by June Tate
One of the detectives had a list of the stolen jewellery in front of him with a few items ticked off. He ran his pencil down the list and circled the ones that were still missing. He looked up.
‘Now don’t waste police time by denying you took these items, Stanley.’ He shoved the list across the table for Percy to see. ‘You’ve been recognised as the seller of these goods, but I want to know where the missing pieces are. The ones that are circled.’
Percy gave a cursory glance at the list. ‘I have no idea. They ain’t nothing to do with me.’
The detective glared at him. ‘But you don’t deny selling the pieces that are ticked off the list?’
There was no point in denial, he knew that. ‘No, I don’t deny it.’
‘Strange, then, you have no knowledge of the others as they were stolen at the same time.’
Percy just shrugged. ‘Nothing to do with me.’
‘Perhaps you were going to sell them to Frank Clarke.’
‘Who?’ asked Percy.
‘Don’t give me that old bullshit, Stanley! Clarke lives in Bournemouth, you and Clarke have done business in the past, but you had a falling-out, I hear, so don’t take me for a fool.’
‘Oh him! I ain’t seen the man in years. So what’s he got to do with anything?’
‘Don’t pretend you hadn’t heard that he was murdered and his body left in the cemetery.’
‘I heard about it, of course I did, but I didn’t know who it was.’
‘What a load of cobblers! I’ll tell you what I think. I think he came to buy your stuff and you had another falling-out and you knifed him.’
Percy pretended to be outraged. ‘You ain’t pinning that on me! Yes, all right, I’ll cough to the burglary and selling the other stuff, but not murder!’
The detective sat back and stared at his prisoner. He smiled softly. ‘I’ve waited for this day for a long time. Every villain makes a mistake at some time and you have made yours. I’ll prove that you killed Clarke if it’s the last thing I do!’
Percy just glared at him. ‘I’m innocent, I tell you, but carry on, enjoy yourself, but you have to prove it and as I didn’t do it, you haven’t a chance in hell!’
‘We’ll see,’ said the detective. He looked at the constable on the door. ‘Take him back to his cell.’ He picked up his papers and left the room.
As he walked back to his office he turned to his colleague. ‘He did it, I’m sure. I’d like to see him swing on the end of a rope. Now we have to prove it and that may take some time. Tomorrow we’ll bring in the brother. We’ll give him twenty-four hours to sweat, then we’ll question him.’
Arthur was indeed sweating. After the police had taken his brother away, he shut up the stall. He couldn’t bear to be the topic of conversation with all the other traders staring at him, yelling caustic comments. It was obvious the stuff that Percy had sold in Salisbury had been traced and that his brother had been identified or the police wouldn’t have arrested him but … would they be able to tie Percy into the murder? If they did, he too was looking at a stretch in prison.
Ben watched him as he packed his stall and saw how nervous he was. He was the weak link in the enquiry, he felt sure. Now that Percy had been arrested, perhaps his stint in the market would soon be over and at last he’d return to normal duties and be able to tell Phoebe everything.
Later at police headquarters there was a briefing to go over the daily events and the arrest of Percy came up, then the murder of Clarke. The detective in charge had a large board with a picture of Clarke and Percy, along with a list of stolen goods.
Reading the board, Ben suddenly remembered the night he’d walked to the brothers’ lock-up and found sand on the ground where it was obvious the entrance had been cleaned. He checked his notebook. It was after the robbery but before the body had been found. He mentioned it to the man in charge.
‘Maybe that’s where Clarke met with the prisoner. Perhaps they had a row and that’s where the murder took place. He’d have to clear it up and move the body before the next morning.’
‘It was very late that night when I was there and noticed the sand on my shoe. I thought it strange but had no reason to think anything untoward had occurred,’ Ben said.
‘We’ll send forensics round tomorrow, but too much time has passed really to find any clues. However, if we’re right, it might put the fear of God up young Arthur! We’ll do it before we get him in for questioning. I’ll get a search warrant for his lock-up. We’ll go in the morning.’
Arthur had decided to carry on as usual. His brother had been arrested for burglary but he was still a free man. If he continued to work, he hoped it would show he had nothing to worry about. He was therefore surprised to see a forensic team with a search warrant waiting outside the lock-up when he arrived.
‘What do you want to look inside for?’ he demanded.
‘I have a warrant, so just stand aside, if you please,’ he was told.
The men removed the cart and thoroughly searched the ground inside, taking samples from the floor. Then they looked over the stall itself and started removing all the goods on display, to Arthur’s annoyance.
‘You buggers be careful! I have to sell those items to the public. You mark any and I’ll be making a claim against the police for damaged goods!’
He was ignored. Then, when the team had finished, they packed up their gear and walked out.
Arthur was furious. ‘Hey! Aren’t you going to pick up this stuff and put it back on the stall?’
They ignored him and left.
Cursing loudly, he picked up the items, searching for any dirt marks and replaced them. Eventually, he wheeled the stall over to his pitch, aware of the stares from the other sellers, which he ignored. But Ben, who was watching him carefully, noted his nervousness despite his show of bravado. He wondered how he’d hold out when being questioned later that day.
It was just before closing time when a constable arrived and walked over to Arthur.
‘I’ve been sent to escort you to the station for questioning. I’ll wait until you put away the stall.’ He saw that Arthur was about to argue. ‘If you refuse, I’ll take you there in handcuffs. Your choice!’
Arthur locked up his stall, trying to show he didn’t care. But inside he was quaking. What would they ask him? Would they mention the murder? He, of course, would deny everything. Even being part of the burglary, knowing his brother wouldn’t have dropped him in it by saying he was involved. It was a rule they lived by if one of them was ever caught for breaking the law.
He was taken into an interview room and left there, sitting at a table.
‘Let him sit and worry,’ said Detective Inspector Jack Bentley, who was in charge of the case. ‘He’s not as strong as his brother. He’ll be wetting his trousers by the time we get to him.’
The longer he waited, the more nervous Arthur became. He longed for a cigarette to calm his frayed nerves. His mouth was dry and he needed a glass of water, but no one came.
After half an hour Bentley entered the room with another detective and a constable, the latter taking up a place by the door as the other two sat at the table opposite Arthur.
‘About bloody time!’ Arthur declared. ‘Can I have a glass of water?’
Bentley nodded to the constable, who left the room and returned with a glass of water, which he placed before Arthur who drank it greedily.
‘Where did your brother meet Frank Clarke? Was it at the lock-up?’
The sudden question took Arthur by surprise. ‘What?’
‘You heard me,’ snapped Bentley. ‘Where did your brother meet Clarke?’
‘Who the hell is Clarke?’ Arthur had quickly recovered.
Bentley frowned. ‘Don’t play dumb with me, son. Clarke came up to buy the stuff your brother nicked in the robberies of the three houses he burgled.’
‘I don’t know nothing about that or this Clarke fellow.’
Bentley sat back in his chair, silent for a wh
ile, just looking at the man opposite him, noting the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
‘I believe that you helped him. He didn’t break into those houses alone, I’m certain of that.’ He leant forward and spoke softly. ‘Now I understand you feel you have to stand by your brother and that’s admirable of you, but in this case it’s pure stupidity. You are a young man with his whole life before him. Your brother is a full-time criminal − you know that − and what’s more, he will be sent down at least for stealing and eventually for murder. Maybe you had a hand in that too! He’ll take you with him if you insist on lying.’ He paused and looked young Arthur up and down. ‘You’re a good-looking young man; they’ll love you in prison. You’ll have some big strapping bloke come up to you and offer to protect you from the others. Of course, there will be a price to pay for his protection.’ He saw Arthur pale. ‘If you reject him, then he’ll spend his time making trouble for you, making you pay for his losing face in front of the others. You won’t last five minutes!’
Arthur gathered his senses and glared at the detective. ‘I have nothing to do with any burglary and I’ve no knowledge of any man called Clarke!’
Bentley gathered his papers and stood up. ‘You obviously need to take time to think about this. I’ll give you that time as I loathe to see anyone throw away his future.’ He looked at the constable at the door. ‘Take him to a cell, I’ll see him later.’
As he walked past the cells, Arthur was talking loudly in the hope that his brother who was in one of them would hear him.
‘I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know nothing about any burglary, or a man called Clarke!’
The constable opened a cell and pushed Arthur inside. ‘You best be quiet, Stanley, or you’ll be in trouble!’ He shut the door and locked it.
But just along the corridor, Percy sat in his cell and smiled. He’d heard the message his brother had sent. Good to know he was denying everything. All he had to do was to continue that way.
But as Arthur sat in the empty cell with its stark walls, the one bed with just a blanket and a pail beside the bed, his bravado quickly subsided. This is what it would be like in prison, shut away day after day. This could be his life all because his brother was belittled by a remark from Frank Clarke! His only consolation at the moment was that the murder had to be proved and, as yet, there was no proof.
Chapter Fourteen
After further questioning, the police had no choice but to let Arthur go. They didn’t have any evidence to hold him and he vehemently denied all knowledge of the burglary and the murder. Ben had been told to maintain his place in the market and keep an eye on young Arthur. Which meant that Ben had no choice but to still keep his real occupation hidden from Phoebe.
It became common knowledge among the traders that the older brother was under suspicion of the murder, which unsettled young Phoebe. She was torn, not knowing what to do, still filled with guilt at withholding evidence, yet she kept silent. But she became quiet and withdrawn.
Ben was worried about her and one evening when they went for a walk, he led her to a bench in the park and putting an arm around her asked, ‘What is troubling you, Phoebe?’
She looked startled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Ever since Percy Stanley was taken away, you’ve been subdued. Evidently you have something on your mind. What is it? How can I help?’
She gazed at him, longing to share her concerns, but this was her secret and one she couldn’t share, not even with Ben whom she trusted more than anyone.
‘I’m fine, honestly. I’m still trying to get over the loss of my mother. I worry that I have Tim to take care of. It’s a great responsibility.’
He could understand that − after all, she was only a young woman. It hadn’t been that long since her mother had died, she was obviously still grieving.
He pulled her closer. ‘You’ll be fine. Your mother and father would be proud of you. Your business is steady; you have a good head on your shoulders. You’ll manage. It takes time to get over the loss of your mother, but eventually you’ll learn to live with it. We all have to face such difficulties − it’s life, I’m afraid. It isn’t always easy.’
‘But what if I was ill and couldn’t work. What then?’
‘Now stop that! You’re worrying about unnecessary things. You’re a fit young woman. Don’t give yourself a problem that isn’t there.’
She gave a wry smile. ‘You’re right, of course, I’m just feeling a bit low, that’s all.’
‘You’re allowed. Come on, I’ll take you for a quick drink, that’ll cheer you up, then we’ll go and collect Tim from his friend’s house. We’ll buy pie and chips on the way home.’
The change did her good, and when she saw Tim’s delight at the food, her spirit lightened.
Life went on and Percy, languishing in prison awaiting his trial, was soon forgotten and so no one made any further snide remarks about him to his brother.
Arthur, now more relaxed, was beginning to enjoy his freedom. No Percy to bully him and run their lives. The police hadn’t bothered with him again and he began to enjoy life. He went out in the evenings to the pub, flirted with various women, and even took one home for a night of sex. Life was good.
Ben, who was keeping a watch on him, wrote all this in his notebook. One evening, when Arthur had been in the pub for a couple of hours, Ben wandered in, ordered a pint of beer and pretended to be surprised to see Arthur sitting alone. He wandered over and sat beside him.
‘Hello. Nice to sit quietly with a beer after a busy day, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘We work bloody hard out in the open in all kinds of weather. We earn a break.’
Ben noticed that Arthur’s speech was slightly slurred, which didn’t surprise him. He’d waited for a couple of hours in the hope that the young man would be relaxed and maybe a little loose-mouthed, if led in the right direction.
He looked at Arthur. ‘It must be nice for you to be able to please yourself as to what you do and when.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it seemed to me that your brother tended to run your life. I always thought it must be difficult for a young man like you to be told what to do all the time. I felt it was a bit unfair, to tell you the truth.’
Arthur looked at him with a somewhat glassy stare but pleased by the unexpected show of sympathy. ‘Yes, Percy did like to have his own way.’ He took a long swig of his beer, then chuckled. ‘Now I pleases myself.’ He leant forward. ‘I took a girl home the other night. Couldn’t do that before.’
Grinning, Ben said, ‘Good for you. Every man should sew his wild oats before settling down. Let me get you another beer.’
As the evening wore on, Arthur continued to chat. ‘Percy never treated me with any respect, he doesn’t respect anyone. He thinks he’s the big I am! Well he isn’t now. He’s locked up in a cell and I’m free. He respects me now.’
‘Oh, and why now?’
Arthur tapped the side of his nose. ‘He needs me. For the first time in his life, he needs his little brother.’
‘Oh, and why is that?’
‘I know stuff, that’s all I’m saying. I’m keeping schtum. For once in our relationship, I hold all the cards, so he has to respect me.’
Ben didn’t press him further, but finished his beer then got to his feet. ‘I’m off to get something to eat before I go to bed. See you in the morning.’
When he arrived home, Ben wrote up his notes about the conversation. It was obvious to him that, indeed, Arthur did hold all the cards and if only he was made to talk, he could give the police the information they needed. But how could they bring this about? However, he had made an inroad this evening, and if he continued to befriend Arthur, perhaps he could lead him into a false security and catch him out.
The following morning, Arthur was late setting up his stall. Ben walked over to him and with a smile said, ‘How’s your hangover?’
Arthur pulled a face. ‘My hea
d’s killing me. I should have gone home when you did.’
Ben laughed. ‘You should always eat when you’re on a bender. That’ll teach you.’
Arthur grinned. ‘I’ll remember.’
Walking back to his stall, Ben was pleased. He felt that he’d taken an important step in making Arthur think he was someone who was friendly towards him, unlike anyone else in the market, and whatever Arthur said, he must feel alone at times without Percy.
Phoebe had seen the exchange between the two men and was unsettled by it. Why was Ben being so friendly to Arthur Stanley? It didn’t make any sense. The two brothers had been like pariahs, yet there was Ben chatting away and laughing.
Marj too had seen the exchange between the men and she wandered over to Phoebe. ‘Your boyfriend chooses strange friends,’ she said with great sarcasm.
‘He isn’t my boyfriend but, yes, it does seem a bit strange. Still, Ben is nice to most people.’
‘The brothers ain’t most people!’ retorted her friend.
‘It’s not our business,’ Phoebe said.
Marj wandered back to her stall, muttering beneath her breath.
That evening, Ben reported to his boss about meeting Arthur in the pub and it was decided that he try and strike up a friendship in the hopes that the young man would let slip some vital information, rather than have him back for further questioning.
It was Friday and the market had been busy. The traders started to pack up for the day. As Arthur was about to wheel his stall away, Ben stopped him.
‘Don’t know about you but I’m parched. Fancy a pint?’
Arthur looked pleased, ‘Good idea. I’ll wait for you to close up.’
