by R. W. Hughes
Sergeant Paul Robinson CID sat down at his desk and looked at the pile of folders in front of him. He had been in the police force since leaving the RAF in which he had served for seven years. There he had reached the rank of senior flight controller and liked his position and the responsibility that went with it. He would possibly still have been there now if he’d not managed to get a WRAF, who he was courting at the time, pregnant. After his marriage, he and his wife with their newly born daughter lived in married quarters. With the poor conditions in this sub-standard accommodation he eventually succumbed to the ultimatum from his wife that he either left the RAF or she would leave him. This, over a period of time, stretched their relationship to breaking point.
The police force, which at that time was advertising for applicants, seemed an ideal solution, so he had applied and been accepted. After his initial training P. Robinson had made steady but not spectacular progress in the force, starting on foot patrol as a rooky constable.
After several years doing the rounds his first application to be transferred to CID was surprisingly accepted, possibly helped by the fact he had kept his nose clean, scratched the right backs and was also a member of the local branch of the Freemasons’ Association.
Over the years Robinson built up a reputation as a clever copper and for the last three years had been in the top four for the most number of convictions. He had been a sergeant for five years, just recently passing the exams for inspector, but he knew it would be many years before he would be considered for that position if and when a post became vacant at that level.
He placed a file in the closed tray. The gypsies that had been convicted of the theft of copper wire and tools from the electric company had been placed on bail to appear for sentencing in a week’s time.
Paul Robinson knew they would just simply disappear, as did the magistrates and it was one way of getting these travellers to move on to the next county without going to the messy business of obtaining a court order to evict them and their families from the private land where they had made their camp. There were several files on unsolved burglaries and some petty opportunistic thefts, a lot of these could be put down to the gypsies and went in the file headed ‘No Further Action at Present’.
He was undecided what to do with one of these files, wavering before looking at the contents once again. This was no opportunistic theft, it had definitely been a well-planned operation, and the rare first edition book valued at over £700 had possibly been taken to order. The youngsters involved did not fit into this category, and it was unlikely but not impossible that regular criminals would use them in this type of theft.
The customer who had first asked to see the book had been investigated and was beyond suspicion. Sergeant Robinson placed that dossier in ongoing enquiries with the case file concerning the attempted theft of the safe from the electric company. In this case, he did not believe the reports in the local paper of an organised gang from the city; he felt those involved were more local. The police had also drawn a blank with their enquiries into this crime. That file too went into ongoing enquires.
He looked at his watch, there was just time to have a cup of tea then he would have to be off for an appointment with a fellow freemason. He was a local town councilor and one of the directors of a large house building firm that had its main offices in the town. Apparently, they had opened their local building site on Monday morning to find their main compound and storage shed had been entered and stripped of a number of expensive appliances like central heating boilers, electric cookers, fridges and washing machines.
His constable pulled the unmarked police car up at the show house at the entrance to the private estate as had been instructed on the telephone; there would be someone available who would direct him to the site’s compound.
‘More than I could afford Willie,’ he said to his companion as he looked around at the luxury properties with their large double garages and manicured front lawns.
‘Me too Sarg,’ Constable Wilson replied as he pressed the fob on his bundle of keys and locked the car doors.
The door to the show house was opened by a smartly dressed young man who directed them over thick, fitted carpets into the kitchen where the floor surface changed to light oak boards which matched the fitted kitchen units.
‘Good morning Sergeant, my name is Mrs. Grant; I’m in charge of house sales on this site. I am the person who contacted the police station on the instructions of the chairman of the board of directors Mr. Goodier. Mr. Daniel Goodier.’
Mrs. Grant did not have to emphasise the name. Paul Robinson already knew that the chairman of this building firm was a major figure in the local Lodge. To solve this case quickly would be a feather in his cap.
‘I have a list here of all the missing equipment that was taken from the compound over the weekend,’ continued Mrs. Grant, irritated that this sergeant was not giving her his full attention, but showing more interest in looking around the show house. She had some prospective customers coming for their second viewing, which was always a good sign, and she did not want these police officers hanging around, it could gave the wrong impression of the area.
‘You certainly install some very good equipment in these houses, Mrs. Grant,’ ventured the sergeant as he opened the door of the dishwasher.
‘Yes, we only install the very best and the workmanship is of the highest standard,’ replied Mrs. Grant irritably, handing the list to the sergeant’s assistant, Constable Wilson.
‘And what do these properties sell for Mrs. Grant?’ queried the sergeant. Mrs. Grant did not reply but went and opened a drawer in the kitchen, taking out three colored brochures.
‘All the details are in these brochures,’ she said haughtily, making a point of handing the papers not to the sergeant but to his constable.
The Sergeant could not help but notice the gesture.
‘Thank you for your time, Mrs. Grant,’ he said curtly. ‘We’ll go now and have a look at the compound. If I need to speak to you again can I get hold of you on the number you left at the station?’
‘Yes! The telephone number I left at the police station is the number of this show house. It also doubles as our sales office for this site and I can be contacted here at any time during office hours or you can leave a message on the answering service.’
She opened the door for the two men and shouted, ‘Geoffrey, could you please show these two gentlemen to the site compound,’ the instructions were directed to the young man who appeared from an adjoining room at the shout of his name.
It was while they were walking along the pavement, with the newly occupied houses on either side, that Sergeant Robinson attempted to open a casual conversation with the young, slightly built man in front of them. ‘Have you worked here long, Geoffrey?’
‘No, sir,’ was the polite reply.
‘Where did you work before Geoffrey?’ continued the sergeant.
‘This is my first job, sir,’ was the instant reply.
‘Apparently, the compound was not broken into but the thieves opened the gates. Do you know who has the keys to the compound, Geoffrey?’ queried the sergeant.
There was several moments silence before the youth in front of him replied.
‘No, sir, but I will ask Mrs. Grant and she will let you have a list.’
The young man had stopped in front of a high fenced compound that was at the end of the completed houses and the beginning of the second phase of new houses on the site that were under various stages of construction.
‘This is the compound, gentlemen. Mr. Goodier is here to meet you. I’ll take you and introduce you to him.’ Sergeant Robinson had already met Daniel Goodier on several previous occasions through his membership of the Freemasons but he was racking his brain about where he had seen this youth before. He was hoping the longer he was in his company the quicker it would click in his memory.
All three entered a long, wooden shed situated in the compound. The sergeant immediately recognised t
he man standing in the middle of the empty building.
As they entered, Daniel Goodier walked over to the small group standing beside Geoff.
‘I hope young Geoffrey has been of some help to you and your constable, Paul,’ he said looking at Sergeant Robinson and then placing his hand around the shoulders of the youth at his side in a friendly gesture.
Sergeant Robinson was not slow to observe the slight stiffening in the posture of the young man. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, I’ve a lot of other duties to perform,’ said Geoff as he skilfully disengaged himself from the clutches of the long arm of the older man and left the wooden shed. That was well done, thought Sergeant Robinson. He had had his suspicions for a while about Daniel Goodier and the rumour of his homosexual tendencies. It was clear to him that this youth was not a willing partner in his advances.
It was also obvious to the detective mind of Sergeant Robinson that previous clumsy approaches had also been made towards the young man, and in view of the present reaction, these had also been just as skilfully rebuffed.
‘Well as you can see, Paul, they have cleaned out the shed. They came during the weekend, picked the lock of the security gate and then emptied the shed of its contents.’
‘They certainly seem to be very professional,’ answered Sergeant Robinson. ‘Do you have a security firm patrolling this site Mr. Goodier?’
‘Yes! They come on several occasions during the night and always at a haphazard time. The firm’s name is on the papers that Mrs. Grant gave you if you wish to contact them.’
‘Thank you, we will. In the meantime we’ll see if anyone in these occupied properties saw anything unusual over the weekend while it’s still fresh in their minds. Thank you for your time, Mr. Goodier. I’ll contact you if I have anything to report or if I need any further information.’
‘That’s fine Paul. You don’t mind if I call you Paul do you Sergeant?’ replied Goodier, smiling – showing a set of yellow stained teeth. After all it’s not as if we’re strangers.’
Sergeant Robinson did not like it when clients tried to get on a personal familiar level; from previous experience they were usually the ones that caused problems at a later stage in the proceedings if things didn’t go their way. In Sergeant Robinson’s mind things were not adding up. The theft had been discovered at 7.30am; the phone call reporting it at the police station had not been made until 9.30am, and yet within an hour of that phone call a full list of the missing equipment had been prepared. It was also strange that the storage shed had been stripped of everything. In his experience of this type of theft the thieves were in and out as quickly as possible, taking only the most valuable items, as they did not know when the security firm would visit the site or if any one of the occupied properties could have phoned the police to report unusual activities, especially as this had happened over the weekend when the site was closed.
There was only one of the properties that overlooked the compound that answered to the police officers ringing their door bells. ‘The owners of the other properties are probably working their socks off to pay the high mortgages they must have taken on to buy one of these luxury dwellings,’ commented the constable dryly.
The old lady who did answer their door to door enquiries was the mother of one of the owners. Her daughter, with her husband, had applied for a mortgage for one of the three bedroom luxury properties and the mother had made up the shortfall they needed from the sale of her bungalow. All this came to light as they sat drinking tea in the kitchen, the window of which overlooked their large, rear garden and, further on, the fenced-in compound.
The old lady, who was a widow, was glad to talk. She rarely saw anyone during the day as both her daughter and son-in-law were away working in the city at the central offices of one of the country’s national banks. They did not arrive home during the week until late in the evening.
As Sergeant Robinson engaged Mrs. Holland in conversation, cleverly steering her on to subjects that were relevant to the case in hand, Willie Wilson made notes, he had just finished a course in short hand and was quite thrilled that the opportunity had arisen to put it into practice. He had only recently been assigned to Sergeant Robinson and this was the first time he had seen the senior officer at work. He was immensely impressed by the subtle way the sergeant interviewed Mrs. Holland without the old lady realising that she was, in fact, being interviewed. He was able to obtain all the details he required then gently bringing her back to the relevant story when she wandered on to other subjects, which she did quite frequently.
It turned out that on Saturday afternoon her daughter had been away shopping whilst her son-in-law had been away from the house playing golf. She had noticed that there had been a large, white van parked in the compound for a short time. This, in itself, was not unusual as she had seen goods delivered on a Saturday afternoon before, but what was unusual was the fact that Mrs. Grant usually supervised these Saturday afternoon deliveries. On this occasion Mrs. Holland had not seen her, only the driver and two assistants in brown store man’s smocks.
There had been no deliveries or any van there on Sunday. As it had been a nice day she, along with her daughter and son-in-law, had spent most of the day working on the rear garden so they would have noticed. On Monday morning at about seven thirty, after she had seen her daughter and son-in-law off to work, she noticed there was a lot of activity in the compound. Mrs. Holland also said that several workmen were moving a lot of equipment, encased in cardboard on those wooden bases they place things on nowadays, across to one of the nearby nearly completed houses. ‘They all seemed to be under the supervision of the man with the big fancy car who is always very smartly dressed; I think his name is Goodier or something very similar.’
After an hour of talking to Mrs. Holland and refusing what would have been their third cup of tea, the sergeant and Constable Wilson left the large detached house, making their way back towards the show house at the entrance of the estate that also doubled as an office for the sales lady Mrs. Grant.
Geoff Larkin had been in the upstairs rear bedroom of the show house. From here he had a good view of the compound; he’d seen the CID sergeant and police constable leave the enclosed area and large storage shed making their way across to the rear of the houses that overlooked them. From there he lost sight of the two men and as they did not re-appear he presumed that they had entered one of those properties. He’d seen the two policemen earlier as they left their car and made their way towards the show house.
He’d instantly recognised the sergeant from his appearance at the theft of the copper wire so he was surprised that the policeman did not recognise him, but then here he was in smart clothes, and a shiny clean face, clean finger nails and highly polished shoes. At their last meeting he’d been in a pair of dirty and ripped overalls that were tucked into a pair of oversized wellingtons, wearing a bob hat with a mop of unruly hair projecting from the sides, and leaning on a yard brush.
Every so often, he would start the motor on the hoover that he’d taken with him to the bedrooms, just to give Mrs. Grant the impression that he was not being idle.
He saw the two men as they suddenly appeared around the corner of the road. He winced as he realised they were making their way back in the direction of the show house. He took the hoover back down the stairs and was placing it back in the utility room adjacent to the kitchen when the men knocked on the rear door. Mrs. Grant came through from the lounge, letting the men into the kitchen. Geoff stayed where he was in the wash room. From here he was out of sight but could hear their conversation quite clearly.
‘Thank you, Mrs. Grant,’ said the sergeant politely as they entered the kitchen. ‘Just one or two minor points I need to clear up. We’ve had a word with one of the residents, she was in her property over the weekend. Now, did you have any deliveries to the site booked in for Saturday?’ Mrs. Grant thought for a few seconds before replying.
‘There were definitely no deliveries booked into the site on Saturday, of
that I am sure,’ Mrs. Grant replied emphatically.
‘And you were here all that time?’ continued the sergeant.
‘Well, I was on the site all of Saturday. I may not have been in this particular show house all that time but I did not leave this estate.’
‘So if you left this house where did you go to and at what time, Mrs. Grant?’ pressed the sergeant.
He could see that the woman standing in front of him was getting a little flustered. From his position in the kitchen, looking past Mrs. Grant and through the window over the garden and on to the compound, Sergeant Robinson had a clear view of the site storage area, especially, the entrance.
‘I had to go and visit the other show house at one point in the afternoon. There was a problem that I needed to discuss and clarify with Mr. Proudlove. He’s one of the firm’s directors you know.’
Sergeant Robinson looked at his companion who was busy scribbling in his notebook before asking another question. ‘Was there anyone in this house while you were in the other show house, Mrs. Grant?’
‘Why, yes, Geoffrey was here all the time!’ she replied quickly, suddenly feeling very relieved.
It was then that Geoff opened, and then closed, the external door to the wash room, giving the impression that he had just entered the property. He walked loudly across the tiled floor into the kitchen, acting surprised as he was confronted by the two men and Mrs. Grant, who all looked at him as he entered the room.
‘Oh! I’m sorry, Mrs. Grant I didn’t know you were busy,’ he volunteered with a smile. He then made to walk out of the kitchen towards the lounge.
‘Geoffrey!’ exclaimed Mrs. Grant after the retreating figure. ‘Would you confirm for Sergeant Robinson that I did not leave the estate on Saturday?’
Before Geoff could answer the sergeant quickly intervened. ‘I’m not suspicious of you Mrs. Grant, it’s just that I need to know of everybody’s whereabouts on Saturday afternoon, as that’s when I think the materials went missing. We’re looking for a large, white van with three occupants wearing brown warehouse smocks. They were seen on the site on Saturday afternoon.’
