A BURIED BODY 7.A Chapter by Peter RogersonEarly one Saturday morningA BURIED BODY 7. Arnold and Lucy were both in the same bed and trying to talk each other into getting up because, although it was a Saturday and neither of them had woirk to go to they both thought it only decent to be up and about before people noticed that their bedroom curtain were still closed at a late hour and jumped to a conclusion about why that might be. Not that they were doing more than holding a whispered conversation at the moment. And then the doorbell rang, its melodic tone transported to Arnold’s phone, which he kept on his bedside table. He picked I up looked on it to find out who might be disturbing them mid-debate, and it was that pesky Detective Inspector who, it seemed, still believed there might be something dodgy about him. “It’s the coppers again,” he told Lucy “hang on here and I’ll get shot of them.” “Without shooting them I hope,” teased Lucy. “Though I can only see the one of them. No, the sergeant, what’s his name, standing just behind him, he’s there too. Now what do they want this early?” “Best go and see, my love,” smiled Lucy, and Arnold reluctantly pulled a pair of shorts and a tee shirt on and grumbling about inconsiderate policemen, went down the stairs and opened the door. Inspector Corden and Sergeant Jankers were turning to leave, no doubt planning to return at a later hour, and he caught the just in time. “Well, Inspector?” asked Arnold, “excuse me for keeping you waiting but I was still in bed and had to clamber into these clothes in a hurry.” “Don’t tell him all our secrets,” came Lucy’s voice from the top of the stairs. She had decided to rise and shine as well seeing that Arnold was already up and about. “I’m sorry to be disturbing you at such an unearthly hour,” muttered the DI, “but I need to ask you about your father…” “He’s in a retirement home, Primrose Hill if you must know,” Arnold told him. “Was,” said the DI. “Isn’t any more,” added DS Jankers. “He’s in Brumpton General Hospital, spent a night of glorious repose in the grave SOCO dug in his back yard,” added DI Corden, “We sent him there because he looked sort of poorly, but he’s alright now. I hope. But that’s not why we’re here. We wanted to know if he had a friend close enough to want to spend the night in his brick built shed?” “And die there,” added DS Jankers, making his Inspector frown at him for gifting too much information too quickly. “What do you mean, die?” asked Lucy who by then had reached the bottom of the stairs, dressed in just a crimson satin-smooth nightdress which she’d pulled on in such a hurry that it was back-to-front and consequently threatening to strangle her. “Die as in ceasing to live, to expire, for life to be extinct: that sort of die,” explained the DS, not wanting to feel left out of a conversation that dealt with such important matters as life and death. “I don’t understand. And did you say dad’s in hospital?” “Quite an adventurous gentleman, is your father,” mumbled the DI, “put it like this, he managed to climb out of his bedroom window and make his way, really quite slowly seeing it was a dark night with limited moonlight to help him on his way, to his own home rather than the retirement one. He was spotted in a public house, The Brickmakers, but he didn’t have a drink there. He was spotted by a pretty young constable in mufti, counting his small change before turning to go.” “Must have spotted the price list,” added the DS. “It was when the ambulance had taken him that we spotted the other elderly man in the shed, that is the shed with the open door, and upon examination it turned out that he had passed away…” “Become extinct,” added his sergeant, who was beginning to get on the Inspector’s nerves. “Who is he?” asked Lucy, “I mean, do you know who he is?” “That’s why we’re here. Now, sir, we might be attracting the attention of more than one neighbour, so may we come in and discuss it in private?” “Okay, then, this way,” nodded Arnold, “we’ll use the kitchen because I’m dying for something hot and wet.” “Nice of you to offer, and yes please,” put in the DS. “What my sergeant means is if you were to offer him a drink he might accept it, but not until it’s been offered,” growled the DI. Arnold and Lucy led the way into the kitchen where there was a table and four chairs forming a sort of centre isle. The four of the sat down and Arnold looked expectantly at the two officers. “So there was a dead old man in the shed?” he asked. “Well, that’s the gist of it,” admitted DI Corden, “And we’ve checked with a Mr Cheeseman at Primsose Hill Retiremnt home, asking if anyone other than your father was missing, and after checkng he said they were all present and correct. But we have this elderly person and we want to know what to do about him. I mean, he must have friends or relatives, somebody who will miss him. So did your father have any friends of a similar age to himself? Friends who were known to call on him?” Arnold shook his head. “Not that I know of,” he replied, “As he grew older he became a lonely old soul I’m afraid. It upset me when he looked at me and told me I must be the milkman or some other tradesman. I mean, who has a milkman these days?” “Then he’s another headache,” sighed the DI. “Dad might know who it is,” suggested Arnold, wanting to be helpful because if he answered all of the officer’s questions he might leave and let the teo of them get back to bed for a few minutes. “He seems to think most people either sell milk or are in some way distantly related to him,” said the DI shaking his head. “All rit sir, we’ll got without a nice hot drink andleave you in peace. Come on, Sergeant.” And he stood up. “Sorry to have disturbed you,” he murmured. “Arnold!” smiled Lucy, “Put the kettle on! We can’t let two thirsty policemen go and die of thirst in the big wide world. And there’s something I want to ask them.” “That’s uncommonly decent of you, miss,” put in DS Jankers, “It promises to be a long day and the DI got me starting it early, before I had a proper breakfast.” “And what did you want to ask me, miss?” asked the DI. “Well, I’ve thought of being a policewoman myself,” she replied with a gentle smile. “How do I go about it? I mean, I’m observant and like to be helpful…” TO BE CONTINUED © Peter Rogerson 03.10.24 xxx © 2024 Peter Rogerson |
StatsAuthorPeter RogersonMansfield, Nottinghamshire, United KingdomAboutI am 80 years old, but as a single dad with four children that I had sole responsibility for I found myself driving insanity away by writing. At first it was short stories (all lost now, unfortunately.. more..Writing
|