Chapter 11 An Arrest is Made
The Inspector gathered the paperwork and tapped the ends of the paper to make it into a neat parcel and placed it into his briefcase – he spent a bit of time crouched and rummaging through the pockets and with a sigh and a wince and clutching his thigh he hoisted the briefcase onto his lap and produced another piece of paper and handed it to Eric. Eric looked puzzled and said ‘Why have you given me this? Inspector Rothchild announced that the mysterious witness had visited the police station and made out a written statement which D.S Smart retyped and in his statement he mentioned he had proof that you did not attend the meeting in Wolverhampton.
Eric said, ‘Can I see the original statement?’
Inspector Rothchild delved into the case and brought out the paperwork. It was printed in capitals and signed with a squiggle.
‘Anybody could have written this!’ Eric said. ‘I suppose there is no evidence of fingerprints.’
‘None at all.’ said the Inspector, ‘probably because you wore gloves.’
‘I did not run over my wife I was in my office the other side of town and before that moment I was helping the police with another accident, some old lady was mowed down on a Pelican Crossing! As a material witness I was obliged to stay where I was until the ambulance came. The policeman questioned me at the time and I was unable to read the number plate as it was muddy.
‘No,’ said the Inspector, ‘You were unable to read it because there was no number plate to read or for that matter, no bumper and the car was found round the corner of the next bend and the only finger prints in the car were yours.’ The policeman stated at the time that the bike you said you had ridden was nowhere to be found, therefore you must have been the person who was driving and I have no other option than to arrest you. Read him the caution Sergeant. D.S. Smart grabbed hold of Eric’s arm and hauled him off of his seat and cautioned Eric and led him to the front door. Eric proffered his front door keys to the Inspector who locked up and summoned another policeman to stand guard in front of the house. Eric’s mind was in a turmoil and he couldn’t understand why the police arrested him on the flimsiest of evidence when to get to his firm at that time in the morning he would have had to run rather walk, and besides he knew he was riding a bike and so did the person who had perpetrated the crime on a innocent old lady. Obviously this was a ploy, a trap and it had worked as the “Voice” said it would and that he Eric would not have a leg to stand on. This was going to be a tough time for Eric and he had better think very hard and find out what options were going to be offered by the police and see if he could prove he was just an innocent victim of someone they didn’t know about.
Perhaps the old lady might have seen him arrive, but she was still in hospital and he was in the police station and it was unlikely he would be offered bail on a murder charge – so he wouldn’t be able to see the old lady in hospital anyway because he wasn’t the next of kin. Where had his bike been taken at the time of the accident because whoever was there had to be a very quick thinker, but wait, all they had to do was mount the bike and cycle away, nothing could be more natural – who would have known he was not the owner of the bike. He just stopped to see if he could help and the policeman waved him on – how silly of me.
‘Not talking to ourselves are we?’ the Sergeant said, ‘No!’ said Eric.
‘Will you deal with this gentleman?’ D.S. Smart said to the Desk Sergeant. ‘Okay Detective Sergeant! Do you mind emptying your pockets sir and put the contents in this tray – also hand over your tie, belt, shoe laces and handkerchief – we will issue you with a box of paper hankies.’
Inspector Rothchild stood in front of Eric and made a statement – ‘You are charged with the willful murder of Jenny Todd that on 6th July 1994 you drove your car and ran over her twice and on the 15th May 1996 you ran over Barbara Todd, your second wife causing severe injuries to her head. She is in Queen Elizabeth Hospital and in a coma – have you anything to say to these charges?’ ‘I am not guilty on both accounts!’ Eric stated vehemently.
He was led away to the back of the police station and placed in a cell consisting of a wooden bed, a toilet of sorts and a wash basin and a centre light with no shade – the walls and ceiling could have done with a lick of paint, but Eric wasn’t offering – he laid on the bed and shut his eyes – it was the middle of the afternoon and he could hear the echoing noises of voices in the background.
Obviously it was not the conference at Wolverhampton that had caught him out, but his bicycle that led him into the trap and it was so simple. He wondered what his friends must be thinking at this time. Were they debating whether he was guilty after all even though he had proved his innocence over and over again? He couldn’t see a way out of this predicament, but a solution had to be found and pretty quick. He recapped his movements that day. ‘Barbara went to the shopping precinct. My car was in Jackson’s garage. I had to cycle to work. There was an accident near a Pelican crossing. I stopped to assist, but I can’t remember where I placed my bike. It was one of those bikes that has its own stand – only significant thing about that is I used to balance myself when waiting at traffic lights with the stand in place. I probably put the stand down that morning and someone just came along and mounted the bike and pedalled off.’
The key of the cell grated noisily as the desk sergeant opened the door, Eric sat up and he was handed a cup of tea and two digestives on a tin plate. He wasn’t sure but he thought the sergeant gave him a wink. Eric thought he must have dreamt it and shrugged his shoulders until he lifted the biscuits off the plate and there lay a folded piece of paper. Eric unfolded the paper very carefully and smoothed out the edges with his hands. It read “We know you are innocent – but plead guilty!”
Eric blinked a few times, was he dreaming and scratched his head and wondered who had sent the note, it had to be someone here at the police station.
The light in his cell came on and he could see that a shadow of night’s mantle had fallen across the barred window and it was raining. He could hear the pitter-patter as the droplets hit the glass, a sort of rhythm that you could hum a tune to and Eric often did by strumming his fingers on something metallic, then pursing his lips together and making a noise like a trumpet. He was so immersed in his one man band he never heard the cell door open. It was D S Smart. ‘Here’s your meal for the evening, I don’t know how you swung it, your meal is better than mine, steak, chips and baked beans.’ The D S dropped the tray on the floor. ‘Whoops! Sorry, butterfingers!’ The whole meal bounced into the air. Eric somehow managed to hold the plate underneath it and it more or less landed on the plate and tray. The rhubarb and custard landed on the tray, and the mug of tea had broken. As the D S strode out of the cell he said, ‘You’ll have to pay for the mug.’
Eric started to sing ‘Somebody loves me!’ Despite everything Eric enjoyed his meal.
The desk sergeant came in and handed Eric a fresh mug of tea and cleared up the mess on the floor. ‘Don’t mind the D S, he has a chip on his shoulder! He’s doing us all a favour he’s asked for a transfer, good riddance is what I say, although you never heard it from me.’
‘Why has he got this so-called chip?’
‘He’s aiming high. He wants to become a Inspector, but there is no calling for one more here, we already have three Division Inspectors at this station.’ ‘Where’s he going?’
‘We don’t know and to be honest we don’t really care where he’s going, as long as he leaves this area.’
Eric noticed as he was speaking to the desk sergeant that he had a facial tic and asked about it.
The desk sergeant said he had been involved in a shoot-out siege and had unfortunately got in the way of a bullet – so what Eric took as a wink was not a sign and so he dismissed the idea that the note had nothing to do with him. ‘Yes! I got shot and landed behind a desk job with this affliction and of course it can get me in all sorts of trouble when ladies of the night are brought in and they think I’m winking at them.’ Both men laughed. Suddenly the door of the cell was wrenched open and D.S. Smart was standing there with hands on hips ‘What do you think you’re playing at Cole, this man’s a prisoner, not your best mate!’
Sergeant Cole replied, It’s Sergeant Cole to you and it doesn’t hurt to be civil, prisoner or no prisoner and with all due respect D.S. Smart your duty ended half an hour ago.’
‘Paperwork Sergeant Cole, paperwork. And with that the D. S. walked away. Sergeant Cole got up, walked to the cell door and turned and said ‘Thanks for the chat!’ and shut the cell door with a clang that seemed to echo repeatedly. Eric leaned back against the wall sipping his almost cold tea and reflecting on his situation and more importantly reflecting on the slip of paper he had found with his biscuits earlier and he definitely was not going to plead guilty, especially as he knew he was innocent of both incidents.
Sergeant Cole came back about an hour later with a suitcase. He handed Eric his pyjamas and toiletries and a book and newspaper. He said ‘One of our constables went to your house and collected your stuff for tonight at least.’ The sergeant took away the case and clanged the door shut. Eric did his ablutions and changed into his pyjamas and climbed into bed. He picked up the newspaper and read that “Eric Todd had been charged with the murder of his first wife Jenny Todd and attempted murder of his second wife Barbara Todd and is in custody at Silverstoun Police Station!’ The report continued that the police were making extensive enquiries and wanted to find any witnesses to Jenny Todd’s murder eighteen months ago in the village of Pondsend – Eric fell asleep!
