HE WANDERED THE STREETS

He wandered the streets

Clothed in tattered rags

And shod in scruffy boots

That didn’t keep out the rain

So he turned to crime

To fill his hollow belly

And then Victorian justice

Clothed him in a ball and chain

THE JURY FOREMAN CLEARLY ANNOUNCED

 

The jury foreman clearly announced

To the court "Not guilty of robbery"

The defendant asked his solicitor

"Does that mean I can keep the money?"

ON HER CHARIOT DRAWN BY GRIFFINS

 

On her chariot drawn by griffins

The maiden goddess, dispensing justice

With rod, scales, sword, and scourge

The avenger of crime, Nemesis

PRISONERS ARE SUCH A NUISANCE

 

Prisoners are such a nuisance

When they are justly contained

Because of human rights

We can’t keep them restrained

And it’s so labour intensive

To keep them all entertained

JUSTITIA

 

Justitia, or lady justice

Matronly Goddess

Stands for fairness

Validating justice

Sanctifying the law

A figure of trust

 

Before the court

She stands

Blindfolded

To mete out justice

Without fear of favour

Equality for all

In the eyes of the law

Impartiality

 

In Justitia’s left hand

The measuring balances

The scales of justice

Weighing the evidence

For and against

Support and opposition

Guilt and innocent

 

Justitia, in her right hand

Holds the sword

The symbol of power

Of reason and justice

A double edge sword,

The sword of justice

The nemesis sword

To be wielded for or against

Retribution or vengeance

 

Justitia, is a fraud

Justice is not blind

Rip off the blindfold

From the bitch’s eyes

She is not blind

She has no impartiality

She is the establishment

The ruling order

Her principled scales

Don’t measure justice

Only a rich man’s coin

And her noble sword

The sword of justice

The nemesis sword

Is used to smite the weak

ON HER CHARIOT DRAWN BY GRIFFINS

 

On her chariot drawn by griffins

The maiden goddess, dispensing justice

With rod, scales, sword and scourge

The avenger of crime, Nemesis

MY JOB’S WORSE THAN PRISON

When you’re in prison

                  You’re in a cell twenty-three hours a day

But if you’re at work

                  You’re trapped in a cubicle to earn your pay

When you’re in prison

                  For being good you get time off I’m assured

But if you’re at work

                  And you’re good more work is your reward

When you’re in prison

                  You’re given three square meals a day

But if you’re at work

                  Even if you get lunch you have to pay

When you’re in prison

                  The wardens are often mean in the nick

But if you’re at work

                  It’s the managers who are equally sadistic

When you’re in prison

                  You get privacy with a toilet all to yourself

But if you’re at work

                  You have to share with every bugger else

When you’re in prison

                  Guard lock and unlock all the doors for you

But if you’re at work

                  Your never alone as cameras have you in view

When you’re in prison

                  You can watch TV or play games if you care
But if you’re at work

                  You can get the sack for just playing solitaire

When you’re in prison

                  They let your family come and visit regularly
But if you’re at work

                  You can’t even telephone to friends or family

CIRCLES

 

Three men stand before the court

On drugs charges that are brought

After due process the verdict of all

“Guilty” followed by the gavels fall

 

The three were not strangers to jail

And the judge then reviewed the detail

And he frowned and tutted as he read

Finally, he turned to the men and said

 

“Before sentencing will commence”

“I will give you until one week hence”

“To dissuade a potential miscreant”

“And if you manage one I will grant”

 

“A lighter sentence than the tariff”

He then nodded towards the bailiff

One week later the three returned

To see if a reprieve they had earned

 

“Did you succeed”? The judge asked

Addressing the first man he’d tasked

“Two your honor” the man admits

Handing the bailiff, the affidavits

 

The judge impressed by his progress

Said, “Tell us the reason for success”

“Well, your honor” he began to state

And drew two circles to demonstrate

 

“The large circle is meant to represent

My circle of friends before the event

While the small circle you can deduce

My circle of friends since drug abuse”

 

After the affidavits he had reviewed

And the presentation he had viewed

Together caused the judge to conclude

“Well done young man, very shrewd” 

 

I am pleased to say on your return

That you have been able to earn

 “A lighter sentence than the tariff”

He then nodded towards the bailiff

 

“Did you succeed”? The judge asked

Addressing the next man, he’d tasked

“Five your honor” the man admits

Handing the bailiff, the affidavits

 

The judge impressed by his progress

Said, “Tell us the reason for success”

“Well, your honor” he began to state

And drew two circles to demonstrate

 

“The large circle is meant to represent

My banking account before the event

While the small circle you can deduce

Is my bank account since drug abuse”

 

After the affidavits he had reviewed

And the presentation he had viewed

Together caused the judge to conclude

“Well done young man, very shrewd”  

 

I am pleased to say on your return

That you have been able to earn

 “A lighter sentence than the tariff”

He then nodded towards the bailiff

 

“Did you succeed”? The judge asked

Addressing the final man he’d tasked

“Five hundred sir” the man admits

Handing the bailiff, the affidavits

 

The judge impressed by his progress

Said, “Tell us the reason for success”

“Well, your honor” he began to state

And drew two circles to demonstrate

 

“The small circle is meant to represent

The size of my bum hole before the event

TO HERO FROM VILLAIN

 

I have been researching my family history of late

And I have found an ancestor who was not great

Now his name was Captain Edward Stanton-Hyde

And he was a great, great uncle on my father’s side

Dishonourably discharged for stealing from the mess

He went to make his fortune in the old Wild West

He was lacking the most basic form of decency

And was hanged for horse theft and train robbery

On an old photograph he is pictured on the gallows

And a brief history of his life in crime then follows

In eighteen eighty-five convicted of Horse theft

Sent to Territorial Prison stayed two years and left

In eighteen eighty-seven he robbed the Flyer six times

Two years later he was hanged for his many crimes

This is all very embarrassing and not for circulation

However, this can be sanitized with a little imagination

I can easily scan and edit the infamous photograph

And rewrite his life story in as little as a paragraph

Captain Stanton-Hyde ex-soldier of the British army

And a very famous cowboy in the Wild West territory

His business included valuable equestrian acquisitions

And he dealt very closely with the railway institutions

In eighteen eighty-five he devoted his time it appears

To service in a federal facility for a number of years

In eighty-seven he resumed his work with the railways

And he spent long periods away setting the trail ablaze

At this time, he worked closely with the law throughout

Two years later his life was suddenly snuffed out

At a civil function held in the honour of the captain

The platform collapsed upon which he was standing

The Abbottsford Police Chronicles – # 2, Natural Justice

 

Frank Owen stepped through the automatic doors and onto the pavement; he paused briefly and cast a glance back over his shoulder at the Churchill hospital and tried to think of a time when he had left that ghastly building with good news, but he couldn’t so he proceeded to the bus stop through the mist and murk.

It was a damp and dismal late October day, grey and uninspiring, the kind of day when it was impossible to discern where terra firma ended and the sky began.

When he reached the bus shelter he entered the inhospitable Perspex box and sat down on what supposedly passed for a bench.

He leant his walking stick against the bench beside him and then reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes and his lighter.

He put one to his lips.

“You shouldn’t do that you know, they’ll kill you they will” A voice said from one corner of the shelter.

He turned his head to see that the voice belonged to a small skinny women in her fifties wearing a shabby coat over what he presumed was a cleaners uniform.

“They killed my husband” she continued as she sat down on the bench.

“And he was a lot younger than you”

He smiled and nodded then he lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply.

Frank was seventy nine years old, eighty in November, and he gave up smoking on his fortieth birthday and apart from the very rare occasion when he was offered a cigar at a special occasion, a wedding, a regimental reunion or some other gathering, he had not smoked for half of his life, until a few weeks before when he was first diagnosed.

The oncologist used words like carcinomas and metastasised he didn’t really take it all in but it was in his pancreas, oesophagus, stomach and bowel which meant they would have to gut him like a fish even if surgery was an option which it never was.

There were treatments of coarse but they would merely delay the inevitable.

The prognosis was that without treatment he would probably see another birthday but not another Christmas.

So he thought what the hell he’d really missed smoking and it was hardly likely to kill him now.

He exhaled and a cloud of smoke which seemed to hang in the still moisture laden air.

“I will just have to take that risk my dear” he said to her and smiled.

Frank was a big man; over six feet tall and broad shouldered and despite his need to walk with a stick he still carried himself with a military bearing and apart from rheumatism in his knees, hence the need for the stick, and the fact that he was dying he had felt ok, a little discomfort at times but no more than that,

He had lost a little weight of late, not a bad thing in itself he had been a stone or two overweight for a good few years, and he had felt tired a good deal which he put down to his age, he would not have gone to the doctors at all but for chronic indigestion the reason for which had soon become quite apparent.

But in those few short weeks since the initial diagnosis the pain had started and it was getting worse, pain like he had never known before, even when he was shot in Korea it didn’t hurt so bad, and he was starting to look gaunt and skin hung loosely about his neck.

He thought back to that day’s consultation and the doctor’s words.

“You have a little time to get your affairs in order” he said to him.

“But you will deteriorate quite quickly”

Just as well I have no affairs to get in order, he had thought to himself.

He had no one to miss him or mourn him; his passing would be as insignificant as a ripple on a pond.

Irene his wife of 39 years passed away ten years previous after a stroke and his only child Derek was knocked down and killed by a drunk driver while he was crossing the road outside his university digs aged 20.

He had no other family left his elder sister had died in childbirth and her daughter died shortly afterwards and his brother died in the port of Aden a victim of Yemeni terrorists in 1966.

He had no nephews or nieces, no distant cousins, the friends and comrades who were not already dead were gaga so there were no beneficiaries of his meagre estate.

There was enough in his savings to bury him and the rest of his worldly goods would be sold and the money could go to the hospice where he was set to shuffle off this mortal coil.

He was ready to die, he had had enough, his life had been almost intolerable since Irene died, lonely and meaningless, but the last year had all but broken him and he was ashamed of himself and that was something he thought would never happen, but he had allowed himself to become a victim, giving in to intimidation and what was most unforgivable of all he had become a coward.

 

A car horn sounded which brought him back from his self-pitying reflections. He looked up to see a car parked in the bus bay with the passenger window down.

“Can I give you a lift Frank?”  The driver called.

Frank got to his feet and walked stiffly to the car.

“Thanks” he said through the open window.

“As long as it not out of your way”?

“It’s not a problem Frank” Said the driver.

So Frank opened the door and got in, the door made that whirring sound as the window was raised as he belted himself in.

The driver was a muscular man in his mid-thirties with Jet Black hair and wild eyes who appeared to be tall even sitting down.

His name was, Boris Katarski and he was a Detective Sergeant with the Abbotsford CID. Whom Frank had got to know during a murder enquiry almost a year previous.

This was not the first time they had bumped into each other, and it had happened more than once at the hospital, he supposed that police business was bound to involve visits to the hospital for any number of reasons.

“Thank you Sergeant this damp weather gets right in your bones” he said rubbing his knees.

“No problem, Frank, so what brings you to the Churchill on a damp and dismal Thursday?” Boris asked trying not to sound like a policeman.

“Just visiting a friend” Frank lied not wanting to be pitied. “And you?”

“Oh just interviewing a victim of crime” He answered not entirely convincingly.

“Anyway how come you’re at the mercy of public transport? Where’s your car today?”

“Oh it’s in my lock up I’m afraid I can’t afford to keep it on the road anymore”

Frank replied not quite honestly. “The pension doesn’t seem to stretch as far as it used to”

The rest of the journey consisted of small talk about politics and the previous night’s match.

Then they turned into Orchard Lane and pulled up outside number 14 where Frank lived.

“Thanks for the lift Sgt it’s really appreciated” He said as he opened the car door.

“Don’t mention it and please call me Boris”

“Ok. Thanks Boris” He replied a little uncomfortably and then he got out the car after some undignified effort.

“I don’t move as well as I did” he said with a laugh.

Just before he closed the car door he said goodbye, then made his way up the short path to his front door.

It was a an unremarkable little house build in the same decade as Frank was born but looked as if it had stood the test of time better than he had himself and would be around a good many years after his passing.

The front garden much as the back needed some attention and he had had to admit to himself some while ago that he wasn’t up to the task anymore.

The hanging baskets that throughout the summer hung either side of the front door and half a dozen stone planters were about all he could keep on top off though not for much longer.

He fumbled for his door key and slipped it into the lock and having unlocked the door and he went inside turning briefly to wave to Sgt Katarski before closing the door behind him.

 

Boris sat in the car and watched Frank walk up the path and returned his wave and carried on watching him until the door closed.

He liked Frank, he was a nice old boy, but that wasn’t the reason he kept engineering these accidental meetings.

He knew Frank was keeping something from him and DS Katarski was like a dog with a bone he would not let it go.

 

Safely in his house he lit the gas and sat down in front of the fire he was glad he had got a lift the damp weather was getting to him, but as much as he appreciated the life and as much as he liked the Sergeant he always made him feel ashamed.

He had first met DS Katarski when he was investigating the brutal murder of Brenda Sage, an elderly neighbour, who lived in the house across the road from his own.

The reason for his great shame was that he lied.

 

On the evening of the murder Frank had been stood at the kitchen sink washing up after his supper idly looking out through the window, he had an unhindered view of the road and the houses opposite due to the lack of net curtains which he had dispensed with after his wife died, mainly because he thought them too fussy but also because he liked to see what was going on.

Just as he was washing up the last saucepan he saw Brenda’s front door open, which surprised him because she didn’t get many visitors especially of an evening so he was curious to see who it was.

The porch light was off and in the shadows he could only just make out a slight figure. But as they moved down the path to the gate they were illuminated by the street light.

Franks jaw dropped to see Danny Blake open the gate and pass into the street.

Blake was a small wirery man in his twenties, a vicious thug, who having never done an honest day’s work in his entire life made his living from crime.

Burglary, robbery, mugging, shop lifting you name it he’d done it, he was nothing if not versatile. 

Then to Frank’s horror Blake looked directly at him and smiled a very unattractive smile, then his blood ran cold as Blake waved his hand across his throat in a cutting gesture.

Frank was frozen to the spot, powerless to move under his evil gaze.

Then he turned and walked casually down the street.

Frank was in turmoil he knew something bad had happened, Brenda could be laying in her house injured, but the implication from Blake was clear if he said anything he was dead.

He didn’t know what to do, he picked up the phone and put it straight down again, if he phoned the police he would have to say what he saw.

He grabbed his coat and rushed out the back door, went down the path and through the back gate where his car was parked.

He drove a couple of miles down the road until he reached a small parade of shops where he knew there was a phone box, from there he called the police.

By the time he got back to his kitchen the police were already knocking on Brenda’s front door.

Once they had gained entry and then returned to their car he could tell by their body language and the lack of urgency that she was dead.

DS Katarski knocked on his door the next morning and that was when the lying began.

 

Blake had not been satisfied with his implied threat to Frank on the night of the murder he made a point of reminding him whenever he got the chance in the street, in the pub, at the shops, and whenever he got to hear that Frank had been seen talking to a policeman then a window would be smashed, the flowers in his planters would be dug up or a tire on his car would be slashed, the last time his wipers were ripped off, that was the reason he kept his car off the road now he couldn’t afford the repairs.

But the worst thing of all was when he just stood in the street and stared at his house, taunting him, shaming him.

Every act perpetrated against him underlined the contempt he had for himself for succumbing to Blake’s intimidation.

But now the worm was turning, he was dying and that he could do nothing about, but he didn’t want to die a coward and that he could do something about.

It was too late to tell the police what he saw the cancer would have seen him off long before the case got to trial; it was too late for conventional justice but he had something better in mind.

 

The next day he put his plan into action, he had hatched the plan while he was waiting in the oncology department at the hospital.

The first part was quite simple and involved luring Blake to his house and he decided the best way was with the lure of money.

The only snag being that he didn’t have any so he spent an evening cutting up pieces of newspaper to the size of a ten pound note and by placing a real note at each end and securing them all with a rubber band it made up an impressive looking bundle of notes.

The second part involved making sure Blake saw the bait; this was achieved by way of an improvised meeting.

Frank knew that Blake was a regular at the Bricklayers Arms, the pub at the end of his road and was generally in the pub between six and seven most evenings.

He got himself in a position so he could see his mark through the window then he drained his glass quickly and was on his feet directly in his path as he entered then he stood blocking his way as he put on his overcoat.

“Come on old man get out of the way” He sneered.

Frank made an exaggerated movement to get his arm through the armhole and could see by the expression on Blake’s face the precise moment he saw the bundle of notes that was now clearly visible sticking out of Franks inside coat pocket.

“I’m just going, I’m just going” Frank said and made his goodbyes to the barmaid satisfied that the bait had been well and truly taken

He knew he had plenty of time to walk the 80 yards or so to his house as Blake would have to bide a while in the pub so as not to draw suspicion on himself.

Once he was through the front door he quickly took off his coat remembering to retrieve the bundle from his pocket and went straight to the sitting room.

He had now reached the third and decisive part of his plan which he had pondered on long and hard.

Now he was dying he intended to address the situation of allowing himself to be intimidated before it was too late.

Before sitting down he adjusted the angle of his armchair so that it faced the door but was not visible from the doorway until the door was fully open.

Then he sat down and with his left hand picked up the revolver from the table.

The gun was a war souvenir from his time in Korea and he hadn’t had it out of his trunk for forty years or more.

He spent most of the day cleaning it and he loaded it with three rounds, that was all that he had, but he only needed one.

He had covered the sofa with a large plastic sheet that he used for decorating which was peppered with spots of different coloured gloss and emulsion. Not that he was doing it to conceal the crime he just didn’t want to ruin the sofa, his wife really liked it.

At first he thought he would just scare a confession out of him but it would never hold up in court and he would retract it as soon as he could.

So he had resolved to kill him quickly and cleanly and then give himself up. 

Frank knew Blake would come through the front door, there were security lights out the back, and the front door wouldn’t take much force to open.

He just sat there and waited he didn’t suppose it would be long the lure of a roll of notes is very strong to someone of criminal bent, and he was proved right, when he heard the wood splinter on the front door, Blake had stayed little more than an hour at the pub and now he was in the hall.

Frank passed the gun into his right hand and pointed it in the direction of the door.

What Frank hadn’t considered until that moment was the possibility that Blake wouldn’t come alone but he needn’t have concerned himself as Blake was far too greedy to share the spoils of an easy score.

The door handle turned and the door began to move and all of a sudden it was wide open and Blake rushed in.

“I thought I’d come for a little visit Frank” He said looking round the room.

“I think you have something for me ..”

Then he saw the gun for the first time and started to edge backwards to the door.

“No need to rush off Blake, come in and sit down, make yourself comfortable as you’ve come for a visit”

Blake carried on edging backwards then Frank pulled the hammer back with his thumb until there was an audible click

Blake turned white and Frank smiled.

“Sit down” He said again.

Blake sat down on the plastic sheet.

“Is that thing supposed to frighten me?” Blake said trying and failing to regain his bravado.

“No, it’s supposed to kill you” Frank replied coldly.

Blake started to shake

“No, please” he begged

“You don’t have to kill me, I’ll leave you alone from now on, I promise, please don’t kill me”

“Why should I spare your life, you miserable piece of vermin?”

“I beg you please I don’t want to die”

“Did Brenda beg for her life before you beat her to death? Why should I spare your life you didn’t spare hers?”

“It wasn’t me, I’m innocent”

Frank was shaking with rage now all the anger at his shame and cowardice was coming to the fore, he wanted to tell Blake how he had stained his life, how he made him feel about himself, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead he sat and stared at the snivelling creature before him and decided now was as good a time as any and picked up the cushion he had earlier placed by his chair that he would use to muffle the sound of the gunshot, again not to conceal the crime but so as not to disturb the neighbours.

 

Boris was officially finished for the day and off the clock but decided, as it was on his route home, to call round to see Frank Owen.

Boris thought Frank must have seen someone the night Mrs Sage was murdered and he had a pretty good idea who and he planned to ask him straight out why he hadn’t come forward.

Boris was a pretty good judge of character and there had to be a good reason why a man like Frank Owen would keep quiet.

 

As he turned into Orchard Lane everything was quiet and he parked in the first available space. It was only as he walked up the path that he noticed the front door was ajar.

He pushed it open slowly and stepped inside the dark hallway.

“Frank!” he called

 

Frank heard the Sgt call just as he aimed the gun at Blake, who seeing the old man momentarily distracted took his chance and sprang up off the sofa and launched himself at him,

Then the gun fired and the bullet hit Blake in the chest throwing him back onto the plastic covered sofa, before continuing its flight, hitting the wall by the door just as Boris opened the door. 

 

Boris burst into the room and heard something hit the wall about twelve inches from his head, he wasn’t sure what it was until he saw the smoking gun in Franks hand then he looked at the hole in the plaster and thought to himself that that was too close for comfort.

He tried to put the fact that he had narrowly missed being killed from his mind and quickly surveyed the scene, a motionless body, the plastic sheet, the cushion silencer, a wad of cash and a smoking gum.

His first task was to take the gun from Frank who relinquished it without argument then he checked the motionless body for signs of life and for the first time realised it was Danny Blake.

He turned and looked at Frank.

“He’s dead” He confirmed.

“Good”

“What the hell happened Frank what was he doing here?”

“I set a trap for him, ambushed him if you like,” He pointed at the bundle of notes

“I lured him here and then executed him”

Boris sat down on the vacant chair while Frank filled him in on the events of that evening and the previous year which lead up to it.

He told him everything, seeing Blake, the 999 call, the lying, the intimidation, the vandalism and the cancer right up to the point when Boris entered the room.

“You can arrest me now” Frank stated.

Boris sat in the arm chair with his head back and his eyes closed and said nothing.

“Well Sgt arrest me”

“I’m not going to arrest you, you old fool” Boris replied leaning forward.

“But I killed him, and you know I did”

“I’m not arresting you” Boris repeated

“But you have to, I killed him and I’m prepared to face the music”

“If I arrest you for murder you will spent your last days in prison awaiting trial” He paused

“I have spent half my professional life trying to put that in prison” he pointed at the corpse.

“And all I hear are the excuses, “he’s from a broken home, his mother was prostitute, his father was a drug addict, the poor lamb it’s really not his fault” but you Frank they will convict in a heartbeat, while vermin like him play the system”

“I don’t want you throwing your life away, your career away, to save me” Frank said

“Don’t worry” the Sgt said

The next hour passed largely in silence, as Boris tried to think what to do next.

Then he suddenly got up and walked to the door, when he got there he fumbled in his pocked producing a pen knife which he used to dig the bullet from the hole in the plaster then he put both in his pocket.

Then he turned to Frank and asked.

“Where’s the fuse box?”

“Under the stairs, Why?”

“We need to disable the security lights at the back”

Boris said with his head inside the cupboard.

Then he and Frank wrapped the corpse in the plastic sheet which they then carried out to Franks garage, fortunately it was possible to access the garage from the garden reducing the risk of being seen and with the lights disabled and a convenient fog they managed to get to the garage unnoticed.

Once in the garage they put the body in the boot then paused for a breath Boris then checked the shelves and found a container of methylated spirit and another of turpentine and put them in the boot next to the body.

“What now” Frank asked still breathing heavily.

“Drive to the old Northchapel print works on Oakham Road I’ll follow on in my car, ok?”

“Ok”

It was a foggy night which was something of a blessing and a curse, a blessing as it was good cover if you were up to no good but a curse when you’re nearly eighty years old and your eyesight’s not to clever.

So Frank drove carefully over to Northchapel constantly checking his rear view mirror to make sure the Sgt was behind him.

 

Boris was nervously following Franks beat up old Mondeo through the fog cursing the slow progress and praying that Franks funeral pace driving would not attract any unwanted attention, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he finally saw the Mondeo indicating to turn into the old print works.

 

Frank drove on round to the back of the buildings to a spot that couldn’t be seen from the main road Boris pulled up some fifty yards from the other car and once out went straight to the boot and after a cursory glance at his surrounding dragged the body from the boot and with some difficulty and little help from Frank manhandled Blake’s body into the driver’s seat.

He threw the old plastic sheet onto the back seat then started to splash the contents of the two containers of flammables all over the car’s interior, remembering just in time to leave a small amount in one container.

He then rummaged in the car boot and found an old umbrella he then soaked the end of it with the remaining turpentine.

“Go and get in my car” He said to Frank

Finally he lit the end of the umbrella with Franks lighter and tossed it through the open car window, and then almost as an afterthought he fished in his pocket and retrieved the bullet and tossed it into the flames.

 

Once the car was well ablaze they drove off, they made better time on the return journey with Boris driving.

“Fancy a pint?” Boris asked

“No not really” Frank said rather surprised at the suggestion.

“Well you need to have a reason not to be at home so we’ll go and have a beer”

The pub he chose was the Coach and Horses on the outskirts of Abbottsford and it was not chosen at random.

The first reason he picked this particular pub was that its car park was adjacent to the river and was a handy disposal point for the gun and secondly it was known to be the favourite watering hole for more than one of Blake’s associates so in the unlikely event that the gun was discovered the finger of suspicion could reasonably be pointed in their direction.

Once they arrived at the pub he parked the car as near to the river as possible.

Boris opened the glove compartment and removed the gun that he had wrapped in a tea towel and placed it on his lap.

Then he very carefully wiped it down thoroughly including the two remaining bullets and the spent cartridge case.

“Ok Frank let’s get that beer”

They both got out of the car and Boris lead frank towards the river.

“I suppose you used to fish this river when you were a lad” Boris said for the benefit of any unseen ears.

Frank wondered what the hell he was talking about then Boris gave him a knowing look.

“Yes, yes” Frank replied finally cottoning on.

“Yes many times, I’ve caught many a fish in this river.”

At that moment Boris tossed the gun into the dark water.

Then they turned towards the pub.

 

They stayed in the pub for an hour or so and barely exchanged a word but once they were back in the car Boris went over what they would have to do next.

 

On arriving back at Franks house they had to make sure there was no evidence of the shooting, but in order to account for the broken front door they had to make it look like a burglary had taken place so draws were pulled out a table knocked over, that sort of thing, and they had to do it quickly because it was supposed to have already happened.

Once Boris was satisfied it looked like a burgled house he phoned the station and reported that Frank Owens house had been burgled and his car stolen.   

Then he had to go outside and break the lock on the garage doors to make it look like that had been broken into as well.

It was just as Boris sat down on the armchair to make a call to the police that he noticed the bullet hole in the wall again.

He stood up scratching his head wondering how to cover it.

“We could move that cabinet” He suggested pointing at a tall unit at the other end of the room.

“Or the hat stand from the hall”

He shook his head and muttered to himself.

“What about a standard lamp, do you have a standard lamp?”

He was panicking now.

“Why don’t we just move that picture so it covers the hole”

Frank suggested.

 

The story Boris gave the police was that due to a nagging suspicion that Mr Owen was withholding information about the murder of Mrs Sage he had decided to visit Mr. Owen.

He had thought that if he invited him out for a drink in the hope that in convivial surrounding over a pint he might relax and let something slip, which unfortunately he did not, so he gave him a lift home.

Staff at the pub were questioned and confirmed that the Sgt and Mr Owen were indeed at the pub that night and  though there were conflicting statements as to what time they arrived these were ignored as it was a busy pub.

On returning to 14 Orchard Lane they found the hose had been burgled and Mr Owens car stolen.

It was at this point that Mr Owen admitted have withheld information about the Sage murder and went on to say he  believed he had been targeted because he had been seen in Sgt Katarski’s company as certain acts of vandalism and spite had been perpetrated on him in the past to ensure he kept his mouth shut.

This story was later borne out by the fact that Blake’s corpse had been found in Mr Owens burnt out stolen car.

In the following weeks police took the view that Blake had either had a falling out with one of his own associates or a rival miscreant who had then killed him.

All the evidence pointed to Blake having burgled the house his fingerprints had been found on the external and internal doors of the property and having located the car keys he had stolen the car which he then drove to a remote location where he later met his end by a single gunshot the bullet having been found at the scene confirmed this hypothesis.

 

Boris only saw Frank on a handful of occasions after that night the last of which was at the hospice a few days before he died Frank was very near to the end and had little strength left but he manage to grasp Boris’s hand firmly and mouth the words “thank you”.

 

Sgt Katarski never regretted his actions in not arresting Frank for Blake’s murder it was not done solely with the intention of getting him off the hook but rather more by allowing him a dignified end to his life while at the same time dispensing some natural justice for Mrs Sage.

The bi-product of his actions was to give the CID the excuse to raid the property of every known associate of Blake’s with the thinly veiled motive of finding his killer.

They could never find sufficient evidence to prove them guilty of his murder but it did turn up enough evidence of wrong doing to lock them up for something else.

While Boris felt his conscience was clear in relation to helping Frank, the many pats on the back he received regarding the numerous indirectly related arrests did make him feel a little uncomfortable.

But he did smile to himself at the irony of the situation of Blake’s murder being in the same pile of unsolved cases as that of his victim Brenda Sage.