Their return home was uneventful but sad for Sally to know Tom was not on her flight. He would be flying home later in the day.
Four days after their return, there was a phone call which Elsie took.
‘Can I speak to Sally, please?’
‘And who’s calling?’
‘Er...it’s Sally’s friend.’
‘Ah..... Donkey?’
‘Yes. Oh.... and thank you very much for the card Mrs Dunning. It was much appreciated.’
‘Not at all. You have been very kind to Sally. One moment please.’
‘Sally, phone for you. It’s your friend Donkey,’ she shouted.
‘She’s on her way,’ she told her and held the phone covered by her hand. A few moments later Sally arrived and took the phone from her mother.
‘Sally, did you have a good holiday?’ asked Donkey.
‘Yes it was a good holiday.’
‘Lots of fun?’ she enquired making the conversation flow like melted butter.
‘Yes. I went swimming.’
‘Did you like that?’
Elsie overheard the start of the conversation and walked away pleased.
‘Yes, I liked swimming. I have a boyfriend now.’
Elsie smiled as she just got the jist of what her daughter had said. She knew Sally was pleased with life.
‘I will see him soon.’
‘Is he coming to see you?’ asked Donkey.
‘No, he lives in Bolton. I’m going there to play my harmonica.’
‘Listen, we should meet up. What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon. Er....not sure...oh yes, I’m doing nothing.’
‘Well, can you get to the bank? Your money is making terrific amounts. Another £500 and your profits will be growing like a baby elephant. Can you manage that?’
A baby elephant, thought Sally. The strange saying perplexed her for a moment. ‘Yes, I can get that for you.’
‘Okay tomorrow 2.30 p.m. we meet at Krum’s cafe on Rodney Street. Know where I mean?’
‘Yes, Krum’s cafe.’
‘Okay Sally, luv. Don’t forget the money. See you at the cafe. Bye,’ she switched off her mobile. Donkey thumped her thigh in delight.
‘Okay, bye.’
Sally put the phone down as her mother moved from the kitchen doorway into the centre of the room.
‘I’m going to meet Donkey at Krum’s tomorrow.’
‘Donkey? It really is a funny name for a girl,’ said her mother shaking her head and tying her apron on.
Sally smiled. ‘No, it’s her nickname. I told you. Donna is her real name. Donna, Donkey, you see?’
‘Ah that explains it. A pet name made from her real name.’
Sally then went up to her bedroom and began to play her harmonica. Donkey lingered in Elsie’s mind. Nickname or not, what was wrong with her name Donna, she wondered.
Krum’s cafe was in the heart of town. What Donkey liked about it was that it had a secluded area at the back and so they would not be overheard.
‘Good to see you again, Sally, luv,’ said a smiling Donkey.
‘Yeah. Had a good time in Malta then?’ asked Bones while hitching up his jeans.
‘Yes, a really good time.’
‘You’ve got a tan, Sally.’
‘Yes, Donkey, it was very hot,’ she said starting to shake.
The waitress approached. ‘Okay you guys, what are you having?’
‘I’ll have you, ya stunner,’ said Bones blowing a kiss.
‘Get away. You’re all talk. Now what are you having madam,’ she said to Donkey.
‘A latte, two sugars, an’ a slice of fly’s cemetery.’
‘We don’t make fly’s cemetery,’ she said with an air of superiority. ‘It’s a lovingly made currant square around here.’
‘Okay, that’s my order,’ said Donkey duly reprimanded by the cold glance.
‘And you, madam?’
‘Tea please.’
‘That it?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Sally feeling uncomfortable with Bones’ chat up line.
‘Now, smart Alec, what are you having?’
Bones coiled from her rejection. He tried to make it up to her.
‘What do you suggest from your marvellous counter?’
‘For you, sir, there’s the baked Alaska. You’re the one with the charm and wit; expensive tastes, I know your kind. A slice of baked Alaska?’
‘Okay and a latte too.’
‘The cake will cost you £6 a slice. Not easy to make ...... expensive ingredients...takes time.’
‘That’s fine. I’m not paying anyway. You’ll pay, Sally, won’t you?’
‘Yes, I’ll pay,’ she said reaching for her wallet in her jacket pocket.
The waitress left with the orders with a twirl of her skirt which caught Bones’ lecherous eyes.
‘Pretty girl that,’ he said.
‘Steady Bones, I’m your gal have you forgotten? And I’m sure Sally will get embarrassed with your antics. Anyway, I know you are all bluff or I’d not let you say such things.’
‘I’ve got a boyfriend,’ said Sally quite out of the blue.
‘A boyfriend, yeah?’ a surprised look covered both of their faces.
‘Yes, his name is Tom.’
‘You’ve kissed him then I suppose?’ teased Bones, grinning as he did so.
‘No, not kissed him.’
Donkey looked at Bones. They sniggered. Perhaps her boyfriend was a figment of her imagination. Nevertheless teasing Sally was so easy to do. But it had to be limited.
‘So, where did you meet Tom?’ asked Bones.
‘On holiday.’
‘I know that, you mean on Malta?’
‘Yes, in the hotel we stayed at.’
‘But....if you met him on Malta, was he Maltese?’
Sally laughed. ‘No, not Maltese, he’s from Bolton.’
‘Bolton? That’s a stone’s throw from here in Wigan,’ said a surprised Bones.
‘So you will be going over to Bolton to see him then?’ asked Donkey making Sally reveal her plans.
‘Yes, I’ll be playing in Bolton,’ Sally replied with a blank expression on her face.
‘Playing?’ asked Bones.
‘Yes, playing my harmonica.’
Donkey remembered seeing the mouth organs laid out in a line in her bedroom. She seemed to have a few. But she was very surprised that Sally would go to Bolton to busk.
The tray arrived with the manager carrying it. He laid the drinks down. ‘Now, who’s the big head getting the baked Alaska?’ he asked.
Bones raised his hand a few inches above the table.
‘Then listen mate, keep your eyes and hands off my lass if you know what’s good for you. Any more of your nonsense and I’ll report you to the police. Understand? Aye, harassment in case you were wondering, okay?’
Bones nodded with his mouth open.
‘Enjoy the cake, sir,’ the manager said sarcastically as he left.
The atmosphere was cold and tense for a few moments. They ate and drank in silence. But they had met for a reason.
‘So, Sally, did you get the money?’ asked Donkey in a whisper.
‘Yes, here it is.’
‘That’s good of you,’ said Donkey. ‘We’re well on the way to paying your fare to Bolton three times a week,’ she said winking at Bones.
‘Oh, I’d say five times a week Donkey. And enough for a night out with Tom, too. Hey, how does that sound Sally?’
‘That’s not much, bus fares are not expensive.’
‘That’s right Sally. I didn’t mean bus fares. I meant taxis and the taxi waits for you to bring you home again. That costs money,’ said Donkey.
&
nbsp; ‘But I don’t need a taxi. I’m going to Bolton with my mother.’
Donkey lifted her latte and sipped. She almost felt sorry for Sally. It seemed time to call off the next £500 demand for the time being.
There was no need to meet again in the near future. They needed to cool off. They had enough money to keep them in drugs for some time now and a slight niggle that Sally’s mother might have some doubts about her daughter’s relationship with them crossed their minds. In fact, the golden goose should hibernate a while. Bones agreed with his co-conspirator.
The following Friday night, Bones sat on the floor draining his second beer and flipping through the local paper. He did not read any of it. He was not good at reading. Good enough to read the names of the recently deceased and also the court pages. Little else interested him. Car sales, sports pages, letter’s page; all had no interest for him. Just pictures filled his mind as he began to feel alcohol muddled.
On page 12 was a picture which startled him. It was a picture of Sally playing her harmonica. The text was quite expansive. He called through to Donkey.
‘Hey, you seen the Wigan Post this evening?’
‘No, why?’ she asked with caution from their bedroom.
‘There’s a picture of Sally playing her mouth organ.’
‘Yeah? What else does it say?’ Donkey was intrigued. She ran through to grab the paper and sat down on the dining room floor, cross legged.
‘So, what’s it about?’ asked a perplexed Bones
‘It’s a long piece. I’ve not read it yet. Bring me a beer too, will ye, luv?’
Bones duly obliged anxious to hear the words which went with the picture.
Donkey pulled back the can’s ring and watched the froth rise.
‘Okay, let’s see what Sally’s been doing,’ she said taking a swig of the can. The next few minutes passed by in silence as Donkey read the article. She took another mouthful.
‘Christ. She’s not a busker at all. She’s performing with the Bolton Symphony Orchestra. Blimey, strike me down with a barge pole.’
‘Would if I could, Donkey. You mean playing her harmonica?’
‘Yes. They say it’s wonderful despite the fact she suffers from autism but she’s turned her difficulties into music. They say she’s appearing at the Octagon in Bolton.’
‘What, you mean our golden egg, Sally?’
‘Yeah, playing the Elizabethan Serenade in the first half as a solo and in the second half, with the string orchestra, she plays the bloody Beethoven clarinet Concerto - for the first time on harmonica. A fuckin’ world premier no less.’
‘Wow, god almighty. What a surprise. Bet her boyfriend is in the orchestra,’ Bones said with a flighty mind.
That night a key turned in the front door.
‘Hey, anyone at home? Sally? Mum?’
‘Oh darling, it’s good to see you, Becky,’ Elsie said running to the door and drying her hands with a dishtowel at the same time.
They gave each other a warm hug.
‘Where’s Sally?’ asked Becky straining an ear to the floor above.
‘Upstairs as usual, she’s been playing her harmonica most of the day.’
‘Yes, I read about her in the Manchester Gazette.’
‘Yes, now I can say she’s really looking forward to going to Bolton to play.’
‘Are you sure Mum?’ asked Becky holding her mother’s arm. ‘I mean she’s never done anything like this before.’
Elsie’s eyes began to water. She looked away so that her daughter would not see the tears pricking the corner of her eyes. Then a tightening of her throat made her lips quiver. ‘To think....we’ve missed all those years when she could have made her name as a well-known harmonica player.’
Becky led her mother through to the lounge with her arm in support. ‘Don’t worry. Life is like that. Carpe Diem. Seize the day, let her enjoy herself.’
‘Oh yes, she will.’ Elsie regained her composure.
‘I should tell you too, that she has a Bolton boyfriend.’
‘What Sally has? Bolton?’ Becky opened her mouth in astonishment. ‘A real boyfriend? Not easy for her to get there and back. I mean, does this man realise what Sally can be like?’
‘Well, he’s autistic too. We met Tom and his parents on holiday.’
Becky smiled as she placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder. ‘A holiday fling I suppose. Can’t see it going anywhere.’
‘No, probably not.’
Becky spent the weekend in her parental home. One reason was to discuss with her mother what present she could get for Sally’s birthday the following week. On the Saturday night she retired to her former bedroom which she felt would always be hers. She looked about the room and investigated what she had left in the drawers before she went to live in Manchester. She made a worrying discovery but chose not to rouse her mother there and then as she heard Elise and Sally were already snoring, loudly.
Becky did not get to sleep till 2 a.m. Her mind could not contemplate its disappearance. Had she taken it to her city home, she wondered. She must have. How else could it be missing from the room? With that thought in mind she slept soundly.
At breakfast Becky still had the necklace on her mind. She asked Sally about it.
‘Have you seen it? I mean seen it anywhere in the house?’
‘No, I haven’t seen it.’
Becky scratched her head. ‘Well, Mum, it’s a mystery, that’s all I can say.’
‘Don’t worry dear, it will turn up. I am sure it will.’
‘Yes, it will turn up, Becky, it will turn up,’ said Sally with a warm look of love towards her sister.
Becky smiled at her. She approached her and gave her a warm hug and patted her back.
‘Of course it will, Sally, of course it will turn up.’
8
Sisterly love
Inspector Mark Rawlings sat nursing a coffee at 11.10 a.m. in the police canteen when Sergeant Jim Boyd came in.
‘Over here Jim, have a seat,’ he said raising his arm.
‘I’ve been looking forward to this coffee. It has been a hard morning.’
‘Hard?’ questioned the Inspector leaning back as Jim pulled out his chair.
‘Paperwork. Can’t say I like it. Targets, reports, you know, that sort of thing. It’s not what I became a bobby to do.’
‘Yeah, know what you mean,’ the inspector said stirring his drink and tapping it with his teaspoon on the lip before returning it to the saucer. ‘I don’t like it either. It’s too quiet. That’s when the paperwork increases.’
‘Too quiet, sir? Yes, I’ve had that feeling. ....Do you think..... Bones and Donkey have hibernated or are they just under the radar?’
‘Maybe, maybe they are growing out of delinquency. You know, beyond the peak age of criminal responsibility?’
‘And into........?’ asked Jim following his thought.
‘If I only knew, if I only knew, Jim.’
‘Perhaps I could drive by there and recce the area?’ Jim said with a sudden impulse.
Mark sniggered. ‘You mean get away from the deskwork?’
Jim threw his hands in the air. ‘I’m obvious, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, but you do that. Let me know if you find anything of interest.’
Becky’s long weekend at home was coming to an end. She would return to the family home the following week when Sally would celebrate her fifty-fourth birthday. But before leaving Wigan on the Monday morning, she called at the local TSB bank where Sally had a dormant account.
‘Good morning,’ Becky said to Gwen, the young female desk teller who flicked a hair from her white blouse. ‘I’d like to transfer £100 from my account to my sister’s account.’
‘Certainly, do you have the account numbers handy?’ asked the teller with a provocative
ly low cut top bearing her name under the bank’s logo.
Becky brought out her card and inserted it into the card holder.
‘And your sister’s account, I mean accounts..... Which one is it you wish to credit?’
Becky thought for a moment. Could she possibly have two accounts?
‘I thought she had just one,’ she said grasping the counter with a strong grip.
‘She has one, that’s the active account and the other which seems to be more spasmodic.’
‘I wonder... you know my sister Sally is autistic? She’s not very good about money. I sort of unofficially keep an eye out for her in that department. I am a little concerned about her active account. Can I see it please?’
The bank clerk thought for a moment with her hand on top of the computer showing Sally’s transactions. She turned the screen further round and away from Becky’s eyes.
‘Just one moment please, madam,’ said Gwen.
Becky nodded and remained standing at the desk. She saw the young lady trot like a filly to the manager’s office. She chided herself for not having made her role more official in the eyes of the bank.
A few minutes later the door opened and the manager looked towards her.
‘Dr. Becky Dunning, it’s good to see you again. How’s Manchester?’
‘Ah.... you remember that’s where I am.’ Becky glanced at his name tab near his bank logo. Indeed she remembered the spotty faced sixth former whose name was Nigel Lees.
‘Yes, it has been quite a while since we’ve seen each other but my sister is at your hospital. She’s a nurse.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, Susan Clark, paediatric nursing.’
‘Of course, yes, I know Susan and I can see the family similarities now, but the married name threw me completely.’
‘It does, doesn’t it? Come, come into to my office for a moment please.’
Becky was pleased to be remembered by an old school friend and hoped the pleasantries would lead to an understanding of Sally’s finances.
‘Now tell me, have you the power of attorney in Sally’s affairs?’
The Trials of Sally Dunning and a Clerical Murder Page 6
