20 Crescendo
The Statues are silent the end is near
They hold up their heads and show no fear
Bob Simpson sat in his wheelchair looking out over the grey park. It was grey because it was still early and anyway since the clocks went back everywhere was plunged into a murky blackness at this time of the morning. He often came here lately it was a good place to think. Today he had even more to think about. The police had finally dropped all charges against his wife, having made a positive ID on the body from Pitchers Gardens; Lucy was now free to care for Bob again full time. The problem was he was not sure if that that was what she wanted anymore. He still longed to go home, but wanted Lucy to come with him. It was not so much that he needed her; he could quite easily have gone to Social Services for help, or arranged private care. No, it was more a male pride thing; he had chased down to this God forsaken city in search of her, and having found her was damned if he was going to return to Newcastle without her. He looked towards the city centre, knowing that it was in the general direction of home, but even with the Christmas lights in the distance, it was a poor substitute for Newcastle. Chesford, in fact, was not a substitute for anywhere. It was unique on the face of the globe. Where else would the smell of body odour and stale urine compete with the air of desperation? Where else did the spectre of unemployment and distrust hang so heavily on the shoulders of this forgotten city? Chesford in the midst of the sprawling West Midlands festered like a boil on the arm of a concrete giant, like a disease that infected its citizens with its corruption and depression. Bob felt it too and was beginning to feel trapped. The city always had that effect on people.
Bob watched intently as a man in a white overcoat passed by taking his dog for a walk, stopping briefly at the row of elms to do what dogs always do to trees. He saw the little terrier and it reminded him of Terry, not a very original name for a terrier, but he and Lucy had decided on it the first time they saw the little fellow at the kennels. He missed that little dog; Lucy doted on it. He remembered how when they rowed about the children or rather the lack of them, how he used to accuse her of using Terry as a child substitute. She was devastated when the dog died. So was Bob to be fair, although he may not have shown it at the time. Bob was not very good at showing his emotions, something Lucy had criticised him for many times. He whistled and the little dog stopped and looked towards him, but then it turned away and ran after his master.
Lucy had stayed back at the house. She had not been out since her ordeal had ended. She should have been relieved to be cleared and anxious to pick up where she left off, but she wasn’t. Somehow, everything seemed different now; confused and contorted. The vodka did not help in that department; even if she thought it did It merely served to gloss over the depths of devastation that she now felt. Bob was worried that she would disappear completely into the unknown oblivion that her mind had become. He had to get her away from this place – back to the Toon. This city has such bad vibes. It felt wrong, it looked wrong. It had brought them nothing but bad luck. ‘There wasn’t a lot wrong with our relationship’ Bob began his solo discourse. Not really, it was only the absence of tiny feet. Then why did she leave you and come down here. You hit her, only once! Frustration that was all. Come on Bob snap out of it. You have got to be strong for Lucy’ and with that, having finally won an argument against himself for the first time, he turned the chair round and headed back towards the house.
Despite being so late in the year, the weather was still mild. The grass verges were barely visible under the carpet of damp russet brown leaves that covered them. They were very late falling from the branches this year. The sycamore seeds spun to the ground like small model helicopters coming in to land and Bob felt the wind on his face as he pushed himself along Bridge St and into The Avenue. He had only just turned into the street, when Mark Hero spotted him, and he recognised Bob immediately from his visits to the hospital.
“Hello, Bob Simpson isn’t it?” said Mark in his friendly manner
“er.. yes, but I don’t think...” Bob knew the face but could not place it. Mark saw his difficulty and interrupted him
“Sarah Jane’s boyfriend, Mark Hero, do you remember?”
“Why yes of course, I’m sorry. How are you?” replied Bob pleased that he now knew to whom he was speaking
“Fine thanks, you?”
Mustn’t grumble, especially now that Lucy’s troubles are over. She’s been cleared of any involvement in that awful murder” Bob looked up and smiled
“Yes, we heard about that. Must have been hell! I bet you’re both glad it’s over?”
“Well you would think so, but Lucy is so down, I can’t seem to shake her out of it. It has all been very tiring and confusing for everyone but particularly for Lucy. I think I am going to take her back home to Newcastle to try to sort things out between us. This town is so depressing!” Bob spoke with venom in his voice, he was angry at the town, angry at its menace and all it had inflicted on him
“I know exactly what you mean. When Sarah finally comes home we are going away; we are planning to get wed you know” Mark replied
“Congratulations are in order then. Sarah’s not still in hospital is she?” Bob queried
“No, no she is up in the Lakes at a clinic, she was transferred up there three weeks ago. I’m going to fetch her home before Christmas”
“Give her my love and you must come and see us before you go. Tell you what why don’t you both come up and visit us in Newcastle, Lucy would like that.”
“Sure, that would nice. I’m sure Sarah would enjoy it,” said Mark opening the gate to Bobs house “I really must dash, I’m off to work, nice meeting you again”
“Goodbye then, don’t forget now, keep in touch” Bob shouted in jovial fashion
“Sure, I’ll give you a call,” returned Mark, knowing full well he did not have Bobs number. Bob opened the front door and pushed himself inside. He could hear the television arguing the pros and cons of gay fatherhood but there was no sign of Lucy. Why is it thought Bob, turning off the set, that morning television is always full of so much crap? He turned on the radio and listened intently to the local news, half expecting news of Lucy, although he had no idea why. She had been asleep when he had left, up and dressed but asleep in the armchair that was why he had let her stay, now he wished he had woken her up and taken her with him.
The winters’ sun brings little warmth
across the unloved streets;
She peers down from a cloudy sky
and casts her shadows deep
With Jack Twford preferring to take a back seat, it was D.S. Tatton in the media spotlight. With the positive ID through Civil Service records of Jonathon Sands’ body, the vultures from the press went into full cry, especially when news of a police excavation at Pitchers Gardens leaked out. Eventually, when the news that the police were searching for the brother, Michael Sands, broke, the press researchers set about unearthing as much as they could about the Sands family. Lucy Simpson came in for some more detailed attention and the local boys could not believe their luck. It all made good copy and a pleasant change from writing about council misdemeanours and incompetence. The details of Donald Sands’ plane crash and his work in electronics all surfaced. According to them, his work there was on secret government contracts. Nothing sells papers better than a good spy angle, well perhaps sex but they were working on that one with Michael Sands and Lucy. When it came to unearthing facts, the press appeared to beat the police hands down; - it was a shame none of it was true! Before long, the story hit the nationals. Chesford was at last prominent on the national stage, without any help from N.O.M.A. or their grandiose schemes!
…………………………………..
Lucy was slumped against the white fence at the front of the bungalow, watching through bleary eyes the police ‘gardeners’ as they meticulously sifted through the area systematically creating havoc among the camellias. D.S. Tatton sent a policewoman over to her, he hated morbid curiosity, but he was genuinely concerned for Lucy’s’ state of mind. The papers had already driven her to the edge of madness and it would not take much of a push to send her plunging over. He considered it more tactful to send PW Willis, more friendly and feminine. Lucy refused to budge, so Jean Willis stayed with her. They could not see Michaels’ body when it was ultimately brought out because of the tent that covered the excavation, but Lucy was still there when the police surgeon arrived on the scene, and following the frantic activity that ensued, Derrick approached Lucy in his best customer friendly manner. “The body we have found today is that of Michael Sands, he has been dead for sometime as far as we can ascertain at this early stage, so you could not possibly have known him. I am sorry. I really am.” Although Derrick finally realised that Lucy was more the sinned against than sinner, his conscience was still puzzled over her intentions towards her charge; whether he be Jonathon or Michael, her behaviour was certainly unusual and she may well be guilty of fraud or some other offence but she was not a murderess, Derrick knew that much now. His policeman’s instinct watched her face but it merely confirmed what Jack Twford had already told him. Lucy stared into the white canvass, she could visualise the film that she had watched with Michael (or was it Jonathon); she was confused. She saw the Arab guard and the young English woman. She remembered his excitement and her amusement. She still found the scene comic and giggled loudly then smiled, before screaming out hysterically. Derrick was mystified, he nodded to his constable and P.W. Willis led Lucy away to a waiting paramedic.
She watches all from her lofty perch,
serene in golden silence
Sending down her gems of wisdom
but none of it made sense!
Mark did hire a car to fetch Sarah-Jane back to Chesford. He was ecstatic at the thought of having her back to himself once again. He took Edna with him for company “You try and stop me” she had said. He was only to willing, after all it was a long drive and he had come to regard her more as a ‘Mum’ than a future mother in law. The Fiat purred nosily as it forged its way over the busy motorway, the headlights burning into the dusk like the eyes of some ferocious beast. The early morning mist had been quite dense, but was now beginning to clear as the sun put in an appearance low in the sky with its’ wintery glare They made reasonable time, and Sarah was ready for them when they arrived just before midday. She looked positively radiant, skipping towards the car, so happy to be returning home and resembling much more like her former self. She had been up since 6am getting ready; such was her enthusiasm for the journey home. Mark held her in his arms and kissed her softly, Edna was near to tears and Sarah even managed a hug for her. Mark stashed the suitcase in the boot of the Fiat and Sarah sat in the back with her mother, she lay her sweet head on her Edna’s shoulder and was asleep by the time they reached Lancaster.
Edna talked incessantly on the way back, not that she had been particularly quiet on the outward journey. She engaged Mark in conversation about the wedding, despite there being no date set, Mrs S was not one to let the grass grow under her feet. Mark and Sarah had vaguely talked in terms of next summer after Sarah’s eighteenth birthday, and that seemed to be the spur for Mrs Sullivan to fuss on about the booking the church and arranging the reception. Her life, filled with the tragedy of her daughters dabble with drugs and her husbands drinking, now took on a positive track and she revelled in the role of organiser. It was only when Edna mentioned ‘a nice little house in the suburbs’ that she had seen, that Mark responded with other than the normal grunt that disinterested males are notorious for.
“We haven’t really thought about that yet”, he chimed in.” But I don’t think we will be staying in Chesford”. Both he and Sarah Jane had made their views clear to Edna, but she had just ignored it and like most mothers wanted her children around her forever, anyway she thought it would all be different once she got Sarah Jane home, in the meantime Edna was happy with her self-appointed role as wedding organiser. Mark did not want to press the point at this time and though it better to leave the question of where to live until after he and Sarah had settled down in familiar surroundings
“We’re not planning anything for a year or so” he told Edna eventually in an attempt to steer her away from the delicate subject.
“I know that” replied Edna indignantly,” but these things take time to organise, we need to get the bans read, book the church and reception, you know how it is?” Mark did not know how it was actually. He did not have any sisters and had never been involved in that side of a wedding. The only weddings that Mark had attended usually found him propping up the bar or consoling a distressed bridesmaid. “I’ll leave all that to you, Mrs S. and Sarah of course if you don’t mind. Let’s take it one step at a time Eh?”
The tall metal poles which held the sodium lights undulated with the terrain and gave an appearance of a column of invading aliens marching towards Armageddon They sped on their way rushing towards their destiny as Mark kept his foot hovering over the accelerator to keep the Fiat at a steady 75mph. He had learnt to drive about five years ago but never bothered to get a car. His father, Johnny, never drove so Mark felt no pressure from that quarter. There was not a lot of point either he had reasoned, he had the use of Paul’s’ scooter as and when he wanted, and he had always intended to buy a decent motor later. Now he would have to start saving all over again. He glanced in the mirror at the sleeping figure of Sarah-Jane. She was worth every penny, he thought to himself.
………………………………………
How the jigsaw actually fitted together, Derrick was not quite sure yet. Jacks’ team had been working on the ‘Forman ‘ connection, but as usual police resources were at a premium and the order came through for the arrest of Jenkins to free up manpower and bring the investigation to a close. With Christmas already upon them, bodies were badly needed on the streets to cover the annual Drink Drive campaign.
Derrick had kept Jack informed of any developments regularly by phone but they eventually agreed a meeting at Casper’s to discuss progress. D. S. Tatton had been particularly keen to see Jack Twford face to face for a couple of days now just to tie up loose ends, and hopefully get answers to the one or two outstanding questions he still had regarding the whole affair. Now, however, in view of the fax he had received it was essential they met today.
“So you think Jonathon Sands was a key player” then Derrick asked
“Almost certainly” Jack replied, “From what we have discovered. Can’t yet trace anything back to old Forman though, not even a petty cash receipt!” Jack seemed to take his frustration out on his coffee, stirring it vigorously.
“What did you expect?” Derrick interspersed
“Nothing, I suppose, which is exactly what we got.” The detective continued, “I’m still convinced that Jonathon killed his brother and stole his id, but we haven’t got as shred of evidence. Jonathon Sands would have been an extremely useful part of the operation, providing contacts and possibly even organising the shipments”
“So,” said Derrick managing to stem Jack in full flow “It brings us back to the same question, why kill him?” D.S. Tatton was far from convinced of Jacks theory, in fact, he still had Lucy Simpson in his mind; she was certainly a strange bedfellow for Michael, (or was it Jonathon?).
“That’s just the way these guys work. If Jack Forman and the Chief wanted to be kept lily white then a clean break would be the order of the day. Anyway, they had the contacts and the distribution network set up so Jonathon would have outlived his usefulness. Why keep deadwood, another mouth to feed, and another tongue to wag.”
“Sounds plausible, I suppose” replied Derrick rather unconvinced
“Well, they might have taken exception to his affair with your Mrs Simpson, bedroom secrets and all that. Either that or Jonathon was putting the squeeze on either of the big boys and ruffled a few feathers. We may never know for sure. One thing is certain though he was killed professionally; my educated guess is Jenkins, but again, no proof.”
Derrick did not subscribe to the ‘professional hit’ hypothesis. He wasn’t entirely sure mind you, whether it was because of his embarrassment at being so close to Jenkins that he refused to believe him guilty of murder, or whether it was just his policeman’s radar spinning wildly whenever he interviewed Lucy Simpson. He found her behaviour at best ‘strange’ and although as far as the official line was concerned she was a free woman, Derrick Tatton was far from sure about Mrs Lucy Simpson. He was trying desperately to pin her down on something. Sex with ‘someone you thought was an invalid’ was not an offence, even though D.S. Tatton thought it should be. Impersonating a disability, now surely that was fraud and Lucy was aiding and abetting. Derrick delved into the depths of his mind trying to dig up a crime with which charge Mrs Lucy Simpson.
“They got Jenkins on tampering with evidence as well as the drugs, conspiracy to pervert. His prints were everywhere,” Derrick finally concluded after finishing his mental gymnastics
“On the body and the tablets” Jack interrupted, shaking his head
“Yes but he was an investigating officer”
“Exactly my point, Derrick” Jack responded, “They’ll find it hard to make the conspiracy stick; a good brief and blast a hole through that lot. We need something more concrete.”
“Why order his arrest so suddenly then?” D.S Tatton asked
“Dunno – Top floor job, I don’t even know yet whose running the show now that George has took early retirement”
“Yeah that’s a bit dodgy don’t you think?” Derrick queried
“Possibly, possibly not, those letters on Marks chart C.C., remember? We thought it was Charlie Cook could be Chief Constable”
“George Evans?” Derrick was incredulous
“Why not, would you retire with five years to go without taking the credit for a big coup?”
“No, but …if he thought he would be tarnished.”
“Mark my words, C5 have been digging around they know something, Charlie Cooks was suspended on full pay but he’ll be back, probably get the nod for Chief Constable
“Doesn’t this job get to you sometimes Jack?” Derrick sighed
“Yeah, but it has its compensations. You can never get one hundred percent at anything but we’ve done okay. What really gets to me about this one is that after all that planning and hard work, old Forman is probably laughing at us from his villa in Spain or the south of France”
“Derrick Tatton smiled, this was his moment, for once he had information that Jack was not party to. He presented the fax to Detective Sgt. Twford. Jack stared hard and long at the piece of paper “I don’t believe it!” he said finally “I’ll never believe Forman’s’ dead till I see his body”
“Well Interpol have checked it out, his movements tally, his personal effects and passport are being sent over. If his body really has been dumped in the sea they might never find it”
“Too bloody convenient if you ask me” Jack relied tartly “You don’t know Jack Forman, why would he be mixed up in the Dutch underworld?”
“Trying to muscle in on their operation maybe,” Mused Derrick
“Derrick” Jack Twford looked straight at D.S.Tatton “Jack Forman is the Dutch operation!”
“Jack you old cynic – you’re in need of a long holiday”
“Well that’s as maybe, but when I see Forman lying on a mortuary slab then I’ll believe it, until then, never!”
Whisper wind that bend the trees to its own way
Ever onwards, homeward bound, through another endless day.
Lucy and Bob were tucked up in the corner of an overcrowded Inter City Super Saver. (provided you got your ticket on a Thursday before 10 am when there’s a ‘R’ in the month) train to Newcastle upon Tyne. Lucy acquiesced rather than agreed to Bob’s enthusiasm for the return north. The hospital at Chesford had kept her in a couple of nights for observation after her collapse at the bungalow. Rest and quiet was the order of the day from the doctors. They said she was suffering from nervous exhaustion, but would be fine after a few days rest. Bob noticed, however, how Lucy brightened up visibly when he mentioned Sarah-Jane and his conversation with Mark. He even got a response from his wife:
“Yes, that would be nice,” she said, and actually sounded as if she meant it.
These last few weeks had been hard on Bob here he was trying his very best to please and woo back his wife, and there she was chasing round after another man and getting herself arrested for murder. Very selfish, some women will do anything to avoid facing their responsibilities he thought. Lucy seemed so distant, vacant almost, Perhaps it’s me Bob thought, -Don’t be foolish Robert Simpson, she knows how much you care. Why else did you chase her half way across the country. Bob could find plenty of reasons, that is the problem with arguing with oneself, you always know the counter argument before you begin, it is rather like playing chess against yourself. The short stay in hospital had done Lucy some good and she was now able to sleep at night. Bob however was tired, and he found himself drifting in and out of slumber, whilst all around him the melodies of mobiles and the constant hum of chatter whistled through the draughty carriage.
Lucy had gone off in search of the buffet car, a hunt that proved fruitless, as refreshments are only included on journeys over five hours in length departing after 9am and ending before 5pm; and only then when there was enough staff to man it. Lucy did manage to find a coffee machine. It didn’t work; and proudly displayed its notice ‘Out of Order’ Yes it bloody well is out of order thought Lucy. “The whole bloody railway is out of order” she loudly exclaimed in her frustration and she returned, exhausted from her efforts to the carriage and remained cuddled up to Bob for the remainder of the trip.