Chapter 3: The Police Investigate

It was the following mid-afternoon when a knock came upon the front door. A rain shower had just passed over the neighbourhood and the wind was picking up again. The dog across the street was barking like mad at the four policemen standing in the front yard of Maggie Magill’s. Two were in suits and two were in uniform. The two in uniform were big men, for the Magill boys were known to be rough street brawlers and they didn’t hold back just because you were a walloper. Their steely eyes kept watch on the sides of the house as well as their backs.

Maggie had seen them stopping in front of her place, she knew them and they knew her. The senior officer approached the front door and knocked firmly. Maggie opened it immediately and looked him in the eye. And then said instinctively “You know he isn’t here, he’s got fourteen years and six months to go,” and stood their arms folded staring into his eyes or it was more like glaring?

“We’re not here about him, and you should be thankful Maggie,” he said. Maggie looked at him her glare hardening.

“Well, the boys are out, down the pub I suspect. Try the Kings Arms or the Railwaymen, they’re normally drinking down there these days. What have they done?” She asked not changing her stance or her demeanour.

“It’s not any of your boys Maggie, not this time,” He turned to the junior officer, Detective Sargent David Jones who handed him a red high heel shoe. He stood on her front doorstep, showing her the shoe. She neither looked at it nor even acknowledged it was there.

“Which one of your girls wears these Maggie?”

“None of my girls can afford shoes like that, too posh for the likes of us darling,” She replied sarcastically.

“Is that how it’s going to be is it Maggie? Are we going to be doing the 20-question shuffle to and fro on your doorstep, are we, for the whole neighbourhood to see and hear?” He continued. He, being Detective Chief Inspector (DCI) Richard Huntington, affectionately known as ‘Hunter’. His reputation was that of never letting up on any offender. He would chase them down no matter how long or how far.

He then stepped closer to her, and in a quiet voice, barely a whisper, told her how it was going down. It always surprised Maggie how such a quiet-spoken man could sound so menacing. “We know your Christine was involved with old Edward Simpson last night, cut his throat, the poor bugger bled out. I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it, but nonetheless, he is dead and your Christine’s handbag and shoes were found nearby. So to avoid a scene here and now, why don’t you get your Christine and accompany us down to the station for a chat and we will get all this sorted out.”

Maggie turned white, thoughts rushing through her head. Dead, she killed him. Murder. She was stunned, momentarily.

DCI Huntington had known of the family Magill for some 20-odd years, first her husband, a drunken lout, always fighting, beating on his wife and then his nippers, and then stealing small time at first until he was a lookout at a bank robbery, he is now spending 18 years hard labour, in a labour prison. Her boys were standover men, helping somewhat dubious ‘businessmen’ collect wayward debts, while all of her girls were on the game. She herself, was a street-wise woman who knew who to talk to, to make things go away. She knew that the DCI was not an easy man to get to look the other way. She knew in her heart that she was going to have to do as the DCI said.

They had been talking for no more than ten minutes and already the street was full of women, some younger children, and the odd fella. The crowd had gathered around the two police cars, some of the boys were sitting on the front bonnets of the cars and scratches were being dug into the sides of the vehicles.

She looked over his shoulder at the crowd in the street, at the two burly uniformed officers and knew it could get very ugly very quickly. She whispered back to the DCI, “What say I bring Christine down to speak to your lot, later today, she is a bit unwell right now. Doc Wilson is due to see her later on,” Nodding to the noisy mob slowly getting larger by the minute. “I have a reputation to uphold around here Mr. Huntington. If that lot thinks” Nodding her head to the mob in the street, “I’m curtailing to you, my life turns to shit, well shittier than normal,”

He turned and looked at the people in the street then turned back to Maggie, “See that you do Maggie, because if I have to come back, there will be more trouble than you and this lot can handle,” He then put a smile on his face tipped his hat at Maggie Magill and turned back towards the police cars, telling the other officers to get back to the station.

Then in a loud booming voice, that belied his pacifist nature, he told the crowd in the street to move along, “Get on home you lot, nothing is happening here today,” as he waved his arm about.

By this time the word had got out that a body had been found on the playing fields that morning. Whispers turned to gossip, which turned to stories which in turn got told as the fact that one of the Magills had done old man Simpson in.

With each telling the story got embellished until it was said that old man Simpson had his head cut off and he was found naked and battered. The stories only made the Magill boys, in particular, more notorious than they actually were.

Doc Wilson arrived at 4.15 and sat in the small kitchen as he was poured a black tea with a healthy dash of cheap whisky in it to keep the chill out of his bones, the day was fast losing its weak light. He sat there looking at Maggie and her at him.

“How did she sleep last night?” He asked, his own eyes drained and bloodshot, he hadn’t slept a wink, but last night was no different from the many nights before that.

Maggie just shook her head, Tears were building up but she wasn’t going to let them come, No, not hard old Maggie Magill.

“Has she said anything about what happened?” He continued. Maggie just sat there looking straight ahead, not saying a word.

“What are you going to do about it Maggie, you know Hunter is like a starving dog with a bone at times, and this is too big to let go,” He had heard all the stories, and he knew that DCI Huntington had paid her a visit.

Old mother Magill just sat there, ran her hands through her hair, wiped her nose on the back of the sleeve of her cardigan and held back the sniffles.

“She was defending herself, Ronnie” She finally told him.

“I suspected half as much, to be honest. Was she working last night or was he too drunk to know what he was doing?”

“No she wasn’t working, she was coming home from that Tomboys house around on Elmgrove road, and OH, he knew what he was doing all right,” She was shaking her head as she spoke, “He was most likely following her and or lying in wait I imagine, the fucking coward, they had a run in a month or so back, he was getting his own back,”

“What are you going to do, Maggie?” he asked again, not expecting a reply.

But Maggie looked him straight in the eye before saying. “I don’t know, it doesn’t look good does it?” She stated. “We’re going down to the station to have it out with old man Hunter. He is saying it is murder, my little Chrissy killing someone,”

The others of the family were hanging around when they heard their mum utter those words, they all put a hand over their mouths and sucked in air.

“Do you know any solicitors?” He asked “I think you should have someone with you, Maggie,”

Maggie gave him a surly look. “First we will see what they have to say,”

The doctor then finished his whisky tea and looked in on Christine. She was laying on her side in her mother’s bed, her pillow damp with tears. She complained of a headache, and the cuts and then the bruises. A swelling had come up on the side of her head, he left eye was half closed and blackened. Her lips were still fat and split but had stopped bleeding.

The doctor gave her another sedative and told her to rest.

Maggie was talking to her two oldest sons when the doctor returned to the kitchen. Interrupting their conversation, he told them all. “I will go to the Police Station and sign a declaration to the effect that Christine is too unwell to be interviewed and that they should arrange to talk to her here. They will ask me questions Maggie and I will answer them but nothing they aren’t entitled to. I’m not sure it will put them off for too long,”

Maggie nodded and said thank you. “I think that will be good Doc,”

He turned to walk away then hesitated, “Maggie, if she goes on the lam, she won’t get far,” he said with a lack of enthusiasm in his voice. “She is too weak and the coppers will give you a lot, a hell of a time,”

Maggie looked at him and the sadness in her eyes said that she had given it a passing thought. He offered his hand and then slowly shook hands with the boys, looking down at their firm grip of hardened men and headed off out the front door.

DCI Huntington was in a discussion with his Detective Sargent going over what they actually knew.

Sargent Jones was reading from an opened file, “That late on the evening of the 12th of May, or yesterday, Edward Albert Simpson was assaulted on the playing fields on Kesters Road. He had several slashes made by either a thin-bladed knife or razor. His hand had been slashed, more than likely a defensive wound. According to the medical report.”

He stopped and took a breath before continuing, he turned a page over. “Two wounds were deep and severed both his jugular and carotid arteries. The medical officer stated that these were deliberate and made by someone who knew what they were doing. Edward Simpson bled to death quickly, in less than 30 seconds. He had two other superficial wounds to his face, and a piece of his nose was sliced off. Neither of these wounds was life-threatening. His thumb was almost severed and his hands were slashed, defensive wounds the medical person told him. His knuckles were bloodied and bruised.

The DCI Looked up at his Sargent, “I do wish these medical people would reframe from making statements like that, now we will have to share that with the courts,”

Jones resumed his report, in a point-by-point process.

“The fly on his trousers was partially undone.”

“His braces holding his trousers up were off his shoulders.”

“His wallet was in his back pocket which was still buttoned down. He had over twenty pounds still in his wallet.”

“A lady’s size 7 high heel shoes were found close by.”

“A lady’s handbag containing makeup, a hanky, a purse containing three pounds two and tuppence halfpenny plus an old library card in the name of Christine Margret Magill of 70 International Ave.”

“Well Sargent, what is your take on all of this?” He asked the junior officer.

“Well Sir, one of two ways it could have happened. She was giving him some extramarital activities and he got carried away and somehow she ended up cutting his throat. Or maybe one of the brothers caught them at it and cut his throat from behind and then just left him there to die,”

“Interesting, if it was one of the brothers,” The DCI said, “Then the girl would have been covered in blood from head to toe when we speak to her let’s ask her discretely what she was wearing that night, and how she felt being covered in blood,”

Huntington stopped and thought for a little while before saying, “But somehow, I don’t think it was the brothers. If it was one of the brothers there would have been a right all stoush and it would not have been on those playing fields but rather some out-of-the-way place. The Magill boys are silly, not dumb,”

The DCI looked at his pocket watch and took a deep breath, “We will give them until six before we pay them a visit,” He stuffed his old Royal Meerschaum briar pipe with his preferred Scotch Cut Mixture blend, padded it down, took out his old Ronson lighter and fired it up. He sat back in his office chair putting his feet up on his desk. Looking through the thick blue smoke he eyed the junior officer.

“You know Sargent, somewhere in between what you think happened and what I thought happened lays the truth,”

He took several more drags on his pipe letting the rich aromatic smoke slide from his mouth. He continued, “Christine Magill is a slight girl, no more than 5’5” and weighing around 7 1/2 stone wringing wet, I am trying to get my head around how she could get the better of old Eddie Simpson, who would be, what 5’ 11” and going on 15 stone, so how on gods earth can a small girl get to cut this blokes throat, severing his two main arteries. She is either mighty lucky or extremely unlucky,”

His phone rang on his desk, he took his feet off of the desk and answered the black, hand-held phone. The uniformed Sargent at the front desk told him a Doctor Wilson was there to speak with him about Christine Magill.

Putting the pipe in its stand on his desk he got up and walked briskly to the front counter. The DCI entered the reception area and offering his hand to the doctor he greeted him, “Doctor Wilson, good to see you again, Please come in,” He opened the side door at the end of the counter and let him enter the station’s inner sanctum.

Once in his office he introduced the young Detective Sargent and offered the doctor a spare seat. Sitting on the edge of his desk he asked the doctor to speak.

“I have just come from Maggie Magill’s place, I am looking after young Christine. She is in no shape to be interrogated at the moment, with a mild concussion, some bruises and cuts and abrasions, can you leave it a day or so Dicky?”

The doctor used the DCI’s informal given name, they went back a fair way, to their high school days together. The DCI smiled he hadn’t heard that name used for some while, not since his wife passed some four years earlier.

“How bad is it Ronnie,” The DCI returned the compliment by using the Doctor’s schoolboy name.

“She was knocked about well and truly, around her head and face mainly, but she wasn’t interfered with,” He told them.

The young Sergeant asked a question, “Could one of her brothers have knocked her around for some reason?”

“Anything is possible Sergeant, but I saw their fists not more than an hour ago, and they haven’t been in a dust-up for a fair while,” Then turning to the DCI, “You might want to ask if old man Simpson had any marks on his knuckles?”

“Ronnie, you know the family pretty well, could she have done it, even by accident,”

Shaking his head, “She is a quiet lass, small, cheeky yes, on the game, yes, but violent,” He was shaking his head again, “I can’t see it myself. She might have a temper, after all, Maggie is no saint,”

The DCI nodded gratefully, then trying to smile he stated, “So your considered opinion is to give the girl a little time to recuperate before we interview her and you are prepared to sign a formal declaration to that effect?”

“Certainly, and I would suggest that it would be more beneficial to you and her if you talked to her in familiar surroundings, like her home,” He continued.

The DCI smiled and told the doctor that he would give that some serious consideration.

After writing out his declaration and signing it he handed it to the DCI who put it in the file with the preliminary crime report.

The doctor smiled and bid them farewell. The Sergeant saw him out.

The DCI sat back down in his office chair and relit his pipe. Opening the file he re-read the crime report. He ran through the likely scenarios in his mind. Could old man Simpson have come upon Christine unintentionally, then gave her a belting for some reason and some other person found him and did him in? But why was he in a state of undress? And who else is likely to be out late on a winter’s night? The local girls wouldn’t use the playing fields for their place of ‘work’, it’s too open and it was definitely no lover’s lane, so who, and why?

Richard Huntington had a clear mind, he knew that the most well-planned murders were the easiest to solve but it was the crime that just happened due to coincidences and sheer chance that were the toughest to understand and work out.

Sergeant Jones re-joined him and saw him deep in thought. The DCI looked up and said to the junior officer, “The sooner we talk to that girl the better. The longer her mother has to coach her on her answers the less likely it will be that the truth will see the light of day,”

“And, Jones, give the Vice Squad boys a call and see if they have anything on the Magill girls, any recent run-ins Sergeant with anyone, that sort of thing. Then we will call past to speak to Maggie Magill again, just to let her know that the good doctor has spoken to us,” He said with a wry smile on his lips. The Sergeant t went and placed his call to the Vice Squad, as the DCI leaned back in his chair, refilled his pipe and started a fresh bowl. The rich blue smoke slowly drifted up his face, he took in a lungful and held it in his body, feeling restful and relaxed.

When the Sergeant returned and told his boss that he had asked after the whole family and not just with the Vice Squad. The smile on Huntington’s face beamed a little more, ‘Well done Sargent,”

With his notepad opened he told the DCI, “The girls had been busy over the last few months. Two had been cautioned for loitering. Not Christine, the eldest one for shoplifting, and threatening behaviour, with a switchblade razor no less. No arrests were made. There was a report of theft but no formal complaint by a Mr. E. Simpson who stated that he had been accosted when propositioned behind the Kings Arms hotel just a month ago. Ten pounds was stolen from him, or so he said,”

The DCI raised his eyebrows, “And what came of that reported crime, Sargent?”

“Nothing Sir, when the desk Sergeant started asking for more details he withdrew the complaint,” Jones told him.

“Interesting that piece of information and I wonder why Mr Simpson did that? What about the others in the family,” He asked Sargent Jones.

“The two middle daughters were found drunk under the railway bridge last Tuesday afternoon, their clothing and I quote from the report, ‘Their clothing had the appearance of being dishevelled,’ un-quote. The three boys were fighting in the Railwaymen Inn on Saturday last. The damages were paid for and no one filed a complaint. And this I found interesting Sir, that both Shelia and Christine Magill were seen entering the abode at 13 Elmgrove Rd several times in the past fortnight, a suspected haunt for Tomboy’s Sir,”

Richard Huntington sat there drawing on his pipe, thinking about everything he had just heard. “Jones, find out whom the boys were fighting with last Saturday week, and cross-check Edward Simpson’s record for the past three months, Let’s see if these two families have come across each other recently, shall we? Do we know the Simpsons at all Sergeant?”

The Sergeant shook his head, “I will need to find out Sir,”

As Sergeant Jones was about to walk out, the DCI added another little task for him to do. “And Sargent, find out who the Magill boys are working for these days, let’s see if that has any legs, shall we?”

The junior officer closed the DCI’s door and started the arduous task of going over 3 months’ worth of reports and files. He wanted to be thorough and cover every possibility.

As soon as the door closed the DCI picked up his phone and made a call. He dialled the 3 letters and 3 numbers on the new rotary telephone and waited for it to be answered. Just as he was about to give up a voice came on the line. “Hello, Reginald Hepworth, speaking,”

Hello Reggie, Richard Huntington here from the Northern Area Command. Have you got a few minutes?”

“Of course Hunter what’s on your mind?” He answered.

“We are looking into a ghastly murder last night, I was just wondering if any of the SP bookies up here were nasty or nastier than normal, any of the lads likely to go overboard?”

“I see, Northern Area has a few dodgy ones, none are known for any real nasty stuff but if they have the wrong ones collecting for them it could get out of hand. But with these blokes, it’s all about the money and keeping their clients hooked. Doing one in, in their eyes is throwing good money away. Giving them a good hiding sends the right message if they are dragging their arses. Can you tell me what happened and I’ll ask around for you.” Reginald Hepworth was the Area Commander responsible for keeping control of any illegal gambling for the whole state and another close friend going back to his Police Academy days. He hesitated before telling his friend, “Richard, you know more about those blokes in your neck of the woods than I do, so what’s bothering you?”

The DCI chuckled at the compliment and cleared his throat, “Just dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s Reggie, you know me.”

“So you have someone in the frame for it then?” he asked.

“We think so, as I say just tidying up the loose ends. Making certain we give the Director of Public Prosecutions all the information.” His voice was sounding weary and old, tired after a long day.

“Anyone I know in the gaming world?” He asked.

“Well yes actually, one of the Magill family, we are fairly certain we have them, dead to rights.” He told his old friend.

There was a short silence. “I knew one of those boys would overstep the mark. I’m certain you will have it all tidied up in no time Richard. I will get back to you later in the week,” Replied the Commander.

They ended their call and the DCI once again took the last drag on the almost empty pipe. The once rich blue smoke was now just a wisp of grey thin haze as he put it down into the holder, he read the inscription ‘to my loving husband on his 50th Birthday’ he ran his finger along it and thought of his late wife, her smile, her laugh, he missed her so with each passing day.

He walked out into the quiet station, and looked at the clock, 5:45.

“Come on Jones, let’s pay a visit to the Magills and see what they have to say for themselves,”

It didn’t take them long to get there and they pulled up as they had earlier in the day. The lights were on in the house and smoke billowed from the chimney, The wind had died away, but it was still chilly, this time of the year it got dark early which only added to the feeling of desperation these people would be feeling. The policemen looked at each other, took a deep breath and they wandered up to the front door and knocked gently.

A young girl answered the door, only opening it an inch or two. She saw the two policemen standing there and called out to her mother over her shoulder. “Mum it’s the coppers again,” And then stood there giving them what she thought was a black look. DCI Huntington just stared her down, she blinked and then looked away. Maggie Magill came to the door looking haggard and worn out.

“Now what?” She asked.

“Maggie, we are here to let you know we had a visit from the good Doctor Wilson, he has informed us that your Christine is in no shape to talk to us right now.” Then taking out his notebook, he asked, “What time of day would be convenient for us to call?” Taking a pencil from an inside pocket of his coat, he licked the lead pencil tip and waited for an answer, when Maggie hesitated he spoke up and suggested ten AM the day after tomorrow.

Maggie stood there and nodded. He ripped the page from his notepad and handed it to the old woman. The woman stood there stunned, not expecting any sort of kindness from the law officers. Taking the note she looked at it and put it in the pocket of her house coat. Then looked back at the DCI and for a moment thought she saw something in his eyes. She wasn’t sure, so just gave a weak smile and started to close her front door. The DCI waited for a second or two then asked her one final question.

“Maggie, who are your boys working for these days?”

Maggie stopped and thought for a minute, she knew deep down that he had just done her one favour, and thought nothing of telling him a simple fact that she knew had nothing to do with her youngest daughter.

“They are collecting for McDougal this month, just this month Mr Huntington,”

The DCI smiled, nodded and said thank you. He then turned away and walked back to the Police car with the young sergeant in tow.

Once in the car, the Sergeant waited quietly for his boss to gather his thoughts before asking, “What was that all about?”

The DCI smiled at him, “I just saved you a mountain of work plus I have sweetened the old girl up a wee bit. You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.” He told him. “Remember that in the future Jones,”

“Tomorrow when you start to look into old man Simpson, start by seeing if he has been betting with Mc Dougal and if he is into him in any way. Then ask the uniform boys on the beat if the boys have had to have words with him,”

The phone was ringing on his desk as he entered his office the following morning. Hunter hung up his hat and overcoat and answered the loud ringing phone. “Morning Dicky, I have something for you,” said Reginald Hepworth. “Not what you might be expecting but it is something,”

Hunter sat down in his chair and took out a sheet of paper, as he got himself comfortable. Picking up his fountain pen and unscrewing the cap, he asked his friend to continue. “Let’s have it Reggie,”

“It seems that your Magill boys are working for McDougal, who has had a run of bad luck these past 3 weeks. He has got himself off-side with a few of his favourite jockeys and trainers. Word around the track is he has dropped close to two thousand pounds in 3 weeks. Mainly small amounts. But there is a small group working together who have picked up quite a bit from him lately. Do the names, Edwards, Simpson or Greene mean anything to you?”

Jones stuck his head in the door at that precise moment, to say good morning, and was waved in by the DCI and he pointed to the chair. “Yes, those names don’t come as a surprise to me, but I am surprised they are working together. Does McDougal know that they are watching each other’s backs?”

“Well, that depends on your Magill boys, if they are doing their job right, he should know. Do you know about the ruckus at the Railwaymen the other week? It seems that Greene was bragging about how lucky they were. Word got back to McDougal and he sent the Magills down there to have a ‘quiet word’ with him, which turned into a nasty brawl,” Hepworth told him.

“Yes we knew about it, we are looking into it actually, even more so now that you have mentioned this little bit of information. That is interesting Reggie. Would McDougal want to put a permanent end to their lucky streak?”

“I wouldn’t think so, in a strange way it is good for business for the punters to have a lucky streak now and again, but if they are doing some bad-mouthing along with it, then he might want to put a stop to that.”

“It does put a different light on things, Thank you Reg, I’ll keep you up to date on things here,” The DCI told his friend as he hung up.

Turning to Jones, he put a little smile on his lips and said, “Well, Sergeant, It seems that the late Edward Simpson had a bit of luck on the horses at McDougal’s expense. He along with one Robert Greene esquire and another of our well-known louts Clifford Edwards were working together. Let’s find out if McDougal knew about it and sent the Magill boys to fix his problem. We’ll go and ask him shall we,” And with that, he got up and grabbed his overcoat and hat, then headed towards the door.

James Robert McDougal was an illegal Bookie. He was small in stature a weasel-looking individual, no more than 5’ 4” at most, he wore thick broad-rim glasses was portly and balding with a greasy-looking comb-over sparsely covering his pink cranium. If you saw him on the street, he would be the last person you would think of, of being a petty criminal that is. Looks can be deceiving.

Even though he was married to a plain but sweet woman, it didn’t stop him from always having his young blonde ‘secretary’ with him at all times and a large thug who went by the name of Ronnie Lambert. Although McDougal didn’t look smart, his looks could deceive you. He had a smart brain and a quick wit, his memory was bordering on photographic. He knew who owed him what and when it was due. Some people called him a bit of a gambler, but what Jimmy McDougal did wasn’t gambling at all, he knew who the winning horses were, long before each race was run. That was before he had a falling out with some jockeys and the local trainers. Word on the street was he tried to renegotiate the price of greasing the wheels of the racing industry. He did allow some punters to win a little but they would lose a lot more, over time. He was as cunning as a shit-house rat.

He suffered from what many people called a ‘short man’s disease’, a short and violent temper. It was always wise to stay on his good side. Even though he was not a large man, he did have a loud and violent way about him. He dressed up to look fine at the races, even while his nippers at home went without. He was neither a good husband nor a good father.

He owned a barbers shop in the high street, he was no barber but he had won the shop in a card game. His office was out the back, away from prying eyes. Anyone could find him there on any day except on race days.