Chapter 11

Welcome Break

The following morning, he entered the office to be welcomed with – “Good morning, Thurstan! What time do you call this?” Chalkie grinned at him from the seat behind his desk.

The DCI casually glanced at the clock and replied, “I normally call it half past ten or has that all changed now as well? Where’s Derek, I thought you said you were bringing him with you?”

“He’s making the tea with Gandalph in the kitchen. Incidentally, what’s he doing here? I thought he’d been posted elsewhere?”

“So did I. It’s a long story.”

“That’s what he said.” Chalkie vacated the seat and sat on the edge of the desk. “Your chair’s not very comfy, are you sure one cushion’s enough?”

Thurstan plonked himself down and replied, “It’ll have to do, besides the pile cream kicked in yesterday.” Looking up, he took a cup from the tray Degsy held before him. “You must be the highest-paid teaboy ever, Derek. What’s Stephen doing letting you carry that lot?”

“He’s bringing up the rear with the biscuits. Besides, he made the brew whilst he told me he’s not supposed to be here, strictly speaking.”

Thurstan smiled. “Who? The man in the kitchen? I thought he looked vaguely familiar but, strictly speaking, I’m not allowed to say why.” He sipped his tea and dunked a bourbon biscuit. “Stephen? You know I’m not too keen on these.”

Gandalph looked suitably apologetic. “It’s all the corner-shop had, these and the Rich Tea ones and I know what you think about them. I’ll nip out to the big supermarket later, Boss.”

“Rich Tea, the only biscuit that should come with a soup spoon,” laughed Chalkie.

Degsy added, “It’s a knack. You can’t afford to dawdle with them, basic schoolboy mistake. Lightly dunk and shove ‘em straight in your gob.”

“Anyway,” Thurstan interjected. “What’s happening down at Fantasy Island these days? I heard the Chief got his way on the pronoun badge thing.”

Chalkie nodded and let slip a rueful smile. “Yeah, we thought it best to tow the line when he showed he was quite prepared to empty everyone out and start again. It would have been fine, but the management replacements were a sorry bunch, all sycophants of his, promoted beyond their mediocre abilities. People with the right skills were totally overlooked. He internally leaked the proposal paper, and we just couldn’t risk the effect it would have on major investigations, mate.”

Thurstan shook his head, a combination of sadness and despair then relented, for the sake of his friends. “I’d have done the same thing, Chalkie. The issue isn’t so important as to put the skill and reputation of the department in jeopardy. It might seem as if he bluffed his way out, but I’ve always thought, given the position and opportunity, he’d be totally ruthless. He’d have just thrown you lot out, refilled the gap then imported you back on short term attachments until your commitment and dedication brought things up to a manageable standard. Then you’d all be posted to the furthest place in the county from home.” Another mouthful of tea, a biscuit refusal and he said with a slight smile, “So, what are your pronouns?”

Degsy grinned. “We went with the suitably obscure Ze, Zir, Zirs. You could see straight away he was struggling with it. He stopped visiting after that.”

It was a pleasant forty-five minutes spent catching up, news of families, intentions for a few pints together in a pub sometime and Chalkie promised he’d send him his old chair, the one Degsy was currently using at MIT. Degs looked slightly put out until told they could say it broke and had to be thrown out then order him a brand new one.

What no one said was what they all knew in their hearts. Thurstan wouldn’t be returning to the Major Investigations Team.

****

He spent the afternoon immersed in the Leonard Turner file; Gandalph was at a meeting with Wilf and a couple of the other history buffs. The uniformed day crew popped in for a brew and a quick chat but had to abandon the place in a hurry to go to yet another call.

As he went from document to document, a number of things concerned him. As far as he could see, the investigation had basically become a slow crawl after Lennie was charged and definitely stopped altogether when he died. It seemed clear, to Thurstan, the investigators thought it wasn’t for the prosecution to supply any motive other than the speculative – surprised during a burglary, panicked, picked up handy kitchen knife and the deed was done. As one report noted, ‘Turner was a bit of an odd character, well known to many in the area, and who knows why those sort of people do anything’.

But there were problems with this for Thurstan. Common practice for burglars was to watch premises for at least several minutes before entering; making sure there were no signs of life, and neighbours had reported the house lights being on prior to the incident.

He began making notes, underlining the first few words as a form of heading. He had 12 points:

1.  No previous connections - Lennie and victim.

2. Witnesses saw lights on in the house only minutes before Lennie supposed to have committed crime. Dog walker waved to the victim who was in front garden shortly before - why would Lennie enter house with all signs occupier present?

3. Murder weapon identified as part of kitchen set kept in knife block on counter. To get it, offender has to get in kitchen. Crime scene photos show - no signs forced entry. Back door locked as was patio door to rear garden. Entrance hall no evidence to even suggest offender forced occupier back into house.

4. Maybe victim answered the door, already armed with knife? No evidence of struggle or defensive injuries. Faced by armed homeowner, surely much easier to run away?

5. Fatal wound inflicted, according to pathologist, by a right-handed person. Lennie was right-handed but seen by crime patrol to discard knife from left-hand jacket pocket? Forensics (blood traces) back up.

6. When stopped, Lennie said a man gave him the coat. Where was it from? White van parked under carport on drive. Victim – market trader, sells clothes. Police property log, for vehicle contents, shows similar/same items – trading stock. Photos in file confirm Lennie jacket same as others in vehicle rear.

7. If he’d gone to steal from house, and seemingly knew someone was inside, why was nothing, other than the murder weapon, missing from the house or found on him?

8. Lennie’s fingerprints found on the knife (naturally) but not found at scene of crime. No gloves when arrested. If he’d had gloves, surely, more sense for him to ditch knife first, then get rid of gloves, not other way around. - full search of the immediate area, no gloves found. Why were his prints not in house?

9. The revolver. Found on the kitchen floor, short – barrelled starting gun, described as a revolver. Included rounds. Partial fingerprint found on the cylinder matched three points on one of Lennie’s fingerprints taken on arrest. Then again, they could equally match three points on someone else’s partial print. Nowhere near close enough for correct identification or court purposes. SIO accepts as positive ident of Lennie and decides in final report – ‘The accused must have entered with the weapon, was challenged by the victim, picked up the knife and dropped the gun in the altercation.’ No evidence of any attempts to trace where weapon from/obtained.

10. Regional Drug Squad – who? Why were they there in first place? Supervisor said no one working area on night of the murder.

11. Lennie’s previous form for burglary - 13 years old and official caution after found keeping watch for older boys who broke in. Readily admitted what he was doing to officers who’d questioned him at the scene - seen hanging around commercial premises in darkness. Arresting officers’ report stated they believed “immaturity and gullibility led to him being used by bad company”.

12. Declined solicitor before interview but asked for former teacher, Mr Latimer. Record shows Ted Latimer present during interview.

Apart from the arresting officers, among the first people at the scene were two plainclothes officers who identified themselves as Drug Squad. There were no names in the statement he’d read and the next mention of them came from a local uniformed patrol and the first detective to attend. Again, no names mentioned, and the statements were very brief.

In those days, few uniformed officers or detectives carried forensic gloves with them and could therefore be forgiven their fingerprints being found at a crime scene, but all officers’ prints were on record. As a result, they could be easily eliminated. He was intrigued, however, as to why the prints of two particular officers, and so many at that, had been found in the premises. Once more, no names were given, simply the reference to ‘Drug Squad officers’ scrawled on the report.

Sometimes, this type of person worked undercover and needed to have their identity protected but what was wrong with recording their force identification numbers? Of course, if they belonged to another Police Force this might become confused with local officers who had the same or similar number, but a point of contact should’ve been possible at least, in case anyone needed to clarify something?

He reckoned these two were most probably not Merseyside officers but members of a regional squad. Perhaps, the same people Colin the driver’s uncle had mentioned?

Whilst Thurstan recognised professional actions and attitudes by some in what he’d read, he also noted some were lacking. He wasn’t impressed by the detectives’ supervisor whose attitude on paper came across as - another crime solved, let’s move on. It smacked of the truth never found or even sought. There was a smell about this – one of complacency, contentment, and lack of concern.

He looked at the tape cassette which declared itself the interview record. He needed to find something he could play it on. Keys in hand, jacket on, he headed for his car.

****

In the second-hand shop, he waved the police interview tape at the man behind the counter. “Have you got a cassette player I could use to listen to this on?”

The man examined it closely. “It’s a police tape.”

Thurstan smiled. “I know. I’m a police officer.”

Handing the tape back, the man said, “I’ve not seen you before. Where’s your identity card?”

There was a close examination before the reply, “Right, well, seems in order. Cassette players are over there, in the box behind the plastic swords.”

The DCI rummaged around, returning with a radio cassette. “Can you just plug this in and check everything’s working? Have you got some earphones I can borrow?”

The man plugged it into the socket behind the counter, slipped in a tape and adjusted the volume control before declaring, “Is that good enough for you? The radio works as well. Twenty-five pounds plus four pounds for the earphones, please.”

Thurstan grimaced. “I thought you could just let me listen to the tape here. It’s no longer than thirty minutes at the most. I don’t actually want to buy a player.”

Mustering all the patience he had, the man smiled at him and said, with slow, deliberate, experienced benevolence, “I don’t want to seem uncooperative or even ungrateful for your visit, but the thing is I’ve got bills to pay and the sign outside doesn’t say ‘Library’ – I’m not sure if you noticed.” He tilted his head slightly, an attempt to look more sympathetic, before continuing:

“Now, much as I’d like to be helpful, you can’t play that tape in this machine here because what happens if, somehow, either the tape or the machine gets knackered up? Where does that leave me? If it’s the cassette then I’ve helped destroy evidence and if it’s the player then I won’t be able to sell it, will I? And you can’t borrow earphones because it's a health and safety issue. For some strange reason, no one is very keen on buying used earbuds.”

He sighed, then resumed: “You see, I can’t be selling stuff like that to customers. No, it’s fraught with danger, that is, and even though I’m fairly certain, by the look of you, your ear maintenance routine will be commendably strict, we just don’t know for certain, so I can’t take the risk, I’m afraid.”

Thurstan could see his point but thought he’d negotiate. “I understand your predicament but isn’t twenty-five pounds a bit steep? It’s second-hand after all.”

The remark only elicited: “Ah, that’s the mistake many people make. It’s not second-hand, it’s pre-loved. There’s a big difference. This fine machine has been looked after, cherished, and maintained in tip-top condition.”

Thurstan tried again. “But what about those others in the box? The smaller ones? How much are they?”

The man shook his head, sadly. “Ah, another mistake many people make. Now, whilst they start from fifteen pounds, none of them have a radio and they really can’t be compared. They’re much cheaper made, lacking quality, but this one you’ve chosen is a superior British item, manufactured in the wilds of Oxfordshire. You’ll be listening to this for many, many years to come, and, to reflect my confidence in it, I give a warranty on this model. I don’t do that with the others. How about I say twenty-three pounds plus four for the headphones and I’ll even throw in a four pack of AA batteries for a quid.”

Twenty-eight pounds lighter in pocket, Thurstan was leaving the store when he thought to enquire. “How long’s the warranty?”

A smile and a casual reply: “Three weeks.”