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 excited
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 an 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”
Isabel’s
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
Serge” 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 Harding’s,” 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 whenever 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 in case 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 someone 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 Tufnell, 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 night’s 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 you’re doing?” said Sally suspiciously
“It just
occurred to me that I’ve never made love to a granny before”
