Constable by the Sea Read online

  ‘Then what were you doing?’ I had to press home my questions now. ‘If you were praying, why weren’t you kneeling in one of the pews?’

  He hung his head, and I saw tears in his eyes.

  His small, drawn face had a haunted look, a desperate look which I could see clearly now that I was so close to him. It did not take a clever person to realize that he was sorely troubled in some way. I still wondered if he had intended to break into the offertory box and whether his strong faith, coupled with the atmosphere of the church surroundings, had defeated him.

  ‘I need to talk to someone,’ he said, looking around, but we were alone in the vast emptiness of the church. ‘I wanted to talk to Monsignor but he thinks such a lot of Teresa.’

  ‘Teresa?’ I asked, hoping my voice sounded gentle and encouraging.

  ‘My wife,’ he said, wiping his eyes roughly with his sleeve. ‘She’s a … well, they say she’s a good, holy woman, you see, but …’

  ‘Go on,’ I spoke softly now, cognizant of the atmosphere in which we stood and increasingly aware that he was about to unburden himself of a massive problem of some kind. And now I was sure he was no thief.

  ‘Well, you’re a Catholic. I’ve seen you at Mass,’ he said. ‘So that makes it easier, you’ll understand what I’m saying. I must talk to someone, I’m getting desperate …’

  I wondered about moving outside but realized the church probably provided the best surroundings for whatever he wished to say. I smiled at him and said, ‘Well, Mr Flynn, here I am, and I am very happy to listen to you.’

  He told me that he received £15.17s.6d weekly as wages from his work at the clothes shop, with an annual bonus paid at Christmas which came to around £30. He said it was just enough to live on – he could not afford luxuries or holidays, but because he could buy his clothes at reduced prices, he could manage to support his wife and his family.

  ‘But, you see, constable, I give Teresa all my wages, except for the 17s.6d. I keep that for myself – I like an occasional drink, and sometimes I take her to the pictures. She gets the £15, and we use the bonus for Christmas presents.’

  ‘Go on,’ I said.

  ‘Well, as I said, she is a good Catholic woman, a very good one. In fact she’s besotted with her religion. It’s become a mania …’

  ‘How do you mean? A mania?’

  ‘Well, I give her my wages and I’ve found out she’s not been paying the household bills – you know, food, rent, rates, heating, that sort of thing. I’ve discovered that for nearly three months now she’s not paid anyone. I’ve had the grocer on to me – that’s how I found out, and she’s run a big bill up at the Co-Op. The Electricity Board is shouting for payment, and others too.’

  ‘So what’s she been doing with the money?’

  ‘She’s donated it all to the church, constable. Here, to this church. I found out that she comes on a Friday afternoon, straight after I’ve given her the money over lunch, and she’s been putting it all into this offertory box. All the housekeeping. £15! Damn it, it’s hard enough to find five bob every week for the collection, but to give the lot, my entire income …’

  ‘You’ve mentioned it to her?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ tears were streaming down his face now.

  ‘And what does she say?’ I asked.

  ‘She says the Lord will provide.’

  ‘Can’t you explain that the system doesn’t work like that? Surely she knows you must give according to your means, not give all your income!’

  ‘I’ve tried, so Lord help me, I’ve tried. But it’s no good, she’s gone off her head, to be sure. I’ve tried keeping some money back, she accuses me of failing in my duty as a husband and she demands the correct amount of housekeeping. I’ve always given her it, always, with never a quibble and no trouble till now. I mean, am I within my rights to withhold the housekeeping from her?’

  ‘She must have something to spend on the family,’ I said. ‘But you could pay the grocery bills and so on.’

  ‘She insists that I give her the money, but whatever I give her, she pushes into this box and says the Lord will provide! She has absolute faith in her religion, and cannot see doubt anywhere. She maintains that if we provide the church with money, the Lord will provide us with all we need. I can get no sense out of her.’

  ‘I think a word with the Monsignor is called for,’ I decided.

  ‘He thinks she is wonderful, such a supporter of his church. I don’t think he’ll understand.’

  ‘He will if he knows the truth. I think he’ll listen to me,’ I said with confidence. ‘Come on, we’ll both go.’

  He followed me like a small dog, and I could well see him being dominated by his fanatical wife. We arrived at the presbytery, where the round and happy priest greeted us both, albeit with some surprise on his face due to memories of our recent and previous meeting, and my earlier suspicions of Hedda Flynn.

  We had a cup of tea because it was the Monsignor’s tea-time, and he listened to me while pursing his lips and looking solemnly at Hedda Flynn. When I’d finished, Monsignor addressed the worried Hedda.

  ‘Is this all true then, Hedda my boy?’

  ‘Yes, Monsignor,’ he said. ‘The constable thought it best if I came to you, although the Lord knows what we can do about her.’

  ‘She’s smitten with the faith, so she is,’ smiled the priest. ‘And terrible it is when folks get like that. Now, if we – or if I – tell her she’s doing wrong, that she’s sinning even or misbehaving in the sight of God, she might go all to pieces, eh? We might lose her all together. She won’t understand at all. If she’s so smitten, we’d by playing with dangerous emotions, so I think we’ll leave her to her own devices – but we’ll be cunning with it,’ he added with a smile.

  ‘But Monsignor,’ I protested on behalf of Hedda Flynn. ‘You can’t let her go on giving all the family income to the church …’

  His eyes flashed, albeit with understanding. ‘I can, constable, I can, and I will. But I can give it all back to Hedda, not to Teresa.’

  He stood up and went to a safe behind a painting on the wall, unlocked it and handed a roll of notes to Hedda.

  ‘Here you are, Hedda Flynn. I’d been wondering where these huge amounts were coming from, and one day I saw Teresa stuffing the money into the box. I didn’t think she could afford all this but didn’t like to offend her or you by questioning your generosity. Now I know the truth, and it’s your money. So take it. And now, you must continue to let her think she’s doing the right thing – it’ll keep the peace at home, eh? Let her put the money into the box, and then, every Friday, you come around at tea-time, and I’ll give it back to you. How’s that?’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Father. Thank you,’ beamed the happy fellow. ‘Now I can pay all my bills … yes, I’ll do what you say. But isn’t that being deceitful? Isn’t it unfair to Teresa to deceive her in this way?’

  ‘I think the constable will agree I’m committing no crime by breaking into my own offertory box to give you your own money back. So just tell your Teresa that the Lord is providing as she believes He will, and let it rest there,’ suggested the Monsignor. ‘Don’t try to explain. Let this thing work itself out.’

  And I agreed. I was pleased Hedda wasn’t the thief, and later I saw Teresa walking with a saintly air about her, believing the Lord was providing all her family needs.

  We never did catch the other person who was raiding the offertory boxes. I can only hope it was someone whose need was as genuine and as great as that of Hedda Flynn.

  Another man with a theft problem was Rugby-player Ted Donaldson, a strapping local butcher who stood six foot six inches tall and who weighed seventeen stone. His worry caused my mind to return to my training school lectures and to problems of criminal intent, or mens rea as legal men prefer to call it.

  ‘Gotta minute, officer?’ he approached me as I stood beside the telephone kiosk in Strensford’s bustling fishmarket.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, wond
ering why this massive fellow wore such a worried look.

  ‘You might have to arrest me,’ he said, and I must admit it was a thought that did not appeal to me, even if he was currently very docile and submissive.

  ‘Why, have you done something wrong?’ I asked.

  ‘Dunno,’ he said, and with that he produced a brown leather wallet from his jacket pocket. It was the type many men carried, the sort which could be bought at most chain stores. Then he produced another identical one and showed me them both, weighing one in each of his massive hands.

  ‘Identical, aren’t they?’ he said, and I nodded.

  ‘So, what’s the problem?’ I put to him.

  ‘You’ve not had a report of a robbery with violence, have you?’ he asked. ‘You chaps are not looking for a bloke like me?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Should we be looking for somebody like you?’

  ‘Bloody funny,’ he said. ‘Well, I’d better tell you the story.’

  He reminded me that the summer season in Strensford could attract some unsavoury characters, and in recent summers there had been a spate of hit-and-run pickpockets, handbag snatches and portable radio thefts. Teams of thieves would operate together, preying on wandering folks when they least expected it. Their technique was simple. In the crowds of a busy holiday resort, they would jostle a holiday-maker, and in the ensuing bustle and uncertainty they would relieve a man of his wallet, a woman of her handbag or a youngster of anything he or she carried – portable radios and cameras were popular targets. It was with such crimes in mind that uniformed police officers patrolled the crowded areas.

  ‘Well,’ said Ted. ‘I’m a big bloke but two or three of ’em could have a go at me. Anyway, yesterday, I had some money to pay a bill for my father. Cash it was. I had £150 in my wallet and was aware of those villains. I reckoned they wouldn’t really have a go at me … but, well …’

  He paused. ‘They did?’

  ‘I thought they did,’ he said, licking his lips.

  ‘Thought? What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, there was I, minding my own business and walking through the crowds along by the Amusements, when these two slobs knocked into me and nearly bowled me over. Running like hell, they were. Well, I nearly fell or tripped or something. Anyway, the minute I got my balance, I felt my pocket – and my wallet had gone.’

  ‘And you’re a Rugby player of some note in this town?’ I could visualize the following sequence of events.

  ‘Yeh, well, I’m not one for letting things like that go unchallenged, in a manner of speaking. So I set off after them and caught the one who’d knocked me.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, there was a lot of hassle and shouting when I brought him down – with a good tackle, mind – and I shouted something like “My wallet!” I shouted a lot more besides I might add, so he might not have heard everything clearly … Well, he stuttered and stammered and gave me this.’ He showed me one of the brown wallets. ‘Then, like a bloody snake, he wriggled free and was off. Like lightning, he was. He vanished into the crowd.’

  ‘But you’d got your wallet back?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s the problem. When I opened this one, I found it had no money inside and thought they’d cleaned me out. They’d been quick, I thought, but when I got home my own wallet was on my dressing-table.’

  ‘Full of money?’

  ‘Full of money,’ he said, licking his lips again. ‘So this one wasn’t mine. It looks like mine, but well, I didn’t look at it closely at that time, what with all the hassle. So those lads hadn’t robbed me. They’d just been a bit rough and careless as they ran through the crowd.’

  ‘So you’ve robbed that youth of his wallet?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, I have, haven’t I?’ and he passed the slim, empty wallet over to me.

  My mind was now racing over those training lectures, struggling with the intricacies of mens rea and wondering whether this qualified as a confession to a crime.

  But was it a crime?

  I opened the wallet and looked through its meagre contents. There was no name or address inside, although I did find a £1 note tucked deep into one of its folds, and some small, square snapshots of a pretty teenaged girl. But nothing else.

  I took Ted’s full name and address and thanked him for his honesty, saying I’d have to report the matter to my sergeant for advice. I informed him that I believed there were no grounds for prosecuting him for robbery, but did stress that I could not be sure.

  The duty sergeant, who was not Sergeant Blaketon that day, could not decide the issue either, so he sought advice from the Inspector. I told the story as Ted had given it to me, and the Inspector said:

  ‘Enter the wallet in the found property book, Rhea. We’ve had no complaint from anyone about being robbed, so that means there’s no crime. If we record it as found property, it’ll go into our records.’

  ‘And if it’s not claimed within three months, sir, it’ll go back to Ted Donaldson?’

  But we did not let it rest there. We told the local paper, who printed the pictures of the girl, and it transpired that a youth in Scarborough had been robbed of his wallet by two men a week earlier …

  Ted had simply recovered the wallet from the thief.

  But, I often mused, supposed Ted’s victim had been innocent and had complained that he had been robbed. Was there a criminal intent in Ted’s mind at that moment?

  4

  A lost thing I could never find.

  Hilaire Belloc, 1870–1953

  The bewildering variety and massive quantity of objects which are recorded in the Found Property Register of any seaside police station is matched only by the variety and number which are recorded in the Lost Property Register. The snag is that the two registers seldom tally, for what is lost is seldom found, and what is found is seldom claimed.

  This phenomenon is one of life’s great mysteries, and it is one with which seaside police officers are especially familiar. By the end of every summer season, all corners of the police office are crammed with objects which no one has claimed or is likely to claim, and the range of property is truly amazing. How could anyone lose a wedding cake and never claim it? Or a pair of trousers or a brassière? Or their wallet, handbag, purse or shoes? One man even lost a bus and forty-two passengers, because he’d forgotten where he’d left it – we located it in a nearby car-park.

  So far as normal lost and found objects are concerned, it might be wise to briefly explain some of the police procedures. These are followed meticulously because police officers have found themselves accused of stealing found goods when in fact the owner was more than careless when he or she lost it, or the finder less than truthful. To deal carelessly with found property can cost a police officer his or her career.

  A good example of the risks can be shown when a wallet is reported found. Suppose a man lost a wallet which contained his personal papers and £100 or so in cash. Another person finds it, steals the cash and throws away the empty wallet. A third person then finds it and hands it to the police. If the policeman does not immediately, and in the presence of the finder, check the contents down to the last piece of dust, either he or the honest finder could be accused of stealing that missing cash. It is difficult to prove otherwise.

  Due to the wide range of immense temptations which surround this curious aspect of police work, the handling of found property is very tightly controlled by printed orders, internal regulations and a mass of paperwork which involves meticulous records and the careful issue of receipts.

  Police involvement in this social problem probably arose through well-meaning people bringing objects into the police station which they had found and which they believed to be the proceeds of crime. For this reason, every item of found property is checked against lists of stolen goods. In my time at Strensford, this was a manual task; now it is done by computer on a far wider scale.

  Property which is reported lost is entered into a Lost Property register, which is c
ompared with the Found Property Register, and it is very gratifying, through this system, to restore some precious thing to a loser.

  One reason for people reporting so much lost property is, I am sure, because they believe their goods have been stolen, rather than lost. Sadly, there is often no proof that a crime has been committed when something has gone missing, and so the object is recorded as ‘lost’ rather than stolen. One simple example is when a woman goes shopping with a purse sitting on top of her basket – when she wants to pay her bill, she finds it has gone. Has it been stolen or has she merely lost it? Who can tell? Without clear evidence of a theft, the object will be recorded as ‘lost’.

  It goes without saying that there is a tremendous amount of administrative work involved with both found and lost property, and most police forces operate very similar systems.

  When an object is reported found and the owner of that object is not traceable, or the object is not likely to produce a risk of any sort, like a bomb, a gun, a small boy, a kitten or a box of apples going rotten, the police will ask the finder to retain it for up to three months. A report of the finding will be made, and the finder will be told that if the thing is not claimed within three months, he can keep it.

  ‘Finder retains’ is a lovely entry in the Found Property Register because it provides the solution to a lot of problems. For one thing, admin, problems are reduced, and space in the found property cupboard is saved.

  Some finders, however, are determined not to retain the objects they find, which means they must be stored in the police station for three months in case the owner turns up. If he does turn up to claim his treasure, the problem is solved; if he doesn’t, the property must be disposed of. The finder will be offered it, and if he does not want it, it will be disposed of in a manner appropriate to the object in question.

  This well-tried system was truly tested when Mr Roderick Holroyd, a businessman from Halifax in the then West Riding of Yorkshire, found a set of false teeth. It was a full set in very good condition, and at first he thought he had annoyed a crab.