by Marian Phair
“Well, Mrs Higgins, could you just confirm your name and address for me, and your postcode please.” Martha answered his questions and watched as the officer wrote it down. Then, over the officer’s radio, she heard them asking for back-up.
“What’s happening officer? Is Mrs Bradley alright?”
“Nothing for you to worry about, Mrs Higgins, we’ll take care of things. Thanks for your help. You can go home now, but we may require a statement from you later.”
Martha was straining her neck as she tried to peer around the officer to see what was going on. The ambulance crew were sitting in their vehicle, making no attempt to enter the house. This only served to rouse her curiosity even more.
“Aren’t they going to take her to the hospital?” Martha asked him.
“Like I said before, we will take care of things now, Mrs Higgins. Be a good lady and go home, so we can get on with our job.”
At the officer’s insistence, Martha left, and hurried home full of her own importance. She just couldn’t wait to tell her husband, Jim her news.
CHAPTER 23
A white tent had been erected in front of the Bradley’s home. The inner red tape was in place, and the blue tape, reading, ‘Police Line Do Not Cross’ was in the process of being used to mark the outer demarcation area, when DCI Fletcher arrived. Putting on the protective overalls, paper shoes, and latex gloves, he entered the house adjusting his face mask as he went.
Inside, the officer’s were documenting the crime scene each man had been assigned to a different area. One officer was taking photographs, and video taping, using a six inch plastic ruler as a scale, arranging it next to the item he was photographing. Other’s, were making a detailed plan of the murder scene to show the position of the furniture, doors and windows, adding notes to indicate if the windows and doors were open or closed. The exact measurements of distances, heights, and the positions of blood stains, were being recorded. All the documentation had to be completed before the physical evidence could be removed from the scene.
The DCI remembered reading an article somewhere, where solving a murder case had been described as ‘like working a jigsaw puzzle in reverse, starting with the whole picture, with the pieces all in place. Then the investigators have to pick it apart, examine, and scrutinize individual sections, one by one, hoping to locate and identify the key pieces.’ It reminded him of his favourite T.V. series ‘Columbo,’ starring Peter Falk as a homicide detective. The programme allows the viewer to see the murder take place first, and then the seemly bumbling detective, Columbo, has to ‘undo’ the pieces of the jigsaw to catch his killer. The team finished the documentation, and the gathering of the evidence began. Jake had seen some terrible crime scenes over the past few months, but nothing he had seen before was as horrific as the scene he was witnessing now.
The M.E. Dr Dan Carter, bent over the remains to conduct a brief examination while the body was still at the scene. He lent in closer, and carefully lifted an eyelid.
“Can you give me a T.O.D, doc?” Jake asked him.
“Well, the cornea is cloudy,” he told him. “That would put the time of death somewhere between six to eight hours ago.”
Jake glanced at his wrist watch. “It’s ten o’clock now, so that would place her murder somewhere between two and four a.m.”
“Well, the eye fluid test is a more accurate way of establishing the time of death than the liver temperature, so yes, I’d say she’s been dead for at least six hours. We can move her remains now. Once I do the autopsy, I’ll be able to tell you more.”
A plastic sheet was laid out near the victim and the carpet was cut away around the body to preserve any evidence. Then the carpet with its gruesome remains was placed onto the plastic sheet and wrapped carefully, so that no clues would be lost when the body was moved, and taken to the mortuary to await post mortem examination.
When the M.E. had left with the body, Jake stood for awhile deep in thought as the Scenes of Crime officer’s went about the business of gathering the evidence. Fingerprinting around the door locks and handles, knowing as they did so, that the prints would be too smudged to be of use. Following procedure nevertheless, the prints on the glasses and the Whiskey bottle would be of more use. He watched as the young rookie officer, Tom Holmes, carefully bagged and tagged Evelyn’s diary and address book. Placing them into separate bags, and folding them the required three times top and bottom before taping them, and adding a label bearing the contents of each, he then, in the space provided, wrote the date, his initials, and badge number, and signed underneath them.
Bloody shoe prints were found, leading from the lounge to the bathroom. In there, they found blood drops, smears, and handprints where the killer had washed a fresh wound, then bandaged his hand with a towel. A scene’s of crime officer was using cotton tipped swabs and sterile water to get the DNA from these blood stains, and also from the toilet bowl. All evidence would eventually be processed back at the lab.
Watching his team assist with the collecting of trace evidence, gathering hairs, fibres, and carrying out DNA swabs, Jake knew it would be a long time before he could stamp this case file, ‘Closed.’ He left them to finish processing the crime scene.
When he was outside, he removed the protective clothing he had been wearing, placing everything into a paper bag, to be taken away, and given to forensics to check for any evidence. Everyone who came in or out of the crime scene would have to do likewise. A crowd of curious onlookers were being moved away from the blue police tape by the two officer’s stationed there. Jake ducked under the tape, and as he straightened, a microphone was shoved into his face. He recognised Clive Marston, a reporter from the local press.
“Can you tell me what’s going on here, detective? Has a crime been committed?”
“No comment!” Jake pushed past the reporter, trying to ignore him.
“A tent is usually erected when a death has occurred. Has there been a murder?”
“No comment!” Jake replied.
The reporter switched off his microphone and waved the camera man back. He kept pace with the DCI as he strode towards his vehicle. In the past his dogged persistence had usually paid off, so he kept at him.
“Oh come on, Jake, you know me, we go way back. Throw me a bone will you?”
“No comment.” Jake lengthened his stride.
“Stop with this ‘no comment’ shit. I’ve got a job to do the same as you, just give me a break. Say a few words, I’ve helped you enough in the past.”
“OK! I’ll just say this, and it’s for your ears only for now. Keep your mouth shut and I’ll see you get a scoop when the time comes.”
“You have my word on it. Now, what’s going on?” Clive Marston’s face wore an expectant look, as he tried to keep pace with the DCI.
“A body as been discovered, and the person died in suspicious circumstances.” Jake told him, and saw the reporter’s face change to one of eager anticipation.
“Whose body was discovered?” Clive persisted with his questions.
Jake remained silent, his hand reached for his car keys, anxious to get away.
“Is that it? Is that all you’re going to tell me?” Clive snapped at him.
“I’ve told you all I can at this stage, make of it what you will, but its all you’ll get from me.” Jake got into his car, closed the door, and drove off, leaving the angry reporter at the side of the road, no wiser than he had been ten minutes ago.
CHAPTER 24
The canal looked sinister in the fading light as the afternoon sun began to wane.
Kneeling beside it, Albert splashed water over his face. His cheeks bore scars where the tracks of Lily’s fingernails had raked his face. His broken nose was misshapen where it had been poorly set by Lee Ming, owner of the Chinese Takeaway, and his saviour. Lee Ming had been kindness itself, treating his wounds, and taking care of him for the past week while they healed.
Sitting down, he removed his shoes and socks, and dangled his tr
avel, weary feet, in the murky water to cool, while he ate the remains of the now stale cheese sandwiches, made for him the day before by Lee Ming. Gazing off into the distance, he could see the spire of Lexington’s church, partly obscured by the trees, and knew he had only another seven miles to travel in order to reach his destination. He would need to be careful as Lily’s house might be under surveillance by now. He dried his feet on his socks; one had acquired a large hole in the heel. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, tears welled in his eyes at the sight of this hole. It was just one more thing to bring him down. Such a minor thing considering the events of the past ten days, but it proved to be the straw that broke the camels back. He sat on the grassy bank in the twilight and cried. All cried out, he put on the damp socks, then shoved his feet into his shoes, laced them up, and went on his way.
He had walked for roughly a mile along the towpath when he saw an unattended fishing rod, the line of which was dangling in the water. It had been left in a rod-rest; beside it were a fishing basket, bait boxes, and other paraphernalia required by the freshwater fisherman. There was no sign of the owner anywhere. Albert heard a noise coming from the bushes behind him. He turned his head in that direction, but couldn’t see anyone. What he did see, as he peered closer, was a bicycle, complete with saddlebags, propped up against the hedgerow. Then he heard the sound of someone farting, and he realised the fisherman had gone into the bushes to empty his bowels.
With a fast beating heart, Albert stealthily approached the bicycle, and eased it away from the hedge. Keeping as close to the grass verge as he could, he threw his leg across the saddle and rode off in the direction of Lexington. An outraged voice shouted out behind him, ordering him to stop. Albert cast a quick glance over his shoulder, and saw the irate owner of the bicycle, with his trousers at half- mast trying to run after him, struggling to stay upright. Throwing caution to the wind, Albert picked up speed, and with his legs working like pistons, he sped off into the night.
The first building Albert saw when he rode over the small bridge that crossed the canal on the outskirts of Lexington, was the White Lion public house.
A couple sat enjoying the balmy evening air, at one of the wooden picnic-style tables that were dotted here and there in the cobbled yard. They sipped at their beverages under the soft light from the lanterns, while moths, fluttered above their heads.
The smell of ale wafted in the air, and Albert couldn’t resist the impluse to stop.
Parking the bicycle against the back wall, he considered his situation. He had no money, but he badly needed a drink, the problem was how to obtain one without the necessary funds. His eyes glanced towards the saddlebags; maybe there was something in them he could trade for a drink. Undoing the buckles, he rummaged around.
The first one yielded nothing of use, but on opening the second, Albert could not believe his good fortune, inside was a half bottle of whiskey. He sat down at one of the tables as far away from the couple and the doorway, as room would allow. Sitting with his back against the wall, in order to observe the comings and goings, he drank thirstly from the bottle in his hand; the neat liquor caught in his throat, and he almost choked as it burnt a pathway downwards. What he wouldn’t give for a beer chaser right now! he thought.
He watched the couple in front of him, as they sipped their drinks and conversed in low tones. The man leant in and whispered something into her ear, which caused her to chuckle. He leant in again, and as she turned towards him, he kissed her. Albert felt a stirring in his loins when the man slid a hand up to her chest, and fondled a breast as he kissed her. He continued to watch, unobserved, drinking from the whiskey bottle every now and then. After a short while, they got up, leaving their drink’s half finished on the table, and they disappeared into the night.
Albert wasted no time at all in taking up their glasses. Then pouring the contents of one glass into the other, he added the dregs from the whiskey bottle, mixing his own, unique, cocktail. He drank greedily from the glass until it was empty. As he set the glass down, he felt his head spinning, and leant against the table, realising he was drunk.
Retrieving the stolen bicycle, he managed to get his leg over the saddle and wobbled away. He hadn’t gone very far before he realised he was heading back across the bridge in the wrong direction. He tried to do a U-turn, but the front wheel hit the brickwork, throwing him forward. He went flying over the handlebars banging his head in the process, landing with a splash in the canal, startling the couple who had chosen this spot to continue their courting. When Albert went under the water for the second time, the man removed his shoes and dived in to rescue him, while his girlfriend ran back to the White Lion for help.
An off-duty police officer, and the publican, came to their aid just as the man had reached the bank, holding onto the now, struggling Albert. They helped to haul Albert out before he drowned his rescurer. Drunk and concussed, Albert staggered around as the off-duty officer tried to find out what had happened. Whenever anyone went near Albert, he would lash out at them, mumbling incoherently. The officer decided to take Albert to the station and get the police doctor to check him over. Within two hours of being hauled from the canal, the struggling Albert was dispatched to Broadmeath for assessment.
Three days had passed, and the wily Albert, realising that the doctors hadn’t yet discovered the cause of his ‘violent’ antics, decided that hiding here in Broadmeath was a safer place as any. Who would think of looking for him in a mental hospital?
All he had to do was keep up the pretence, stay silent and react when anyone tried to touch him. He had been given a room of his own, was fed three times a day, and allowed in the communal lounge to watch television. Twice a day he was given medication in the form of two white tablets, and the nurse overseeing this procedure made sure he took his medication in front of her. She ordered him to swallow, and then to open his mouth in order for her to check that he had actually swallowed the tablets and not hidden them under his tongue. Albert was one step ahead of her. Using his tongue to push the tablets between his upper lip and gum, he swallowed the water, and obediently opened his mouth. Taking care not to disturb the tablets in their hiding place, he raised his tongue and placing his fore-fingers in his mouth, pulled his lips apart exposing the cheeks and lower gums. Satisfied that he had taken the prescribed mediction, the nurse would continue with her duties. Albert would then go to the toilet and dispose of the tablets, thankful that nothing had been given to him in liquid form.
Only one thing worried Albert as time went on. What was the medication he was being given, and what was it used for? He had no way of knowing. What would happen if he accidently swallowed these tablets? Cautiously, he began to hang around when other patient’s were called at the appointed time to take their medication. Albert watched surreptitiously, as they were put through the same proceedure as him.
He was more interested in seeing what they were being given, and how they reacted before and after treatment. He noted that one man in particular, who the nurse simply addressed as Sam, was very agitated beforehand, and Sam was being given two white tablets that looked very like the ones he was supposedly taking. Albert watched Sam closely, and noted that within twenty minutes of taking his medication, Sam appeared much calmer. Albert decided that he would mimic Sam’s actions to futher his own cause.
Little did he know then, that one day in the not too distant future, this would not save him. And once again, Albert would find himself on the run, and in hiding. Just another fugitive from justice!
CHAPTER 25
Father Patrick sat nursing his cup of coffee, lost in thought. Sally sat next to him at the kitchen table with her glass of milk, the plate of biscuits between them, untouched.
He wondered how Scott was getting along with the task he’d taken on, replacing the broken slabs that separated the lawn, from the vegetable plot, with a brick pathway.
He made a mental note to ask Scott if he could fix the broken lock on the bathroom door. The more odd jobs and r
epairs that could be done by themselves the better, having limited funds for these things.
“Do you think I should tell Ruben about my candle spell, Father?” Sally asked him.
He didn‘t reply. It was only when she spoke a second time, raising her voice slightly, that he snapped out of his reverie.
“Well, Father, what do you think, should I tell him?”
“I’m sorry, Sally, did you say something? I’m afraid I was miles away.”
“I said,” she repeated her question, “Do you think I should tell my friend Ruben about my magic candle spell?”
“What?” Father Patrick was startled back to reality.
“No! You shouldn’t tell anyone, if you do, the spell doesn’t work. Anyway, I think you should forget about magic spells now. I had no business telling you of such things in the first place. I thought new stories would help you to get over your sorrow at the loss of your young friend, Liam, and help you to cope with his death. That’s the only reason I told you about the candles and the spells, and this must remain a secret.”
“You mean the spells weren’t real, Father?” She looked crestfallen.
“Stories, that’s all they are, Sally, just stories. Now, do you promise me you will forget about such things, and not tell a soul? The magic spells will be a secret, just between the two of us.” What would people think if they found out about this, he thought, and him, a priest!
Sally felt excited and all grown up to be sharing a secret with an adult, and didn’t hesitate in letting him know.
“Yes, Father, I promise, cross my heart and spit.” Sally crossed her heart, but didn’t spit. Her mother had taught her that spitting wasn’t nice, and ladies never did it.
“Can I tell you a secret too, Father?”
“Yes, child.”
“Promise not to tell?”
“I promise. I, too, will cross my heart and spit.” He smiled even though he knew she couldn’t see it.
