Chapter Two – On to Something
PC Phil Bellamy crossed his arms over his chest and sighed as he overlooked the shabby old industrial part of Ashfordly's outskirt. "I don't like this place," he muttered in disgust.
Alf cast a glance at him from behind the wheel of the white and turquoise panda car. "I don't think anyone does, except for the people involved in the shady business around here," he said.
Phil turned to look at him with a frown.
"If the committee gets their way the entire area will be demolished and replaced by architecture drawn, modern homes for the middle-class," Alf filled in.
"Been to a council meeting recently?" Phil questioned with a slight tease.
"Just been listening to Mrs. Ventress," his older colleague replied with a shrug.
Phil stared out through the passenger window and suddenly straightened in his seat. "In here, Alf, pull in," he said suddenly. "It's this address."
Within a few minutes the two constables made their way over the courtyard of the old textile factory and headed for the lorry garage.
Phil felt uneasy as they reached the old wooden door, secured by a rusty padlock. "Are you sure?" he questioned in a whisper to his colleague, "because this doesn't look like it's been used in ages."
Alf nodded. "This is the address the man on the phone tipped us about," he confirmed.
Phil made a face and headed after his older colleague as he walked up to the door.
Alf reached for the lock and examined it properly before giving a good go at it. A minute later the heavy wooden door opened with a shriek.
Phil grimaced. "I think we've lost the element of surprise," he muttered sarcastically with a glare.
Alf pursed his lips, casting an annoyed glance at his younger colleague before heading into the old garage. The section was cast in semi-darkness, the beautiful, once architecturally drawn windows dirtied and worn by decades of use. Despite that it was a bright afternoon outside, one would need a flashlight to orient properly in the room.
Phil felt the wall trying to find the light switch, his fingers finally closing around a cylindrical object not too far from the door.
Alf blinked at the sudden brightness coming from the system of hanging light bulbs above their heads. Several were out of order but the room was illuminated enough for them to see properly without using their flashlights.
Phil whistled as he stared at the many new wooden crates in front of them, standing neatly stacked in the middle of the garage. "Alf, I believe that this calls for a celebration" Phil let on jovially as he patted the old copper on the back and headed over to pop the lid of the nearest box.
Ventress headed over to a workbench a bit further away to pick up a crowbar which he handed over to Bellamy, who gladly accepted it.
"Thanks," he said.
The lid came off and Phil gently reached into it, removing the sawdust from the packed items as Alf curiously looked over his shoulder.
"Antiques," Alf deduced deadpan.
"I would definitely say so," Phil confirmed.
OOOOOO
"Yes, sir," Sgt. Nick Rowan confirmed on the phone in his office. "We found several crates of packed goods at the site."
"Do we know who hires the place?" CID DI Shiner asked objectively.
"A Mr. Ted Jones is the legislated owner of the lorry garage as it stands. We are making enquiries as of right now," Nick assured him.
"Do you have any reason to believe he is involved in the thefts?" Shiner questioned.
"I can't say yet, sir," Nick replied.
"Very well, Sergeant Rowan, keep me apprised of the situation," he finished.
"Yes, sir," the young sergeant said by way of confirmation.
Nick placed the mouthpiece in its holder as there was a soft knock on the door to his office.
Mike Bradley walked in with an apologizing smirk on his face, for interrupting. "Sarge, I've just spoken to Alf, they've found Mr. Jones. They're bringing him in as we speak," he reported.
OOOOOO
Oscar Blaketon walked out of the post office, tightening his jacket as a cold wind prickled his skin. He narrowed his eyes as Claude Greengrass came walking over the large green lawn, emphasizing the center of the village, on his way toward the stores with Alfred on a short leech.
"Greengrass," the former sergeant acknowledged in a sharp voice as the crook neared.
"Blaketon," Claude returned unhappily.
"What have you've got planned today?" Blaketon asked suspiciously.
"I would say it's none of your business," Greengrass replied.
Blaketon shot his former antagonist an icy glare as he turned to walk towards his car.
Claude turned to gaze after him for a while before cracking a satisfied smile. He tied Alfred to a street lamp and gently patted the scruffy dog on his back. "You wait here Alfred, I'll be back soon," he said and clasped his hands together, heading into the grocery store.
OOOOOO
"Okay, let's go through this one more time, Mr. Jones," Nick said seriously with a hint of anger in his normally soft voice.
The man, in his late thirties, with casual clothes and a neatly trimmed beard looked up at Rowan as the sergeant in question leaned over the table toward him. Ted Jones had a look of defiance on his face as he too leaned forward over the table to face the police.
"I've already told you, whatever your feeble constables found on location is not mine," he returned in frustration, ignoring Bellamy sitting next to Nick.
Out of the corner of his eye Nick saw Phil tense, his posture stiffening and his jaw clenching at the accusation.
"Your premises was searched with a warrant, we detected stolen goods, I don't need to explain anything to you," Phil spoke up in annoyance. "It's you who's hiding something and I suggest you tell us what it is," he said in a low and threatening voice, fed up by the cocky man.
"Phil," Nick warned, although he found it hard to keep his own voice neutral.
Phil pursed his lips and leaned back in the chair, his arms crossed over his chest.
A triumphant evil grin crossed Jones' face as he saw the constable's shoulders slump.
"The fact is, Mr. Jones, that my feeble police officers found stolen items in your garage and unless you can explain to me how that come I'll lock you up for the night and then keep you there until you decide to tell the truth," Nick said seriously, yet in a threatening manner.
"I suggest you talk to the man that rents the place," Jones returned, although it wasn't with the level of self-consciousness he'd displayed earlier. "His name is Charles Chadwick. He runs a business, a legal business, down in Pickering."
"By the looks of things it seems more like an illegal firm," Phil remarked. "Tell me, does he perhaps run an antiques shop?"
"Okay, that's enough," Nick intervened as Jones straightened in his chair and glared angrily at Bellamy.
"Phil, take this charming gentleman to a cell," the sergeant said with a half-smirk and then cast one last glance at the man before he headed out into the duty room.
OOOOOO
David Stockwell came lulling down the road on his bicycle. His grip around the steering hardened and his expression tightened as the road inclined and turned bumpy. Dwindling ever so slightly, his hands shaking, he managed to get unscratched down the last slope toward Claude's barn.
"David," Greengrass hollered with an amused smile. "It's not good to sit in the bar and take one too many you know," he added.
The slightly developmentally delayed man turned to look at him, his expression blank at first and then one of confusion.
Claude waved it away. "Never mind," he added and began to walk toward a fenced area not too far away.
Curiously David followed and broke into a large grin, taking off his hat, as he spotted several white, curly, goats strolling around, happily pasturing.
"Mr. Greengrass," he began excitedly.
Claude turned back to look at him as he'd just gone into the fold. He blinked a few times and put his hands on his hips.
David stared at him dumbfounded, his expression turning into one of fear. "Mr. Greengrass, you're not thinking of butchering them, are you? He asked worriedly.
Claude huffed. "No, David, I'm not going to butcher them. They're going to earn me a name in the delicacy business," he explained.
The man just stared at the old crook, his brow furrowing slightly, he was clearly not understanding.
"I'm going to sell their milk and do some of that cheese that are so popular nowadays," Claude filled in, somewhat exasperated.
"Oh," David replied, a smile once again creasing his lips. "Maybe I could help out a little," he volunteered.
"Well, that was kind of the idea," Claude let on. "I figured you could take care of them, you know, feeding them and all that."
"Well, Mr. Greengrass, I don't know if I can really. Besides, Mr. Scripps is very busy at the moment so I've got to help out," he reasoned.
"Well, if you feel you can't handle the responsibility…" Claude began cunningly.
"I didn't say that," David protested.
"Then it's settled then," the old crook replied happily. "If everything goes according to plan you might be able to get a little milk tomorrow."
OOOOOO
To be continued
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