Episode 130 - Over the Anvil
Previously in Leeford Village:
Agnes has misinterpreted Frank’s additional census question. Ted agrees to read Jason’s novel, even though it has already been submitted to the publisher. Frank suggests a ‘circus’ theme for the upcoming fête.
~
It’s a typical Sunday morning in Leeford. There is a slight breeze which a romantic might attribute to the sound of the village sighing as it ends one week and prepares to begin another. A few joggers, some overdressed and some decidedly underdressed for the activity, weave breathlessly through the empty streets. A few hopeful birds peck around the frames of the market stalls.
At Leeford police station, Sergeant Stephen Miller and his wingman, PC Gary Carr, are deliberating over what to have for breakfast.
‘I can’t have a full English, Gary. Sally’s parents are coming over and she’s cooking a roast with all the trimmings,’ says Sergeant Miller.
‘But, if you don’t have one, neither can I,’ is PC Carr’s response. ‘The deal is two for the price of one. You have to have two for the deal to work.’
Sergeant Miller wonders how his colleague ever made it through the academy.
He sighs. ‘I’ll explain again. A full English costs, say, £9.50. Right?’
PC Carr nods his agreement.
‘If you buy one, you’ll spend £9.50. Right?’
‘Yes. Obviously.’
‘If you buy two, you’ll still spend £9.50. Right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, whichever way you do it, one or two breakfasts, you’ll spend £9.50. See?’
PC Carr takes a sip of tea.
‘But, the deal is two breakfasts for £9.50. I can’t eat two, so if you don’t have a full English, we can’t have the deal. See?’
‘Give me strength,’ mutters Sergeant Miller. He is about to either explain elementary logic to his colleague, or explode in a rage, when the phone rings.
‘Leeford Station. Sergeant Miller speaking.’
PC Carr is counting on his fingers and looking baffled before Sergeant Miller’s side of the conversation distracts him.
‘Interpol? Yes…yes, I know what Interpol is…’ The sergeant rolls his eyes and puts his hand over the receiver. ‘Even you know what Interpol is, eh?’ he says to PC Carr.
The phone conversation continues.
‘Sorry, the line broke up for a moment there. Carry on. Yes, I know him…He’s done what?... Really?...Armed?...Is that really necessary?...We have tasers, but…well, if you insist…to Scotland Yard?... Can’t we just…Oh, I see…Right, we’ll let you know when we have him.’
The sergeant puts the phone down. He stands and puts on his jacket, which has been hanging over the back of his chair, in one movement.
‘Come on, Boy Wonder. We’re going to make an arrest.’
PC Carr leaps to his feet and grabs his jacket from the coat rack in the corner of the office.
‘Hold on. Sarge,’ he says. ‘If we’re going to Scotland, can’t we have breakfast first?’
Sergeant Miller lets out a long suppressed cry of anguish.
‘Just get in the car. And make sure you have your taser.’
~
Frank Watson is busying himself grumbling about the state of the world as he works his way through the Sunday papers. The paper boy, who cycles from Banfield in order to deliver the papers to Frank, is under strict instructions to make sure the broadsheets are on the outside of the pile, with the red tops sandwiched between. Frank’s daughter, Megan, is skimming through the supplements, which Frank has discarded. The phone rings. Frank and Megan silently will the other to get up and answer it. After a few more rings, Frank’s curiosity gets the better of him. He folds the paper and walks over to the writing bureau, atop of which is the phone, still ringing.
‘Watson,’ he says, brusquely. He is about to remind the caller that it is Sunday morning when he has a sudden change of attitude.
‘Councillor Lindale. How can I help you on this fine Sunday morning?’
The voice on the other end of the phone dispenses with pleasantries and gets straight to the point of the call. Franks listens intently, his face reddening with every sentence uttered.
‘I know exactly when the deadline passed, but…well, I’m pleased that Bordsley were able to get their completed censuses, or should that be censi, as in cactus and cacti…yes, I will get to the point…waffling?...I’m certainly not…the reason?...the reason is quite simple, Councillor.’
Megan looks up from her magazine.
Frank continues. ‘The reason you have not received completed censuses, that sounds so wrong, but so does censi…yes, waffling, I know…the reason you have not received them is because our post office has been shut for the past five days. I did mention this to one of your lackeys, but the message does not appear to have been relayed.’
Megan comes over to the bureau and sits down on a chair next to her father, concerned that his reddening face might be the sign of an impending medical emergency.
‘Tuesday. Yes, Councillor. I will make sure they are returned to you on Tuesday, one way or another.’
The voice at the other end of the phone warns Frank that failure to return the completed census forms would result in the outcome of Bordsley’s census results being final. Frank’s complexion fades to a delicate shade of pink, much to the relief of Megan.
‘Before you go, Councillor,’ says Frank, sheepishly, ‘could you tell me what Bordsley…no, no, I completely understand…yes, it would be fraud…yes, yes…goodbye.’
Frank puts the phone down.
‘I’ll swing for that Pippa Philpotts, I really will,’ he says, his face brightening. ‘Where the hell is she?’
‘No idea,’ says Megan, ‘but I do know that it’s censuses.’
~
The police car pulls up outside the Cross’s house in North Banfield. The curtains are closed.
‘Do we really have to use tasers, Sarge?’ asks PC Carr. ‘This is Linda and Sherry we’re dealing with. What if we taser one of them, accidentally?’
‘The Interpol chap says that we need to be ready for an armed confrontation. I suppose we could get the firearms squad involved if we have to,’ says Sergeant Miller, craning his neck to look towards the bedroom at the front of the house. ‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Let’s go.’
The officers step out of the car and look up and down the street. PC Carr knocks on the door. They wait a couple of minutes before Linda Cross comes to the door, wearing a blue fluffy dressing gown.
‘Stephen, Gary, what’s going on?’
‘Sergeant Miller and PC Carr, if you don’t mind, Miss Cross,’ says the sergeant. ‘We would like a word with Carlos Santos. Is he here?’
‘Carlos?’ Linda shakes her head.
PC Carr points his finger at her.
‘We know he’s here and if you don’t call him now, you will be arrested for harbouring a known criminal.’
‘Steady, Gary,’ says Sergeant Miller.
‘Sorry, Sarge.’ PC Carr peers over Linda’s shoulder.
‘Carlos doesn’t live here. Sherry won’t let him move in, though he does stay sometimes.’
‘Oh, I see,’ says Sergeant Miller. ‘Then can you tell me where he does live, then.’
‘Yes,’ butts in PC Carr, ‘and no tipping him off that we’re going to arrest him!’
Sergeant Miller grabs PC Carr by the shoulder. ‘Go and sit in the car!’
‘But…’
‘Now!’
PC Carr slinks away.
‘I should have fired him when I had the chance,’ says the sergeant, once his PC is inside the car.
‘What’s this about, Stephen?’ asks Linda drawing her dressing gown tightly around her.
‘I can’t tell you, love. I just need to know where Carlos is.’
‘He’s in a hostel in East Banfield. I’ll get you the address.’
Linda closes the door slightly and disappears into the house. A minute later she returns with a slip of paper, on which is written Carlos’ address.
‘Thanks, Linda. I know this is a shock, but we really do need to speak to him. We’ll go there now, so, please, don’t tip him off. I’m sure he’s going to be okay.’ Sergeant Miller looks at the address and puts the piece of paper into his pocket.
‘I won’t, Stephen. I’ve always had my suspicions about him. It’s a shame Sherry can’t see through him like I do,’ says Linda.
Sergeant Miller thanks Linda once more and returns to the car. Linda waits by the door until the car has turned the corner at the end of the road.
‘What did they want?’ asks Sherry, standing at the top of the stairs.
Linda thinks for a while.
‘They just wondered if we’ve seen anyone behaving suspiciously near the laundrette. That’s all.’
~
Frank Watson hurries along to the post office. In his hand is a notice he has printed instructing villagers to return their census forms directly to him within the next two days. It’s a notice that he intends to display in every shop and community building in the village, as well as knocking on doors and collecting them himself. He takes a strip of tape from a roll and sticks the paper to the door, a couple of centimetres below the notice that says the post office will be closed until further notice.
As he steps away from the door he feels someone tap on his shoulder.
‘Hello, Frank,’ says a beaming Pippa, standing next to Harry Smestow.
‘Pippa Philpotts! Where the hell have you been? And who’s this?’ Frank points at Harry.
‘Philippa Smestow, if you don’t mind Mr Watson,’ says Pippa. ‘And you are pointing at my husband, Harry.’
Harry extends his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr…’
‘Don’t you “pleased to meet you me”,’ shouts Frank. ‘Husband? But, how…’
‘Gretna Green, Frank. We were married there a couple of days ago. We were going to stay for a short honeymoon, but Harry said we should get back to open the post office. So here we are!’
If Megan Watson could see her father’s face now, she would almost certainly call the emergency services.
‘What’s wrong, Frank?’ asks Philippa Smestow. ‘You look a bit angry.’
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