14. Conclusions

THE SANDS OF TIME Part 14

Lucy looked at her father and shook her head. They were in the Truncheon and Cuffs, she having released her dad from custody because she daren’t do otherwise even though the evidence she had could be read as pointing to his guilt, and she knew how hatred for the old history teacher had gone with him down all the years since his teens. He’d hinted at it often enough, suggested ofte enough that sadism of those in authority was an unforgivable thing

“I don’t think he had anything to do with the old man’s collapse,” she said quietly, “he seems genuine enough to me, and I’m not being coerced by his collar. But somebody put something in the poisoned beer, and you’re sure it wasn’t you?”

Desmond frowned at his daughter. “You suggest that again and I’ll be convinced that no daughter ever knew her father and start wondering who your mother was seeing when I thought it was me!” he growled, “of course I didn’t! And listen to me, my girl: I’ve spent my working life capturing the sort of scumbags who thinks that any excuse to get rid of someone they hate is good enough. And it isn’t, and never was. Apart from me not wanting to kill the b*****d I want him to suffer like we kids back in my teens suffered, and that just might be achieved if he spent what years he’s got left in jail.”

“Then I have problem,” she said, even more quietly, “somebody put a load of naughty stuff into his beer, and there were only the two of you there, the Reverend what’s-his-name and you, dear father.”

“Or the landlord who pulled the offensive pint. What about him?”

Lucy shook her head. “It was the young lass who serves behind the bar who was serving and she wouldn’t have done it. How old is she? Fifteen if she’s a day, and lasses of that age don’t go around poisoning total strangers. It’s not worth thinking about. Remember: there’s got to be a convincing motive for attempted murder.”

“Then let me summarise,” he mumbled, “because you’ve got a feeling about the vicar, probably because he’s good at spinning his line with a holy smile on his face, and your heart goes out to teenage girls because of their innate innocence which probably never existed, it’s just got to be your old man!”

“I want to see Mr Pottle,” interrupted Desmond, “I want to look him in the eyes and ask him who did it, and I know what he’ll say!”

“He’ll say it was you. He already has,” murmured Lucy, “and he is the only one who really ought to know!”

“So he’s got a foaming pint in front of him, and bearing in mind every other pint I saw in the pub looked flat as pancakes with no fizz to any of them, and he knows someone’s doctored it, so he drinks it just to see what it’s like? Pah! Use your God-given brains, Lucy! No man would drink something he reckons has been got at! And even though Mr Pottle is old as the hills, I don’t believe he’s stupid.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Look, dad, you’ve hated him all of your life for the way he treated you in his history lessons. And now you’re well past retirement age it’s quite understandable that you might want to pay him back for, what would it be? Cruelty to a minor? I’d understand, and so, I suppose, would a jury. And a judge, come to think of it.”

Desmond snorted. “So can I see him, Lucy? It’s your case and if you think it might help you can let me see him. I can’t do any harm, and my experience has got to mean something. I was the D.S before I retired, for goodness’ sake!

“What good would it do, dad?” she asked, not seeing any profit in bending the rules enough to risk a possible prosecution.

“I want to tell him who poisoned him,” said Desmond.

“You do? And you know? How? Is it because it was you all along?”

“Now stop it! I did not, repeat for the last time, did not have anything to do with the doctoring of his pint! But I do know who did, and so would you if you bothered to think straight!”

“I’ll probably be admonished, but you are my dad and I know your reputation. So you can see him, with me by your side and not on your own.”

“Why? Are you afraid I might put a plastic bag over his head? Or something just as bad?”

“Dad! Please!” she looked hard at him, trying to penetrate the wall of obstinacy she saw as having descended over him.

It was the next day that Desmond found himself finally face to face with the cruel teacher from his youth, and he hated the man. They were at the local hospital where Gavin Pottle was still under observation after his collapse at the Plaice and Chips.

He looked up and scowled when he saw who the policewoman had brought with her, and it was that scowl that told Desmond everything he needed to know. Fo once, maybe the first time in a long life, he was one up on the sadist, and he wanted to stay that way.

“So they didn’t throw away the key, then?” muttered the patient from his hospital bed, “well, they will, mark my words. When this pretty little detective lady sees through your home-spun nest of lies to the truth you’ve hidden in it!”

“I’ve come to cheer you up before my daughter arrests you,” replied Desmond with the least glimmer of a smile hovering over his lips.

“Just a moment!” whispered Lucy, frowning.

“I should coco!” grinned the bed-ridden nonagenarian.

“Because she will, Mr Pottle,” smiled Desmond. “She’ll have warrants to arrest you for the murders of the late Reverend David Hobson and your own wife, the woman you wanted a son from only to discover you’d come into her life too late. And for the disposal of a dead body in an area of ancient woodland. We have the skull and I believe that at this moment in time officers are trying to locate the rest of the poor woman’s body so that it might be laid to rest with more dignity than you gave it. And if that’s not enough, she will also charge you with cruelty to minors, though I dared say that won’t really matter seeing that your chastisement of innocent boys was so long ago quite a few of them have passed away in the interim. But I haven’t, and by golly you knew how to thrash me!”

The old man in the bed barely moved, and then he smiled.

That’s an evil smile, thought Lucy.

“Poppycock!” said Gavin Pottle, “it’s amazing what a thickie like you can concoct when his own freedom’s at risk.”

“And, finally, for adding substances to your own beverage, in the Plaice and Chips, in order to implicate me,” continued Desmond, “and I hope you enjoyed your sweet dreams because you’re nicked, old man, nicked for good and all. Have you anything to say in your own defence?”

“Boo!” hissed Gavin, and then a change slipped over him as he probably saw that his adversary had worked it all out… “so it’s come to an end, has it? I loved David, you know, though the woman wasn’t up to much and really begged to die. She would never give me a son because they’d ruined her! Sod the b***h… but I thought she was gone for good, sleeping in a quiet woodland where nobody ever goes…”

“Except me!” said a newcomer to the scene, the Reverend Rollo Bandweasel who had arrived in the ward. “I went there, I found her… and my uncle. Did you kill him too? Your precious David?”

“Of course I did!” hissed Gavin, “and I’d have fooled all of you if it wasn’t for that interfering kid turned copper! I should have showed him that stick of mine more often, and no messing!”

THE END

© Peter Rogerson 24.03.22

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