Burley Cross Postbox Theft (40 page)

Of course Iona – who was with me, offering moral support, and is very forthright by nature – said she couldn’t just sit by and allow him to say such awful things about a young man of such obviously great potential. She leapt to her feet in the public gallery: ‘Persistence is a wonderful quality in a young man,’ she shouted, ‘in an age of pikers and quitters, persistence is a virtue that we should be actively encouraging in our youth, not using it as a stick to beat them with!’

I couldn’t have put it better myself! Unfortunately Iona’s outburst ended up in us both being evicted from the building. Jared’s lawyer even went so far as to say that the sentence was made considerably harsher as a consequence (although I think he was probably just caught up in the drama of the moment – much the same as we were!).

Jared was eventually saddled with over 200 hours of community service (poor soul, and that’s on top of his lengthy period in remand!). Yet, strange to say, this cruel-seeming punishment (given that he only ‘borrowed’ the collection box in order to study the design and use it as a starting point to make
me a jewellery box for my birthday) was to turn out to be the making of us!

Some problems had developed with the council house. Brother Julius had (understandably) become very bitter about my ‘setting up home’ with his former wife and daughters (although he wasn’t officially married to Iona, and the two girls weren’t actually related to him by blood). He expressed his bitterness by spreading a series of malicious rumours against me and the children: that I had formerly lived in a castle (ludicrous! It was just a stately home with a couple of turrets!) and had acquired the council house not through right but by cunning; that I was a wife-stealer and notorious lesbian (Iona and I were actually ‘together’ for a brief span, but it didn’t really work out in the end, since neither of us is remotely bisexual); that Jared was a persistent thief etc. etc.; and this, coupled with a number of small fires
(very
small fires – Poppy was merely going through that whole ‘fascinated by flames’ phase) and some ill-thought-out DIY (Iona knocked down a supporting wall on the ground floor to try and make the place feel a little more ‘open plan’, then one of the upstairs bedroom floors collapsed!) meant that we were evicted from the house and obliged to move on again (Iona had already left at this point, to pursue her dream of attending Clown School in Orpington, near London).

As luck would have it, Jared was working out his community service in the beautiful, picturesque village of Burley Cross where he was employed collecting litter from moorland paths. During this time he was operating under the guidance of local councilman Baxter Thorndyke, who gradually began using him to do small jobs about the place, e.g. washing his 4×4, raking his path, gathering leaves in his garden etc. I turned a blind eye to it, initially (thinking that Jared might even benefit from a positive, male role model and mentor), but after he came home one day, deeply traumatized and covered – almost from head to foot – in filth (the councillor had made him clean out his septic
tank!), I decided that enough was enough and made an official complaint.

Thorndyke then responded by making counter-complaints (I won’t go into them here, but given that the bathroom was on the second floor and Jared is uncircumcised, his wife really didn’t have a leg to stand on).

During his time spent in the village, Jared had made the acquaintance of a lovely boy called Lawrie, the son of a local farmer, who, when he heard of Jared’s predicament, stepped in on his behalf (there was apparently already a feud between this Thorndyke character and the farmer, based on the farmer’s support of a local publican in a minor planning dispute). He offered Jared a job on his farm (which satisfied the probation people), and then, later on, when he discovered that Jared and his family (that’s us!) were currently living out of their trusty VW, took pity on them and gave Jared free accommodation in an old prefab.

Coombes Cottage (Madeline renamed it!) is where I currently sit – and write to you from – today. It’s a tiny, scruffy old place, but it’s home and we all LOVE IT!!!!

Since coming here we have been blessed in so many ways! The people of Burley Cross have been enormously kind and generous to us! Last week we had a slap-up meal in the local pub (all of us, for only £10!). It was a truly wonderful occasion and honestly made me feel as though we were turning a corner and entering a new phase in our fascinating journey together (the only thing that soured it was that Hayden – who’s very technical by nature – got a little too ‘involved’ in the interior workings of a large grandfather clock that sits in the snug and managed to destroy the working mechanism. The bill to fix it will be over £100!).

In an attempt to scratch some money together (Wincey, the landlady, has been very good about it, but the clock was a twentieth anniversary present from her late husband, Duke, and I felt I really should try and contribute something towards
the repairs) I decided to take Ramsay’s mother’s blue glass decanter to a local antique shop to see if I could raise any funds on it.

That very morning, Poppy had come down with the measles (a particularly vicious strain, caught from Hayden, who’d caught it from Dylan, who’d caught it from Jared, who’d caught it from Lawrie) and had vomited all over me (I was in my customary pair of frayed denim hotpants, teamed with some stripy woollen tights – the only clothes I currently own!!). The prefab is unheated, and it would’ve taken hours for them to dry properly, so I threw on a skirt (generously donated by Helen, the farmer’s wife, although the last time I wore a skirt was circa 1989!!!) and jumped into the van.

Well, I hadn’t been driving for much more than ten minutes, tops, when, completely out of the blue, a bee flew in through my window (which was propped open to stop the windscreen from getting too steamy) and flew straight up my skirt!!!
Nooooooo!

I didn’t even realize bees were still around so late in the season (Global Warming Alert!!!). In fact I was so shocked that I took my hands off the steering wheel for a second (to protect my Lady Garden – I wasn’t wearing any knickers), the van swerved, and I crashed straight into an oncoming car.

Luckily nobody was very badly hurt, but the van was pretty bashed up (and the car was quite a mess, too).

This is the incredible part, though: I’d only managed to involve myself in a serious collision with an expert from the BBC TV series the
Antiques Roadshow
(on his way to do a reading in Ilkley from his latest book!)!! And, better still: he was their glass expert!

WHAT AN
AMAZING
COINCIDENCE!

I naturally showed him the decanter (after we’d exchanged insurance details –
his
insurance details, since I’m not actually insured: I just made a few up) and he was able to tell me that the decanter was actually very, very rare!!!! It was Norwegian
and dated from around 1890. He said it could be worth in the region of £1,700!!!!!

He picked it up to inspect the hallmark properly (all excited!), and then the thing just
FELL TO A MILLION TINY PIECES IN HIS HANDS!!!!!

‘Oh well,’ I said, ‘I never much liked the damn thing anyway!’ and we both absolutely howled with laughter (he was great fun, really up for the craic – even with a torn shirt and blood dripping from his ear)!!

There’s so much more I’d love to tell you all (about Poppy’s first word, Dylan’s round-worm infection, Hayden’s incredible, new talent at online gaming and the like), but there simply isn’t the time or the space to do so here…

All there’s actually the time and the space to do is to wish you all A WONDERFUL,
WONDERFUL
CHRISTMAS, AND A VERY HAPPY AND PROSPEROUS NEW YEAR!!!

With HUGE love and hugs from us all:

Paula, Jared, Hayden, Dylan, Madeline and Poppy

PS Madeline just won the talent contest at her local school, armpit-farting God Save the Queen while standing on one foot! Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing that Mr Nolan stole her beloved fiddle after all!

PPS Aunty Jinny is still diligently researching our family tree (on Mother’s side). Turns out that I’m distantly related to William Huskisson, who was a famous British politician in the 1820s! He was apparently in charge of the expansion of the railways (perhaps
that’s
where I get my itchy feet from!), although it seems his career was cut short after he was unlucky enough to topple under a slow-moving locomotive…

PPPS I’ve just got off the phone to Ramsay’s old accountant, Denton Wade, who has recently uncovered some ‘hidden’ investments which he thinks might be worth a ‘serious’ sum of
money!!!!! He told me not to get my hopes up too high, and that (because of various legal wrangles to do with the Estate, Death Duties etc.) it might be necessary to leave cashing them in until later on next year, but we’re all wildly over-excited in the meantime (so please,
please
keep all your fingers crossed that in 2007 there will be bumper dividends at Kwik-Save and Leeds United FC!)!!

I honestly think this is going to be our
BEST FAMILY CHRISTMAS, EVER!!

Up the Whites!!!!!

Lots and lots and lots of love (and cuddles, and good karma etc.)

XXXXXXXXXX

P

Ilkley,
17/03/07
14.00 hrs

(Via internal mail)

For attn Inspector Laurence Everill, Skipton

CONFIDENTIAL

Dear Laurence,

A most heartfelt congratulations on the Bravery Award (and on the surprise promotion, come to that)! I sent you a fulsome text
(two
fulsome texts – one on both counts), but I imagine they must’ve got lost in the deluge…

Either way, you really did the boys proud back in December. I watched the Awards broadcast, alone, in my flat, with a nice bottle of cheap merlot and an above-average, ready-made Tesco’s Finest Boeuf Stroganoff. Quite a little celebration it was! ‘That’s Laurence Everill,’ I kept saying to the cat. ‘We went to school together, you know!’

I couldn’t help but notice (during a couple of audience ‘reaction shots’) that Sandy (who was sitting with the chief superintendent and his wife, I believe) had a lovely new hairdo – and a host of pretty blonde highlights in her fringe. Quite a departure! She looked lovely – truly lovely. Dark green is definitely her colour. Do tell her how impressed I was (not that she’ll much care, I’m sure!).

Several people have stopped me in the street (or flagged down the car when I’m out on patrol) to discuss the matter. One old dear (who I generally pop in on during my rounds – just to check she’s all right, and have an amiable chat) said, ‘It honestly helps me to sleep better at night, knowing we have men of Sergeant Everill’s calibre working on the force.’

I couldn’t have put it better myself.

Like you, Inspector (quite rolls off the tongue, eh?!), I am somewhat at odds to understand why it was that the BCPBT Case (as I prefer to call it) was transferred from your most capable hands in Skipton to my considerably less competent – if slightly more capacious – ones in Ilkley…

(Although which of us ‘mere mortals’ may hope to grasp the complex array of motivating principles guiding that subterranean army of shadowy forces – that ‘silent, faceless vanguard’ – who seem to inveigle their way into every corner of our working lives, overseeing our every, basic move – our every shallow breath, even – like ominous, lowering, ever-watchful phantasms?)

‘Ours is not to reason why,’ as I said, only this morning, to my part-time factotum-cum-administrative-assistant, Mrs Hope (who also sends you her heartfelt congratulations, by the way), ‘ours is but to complete the paperwork – in duplicate!’

Please accept my deepest gratitude for sending me your additional thoughts on the case. They were immensely useful. It’s an education (of sorts) for a rank-and-file copper like myself (a mere picayune, a booby, a hick, a poor shot, a galoot) to be given ready access to the elevated workings of a renowned (and superior) detective intellect.

I am forced to agree with you that PC – soon-to-be sergeant – Hill’s spelling leaves something to be desired (‘suspisious’ is another one), but I still thought his energy and his commitment were thoroughly commendable – a shining example to all us cynical ‘old stagers’, in other words!

If (when he eventually returns from his extended sick-leave), you’re ever stuck on a boring stake-out together (although I fear you may’ve become far too important for that grubby kind of caper, now!) and have nothing of any remote significance left to talk about, then perhaps you might tell him that I think I may’ve found my (clumsy) way towards solving the BCPBT mystery (audible gasps of astonishment!), and that his early leg-work in December contributed in no small part to this breakthrough.

My approach to the thing has, as always, been characteristically ‘back-to-basics’ (to borrow a much derided phrase from the John Major era); a man of your rank and experience might almost call it ‘entry-level policing’ (although I’m rather fond of ‘bread and butter policing’ myself – for obvious reasons!).

Either way, I slowly worked out (during an especially dull lecture about the benefits of cardio-vascular exercise at WeightWatchers on Tuesday) that there could only ever really be three good reasons for a person to feel inclined to break into a postbox at any given moment in time:

1 The hope of acquiring some kind of financial benefit

2 The desire to accrue private information

3 The desire to stop a letter from being sent (an incriminating one, perhaps, posted on the spur of the moment and now held to be a serious liability by either the letter writer him/herself, or by someone who knows the letter writer – and possibly the contents of the letter – and wishes to protect themselves/the future recipient from the potential fallout from the information enclosed).

It was based on these three, very simple notions that I proceeded with my enquiries.

As to reason (1), it soon became evident that this was not a viable option since the three cheques (sent by Wincey Hawkes) were left behind in the cache. So far as I am aware, nothing else of value was reported missing.