by Harry Nankin
“I have with me Ma`am, Constable Jock Peters, The Coroners Officer”.
“Ah, please sit down and update me, the obvious I suspect”.
Peters opened his file then said
“Professor Hallam has carried out the post-mortem on the deceased found dead in the river Dee, late yesterday afternoon”.
“The body has been identified by the Butler as that of Miss Emily Crampton”.
“I was present to represent the police. I assisted the pathologist as usual, by weighing the various organs and making notes”.
“The Pathologist found there were no signs of any natural illness or disease”.
“The causes of death as always are two”.
1a Strangulation.
1b Severe head injuries.
The strangulation.
“The circumstances were strange. There were no marks on the neck of the victim consistent with being made by a human hand”.
“There was sign of a bruise but it was wide and flat and what ever it was had pressed down upon the neck of the victim from above”.
“It was not a hard object such as stone or steel.”
“The cause remains a mystery".
“The injuries to the face and cranium however were consistent with a blow from large flat object, possibly a river stone”.
“Officers have searched the area and discovered the scene of the death was on a bend in the river some 100 yards from where the two witnesses were standing”.
“At the scene was discovered a large flat stone, this was consistent with having been used to inflict the injuries upon the victim”.
“The stone had been sent for forensic examination”.
“There were several footmarks found at the scene but also scuff marks. These have been photographed and impressions taken”.
“The set of footprints matches the prints of the feet of the deceased. Clearly the murder scuffed away his own marks”.
“Her clothing was found, this has been sent for examination”.
“Our enquiries continue Ma`am”.
“Thank you Constable Peters”.
“I can confirm that Detective Inspector Pearson and his Sergeant are continuing their enquiries”, said Jinton.
There was a knock on the door.
“I suspect that will be the Commissioner” said she.
It was, for the door opened and in strode Sir Claude Pendergast.
“Good morning Chief Constable, I am just in time it appears for an update”.
Far away from Cheshire in London there were other irons burning in the fire.
The new Prime Minister, the Right Honourable Montague Lybert was chairing his normal cabinet meeting when there was a knock on the door. He stopped in mid flow, looked up and called
“Who the devil is it?”
The devil was a devil, to his other staff at least. Miss Britney Poole his secretary, a tyrant of the first order.
“Seeing her he realised the error of his tone, “Yes Miss Poole how can I help?”
“I am so sorry to interrupt Prime Minister but The Sultan of Daram is wishing to speak with you and, immediately”.
“Who” asked he?
“The Sultan of where?”
“Daram Sir” she replied.
“I never heard of him, some tin pot fellow seeking aid I suppose. Take his details I will get the Foreign Secretary to deal with him. We have no money for ourselves let alone giving it away”.
“Very well Sir, she replied and commenced to leave.
A voice called, “Miss Poole please, wait, just a moment.”
Lybert looked to see who had countermanded his instructions; he was not a patient man.
It was in fact General Western, once head of Special Forces, now made redundant and the Special Forces with him.
All victims in the cuts made by Lybert.
Western had been an advisor on foreign policy but his career it appeared was likely to be brief, at least thought the others present from the expression upon the face of Lybert.
Western had his head saved from rolling down the river Thames or the exercise yard at the Tower of London when Lord Macmichael the Home Secretary intervened.
“Prime Minister, if I might clarify the position.”
“Please do, but be brief we have these further budget cuts in the police and other emergency services to make”.
“Ah well Sir that is my point” replied Macmichael
“The Sultan of Daram holds the largest oil reserves in the Middle East. You may not recall the affair under the last administration?”
“His son educated here was taken by terrorists. The day was saved by a British Special Forces Officer Al Justice and several men”
“You may have read the book sir, “A Crime or Justice”
“A rescue was made. As a result the entire oil reserves of Daram were given to this country and the United States at a concessionary rate enabling us to use and resell the oil at a good profit. The contract is due for renewal shortly. Should the Sultan award those contracts to Russia or China, if you think the British Economy is faltering now, without that oil revenue the prospects would then be unimaginable”.
“My advice to you Sir is to speak immediately with the Sultan”.
Lybert stopped in his tracks then looking around at the blank faces, then at Miss Poole,
“Put the Sultan through”.
Western said, “Prime Minister the Sultan is normally referred to as Your Highness”.
Lybert stuttered but faced with no alternative said.
“Good morning your Highness how can the British Government be off assistance to Daram?”
“Good day to you Prime Minister. You will no doubt be aware of the recent murders of my close friend Colonel Crampton and members of his family”
“Yes indeed” replied Lybert looking around and shaking his head, he had no idea of what this upstart fellow was on about.
“Yes it is all in hand” replied Lybert.
The Sultan continued “The position is so I am informed that another member of the family has been discovered murdered yesterday.”
“There remains only one member left. That member is my own ward, Wilson Crampton”.
“He is currently here in Daram, being educated. The poor young man is afflicted and in a wheel chair. I am reluctant; no refuse to permit him to return unless this murderer is arrested”.
“Oh I see I will get onto New Scotland Yard and the local police immediately Your Highness”.
Shrugging his shoulders.
“I am afraid that will not be good enough Prime Minister, I would very much like you to consider arranging for a retired detective from New Scotland Yard, one Jack the Hat Richards to be put on the case immediately”.
“I will see what I can do” replied Lybert.
“Please do Prime Minister, I am told Mister Richards has recently assisted your police in several cases I cannot foresee a problem”.
There was momentary silence when the Sultan added.
“By the way Prime Minister, no doubt you will be visiting here soon together with the President of the United States to discuss the next phase for the signing of the contracts for our oil.
“Why yes of course Your Highness, oh yes”.
The call ended.
Lybert looked at Macmichael and asked.
“What the hell was that all about?”
“In any event you deal with it. Do what you have to get this Richards fellow on the case. If that is what it takes? We need the bloody oil revenue”.
Turning to the Foreign Secretary he said,
“Are you aware of this forthcoming oil business?”. If so get on with it and arrange my diary? “Now, the next item on the agenda”.
The meeting over Macmichael returned to his office and it was not many minutes before the telephone of the Chief Police Inspector of Constabulary was buzzing had it been able to do thought Jepson it would fall off.
He picked it up “Jepson”.
/> “Hello Home Secretary, don’t worry I have not forgotten our golf date at the week-end.”
He stopped in mid-flow, listened then said.
“I see, you had forgotten, but that’s not why you called. I see"
There was silence from Jepson as his political master spurted out something which was, it appeared more important than a golfing date at the weekend.
He replaced the telephone then pressed the inter-com button. “Get me the Chief-Constable of Cheshire”.
It was moments before his phone rang.
“Jepson, HMI, who is this please?”.
“Ah, you Chief-Constable.
I have just had The Home Secretary on to me he has attended a Cabinet meeting during which the Prime Minister was interrupted by the Sultan of Daram. It appears and I quote, “You are suffering with a spate of murders.”
“A family, now let me think, what are their names?"
She interrupted him “It is the Crampton family sir,”
“Yes the Crampton family it seems they are all being murdered. One left, a young man. A ward of the Sultan of Daram, even being educated there, the young man is by coincidence it seems being tutored by the son Jack Richards of the hat fame”.
The Sultan is concerned for the safety of the boy, the last of the dynasty so to speak, as a result pressure is now being put on the British Government,”
“I won’t go into the reason, suffice to say it is being requested this Jack Richards be called in to assist in the case, might you be able to assist with this, Watkiss?"
She was not surprised. In fact, she herself had considered the matter. The Commissioner was also making ever more noises.
“I will get onto it immediately, Mr Jepson”.
“Well done”, he replied, condescendingly, keep me briefed”, he concluded.
The call ended.
Dick Pearson and his partner in crime so to speak arrived in the office having just finished performing three days duty at Shrewsbury Crown Court. The case had been a complicated one, importation of drugs. They were both pleased that having put a great effort into the matters last year, all their work had been rewarded with convictions.
The judge had been kind to them by commending them for their diligence.
Not so kind to the authorities dealing with the supervision of the importing of drugs.
Many millions of pounds involved. His Lordship, the judge had said how such a serious case it was and that the harm done to so many young people now in possession of the illegal drugs.
He had sentenced the whole gang to several hundred years’ imprisonment.
Unfortunately, when divided up between the participants this had amounted to about ten years each.
With time off for good behaviour and then the obligatory releasing on licence after a third of their sentence was served.
The whole gang of villains would be out on the streets in about three years.
Pearson sat, looked at the file at the top of his in-tray then sighed.
This caused his sergeant, Jonathon Gibson to look up over the papers he was reading. He knew the reason for the sigh, for he had made one, no doubt the same cause.
Gibson thought, “The blasted Crampton murders. They had spent hours on the cases following all possible avenues. The how’s and when’s all sorted, could they come up with a suspect or suspected even a motive, no, a complete blank”.
The latest murder would increase the pressure for results. As it stood, he, Gibson had not a clue.
His thoughts were mirrored by his immediate boss Detective Inspector Pearson.
Young, but thorough.
Great minds think a like and so had they have been able to mind read neither would have been surprised. The other was thinking along the same lines.
“What the hell do I do now?”
It was not a complete surprise when his telephone buzzed and on answering, it was the force Detective Chief Superintendent, Baz France.
“Morning, Pearson, I hear Gibson and yourself did well at the trial this week. I see the Clerk of the Peace, the voice of the learned Judge has been in touch passing on your commendations,
a very good effort”.
“Thank you Sir” replied Pearson, adding, “The sentence was rubbish they will be out on the streets before we know it”.
“Yes indeed” replied France, “but as they say, ours in not to reason why just do the bloody job then sit and cry”.
“A corny saying” thought Pearson but showing discretion made no comment.
“Well Pearson, if you would please come over to Headquarters, the Chief has made it known she wants an update on the Crampton murders, I suspect you are not surprised. I hear Pendergast has been banging the drum again”.
“What time?” asked Pearson.
“Say two o’clock, just after lunch time”.
“Ok boss” replied Pearson and on putting down the phone he looked at Gibson, “I have to be at Headquarters at two o’clock, a meeting with Detective Chief Super France and Miss Watkiss no less, the bloody Crampton murders”.
“What do I suggest for further action, I do not have a clue” he added.
Gibson smiled, said nothing but thought he was pleased he was still only a sergeant.
“Not being of the rank to sit in the senior officer’s dining room at headquarters at lunch time did have its merits” he thought.
Lunching in the senior officer’s dining room at any police headquarters was not exactly like the Ritz, more similar to the dining room of the rank and file officers but with a little finesse, bullshit in the words of the ordinary beat coppers.
There were some differences however. When it was quiet especially at breakfast the duty inspectors found themselves seated alone to consume the good old, full English breakfast.
Next door in the dining room of the minions the sergeants and constables together with the civilian staff could be viewed eating the same food but were all laughing and ragging each other.
At lunch time it was slightly different, officers of the rank of Inspector and above were joined by their seniors in rank up to and including the Chief-Constable, Assistant Chief-Constables and Superintendents. Most if not all of them had managed to acquire various soft touch jobs that being stationed at headquarters afforded.
Even within this inner sanctum there were other layers of the pecking order. The chief and her assistants sitting together and then the Superintendents in their group with the rest seated around them.
It was however, often an unofficial opportunity for the more ambitious to be seen and make their mark, without actually doing any real police work.
If not bringing and carrying for the chief officers then making very useful suggestions, many of which they had picked up whilst over hearing ordinary cops, but, being career minded they had noted it for passing on as their own ground breaking hypothesis.
There was always the down side for, if one said the wrong thing or worse, were seen to be playing on the gaming machine in the lounge after the meal, this was likely to be noted as conduct one expected of the minions, not senior officers.
It was often if not always overlooked that until the very recent years of the direct entry of senior officers, all who savoured life in the senior officer’s dining room had in fact begun their police careers as ordinary constables.
There was always a laugh when God forbid, an officer of the rank of sergeant or constable had married an officer who was or had attained the rank of Inspector or above. There were smiles as the couple approached the entry doors one went into the senior officer’s room whilst the other crept into the other ranks dining area.
There was more of a laugh when the senior ranking officer was the wife. This had from time to time caused the husband to be known by a nick name such Owen-Alice.
The food in the senior room had the added advantage that in addition to the meat and two vegetables, pizza and cottage pie, occasionally fish pie was on the menu. The senior officers were graced with steak and more
importantly, at no additional cost.
When Detective Inspector Pearson entered the dining room this day and as he walked to the table of the chief, the reason known only to him and his lunch partners, he was following upon directions from Miss Fenton the Chief’s Secretary.
All eyes were focussed upon him as he walked passed his minion colleagues but arrived at the table of the Miss Watkiss herself.
A small table however at which his immediate boss, Detective Chief Superintendent France was also seated.
It was two o’clock, Pearson has missed lunch and so when seated he discovered there was only work on the mind of Miss Watkiss.
“This Ma`am” said France “is Detective Inspector Pearson you may recall?”
“Ah yes Pearson I recall you from the briefings into these Crampton Murders”. She added then pointed to the chair a signal for him to be seated, he complied.
“Inspector, another murder. We appear to be no closer to solving the mysteries. The force is coming under pressure not only from the Commissioner Sir Claude Pendergast but now the Home Office. It would seem the family in addition to their long traditions and contacts with Royalty and various Government Ministers over years appear to have other influences. I will not go into these.”
Pearson sat passively; this was way above him, it sounded very much like politics. He was an ordinary copper who had just climbed up two ranks from walking the beat and trying door handles on night duty.
Chief Watkiss said, “I have decided Pearson to give you some assistance”
Pearson waited with bated breath he had not thus far been relieved of duties on the case, something which would not go well on his record.
“I am making every effort with I might say Home Office approval to instruct one Mr Jack Richards a retired detective superintendent from New Scotland Yard. He is now living in retirement here in Cheshire. He has on previous occasions been of immense value and assistance to this and other forces.”
“I have heard of Mr Richards. Goes by the name Jack the Hat, I believe.” replied Pearson
“Yes you have hit the nail on the head, Jack the Hat”. She said
“I am seeking to acquire his services as a consultant. He will be working in the back ground to assist and give you advice based on his years of vast experience and analytical skills”. She added, looking at Pearson’s expression her gambit was working.
