crime

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Imperfect Crime

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‘I don’t care where or how, as long as he is never ever found. You will do it as soon as possible and never contact me. When he does not return home I will assume it is done and after a few days I will report him missing and the second instalment will appear in your bank account. If a year passes with me receiving only sympathy from the police, you will receive the final substantial payment.’

They nodded in agreement and my aides entered the room to blindfold the three men again and escort them out to a waiting vehicle. It was a one hundred mile drive back to the outskirts of the city. I had every faith that the hefty first payment they were given a week ago would ensure they carried out their task.

I had never trusted Phillip’s partner, but for this plan I did. We had the same aim with neither of us getting blood on our hands. His contacts in the underworld had provided contract killers who could not be traced back to Phil or us. It was costing me very little as I had been syphoning money from Phil’s various bank accounts for years. His patronising assumption that I could just about manage the little personal and housekeeping accounts he had set up for me worked to my advantage. Phil also assumed I was only capable of using the old computer in my sewing room for dipping into social media.

It was on an ordinary shopping trip that an unexpected problem arose. I was just putting my shopping for one in the boot when a rough looking girl ran over to me crying that her bag had been stolen. She begged to borrow my phone to call the police. I wasn’t going to fall for that one and have my phone stolen, but she looked genuinely upset and reassured me I could keep my phone safely in my own hands and call the police, then put it on speaker so she could speak to them.

I weakened and let the false cosy image I projected 99% of the time take over. Ordinary anxious menopausal housewife meekly dialled 999.

‘Emergency, which service do you require. Fire, police or ambulance?’

‘Police, hurry’ cried the girl.

‘Police, how can I help you?’

To my astonishment the bag was not mentioned. The girl stammered in panic…

‘In the office in the old Jackson shoe factory you’ll find Phil Hardy’s body in a broken cupboard.’

‘Can I have your name please’ the calm voice spoke from my phone.

The girl looked directly at me, pointed at me, then whispered ‘Your phone, your name – goodbye…’

She was gone in a flash.

‘Caller’s name please’ the remote voice repeated.

The police are never around when you want them. I terminated the call, but already I could hear sirens. I didn’t know local big businessmen warranted such an urgent response, I had been pleased they hadn’t seemed interested in his disappearance. Now he was dead, or perhaps still a live body all three emergency services were turning up. Fair enough, the building was on the verge of collapse and I would not want anyone risking their lives for Phillip.

I was slipping into the driver’s seat to go home, play the shocked widow if they brought terrible news, but in seconds a uniformed chap was banging on the window.

‘So glad you’re here officer, I was just tricked into handing over my phone. This girl made a hoax call about my poor missing husband.’

‘Hopefully it is a hoax Madam, we will soon know, but prepare yourself, they are checking the building right this moment.’

I don’t think they were sure whether to arrest me or offer support with the Police Liasson officer. After a cup of tea at the police station it was decided to let me go home as a person of interest, with police protection in case whoever murdered my husband also wanted to kill me and presumably so I could not leave. They didn’t use the word murder or tell me any details, but it was soon all over local social media. My every day phone was kept at the police station, nothing incriminating on that one. I slipped into my ensuite bathroom with my iPad and read on the local Facebook page comments that would probably be rapidly deleted in the interests of good taste.

 Decomposing body still recognisable as missing businessman Phil Hardy.

Urban explorers find more than they bargained for.

Teenage couple left traumatised as body topples out of cupboard.

His flesh was falling off his face.

His eyeballs rolled out.

Whatever possessed the killers to stick him in a cupboard in a building near our local shops and our house? Well, I certainly wouldn’t be using their services again, nor would they get the final payment next year. Maybe I should not have told them our address, but how could they have tracked Phillip down without knowing where he lived?

Fun Friday

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When you open the instructions and put them straight back in the box...

When you bump into someone you didn’t want to meet at the supermarket.

When you like to break the law.

When you buy your new house at Ikea

When your fiction comes true…

When vegans paint still life.

When your cake mix order from Amazon goes wrong.

When your hobbies know no limits.

Friday Fiction Focus – Lottie’s Tale

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Charlotte stared at the computer screen, her novel was not going well. Having ventured back to the Hambourne Happy Creatives writing group she had succeeded in confusing them with Lottie Lincoln’s latest mishaps in Puddleminster-on-Sea. There had been comments such as ‘So what happened to the head?’

She had made life too complicated for Lottie and hadn’t really settled on which event should set her hapless heroine on the path of reluctant crime investigator. Perhaps she could round off the body parts story on a lighter note, introduce a dog…

A week later Lottie decided she must get back to her morning beach walks. Puddleminster was returning to normal, the police had finished searching everywhere and locals were unlikely to learn what really happened until the trial started, which could be many months away.

As she took in the fresh sea air and observed the near empty beach, she was caught off guard by a large dog bounding up with a huge stick in its mouth. For a moment she did not recognise the owner as he stumbled over the sand to apologise.

‘So sorry, oh it’s you Lottie, er Mrs Lincoln.’

‘Sorry I didn’t recognise you with a dog.’

Once again she was face to face with Doctor Geoff Good, the pathologist now famous for losing a body from the hospital mortuary. What should she say?

‘Is he your dog?’

‘No, friends gone on holiday to Australia. I volunteered to look after him while I’m suspended, at least I’ll look less suspicious out with a dog next time I’m caught on CCTV.’

‘Oh dear, will you get your job back?’

‘Yes, otherwise the bodies will be mounting up! Just required procedure, our department under special measures…  Hey, clever you, right about there being no murder and my technician taking a body to create a forensic drama. Obviously completely insane, he had the head at his flat, kept as a souvenir!’

‘Goodness, they kept that out of the news.’

‘I only knew because I overheard them talking when I was on one of my many visits to the police station. Hmm, forget I told you that.’

Lottie felt a thrill at being entrusted with secret information and besides she didn’t know anyone to gossip with yet.

‘But the point is he passed all the usual checks, no criminal record, no record of anything untoward. He knew the entry codes because he worked there and had security clearance. No CCTV in the mortuary as we don’t expect bodies to try and escape. He must have slipped in during the night. Oh by the way, it turns out my wife loves your novels, read all of them, in fact she’s rereading them for gentle escapism after all this business. She wants to know if you are writing a new one.’

‘I have writers’ block, I thought a quiet life at the seaside would inspire a new story after my husband died suddenly.’

‘Oh sorry, I didn’t realise.’

‘No of course you couldn’t know. I was just reading in the newspaper an article on being widowed and it said don’t make hasty decisions such as moving house or getting a dog; I had just been wondering if I should get a puppy or a rescue dog…’

Charlotte wondered what could have caused Lottie’s husband’s sudden demise, something dramatic for a darkly humorous novel, a piece of space station crashing on him, had she read in the paper about a chunk of space debris plunging through someone’s roof? Or something closer to home, Lottie and Callum probably lived in London, he was trampled by bolting cavalry horses, that would be tragically unexpected.…

 Children or other family? No, that’s why Lottie and Callum were so close and now poor Lottie was truly on her own, except of course for all her writer and arty friends in London; she was after all a very successful author, well popular and best selling, not in the upper echelons of the literati, but certainly far more successful than Charlotte.

Now she just had to think what Lottie was going to do next…

Tuesday Tale – Strange Endings

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Tuesday Tiny Tale -Mortuary Mystery
Today’s story is the final part of strange events in Puddleminster-on-Sea and follows on from Mortuary Mystery. Lottie Lincoln has returned to the police station.

‘It was the day before yesterday, or was it the day before that? I know it wasn’t raining. Anyway, the point is, I did not know the man in the CCTV photos at all, only to say hello to, nodding acquaintances, no idea what his name was. I always walk down to the sea past the Queen Victoria Memorial Park, early and he always walks past me on his way home with his newspaper, at least I assume that is what he is doing. Well we did before all those body parts were found.’

Lottie looked across the table at the young CID chap sent to interview her. She obviously wasn’t interesting enough to warrant two officers, good cop, bad cop and far from interrogating her, he had not asked her a single question yet.

DC Dan Berk looked across at the woman who had turned up at the police station and wondered how to get a word in edgeways.

‘Sorry, what did you say your name was?’

‘I didn’t, Lottie Lincoln, the author? You probably don’t read my novels, I expect you prefer dark crime.’

‘Okay Lottie, can we start again at the beginning. What is your real name?’

‘That is my real name.’

‘’Okay, so Lottie, Mrs Lincoln, you go for a walk every morning and say hello to complete strangers.’

‘Yes, I thought that’s what people did at the seaside, relaxed way of life, everything jolly, well perhaps not if you’re always finding body parts. Anyway the point is, I am innocent and so is the man.’

‘If he is a complete stranger, how would you know if he was a murderer or not?’

‘I am a writer, I observe people, I have an instinct.’

‘Well thank you for coming forward to help us with our enquiries. I just need to ask you a few questions about yourself. How long have you lived in Puddleminster?’

‘A few weeks.’

‘Do you live alone?’

‘I was widowed.’

‘I see.’

‘Very recently.’

‘Oh sorry.’

‘Very suddenly.’

‘I am sorry for your loss, did you and your late husband have a connection with this area?’

‘None at all, I wanted to go somewhere quiet where I wasn’t known, a little place rather like the villages in my cosy novels.’

‘So if you could give me your current and previous address and a few other details. We will do a few checks, but it is unlikely we will need to see you again. Thank you for coming and I hope we haven’t put you to too much trouble, goodbye.’

‘Wait, wait, there’s something I have to confess, just in case I have been caught on CCTV again. I bumped into him just now, the man, when he was leaving the police station. So you think the body was kept in a fridge and he works at the mortuary, but that doesn’t make him guilty. Others work there, in fact it might not even be a murder, a theft of a corpse, he’s got that assistant that’s obsessed with forensics…’

Lottie did not like the frown on his face, perhaps she was talking too much. How long since she had had a good natter in her new life? She was beginning to realise what it must have been like during Covid for people living by themselves. Lottie and Callum had been self contained, they missed going out, but they were not lonely. Now she not only missed him, but her busy life and her friends; perhaps peaceful and quiet was not such a good idea… she realised the chap was talking to her.

‘Mrs Lincoln, this is out of order. We have not released any more information yet or talked to anybody else. I trust you won’t go on social media or start speculating in the local community.’

Late that night Doctor Geoff Good was back inside the police station for questioning and a detective inspector from head office had arrived, he frowned at the small team gathered in the tiny office.

‘To summarise so far, the body of John James Smith is missing from his drawer at the hospital mortuary. Doctor Geoff Good the pathologist claims to be astonished and cannot offer any explanation as to how a body could escape his well run mortuary. His new assistant has just gone on annual leave and we have no idea where, but he doesn’t appear to be at his flat in Puddleminster. John Smith died of natural causes, a post mortem was not planned and no DNA samples had been taken, as his large loving family knew who he was. He was awaiting collection by the undertaker tomorrow who would be preparing for a family viewing. A situation that could not be worse. We have no proof that the remains in the park are his, if they are what do we tell the family. If they are not his, where the hell is his body? Oh yes it could be worse, your team has failed to find a head.’

The mortuary is locked and off limits to all hospital staff. We have no option, but to have the whole hospital searched in case the body has been hidden there. I will be going to speak to management. Sergeant, you will visit the undertaker first thing in the morning and explain why they will not be collecting the body yet. Constable Berk, it is your unenviable task to visit the family of Mr Smith and inform them with the briefest details what has happened. I suggest you imply he is still within the hospital, but you have to also persuade them to provide DNA samples. At first light a team of officers and the forensic team will carry out a methodical search of the whole of Puddleminster. I’m sure you appreciate the need to keep all details out of the press and off social media, but that won’t be easy.

A week later Lottie sat glued to the local news as she did several times a day. She had not been near the sea, Puddleminster was overrun with police search teams. At the shops she tried to glean local gossip and there was plenty of that; satanic rites, multiple bodies unearthed everywhere and a serial killer on the loose. She wondered about poor Doctor Good. Every news bulletin a police officer of increasingly high rank would be urging the public not to speculate and assuring them there was no danger to the public. Then at last that evening there was news. A serious looking policewoman with lots of badges on her epaulettes, was standing outside the hospital.

‘We have today arrested a mortuary technician from this hospital and charged him with preventing the lawful and decent burial of a body.  I can confirm no other individuals were involved and our enquiries are now complete. The family of the deceased have asked for privacy at this time.’

Of course that was not the end. On breakfast television the next day Lottie watched as the son and daughters of John Smith were interviewed.

‘We want to know how this happened to our Dad.’

They had obviously waived the right to privacy and Lottie guessed poor Doctor Good would be in for more vigorous investigation by the media. Would Puddleminster-on-Sea ever be the quiet place she had hoped for? But she couldn’t help smugly thinking she had been the first to guess what had happened.

Tuesday Tiny Tale -Mortuary Mystery

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Tuesday Tiny Tale – Closed Circuit
This evening’s tiny tale follows on from last week when Geoff was arrested as a murder suspect.

Geoff Good was alone in the interview room at Puddleminster Police Station. It had been on the local news about body parts being found in Queen Victoria Memorial Park, that’s why he had joked that as a pathologist at the hospital he did post mortems on deceased patients and did not chop up bodies. He did not expect them to use that as evidence of guilt.

The two CID officers came back in with a cup of tea, he assumed they were going to apologise for wrongful arrest and give him a lift home.

‘Doctor Good, we have some important questions to ask you with regard to your work, now new evidence has come to light.’

What on earth could they mean, had they found mortuary instruments lying in the park, no they were all present and correct when he left work yesterday. Was the victim someone he knew? Unlikely they would have identified the body so soon, you couldn’t even tell by tattoos these days, everyone had them.

‘You must have spoken to the woman in the CCTV picture, I saw her coming into the police station.’

‘No one has come forward to help with our enquiries.’

‘We know the victim was already dead when he was dismembered,’ chipped in the smug DC chap ‘very dead.’

‘That’s a relief, I mean for the victim.’

‘Dead for a while, but not decomposed, our forensic team have established the corpse had been kept somewhere cold.’

Geoff remained silent, he did not like where this was leading, but surely they did not think he regularly murdered people and kept them at the mortuary? Every body arrived or left the mortuary properly identified and recorded.

They stared at him, he tried to look them in the eye and not appear nervous or guilty. A thought came to him which he tried to dismiss. His new assistant did not disguise his ambition to get involved in proper forensics, not the boring bodies they dealt with at the hospital. He watched all the CSI programmes Geoff’s wife loved, but being fascinated with murder did not make him a murderer. Besides, he could not have hidden a spare body, all the drawers were occupied at present.

‘Did you wish to call your solicitor Doctor Good?’

How did things get to this stage already. He did not have a solicitor, only the school boy who had dealt with his great uncle’s will, or the local chap who had done the conveyancing for their house twenty years ago, probably retired by now.

‘No, I do not need a solicitor.’

Suddenly the DS brightened up. ‘We will be getting a warrant to search the mortuary, accompanied by your good self. In the meantime you are free to leave now as a person of interest. You may go home, but do not go to work and make sure we can contact you at any time.’

Geoff walked down the road in a daze, years of clinical and logical thinking did not help him process what was happening. He almost bumped into her, the woman from the picture. She recoiled and he automatically put his hands in the air. They both started to speak at once.

‘Sorry, sorry, I’m not a murderer.’

‘Sorry, nor am I didn’t mean to react like that.’

‘I don’t even know your name.’

‘I’m on my way to the police station to explain, I chickened out the first time. This is a nightmare.’

‘I’m so sorry you got involved.’

‘No I’m sorry, Lottie, Lottie Lincoln the novelist.’

‘Erm, I don’t read novels, Geoff Good, pathologist.’

‘Goodness, how interesting, life is stranger than fiction for sure.’

They both automatically looked around for hidden CCTV cameras.

‘Are we allowed to talk to each other?’

‘We both have a reason for walking down this road, I’ll be quick and tell you my situation. They seem to think I could have murdered and hidden the body in the mortuary, because it had been kept somewhere very cold, ridiculous of course, but at least they can’t possibly think you were involved.’

‘Do you have assistants?’

‘They are not murderers either, though the new one’s totally obsessed with forensics and CSI dramas. Oh, do you write dark crime novels, they’re all women writers.’

‘Indeed not, life affirming stories, family dramas, but I can see a story in this situation.’ Her eyes lit up.  ‘Perhaps no murder was committed, your assistant wanted to see a bit of drama so borrowed a body, chopped it up and created a fake crime scene. He would not be suspected, no blood soaked clothing and all that. Anyway, I had better get to the police station, good luck.’

The mortuary was empty of live persons when Geoff was escorted in by a team of plain clothed and uniformed officers. The person they had to show the warrant to was Geoff himself. It seemed the rest of the hospital was unaware of the mortuary drama. Had anyone even noticed Geoff’s absence? There obviously had been no deaths at the hospital in the past twenty four hours and he recalled the new assistant was starting some annual leave.

 No bodies on the slabs, pity, Geoff would have enjoyed making them feel queasy. He showed them all the computer and written records, then opened each labelled drawer one by one, assuring them it was a full house this week.

‘Everyone sleeping peacefully’ he joked nervously as they reached the last drawer.

The last drawer was empty, the name still on the front of the drawer, John James Smith.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Closed Circuit

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Tuesday Tiny Tale 800 – CCTV
Today’s story follows on from ‘CCTV’.

He didn’t even know her name, but there they were on the local news as the couple sought after by police to help with their enquiries. Geoff wondered if his wife had seen an earlier bulletin before she went to work. Who said the camera never lies. As the presenter moved on to the topic of pot holes the picture faded from the screen, but not from his mind’s eye. The body language suggested they knew each other well. When was the picture taken? He always wore the same coat, but it must have been one of the few mornings when it wasn’t raining.

With his job, Geoff was not a familiar figure locally, but friends and a few dog walkers would recognise him. Perhaps their brains would not register it was him linked to a totally different woman.

The woman was new in Puddleminster, he was sure of that. Only newcomers strode enthusiastically down to the beach every morning whatever the weather. Geoff would be on his way back from what his daughter would call a power walk, stopping at the little beach shop to get his newspaper. They would merely smile or say good morning.

He needed that fresh air and exercise before setting off to commute to work in the county hospital. Now nobody would be walking that way for a while with Queen Victoria Memorial Park cordoned off. It had been a shock to hear body parts were found in the park, quiet little Puddleminster-on-Sea. He had certainly not seen any body parts when he went for his lap round the park yesterday morning. Maybe if he had a dog it would have come bounding out of the undergrowth with a hand in its mouth, probably how the grim discovery was made. He chuckled to himself, his career had given him a dark sense of humour, but the police weren’t giving any details.

Then reality resurfaced in his mind. Was there CCTV in the park as well as on the road next to it? Did they also have pictures of him walking early in the park, looking suspicious without a dog?  Here was a right dilemma. Should he call the police to explain, no he had missed the special phone number. He could drop in at the little Puddleminster police station, if it was actually open. What would one say. He had no idea who the woman was or where she lived. If she was new in the area it was unlikely anyone else would have recognised her.

There was no time to do anything, he had to leave for work. He could phone his wife from the car, better than keeping quiet and her maybe thinking he was hiding an affair with another woman.

But as he opened the front door he was confronted by two police officers on the front path.

He couldn’t believe this had happened, handcuffed and sitting in the back of a police car. What did they actually say to him? Geoff was so bewildered he sat quietly, to struggle would have suggested guilt. This could be sorted out at the police station, hopefully no one he knew would be strolling by.

It was amazing how much harder it was to get out of a vehicle when you were handcuffed. He just wanted to get inside the building, by the back door if there was one, but they led him straight up the front steps, just in time to see the woman from the photo dash inside. All would be well, she would explain.

Geoff did not get a chance to even exchange a glance with her, he was ushered through a side door and into the interview room, soon joined by a man and woman in plain clothes who introduced themselves as a constable and sergeant. They did not look as if they had ever dealt with a murder, their tactics owed more to television drama than proper procedure. Photos were laid on the table, Geoff striding through the park.

‘This is ridiculous and how did you know where I lived?’

The cocky young DC answered with a smirk.

‘Your wife called the hot line, anxious to explain she was not the woman in the photo, but keen to assure us you always walked that way and were totally innocent.’

The tight lipped woman sergeant leaned in closer.

‘The wives are always the last to have any inkling.’

‘Can you confirm your job and where you work?’

This was not going to look good. When people found out what his work was they would get excited and remark ’Like on that television series.’

‘I’m a pathologist at the hospital and no I don’t chop bodies up, I just find out what disease your great uncle died of.’

The two officers looked at each other and Geoff realised they didn’t appreciate his sense of humour.

‘We have not released any details of the crime scene.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale 800 – CCTV

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She didn’t even know his name, but there they were on the local news as the couple sought after by police to help with their enquiries. Lottie Lincoln, new in Puddleminster-on-Sea, hadn’t imagined the little town even had CCTV. The recently widowed writer had moved here for peace and quiet and anonymity.

Lottie walked past Queen Victoria Memorial Park every morning on her way to the beach. The locals were friendly and the man was one of several regulars who passed her and smiled or said good morning. She had no idea when the picture might have been taken, most mornings she had the same coat on. Though the picture had now faded from the television screen it was imprinted on her mind, two strangers exchanging a smile on a sunny morning looked like a couple exchanging intimate words.

No one was walking past Queen Victoria Memorial Park now, the whole area cordoned off by police tape, including the adjoining sea front. Lottie had been shocked to hear on the local news that a murder had been committed in the lovely park full of daffodils. Or at least body parts had been found, presumably the murder could have been committed anywhere. Police were not revealing how many or what sort of body parts. Surely they did not think she had been carrying a foot or hand in her back pack? The man never carried anything except a newspaper. Men were lucky with all their pockets and these days the chaps probably only carried a phone and door keys. If this man was married he might not even need his keys. Married… if his wife saw that picture she might assume the worst, an affair… an affair with a younger woman. Lottie guessed he was older than her and was rather insulted to have it assumed they were a couple.

None of this was like one of her novels; crime and forensics were avoided, though she did fancy writing a psychological drama. How would the lives of innocent people be affected by a terrible crime? But this was real life and what should she do now? Would the man go to the police station, did they mention a number to ring?

Time for her walk, she needed to get out in the fresh air to think, walking was her therapy for any stressful situation. Lottie set off to the little parade of shops and cafes that passed for a town centre; she could at least see if the weekly local paper had caught the news in time. Somehow her feet led her to the quaint old police station. She wasn’t even sure if it would be open to the public with all those cut backs, but now she was here she must try. The feisty heroines in her novels would not hesitate, though they usually only had romantic problems to deal with.

As she mounted the stone steps to the door she heard a car and turned to see a police vehicle draw up at the roadside. Two officers emerged and extracted a person from the back seat; it was the man from the picture and he was handcuffed. Any idea that prisoners were taken in the back door was quashed when he was led towards her. She could not retreat and in panic pushed open the door and rushed inside to get out of their way.

Inside, the front desk was unattended. Lottie edged into the corner and pretended to be totally absorbed in the posters about safety at cash machines and zipping up your shopping bags. When she risked turning to look they were already disappearing through a door. Lottie fled back outside, feeling as guilty as if she had committed a crime.

She was soon back in her little cottage, the door firmly closed behind her. Had someone dobbed that man in or had he confessed? He could be innocent,  dobbed in by an enemy, or perhaps his wife recalled him coming home in blood stained clothes…   No one knew her and even fans of her books were unlikely to recognise the windswept CCTV picture; the Lottie Lincoln author photo on the back of her novels was very different.

The lunchtime news merely showed lots of forensic suits trampling over the daffodils in the park. But the evening news headlined with the arrest of a man who was being kept in custody for further questioning.

‘Police believe a woman caught on CCTV at Puddleminster Police Station is the woman caught on camera with the arrested man. Chief Inspector MacDonald has urged her to come forward to help with their enquiries and stressed that there is no suggestion she was involved in any way with the crime.’

Did he mean that or was it a trick to catch her?

Tuesday Tale -Kitchen Sink Drama Two

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Tuesday Tale -Kitchen Sink Drama
Tonight’s story follows on from last week’s.

‘Phillip, come in here quick, your mother’s on the television.’

‘A police spokesman said if it were not for the quick thinking of grandmother Abigail Morgan the incident could have become a tragedy.’

‘I just happened to glance out of my kitchen window last night before I went to watch the news and I noticed an altercation across the road. When I saw a man take a pair of ballet shoes and then a huge hammer from the boot of his car, I knew I must call the police.’

‘Were you worried they would arrive too late?’

‘I wasn’t sure if they would arrive at all, so I rushed outside.’

‘I don’t believe it, I knew we shouldn’t have let Mother live there.’

‘Phillip, it wasn’t up to you, she’s quite capable of making her own decisions, though she must be regretting her choice now.’

‘She had better stay with us until we can get that place sold. I’ll ring Oakdene and see if that flat is still available.’

‘I’m sure she won’t want to stay with us… oh shoosh , they’re talking to some of her weird neighbours.’

‘There’s always trouble around here since they opened that half way house.’

‘We’ve never had anything like this before, it’s a lovely quiet road, lots of families.’

‘There is a lot of confusion as to what actually happened here last night and why the arrested man was bizarrely waving a pair of ballet shoes in one hand and a sledge hammer in the other. Neighbours have spoken of seeing the white car parked regularly in this road, but nobody could name him. Police reassured locals that this was an isolated incident with no danger to the public. A local dog walker did not see what happened, but knows the Supergran well.’

‘I always walk this way to the park and have a chat with Abigail. I can’t believe she tackled a mad axeman alone.’

‘Ah, a police inspector is about to address the crowd of concerned neighbours.’

‘Police response was prompt last night and officers bravely disarmed a man in his early forties.’

‘They only caught him because that old lady had already squirted pepper spray in his eyes.’

‘Yeah and it’s the first time in twenty years I’ve seen police down this road.’

 ‘The arrested man is in hospital under police guard with eye injuries believed to be caused by a domestic cleaning product. He is not known to police and does not appear to have any mental health issues. I would ask that members of the public do not speculate on social media about what happened.’

Abigail made yet another cup of tea. After a second formal police interview she was looking forward to a more relaxed chat with a young woman reporter and a cameraman. She had tried to keep her answers to the police confined to the stark facts, but would have loved to be outside with the other neighbours speculating further. Abigail had been awake most of the night, sitting up in bed with her iPad and phone, following and contributing to the local Facebook page and WhatsApp group.

‘I believe you refused medical treatment last night Mrs Morgan?’

‘Of course, nothing wrong with me. Though I feel I’m under arrest, a police woman stayed here all night, don’t know what they thought was going to happen.’

‘You don’t have any family nearby?’

‘Oh yes, my son and daughter-in-law on the other side of town. I moved here to be nearer them.’

‘They must have been concerned about what happened.’

‘I didn’t bother to tell them and everyone here has been very nice.’

‘Would it be too upsetting for you to tell us what happened?’

‘No not at all. I don’t know the couple across the road or the man with the white car. I do know most of the neighbours well. I can’t imagine why he threw a pair of ballet shoes at her, but then it got scary when he approached the husband with that huge hammer.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘I just grabbed a bottle from under the sink, not sure what it was, forensics have taken it away. I saw that on a TV drama once.’

Abigail watched with satisfaction as the camera kept rolling.

‘I must apologise for the awful wallpaper, I haven’t been here long, I want to redecorate this room. I always notice the wallpaper when they interview people in their homes…’

She heard a familiar voice at the front door and hoped the police officer on guard would keep everyone out till her interview was finished.

‘…I’m Phillip Morgan her son, why wasn’t I informed, I found out from the television.’

‘Sorry sir, I believe Mrs Morgan said there were no relatives she needed to contact.’

Phillip walked into the tiny lounge as soon as the cameraman walked out and gave him the all clear.

 ‘Don’t think you’ll get a word in edgeways.’

‘Oh Phillip, there was no need to come over. This is Felicity Wordsmith, have you seen her on the local news? We’re just having a debriefing, off the record. I’m giving her a few tips so she can do one of those investigative reports. One of the neighbours said on Facebook last night that the wife used to be a ballet dancer, so looks like the boyfriend also was a dancer, a famous couple perhaps until she went off to dance with someone else. You and Sandra go to the ballet, do you think you might have seen them?’

‘Mother, the police have told neighbours not to spec…’

‘Felicity thinks White Car Man is the real husband and came to claim her back from the chap she ran away with.’

‘No, no I was just posing that as a possibility to show we have no grounds to make any suppositions…’

‘All the more reason for us to seek out the truth.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale 500 – Overheard

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I don’t make a habit of eavesdropping, well only in my capacity as a writer. Often you can’t help overhearing people on their mobile phones, in the street, on the bus, in the toile…toilet?

Usually in the Ladies only banal conversations emanate from inside cubicles.

‘Are you sure you don’t want a wee George before we go, Mummy’s going to have a wee, are you sure you don’t…   Daisy are you washing your hands properly, Daisy are you still there, wait till Mummy’s finished, don’t go out… Daisy, DAISEEE?’

I know from films and TV thrillers that men have endless dramatic conversations at the urinals, threatening, exchanging important information, dealing drugs or even assassinating each other.

The other day at our local busy sports centre the Ladies had a more interesting conversation to overhear.

 Surely she’s not taking her phone into the cubicle, she’s actually carrying on talking while she’s going and I can hear the other person clearly, must be on speaker.

I felt almost guilty intruding on their conversation, but I was in my cubicle first, I didn’t ask her to move in next door.  

‘Oh my god Bella, are you sure, whyever would you think that?’

‘He was late home that night.’

‘Was it his darts night?’

‘Till 3am! Creeping in but woke me up anyway. I asked where he’d been and he told me not to worry and go back to sleep. As if I could, especially when I could hear him putting the washing machine on.’

‘But that still doesn’t mean he had anything to do with it.’

‘Oh what shall I do, ring that number they gave out on the news?’

‘Bella, you can’t seriously think Dave could be involved, they would have needed a chainsaw.’

‘He’s got a chainsaw.’

‘Oh, well that’s probably because he is a tree surgeon. Don’t do anything yet, you don’t actually know anything.’

I didn’t dare flush the toilet, I did not want her to know anyone was listening in to what could be an incriminating conversation. Nor did I want to miss a word.

‘Bella, have you told anyone else yet?’

‘No, of course not, I just had to tell someone, do you think I’m crazy?’  

‘Yes er no… is there anything you have not told me about Dave?’

‘No, well there was that one time I got a weird phone call from his ex.’

‘As she was still alive that’s reassuring. Where are you now?’

‘Walking the dog in the park.’

‘And where’s Dave?’

‘He was asleep when I left.’

‘Not the park where they found the body parts!’

‘No, that’s still taped off and police everywhere.’

‘I suppose you could call that number anonymously… and don’t go home.’

 The toilet flushed and the door banged, I did not hear any more, didn’t dare creep out till she was gone. But what should I do. Back out in reception and the café it was so busy there was no way of guessing who had been in the Ladies. How could I phone the police and say someone called Dave who lived with Bella might be the murderer?

Hambourne Noirish

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Today’s tale carries on from Saturday’s story. As a newcomer to Hambourne, Charlotte could never have imagined that attending a few meetings of Happy Hambourne Creatives would have led to her being a possible murder suspect.

Saturday Short Story – Hambourne Noir

Charlotte felt three pairs of eyes piercing into her soul, surely she wouldn’t be one of the suspects, just because Robert Falstaff had been scathing about her novel languishing on Amazon Kindle and her blog.

There was an awkward pause then Erica suddenly started laughing.

‘Even poor Danny could not have thought of a murder or plot this bizarre.’

Charlotte was a little taken aback that there could be laughter so soon after Robert’s death, but at least the tension was broken and the attention taken off her.

‘Er… you mean Danny from the Happy Creatives group?’

‘Yes, he’s been rather quiet lately, but for years he’s been sending off scripts to the BBC, hoping to be the next Sunday night detective drama. He was always hoping Robert would put a word in for him, with all his supposed connections.’

‘Come on Erica, Mini’ said the third friend ‘time we all went, I don’t want to get a parking ticket.’

Charlotte found herself alone again, she should be going, but with all the morning’s drama she could not recall what she had planned to do after coffee, or was she planning to decide what to do while relaxing at the lovely Hambourne Refectory? She thought about poor Danny, rather a lost little soul she had felt, the couple of times she had seen him at the meetings. She could sympathize and now any hopes they both had of Robert introducing them to ‘someone’ at the BBC or on the literary scene were gone. Life was stranger than fiction, not just a cliché, but supposing it wasn’t. She imagined Danny thinking up a murder plot, wondering if it could realistically be played out and who better to try it out on than a man he resented, envied, even hated?

She stood up abruptly, checked her bag and made swiftly for the door, as if staff and customers might read her dangerous thoughts

Charlotte couldn’t leave those thoughts behind, but she could transfer them to her new heroine. As she walked through Hambourne Abbey’s graveyard the first chapter was already taking shape in her mind.

Recently widowed Lotte Lincoln had moved to the quaint town of Puddleminster looking for peace and quiet, but soon found herself investigating a murder. As a newcomer she had at first enjoyed wandering around exploring, enjoying the fresh frosty air as she strolled through the historic graveyard, popping into the local shops and admiring arts and crafts in the little gallery. But she was also lonely, peace and quiet wasn’t as soothing as she had anticipated, so she had begun to make more of an effort to chat to locals, little thinking this would soon lead to her being embroiled in a murder enquiry.

Charlotte mused upon the drama she could get Lotte involved in as she walked. The victim could be an artist, perhaps a woman so no one would think she had stolen a real life murder, in the unlikely event the novel would be published and actually read by residents of Hambourne. She suddenly found herself near Robert Falstaff’s little road, or she assumed the barricaded lane and heavy police presence indicated this was where he had lived. Now she was there it was impossible to see what was going on and she felt uncomfortable. As she turned to work out which way led to her little flat in the high street she almost bumped into a familiar figure.

‘Oh, em Daniel isn’t it, you probably don’t remember me, new in Hambourne, Charlotte, I went to a few meetings of the Happy Creatives…’

She felt herself rambling on in an effort to be friendly, to assuage her guilt for ever suspecting him of murder. The man looked awkward, then visibly pulled himself together.

‘Yes of course Charlotte, I remember you, that dreadful man making you feel so small, no way to treat newcomers… oh I shouldn’t be speaking ill of the dead.’

‘You heard the news then, of course I hardly knew him. I gather this must be the mu… where Robert lived?’

‘Yes, not exactly the first murder we’ve had, or at least there have been strange events in Hambourne… ‘ he looked up as a police officer approached ‘…anyway, I must be going.’

Danny made a hasty exit and Charlotte wondered why had he come to the crime scene. Her thoughts were interrupted by the policewoman.

‘Good morning, do you live nearby, are you trying to get to your home?’

Charlotte felt herself flushing.

‘No, yes, I mean I’m new in the town, just strolling around and got lost, I’ve got a flat in Hambourne Mews.’

She hadn’t intended to give away where she lived. The policewoman gave her a patronising look.

‘You were heading in the wrong direction, but Hambourne often has visitors flummoxed. So if you are new you probably didn’t know the victim.’

‘No, well only a little.’

Charlotte immediately regretted her words as the officer’s face lit up.

‘Ah, I hope you don’t mind giving me your name and address, we do need to interview everybody who knew him.’

Charlotte felt a mixture of fear and excitement. She might end up a suspect, but it would be interesting research for her novel, to discover what it was like to be interviewed about a crime. Everyone meant they were bound to talk to Daniel as well, she was sure he had been uncomfortable hanging around near police officers…