Constable Through the Meadow (22 page)

The brothers led us to a row of pigsties and pointed to one with its door closed. ‘In there,’ said Fergus.

‘You wait outside,’ he said to them. ‘I’ll have a look at him, PC Rhea had better come with me.’

Inside, there was the stench of death which is always present around a corpse, but it was tempered by the stronger smell of salt and there, packed in lots of dry straw, was the body of old Mr MacKenzie. It had not decomposed as one would have expected, and no doubt the salt treatment had done something to preserve it. And the straw had kept it cool too, rather like the old system of storing blocks of ice in straw deep within the ice-houses of country mansions. Ice blocks kept in straw could
survive for many months without melting …

Corpses were kept in mortuary fridges for months or even years, and those old ice-houses would keep game fresh for months too. This pigsty was beautifully cool and dry; it was also rat-proof and I wondered how long old Mr MacKenzie would have kept ‘as fresh as a posy’ in here. Maybe for months, even if it was an English summer.

Dr McGee began his examination; it was very thorough due to the curious circumstances, and he stripped the nightshirt off the stiff old man to check for wounds or marks of violence, turning the body over and meticulously inspecting it. From where I stood, I saw no marks likely to raise suspicion, but I watched the doctor’s careful work.

‘You never treated the old man, Doctor?’ I asked as he
conducted
his examination.

He shook his head. ‘Once, years ago, he went down with a stomach problem, but that was ten or twelve years since.
Looking
at him, and bearing in mind he’s been out here for weeks, I’d say he died from old age, from natural causes.’

‘Would you certify that?’ I put the important question to him.

‘It would require a postmortem to determine that with any accuracy.’ He spoke honestly. ‘The pathologist would have to examine the heart, brain, internal organs, lungs, throat muscles, the lot – you know the routine as well as I do. There are ways of despatching old folks, as you well know, to make it look like a natural death.’

‘So do you think this is a suspicious death?’ I put him on the spot once again.

‘To be honest, no. These chaps are too basic for that. Besides, if they had done the old chap in, they’d have got rid of the body, not kept it in cold storage until they could fix a proper funeral. Look, PC Rhea, if we go through all the official motions, with a PM, the coroner, publicity and so forth, these old characters are going to be made to look fools, aren’t they? And nothing will be achieved.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘They will look a bit daft.’

‘I am prepared to certify first, that he is dead, and second, that he died from natural causes, from old age in fact. In spite of these odd circumstances, there is no doubt in my mind that the
old boy died naturally, although, to be totally honest, we should really have a post-mortem due to the time lapse since he died. But I will stick my neck out and issue the necessary certificate, without going through all those formalities. I think it is totally unnecessary in this case.’

‘Fine, that’s all I need, and thanks. We can get this over now. That’s all Harold needs to organise the funeral.’

And so Dr McGee wrote out the necessary certificate and gave it to the brothers.

‘That’s all you require,’ he said. ‘Give this to Harold Poulter and he’ll attend to the rest of it. He’ll see the registrar for you as well, leave it all in his hands.’

‘Thanks, Doctor,’ said Fergus. ‘Ah never realised dying meant sike a carry-on.’

‘I’ve dated the death certificate for today,’ said McGee. ‘That means the official date of your dad’s death is today, do you understand?’

Angus nodded. ‘A bit like t’Queen, eh?’ he said slowly. ‘She’s got an official birthday and a real one, so our dad’s got an official day for dying and a real one.’

‘Yes,’ said McGee, ‘but don’t mention the real one!’

‘Do we ’ave to do owt else, then?’ asked Angus. ‘Is that it? Is t’official bit ovver with?’

‘Nearly, but Harold the undertaker will see to the rest of it for you. You’ve done your bit.’

‘Dying’s fussier than Ah thought it would be,’ said Angus to his brother. ‘So think on, and get me buried quick if Ah goes afore thoo!’

‘And we’ll ’ave to get yon pigsty disinfected, we’ve a sow due to farrow next week, and we can’t let t’young ’uns live in a sty that needs disinfecting. It’s time we got oor awd dad shifted somewhere more permanent.’

And so the funeral went ahead and they made their ‘more permanent’ arrangements for their father’s long-term rest. So if you visit the churchyard at Lairsbeck, you will see the
tombstone
of Alexander Cameron MacKenzie who died aged
eighty-eight
. The date on his tombstone is 4th July, but that is neither the date of his actual death nor of his funeral.

It is the date Dr McGee examined him in that pigsty.

Children take part in a large proportion of a police officer’s work, sometimes through the fault of others such as cases of neglect or cruelty, sometimes as victims through the
commission
of crimes, sexual assaults, family arguments and
maintenance
defaulters, sometimes by accident when they are knocked down by motor vehicles or suffer death by drowning or from any other cause. Other matters within our scope were the employment of children, dangerous performances in places like circuses or theatres, harmful publications which might affect them, smoking by juveniles, their general care and protection, their education and a whole host of other matters. Abortion, child destruction, infanticide, concealment of birth and the abandonment of children all came with the realm of our duties.

Our law books and police procedural volumes devoted entire chapters to the law, practice and procedure relating to children and young persons but I cannot determine precisely what
proportion
of my duty time was spent on matters relating to them. It was certainly a substantial amount and indeed, the criminal law of England does rightly devote many statutes or parts of statutes to children and young persons. Indeed, it divides them into neat categories and we had to learn, parrot fashion, a table of relevant ages at which certain crimes and offences might be committed against youngsters.

For example, a mother causing the death of her child under 1
year old could be convicted of infanticide; it was an offence to abandon a child under 2 so as to endanger life or health; there was a crime committed by suffocation of a child under 3 when it was in bed with a drunken person over 16; intoxicants must not be given to a child under 5 unless for medicinal reasons, and children over 5 must receive a proper education. It was an offence to be drunk in charge of a child under 7 in a public place or on licensed premises and, at that time, a child under 8 was not held criminally responsible for his or her acts. That age was subsequently raised to 10.

This table of ages included youngsters up to 24, with a mass of information concerning those in their teens – there was drinking in pubs, owning and using firearms, driving motor vehicles, marriage, betting, pawning goods or dealing in rags plus a list of penalties open to them if they committed offences or crimes. Much of this legislation was designed for the care and protection of children and young persons and it was our duty to enforce those laws.

In criminal law, the word ‘child’ meant a person under the age of 14, and ‘young person’ meant a person who had attained the age of 14 but was under the age of 17. The term ‘juvenile’ included both children and young persons, thus referring to all those under 17, while ‘adult’ was a person aged 17 and upwards, but aspects of these definitions have now been changed.

It follows that we spent a lot of time learning the mass of laws which affected children and young persons, and we also spent considerable time enforcing the awkward laws which seemed to attract rebellious youngsters, such as drinking under age, driving under age, betting under age, smoking under age, using firearms under age, having sex under age and being employed under age. There were times when even police officers felt the law was silly – for example, a person can take the responsibility for getting married and having children at 16, but cannot buy a pint of ale in the bar of a pub until reaching 18. A person of 17 could be in sole charge of an aircraft in motion but should not be sent betting circulars until reaching 21.

However, it was not the task of the police service to question the laws of the realm, however illogical they might be, for those laws were made by Parliament and our job was to enforce them
without fear or favour. In fact, our enforcement of the law is always tempered with discretion for without that, the country would become a police state. If we rigidly enforced every law, life would be intolerable; imagine the furore if we prosecuted everyone who drank, smoked or placed bets while under age or experienced their first groping sexual encounter with someone under the permitted age. One learned judge made it clear that the latter laws were not for the prosecution of youngsters having a tumble in the hay.

But many of our dealings with youngsters were outside the scope of the law; they were simply ordinary everyday
happenings
which involved a policeman and a child, and I had a marvellous example of this when Mrs June Myers lost her purse. A pretty young mother with two children, she came to my police house at Aidensfield to report the loss.

When the doorbell rang that Saturday lunchtime, I answered it to find the fair-haired June standing outside with her daughter; this was Melanie and she was seven. I invited them into the office, but June turned to look behind herself, and there, hiding behind the hedge at my gate, was her son. This was Joseph and he was nine.

‘I won’t come in, thanks, Mr Rhea, it’s Joseph, he won’t come near you.’

‘Why not?’ I asked as the little face peered at me through the foliage.

‘He’s frightened of policemen,’ she said. ‘He thinks you’ll lock him up!’

‘I’m not frightened!’ beamed Melanie from her mother’s side.

‘Of course you’re not,’ I smiled, ‘so what on earth’s given Joseph that idea?’

‘Some of the kids at school, I think. He won’t say much about it, but I don’t like to leave him there with all the traffic
passing
… so …’

‘Joseph is silly,’ said Melanie.

‘Be quiet, Melanie,’ said her mum.

‘I won’t hurt him,’ I said loudly so he might hear, ‘so what’s the problem, June?’

She explained how she had been to Ashfordly on the bus only
this morning to do some shopping and had lost her purse. It contained a few personal belongings and about £10 in cash, too much for her to lose.

With Melanie adding her comments, I took details and promised I would see if it had been handed in. As she waited at the door, I rang Ashfordly Police Station, but at that stage, there was no record of it. However, I assured her that if it was handed in, it would be restored to her in due course. Off she went, with Joseph running ahead to keep out of my clutches and Melanie waving a brave goodbye.

That afternoon I had to visit Ashfordly Police Station on a routine matter and was in time to see a middle-aged lady
departing
. As I entered, PC Alwyn Foxton said,

‘Ah, Nick! Just in time. That purse you rang about, it’s just been brought in. Found in the market place under a seat. The finder’s just left.’

I checked the contents and sure enough, it belonged to June Myers, and the money was intact. I told Alwyn I’d deliver it to Mrs Myers later in the day, and would provide her with the name of the lady who had been so honest in handing it in. And, of course, I would obtain the necessary official receipt for it and its contents.

I knocked on the door of the Myers’ council house at teatime and it was opened by young Joseph.

Upon seeing me standing there in full uniform, he gave a sharp cry of alarm and bolted back indoors, shouting and crying for his mother. Alarmed at his outburst, she rushed from the kitchen and expressed relief when she saw me at the door. I gave her the good news about her purse and she invited me in while she signed my official receipt. During this short item of
business
, Joseph hid behind the settee, peering out at me with tearful eyes. I learned that Melanie was out playing with friends.

‘Mr Rhea isn’t going to hurt you!’ she said to the child. ‘He’s brought mummy’s purse back, look!’

He looked at it, apparently puzzled that a policeman should be doing something helpful, and then he retreated behind his protective settee.

‘I’m not here to hurt you, Joseph,’ I spoke to the unseen lad.
‘I’m here to help your mum, we’ve brought her purse back.’

There was no reaction from him. I didn’t seek him out; that would have raised his fears even more, so I left quietly with June’s delight being my reward. She said she would write a letter of thanks to the finder.

It was some three weeks later when I received a phone call from Alan Myers; he was June’s husband and he worked at an agricultural engineers’ depot in Ashfordly. I think he was a welder and he rang me from work.

‘It’s Alan Myers, Mr Rhea,’ he said. ‘I’ve just had a cali from our June. Somebody’s pinched Joseph’s bike, It’s a new one an’ all. We got it for his birthday …’

‘Where did it go from?’ I asked.

‘Outside our house, sometime since last night. It got left out, Mr Rhea, by accident; it’s our own fault, but I thought you might come across it.’

‘I’ll have a walk down there this morning, Alan,’ I assured him. ‘Is June in? I can see her for a description of it.’

‘Aye, she rang me from a neighbour’s, said she’d be in all day.’

‘Good, I’ll do my best.’

When I arrived, both Joseph and Melanie were at school and I obtained the necessary written statement from June Myers. This included an account of the bike’s location, its description and a sentence to say that no one had any authority to remove it. It was a Hercules, a small blue cycle with white mudguards and a white pump. The seat was white too and it had a chainguard and lamps back and front. Almost new, it was clean and in very good condition. It was the miniature of a gents’ full-size bicycle.

I promised June I would circulate its description to all local police stations and patrolling officers, and that it would appear in our monthly Stolen Cycles Supplement which was
distributed
to all cycle dealers. But, in my heart of hearts, I was doubtful if we could recover it.

Having undertaken these routine matters, I decided I would tour the area around Aidensfield, making a search of
hedge-backs
and likely dumping places. An adult could not have ridden it away; it was far too small for that, but another child might have taken it for a joy ride and abandoned it. Or, of
course, a thieving adult could have picked it up and transported it away to sell for cash.

But I was lucky, or rather, Joseph was lucky. Later that afternoon, I decided to visit the village sports field at
Maddleskirk
, a couple of miles away. I knew it attracted youngsters from the local villages and many rode there on cycles. And there, parked behind the cricket pavilion, I found Joseph’s bike. It was undamaged and there was no one on the field at the time. I was tempted to leave it and keep observations upon it, for the thief would probably return and collect it. Then he could be dealt with. But there was no hiding-place for me here and if I left it unsupervised in the hope that I might later catch the thief riding it, it might be stolen again or lost forever. I decided against those risks. I had found it and it was safe, so I put it in the van and drove to the Myers’ home.

When I arrived, the family was having a cooked tea and Alan answered the door.

‘Hello, Alan,’ I smiled. ‘I’ve good news,’ and I led him to my van. I lifted out the cycle and, of course, he was delighted. He looked at it and was pleased it had suffered no damage.

‘Come in, Mr Rhea, and show it to our Joseph. He’s scared of blokes like you, this might make him appreciate you fellers a bit more.’

Following Alan indoors, I wheeled the little bike into the front room and Alan called for Joseph, Melanie and June. They came from the kitchen, and when Joseph saw me holding his precious bike, his little brown eyes showed a mixture of fear and amazement.

‘Here, Joseph,’ I invited him to come closer. ‘Come and have a look – is this your bike?’

‘Go on, Joseph,’ urged his mother. ‘Tell Mr Rhea if it’s yours.’

The little lad, brave but somewhat shy, moved towards me and I crouched down to welcome him. ‘Well?’ I asked. ‘Is this yours, Joseph? I found it on the cricket field.’

He took hold of its handlebars and nodded.

‘Yeth,’ he said.

‘Say thank you to PC Rhea,’ said his mother. ‘Thank you for finding my bike.’

‘Thank you for finding my bike,’ he said.

‘There,’ said his mother. ‘That wasn’t bad, was it? You see, policemen are not here to hurt you, Joseph, they’re here to help you.’

‘Shall I ride it for you?’ He suddenly asked me.

‘Can you ride a two-wheeler?’ I asked.

‘Yeth, of courth I can,’ and he proudly wheeled it outside as I followed with June and the others.

Melanie suddenly decided she should ride a bike too, for she said, ‘I can ride a bike, Mr Rhea,’ and dashed back indoors for her red three-wheeler. On the footpath, I was then treated to a display of cycle-riding by Joseph who did tricks like ringing his bell while riding with one hand, riding with his feet lifted from the pedals and doing rapid turns around the lamp-posts. His shyness had evaporated; now he was a show-off. Melanie did her best to outdo him with her skills, and for me it was a pleasant few moments. Quite suddenly, Joseph decided he was unafraid of me. He halted at my side and asked, ‘Do you arretht naughty boyth? There are thome very naughty boyth at our thchool.’

‘We only arrest very naughty people,’ I said. ‘We are here to help people, really, like your mum when she lost her purse or you, when somebody took your new bike.’

‘I’m ten now,’ he said proudly. ‘I’m big now and I’m not frightened of you any more!’

‘Good, then I am very pleased. Now, you must look after your bike …’

I gave him a short lecture on caring for his belongings and bade the family farewell. I thought no more of the incidents until, around half past five one evening, I heard a knock at my office door. I went outside to find Joseph standing there
clutching
a small boy by the collar.

‘Thith ith a very naughty boy,’ Joseph announced as the other cringed and protested beneath my gaze. ‘I’ve brought him for you to arretht!’

‘What’s he done?’ I asked.

‘He thtole thome thweets from a girl at thchool, I thaw him,’ he said. ‘That ith very naughty!’

‘Really, well, you’d better come in, both of you.’

I was uncertain how to cope with this development, but the other little lad, a six-year-old whose name I learned was Simon, denied the charge.