Overend – A Year In Crime
Chapter Twelve
Monday April 8th 2002
It was another busy Monday in CID, or not, as there was virtually no one in the squad room.
Overend and Adamson were on there way to Childean to interview Big Cyril.
Katarski and Chute were in court giving evidence all morning in Abbottsford.
Suddaby and Khan were interviewing Big Cyril's employee’s at his other two betting shops.
Tilly Donnally was away hassling forensics and Jenny Hack was following up on a missing person inquiry.
Tunstall was off sick and Webster was on holiday.
Which left Jimmy Pidd and Pip Mead who were already wading through piles of documents from Olympic Security.
So it was the perfect opportunity for Ben Clubley to corner Griffin about his little problem.
Ben found Marty sitting at his desk with his face in his hands.
“Morning.”
Griffin looked round startled and then a look of relief crossed his face.
“Morning Ben.” Said Marty. “Have you decided what your going to do?”
Clubley was perched on the edge of Griffin’s desk.
“Yes.”
Clubley didn’t elaborate.
“And?” Marty said impatiently.
“You need to get help, Marty.” Griffin shrank back in his chair. “Counseling or Gamblers anonymous.”
“I don’t have a problem.” Marty said adamantly. “I just like a flutter every now and then.”
“You don’t think it’s a problem when you, a serving police officer, sits down at a card table, for an illegal card game, with known villains.” Clubley was on his feet. “How is that not a problem?”
“I suppose you feel in control, you bet when you feel like it and leave it alone when you don’t.” Griffin nodded.
“When was the last time you didn’t feel like having a bet Marty?” Clubley stood over Griffin. “Last week, last month, last year?”
There was no response from Griffin who just stared at a point in the distance.
“If your going to sort yourself out you have to admit you have a problem.”
Griffin stared up at Clubley. “What makes you such an expert anyway Clubley?”
“Because I’ve been there and I’ve done it.” Ben took a deep breath. “I blew everything.”
“I gambled away my life, I lost the house, the car, anything with a value. When it got really bad I stole from family, friend’s.” He looked at Marty. “Even colleagues.”
Griffin turned to look at Ben in disbelief.
“Why do you think I live alone in a dingy bed-sit with third hand furniture.”
Clubley paused.
“I’m thirty eight years old and I have nothing.”
Now it was Clubley’s turn to stare into the distance.
“I have two ex wives, three brothers and a sister and none of them want to have anything to do with me.”
He was up and walking.
“Not one of them would piss on me if I was on fire.”
“I have nephews and nieces I have never met, and probably will never meet.”
There was a long silence as the two men reflected.
“I broke the habit, eventually, but too late to save what I know now was more important to me.”
“Your still young Marty you still have your whole life ahead of you don’t blow it like I did.”
Ben got to his feet and walked to the water cooler.
He filled a plastic cup took a sip and walked back to Griffin.
“I’m sorry Ben, I didn’t know.”
“What’s done is done.” He took a drink and asked. “Do you want help?”
“Yes.”
“Ok I’ll do a deal with you. If you promise to get help with your addiction.”
“I’m not an addict.” Marty protested.
“What would you call it then a hobby?”
Griffin didn’t answer.
“Get help with your addiction and I’ll sell Overend the idea that your working undercover in the spieler*.”
Griffin was silent.
“Let me know your decision.” Clubley said. “Soon.”
“Don’t screw your life up like I did, Marty.”
Ben returned to his own desk.
Detective Constable Jenny Hack, refreshed and eager after her few days off, was keen to complete the missing persons inquiry as she only had two weeks to go before her maternity leave began.
That was why she was driving to Nettlefield to, The Prestige chauffeured car service.
Norma Dowie, a close friend of the missing woman, had intimated that there was some impropriety between her friend’s husband and his secretary.
With that in mind she was going to interview Abigail Evans secretary to Charles Herbert.
Jenny drove into the car park in front of Saphire Luxury Limo’s office, which appeared to have been converted from an old pub.
The building was mock Tudor with “Olde Worlde” beams and bay windows with leaded glass picture windows.
After extricating herself from the car with all the elegance and grace she could muster, which was very little, she proceeded across the car park to the front door.
Once inside all similarities with a pub faded away.
The whole feel of the place was traditional all the furniture and fittings were antique or antique in style.
The walls were adorned with pictures of classic cars and on every available surface there were scale models of the same classics.
In the center of what presumably was once the lounge bar stood a large antique desk.
Behind the desk was a young woman, who stood up almost immediately as Jenny closed the door behind her.
The young woman was tall, slender, elegant and very blonde.
“I bet she dyes her roots black.” Jenny thought to herself and smiled.
Boris Katarski would have wondered if the Collar and cuffs matched.
She was in her middle to late twenties and exuded an air of calm efficiency.
“Good Morning madam.” The young woman said and smiled politely.
“Good morning.” Jenny replied and presented her warrant card. “DC Hack Abbottsford CID.”
“Oh!” She said surprised.
“I would like to speak with an Abigail Evans.”
“Oh!” More surprise.
Jenny was beginning to wonder if this was her entire vocabulary.
“Well I am Abigail Evans.” She said and pointed towards an empty chair. “Please sit down.”
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Just water please.” Jenny replied “Thank you.”
After handing a glass of water to Jenny she slid effortlessly into her chair.
“How can I help?”
“It’s about Mrs. Mary Herbert.” Jenny Began.
“Oh Yes?”
“She’s been reported missing.”
“Yes she went off with a man I believe. Broke Mr. Herbert’s heart.” Abigail replied.
“What is your relationship with Mr. Herbert?”
“I work for him that is the full extent of our relationship.”
She said tartly.
“It has been said that you were having an affair.” Jenny persisted.
“By whom?” She asked with he hint of a smile on her lips.
“That I can’t tell you.” Replied Jenny. “Is it true?”
“Look I like Charles very much I’ve work for him for almost ten years now and he’s a sweetheart to work for, but I am neither sexually or romantically attracted to him.” She paused. “As for him he wouldn’t give me a second look.”
Now it was Jenny’s turn to show surprise.
“He loves his wife it’s as simple as that.”
“Any idea where she went?” Asked Jenny.
“I did here someone mention Newcastle but it may just have been gossip.”
“Ok thanks for your help.” Jenny said smiling. “Just one final thing, is Mr. Herbert in today?”
“No he isn’t he’s at a society Golf day at” She consulted the large leather bound diary on the desk in front of her. “Purplemere.”
“Ok thanks.” Jenny began to stand.
It was as if seeing Jenny lumber to her feet made her feel sorry for the impregnated Detective.
“I have a contact number for him, I can call him if you’d like. It’s no trouble.” She said her hand hovering over the handset. “I’m sure he wont mind and it’s not too far out of your way.”
“Thank you.” Said Jenny. “That would be very helpful.”
After a brief telephone conversation between Abigail and her employer an appointment was arranged at the Golf course at twelve thirty. DC Hack thanked Ms Evans politely and left.
When Jenny was in the car she checked the time.
Nettlefield to Purplemere was at most a forty-five minute journey, which left her with two hours to kill.
She gave it some little thought and decided that the “Kingfisher’s” shopping center in Nettlefield would kill some time so off she went for a little nest feathering.
It was a week since Cyril Curtis was beaten unconscious and there were times, during that week, that Bill Overend thought this would cease to be a robbery and turn into a murder inquiry.
After five days in the ICU and two days in a private room Cyril was well enough to be moved.
He was moved from the Churchill Hospital, Abbottsford to Fallowfield Park, a private nursing home near the village of Childean in the wooded hills of the Dancingdean forest.
Fallowfield Park was an impressive sight set in beautiful grounds.
It was no doubt build in the prosperous days of the Victorian age for someone who had earned there fortune somewhere colored pink* in a time when the sun never set on the British Empire.
The house fell into disuse after the Wall Street crash of 1928 when its owners lost the family fortune.
The army, during world war two, commandeered it, and in the years since the war it had been used as an orphanage, a hospital and a school.
It was rumored at one time that it was going to be turned into a hotel and a golf course.
But for the last eight years at had been a nursing home.
Once parked Bill Overend and Tom Adamson crunched their way across the gravel to the reception.
Having introduced themselves and stated the nature of their visit they were directed up the stairs to the nurses station where they would find a nurse to show them the way to Mr Curtis’s room.
When they arrived at the top of the stairs they proceeded along the corridor until they were surprised by a voice behind them.
“Hello gorgeous.” Tom’s first reaction was to ignore the voice, as it was obviously a nutter.
Bill knew different, he knew it was directed at him, not because he was conceited but because he knew the owner of the voice.
“Is that Lisa?” Bill said turning round slowly.
It was Lisa Stringer, a nurse, who used to work at the Churchill with Bill’s daughter Isabel and was chief bridesmaid at her wedding.
“Yes.” And to Tom’s surprise she kissed and hugged Bill warmly.
“What are you doing here?” She asked him.
“Were here to interview a robbery victim.” He said nodding in Tom’s direction.
“Cyril Curtis?” Lisa asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll show you the way.” Lisa said.
“This is Tom Adamson by the way, my Inspector.” He said making the introductions.
“And this is Lisa Stringer.”
He thought for a moment that he might leave it at that to enhance his credibility.
“A close friend of Isabel’s.”
Tom nodded knowingly.
“So what about you?” Bill asked. “What brings you here?”
“I sold out I’m afraid Bill.” She answered. “Regular hours, better pay, more holidays need I go on?”
At the end of the corridor she stopped.
“If you just wait here a moment.” She said and knocked lightly on the door and after a moment walked in.
She closed the door for a few seconds and then it opened again and she reappeared.
“Ok you can come in now.”
“Thank you nurse.” Bill said smiling.
“Your welcome Chief Inspector.” She said and then in a whisper. “Come and find me before you go?”
He nodded and she closed the door behind her.
The room was like a luxury hotel with a large lounge area with a soft leather suite, wide screen TV complete with cable and DVD. Either side of the bed were wing backed leather armchair’s the only thing that gave it away was the high hospital style bed.
In one of the armchairs Emily Curtis was sat she smiled and moved as if to stand.
“Please don’t get up Mrs. Curtis.” And he took her hand and held it warmly.
“Thank you Chief Inspector. Its nice to see you again.” She said.
“I must apologize for my behavior the last time we met.”
“Nonsense there’s nothing to apologize for.”
He released her hand and turned his attention to Mr. Curtis while Tom Adamson exchanged pleasantries with Mrs. Curtis.
“Thank you for agreeing to see us Mr. Curtis.” Bill said offering a hand.
“Cyril please call me Cyril.” He replied shaking the offered hand weakly.
“Only the tax man calls me Mr. Curtis.” He smiled with equal weakness.
Bill looked at Big Cyril lying limply looking anything but big.
Even on a good day in his prime you could never describe Cyril as big.
He stood five foot two in his stocking feet and weighed about eight stone.
Given his physic you could be excused for thinking that calling him Big Cyril was disrespectful or just plain sarcastic.
But no he earned his name in the same way he earned the business from his father.
Cyril senior was a tiny figure only four feet ten inches tall and as he worked with his taller junior for many years they became known as big Cyril and little Cyril.
And the name has stuck.
On this occasion he looked dreadful, his head was still bandaged and his face was a mass of purple bruises and almost black cuts and scratches.
The two policemen sat down on the plush furniture.
“If at anytime you don’t feel up to this we can stop and do it another time.” Overend said sympathetically.
“I’ll be fine.” Cyril answered.
“Ok in your own time.”
Cyril to a drink and began slowly.
“There was a knock at the door so I got up and checked the CCTV. And it was a Pizza delivery man you know with one of those big bag things.”
“I thought it’s that young bugger down the road trying to be funny again.”
Bill nodded.
“So I went to open the front door.” He took another sip.
“As soon as I opened the door he dropped the Pizza bag and he’s pointing a sawn off at my chest and shouting, and he pushes me backwards all the way down the hall shouting all the time.”
“Can you remember what he said?” Asked Tom.
“No I was trying hard not to fall over and watch the shotgun at the same time.”
He paused for another drink.
“Then I was in the lounge and I turned to see if Emily was alright.”
“What was the man with the gun wearing?” Asked Tom.
“Motor cycle outfit and a crash helmet with the visor up.”
“Then they were tying Emily to the chair and gagged her and put a hood over her head.
I was very worried for Emily.”
He reached out and held her hand.
“And then one of the men shouted at me.”
“Can you remember exactly what he said?” Bill asked.
“We won’t harm her if you do what your told. If you don’t I’ll kill you both.”
“And then I was shoved down the hall and out of the door.”
He took another drink.
“They shoved me all the way down the path into a waiting car.”
“A waiting car?” Bill asked.
“What? Oh yes. The car was waiting with the engine running.”
Bill was just about to speak.
“Yes there was a man behind the wheel.”
“Can you tell us much about the journey?” Bill asked.
“No, once I was in the car they put a hood over my head and nobody spoke at all.”
“No one spoke?” Said Overend.
“No.”
“Not even directions?” Queried Tom.
“No, no one spoke until we arrived at the shop. And one of them said, “Ok out”.”
“When we got to the door he already had my keys.” Cyril paused thoughtfully.
“But I didn’t give him the keys so he must have known where they were and helped himself.”
“Then he grabbed me and said, “Get ready to deactivate the alarm and remember try anything and the old bitch dies”.” Emily squeezed his hand.
“So he unlocked the door and I went in and put in the code. Then the light went on and I was shoved across the shop and up the stairs. Then I was tied in the chair.”
“Then he went straight to the safe and I gave him the number and he opened it.”
“Do you think he knew where to find the safe?” Bill asked.
“Oh yes.” Cyril took another sip.
“Once they had the safe open they put tape over my mouth. They were very pleased with themselves, one of them said to me to think of it as a donation to their holiday fund, and then laughed.”
“Then they put the cash into sports bags and then “laughing boy” said lets go, and they started to leave.”
“Then one of them came back span the chair round and hit me.”
He winced at the thought.
“Then he hit me again, and again, and again and...”
“Was it “laughing boy” that hit you?” Bill asked.
“No, because I heard him say “leave him Barry we’ve got what we came for”.”
“Then he hit me again and the next thing I knew I was in the Winston Churchill with tubes sticking from every orifice.”
“Do you remember Sue Yardell finding you?” Tom asked.
“No not at all.”
“According to Miss Yardell you said.” Tom consulted his notebook. “Emily, Emily, they’ve got my Emily”
Both Cyril and Emily laughed and Bill and Tom looked at each other slightly bemused.
“It sounds a bit “Heathcliffe”” Emily said. “All very dramatic.”
“It doesn’t sound like me at all does it love?” Cyril said to his wife.
“No he normally only calls me Emily if he’s cross with me.”
“But if Sue sys that’s what I said then I must have said it.”
“There was a lot of money in the safe?” Tom asked.
“Yes, About ninety two thousand.” Cyril replied.
“Ninety two thousand was a lot of money to keep in the safe over the weekend.” Tom suggested.
“I know, but as it was “Festival week” and it’s always late when we finish, the last few years I’ve been leaving the banking until Monday.” Replied Cyril.
“Miss Yardell has been very helpful.” Bill said changing tack.
“Yes Sue is very efficient.” Cyril said.
“We’ve not been able to trace Mary Weeks though.”
“Mary?” Said Cyril.
“She’s gone down to Wales to visit her sister for a couple of weeks.” Cyril said surprised.
“I thought Sue would have told you. It must have slipped her mind with all that’s happened.”
“Yes that must be it.” Bill said unconvincingly.
“Anyway we wont take up anymore of your time.” Bill said standing up. “Thank you for your time.”
Tom echoed Bill’s words and they both left.
Once in the corridor Tom said. “Well that was interesting.”
“Wasn’t it?” Bill replied. “Now lets go and find the lovely Lisa.”
They found Nurse Lisa Stringer on a small sunny terrace on the eastside of the house where there was a collection of tables and chairs for the use of the staff.
Lisa was sitting at one of the tables reading a magazine and smoking a cigarette.
The terrace was bathed in spring sunshine but there was still an edge to the light breeze and Lisa had a coat round her shoulders.
She looked up when she saw the two policemen approach and smiled.
“Come and sit down.” She said. “There’s fresh coffee in the jug.” She gestured in the direction of a large tray on the table.
While they sorted themselves out a drink she sat looking out across the lawns and down into the valley below.
She could clearly see the church spire in Shallowfield which, as the crow flies, was the closest village.
“This is the best view in the whole park.” She said. “I love it here.”
“But you had a wonderful view over the sewerage farm when you worked at the Churchill.” Bill said. “Don’t you miss it?”
“There are a lot of things I miss since I left Abbottsford but the view of the sewerage farm isn’t one of them.”
“Where are you living now?” Bill asked.
“Just down there.” She pointed down the hill to Shallowfield.
“There’s a path through the woods there it takes ten minutes to walk to my cottage.”
“Life doesn’t get any better than this.” She smiled radiantly.
“How’s Issy?” She asked Bill. “I’m going to see her and the baby on Saturday.”
“There both doing great she’ll be thrilled to see you.”
There was a short silence and then she said.
“You’re probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you.”
She said.
“Its probably nothing but..”
“Well tell us anyway.” Bill said.
“Ok.” She gathered herself.
“We hired a private ambulance to go and collect Cyril Curtis and I went with it. When we got there the discharge forms still hadn’t been signed so I had a little time to kill so I went to see a few people.”
She picked up her cigarette’s and offered one to Bill and then to Tom.
“No thanks luv I don’t anymore.” Bill said and Tom shook his head.
“You’ve quit?” She asked.
“Yes nearly a year now.” Bill replied.
“Well done. Any ill effects?”
“Only in his dreams.” Tom added.
Lisa looked puzzled.
“I have had a number of strange, tobacco related, dreams.” Bill said. “Not every night but quite often.”
“How odd.” Lisa said pulling a face. “Anything of a sexual nature?”
“No comment.” Said Bill embarrassed. “Lets change the subject.”
When she finished chuckling she lit her cigarette.
“Do you remember Derek Blackmore?” She asked Bill.
Bill thought for a second. “ A male nurse in casualty. Looks like Alfred E Newman*.”
“Yes that’s him.” She said laughing.
“Well he works in ICU now and he was one of the nurse’s caring for Cyril among others.”
“He told me that he had at least five phone calls on the ward asking about Cyril Curtis. He checked with other nurses on his shift and on the other shift and they had received calls as well. They wouldn’t give a name and the calls stopped once he was off the critical list.”
“Man or Woman?” Tom asked.
“Man.”
“The same man?” Asked Tom again.
“Derek’s sure it was the same man every time.”
She put out her cigarette.
“He said he tried to report it to the officer on the ward but all she said was “haven’t you got any work to do”. So he left it.”
“Tunstall!” Bill and Tom said in unison.
“What’s Tunstall mean?” She asked puzzled.
“Detective Constable Tunstall.” Bill elaborated. “She’s new.”
“Oh.” She said. “Anyway I’d better get back. I hope I haven’t wasted your time?”
She kissed Bill goodbye and smiled at Tom.
“How come you keep getting all the kisses? And I just get a smile?” Tom said after Lisa had disappeared into the building and they were walking back to the car.
“Privilege of rank.” Bill said smiling.
Jenny Hack having completed her shopping expedition in Nettlefield and feeling very pleased with herself had made the journey to Purplemere Golf club.
Having parked her car and found her bearings she walked towards the clubhouse.
Finding no one at reception for followed the sound of loud conversation, which had to be the bar.
The first person she found was a large boorish man monopolizing the conversation with three fellow members.
“I’ll tell you what a mixed feeling is.” He took a quick drink of his beer.
“It’s when you see your mother-in-law backing over Beachy Head in your new Jaguar.”
This was followed with raucous laughter; it was funny how jokes always seemed more amusing when the listener had been drinking.
She caught the eye of the bar steward.
“Yes Madam?” He said.
“I have an appointment with Charles Herbert.” She said discreetly showing her warrant card.
“Yes Madam.” He craned his neck and looked around the bar and then pointed across the room. “He’s the small gentleman, on the terrace in the yellow sweater.”
“Thanks.” Jenny said with a smile.
Mr. Herbert was a short stocky man and was standing on the periphery of a group of Golfers on the terrace.
Jenny thought he appeared to be listening to the conversation rather than participating in it.
She also thought, perhaps a little unkindly, that being on the periphery of life was probably familiar territory for him.
“As she got closer to the group Charles spotted her, obviously briefed by his secretary on her condition, and broke away from the group virtually unnoticed and stepped forward to greet her.
“Are you looking for me?” He proffered a hand. “Charles Herbert.”
“Detective Constable Hack.” She replied. “Thank you for seeing me. Is there somewhere quieter we can talk?”
“Yes indeed. We can use the function room.” He said leading the way further along the terrace and though another set of doors into a large function room.
The room was decorated for a function and the tables were adorned with crisp white linen and silver service. Each table had a large floral centerpiece.
There were three or four staff flitting back and forth applying the finishing touches apart from that they had the room to themselves.
Charles led Jenny to a quiet corner and took two chairs off a stack and they sat down.
“It’s about your wife Mr. Herbert.”
“So I understand.” He said.
“She’s been reported missing.” Jenny continued.
“Yes?”
“Yes but not by you.”
“No.”
“Why not?” Jenny asked.
“Firstly because she isn’t missing.” He said sadly. “She’s left me. And secondly I was hoping she would come back after a couple of weeks.”
He said nothing for a few moments.
“She said she didn’t love me anymore and that she wanted to experience and enjoy life and she couldn’t do that with me.”
“Do you know where she went? Newcastle perhaps.”
“Newcastle?” He said surprised. “No not that I know of although she does have friends in Newcastle.”
“She didn’t say where she was going she just packed a couple of bags and went.”
“Her bank statements are still coming to the house and there are cash withdrawals made in different parts of London and a few in the Oxford area.”
“And you haven’t hear from her?”
“No.”
“No phone calls?”
“No.”
“No letter’s? Emails?”
“No, nothing at all.” He said with finality. “I do expect to here from her if only in regard to a divorce.”
“You’ll let us know if you here from her?”
“Yes of course.”
“I still love her you know and I’d have her back in a heartbeat.”
Jenny smiled sympathetically and stood up.
“Well thank you for seeing me.” Jenny shook his hand a turned towards the door. “Enjoy the Golf.”
When they were back in Abbottsford Tom followed Bill into his office. Tom sat down and started to review his notes, then he said.
“What did you make of it?”
“Which bit?” Bill responded rhetorically.
He stood up and walked over to the large dry wipe board on the wall and picked up a marker.
On the left-hand side he wrote “Insider.”
“I think that they definitely had inside information, that’s clear they knew exactly where the keys were at Cyril's house and the exact location of the safe and it has to be more than a coincidence that there was over ninety thousand pounds in the safe.”
“So an employee?” Tom said and Bill nodded. “Past or present?”
“Oh present I think. Don’t you?” Bill said and after “insider” he wrote the initials “S Y” “And I think it’s the efficient Miss Yardell.”
“She seemed genuinely upset about Cyril.” Tom added.
“I have no doubt that she was upset. I don’t think Cyril being beaten unconscious was part of the plan.” Said Bill. “And that “Emily, Emily,” nonsense was obviously made up.”
“So she would have a reason to send the police to free Mrs. Curtis.” Tom suggested.
“Exactly.”
“And by giving us details of the ex employees, and not telling us about Mary Weeks’s holiday, she’s trying to divert attention from herself, after all she been so helpful.”
“Motive?” Tom asked. “Just the money?”
“Probably envy as well.” Bill answered. “She’s worked for Cyril for twenty years and as a result he’s living in an eight hundred thousand pound house in an exclusive part of Roespring and she’s living in one of Wimpy’s finest two up two down card board shoe boxes in Millmoor.”
He turned back to the board and continued writing.
“What about the mystery caller?” Tom asked.
“One of the gang?” Bill answering with a question.
“A criminal with scruples maybe. Someone who didn’t sign up for the violence.” Tom mused.
“The driver.” Bill concluded.
Tom nodded.
Bill turned his attention back to the board, when he’d finished the list looked like this:
“Insider” SY
“Laughing boy” (Leader)?
“Barry” (Hardman)
“Pizza man”
“Scruples” (Driver)
“We don’t know much do we?” Bill said. “We have some forensics from “Pizza man” but no suspect to match it to.”
“Are we sure about “Barry”?” Tom asked. “Cyril was having his brains scrambled at the time.”
“It doesn’t make much difference if were sure or not we can’t arrest people just because they’re called Barry.” Bill said rubbing his eyes.
“The only thing I am sure about is that Sue Yardell was the “Insider” but I have no proof. And I don’t have the resources to put her under surveillance.”
“Is it worth getting a warrant to get her bank details?” Asked Tom.
“No she’s not going to be daft enough to bank her cut.” Answered Bill. “All we can do is wait until they cock up or until they strike again.”
