An Extra Gift, by Dave Dempster, espresso

It all began when John was 8. He was hiding in a cupboard, motionless and silent, when

the door opened. His father looked straight ahead at him, but then swore and slammed the

cupboard door shut. John was spared another beating that day.

An only child, John came to learn later in life that his dad was an alcoholic and John had

come off lightly compared to his abused mother. Thankfully, things looked up when John’s

dad left home to start a jail term long enough to give John and his mother the chance of a new

life elsewhere. And so, they came to Norwich, far away from their old and dismally violent

connections with Glasgow.

                                                                  

11-year-old John was in the primary school playground one day, when he saw trouble

heading in his direction. He hadn’t meant to cross Brown. He wouldn’t be so silly when

Brown was much bigger and stronger. John was only too aware of Brown’s reputation as a

schoolboy who often answered with his fists. Brown was regularly disciplined at school but

that was no consolation and no help in the here and now. John ran. He tried to get round to

the far end of the building but just wasn’t quick enough. He backed into a wall as Brown

advanced. There was no escape. Brown was a mere two metres away when he had a double-

take. He shook his head looking perplexed, turned round and walked away. It was just

extraordinary. Didn’t make sense at all. Luckily for John, the following day was the very last

day of the school term. Brown would not be sharing the same secondary school.

                                                                  #

The fair was in a field just to the north of the city boundary. “Let’s try it for a laugh” He

may have been christened Michael, but he was always ‘Mike the Fist’ as far as John was

concerned. That punch which flattened the worst school bully had earned Mike fame

throughout the whole secondary school. At 17, and nearly a full year younger than his hero,

John felt fortunate to have Mike as his friend and protector. Together they went inside the

tent, eager to learn what the future held for them.

The fortune teller was an elderly woman with what seemed to be two multicoloured

scarves around her head. The table was covered in a tattered ex-billiard tablecloth, or so

it appeared to the two lads. She promised Mike a wealthy career and long life. When John

sat down and laid his hands on the table, as instructed, the woman suddenly looked as if she

had seen a ghost. She moved forward and grabbed John’s hands. “Take care. Take care. It’s

a precious gift. You must take care.” John was stunned. Mike intervened, asking the obvious

question. “I can’t say. I must not say. You must discover for yourself,” came the perplexing

reply.

The boys were polite enough to leave without making a fuss. “Bet she says that to every

second customer, hoping for return visits,” Mike suggested cynically. Mike knows a lot more

than me, so he’s probably right, thought John, although he wasn’t entirely convinced.

                                                                   

Only a few weeks later in 2000 the two friends saw the newly released film ‘Hollow Man’

in a local cinema. Clever Mike had managed to arrange for John’s admission, even though

he was still only 17. “Wow. Fantastic power, being invisible” commented Mike, as they

exited. John agreed excitedly and began to ponder to himself.

John didn’t say anything to his best friend in the days which followed – Mike would only

have laughed at him. It was ridiculous to contemplate. Nonetheless, he started to wonder

seriously if there was a link between that time his drunken dad didn’t see him in the

cupboard, and the lucky escape from Brown in the school playground.

If there was a connection, what could it be? John took the small vanity mirror from his

mother’s room, making sure he was not discovered. He stared ahead, in the privacy of his

own room. There was no magic here. He could see his reflection as plain as day. Then he

remembered what his Uncle Richard had given him for his 6^th birthday. Not the toy, but the

extra present. Uncle Richard had always been kind to John, who treasured the little extra.

When his uncle asked John to keep it a secret, he was happy to do so. Made it feel important,

 especially as Uncle Richard told young John it was very special.

The old key didn’t look like much, but it meant a lot to John. He never lost sight of the

key. John reached into his pocket and felt for the key. He looked in the mirror. He wasn’t

there!! Nothing at all – even his clothes had disappeared.

Numerous experiments followed. John didn’t trust anyone with his secret, not even his

best friend Mike, far less his mother. He knew that once the cat was out of the bag his new

power would be shared, if not taken away from him altogether. He couldn’t allow that to

happen. John had to find out exactly how the key worked. How long did it work for? How

exactly was it switched on, and how exactly was it switched off? Did it always mask what

John was wearing, even the shoes?

It took John nearly three weeks to find answers to all his questions about the magical key.

He survived one awkward moment when his mother returned home unexpectedly. A close

shave, but his secret remained secure. John was confident that he could work the key at will.

When his skin touched the key his invisibility was assured, until he touched the key again.

The key would not work if John wore a glove. That knowledge led John to keep the precious

key in a safe place by using gloves. His mother knew the house like the back of her hand but

John was certain that the key was safe at the back of the top of his wardrobe.

For John, the next step was to decide how the key could help him. He wanted money. He

loved fast cars. He dreamed of having his favourite, an Aston Martin! But how would he get

the money, and how would he explain how he came by the money? Being found out was the

last thing he wanted. At first John thought that a bank robbery would be ideal. He would have

to use a disguise to make the teller believe his threat. His special power would be particularly

helpful in assisting his getaway and would give ample time to successfully dispose of the

disguise and clothes used in the robbery. However, John’s wariness of a bank dye pack

ruining the money put paid to that idea.

In the end John planned to rob a rich, elderly lady who lived nearby. If it worked out he

would consider more ambitious ventures. The lady clearly had a lot of money. She lived

alone in a large house without the protection of a guard dog. John had done his homework.

 

The lady did have an iron front gate. Entry could only be gained by way of an intercom.

John would use a false accent. The lady never went out, so far as John could tell. He was sure

a lady of that age would keep valuables at home. Looked like a promising target.

John bided his time. He wanted to get it right. He had to get it right. When he was sure he

had minimised the risk, he went into action. There was no difficulty in reaching the front

door. As it began to open John touched his key and went past the old lady unseen. When she

closed the door after some hesitation, John made his threat in the same false accent – “Just

give me your money and you won’t get hurt.” Disaster struck. The old lady gasped in shock

and collapsed. Her head hit the wooden floor awkwardly. She didn’t move. John bent down.

He didn’t want to touch his victim and leave his DNA behind. He couldn’t detect any sign of

life. In his panic John glanced at an old-style phone sitting in the hallway, but he didn’t dare

use it, for fear of leaving his fingerprints behind. Besides, the poor old lady was beyond help.

As he had planned, John was able to close the front door behind him, using a small

wooden wedge under the handle as leverage. He had been careful to take the wedge from his

right trouser pocket, staying well clear of the key in his left. John could feel sweat gathering

under his shirt. The same procedure applied at the garden gate. As it clicked shut behind him

the noise caught the attention of a man walking on the opposite pavement. The man stopped

walking and looked towards the gate. John froze instinctively. Was he really invisible? The

man seemed to hesitate for an eternity, before continuing to walk away. John took a deep

breath of relief.

   When he reached the safety of his home John reflected on the whole miserable episode.

He replayed in his head over and over to reassure himself that the Police would not think that

anything suspicious had occurred. After all, nothing had been stolen and no damage had

been done. The old lady simply had a heart attack. What else would anyone think? He felt

sorry for the old lady but it was accidental and unintended. Then he checked on the computer.

Causing an unintended death during a burglary? Felony murder! God, no.

John was racked with guilt. What had he done? Sleepless, or mostly sleepless, nights

followed. He still couldn’t dismiss the fear that somehow the Police would find him out.

 

Then, about a month later, there was a story in the local press about the isolation of elderly

people in the community. It was reported that the old lady had no-one watching out for her

and she ‘had died in the loneliness of her home weeks earlier’, or words to that effect. John

knew then for sure that his crime had not been detected but he felt even worse about what he

had done.

Could John make amends somehow? Could he use the key to help others in some way? He

remembered how the key had saved him twice. He also remembered how well he had

prepared for the burglary and look what happened there!

                                                                     #

 John had the key with him. He wasn’t sure why. It was as if he was being directed. He

was wandering, it seemed aimlessly, when he came across a church. Hardly surprising, with

Norwich bulging at the seams with churches. John was not religious. The last time he

ventured inside a church was years earlier when he attended Uncle Richard’s funeral service.

The open door beckoned to him, and he moved slowly inside, taking a seat close to the

door instinctively, in case his entry was unwelcome. The place was deserted. He bowed his

head and closed his eyes. The silence swept over him. It was inexplicable. After only a few

minutes he felt astonishingly refreshed. He now had resolve - he knew exactly what he had

to do.

Making his way quickly, as if moving more slowly would weaken his determination, he

walked along the streets. At last, he could see the River Wensum, partly hidden by bushes on

the near side. There was no-one around. Anonymity encouraged him. But as he came closer,

John felt temptation. It was tangible. Very real. Carefully using a glove from his right

pocket, he removed the key from his left. He looked down at the key, which had drenched

him in so many emotions - joy, ambition, greed, guilt, despair. He threw the key into the

middle of the water and saw it sink.

    The overwhelming sense of freedom never left him.

About the author

Dave Dempster is a retired lawyer and aspiring writer living in Norwich,UK. His work can be read, or is to be read, in two of the Crimeucopia anthologies, as well as online in Jonah, CafeLit and East of the Web.

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)

Hidden Motive by Dave Dempster,cafe latte

 

“Come on, Mum. Pick it up. Please pick it up. It’s just ringing out. That’s the second day.

Something’s wrong. I’ll have to go round there.”

“Try not to worry, Jess. There’s bound to be a simple explanation.” Harry tried to reassure his

wife.

“She always answers at this time of day. Something’s definitely wrong. Her friend Jenny

hasn’t heard from her, and they were supposed to meet last Thursday. I must go round there now.

Can you watch the kids for a while?” Harry would reluctantly hold the fort, hoping that his Saturday

lunchtime tee-off would still be available.

When Jessica’s knock at her mother’s door went unanswered, she tried to look through the

living room curtains, which were drawn, ominously. Out of the corner of her eye Jessica spotted the

next door neighbour heading for his garage. “Excuse me. Have you seen my mother? She’s not

answering the door.”

The neighbour hesitated. “Come to think of it. I haven’t seen her for a few days. Sorry, I have

to dash.” Jessica’s fears were reaching a crescendo. She hoped the Police wouldn’t give her a telling

off, but this was serious.

Luckily for Jessica, the young constable was understanding and very helpful. He went as far

as apologising for forcing the front door the following Monday morning, although Jessica had made

the request. They found no trace of Jessica’s mother and were about to leave, when something

about the living room carpet caught Jessica’s attention. She bent down. “What’s that?”

The constable’s reply had a shocking effect. “Looks like blood, I’m afraid, and the coffee table’s

been moved.” Jessica saw the exposed impression in the carpet where one of the legs had been. “I

must treat the area as a crime scene now. Can I just check your details, so we can keep in touch?”

Jessica’s world became darker as the Police investigation progressed. Jessica’s mother’s bank

account hadn’t been touched. Her car hadn’t left the garage. And still her family and friends hadn’t

heard anything. The preliminary forensic findings at the house were alarming. A small area of blood

had been found near the coffee table in the living room and there were tiny spots of blood on one of

the coffee table legs. The police had taken Jessica’s mother’s toothbrush and hairbrush. Jessica had

not given up hope.

Then Jessica received the call she had been dreading. When the Police Family Liaison Officer

told Jessica, as sympathetically as she could, that there was no good news, and asked her to come to

the police station with her husband Harry, Jessica burst into tears. The blood found in the living

room was Jessica’s mother’s blood. The blood pattern ruled out accident. Jessica’s mother had been

attacked. There had been no ransom note to indicate mere abduction. The police were now

conducting a murder investigation.

“It’s always the worst part of the job, telling the family.”

“Yeah”, sighed DS Mark Miller. He and DI Larry Jenkins had worked side by side in the

Norfolk Homicide Squad based in Norwich for more than five years. Despite their experience it was

always heart-rending to witness the grief of loved ones at first hand. By way of consolation, it drove

them to work harder to catch the culprit. There was always the possibility that Jessica’s mother would

suddenly reappear, but the police knew the chances were fanciful in the extreme.

The detectives understood that with no body and no murder weapon, only the strongest

circumstantial evidence would suffice, assuming even then that the Crown Prosecution Service was

satisfied there was enough to proceed.

Some reasonable deductions could be made though. Without additional traces of blood,

and no ballistics indicators, the most likely cause of death was strangulation. The pathologist

thought it reasonable to suppose that the deceased woman collided with the coffee table on her

way down. On the plus side, entry had not been forced. Jessica’s mother knew her killer.

         Significantly, the killer must have had access to the back door key, because Jessica knew that her

mother, who lived alone, was always careful to keep her back door locked. Forensics established

that the deceased had been wrapped in bed-clothing missing from a bedroom, before being carried

and dragged through the back door to the gate at the rear of the garden. The back door was then

locked from the outside and the key thrown into a flowerbed. The killer had worn gloves. Not a

single fingerprint could be found. Obviously, the body must have been loaded into a vehicle and

driven off.

The time of death could be narrowed to a span of a few days, from the time Jessica’s mother

was last seen alive, to the time she failed to answer Jessica’s first phone call. However, the most

thorough door knocking and CCTV retrieval produced only disappointment. If only a vehicle had

been noticed near to the rear of the property!  Realistically, there were only two persons of interest

– the deceased’s estranged husband and her boyfriend, Andrew Birmingham. Police soon learned

that one suspect had no motive and the other had every motive.

The boyfriend seemed to have adored Jessica’s mother. He had no motive and was quickly

ruled out. By contrast, Jessica’s mother had had a very unhappy marriage by all accounts. Even after

the separation, her husband bitterly resented any claim she made to share in his considerable

wealth. In short, he hated her. When a tearful Jessica had been asked if she knew of anyone who

might wish her mother harm, Jessica nominated her stepfather without hesitation.

 Digging further, Inspector Jenkins established that the prolonged and acrimonious divorce

process had reached the point where, had Jessica’s mother not been murdered, her husband would

have been forced to sell his large house to settle with Jessica’s mother. The interior of the husband’s

Range Rover had plainly not been cleaned for a very long time. Would the killer not have taken every

precaution and cleaned his vehicle meticulously? In any event, the vehicle was subjected to the most

rigorous forensic testing. Every inch was examined and re-examined. Results were double checked,

and, in some cases, even triple checked. There was simply no trace.

The Police kept watching and waiting but after another four months the case had gone cold. 

The two detectives shared the pain over a beer. “We’ve done our best. I’m sure we haven’t

missed anything, Mark, but it’s always a grind when one gets away.”

“Yeah, Larry. I hate it, letting the family down, but we must move on. Can’t afford to dwell on

it. I’ll get the next round.”

It was nearly a year after her mother’s disappearance. Jessica began in her usual self-effacing

way. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you should have this. Just in case it might mean

something.” With that, she handed over a few sheets of paper. “That’s my mother’s handwriting. I

found this when I was going through her things the other day. The figures and the notes about ‘he

this’ and ‘he that’ don’t make sense to me.”

“I’ve seen that figure at the top, £63,000, somewhere before”, pondered DS Miller, as Jessica

left the office. “And those £5,000 entries, I’ll check if they match her bank records.”

Things were beginning to fall into place. The boyfriend had indeed been generous, making

four deposits of £5,000 into his lover’s bank account in the month before she disappeared. Unusual,

perhaps, but nothing untoward, thought the sergeant. But that figure of £63,000 was bothering him

And it kept bothering him. A few days later the eureka moment happened.

“Remember that inside job at Baker’s? How much went missing?”

DS Paul Butcher of the Fraud Squad was on the other end of the line. “Hang on, Mark. I’ll just

be a minute. “Are you still there, Mark? Yeah, here it is. £63,104.”

“Thanks, Paul. Just one more question. An Andrew Birmingham worked there. Did you look

at him?”

“You bet. He was the main guy, the in-house accountant. He was the closest we got, but we

couldn’t make it stick, and the company wrote it off.”

It was just enough to get a warrant. Why is it that guilty souls always keep some kind of

trophy?  Inspector Jenkins was reminded of the notion when the search of the boyfriend’s home

uncovered a photo of Jessica’s mother in a bedside drawer. Hardly an ordinary photo. A telling

feature stood out. Pound signs had been scrawled all over her face. This was encouraging but far

short of the sort of evidence acceptable to the Crown Prosecution Service, of course.

The boyfriend had told police earlier that his car had been under repair in a local garage

around the time of Jessica’s mother’s disappearance. That had checked out. The boyfriend had also

explained earlier that, without his car, he had walked to his work at Baker’s, although it was quite a 

distance, as part of a fitness drive. Further enquiries would now be made at Baker’s.

“That’s it, he’s lied to us! According to the office manager, Birmingham used his father’s mini

traveller at Baker’s, when his own car was being repaired. It’ll be delicate approaching his father but

that’s the next step.” Encouraged, Inspector Jenkins felt they were closing in.

“I thought you people had finished with him at Baker’s.” Birmingham’s dad sounded

irritated, but he went on to confirm that he had indeed lent his car to his son from the Wednesday

night before the disappearance. “Won’t forget that in a hurry. He promised he would only need it for

a few short trips but he used more than half a bloody tank!” Mr Birmingham senior was less than

pleased again, when, armed with the necessary warrant, police removed his beloved car for forensic

examination.

Thankfully, the boyfriend had been unable to remove all traces from the inside of his father’s

car. Faced with all the evidence, and some skilful questioning, the boyfriend eventually came clean.

He was remorseful enough to lead police to the place of burial.

Jessica had trouble coming to terms with it all. The boyfriend had trusted her mother with his

stealing secret, but in return she had chosen to blackmail him - and paid the highest price.

About the author

 Dave Dempster is a retired lawyer, who practised in Scotland and Western Australia. He has been published in JONAH magazine and has had two of his detective crime short stories accepted for print anthologies. 

 

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)