Death in Distribution

by David W Robinson

  “What is it?” Amy asked.

  Keeping his finger away from the area, Joe pointed it out. “Scuff mark. And it looks like a hair attached to it. That would indicate maybe a bit of blood just tacking it to the wall.”

  “It could have been there years,” Kane pointed out.

  “It could. Or it could have been lodged there yesterday. Let’s see what we can learn, eh?” Joe stood back and allowed Kane to lead them through into the third floor warehouse, and along to his office.

  Light and roomy were the first thoughts that struck Joe. One side lined with windows looking out onto the north yard, while the remainder was taken up with one large desk, and two smaller tables pushed together. A line of filing cabinets stood against the back wall, and above them, was a shelf holding box files. A large map of the United Kingdom with the local distribution depots flagged up by coloured pins sat above the desk. Joe was tempted to count them, but the bunching of many pins in major centres of population would have made the task impossible.

  Joe and Amy took opposite sides of the tables, while Kane busied himself on the phone for a few moments. At length, putting the receiver down, he took a seat between and at right angles to them.

  “I’ve asked for some tea,” he reported.

  “Good. Soon as it’s delivered, we can get down to business.”

  Amy, who had been quietly seething sine thy left the security station, let rip. “I think I’ve waited long enough. You are about to examine records of one of my members, and I object to that in the strongest possible terms. It’s a breach of confidentiality and I refuse to set a precedent.”

  Joe smiled thinly. “Years ago, a salesman told me that the key to controlling a conversation is not just answering objections, but choosing when to answer them.”

  “And that’s what this is about, is it? Control?”

  “No. I think he was talking through his hat. But then, I’m not trying to sell you anything. I am going to take another leaf out of that salesman’s book, and ask you questions, the first one being, do you believe that Peter Cruikshank and Stan Crowther beat other to death?”

  Her face was a picture of defiance. “I do not.”

  “Why?”

  The question threw her momentarily, but when she eventually answered it was in measured, certain tones. “I knew them both. I’ve known them for twenty odd years. They antagonised each other, certainly, but the company is quite strict on violence. Any employee caught fighting is liable for summary dismissal… no exceptions. Both Peter and Stanley had far too much to lose to be caught like that. They had their set-to’s, yes, but if it came to blows, and I don’t believe it did, it would have been handbags. Nothing more.”

  “Right. I didn’t know either man, so I can’t comment on your superior knowledge, but I have other reasons for believing Burrows has it wrong. I don’t think they killed each other, either.”

  “So we’re have some measure of agreement,” Amy said, “but that doesn’t make it right to let you check their records.”

  “I don’t want to check their records, and I never did,” Joe told her.

  Her eyes widened and Joe paused to let the surprise sink in.

  With a generous smile at Kane, Joe went on, “What I actually said to Dave lost something in translation. I said I needed to know everything about the two men, and gathering that information will breach confidentiality rules. But I don’t want to see their employment records. They’d tell me nothing anyway. Instead, I want to know about them. I’m asking you and Dave, as the people who, so I’m told, knew them best, to tell me everything about them. Every tiny little thing. Don’t leave anything out. Do you think you can do that, Amy?”

  Thrown slightly by his manoeuvring, she nodded. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  “Good.” Joe checked his watch and read 11:15. “Where’s this tea coming from, Dave? Darjeeling?”

  Kane laughed. “Dispatch. It shouldn’t be long.”

  “Well, while we’re waiting, let’s get on.” Joe took out his notebook and pen. “Burrows told me that you said there was a long history of bad blood between Peter and Stan.”

  “That’s right,” Kane agreed. “It goes back … oh … ten years?” He looked to Amy for agreement and she nodded.

  “What was at the root of it?” Joe demanded.

  Both looked uncomfortable, and neither was in a hurry to reply.

  “Two guys don’t just decide to hate each other,” Joe pressed, “so there’s obviously something in the past that set them against one another. As colleagues you must know what it’s all about.”

  “I’m, er, I’m not sure it’s relevant,” Kane said. “It has nothing to do with Ballantynes.”

  Disbelief caused Joe to raise his voice. “Nothing to do with … according to the cops, they got into a fight and killed each other on your premises. I’d say that makes it a lot to do with Ballantynes. Now listen, Dave, we have an agreement. You ask me to help, I said yes, but I need to know everything which may be pertinent, and whatever the beef between these two, it’s pertinent, even if it’s only to lead the law up the wrong garden path. Now either fill me in, or I’ll walk out of here and go back to enjoying my weekend off.”

  A silence followed. It was probably only a matter of a few seconds, but to Joe it seemed like an age. Kane and Amy exchanged a single glance, but then would not look at each other. They found the barren walls of the office or the bland brown of the carpet tiles more interesting.

  There was a knock on the door and Megan Stafford entered carrying a tray of tea things.

  Joe recognised her and beamed a smile of greeting on her. “You okay today, luv?” he asked.

  “Much better, thanks.”

  She placed the tea tray on the table and left them.

  “She was very upset yesterday afternoon,” Joe told the others.

  “Must have been the shock, then.” Amy said. “She didn’t care for either Stan or Peter.”

  Joe made a mental note of it.

  Amy and Kane appeared to have found some relief from the interruption, and they busied themselves pouring tea, sorting out milk and sugar, and furnishing Joe and themselves with refreshments.

  And while he watched the innocuous antics, Joe’s irritation grew. They enjoyed the distraction; it took their minds away from the direct and disturbing question he had asked. While he waited for them to settle again, he racked his brain to ascertain what could be so damning that it called for such recalcitrance.

  “Right, so we have tea and biscuits. Now tell me what the hell was going on between these two guys.”

  He was greeted with another silence, shorter this time, while unspoken messages passed between the pair, each willing the other to deliver the story.

  Joe was about to step up his demand, when Kane said, “I think it would be better coming from you, Amy.”

  She gave the briefest of nods, and then spent a few moments looking through the windows. Joe followed her stare and focussed on the upper arches of The Big One. He had the feeling that whatever was to come, it affected her in the same way that the rollercoaster affected its passengers. Thrilling, yet frightening.

  Eventually, she took a breath and began.

  “Peter and Stanley were the best of friends. They met while they were in the army, and they became pals. When they got out, Stan landed a job here as a driver. He managed to get Peter a job, too, so within three months, they were both working for Ballantynes as drivers. Stan was on days, Peter on nights, and recognising their friendship, the company made them tractor buddies.”

  Joe frowned. “Tractor buddies?”

  Kane took up the explanation. “The company realised a long time ago, Joe, that if you keep the same driver on a tractor unit, he looks after it. He keeps it clean inside and out, and he reports the smallest of problems. He tends to have fewer bumps and scrapes because he’s living in it for one third of his life.”

  “Logical enough,” Joe agreed. “I deal with plenty of truckers at my café.”<
br />
  “The difficulty is we run twenty-four-seven,” Kane went on. “Which means you have a man driving a tractor on days and a different man on nights. The company decided that we would use the same two men on a tractor all the time, or at least, as close to all the time as we could. They were tractor buddies.”

  “The system worked,” Amy said. “They took care of their tractors, and any unreported knocks or bumps could be narrowed down to one of two men, and that made the drivers aware of the need to report such incidents. It would get them into a flaming argument with their tractor buddy if they didn’t.”

  “I get the idea,” Joe said. “So Stan and Peter were tractor buddies.”

  “Correct. Stan would start at seven in the morning and be finished for six in the evening. Before he clocked off, he would wash the tractor exterior and clean the interior. He’d check it over, report anything that needed reporting or, if he had a situation where he needed to book the unit off for repairs, he would do so. Peter came on duty at seven in the evening and finished at six in the morning, and he would go through exactly the same routine. It was good system. It reduced the amount of time tractors spent off the road.”

  “Okay, so I’m clued up. What went wrong?”

  “Their lifestyles were different,” Amy replied. “Peter was married. He met his wife here at Ballantynes, and it’s why he worked nights. What with children, a mortgage and other commitments, he needed the extra money. Stan hated the thought of marriage.” She smiled fondly. “He always said his worst nightmare would be waking up to find that he was married.”

  The connections began to form in Joe’s mind. “I think I can see where this is going, but carry on.”

  Amy sighed again. “The inevitable happened, as I think you’ve guessed. Stan would finish work at six, Peter started at seven, and by half past nine, Stan was in bed with Peter’s wife.”

  Joe tutted. “With friends like that, you don’t need to go shopping for enemies, do you? And Peter found out, did he?”

  Amy nodded. “It had been going on six months when someone tipped him the wink. Peter played it very clever. He booked a night off, but he asked the managers here to keep it secret. He turned up for work as usual, but his job was handed to a temp driver, while Peter went home. He sat in the lane, not far from his house until he saw Stan’s car pass. Then he gave his wife and Stan half an hour before walking up to the house and caught them at it on the front room rug.”

  Joe shook his head sadly. “End of friendship.”

  “More than that, Joe. It wrecked Peter’s marriage. Stan didn’t want to know the wife, Peter couldn’t forgive her, so they all ended up living alone and all ended up very angry at each other.”

  Joe seized on the statement. “Hold on. So here we have a wife who’s been a bloody fool, and she’s lost everything. She’s angry at Stan because he doesn’t want her, she’s angry at Peter because he doesn’t want her either, and she’s probably angry at herself for behaving like a bitch on heat. She worked here, too, you said. Is it possible that the resentment could have built up until yesterday when she snapped and went for both men?”

  “No,” Kane said. “All this was ten years ago, Joe.”

  “Yes but—”

  “I can assure you, Peter’s ex-wife had no part in this,” Amy interrupted.

  Her confidence irritated Joe. “How do you know?”

  “Because I am Peter’s ex-wife.”

  Chapter Seven

  Joe felt as if he should have second-guessed where Amy was heading, and he was irritated that he had not seen her admission coming. He took his annoyance out on her. “And that’s why you didn’t want to talk about it?” he demanded. “Embarrassment?”

  “Partly,” Amy confessed. “It’s an open secret. Everyone who’s been with Ballantynes for any length of time knows about it, but no one speaks of it. Listen, Joe, I hold a senior position within the union here. I’ve been with the company for almost thirty years. Ever since I left school. The only time I had off, aside from holidays, was maternity leave. You think I want people sniggering behind my back? You think I want drivers and loaders hitting on me because they think I’m easy? I know what I did. I know it was wrong. Peter and I tried to patch it up, but he couldn’t. If it had been anyone but Stan, maybe, but they were best friends, and the unwritten law says you don’t do that to your best friend. I mean, are you married?”

  Joe shook his head. “Divorced. A long time now. But there was no one else involved. We just didn’t see eye to eye, businesswise.” He paused a moment, marshalling his thoughts. “Look, you insist this had nothing to do with the incident yesterday. How can you be sure? All right, so it’s ten years ago, but Peter could still have harboured a lot of resentment.”

  “And he did,” Amy promptly agreed.

  Kane tutted and Joe turned his attention to the manager, raising his eyebrows to invite comment.

  “Peter was always better motivated than Stan,” Kane declared. “Stan was quite happy to remain a driver. Peter was more ambitious, so while he was still driving he took management courses and got the necessary qualifications to bring him off the road into the office. The CPC, Certificate of Professional Competence.”

  “I’ve heard it mentioned,” Joe said. “Remember, I run a truckstop.”

  “Yes, well, within two years of Amy and Peter splitting up, Peter was promoted. He began as an assistant in Dispatch, and he applied himself. About three years ago, he became my deputy.”

  “And he made life hell for Stan.”

  Joe spotted the look of fury crossing Kane’s face, but before he could comment, Amy got there.

  “I’m sorry, Dave, but facts are facts. I’ve been researching this all week, and the figures show that Peter came down harder on Stan than he did any other driver. For minor infringements, most drivers would get a telling off, but Stan would get a formal warning. Peter would take the first opportunity to cut Stan’s safe driving bonus.”

  “Safe driving bonus? Joe frowned. “They get extra money for doing what they should do anyway?”

  “Welfare and productivity, Joe,” Kane explained. “If a driver gets through a year with less than a set amount of repair costs, he gets a bonus of a hundred pounds. We wouldn’t dock it for, say, a broken light, but more serious damage would automatically lose a driver his bonus.”

  “If someone hit your truck,” Amy said, taking up the thread, “it wouldn’t count against you, but in Stan’s case it did. I’ve had several meetings with you over it, Dave, and you know I have.”

  “Amy, you’re not the only one who’s been looking at the stats this week. I have, too, and yes I’ve noticed Peter was a little hard on Stan, but have you looked into the grief Stan caused for Peter? He went out of his way to embarrass the man.” Kane stood up and crossed the room to the filing cabinets. Stretching over them, standing on tiptoes, he reached up to the shelf above and dragged down a box file.

  Joe noticed that the effort had cost him. He was sweating and short of breath when he got back to the table.

  “Bloody idiot builders,” he grumbled. “Why don’t they position these shelves for someone who’s only five foot three?”

  Joe laughed. “I have a similar problem in my kitchen. It’s a stretch to reach the top pie rack. I leave it to my nephew, these days. He’s six foot and then some.”

  Kane grunted and opened the box file. Inside, it was crammed with what looked like official report forms. “Formal complaints from Peter concerning Stan’s attitude. If something went wrong, and Stan heard about it, he’d be crowing in the dispatch office, saying things like, ‘It’s what you get when you have a man like him running the job.’”

  “The ‘him’ in question being Peter?” Joe asked.

  Kane nodded in passing, but his words were directed at Amy. “Stan made Peter’s life hell. He compromised the man’s authority.”

  “Is it any wonder?” Amy demanded. “Peter tried to walk all over him at every opportunity.”

  “Peopl
e—”

  To Joe’s irritation, they carried on bickering, talking over his attempted interjection.

  “You cannot have workers dictating to their managers. That’s why you and I meet so often. If Stan had turned up at the disciplinary meeting next week, this would have all come out.”

  “Can we stick to the—”

  Again Joe was unable to complete his demand as Amy stabbed back at Kane. “And what action would you have taken against Peter?”

  “You sound as if you’re on Stan’s side. Against your ex-husband.”

  “I’m being professional, Dave. I’m paid to represent Stan’s interest. My personal feelings don’t enter into it. I—”

  A loud CRACK cut her off. It was Joe, slamming the flat of his hand down hard on the table top.

  Silence fell and Joe glared from one to the other. “I didn’t come here to listen to you two arguing office politics. Can we stick to business?” He allowed a second silence to fill the room while they brought their feelings under control. “Thank you. Okay, so we have two men constantly at each other’s throats, and it’s small wonder that Burrows came to the conclusion he did. Let’s play it his way for a minute, and ask why should it happen yesterday? What was so special about yesterday that everything came to a head?”

  “Stan was fired,” Amy declared.

  “Not fired; suspended,” Kane argued.

  “It amounts to the same thing. You would have called him back next week, and we both know he would have been sacked.”

  “If sufficient doubt could be established, we would have found him alternative employment,” Kane retorted. “You know the company position on staff welfare. We don’t—”

  “You’re doing it again,” Joe interrupted. “Staff welfare may or may not be important to you, but it doesn’t matter a toss to me. Why would Stan have been fired?”

  “You know why,” Kane replied. “He was drunk. He hit your bus, didn’t he?”

  “Ah. Right. Tell me what happened when he got back here.”

  “Stan was held at the gate pending the police turning up.”