Chapter and Hearse (29 page)

‘All right,' he said to the Station Sergeant. ‘Tell me…'

‘Larky Nolson.'

‘Oh, not him again!' Sloan exclaimed in pure exasperation. Not for nothing was Larky Nolson known throughout ‘F' Division of the county of Calleshire constabulary as the Prince of Recidivists.

‘None other.' The Station Sergeant coughed. ‘He's asking for you particularly, sir. He says he won't deal with anyone else.' He paused and added significantly. ‘Not even the ACC.'

‘Where does the ACC come in?' asked Sloan warily. The Assistant Chief Constable was of the old school, not so much out of this world as a cut above it. The likes of Larky Nolson were usually kept at a respectable distance from police officers as senior as the Assistant Chief Constable.

‘He just happened to be passing through our entrance and heard all the fuss,' the Station Sergeant said. ‘He couldn't help hearing it, of course. We all know that Larky can be noisy if he thinks he isn't getting his rights. And naturally once Larky caught sight of the ACC, he had to have his say, didn't he?'

‘Who? Larky?'

‘No, the ACC.'

Detective Inspector Sloan sighed again. ‘And what did the ACC say?'

‘As far as I can remember, sir,' the Station Sergeant said, ‘it sounded like
deprendi miserum est.
'

‘Latin,' divined Sloan. The ACC was long on old and outmoded languages; equally, he was a little short on experience of the beat.

‘That's right, sir. I thought at first he was calling Larky a miserable so and so. Which he is, of course.'

‘But he wasn't?'

‘No, sir. The ACC said it meant “getting caught is no fun at all”.'

‘And what' enquired Detective Inspector Sloan with interest, ‘did our Larky have to say to that?'

The Station Sergeant coughed. ‘I didn't quite catch it sufficiently clearly to put it in the report book, sir.'

‘I see.' The Station Sergeant was long on common sense. That went with the territory.

‘But the gist of it was that Larky wanted you to come down to see him yourself, sir, and not to be fobbed off with some toffee-nosed cleverclogs … or words to that effect.'

‘He's making a big mistake,' said Sloan vigorously, ‘if he thinks that sort of flattery will get him anywhere.'

‘I've already told him that,' said the Station Sergeant stolidly.

‘And what did he say?'

‘I thought it better that time not to have heard his comments at all, sir,' the Sergeant replied, demonstrating that at least one policeman had good judgement too.

‘Demanding his rights as usual, I suppose,' grumbled Sloan. ‘With knobs on.'

‘Demanding his rights, yes,' responded the Station Sergeant, ‘but as usual, no.'

‘Well, lock him up and tell the custody officer that I'll be down presently.' He would see Detective Constable Crosby first. The lad would still be waiting outside the office for his marching orders for the day.

‘I don't think I can do that, sir,' said the voice at the other end of the line, adding regretfully, ‘not with the law as it stands.'

‘Why not? What's the charge?'

‘The charge that Larky has come in about,' said the Station Sergeant, picking his words with unusual care, ‘is one of common assault…'

‘Well, I grant you it's not in his line,' conceded Sloan promptly. ‘I've never known him violent when he's been on a job, although as I remember he has been known to have a nasty attack of “dock asthma” when the prosecution starts to get to him.'

‘Larky isn't being charged,' said the Station Sergeant gently.

‘So what's all this about, then?' demanded the Detective Inspector irritably.

‘It's him that's bringing the charge.'

‘Larky?' exclaimed Sloan. ‘Are you sure?'

Larky Nolson's very considerable criminal reputation rested on his success in keeping a low profile when on the job. His hallmarks were a capacity to remain totally unmemorable and the ability to keep his every illegal action as unobtrusive as possible. In the event, few of his victims even noticed him, still less suspected him of criminal propensities.

‘Dead sure, sir,' said the Station Sergeant. ‘He alleges that he was attacked without provocation at two o'clock this morning in Acacia Avenue.'

‘And did he happen to say what he was doing in Acacia Avenue at two o'clock this morning?'

‘Taking a walk with his wife.'

‘Tell him to pull the other one,' said Sloan wearily. ‘And that I've got better things to do than come down and listen to some cock-and-bull story…'

‘I'm afraid that the time and place are not in dispute, sir,' said the Station Sergeant.

‘Not even the bit about him taking a walk with his wife?' asked Sloan acidly.

‘I'm afraid that's true too, sir.'

‘Sergeant, have you ever encountered Mrs Nolson?'

‘Many times, sir,' sighed the voice at the other end of the telephone. ‘She always comes in when we nick him.'

‘Love's young dream, she isn't,' said Sloan flatly.

‘No, sir,' the man agreed. ‘More like “ill met by moonlight”, you might say.' He paused. ‘Actually, now I come to think of it, ill met by moonlight would go for the whole of this business.'

‘So what exactly is the problem, then?' enquired Sloan briskly, hanging on to his patience with an effort. ‘In a nutshell, if you can … I've got work to do, and Crosby needing to see me before he gets going … although on what I don't know, as he's pretty useless.'

‘The problem, sir,' said the Station Sergeant heavily, ‘is seeing that we don't conspire to pervert the course of justice.'

‘That is not usually a problem…'

‘It is now.'

‘You'd better explain.'

‘Larky insists that he was assaulted by a man called Bates…'

‘At two o'clock this morning in Acacia Avenue when he wasn't robbing him?'

‘You've got it in one, sir. This Bates – Herbert, I think he's called…'

‘Hang on, Sergeant, hang on. I know a man who lives in Acacia Avenue called Herbert Bates, but he's an elderly man…'

‘That's him, sir.'

‘Can't be,' declared Sloan confidently. ‘The Herbert Bates I know is an ancient little fellow and quiet with it. Wouldn't say “Boo” to a goose, let alone tackle Larky and his missus in the middle of the night.'

‘Him,' repeated the Station Sergeant.

‘Retired clerk,' mused Sloan. ‘Took on the secretaryship of our horticultural society when the previous one died…'

‘That's exactly what I meant by our having a problem, sir.'

‘And a very good society secretary Herbert is … What did you say, Sergeant?'

‘That's the problem, sir.'

‘How come?'

‘Herbert Bates did hit Larky and Larky wants Bates's guts for garters.'

‘Herbert Bates? Are you trying to tell me that little old Herbert Bates fetched his fist to Larky Nolson? I don't believe it!'

‘It's not me that's telling you, sir,' said the Station Sergeant, who had earned his spurs long ago in the magistrates' court and therefore knew all about the difference between the spoken word and reported speech. ‘It's Larky that's telling us.'

‘Then I definitely don't believe it.'

‘No, sir.' The Station Sergeant coughed. ‘I wouldn't have done so myself either, except that Mr Bates says not only that he did hit Larky but that given half a chance, he'd do it again.'

‘See that he doesn't get half a chance,' Sloan instructed him automatically, his mind elsewhere. ‘Tell me, Sergeant, what had Larky done?'

‘Depends on who's telling you,' responded the Station Sergeant promptly.

‘Frankly, I'd go for Herbert Bates's version first,' said Sloan. ‘Any day. He's a good bloke. First-class secretary too … best we've ever had at the Horticultural society.'

‘This case is all about gardens—' began the Sergeant.

‘Herbert's a vegetable man,' Sloan interrupted him. The Detective Inspector himself was a noted rose grower. ‘Prize vegetables,' he added with emphasis.

‘That,' said the Sergeant drily, ‘would appear to be the trouble.'

‘But Larky Nolson isn't into flowers or vegetables.' He stopped. ‘Unless he was trying to steal them, of course. I wouldn't put that past him, and old Herbert's cauliflowers would be worth stealing, no doubt about that.'

‘That would seem to be Mr Bates's view too,' said the Sergeant. ‘Beautiful, he said they were. The curd just right…'

‘So,' divined Sloan, ‘that was what Larky and his wife were up to, wasn't it?'

‘Nearly, but not quite, sir.'

‘Well, all I can say is that I don't blame Herbert if Larky was knocking off his vegetables…'

‘I understand from Mr Bates,' reported the Station Sergeant cautiously, ‘that some of his best cauliflowers had in fact been stolen from his garden by someone on three occasions in the past couple of weeks, one four days before.'

‘Larky?'

‘This has not yet been established,' said the voice down the telephone with even greater circumspection. ‘It is, of course, a distinct possibility.'

‘Vegetables don't come any better anywhere in Calleshire,' averred Sloan with all the enthusiasm of the true gardener.

‘This is Mr Bates's opinion too,' said the Station Sergeant.

‘And that of most show judges,' said Sloan warmly.

‘Unfortunately, Larky was heard by Mr Bates to take another view…'

‘At two o'clock in the morning?'

‘Quite audible, Mr Bates says he was.'

‘And what was Herbert Bates doing up and about then?' asked Sloan, although he thought now he could guess.

‘Lying in wait for whoever was stealing his cauliflowers.'

‘And who should come along but Larky and his missus?'

‘That's right, sir. Mr Bates was hiding up in his shed for the third night running at the time.'

‘And?' The old man must have been getting pretty tired and fractious by then.

‘Larky and his wife came along and looked over Mr Bates's fence…'

‘But didn't enter his garden?'

‘Unfortunately not. I mean, no, sir.' The Station Sergeant hastily corrected himself on this important point of law. ‘All Larky did was say very loudly and clearly that he didn't think Herbert Bates's cauliflowers were half as good as Stan Redden's down the road.'

‘Stan is Herbert's great show rival,' said Sloan.

‘Not worth stealing, were Larky's words, and I understand his wife agreed. Rather loudly, from what Mr Bates said.'

‘Which, I take it,' concluded Sloan realistically, ‘was why and when Herbert came out of his shed and went for Larky.'

‘It was,' agreed the Station Sergeant. ‘Mr Bates says that he was provoked beyond his powers of self-control.'

‘I'm afraid, though, that Larky Nolson's a real barrack-room lawyer,' mused Sloan.

This sentiment was heartily endorsed. ‘Everyone around here'll tell you that, sir.'

‘Let me think this through, Sergeant. I'll come back to you as soon as I've sent Crosby on his way.'

Sloan put the telephone down and called the Detective Constable in. Before he could frame any orders for him, the telephone rang again. It was the Assistant Chief Constable.

‘Ah, Sloan…'

‘Sir?'

This alleged assault case…'

‘Yes, sir?'

‘I don't like the sound of it at all.'

‘No, sir.'

‘Can't have grown men hitting each other like this in the middle of the night.'

‘No, sir. Certainly not.'

‘Gives the place a bad name.'

‘Quite so, sir.'

‘And we can't on any account be seen to condone that sort of behaviour.'

‘No, sir,' agreed Sloan virtuously. ‘Definitely not.'

‘Nor, on the other hand, though,' said the ACC consideringly, ‘does it do any good for a case to be laughed out of court. Or fail.'

‘Never,' said Sloan with feeling.

‘Can't have that, then, can we?'

‘No, sir.'

‘I ask you, Sloan, what sort of a
casus belli
are cauliflowers?'

‘The press will like the cauliflowers,' forecast Sloan gloomily. ‘Right up their street.'

‘The Lord Chancellor won't,' responded the Assistant Chief Constable smartly.

‘No.'

‘Of course,' mused the ACC, ‘the Crown Prosecution Service could always decide the case won't stand up in court.'

‘The accused has admitted to the assault,' Sloan told him.

‘Ah…' The ACC sounded as if he was tapping a pencil on his desk. ‘I thought that might be the case. So we can't get away with
de minimus
…'

‘Cabbages, perhaps, sir, assault no.' That the law did not concern itself with trifles was one of the ACC's favourite quotations. In Latin, of course. ‘Although you never can tell with the CPS,' added Sloan feelingly.

‘Very true, Inspector. Very true.' He coughed. ‘It seems to me that their motto is “Evidence before justice”.'

‘Quite so, sir,' said Sloan, before the ACC put that into Latin too. ‘Of course, sir, admitting guilt here and pleading guilty in court are not necessarily one and the same thing.' In his experience, nothing brought about a sea change in an accused person's stance quicker than a lawyer for the defence.

‘Quite right, Sloan. Solicitors do have to earn their oats…'

‘If you say so, sir.'

‘So do policemen, Inspector.' The Assistant Chief Constable paused before adding, ‘And young policemen have to learn their job first too, don't they?'

‘Naturally, sir,' said Sloan stiffly, unsure of where this was leading.