‘Oh, aye, Mr Rhea. I had words with one of their chaps and he said if our meter was showing we’d used all that power, then we’d used it and we’d have to pay up.’
‘So are those bills much higher than usual?’
‘Eight or nine times higher, Mr Rhea.’
‘As much as that? Have you bought some extra equipment? Farm equipment, milking machines, electric fires, an immersion heater, cooker, electric radiators, that sort of thing?’
‘I’ve been through all that with those ’lectric chaps,’ she sighed. ‘Trouble is, we’ve bought nowt extra this last six months, and that’s when my bills have rocketed.’
This problem, while not being a police matter nor part of my official duties, was typical of the role a rural policeman had to play. People, especially those living in outlying districts, had no one else from whom to seek advice, and so we rural bobbies tended to play the part of adviser, friend and counsellor in many cases. This was such an example. Mrs Chorley had probably exhausted every possible avenue in her quest for an explanation to her dilemma, and having been unsuccessful, now turned to the local constable.
‘It sounds as if something powerful has been left switched on all the time,’ I suggested. ‘Does Jack check his buildings before he knocks off for the day?’
‘Every night; especially now I’ve asked him to be careful. But he’s got his own meters for t’farm buildings, it’s t’house supply I’m talking about. That meter of ours is fair whizzing around, Mr Rhea, clocking up unit after unit.’
As she spoke, I was aware of one old dodge with power supplies. Some characters, with a good working knowledge of electricity, would illegally tap into the supply of other people.
Only a few months earlier, a man with a shed at the bottom of his garden had managed to tap into the supply to a neighbour’s house, and thus the neighbour had, for some time, being unwittingly paying for that fellow’s heating, lighting and power. Another man in a city had been able to secretly tap into the electricity supply to a street lamp outside his house, thus getting the town council to pay his power bills. Now, I wondered if something similar was happening here. It was to counter such behaviour that the Larceny Act of 1916 had created the specific offence of ‘fraudulently abstracting, diverting or using any electricity’, and so I found myself having to undertake a small enquiry to see whether that crime was being committed at Stone Beck Farm.
‘Could anyone nearby — neighbour, camper, workshop, holiday cottage or such — be tapping into your supply?’ I put to her.
‘When we had t’lectric chap out to look round t’house, he thought of that and did a check, Mr Rhea. There’s nobody pinching ’lectric from our cables, I’m sure of that and he’s sure of that, so he said.’
‘So how about showing me your meter? Is it still whizzing round now?’
‘Aye, going like merry hell, but I’m damned if I can find a reason. Come and see for yourself.’
The meter was in what Janet called the scullery and I studied it briefly before saying, ‘Well, it does appear to be going at a fairly rapid rate, but I’ve no idea how this compares with your normal consumption.’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘If I switch everything off, you’ll see it still keeps going. So follow me, Mr Rhea, and watch me switch everything off, one by one. Right round t’house.’
And so I found myself following Janet Chorley around the house, upstairs and downstairs. She switched off everything and unplugged everything that was plugged in, including the radio, all the kitchen equipment, the television set, several standard lamps, the oven, the washing machine and all the lights. I followed her upstairs where she repeated the procedure, unplugging bedside lights, a radio/alarm clock, her hair drier and an electric fire. In young John’s room, there was a tangle of wires from a socket, these feeding his record player and own bedside light and an alarm clock, and so she unplugged all those. We even went outside to the wash-house and garage, then checked the greenhouse, but none of the domestic outbuildings was connected either to the domestic power or the business line.
‘He uses a fair bit of ’lectric with his records,’ she said later. ‘And when it’s chilly, he plugs a fire in. He spends a fair bit of time in his room these days, there’s nowt for a lad of his age up here so I never grumble. He’s taken to growing things in t’greenhouse an’ all, but that’s got no power or light. He uses an oil heater if he needs extra warmth and a storm lantern if he has to check things at night.’
‘Keen on gardening, is he?’ I asked.
‘He’s got a lot keener this last few months,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen cabbages, sprouts and cauliflowers there, all young plants he’s grown from seed. He sells ’em, flowers an’ all, for bedding. Don’t ask me what they are, I’m no good with flowers.’
‘A way of making a bit of pocket money?’
‘Aye, we like him to earn a bit extra if he can. He buys records with the money, he likes pop music, you know. He saved up and bought that record player, and his radio and all them records. And his motorbike. All from his gardening, Mr Rhea. He says he wants to buy a smart car next, but he’ll have a job saving up enough for that out of his cabbages and things.’
‘It won’t do him any harm to try. It’s good to see him able to make his own amusement and earn a bit of pocket money with it. So, we’ve been in all the rooms, have we?’ I asked. ‘Is there any place we’ve not visited? Anywhere that might have a power socket of some kind?’
‘Nay, you’ve seen t’lot,’ she said. ‘Every room where we had t’lectric installed. We’ve no electric anywhere else in t’spot. Now, you done what t’lectric man did, unplugged everything in every room but left t’mains on. He checked t’whole house just like you. Now come and see t’meter.’
She was right. The meter’s internal mechanism was continuing to turn as if something requiring a lot of power was switched on and in use.
‘You’re sure the power lines for the machinery in the buildings haven’t somehow got connected to the domestic supply?’ I suggested.
‘That’s what t’lectric man thought, but we checked. You can go down there and see for yourself — you can switch everything off at t’outbuildings’ mains.’
‘Do you mind if I do that? Then I can go and have words with the Electricity Board in Strensford and tell them what I’ve seen. If I’m not satisfied about this, I could then ask them to conduct a very thorough examination on the grounds that I suspect a fraudulent abstraction of electricity by someone not connected with the farm.’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘At least summat’s getting done.’
Again, she was right. When we isolated the farm buildings by switching off their mains supply, the meter in her house continued to turn as if something was using electricity. As a final check, I switched off her mains supply, and this action did halt the meter. In my mind, it suggested either that some piece of apparatus in the house was faulty and consuming power even though I’d seen everything switched off, or that someone had managed to abstract electricity from the farmhouse supply by a secret means yet to be determined. But now, with confidence, I could speak to someone in authority at the Electricity Board offices in Strensford. I explained my plan to Janet and said I would keep her informed of my progress.
The following morning I called at the Electricity Board offices and found myself speaking to the manager, a Mr Christopher Carson. After explaining my purpose and outlining my experience at Stone Beck Farm, he smiled rather ruefully.
‘We’ve spent a lot of time there, Mr Rhea, checking the farmhouse and the outbuildings, but there’s no illegal connection, nor has the farm machinery been inadvertently connected to the domestic supply. We have installed a new meter, just in case the previous one was faulty and it continues to record consumption at what Mrs Chorley believes to be a very high rate. But facts are facts, Mr Rhea. Someone at the farmhouse is using electricity and the meter is recording that fact. It is as simple as that. She pays for the power that goes into that house.’
/> ‘But when I switched everything off, the meter continued to operate,’ I told him. ‘Surely that indicates a problem?’
‘I agree that it does suggest something is using power, but we found nothing. We searched the house, just as you did, every room, every nook and cranny, and we found nothing. Even the new meter does that — and we must charge the Chorleys for the consumption that it registers.’
‘Are you saying they have something hidden away, something that’s using the power and that they are trying to avoid payment?’ I put to him.
‘Such things are not unknown, Mr Rhea. We rely on our very sophisticated and accurate equipment. In our view, Mr Rhea, the Chorley farm house is using all that electricity. How it does so when everything is apparently switched off, is something of a mystery, but when it comes to avoiding payment for consumption of power, or making claims for reimbursements when the costs are abnormally high, we are alert to every dodge in the book. The onus rests on the householders to prove we are at fault, and they can’t do that. Our records are accurate and well tested.’
‘I don’t think these are dishonest people,’ I had to say. ‘I truly believe there is a problem. Surely, Mrs Chorley would not involve me, a policeman, if the family was fiddling in some obscure way?’
‘Then let’s say we agree to differ, Mr Rhea. Our records show a certain level of consumption over a long period, several months in fact; we have checked our equipment and have not found any faults. After a sustained investigation, we are happy with the situation at Stone Beck Farm. Quite simply, they are paying for what they use.’
His comment was pretty final, I felt, and I began to wonder whether, over the months, the Chorleys had purchased lots of additional electrical apparatus, the result of which was a consumption much higher than hitherto. Certainly, John had his record player and an electric fire in his bedroom which he used as a kind of den. In the chill months of spring, autumn and winter, that would add substantially to the household electricity bill and, as I pondered the situation, I began to suspect that the Electricity Board was right. The Chorleys were paying for what they used — and yet, there was that nagging feeling about the meter’s recording of consumption when everything was apparently switched off. Was this some kind of dodge the family was attempting, or was there a genuine reason? I felt sure that Janet Chorley was honest and sincere.
But the answer to the puzzle came the very next day in a most unexpected way; it came even before I’d had time to revisit Stone Beck Farm with the result of my chat to the Electricity Board’s representative. Sergeant Blaketon rang me from his office in Ashfordly. ‘Rhea, do you know some farmers called Chorley? Stone Beck Farm, Whemmelby?’
‘Yes, I do, Sergeant.’
‘And a son of theirs called John Frederick, seventeen years old, who works on that farm?’
‘Yes, I know him too, Sergeant.’
‘Well, I’ve been trying to ring them all afternoon . . .’
‘They’ll be out, Sergeant; it’s Brantsford Livestock Mart today, they’ll be there. Why, is there something wrong?’
‘Their son’s been nicked, Rhea. He’s in the cells at Eltering Police Station and his tractor and trailer have been confiscated, seized for evidence in fact. I want them to know and I want them to collect him, he’s been granted bail. Their tractor’ll have to stay until the Drugs Squad’s finished examining it.’
‘Arrested? His tractor and trailer seized? What’s he done, Sergeant?’
‘He’s been growing cannabis, Rhea, tons of the stuff by all accounts. The Drugs Squad caught him with the stuff today; they’d got a bit of advance information from an informant and waited. He had a buyer waiting in one of the Eltering pubs. They’ve got him as well, he’s a dealer. They’ve seized Chorley’s tractor and trailer. He brought the stuff to sell in Eltering on the trailer, along with his tomato plants and cabbages. He does business with a local fruit and vegetable dealer.’
‘He’s a bit simple, Sergeant.’ I felt I had to alert Blaketon to this fact. ‘Not certifiable, but a bit light in the intellectual department.’
‘He had to be simple to try to flog the stuff like that . . . anyway, Rhea, the Drugs Squad is applying for a search warrant for Stone Beck Farm. They reckon that if the lad was producing such quantities, there’ll be more on the farm.’
‘So where’s he growing it?’ I asked. ‘I was at the farm recently; I did a tour of the entire house and all the outbuildings and I never saw a leaf of cannabis. Are you sure he’s growing it on the farm?’
‘And why would you want to tour a farmhouse like that, Rhea?’ he asked.
I explained my purpose, adding that I had not resolved the electrical problem for Mrs Chorley, when he commented, ‘You’d know a cannabis plant if you saw one during your tour of that house, would you, Rhea? You’d not get it confused with a tomato or potato or something exotic from a hothouse?’
‘No, I’d recognize cannabis,’ I tried to assure him.
‘Well, you’d better go along with the drugs wizards,’ he told me. ‘Young Chorley’s pal has told him to say nothing so I’ve no idea where the stuff’s grown. But there’s usually plenty of available space around a farm. And I don’t want the family warned in advance, Rhea! Otherwise they might destroy the lot!’
And so it was, later than evening, that I was driven to Stone Beck Farm at Whemmelby by a couple of Drugs Squad detectives.
My job was to inform the Chorleys of John’s whereabouts and ask one of them to go and collect him from Eltering Police Station while the Drugs Squad officers searched the premises. I was also there to add a uniformed presence, just in case there was trouble. It was while thinking about this development that I realized why the Chorleys’ electricity account was so high — quite clearly, young John had been cultivating his cannabis plants with heaters and lights. But where? Somehow, he must have established a connection with the mains cables. When we arrived and explained our presence, Jack Chorley was preparing for milking and he seemed unfazed by our appearance on his premises; Janet, on the other hand, was concerned for her son and she volunteered to drive to Eltering to collect him. Within a matter of moments, she was heading out of the gate in the Land-rover while Jack said, ‘So what’s all this about, Mr Rhea? I didn’t quite catch on.’
‘It’s your lad,’ I spoke in the language of the area. ‘He’s been arrested, Jack, for growing cannabis.’
‘Cannabis? What’s that? We only grow what we can sell hereabouts. Cabbages, kale, sugar beet and such stuff. Taties sometimes, and beans.’
One of the Drugs officers, Detective Sergeant Rogan, smiled at me as he said to Jack, ‘This stuff’s pretty saleable too, Mr Chorley, and on the right market it can fetch a good price, but it’s illegal. Under the Dangerous Drugs Act of 1951, section 10, it is an offence to cultivate cannabis. We have evidence that your son has been growing illegal plants, Mr Chorley, cannabis in other words. And we’ve reason to believe he’s been cultivating it here, on the farm.’
‘Has he, by gum? Cannabis? I’ve never heard of the stuff! So where’s he been growing it? I’ve noticed nowt different in our fields. Anyroad, why would he want to grow summat foreign? There’s no call for foreign foods in these parts.’
I decided it was my turn to speak to this farmer. ‘Mr Chorley,’ I said slowly, ‘one of the problems which is going to give the police and the public the biggest worries in the future is the illegal use of dangerous drugs.’
‘I’ve heard all about that,’ he agreed. ‘Heroin, opium and such like.’
‘Yes, well, cannabis is one of those drugs. It comes from a plant, Mr Chorley, and your lad, John, has been growing that plant.’
‘He never has! The young sod!’
‘What these officers want to know, Mr Chorley, is where John has been growing it. They’ve got a search warrant; they’ve got to find and then confiscate all John’s plants, you see.’
‘Well, they can look wherever they want. It’s not anywhere in my fields, I can tell you that. Nor
in my greenhouse. I’ve a few tomatoes there and a cucumber plant doing well, and other things like lettuces, but there’s none of them foreign things.’
‘So what other buildings have you?’ asked Rogan. ‘Is there a disused room or barn or something along similar lines that John might have used? It might even be some distance from the house.’
‘Nay, lad, there’s nowt like that. We make use of every bit of space; we can’t afford empty spaces when money has to be made. I’ve even got gooseberry bushes growing in a patch behind the house, a patch you’d never think was big enough to grow daffodils on, and my missus keeps hens on a patch as big as your handkerchief. And they lay good eggs, brown ’uns. Waste not, want not, that’s our motto.’
In an attempt to locate the illicit cannabis cultivation centre, I decided to refer to the exorbitant electricity bills, knowing the payments would eventually come from Jack’s account.
‘Jack, your missus has been complaining about high electricity bills, hasn’t she? For a few months now.’
‘Aye, she has, Mr Rhea.’
‘So have you any idea where that power is being used? Can you see what I’m getting at? If your lad is cultivating exotic plants, he’ll need heat and light, and a secure building somewhere.’
He pondered awhile and I could see his brain working slowly around to the idea that his son might be the cause of those high invoices.
‘You mean our lad might be growing that stuff and making a fortune from it while we’re paying his electric bills?’ he muttered.
‘Well, it’s just a thought,’ I shrugged, adding mischievously, ‘It’s one way of making a useful profit. But your Janet has been bothered about some very high bills in recent months and it does seem odd that they coincide with John’s new cannabis business. It’s a case of finding his hothouse.’
‘The young sod!’ he grunted. ‘That lad’s not as daft as I thought he was. By gum, if you can get other folks to pay your expenses, you can allus make a big profit . . . now you mention it, Mr Rhea, I might just know where he’s been growing that stuff.’
CONSTABLE OVER THE STILE a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 20) Page 16
