The Trials of Sally Dunning and a Clerical Murder

by Miller Caldwell

  ‘I assure you we have tested the prints with all known criminals. There is no match there. If only there was. I ask you if you were in my position, what would you have done?’

  ‘How can you ask me that? I don’t know your procedures.’

  ‘I suggest each fingerprint I take eliminates one of your community. Does that not reassure you?’

  ‘Superintendent, my community is unlikely to cooperate. Fingerprint everyone in the town and we will oblige but single us out to the ridicule of the local people then expect a reaction. Good day Superintendent.’

  His phone returned to its holder with a bang. The Supt threw his pen down on his desk and shouted through to his secretary.

  ‘A coffee please. Make it black today.’

  18

  Soundings

  Saturday mornings meant shopping for Tony. He was later than usual this Saturday. It had already past noon. He parked his six year old Volvo V70 in Morrisons car park and noticed Karen get out of her Volkswagen Passat nearby. He approached feeling his heart accelerate.

  ‘Hi Karen.’

  ‘Oh hello. Off duty today?’

  ‘Well, you could say that, if I ever am.’

  Karen lingered by her door. ‘Why? Surely you need a complete break from work?’

  ‘Yes, it should be like that but sometimes it’s a call from the police about a patient or I bump into a client who needs my attention.’

  Karen laughed loudly, her dimples imploding.

  ‘You mean, like me?’

  Tony smiled feeling a little awkward and dithering over how close his proximity should be.

  ‘Oh sorry. I’m not thinking about you needing attention at all. I mean medical attention of course.’

  ‘Just slipped out, did it?’

  ‘Okay Karen. You caught me out. You’ll never believe me now. Let me make it up. Can I invite you for a coffee then?’

  Tony felt excited and on edge. He wondered just what Karen’s feelings were at this moment.

  ‘Okay, yes a coffee. I’ve loads of time this morning. Let’s cross the road. The Bakehouse is more exclusive than the goldfish bowl here.’

  They made their way across the superstore car park and crossed the road. Tony held the cafe door open as Karen entered and the freshly baked bread warmed their senses.

  ‘That table, over there perhaps?’ pointed Tony.

  The waitress approached with pen and pad at the ready.

  ‘A cappuccino, please and a...fruit scone.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll have a fruit scone too and a peppermint tea if you have one?’ asked Karen

  ‘Certainly. Jam and cream with the scones?’ she asked.

  ‘Like a Devon Cream?’ inquired Tony.

  ‘Yes, sort of,’ she replied and with a grin and a smart twirl, she then disappeared heading towards the kitchen.

  ‘Herbal teas, very healthy.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Karen, ‘but I start the day with a coffee. It’s the only one I have all day.’

  Tony wanted to keep work from the conversation at all costs. He wanted to seem like a man who had a life outside work; a man with an ulterior motive to be played cautiously.

  ‘So what has the rest of the week got in store?’ he asked unbuttoning his sports jacket.

  ‘Playing the organ at the morning and evening services.’

  ‘Of course, how could I have forgotten? So that’s Sunday covered.’

  ‘You don’t understand. There’s a lot of preparation. The introit and the recessional require music and that’s at my discretion, subject to the seasons. It was my downfall too,’ she covered her lips with her right hand and giggled.

  Tony’s eyebrows gathered. He had forgotten the incident. Karen saw his eyes float upwards seeking the event.

  ‘The Stripper, remember. First time heard in a service I bet.’

  They laughed as the incident was remembered and enjoyed.

  ‘All in the past then?’

  ‘Yes, probably. Not possibly you hear. Yes probably as long as I take my medication.’

  The waitress brought a tray with what they had requested.

  Tony cut his scone in two and buttered each side liberally. Karen sipped her peppermint tea. As Tony layered the raspberry jam over the cream he became aware of a sound.

  ‘Do you hear that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That sound. Listen.’

  Karen suspended her scone half way to her mouth and cocked an ear. ‘Sounds like voices,’ she said with little interest in the disturbance and ate her first bite.

  As the moments passed the noise became louder and both of them realised it was some sort of demonstration. It grew louder as the gathering approached the cafe. Tony rose and approached the window. Then he realised that the Muslim population were demonstrating. Some of the slogans read: ‘Why Us?’ and ‘Muslims are Innocent.’ A man held a drum before him and kept the pace going forward with his beat.

  ‘Oh my God. This could cause problems.’

  ‘But why?’ asked Karen.

  ‘The two recent crimes are pointing towards their community. This could set off a multicultural clash. We certainly don’t need that.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Karen clearing the jam from her front teeth with her pinkie.

  Superintendent Graham called in Constable Miraz Yusef to his office.

  ‘You wish to see me, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Miraz, have a seat.’

  The Superintendent twiddled a pen between his fingers. ‘These two crimes, you obviously know which ones I am referring to?’

  ‘Yes sir. Farook’s death and the crematorium explosion.’

  ‘Yes. There is sensitivity around. It could frustrate the inquiry,’ Mr Graham spoke at a slow deliberate rate.

  ‘Yes, I am aware of that,’ said Mirza crossing his legs.

  ‘Until I get any other lead, I am concentrating on your people. You understand why?’

  ‘Yes, but was there not a Luton factor sir?’ Miraz asked holding his dark shaded chin with his right hand.

  ‘That was an early inquiry. That was when one of your traditional Mosque leaders left here to go to Luton but he has a solid alibi. He could not have been here when either event occurred.’

  ‘So the inquiry has run aground here in the town?’

  ‘Not run aground. I have deployed a fairly large team but the evidence is just not coming out.’

  There was a pause. Mirza clasped his hands tightly.

  ‘You are wanting me to infiltrate the Muslim community?’ he asked to relive the silence.

  Mr Graham smiled. ‘I can’t see it any other way. Can you?’

  Miraz shook his head. ‘They don’t exactly appreciate me being a policeman, you know,’ he said narrowing his dark eyebrows.

  ‘Miraz, we serve the whole community. Don’t forget that.’

  ‘I don’t, sir. I don’t, but we are not the whole community, are we?’

  Magdalene Smith had been assigned by the local paper to follow the two crimes. She asked to see Superintendent Graham the next day.

  ‘Thank you for taking the time so see me, Superintendent.’

  ‘Miss Smith, sometimes I need the press to make my voice heard.’

  ‘I can certainly do that but I must also tell the whole truth.’

  The Superintendent smarted. ‘And what do you mean by that?’

  ‘The demonstration the other day. That had to be reported.’

  He nodded, conceding her point.

  ‘You know, Miss Smith everyone and I mean everyone is innocent until found guilty by the courts of this land. That’s one message I’d like to get over. The other is that when each fingerprint is cleared, then that’s one less suspect.’

  ‘I don’t suppose that’s news to the Muslim community but I�
��ll incorporate it in my report.’ She placed her pen against her teeth. ‘Can I ask one question, you may refuse to comment but, I’ll ask anyway? Have you heard about the main demonstration for twelve noon next Saturday?’

  The Superintendent tried to hide his lack of awareness of the demo.

  ‘Who told you this?

  ‘The community are talking about it. I mean the Muslim community. They are bussing demonstrators in from towns nearby, from over the border too. Not just Carlisle either, Newcastle and as far down as Bolton and Manchester.’

  ‘As far as I am aware, I have not heard about this demonstration. It must go through the channels,’ he said realising it was a serious matter which would have to command sufficient police coverage. But how on earth was the police intelligence unaware of this development?

  ‘Is there anything else you might want to add?’ she asked.

  ‘No I don’t want to hog your column. The main points I’ve covered. This will be no witch hunt.’

  Miss Smith stood up to leave. Mr Graham approached to shake her hand. ‘At times like this we need to support each other.’

  ‘I assure you I am supporting everyone engaged in the detection of the crimes, Mr Graham.’

  Magdalene Smith left the room closing the door behind her. As soon as she had left, Mr Graham seized the telephone and contacted his operations Inspector.

  ‘Mark, no leave for operational units this weekend. We have a major Muslim march to police from 2.00 pm to 4.00 pm as well as the local derby match between Dundee United and our Queens lot at 3.00pm on Saturday.’

  ‘You could get a ban on grounds of public safety. Get them to change their day.’

  ‘No Mark, I can’t move the match but I’d be loathed to ban the march. They would see that as a further imposition. I’ll just have to take the risk and run with it.’

  ‘So that means three days to plan for a potential perfect storm.’

  19

  Things Boil Over

  Tony was anxious to get the group back together again and concentrate on their musical initiative. He requested them to gather at his office at 7 p.m. the following Friday. By Friday he had heard of no development in either case. He wondered whether Superintendent Graham might have to involve other constabularies to increase his detective capabilities. Even the Standard had dropped the story to the letters page apart from a three line quote from Supt Graham.

  Marti set up her drum kit while Ivan assembled his clarinet. Karen set her music on her keyboard’s stand; Tony presented his reed-filled mouth piece to the saxophone as Paul blew down his trombone and opened the drain button.

  They played a varied programme starting with Cym Rhondda played to the swell of the brass and keyboard organ instruments. Alan gave a solo of Red Sails in the Sunset and they all played Baker Street with Tony taking on the saxophone solo. Their break was well deserved.

  ‘I think we have a programme we can deliver,’ suggested Alan.

  ‘Bit early isn’t it?’ questioned Paul.

  ‘Why?’ asked Lizzie in a curt manner.

  Paul scratched his left calf. ‘You know. Farook. He was our driver wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s dead and buried. In the arms of the Lord and I don’t for minute believe he is not with us in spirit,’ said Lizzie.

  ‘I used to think like that,’ Paul replied in a down-hearted manner.

  ‘It’s not about thinking, it’s faith Paul. Surely that was the practice of the Salvation Army?’

  ‘Yes, it was but I’ve had a change of heart.’

  The coffees arrived. Marti offered a coffee to Paul. ‘You two are looking serious,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Paul is having a crisis of faith.’

  ‘Not a bad thing Lizzie. So did I. I left my church and joined the Baha’i faith. Never looked back. Give him time, there’s no rush in such matters.’

  Tony brought his tea over to the assembled trio.

  ‘I sometimes think religion is for a certain type of personality.’

  ‘What do you mean Tony?’

  ‘Well, and I’m thinking this through as I speak. If I was born in southern Ireland, I’d probably be a Catholic. Likewise if I was born in Islamabad, I’d be Muslim. So there is a cultural element.’

  ‘Maybe so but America has no traditional State religion and France has practically divorced itself from the church in a drive towards a secular state.’

  ‘I don’t get what you are saying.’

  With an uncertain smile Lizzie said; ‘Culture is only part of it. The central tenants of religion are that there is one God and all accept that.’

  ‘What if I don’t? I mean, who is God; where can I find Him; will he speak to me? I tell you it was easy being a Salvationist. I held my faith in my instrument.’

  ‘So Paul why the change of belief?’ asked Lizzie.

  ‘Because I had fallen out of the Salvationist tradition and could not find a new home for my beliefs.’

  ‘Have you given up looking?’

  ‘I suppose I have. Just waiting for the answers to fall into place.’

  Lizzie’s look was one of pity laced with frustration. ‘You’ll find your life with God if you try a bit harder Paul and pray, yes don’t forget to pray.’

  The Superintendent was up early on Saturday morning.

  So too was Tony because he had had a poor night’s sleep. Dogged by the memory of Farook and his demise and the lack of police progress in the case as confirmed in the local Friday paper, he stirred his morning tea without looking at it. His stare was focussed on the nuthatch eating his column of ground nuts in his upside down fashion in his back garden. If waking, eating and sleeping were his only chores he would not mind returning to this world again someday as a bird. Not a nuthatch however, working upside down was for Australians. He laughed at his surreal thoughts.

  Supt Graham had no smile on his face. He was already in the control room monitoring the road traffic as it entered the town. Police intelligence was warning him of buses from Edinburgh in the north and Manchester in the south setting off for the town’s Muslim demonstration. They would arrive at 2 p.m. an hour before kickoff at Palmerston Park.

  As the hour struck noon, the skies darkened. The first of the Muslim demonstrators had gone to the Mosque for prayers while others searched for halal shop vendors. By word of mouth the Muslim brotherhood were fed spiritually and nourished to satisfaction. The early football supporters had also been fed at the cafes buying sausage rolls, pies and Tunnock’s caramel wafers. Many washed their mobile lunch down with cans of beer. Other supporters were in the Lion’s Head ensuring by kickoff time that they were sufficiently fired up to shout out support for their team.

  Circulating around the town were police cars and police officers were in close communication as they took up strategic positions along the route. The Muslim brotherhood assembled and their umbrellas were opening.

  Rain, thought Superintendent Graham, just what was needed to quell any confrontations. But voices were being raised and confrontation seemed to be in the football supporters’ minds.

  A bolt of thunder made the Superintendent think it was the starting gun. But the sky was heavy. It had an angry bruising colour. Its strength to retain the rain could not hold. A flash of lightning preceded the tremendous downfall which followed. It did not stop. Gutter water was running in retreat towards leaf-blocked drains and cars were pulling off the road as drivers struggled to see ahead. The Muslim demonstrators were made of sterner stuff. They had organised themselves to march through the centre of the town and congregate in the local Park at the southern side. That was near the venue of the football match.

  Still the rain fell making the ink-stained letters of the banners run and eliminate their visual protest. This led to chants being heard. “Allah Akbar. Allah Akbar. Muslims Targeted, Muslims Together, Allah Akbar”.

&n
bsp; Through the empty town streets the procession slowly walked chanting while from shop fronts and shop windows the public looked on dismayed both at the weather and the marchers. A smile or two came the marchers’ way out of pity for their right to march was not in question but the day was. They had not chosen well.

  At Palmerston Park the referee made a pitch inspection as the terraces were filling. He consulted his two linesmen as they treaded over the green surface gingerly. Their boots sank gradually in the waterlogged penalty area. They returned to their dressing rooms with their decision to be made. Supporters of both teams looked on from under their covered terraces to the rain still falling heavily. Even they were beginning to accept the game was too dangerous in its current wet condition and not one silver lining could be seen around any cloud. Rain had set in for the afternoon, at least. It therefore came as no surprise when the Tannoy came to life and declared the game abandoned. Both set of supporters gave a groan of disappointment but without much further delay, they set off towards the pubs in the town.

  Superintendent Graham heard the game was abandoned and that meant the supporters were leaving the ground in their droves and heading for town and a possible confrontation. He had to redeploy his officers to the centre of town and try to guide the Muslim marchers along a parallel road and out of the path of the supporters.

  The disappointed supporters of both teams heard the chants and then the marchers came into focus. For a moment they stood still, taking stock. They might not be outnumbered but the Muslim marchers were six deep and progressing in an unhurried manner.

  A police car arrived and instructed the march to turn left then right again to keep them on their circuitous way to their park. However the car had arrived too late. The front marchers were already beyond the exit route and were closing ranks as the supporters approached. The football supporters began to chant. “Integrate and speak English.” “Ban Sharia law.” The Muslim marchers continued to march ignoring the supporters. “Muslims together; Not to be targeted.”

  The away supporters were enlightened about the death of the Imam and the bomb at the crematorium by home supporters. Most had heard about the offences while others received the news for the first time. Fuelled by drink and bravado the first stone was thrown.