Could be, either that or she is the original bad luck charm. Funny how the men in her life seem to end up in wheelchairs”
“Could just be coincidence?” Jenkins pondered, “Wouldn't want to get too close to her though” he quipped
“No such thing as coincidence in police work Sergeant, how many times have I told you that, and as far as keeping away from Mrs Lucy Simpson is concerned we'll have to talk her again and soon. Arrange will you Pete?”
“Yes Sir”
............................................
Lucy had started drinking again, small amounts at first. Bob noticed she was surreptitiously sipping his whisky and the cooking sherry was vanishing fast. She seemed to cope with proceedings outwardly and looked after her husband with her normal efficiency, but Bob was becoming more and more aware of her moods; and they were nearly always alcohol induced. Lucy tried to make light of it, but he knew her and began to question in his own mind whether her relationship with Michael Sands was indeed purely professional. Events seemed to have hit Lucy very hard. An advance on the insurance money from Bobs' accident had come through and he used it to arrange cover for Lucy to enable her to spend more time on her defence. They both thought it high time she contacted a solicitor. Lucy, however, withdrew into herself, and with more free time on her hands, she tried to find legal advice in a bottle of Glenfiddich.
Fulchard and Thompson had been the family solicitors for a long time and were on stand by to act for Lucy in her pending divorce, so Angus Fulchard, the senior partner, was slightly surprised to receive a call from Bob Simpson. Nevertheless, he agreed to come down and talk to Lucy in the offices of a local firm. Although they were not a nationwide company, they did have an arrangement with a local solicitors and Lucy was to meet with Angus on Friday, at the offices of Longton, Adams and Weaver. Had she known of the connection with Michael she might well have seen the irony of the situation, but there again she was not in a fit state to appreciate anything; let alone the subtlety of irony.
Forensic evidence had put Lucy at the scene of the crime, hardly surprising since she lived and worked there. The statements from both Mr Lloyd and the solicitor, Mr Longton carried far more weight in the eyes of the police than Lucy's' changed statement. The engagement ring and the altered testimony were, as far as Derrick Tatton was concerned, the clinching evidence against her. He believed her to be a cold manipulating woman who used Michael Sands for her own ends. Whether true or not, like all upstanding officers of the law, he could only reach his biased opinion based on the facts, and it was his intention to have her arrested for murder.
The local media continued with their frenzy and before long, the nationals joined in. It was a good story. This unassuming woman from Newcastle, a registered nurse who comes to south to take a job as a carer for a wheelchair bound invalid and becomes the serial killer from hell. (It is worth noting here that the definition of a serial killer in tabloid journalism is somewhat different from the norm.) The headlines ran 'The evil nurse' story whilst speculation into similar unsolved crimes helped fill up column inches and keep the advertisers happy. The gossips began to eat away at the truth like worms in a compost heap and D.S. Tatton, in all the press interviews he gave, appeared to look like the cat that had got the cream. The trouble with cream is that it goes off quickly!
The rooster secret smile of hate,
Invites the suspects all to wait.
And leave their hearts unlocked and free
Underneath the boughs of the Marmalade Tree
Mark joined Paul at the bar; only short staccato conversation was possible due to the loud bass beat masquerading as music emanating from nearby speakers. Paul knew about Sarah-Jane and was pleased to hear that she had recovered consciousness
“Bad business” he shouted
“Yes” Mark yelled back “I need to find George he wasn't on the door”
“He's outside I think, in the yard,” Paul pointed to the Fire Exit. Mark jostled his way through the melee of mindless automatons littering the dance floor. Although the reader should appreciate, the term 'dance' is used very loosely in this context. The bodies did appear to move in some sort of sequence to the music and lights but any similarity between that movement and dance steps was purely coincidental. Mark disliked 'garage' nights intensely after all he did not own a car! He had only come tonight to see the doorman.
George McPherson was a giant of a man and was clearly suited to being a club doorman or to be politically correct a door attendant. Unlike most of the other ‘bouncers’ employed on the local club scene, George was popular with the kids and could actually converse in words of more than one syllable. He was standing under the big oak tree that shaded most of that corner of the car park talking to someone, when Mark approached. Mark could not see the second person clearly, as shadows obscured their faces but just as Mark was about to step out fully into the terraced area, the two men turned and walked briskly back towards the club. The light from the full moon although hindered by the neon of the streetlights hit the profiles as the men turned. Was it Jenkins? Mark thought he recognised him. Jenkins had interviewed Mark at the factory so he might remember him. He would have to wait to get George alone, and so he stepped back into the porch way at the back entrance of the club. Fortunately, Mark did not have to wait too long. Jenkins disappeared through the side entry, which led to the park and Mark approached the burly looking doorman.
“Hi Mac you still working?” Mark asked
“Yeah, what do you want” George seemed agitated and nervous, but then as if hit by a bolt of conscience, mellowed and smiled towards the youngster “How's your Sarah by the way?”
“She's fine now, but I need some stuff I promised I would get her something to help wean her off gently she's not one for cold turkey” Mark lied
“I really can’t help you Mark, you know I’m clean” George relied
“Look, I know the S.P., a twenty shot right”
George bent down towards Mark and surreptitiously took the £20 not from him “I’ll see if there is someone around who can help you” he said. “One hour at the tree okay?” George went back inside the club and Mark turned to follow but felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around quickly, heart pounding. It was Enoch
“Hey man, where yoh bin?”
“Hi Enoch, you scared the living daylights outta me, I was looking for you”
“No you weren't, yous buying junk - nothing gets past Enoch, you know that”
“Ok I'll come clean. I'm following up a lead on something Sarah said about a chap called Jenkins" Mark knew he could not lie his way out of the situation, Enoch was far too canny.
“You mean Marlon alias Detective Sergeant Pete Jenkins” Enoch grinned at Mark
“You know him?” Mark spluttered
“Sure, I've bin feeding him info for months, he's 'bout as bent as a three bob note. Pays well though”
“He's the source of smack and all sorts of shit round here?” Mark asked annoyed, but not at all surprised that Enoch appeared to be one-step ahead of him.
“Naa he's just a small cog in the big wheel, a little man”
“A dealer?” Mark interrupted
“Not so much that more of a goffer really, trades a bit now Simmos gone” Mark stared at Enoch as if waiting for an explanation.
“There's loads of 'em. The authorities even know who they are, and where they hang out. Man, done a bit meself in the past when I was younger, ya understand. They even pretend to know who the big boys are, but it’s all a front. They don’t care; everyone makes too much dosh outta it”
“I can't believe they don't want to stop it” Marks said incredulously “You are honestly telling me that the authorities don't want to end this shit?”
“Boy I never had you down as a country boy, native or what? They could stop about half of it at the ports if they wanted, but yous try getting a few fags in. It's the money, see, big money. that's what it is” Mark did not consider himself as naive and could see logic in Enoch's argument, but he was disillusioned
“So if I watch the tree, Jenkins will put the stuff in the trunk for me to collect?” Mark asked,
“Unlikely my boy, he probably pays someone to do that for him” Enoch laughed showing his gleaming teeth which shone out like tombstones in the diffused light. “Men like Jenkins pays punks like me and Simmo to do the dirty bits. How do you fink he stays legit?” Mark looked astounded at what Enoch was telling him. He felt impotent against the world, used and discarded. Suddenly his whole ideals about life were being cast aside. Enoch could see his troubled face “What makes you fink ya can sort out the drug scene? Take my advice. Markie my boy, don't get involved. Look at me. I know what's what. I make a few diamonds, keep me nose clean and more importantly out of other folks business. You do the same. You only get one shot at livin’ Man, this aint no dress rehearsal!” Mark returned home to Spencer House no closer to finding the truth and more confused than ever. Perhaps Enoch was right he should keep out of it.
Eyes that watch and see the truth are blinded by the message.
Silent walls look down upon the sadness all around her
Bob Simpson's reaction to the furore in the media was initially one of incredulity. After all he lived with the woman, albeit in an atmosphere of hostility towards the end of their time together in Newcastle, especially when the marriage was failing, but he could not envisage her as a murderess. Quick tempered, yes, he could certainly testify to that, but not the cold calculating monster that the press painted her. The woman he read about in the newspapers was not his Lucy. For her part, Lucy was still dazed, she thought it all some ghastly mistake that would soon be resolved. Instead of which the evidence against her was mounting steadily; the investigation gathered momentum and C Division was preparing to climb up the Police Crime figures chart.
Angus Fulchard brought Lucy back down to earth. He explained that 'things just did not turn up. The police think they have a case and will set about to prove it. They will not want to waste any time looking for clues for the defence. “No Mrs Simpson” he had said, “If there is anything to find that will help you, then we must find it ourselves. Now drink your coffee and tell me the whole story from the beginning”.
Lucy sipped at the beverage and related the tale from the start in all its sordid minutiae. She was totally honest, in fact she was too tired to be anything else, the whole affair was physically draining and beginning to take a toll on her health. Twice Angus asked her about the intimate side of her relationship with Michael Sands and twice Lucy reiterated the details. “Hmm” he said staring at the police reports he had been sent.” We will have to sort out the discrepancies before your next interview with the police”
“Wi11 they arrest me then?” Asked poor Lucy weakly
“Probably” Angus replied, “but try not worry yourself too much. They certainly have enough evidence to do so. You were silly to accept the engagement ring whilst you were still married and the will…….”Lucy interrupted him
“I did not know anything about that,” she protested
“So so, I believe your story Mrs Simpson, but the question still remains, who killed Michael Sands and from the police point of view, why was he killed. If we can find the answers to those questions, we may well on the way to proving your innocence and getting your life back on track.”
“Will they lock me up?” Lucy was frightened and spoke almost with tears in her eyes
“Not for long I hope, possibly for a short time until you come before a magistrate. I see no reason why they would oppose bail. At least once they charge you we will know exactly what evidence they have and I will access to all their files. Actually, the reason Angus questioned Lucy's relationship with Michael so closely now, was that he was already in possession of Mr Lloyd's statement. It was this, in his opinion that formed the whole basis of the police case; everything else was supposition and circumstantial. D.S.Tatton had deliberately released the file in the hope of obtaining a confession. Angus Fulchard however failed to mention the point to Lucy, He thought her state of mind already confused, and anyway he reasoned that if the Detective Super needed a confession then he was not terribly confident of carrying the jury in court. Funnily enough, Angus genuinely did believe his clients story and considered he had every chance of obtaining an acquittal, the evidence was not that strong, and even if the doctor's statement was correct, that in itself did not prove murder.
The cold north wind of December's dawn,
Silver streaks on nature's lawn
of glistening dew-drenched clover.
The still sound of morning birds
can tell you more than words
could ever hope to do.
Mark had not been home for long when the buzzer went. He went upstairs to the intercom to see who was calling at this time of the morning. “Jack here, Jack err Starr, I need to see you, its important”
“It bloody well must be at this hour” Mark replied and pressed the buzzer to let him in Jack knocked the door of Marks flat and Mark opened it to see a stern but smiling face of the foreman from the Velvet Sun Factory. Jack Starr quickly produced a police warrant card and showed it to Mark; he took it and stared at the picture. It was Jacks' photo all right Detective Sgt. Twford “You're a policeman?” Mark said casually
“You don't seem too surprised” Jack replied
“Not any more nothing surprises me now; anyhow I was chatting to Larry earlier, I wondered when you would call on me.”
“So you know what this is all about then?” the policeman reverted to his official tone
“Not really, what could you possibly want with me?”
“You went to the Roostertail tonight, yes?”
“Yes just to see a few friends” Mark became defensive. It was his usual manner when dealing with police interrogation, not that he had had a great deal of experience in that department
“Mark, I am a detective, give me some credit.” Jack smiled that cynical ‘we already knew what you have been up to' smile that policemen are trained to give to suspects.
“Okay, I went to get some stuff for Sarah”
“No you didn't, Sarah’s getting professional help, you wanted to trap Pete Jenkins, but thought better of it in the end. Am I right?” Jack took out a cigarette. Mark had never before seen him smoke; all part of the act he thought
“Enoch been talking to you as well has he?” Mark replied petulantly
“Am I right?” Jack continued, ignoring Marks comment and looking around for a suitable receptacle in which to flick his ash
“Yes you've got it” Mark replied handing him a blue glass ashtray.
“Well that is why I am her. I need you to go back and collect the package from the tree-trunk”
“I don't use that shit, never have.”
“I know, but it's a very special batch, part of a lot stolen from Larry's van last week. They were all marked. If anything turns up here, it puts our Jenkins firmly in the frame. I hate bent coppers more than any other sort of crook” Jack began to get excited at the thought of nailing a corrupt colleague.
“I don't know whether I should get involved,” Mark said retreating to the settee, remembering Enoch’s pearls of wisdom.
“You are involved already. You have just paid for a Class A drug. I can arrest you for that” Jack looked straight at Mark to await his response.
“You always were a bastard at work, fitted in quite well didn't you?”
"Will you help us nail Jenkins? For Sarah's sake at least”
“Leave Sarah out of this! Why should I help you? There is a lot of truth in what Enoch says isn't there. You must have known about Jenkins?”
“No actually I didn’t and Enoch is only seeing one side of the situation, he doesn't understand. We are under constant pressure, budgets, and personnel cutbacks. Sure, we miss out sometimes. This operation for instance, the local boys were trampling all over our feet, but we are winning the war on drugs. We need people like you to help us.” Jack spoke with passion and sounded as if he believed in what he was saying, even if it was being laid on with a trowel. Mark remained sceptical
“It's everywhere, part of youth culture. How can one person make that much difference?” he asked
“One less rat in the sewer, two if we can catch the 'Fat Man' and who knows how much deeper this goes. Look, I was joking earlier about arresting you, but I do need your help. Will you do it Mark?”
“Yes alright” Mark finally conceded. “I suppose you want a cup of coffee now as well?”
“Wouldn't say no” Jack replied smiling as genuinely as he could
“Come on downstairs then you can fill me in on all the details, and don’t give me any shit about confidentially, if you want my help I need to know what I’m up against. To tell the truth you’ll need to draw me a picture, I still can't get my head round all this”
..........................................................................
The motorway was busy with juggernauts as the Jaguar silently whisked the Fat Man into obscurity. He whistled to himself along with the radio. He was a lot happier now that the money from the sale of the Vicarage had come through. Disappearing cost cash - lots of it, new bank accounts, new identities, and Jack Forman knew only that too well. He had enough to take care of all that now and just about enough to start over. Jack Forman had a very low opinion of the police, he had bought so many of them in the past but he knew that even they would not take too long to discover his Merc, which he’d left back at the lock up. Eventually they might even connect it to with the hire car he abandoned at the Services. He smiled, with that smirking superior grin of his, the one he always reserved for his employees. He checked his speed to keep within the law and leant back into the plush seat to enjoy the rest of his journey.