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Bodies of Evidence - Chapter 7 |
| Written by Philip Neale | |
| Wednesday, 21 May 2008 | |
 Gaining access to Flat 2 was like attempting to break into Fort Knox. The door was different to all of the others, and the original one together with its frame, had obviously been replaced with something far more robust and businesslike. The initial ringing of the bell had activated a spotlight trained straight downwards from ceiling height which flooded the area outside the doorway with an intense pool of blue/white light. The bulb casing itself was protected by a fully enclosed grille to prevent damage, accidental or otherwise. A voice emanating from a small intercom to the right of the door ‘demanded' to know the identity of the caller and his or her business with the occupant of the property. No details of the aforesaid occupant were forthcoming at this time "Detective Inspector Dennis Marks and Detective Sergeant Peter Spencer to see George Carlton-Smythe, please." "That's Colonel Carlton-Smythe for your information." "My apologies" said Marks "Detective Inspector Dennis Marks and Detective Sergeant Peter Spencer to see Colonel George Carlton-Smythe, please." "Name and rank supplied, where is your identification? Push your warrant cards through the letter box." Marks sighed in frustration, and yet after all the publicity instructing retired people not to admit strangers to their property without first supplying some means of ID, he couldn't really complain. Taking out their official wallets they pushed them through the letter box and waited, and waited and waited. Eventually footsteps were heard approaching the door, and a number of security devices were disengaged allowing it to open. Before them, with a chin from which you could have launched a battalion of paratroopers stood George Carlton-Smythe, sixty years old and not looking a day over fifty. He was neatly dressed in a grey suit, white shirt and what was clearly a regimental tie. He wore shoes that you could have used as a shaving mirror and overall made both of them look as if they had slept in their clothes for several nights. Scrutinising both their faces for any hint of hostility he waved them brusquely inside, and Marks almost expected to be ‘marched' into the lounge like some raw recruit on the parade ground. As they took their seats, Carlton-Smythe stood, instead, in front of the fire, hands clasped behind his back and rocking backwards and forwards gently on the balls of his feet. There was no doubt as to who would be trying to run the conversation, and Marks knew that it would be important not to let him dictate the direction of the questioning. Nevertheless it was the Colonel who spoke first, in a clipped army style designed to specifically to intimidate. "Right then, it'll be about that good-for-nothing on the first floor!" He omitted the customary ‘will it?' "Could you tell me please Mr Carlton-Smythe, how long you having been a tenant in the apartment block?" Marks completely and deliberately ignored Carlton-Smythe's opening remark, choosing instead to take a different route with the conversation, and also omitting the courtesy of addressing him as ‘Colonel'. Whilst the man was still visibly irritated by this tactic, Marks pushed home the advantage. "Sir? I asked you about the length of your tenancy here. Could you tell me when you first took up residence, please?" The Colonel was so taken aback by this obvious lack of courtesy, that he automatically replied, and surrendered all control to the two detectives. "Well, now it must have been five or six years ago, now look here Inspector.............." "So then you must have arrived after Miles Thomas, because the university has him moving here in the autumn of 1992 at the start of his second year. Would that be correct?" Marks now had full control. "Yes, I suppose so. He was no good you know, no respect for others. Stint in the army was what he needed, that would have straightened him out!" "Straightened him out? From what? Was he involved in criminal activity of some kind? If so, who was he involved with and could you provide names or descriptions?" The Colonel conceded defeat at this point and sat down as the interview proceeded along more traditional police lines, instead of the army court martial style that he had adopted. He had crossed swords with Miles Thomas on a number of occasions mainly, it had to be said, on the subject of his manner and lifestyle but more recently the issue of Martin Thorpe had come to his attention. He came from a background and time when youngsters were just that, and not some ‘proto-adults' hanging around street corners waiting for the next bit of trouble to come along. He liked the boy, and was sad to see his degeneration into the mire occupied by the likes of Thomas. There had been occasions when he had tried to intervene and offered his services to Carol Thorpe as some sort of parental figure. The refusal was not a rebuff, nor was it treated as such, but the Colonel nevertheless felt that the woman and her son were burying their heads in the sand. He decided that direct action was the best course to adopt. Waiting outside Miles' flat late one evening and just out of sight, he stepped into the corridor as he heard the lock to Flat 7 turning. He took Thomas by surprise and pushed him inside, closing the door behind him. Whatever was said between the two men was never witnessed by anyone else, and the police had only Carlton-Smythe's account of events to go on. Harsh words were spoken and according to the Colonel, Thomas made an intimidatory lunge towards him. It had been a mistake as Carlton-Smythe turned the attack to his advantage and quickly had Miles on the floor, face down with an arm pushed firmly up towards his shoulder blade. Lying prone, he was obliged to listen to the Colonel's words of advice regarding the Thorpe boy and his mother, which left him in no doubt as to the consequences of his ignoring them. A short left jab to the kidneys provided him with a reminder of what was in store should he choose to ignore it. "That was all I did, Inspector. I had nothing to do with anything that happened after that; in fact you can ask the Mastersons. We play cards most evenings; Alice doesn't get out much these days and likes a game of Gin." "We may well do that Colonel, but for now that will be all." It had clearly been a bad week for Miles Thomas, as this encounter came on the very same day as his ‘meeting' with John Fraser. It must have left him with the feeling that the Thorpes were best left well alone, and there were no more reports of threats made to him by other tenants. That he may or may not have taken the advice ‘offered' to him and thus have suffered the consequences was a matter of some uncertainty. For Marks there certainly appeared to be a number of people with a motive for doing the man harm, and any of them would have had the opportunity to vent their displeasure at his activities. The final appointment of the day was with the house manager, Grant Thornton, a man who had appeared evasive when questioned briefly by Peter Spencer some hours earlier. They headed in the direction of Flat 1 to learn that he had somehow left the premises during the day. This was the second instance of residents being allowed to slip through the net, and Marks vented his spleen to the uniformed sergeant. "What the hell's the matter with you lot. I gave express instructions that no-one was to leave without my permission. We've now lost two potential witnesses for the day and I'm holding you responsible as senior officer, Clear?" "Sir." Came the curt reply. "Peter, get these guys together and spell it out for them in words of one syllable. For God's sake they're only being asked to stand guard. It's not rocket science. I'll see you back at the station - I'm going to catch up with George Groves" He stomped away still muttering curses under his breath; Spencer heaved a sigh and turned to the gathering uniformed group. "Ok, gather round and listen carefully this time. I'm the one who has to work with him all the time - you aren't." Copyright 2008 Philip Neale |
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