The Stones: Part Fifteen

~ beetleypete ~ 20 Comments

This is the fifteenth part of a fiction serial, in 811 words.

After waking up late, Andy was still at home when the police officer rang his moblile.

“This is detective constable Stephanie Taylor, Mr Conway. I understand you were the last person to meet with Tricia Macaulay before she tragically died? I was hoping that you could come in and make a statement to me about that, when would it be convenient?”

Andy had almost forgotten that he had been told the police would want to speak to him, and he was a little flustered.

“Er, would tomorrow morning be okay? Say nine?” He could hear her typing.

“Yes, that would be great, I will text the address to your mobile phone”. He had a sudden thought.

“Sorry to ask, but do I need to have a lawyer with me?” She sounded surprised.

“A lawyer? I am just doing a follow-up report for presentation to the Coroner. As far as I know this is going to be a witness statement. But if you are concerned you can of course arrange for legal representation”. That calmed him down.

“No need, I just thought I should ask. See you at nine tomorrow”.

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The morning meeting between Angela and the Controller was supposed to be about a potential new operational target for the stones, to be activated once interest about the situation in Nigeria had gone away. But Angela arrived bearing a transcript of a phone call that she had received from the surveillance team, and read it out to her boss. He didn’t seem too concerned.

“Obviously we cannot allow that meeting to take place, and he must not give a statement. Use our contact with the Police Commissioner to get Conway’s name off any lists they are holding, and get that meeting cancelled as soon as possible. The last thing we want is for the boys in blue to get suspicious of him, and for him to either drop his investigation or end up in the cells of some local police station. I need to know if he can work it out, because if he can, so can much better investigative journalists. Off you go, get it done”.

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Three phone calls made by Angela later, and a confused detective constable Taylor was back on the phone to Andy, who was already at his desk at work.

“Just to let you know that we won’t be requiring that statement after all. No need for you to come in as arranged, sorry for the mix up”.

Andy realised he had somehow dodged a bullet by not being asked why he was meeting Tricia that evening, and had no idea why that had happened. But he wasn’t about to question it. The less dealings with the cops the better, as far as he was concerned.

He carried on slogging away, going over all his notes and the online reports time and time again, staring at the screens waiting for something to click, to tell him why all of those people had committed suicide if it wasn’t about robberies of valuable or rare stones and some kind of international crime organisation.

Feeling hungry, he went out to get something to eat, not sure if he wanted a late breakfast or a very early dinner. At least his boss had been away at a meeting, so it hadn’t been necessary to justify himself so far today.

Deciding on a pub lunch, he sat at a small table by the door of one of his favourite local pubs, sipping a glass of good German lager while he waited for the arrival of his gammon ham, two eggs and chips. It was busy at the bar already, and he looked up as he noticed a gorgeous older woman sweep in like a film star. She was obviously meeting a similarly well-groomed, very tall man who waved and then stood up from his bar stool to hug her.

As the man stepped back, the woman let out a cry. He had caught her necklace on one of the buttons of his overcoat, and the large pearls were dropping down and bouncing around all over the floor of the pub.

Some rolled in Andy’s direction, and he stopped them with the side of his shoe before scooping down to pick them up. Other customers were also bending down to do the same with pearls that had gone in their direction, and the waitress bringing his food put the plate down on his table hurriedly, then bent to pick up the last of the escaped stones from the necklace.

The film star woman was thanking everyone profusely, and Andy smiled at how good people were to rush to have helped her so that she didn’t lose any. Just random people who didn’t know the woman, or each other.

That was the lightbulb moment for him. And he didn’t stay to eat the food.

The Stones: Part Fourteen

~ beetleypete ~ 21 Comments

This is the fourteenth part of a fiction serial, in 810 words.

In the middle of doing more research into the articles about everyone who had died after some connection to the stones, Andy decided to ring his mortuary contact and ask if he could remember anything that Tricia might have said, however insignificant

The mobile number for Richard was out of service, so he rang the mortuary direct and asked to speak to him. A woman answered, and asked him to hold the line. When she came back on a few minutes later, her voice had changed, and she sounded stilted and unfriendly.

“Richard Hill no longer works here, I’m afraid. He left without giving notice, so I suggest you contact him at home. Thank you”.

That made Andy curious. Why would he leave like that, and where would he go? Unfortunately, he had no idea where Richard lived, so he tried the social media accounts hoping to find what he was doing now. He knew he had a Facebook account, and was also on X. But both of his accounts on those no longer existed. Searching the name only, he found lots of men with that fairly common name, but none of them were the Richard he knew, and many of them were American.

His mind was all over the place now.

Could Richard be involved in the story? Outside of his job, perhaps he was part of the conspiracy to steal and trade the stones? But the information had come from Tricia, or so he had said. For someone to walk out of a regular job, change their phone number and delete their social media accounts, there had to be a good reason. Besides, if he had not wanted Andy to find out more, why put him in touch with Tricia in the first place?

He started to get a headache.

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The Controller had called Angela in for an update. As was his habit, he was looking away from her as she gave him her report.

“Andy Conway has compiled a great deal of information about everything to do with the stones, but seemingly come to the worng conclusion. We have a tracker inside his home laptop, and that has duplicated the hard drive, as well as anything he types on it from now on. The same with his phone, which we have a live match to, and can listen to his calls as well. He is working on the theory that the stones are valuable, some kind of jewel or precious mineral. So he believes organised crime must be involved, and the deaths are associated with that. He has been tring to contact Richard Hill, with no success, obviously”. The Controller turned his swivel chair so he could look at her.

“No success because the unfortunate Mr Hill is entombed in ten feet of concrete inside a secret government facility somewhere, I presume”. Angela tried not to smile.

“Something like that sir. I didn’t ask for details, just trusted the usual operatives to carry out their task as instructed. So what about Conway? Do you want me to put them onto him now?” The man turned his chair back to the side.

“No, not yet. The reporter intrigues me and I want to wait and see how far he gets, and if he is able to put the whole thing together. If he manages to do that, we can easily stop him before the story gets out. That’s if anyone would be crazy enough to publish it of course.
You can go”.

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Everyone had left for the day, but Andy was still at his desk. He had re-read everything ten times, and come to a couple of conclusions. There was no way that the Traffic Policeman had died accidentally. The words of the tractor driver had been in a small report in a local newspaper that Andy had almost overlooked. Interviewed after he left hospital, the farm worker had said, “He drove his motorbike straight at me, it was like he wanted to die”. The woman who had been standing by the car park when the man jumped had plenty of time to move away, or walk back across the street. The bus driver had everything to live for, a new life in the West Indies, with plenty of money. The female employee who had jumped under his bus had no reason to kill herself, and neither did Tricia, who had been happy being Richard’s girlfriend.

That left the man who had jumped from the top of the car park. If you accepted that he was unhappy because he was separated from his family and lived alone in a different part of the country, then he might well have been a candidate for suicide.

But what if you didn’t accept that? What if he had been happy living as he was?

There was still much more to investigate.

Some August Sunday Musings

~ beetleypete ~ 36 Comments

Much nicer temperatures this weekend, before it hots up again next week.

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Our dinner trip on Wednesday was the previously mentioned expensive ‘treat’ to the nicely up-market Brisley Bell. To ice the cake even further, we booked a taxi each way, so neither of us had to drive. Despite it being the hottest day of the week at 34C/93F, it was beautifully cool inside due to very effective and most welcome airconditioning. In one of the smaller restaurant areas where our table was situated, it was even cooler.

I was a little disappointed that they had no Monkfish on the menu this time, but that was balanced out by a choice of Scallops and Chorizo with creamed corn as a starter, and delicious it was too. My main course was superb Belly Pork with the best-ever crispy crackling, apple sauce, garlic mashed potatoes and green vegetables. For dessert I chose a locally-made and exceptionally creamy pistachio ice cream, adding an extra scoop of rum and raisin.

After eating, we went and sat in the bar, where I had an Amaretto on ice, and Julie a glass of Port. It was a delightful evening that felt like a real occasion. And we didn’t get home until 9:50pm! Late for us.

Home

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Thursday was our monthly trip to our favourite butcher in Downham Market. Although it was substantially cooler that day, it felt much more humid, and quite uncomfortable. We had coffee sitting outside a nice cafe before leaving, and were glad to get home to sit in front of some fans.

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Julie met one of her daughters and her oldest grandson in Dereham on Saturday. They went to the specialist school outfitters to get all the required uniform for his first year of senior school starting in September. Then they went for dinner at a family pub and I made my own meal at home.

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For dinner later today I am cooking an Indian meal of Chicken Tikka Masala, served with basmati rice and peshwari naan bread.

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Have a happy Sunday, doing what makes you content.

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The Stones: Part Thirteen

~ beetleypete ~ 23 Comments

This is the thirteenth part of a fiction serial, in 792 words.

Not long after the alarm was raised in Nigeria that the new president had killed himself, the British special forces and their NIgerian allies swept into the capital to take control. After a brief firefight, they overwhelmed Bello’s guerrilla units and installed a temporary leader to run the country.

One day later it was all reported internationally, and Andy browsed the news reports and videos while he was at work. On one of the Nigerian TV stations, there was mention of a sword, and a photograph of the bloodied weapon was shown on the screen. That grabbed his attention, as he could clearly see two shiny black stones in the hilt.

They were the same stones he had been investigating, he knew that immediately. Instinct told him that this was a game-changer.

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On the other side of London, Angela Ackland was attending a team meeting that had been called to discuss the remarkable success of the operation in Nigeria. When they had all finished congratulating each other, they moved on to the next item on the agenda.

That was about the connection between a recent suicide, a mortuary attendant, and a reporter on an insignificant local newspaper. The police had found an evidence bag containing a stone in the dead woman’s flat. She had probably touched it, causing her suicide later that day. Her boyfriend, by his own admission, had put her in touch with a reporter who wanted to see one of the stones, and she had met that man not long before she killed herself.

It had been easy enough to access the phone records of all three of them, and confirm the connection. The technical department has been able to establish a timeline of calls and messages, and by examining the cell sites that the phones had used, they could actually map out the movements of them too.

Then they had hacked into the work computer of Andy Conway at the newspaper where he worked and found out he had been researching the deaths of everyone who had committed suicide, or died by accident after some contact with the stones.

More importantly, a short while ago he had been looking up the news reports around the suicide of the former president of Nigeria, and had printed off a page showing the sword used. Angela had a question for the controller and raised her hand.

“Should we send a team to deal with this reporter, sir? Black Ops, I presume?” He was staring back at her as if she was crazy.

“Absolutely not. So far, we have no idea who else he might have told about this, whether or not he has any notes or computer records at home, and we can’t even be that certain he knows any more about the stones other than that they were touched by the people who died soon afterwards. If he is dealt with now, we will never be able to ask him any questions. So get him on full twenty-four seven surveillance, and get someone into his flat while he is out of it. I want a silent search so he has no idea we were in there, and micro cameras and transmitters in every room. Oh, I nearly forgot. That mortuary attendant, Richard something or other, get him disappeared as soon as possible”.

Taking that as her instructions, Angela left the room to get it all organised.
————————————————————————————————

Oblivious to all of that, Andy was drinking a very large cup of strong coffee as he tried to work out what connection there could be with the stones, and a coup in Nigeria. He kept coming back to the idea that they were valuable, and now he was thinking that they had originated in Nigeria, and the coup had something to do with it.

Maybe they wanted to get more stones, and had to kill Bello to make that happen? Perhaps they were a rare mineral of incredible value?

The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that he was on the right track. Those stones were something the world needed for some technological purpose. They were found in Nigeria, and there were not that many of them. Perhaps a few had been lost around London, dropped out of a bag, or fallen from a consignment in a vehicle? How else would so many random people have come across them by accident?

His mind was racing along at warp speed. It could be a great story, one the heavyweight newspapers and websites would want to syndicate, and the Americans too. There was going to be genuine fame and fortune in this for him, maybe even a prize for investigative journalism.

But only if he could tie it all together convincingly.

The Stones: Part Twelve

~ beetleypete ~ 24 Comments

This is the twelfth part of a fiction serial, in 765 words.

When he had made his statement and was allowed to leave, Richard walked to the end of the street and rang Andy.

“She dead. Tricia’s dead. They say it’s an overdose of antidepressants and sleeping tablets. I had to give a statement, and I feel really bad now. Are you sure you didn’t say or do anything to upset her?”

Andy was shocked of course, he had been the last person to see her, and that was bound to come up at some stage. He reassured Richard that he had only been with her for a couple of minutes, and had said or done nothing to cause her any distress. Then Richard dropped the bad news.

“I had to tell them she was meeting you, so you can expect the cops to be wanting to talk to you soon”.

He knew that once the police were involved, his story would no longer be an exclusive. With the death of everyone who had come into contact with those stones happening so soon after they had any dealings with them, he was convinced it had something to do with organised crime. Perhaps for his own safety he should just go into a police station and clear his name. Then he might get protection of some kind.

Besides that, his personal involvement would actually give a new angle to the story. But he decided to wait until they caught up with him, to buy more time to flesh out his story and keep his boss happy..

The officers and crime scene investigators who had dealt with the woman’s suicide had found no reason to suspect foul play. Suicide looked to be the obvious cause, though there was the matter of an item in a police evidence bag discovered there, and that would have to be formally reported.

All of this took time of course. The progress of reports around different departments of the largest police force in Britain was notoriously slow.

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The ceremonial sword looked amazing in its presentation case. The blade shining, the ornate hilt with the two black stones glinting. The British High Commissioner had been given a bare-bones need-to-know briefing, and it had been instilled in him that in no circumstances was he to touch the sword without wearing the white gloves he had been given.

He assured the two men who had brought it from England that he did not want to touch the sword, and was happy to just open the presentation case and let President Bello remove it.

Along with the lack of information about the sword, he was also not told about the sixty special forces soldiers and their large detachments of disgruntled, anti-Bello Nigerian soldiers who were hidden away and ready, thirty miles from the capital, Abuja.

At noon the following day, wearing formal morning dress attire to suit the occasion, John Furlong arrived at the State House by arrangement to be given an sudience with President Bello. He was to hand over a letter of friendship from the king, along with the ceremonial sword as a gift to celebrate his new role as president.

To say that the recepient was delighted with the formalities and the gift was an understatement. He not only saw both as legitimising his violent coup, he really loved the sword. Removing it from the case given to him by the High Commissioner, he waved it around as if in battle, then rushed around the room showing it to his assembled ministers and military friends. After a short time allowed for refreshments and chit-chat, Furlong left the State House with his driver, relieved it was all over.

Late that night, Ibrahim Bello was enjoying the luxury of the presidential bedroom with two willing females. Thinking to impress them, he went down to his office to get the sword, running back into the bedroom waving it around again, and laughing hysterically because they looked so afraid and had run to hide behind a large sofa. He put the sword down on the floor and called out to them.

“Don’t worry, lovely ladies, your president will not hurt you. Calm your fears and come back to bed”.

The next morning he woke up early, needing to pee. For some reason, he felt the need to take the sword into the bathroom, where he stood looking at it in his hand for sometime, enjoying the reflection in the large mirror making him look like a warrior of old.

Then he pulled the razor-sharp blade hard across his neck, from behind his left ear to below his right one.

An Old Man In A Bedroom

~ beetleypete ~ 50 Comments

This isn’t a short story, or an amusing online find. This actually happened to me during the night.

As I mentioned previously, Thursday was an unusually humid day. We had been out to Downham Market to buy all our meat for the month at our favourite butcher, and sitting outside at a nice cafe to have a coffee, the air felt heavy and oppressive.

By the time we got home, it felt stifling in the house, and even using an assortment of fans did almost nothing to help. By the time I had cooked dinner and we had eaten, I was starting to get quite concerned about how hot I was feeling, and felt unable to cool down at all.

So I went to bed early, around 10pm, to lie on top of the bed in front of the biggest fan in the house.

At some stage I went to sleep, waking up later to discover that I was lying on my ‘wrong side’.

Turning over (presumably quite violently) to my preferred position, I went down the side of the mattress and knocked over the bedside cabinet, scattering the lamp, my Tablet, and other items kept on top of it. In the process, I struck my hip against the edge of the heavy wooden cabinet, and woke up wondering where I was and what had happened.

This morning I can still feel the pain of that, but was happy that I eventually managed to get back to sleep by 2am.

That’s the only kind of night-time adventure I get up to these days! 👴