Murders Without Motive (3 page)

Dick Pearson and his partner in crime so to speak arrived in the office having just finished performing three days duty at Shrewsbury Crown Court. The case had been a complicated one, importation of drugs. They were both pleased that having put a great effort into the matters last year, all their work had been rewarded with convictions.

The judge had been kind to them by commending them for their diligence.

Not so kind to the authorities dealing with the supervision of the importing of drugs.

Many millions of pounds involved. His Lordship, the judge had said how such a serious case it was and that the harm done to so many young people now in possession of the illegal drugs.

He had sentenced the whole gang to several hundred years’ imprisonment.

Unfortunately, when divided up between the participants this had amounted to about ten years each.

 With time off for good behaviour and then the obligatory releasing on licence after a third of their sentence was served.

 The whole gang of villains would be out on the streets in about three years.

Pearson sat, looked at the file at the top of his in-tray then sighed.

This caused his sergeant, Jonathon Gibson to look up over the papers he was reading. He knew the reason for the sigh, for he had made one, no doubt the same cause.

Gibson thought, “The blasted Crampton murders. They had spent hours on the cases following all possible avenues. The how’s and when’s all sorted, could they come up with a suspect or suspected even a motive, no, a complete blank”.

The latest murder would increase the pressure for results. As it stood, he, Gibson had not a clue.

His thoughts were mirrored by his immediate boss Detective Inspector Pearson.

Young, but thorough.

Great minds think a like and so had they have been able to mind read neither would have been surprised. The other was thinking along the same lines.

“What the hell do I do now?”

It was not a complete surprise when his telephone buzzed and on answering, it was the force Detective Chief Superintendent, Baz France.

“Morning, Pearson, I hear Gibson and yourself did well at the trial this week. I see the Clerk of the Peace, the voice of the learned Judge has been in touch passing on your commendations,

a very good effort”.

“Thank you Sir” replied Pearson, adding, “The sentence was rubbish they will be out on the streets before we know it”.

“Yes indeed” replied France, “but as they say, ours in not to reason why just do the bloody job then sit and cry”.

“A corny saying” thought Pearson but showing discretion made no comment.

“Well Pearson, if you would please come over to Headquarters, the Chief has made it known she wants an update on the Crampton murders, I suspect you are not surprised. I hear Pendergast has been banging the drum again”.

“What time?” asked Pearson.

“Say two o’clock, just after lunch time”.

“Ok boss” replied Pearson and on putting down the phone he looked at Gibson, “I have to be at Headquarters at two o’clock, a meeting with Detective Chief Super France and Miss Watkiss no less, the bloody Crampton murders”.

“What do I suggest for further action, I do not have a clue” he added.

Gibson smiled, said nothing but thought he was pleased he was still only a sergeant.

“Not being of the rank to sit in the senior officer’s dining room at headquarters at lunch time did have its merits” he thought.

 Lunching in the senior officer’s dining room at any police headquarters was not exactly like the Ritz, more similar to the dining room of the rank and file officers but with a little finesse, bullshit in the words of the ordinary beat coppers.

There were some differences however. When it was quiet especially at breakfast the duty inspectors found themselves seated alone to consume the good old, full English breakfast.

Next door in the dining room of the minions the sergeants and constables together with the civilian staff could be viewed eating the same food but were all laughing and ragging each other.

At lunch time it was slightly different, officers of the rank of Inspector and above were joined by their seniors in rank up to and including the Chief-Constable, Assistant Chief-Constables and Superintendents. Most if not all of them had managed to acquire various soft touch jobs that being stationed at headquarters afforded.

Even within this inner sanctum there were other layers of the pecking order. The chief and her assistants sitting together and then the Superintendents in their group with the rest seated around them.

It was however, often an unofficial opportunity for the more ambitious to be seen and make their mark, without actually doing any real police work.

If not bringing and carrying for the chief officers then making very useful suggestions, many of which they had picked up whilst over hearing ordinary cops, but, being career minded they had noted it for passing on as their own ground breaking hypothesis.

There was always the down side for, if one said the wrong thing or worse, were seen to be playing on the gaming machine in the lounge after the meal, this was likely to be noted as conduct one expected of the minions, not senior officers.

It was often if not always overlooked that until the very recent years of the direct entry of senior officers, all who savoured life in the senior officer’s dining room had in fact begun their police careers as ordinary constables.

There was always a laugh when God forbid, an officer of the rank of sergeant or constable had married an officer who was or had attained the rank of Inspector or above. There were smiles as the couple approached the entry doors one went into the senior officer’s room whilst the other crept into the other ranks dining area.

There was more of a laugh when the senior ranking officer was the wife. This had from time to time caused the husband to be known by a nick name such Owen-Alice.

The food in the senior room had the added advantage that in addition to the meat and two vegetables, pizza and cottage pie, occasionally fish pie was on the menu. The senior officers were graced with steak and more importantly, at no additional cost.

When Detective Inspector Pearson entered the dining room this day and as he walked to the table of the chief, the reason known only to him and his lunch partners, he was following upon directions from Miss Fenton the Chief’s Secretary.

All eyes were focussed upon him as he walked passed his minion colleagues but arrived at the table of the Miss Watkiss herself.

A small table however at which his immediate boss, Detective Chief Superintendent France was also seated.

It was two o’clock, Pearson has missed lunch and so when seated he discovered there was only work on the mind of Miss Watkiss.

“This Ma`am” said France “is Detective Inspector Pearson you may recall?”

“Ah yes Pearson I recall you from the briefings into these Crampton Murders”. She added then pointed to the chair a signal for him to be seated, he complied.

“Inspector, another murder. We appear to be no closer to solving the mysteries. The force is coming under pressure not only from the Commissioner Sir Claude Pendergast but now the Home Office. It would seem the family in addition to their long traditions and contacts with Royalty and various Government Ministers over years appear to have other influences. I will not go into these.”

Pearson sat passively; this was way above him, it sounded very much like politics. He was an ordinary copper who had just climbed up two ranks from walking the beat and trying door handles on night duty.

Chief Watkiss said, “I have decided Pearson to give you some assistance”

Pearson waited with bated breath he had not thus far been relieved of duties on the case, something which would not go well on his record.

“I am making every effort with I might say Home Office approval to instruct one Mr Jack Richards a retired detective superintendent from New Scotland Yard. He is now living in retirement here in Cheshire. He has on previous occasions been of immense value and assistance to this and other forces.”

“I have heard of Mr Richards. Goes by the name Jack the Hat, I believe.” replied Pearson

“Yes you have hit the nail on the head, Jack the Hat”. She said

“I am seeking to acquire his services as a consultant. He will be working in the back ground to assist and give you advice based on his years of vast experience and analytical skills”. She added, looking at Pearson’s expression her gambit was working.

“I am therefore Inspector asking for your opinion, as the officer in immediate charge of the case that is, upon my suggestion regarding Richards".

Pearson realised if he wished to stay on the case it was a fait accompli, she had decided. Her actions now were simply decoration and a means of getting him on board without rocking the boat.

“I think Ma`am that is a very good suggestion” said Pearson,  ever diplomatic. “I have made as thorough an investigation as possible, covering all avenues, seeing all witnesses and others but I confess to date I have found no leads that indicate a motive nor whom the offender might be”.

“So you would look forward to having Mr Richards working with you as I have described. You will cooperate and work as a team, no ill feeling and such nonsense”, she said

“I will certainly do all I can Ma`am to bring these murders to a successful detection and conviction” he replied.

“That is settled then.  I will contact Mister Richards and if it is alright with you Superintendent France, I will take Inspector Pearson with me, if and when I see Mister Richards”.

The conversation came to an abrupt end when Miss Watkiss having said her party piece and obtained the reply she hoped to get, arose and the two others followed suit and they all left.

On leaving the dining room, one of the waitresses reputed to be pugnacious at the best of times, nudged Pearson and said, “In the big time now are we?”

The woman was unfortunate for the Chief heard the comment, stopped turned and said.

“Mavis your overall is filthy, please go and change it immediately, I don’t want an outbreak of E. coli here”.
Mavis stopped said nothing but all faces were upon her when Joanne Watkiss added, “by the way, please refrain from being so mordacious”
.

When Miss Watkiss had gone Mavis realised she had blotted her copy book and simply stood in amazement.

The catering manager hearing the verbal transactions came over and said “Mavis, Mordacious, it means sarcastic, biting, caustic in style and tone, that is you Mavis, you have been told by me”.

She continued this was her opportunity to get one in at Mavis for spreading gossip she had been having it off with one of the married dog handlers. He had since been posted back on the beat, no reason given.

“The Chief was giving you a dressing down”. said Rachel, the canteen manager. “Please go and change your overall coat adding, E.coli is
Escherichia Coli, Germs, Mavis,
diarrhoea. 
We wouldn’t want that now would we?  In
future keep to your duties”.

Mavis trudged off, no one spoke but there were sniggers, the war of the civvies.

In Tarporley Anne and Jack Richards had been out walking, the holiday in Daram an eternity away.

As they strolled around the village they recalled their arrival some months before. They were all what Jack referred to as Yuppies”, in reality they were middle aged people who had made it in business. The wives believing they were the cat’s whiskers to quote a phrase. They and their” hubbies either went yachting or played golf or both. In the winter it was bridge no such common game as whist.