Detective Inspector Bill Overend often referred to himself as “optimistically middle aged”, because although there was no guarantee that he was in the middle of his life, he was nonetheless optimistic.
He was actually forty-five years old, at least for another twenty-one days, and he knew only two well that he had long since seen the middle of his life.
He described himself as “a well made man” not in a conceited way and not in the terms of an Adonis or someone of Herculean stature but more like solid, sturdy or robust some might even say, “Well built”.
But he liked to be thought of as “well made” it was an old fashioned expression, which his father always used, and he liked it for that reason as much as any other.
The few enemies he had were less flattering about his 6 foot 4 inch 18 stone presence.
But he was a popular man in the job as well as out of it.
As if his height and size did not make him distinctive enough he also had close-cropped Grey hair, that is, what had not already fallen out had turned Grey, and a predominantly Grey beard.
His children often told him he had his head on upside down.
It was a cold March night, well early morning actually, as he stood alone in the back garden of his four bed roomed detached home in the idyllic village of Chapel Hill.
He and his family had lived there for almost ten years.
They all loved it there so much.
Life had been good to them and they had a very comfortable and rewarding life.
It had not always been so.
It had taken a combination of hard work and good fortune in equal measure to get to where he was today.
He and his wife of twenty-six years, Sally, had always been happy in each other’s company but life had been more difficult and testing at times.
When they were first married they had a dingy two room flat in Nettlefield, a sprawling commuter town about ten miles and nearly twenty-five years away from where he now stood.
They got out of there after two long years of hard work, with Bill doing as much overtime as he could get, and Sally working days for a Paper Merchant as an office assistant and three evenings, and the occasional weekend, waiting tables at a Pub restaurant.
On the rare occasions that they were not working they spent quiet evenings planning their future and not spending anything.
There only vices being the occasional bottle of wine and smoking roll ups.
So in time they managed to scrape-up enough money for a deposit on a one-bedroom shoebox on a new development on the outskirts of Northchapel.
But they still had to keep working the long hours and extra shifts to meet the mortgage.
Mortgages were new territory for both of them, as no one in Bill’s or Sally’s family had ever owned their own house.
Then after a little over a year in their new home Sally broke the news that she was pregnant.
She was very worried about telling him and she delayed telling him for almost three days before she finally blurted it out, as a result of fear and simple delight and a need to share her joy.
But she need not have worried he was as delighted as she was and they were so exited that they danced around like march hares for what seemed like hours.
Even though this was not part of the plan yet they could not have been happier.
The unexpected news of Sally’s expectancy did cause some problems however the main one being the house was far too small for another person however little they might be.
They could have decided on an abortion and delayed the family a few years but that didn’t sit well with either of them.
And they dismissed the thought almost as soon as it came to mind.
Not that they were part of the anti abortion lobby it just wasn’t for them.
What was meant to be was meant to be.
They put the house on the market and sold it within two days and with the housing market booming they made a very healthy profit.
However the size of house they were looking for they just couldn’t afford.
They could have borrowed the extra money and taken out a bigger mortgage but they would never have been able to meet the payments with only one salary coming in.
Then out of the blue came a turn of good fortune.
There was a knock at the door; it was an old friend of Bills, Dave Butcher.
He had joined the RAF as a aircraft fitter as soon as he was old enough but they had stayed in touch and got together whenever possible.
“Butch” was an only child and had inherited the family home, a three-bed semi in Abbottsford, when his dad died suddenly of a heart attack eighteen months previously.
His mum had died when he was only four from a brain tumor.
Bill and Sally had taken care of the funeral arrangement as the news had hit him hard.
“Butch” and his Dad were very close and he took it really badly.
When they had announced they were getting married, out of all their friends and family only Butch, and Sally’s best friend Janice had supported them.
Everyone else had said they were too young, that they should wait and they should experience life first.
Sally’s parents were horrified when she told them she didn’t want to go to Art College.
That she needed to get a job so she could start saving up because she was going to marry Bill.
They had thought that she would grow out of it that it was just an infatuation, a maturity thing, and when she came to her senses she could just go to Art School the following year instead.
They didn’t know her as well as they thought.
Suffice is to say they didn’t think Bill was good enough for her but then no parent really believes that anyone is good enough for their daughter.
Bills parents didn’t want him to tie himself down so early in his life, even though they loved Sally almost as much as he did, they just wanted them to wait for a year or two.
Never the less they married in 1985.
She was nineteen and he was twenty.
Janice Monk was bridesmaid and Dave Butcher was best man.
When Butch called round he said that he needed a favor as he was being posted to Sardinia for the next three years and he needed someone he could trust to house sit for him.
He still couldn’t bring himself to sell; the place still had too many memories.
“You could rent it out,” Sally suggested.
“It needs doing up before I can let it” Dave countered.
“And I only have 4 weeks leave”
So would they help him out and house sit while he was abroad, rent free, on the condition they did some of the maintenance.
They knew they would not be doing him as much of a favor as he would be doing them.
This was his way of thanking them for being there for him when his dad died.
So they agreed.
They lived there for three years which gave them the time to save for the next move.
The miners strike in the 80’s helped to grow many a Policeman’s savings fund due to overtime and subsistence payments.
It was on the last occasion after returning from a stint in the Nottinghamshire coalfields that Bill found himself in the right place at the right time.
There had been a gruesome discovery in woodland near the sleepy village of Pepperstock Green, The murdered and mutilated bodies of Anne Gresty and Juliana Molesworth.
Detective Inspector Walter Quilty had been asked to put a murder squad together to investigate and Bill was picked for the squad.
This great opportunity came at a time when he had pretty much given up any ambitions to be a detective, he thought he would just study for his Sergeants exam and stay in uniform
Getting onto a murder squad was one of the most difficult things in the life of a P.C. but not as difficult as staying on it or indeed joining CID permanently.
One of the older hands on the squad told him “The trick is to get noticed, but for the right reasons, and without it being obvious you are trying to get noticed”
He wasn’t prepared to play that kind of game; it seemed more trouble than it was worth.
He decided to leave all the tactics and brown nosing to his more ambitious peers.
Besides because of his size he was a difficult man not to notice.
So he would have to make sure he did what he was asked and hope for the best.
He needn’t have worried.
Quilty had noticed Bill on several occasions during the course of the investigation and had been impressed with the quiet assuredness in which he handled his assignments and some of the more delicate situations they sometimes found themselves in.
So although he didn’t know it at the time DI Quilty had already earmarked Bill for the team even before Bill turned up the vital links, which lead to the arrest of the killer.
It turned out that the two women were lovers and after thorough searches of their homes Bill discovered that they had a mutual friend.
The mutual friend was Nicola Cuffe, also a lesbian.
She had formerly been involved in a sexual relationship with both of the dead women, although not at the same time.
When she discovered that her former lovers were now lovers themselves it enraged her to the point of committing murder, twice.
The act of mutilation was perpetrated out of sheer spite.
As if finding out Juliana and Anne were lover was not enough she then found their love letters and the knowledge that they were not just lovers but in love as well tipped Nicola over the edge.
So it was a crime of passion.
Detective Inspector Walter Quilty always liked to make new appointments to the team personally.
His favorite location for this, at any station, was the police canteen not because he took any pleasure in the foul brew misleadingly dispensed as tea, But because that was where people tended to be more relaxed and less formal.
Some DI’s liked to do it in the pub over a drink or two.
Walter Quilty didn’t drink himself; he didn’t care if others on the team drank as long as it didn’t affect their work in any way.
So when Quilty walked into the canteen Bill had no idea of his purpose in being there.
Having collected a mug of something brown, wet and luke warm he made his way towards the table occupied by Bill and another PC John Holt.
John was the same age as Bill but joined the force two years after him and they had become firm friends. He and his wife, Mary, were to be godparents to his first child Isabel.
“Morning gentlemen” he said, he sat down and stirred his tea and looked across at John Holt.
John fidgeted nervously and ran his finger inside his collar, excused himself and left.
If he’d stayed under Quilty’s stare any longer he felt he would have confessed to something, anything.
With PC Holt out of the way Walter turned his gaze upon Bill.
“That was good work on the Pepperstock case constable Overend” The DI said looking suspiciously at his tea.
“Thank you sir” Replied Bill
“How would you like get out of uniform permanently?” Quilty asked “and join my team?”
“Very much sir”
“Do you think you can handle it?” Questioned the DI
“Yes sir”
“Ok I’ll square it with Superintendent Foxton” Said Walter as he stood leaving his tea.
“Unless you hear otherwise report to CID tomorrow, eight thirty”
The DI said over his shoulder as he walked away.
“Yes sir”
Isabels birth was followed by another daughter Abigail then sons Daniel and Harry luckily his promotions followed at a similarly frenetic pace.
.
By the time Harry arrived Bill had made Inspector and his boss was promoted to DCI
This was on the back of their success in solving a very high profile child abduction case.
Arresting both abductors as well as securing the child’s release, unharmed.
Bill inherited most of his predecessors team plus the addition of two new transfers Detective Constable Boris Katarski and Detective Sergeant Tom Adamson.
Bill was very much a first impressions kind of person and when he overheard the two men talking he knew they would fit right in..
“Katarski? What sort of name is that? Where the hell does a name like that come from?” asked the DS.
“Cricklewood Sarge” he answered walking away.
“Ask a stupid question” Adamson muttered to himself.
Bill chose Tom Adamson as his DS.
He never regretted it.
The house, “Little Hardings,” was nestled in the hillside amidst the remnants of the ancient forest, which was once draped across the whole of the southern landscape.
The garden sloped gently away from the house and he looked out across the valley to the distant lights of Abbeyvale, the nearest town, and beyond to Grace Hill on the far side of the valley.
He looked up at the clear night sky.
The sky was clear but for the heavens bejeweled with stars, were their more stars in the sky tonight, no of course not, it’s just been a while since he enjoyed the simple pleasure of the night sky.
There was frost in the air and his breath showed like plumes of smoke as he exhaled.
“Smoke.” He heard himself say “if only.”
He found himself wishing he hadn’t stopped smoking, he hadn’t thought about smoking for months.
Bill had stopped smoking nearly a year ago, St George’s day.
He had defeated the nicotine monster as St George had defeated the dragon he would have said it was symbolic were it not for the fact that he hated symbolism so much.
He had been a serious smoker for almost thirty years.
What prompted him to stop?
It certainly wasn’t the insufferable bores who would wave their hands exaggeratedly in front of them and cough irritatingly while simultaneously rolling there tongue out and grimacing when ever they are in a smokers presence.
People like that only make you wish you smoked a pipe.
Nor was it the endless health warnings where smoking was the cause of every illness from cancer and heart disease to athlete’s foot and piles.
Bill always thought that every smoker accepted that smoking was harmful to your health.
But they took a gamble that it wouldn’t happen to them, that was certainly his view.
Even the fact that his brother, who was five years his senior, and a heavy smoker, had had a series of heart attacks when he was Bills age didn’t deter him from smoking.
And he was certainly feeling the effects of smoking like the morning cough and the breathless gasps climbing stairs.
As for National no smoking day he always found it to be an amusing concept.
Many more smokers would participate if there were also a national smoking day when all the sanctimonious little prigs would have to have at least five good drags on a Woodbine.
That would give them something to cough about.
Then there is the annual ritual of the Chancellors Budget, when anything which might give the slightest pleasure to the great unwashed, must be taxed. But even having to pay more for the privilege didn’t persuade him to stop smoking.
What finally pushed him over the edge was the realization of the fact that he was an addict.
He was no longer choosing to be a smoker; he was one because he was addicted.
He was no better than a common junkie.
And that just made him mad.
He’d never really tried quitting before and he wasn’t sure how too.
There were plenty whom did have the solution to his problem and they weren’t backwards in coming forwards.
The funny thing was that most of them had never smoked in their lives.
His Aunt Mary suggested Hypnosis.
He really didn’t fancy hypnosis at all just incase they discovered he was the reincarnated embodiment of Attila the Hun, Vlad the Impaler or even worse a new labor supporter.
The woman in the off license suggested acupuncture.
Acupuncture was never going to do it for him.
He didn’t believe in alternative medicine.
And if you don’t believe in the treatments one hundred percent they will never work.
Also he thought there is something faintly ridiculous about some one who sticks pins in people for a living.
And he lost count of the people who swore by nicotine substitutes, patches, chewing gum, lozenges, tablets or inhalers, all designed to replace the nicotine you would normally get from tobacco.
To his way of thinking if you want an efficient means of getting nicotine into your system then have a fag.
Now as a confirmed cynic he happened to think that nicotine substitutes are more effective at keeping affluent Pharmaceutical companies affluent than helping people to break the habit of smoking.
The addiction was to nicotine after all.
In the end he chose cold turkey, why do they call it that? , He didn’t know.
With a little positive thinking and an awful lot of will power he did it.
It was a lot easier than he thought it was going to be.
The first week was by far the hardest but he did start to feel the benefits, such as more energy, improved sense of taste and smell and tackling the stairs without getting breathless, which boosts you up when your will power might get a little shaky.
He found the hardest things were social events especially those involving alcohol, but it could be done.
He never really suffered any withdrawal symptoms but he has suffered the most extraordinary side effects in the form of unusual and extraordinarily vivid dreams.
Just a few nights ago for example, it should be mentioned that under no circumstances could Bill be described as a Cricket fan.
His knowledge of the game is virtually non-existent, this may seem an odd subject to dream about then when he detests it so much but nonetheless he did.
It amused him greatly as he thought of it.
He had on many occasions described the games rules as unfinished because the games inventor died of boredom before he could complete his work.
He always enjoyed baiting cricket fans with his suggestions as to how to improve the game, such as “tip and run” a concept familiar to most young boys forced to play the game.
Or playing with a burning ball, that would liven up the game.
So why someone so disparaging about the game should dream about it is one of life’s imponderables.
He had been selected to represent England in a test match against the West Indies in Trinidad.
If that wasn’t amazing enough he was to open the batting with Phil Tuffnell, you see even his subconscious knows nothing about Cricket.
Now for some reason there was an unpronounceable Pakistani bowling and Bill hit the last ball of his first over the pavilion for a huge six.
As he began acknowledging the crowd’s applause, Tuffers began walking down the wicket so Bill walked to the middle to meet him, he shook Bills hand warmly and then he reached in to his pocket and brought out a packet of menthol cigarettes and offered him one, and they stood there smoking and soaking in the atmosphere.
As they stared about them they saw the West Indies captain talking animatedly with the umpire and they turned their gaze on Tuffers and Bill and then walked towards them.
Bill naturally thought they were in big trouble and even Phil looked a little nervous.
As they reached the middle the umpire said “I am sorry Gentlemen to interrupt your smoke break but do you think I could trouble you for a match”? And he took out his pipe.
And that was how it continued after every over they would meet in the middle and have a smoke.
And that is fairly typical of the dreams he has from time to time.
I suppose the big questions are firstly, does he miss it?
Yes he does, not that he has cravings.
What he misses is the habit, the ritual and the feel of a cigarette in his hands.
And secondly would he ever smoke again?
Yes in a heartbeat but he would regret it so he refrains.
He would kill for one now though.
He looks at his watch
2.00am.
He shakes his head and sighs.
He is standing in the middle of his lawn in his back garden at 2.00am on a cold march night wearing dressing gown and slippers wishing he hadn’t stopped smoking.
He looked down at his feet and wiggled his toes.
Correction wearing wet slippers and wishing he hadn’t stopped smoking.
Just then bright yellow light spills into the darkness behind him illuminating the lawn but for his large shadow stretching into the darkness.
“Bill are you coming in?” A woman’s voice called softy.
It was his wife Sally also donning dressing gown and slippers.
Sally however, sensibly chose not to venture out into the night air and just put her head out far enough around the French door to call to Bill without waking the neighborhood.
“I’ve made coffee.” She waited a few moments.
“OK sweetheart” Bill returned in equally hushed tones without turning round.
“I’ll be in, in a moment”
He heard the door close and the bright light disappeared as Sally drew the curtain back across the door.
He looked at his watch again 2.05am.
Bill despaired.
He had had some intriguing cases over his career and he was certainly no stranger to sleepless nights, either because of his work or because of the children.
Every parent experiences it at some time even with the best of children.
But this was different this was a new experience.
And it was something totally out of his control he could do nothing.
He could not help in any way, he felt redundant.
He was about to become a Grandfather for the first time.
Sally was sitting in her armchair giving every outward appearance of dignified calm.
She was in her normal corner beneath her lamp, cross-stitching, the normal paraphernalia scattered about her.
But for the fact that she had re-stitched the same area six times she was coping well.
She was wishing now that she had not insisted that her son in law, Paul, phone the moment, Isabel went into labor.
“We could have had a good nights sleep and woken to the happy news” She said to herself.
But it wasn’t the lack of sleep that worried her it was not being with her daughter to help.
She looked at the clock again.
“It hasn’t bloody moved” then she laughed.
She was always onto Bill about swearing.
The door handle rattled as Bill opened the door, there was some fumbling behind the curtain and then Bill appeared.
“My feet are wet,” he said
“I’m not surprised” Sally said unsympathetically.
“Your coffee is by your chair but it’s probably cold by now”
Bill sat down and kicked off his slippers and picked up his coffee.
Putting the mug to his lips he took a mouth full and grimaced
“Uh that’s horrible” and put down the mug.
Sally set her stitching to one side and got up.
“You go and dry your feet and I’ll make some fresh” she said and took his cup.
“It’s all right love I’ll do it, it’s my own fault its cold, you carry on with your stitching” Bill protested.
Sally reached to her full five feet two inch height and kissed him warmly.
“Go and dry your feet,” she said
Bill hugged her to his chest and kissed her forehead.
“I love you,” he said
She reached up and kissed him again.
“Of course you do, why wouldn’t you love me I am wonderful after all” she walked nonchalantly out of the room suddenly her head reappeared around the door.
“I love you too”
They both laughed helplessly.
It was amazing how, no matter how old he got, he still loved her as much as he did when he first saw her all those years ago.
It was 4.00am.
Sally had gone back to bed at three o’clock but Bill had decided to sit up a little longer. He should have gone to bed with Sally as he was fighting to keep his eyes open.
He had been struggling with the “long blinks” for the last half hour.
The blinks were getting longer and longer and.
Bill was hacking his way through the dense jungle with a machete while Stanley and Livingston offered words of encouragement.
Bill stopped to mop his brow with his handkerchief.
“Let’s press on Overend” called Stanley.
Bill acknowledged Stanley and went to work again with the machete in a short while he broke through into a large clearing.
Very soon thirty or forty pygmies surrounded them from a previously undiscovered tribe.
They were led through the jungle by the fierce looking pygmies for about an hour until they suddenly found themselves in the pygmy’s village.
The pygmies spoke a very strange language that none of them had ever heard before yet funnily enough they could understand every word.
They were introduced to the tribal chief amid great ceremony and then they were led into a large hut.
The hut was lined with the tribal elders and the visitors were introduced in turn finally they were invited to sit in close proximity to the Chief.
After a magnificent feast, complete with music and dancing girls, the Chief clapped his hands three times and a serving girl came into the hut carrying a large tray.
She presented it to the chief and he gestured grandly to his guests and the serving girl offered round a box of Henri Winterman slim panatela cigars.
Bill woke with a start.
“No I don’t do that anymore”
He looked around the room and for a moment he didn’t know where he was.
Looking down he saw the cat curled up on his lap and he stroked her.
“Hello Blackberry old girl”
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
He replaced his glasses and looked at the clock.
6.40am.
“Breakfast time eh girl”
She jumped down purring loudly and trotted off in the direction of the kitchen.
Getting to his feet Bill paused to stretch then he walked to the French doors and threw back the curtains letting in the weak morning light.
The cat mewed loudly from the kitchen doorway and Bill turned and walked towards the kitchen.
“Ok you stupid creature I'm coming”
As he walked into the kitchen he picked up the kettle and checked the level, finding it sufficiently full he replaced it on the stand and switched it on.
Then he opened a cupboard and took out a sachet of cat food and a clean bowl.
The cat was in a frenzy not knowing whether to meow or purr and performing figures of eight around Bills Feet
“Ok Berry, ok, here it is, anyone would think you’d never been fed before”
Bill placed the bowl on the cats mat then he turned his attention to the tea.
With the cat fed and the tea made Bill took a sip of his coffee before he made his way upstairs with Sally’s cup of tea.
He walked into their bedroom and walked around to Sally’s side of the room,
“Cup of tea Sal” he said as he put her tea down on the bedside cabinet.
“Thanks love” she said sleepily
“What’s the time?”
“Just after seven” Bill said as he sat down on the edge of the bed his coffee in hand.
“Any news yet?” she asked
“No” Bill yawned “not a thing”
Just at that moment the phone rang, Bill and Sally looked at each other.
Sally reached out her left hand and clasped Bills hand tightly and with her other hand she picked up the phone.
“Hello”
“Paul? Hello what news?”
A Pause.
“A boy, that’s fantastic, seven pounds eight ounces”
She’s looking at Bill all the time.
“A good size”
Another pause to absorb more information
“Mother and baby both doing well”
She let go of Bills hand to wipe her eyes
“Oh Paul we’re so proud”
She wipes away another tear.
“Yes we would love to, ok well see you later bye”
Bill put down his coffee in preparation.
Sally hung up the phone looked at Bill and dissolved into tears and launched herself into his arms.
After the tears had subsided Bill got up and took off his dressing gown then he pulled back the duvet and slipped under the cover and snuggled up close to Sally.
“And what do you think your doing?” said Sally suspiciously
“It just occurred to me that I’ve never made love to a granny before”
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