Unsafe Deposit

by J. E. Kellenberger

  The hospital waiting room was crowded and Ruth had plenty of time to think over what she would say to Rosemary’s aged parents. As far as she knew her friend’s parents, with whom she still lived, were in their mid-seventies and although not infirm they relied on Rosemary greatly. Non-drivers and without private pensions, Rosemary supported them financially as well as practically. She worked hard in the extension they had had built onto their previously small kitchen some years ago to house the special oven and worktop space that Rosemary needed in her expanding cake business. Ruth had met them on a number of occasions when they had had open days at the allotment or when they had joined in their daughter’s birthday get-togethers at the pub. She prayed that there would be no really bad news to give them and when Ruth was called through to the cubicle where Rosemary lay, flat on her back with her eyes closed, she was thrilled to learn from the junior doctor that apart from a broken left clavicle and a simple fracture of the left humerus everything else was minor. All the cuts and contusions were superficial but some small shards of glass had embedded deeply in the fleshy part of her left shoulder and would need to be surgically removed under a local anaesthetic. They were planning to do that tomorrow morning as Rosemary was still in a state of partial shock and would remain in the hospital overnight. They asked if she was family and Ruth explained that she was a friend but would go in person to the patient’s home when she left to see the next of kin.

  Rosemary’s father recognised Ruth immediately when he opened the front door. Without waiting for an invitation Ruth barged into the narrow hall and told him straightaway that Rosemary had been involved in an accident but that she was going to be fine. On hearing voices her mother came into the hall, sensed something was wrong and started shaking. Taking control Ruth said that they should all go and sit down in the lounge and she would explain what had happened. Emphasising repeatedly that their daughter was going to be fine, Ruth recounted the story of the day’s happenings. Tomorrow Rosemary would have the pieces of embedded glass removed and her shoulder and her arm immobilised in a sling and she would be ready to leave at midday. She would have an outpatient appointment seven days later and five weeks after that when the bones should have mended she would start physiotherapy to get back normal movement. Ruth made a cup of tea for them as they were in a state of partial shock themselves. She left when they were both calmer, telling them that she would collect Rosemary from the hospital the following day and not to try going in to visit her today as she was mildly sedated and needed rest. As she said goodbye Rosemary’s mother clasped Ruth’s hands in hers saying bless you for helping my dear daughter.

  Chauffeured back to the allotments to collect her bike by Bert, her adjacent plot neighbour, who had had the common sense to padlock the rear wheel of her cycle, they stood looking at the wreckage of the shed.

  ‘It was a miracle she got out alive,’ said Bert.

  ‘I wonder if the council has been down to see it,’ replied Ruth. ‘The allotment committee has told them several times that the tree was dangerous.’

  ‘They just don’t listen,’ commented Bert. ‘I was here last year when they sent their tree preservation officer along. I told him that the branch was dangerous. He pooh-poohed it when I suggested the tree might shed the branch. Summer Branch Drop it’s called. It can happen in any summer but particularly when it’s a warm and humid one. And even if the tree and branch look healthy it can occur. No, he knew better, just said that because the black poplar is our most endangered native tree the council had no plans to cut it back let alone cut it down.

  ‘They won’t have a foot to stand on when they receive the claims for compensation.’

  ‘They’ll find some obscure reason not to pay out, mark my words,’ said the down-to-earth Bert, ‘they’ve got all those fancy legal people to help them.’

  ‘I know a fancy solicitor myself who won’t let them get off the hook,’ replied Ruth determinedly. ‘Rosemary will need compensation as she won’t be able to work for at least seven weeks, possibly more, and her shed and tools will need replacing too.’

  ‘We rang them after you and Rosemary went off in the ambulance. They sent a man down to inspect the scene. He made notes and took some digital photos and went off. One of the other plot holders took some photos too and he also wrote down the names of all the people who were present when it occurred so Rosemary will have witnesses.’

  ‘That was really smart thinking,’ said Ruth, ‘just the sort of evidence Rosemary will need.’

  ‘The fire brigade will also substantiate the facts. The incident will have been logged in their records.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ said a weary Ruth.

  ‘Go home Ruth,’ Bert advised. ‘You look all in, must have been an emotionally draining day for you. Go and put your feet up and relax. I’ll get some of the men to help me clear up the mess tomorrow and give our best wishes to Rosemary when you pick her up from the hospital.’

  ‘Thanks Bert,’ she replied, wheeling her bike away slowly, completely oblivious to the scattered seed potatoes spilling out of the shed rubble.

  It was a sombre and tired patient she ferried home the next afternoon. Uncomfortable in a shoulder immobiliser and dosed on painkillers from the morning’s minor surgery, Rosemary looked pale and fragile. Her parents helped her gently from the car and amid a sea of family kisses and tender hugs Ruth left them to themselves.

  ‘Thanks for all you have done,’ called out Rosemary. ‘When the branch came through the shed roof it cracked down onto the workbench where I was standing. I can’t remember much but I can recall the snapping noise as the bench broke into two. It was your seed potatoes and onions sets that saved my legs. The plastic bags they were in must have split and the potatoes fallen out and cushioned my legs from the impact. So you see I have a lot to thank you for.’

  Ruth stopped in her tracks and gaped open-mouthed at Rosemary.

  ‘I’ll keep in touch,’ she promised.

  It was only a short distance from her friend’s house to the allotments but Ruth drove at breakneck speed and drew to a sudden and bumpy stop outside the entrance gates. Dashing along the narrow grass pathways to Rosemary’s section, her heart was in her mouth. How could she possibly have forgotten about the pouch and its contents hidden amongst the seed potatoes, she kept asking herself. She had arranged the pouch so carefully in the centre of the bag, completely hidden from the outside. When she arrived at the site there was nothing left. Just the concrete slab on which the hut used to stand and a few lengths of undamaged timber slats laid out neatly on it. She stood looking in disbelief.

  ‘I did as I promised,’ called out Bert as he made his way over to join her. ‘Three of us cleared up everything, saved what we could, loaded what was beyond saving into Charlie’s van and he’s gone off with it to the dump.’

  ‘What have you saved?’ asked Ruth immediately.

  ‘A few bits and pieces: gardening gloves, seed packets, that sort of thing. A couple of hand tools: trowel and secateurs, a completely unscathed watering can and some seed potatoes and bulbs, probably onions.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Ruth, putting her hand over her mouth in an involuntary gesture. ‘The potatoes and bulbs might be mine. Where did you put them?’

  ‘I stacked them just behind my lean-to. Put the various items into a garden tidy bag and threw the potatoes and onions into a cardboard box. I’ve covered them with an old tarpaulin to keep them dry. Nothing worth stealing there,’ said Bert decisively.

  If only he knew, thought Ruth, as she rushed almost indecently to the back of Bert’s lean-to to examine the contents of the cardboard box. On her hands and knees she delved into the loose tubers pushing them this way and that, endeavouring to see down to the bottom of the box. In frustration she tipped them out onto the ground and set about a systematic search.

  ‘Is this what you are looking for?’ asked Bert, standing
over her and dangling a black pouch between a dirty thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Oh yes,’ responded Ruth as casually as she could.

  ‘Do you always keep your costume jewellery at the allotments?’ asked a smiling Bert.

  Trying to think on her feet, Ruth grinned back, stood up and took the pouch from Bert.

  ‘Not quite that,’ she said. ‘Truth is stranger than fiction and you’d never believe me if I told you!’

  ‘I’ll lend a hand to try to keep Rosemary’s plot ticking over until she’s able to do it herself. It will keep me out of the way of my missus!’

  ‘You’re a real softie,’ said Ruth, giving the old man a peck on the cheek. ‘Thank you so very much Bert, you’ve saved my bacon!’

  The beaming Bert was none the wiser about the gems but the peck on the cheek had made him feel like a million dollars.

  Usual place, usual time, Doug had said, and Ruth was now ensconced in their usual place in the Four Feathers. It was remarkable how quickly they had got into this habit, she thought, as she started assembling in her mind all the things she had to tell Doug when he arrived. The warm smile on his face as he approached the corner table made her stand up. She didn’t know why. Maybe it was easier to embrace when both parties were standing upright. And that’s what she wanted so much, for Doug to embrace her. No, she mustn’t initiate that, she was older than him. She would have to wait and hope that he felt the same way about her. He leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

  ‘A bit of homework,’ he said, indicating his bulging briefcase which he plonked down on a vacant chair. ‘The practice is taking on a new lawyer to deal with some of the more routine conveyancing, a woman, but until she starts in three months’ time I’ve got to soldier on. Anyhow, enough about that. How are you?’

  ‘Well,’ started Ruth, ‘there has been a bit of a to-do at the allotments to say the least.’

  She described the events of the past thirty-six hours while they both sipped their beers and crunched on the salt and onions crisps and Doug’s facial expressions went through their full repertoire of movements.

  ‘I don’t know where to hide the gems now. That’s the bottom line!’

  ‘We’ve been here before,’ said Doug, ‘I think the damn things are cursed.’

  ‘They do seem to cause trouble wherever they go,’ agreed Ruth.

  After a considered moment Doug said he would stash them in a lockable drawer in his desk at work.

  ‘I don’t really want to take them to the office but, in theory, they should be safe there. We can’t seem to come up with any better idea.’

  ‘I’m sorry to transfer the worry of them onto your shoulders,’ Ruth sighed.

  ‘They maybe cursed but we wouldn’t have met without them and I’m glad I’ve met you,’ he said, holding out both of his hands across the table for Ruth to hold.

  ‘I’m glad too,’ she replied, hoping that she hadn’t blushed.

  This was another small but definite step along the road to romance. They both knew it and treasured the tender moment.

  ‘Gosh,’ said Ruth finally. ‘I haven’t brought you up to speed on the silver saloon and website. Paul and my IT man have traced the car owner.’

  ‘Great.’

  Ruth explained that Paul thought the true owner of the car was a small company working in offices in Ludgate Hill. The email address of this company was on the list of email addresses that her IT man had compiled as having clicked on the site that Ruth had set up.

  ‘So your baited line got a nibble!’

  ‘Seems like it. But now we’ve got two different sources giving us the same answer. Surely that’s confirmation!’

  ‘Do we have a person’s name?’

  ‘No. Only a first name. Ron, as in “Ron@RLLmarketing”.’

  ‘And can we guess that the people after the gems are the same ones who stole the tube?’

  ‘It’s an odds-on bet,’ Ruth replied. ‘When they burgled my office they must have been looking for the gems and when they couldn’t find them they took the white tube instead.’

  ‘That’s a fair assumption,’ said Doug. ‘Ludgate Hill is not far from my office. I’ll try and make time in a lunch break to wander down there and see if I can find out any more information.’

  With a refill in their hands the conversation turned to Rosemary and how, if necessary, she could be helped to claim compensation.

  In the Square Mile everywhere can be reached by foot and it didn’t take long for Doug to find the building in question on Ludgate Hill, basking in the shadow of St. Paul’s Cathedral. Three companies had their name plates on display outside the building’s entrance but there wasn’t one for RLL Marketing. Doug entered through the swivel door and looked around for a helpful sign but found none. Being lunch hour the foyer was busy with office workers coming and going. Doug asked a lady waiting for the lift if she knew where he could find RLL Marketing. She didn’t know but they were, apparently, not on the upper floors. Looking around, the ground floor appeared to consist of just one company. There seemed nowhere else to explore except a flight of stairs located next to one of the lifts. On the half landing Doug was rewarded with the sight of the company name displayed on the first door he came to. As he hadn’t planned what he was going to do when he found the company’s offices, there being no question of knocking on the door and asking for a man named Ron, he made his way back up the stairs and out through the slowly turning swivel door. As he entered the swivel door from the inside a man entered from the outside. It was a face he recognised although it took Doug a few moments to recall where he had seen it before. From the outside he watched the man go through a door on the left-hand side of the foyer. Doug went back in and read the name plate fixed to the door. It stated Meares Import Export. Doug could now place the face he had just seen. It was Arthur Meares Jnr, of that he was sure. Recounting the situation to Ruth when they met that evening at their other “usual”, the Italian on the high street, Doug told her what he knew about Arthur Meares Jnr and questioned whether it was a coincidence that a man with his background should be working in the same building as the people who had burgled Ruth’s home.

  Doug recounted his background in law and how he came from a family with connections in several of its wide-ranging aspects. His mother’s first marriage was to a solicitor in rural Suffolk who had a one-man practice. They had a boy, Doug’s half brother, but the marriage broke up when the husband had an affair. Doug’s mother later remarried, a senior legal assistant in a London firm of solicitors, and they moved to outer London to be closer to his job. His half brother became a frequent visitor and to some extent took the much younger half sibling under his wing. When Doug completed his law degree at university and had decided that his career aim was to become a solicitor it was his half brother, an established barrister by now with one of the London Inns of Court, who found him work experience in a legal firm when he was preparing for his Legal Practice examinations and later a position as trainee solicitor while he was completing his two-year training contract before final qualifying. He’d pulled strings to get Doug into a top-notch firm and although Doug didn’t know it at the time he was to stay with the firm all his working life. During the period he was studying for his solicitors’ exams he was given the opportunity to see as many sides of the legal system as possible. This included sitting in on cases covering the whole spectrum of civil and criminal disputes. He was also encouraged to attend the various courts of law dealing with cases of such variety. One such case was “State v. Arthur Meares”.

  ‘This turned out to be Arthur Meares Snr,’ said Doug.

  ‘Right,’ replied Ruth, listening intently.

  ‘Arthur Meares Snr was an Eastender. A criminal through and through and we all knew he was as guilty as hell. But he had the money to engage the best legal team and we got him a top barrister.
It was my first introduction to the philosophy that requires us to pretend that our client is innocent. We are bound to do the best for him regardless of what we might think or guess and without proof of guilt we have to portray our man as an unlucky victim of a set of circumstances.’

  ‘Not nice and not easy I guess,’ said Ruth.

  ‘He was a very rough diamond. Not like ours!’ Doug twinkled, drawing a grin from Ruth. ‘At that time in his criminal career he was a landlord. A bad landlord it appeared, always harassing his tenants for rent, putting up their rents without justification and practically never repairing or maintaining the properties. It was before the Rent Act of 1977 which placed limits on how much landlords could raise prices for residential homes and although that act was repealed a decade or so later when another act was introduced, it gave tenants some protection against eviction and put various obligations on landlords.’