Posted by: madkentdragon | April 14, 2011

Yes, It is Sweet.

Chapter 1
She was found sitting on the tow path by the stream dangling her feet in the swift running water, staring into the distance as if lost in thought, someone had reported to the police that she had been sitting there for at least three hours without moving, but of course no one had spoken to her, so it was down to us to sort it!  Nothing unusual, that’s what most people do – oh yes you get the occasional person who helps – but in this mind your own business world; it didn’t concern them did it?

I walked up to her and said “Hello” and she looked up at me shading her eyes against the sun and smiled at me, “Hello” she replied, and carried on dangling her feet in the water and staring at some point in the distance.

I squatted down beside her “Are you OK?” she kept looking into the distance, “I’m fine. Isn’t it lovely here?”

I nodded and looked at her, she didn’t seem to have any shoes or bag with her and this worried me, my police radio crackled and my partner who was sitting in the car up on the road a few yards away asked what was happening, I told him that I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere and I didn’t remember seeing a car parked on the road, could he see one?

I heard him get out of the patrol car and waited for his reply, Sgt Cummings was a good sort and didn’t moan when a WPC asked him to do
something, especially in cases like this; it was easier to stretch your legs and look for the woman’s car than deal with the woman herself!

“No car anywhere round here” came his reply, “What’s happening now?”

I wish I knew as I stayed squatting down beside this woman, “Can I ask your name?”

“Yes, you can”

“So what is your name?”

“Don’t you know?” she replied, looking at me her eyes wide.

Oh dear was this some celebrity publicity stunt and I didn’t recognise her? “No, I’m afraid I don’t”

“Oh, you are a police woman?”


“Well you’re supposed to know everything, so you must know my name”

“Hang on, I’ll call my Sergeant, he may know. Where are your shoes?”

She looked at her feet in the water, “What shoes?”

“Your shoes”

“But I don’t have any shoes” her eyes started to fill with tears, “Why don’t I have any shoes?”

Cummings arrived at this point, in his 50s and pink in the face, he’d only been with me tonight because there was a football match at the local ground and they were expecting trouble. Normally he’d have been behind a desk in the control room, but had been persuaded to partner me tonight because he thought it would be quieter on this out of town patrol than back at HQ!

“Hi, Sarge, this lady seems to think we should know who she is” I whispered to him “and she says she doesn’t have any shoes – and that’s upset her”

He looked at me and very slightly shrugged his shoulders “What’s the matter love?” he asked as she sat there with tears running down her face, “What’s upset you?”

She looked up at him and said “I don’t have any shoes”

He smiled at her “That’s no problem, love, we can take you home and get you some, come on let’s get you into the car before your feet get too cold”

He put his hand out and she took it and pulled her feet out of the water and I saw that the skin was torn and grazed and bits of gravel
were embedded into the skin!

“Hang on, I’ll get the first aid kit and tidy your feet up, they look a bit sore”, I glanced at Cummings and he nodded as I ran up the bank
to the car and grabbed the box and returned to the tow path.

I knelt down beside her and tried to dry her feet and put some antiseptic on them, she winced “Sorry, just trying to make sure you don’t get an infection” I said as I gently put pads over the worst bits and taped them up. “Right let’s get you up to the car, did you have a bag?”

She looked round and again her eyes filled with tears, “I don’t know” her lips quivered, “I can’t remember, do you know who I am?” she turned to Cummings “She doesn’t, I don’t, do you?”

I looked over her head at him and raised my eyebrows; it looked like we had a case of amnesia!

Cummings smiled at her, “Well, let’s see; I’m George Cummings and this young lady is WPC Lucy Wells and what I suggest we do is take you for a ride round and see if we can help you remember who you are”, he took her arm gently and with me on her other side we helped her up the bank and in to the car.

Whilst the Sgt settled her in the car, I quickly scouted either side of the car to see if there were any specks of blood – you know, like they do on those American CSI shows – to see if I could see which way she had walked as the state of her feet showed she must have been bleeding for quite a while, but there weren’t any!

I climbed in the car and strapped myself in, as he started the engine, Sgt Cummings looked at me and I shook my head, it seemed a bit strange there not being any blood; unless “Did you walk along the tow path to get here?” I asked her, turning in my seat so that I could see her face; she
shrugged her shoulders and looked back to the river.

We drove back along the road and turned back on the main road to the police station on the outskirts of the town, I watched her look out of the window as a child might when being driven by her parents, “Do you remember this road?”

“No, ummm  – oh yes, that shop there sells ice cream, we always used to stop there and get one when we went down to the river”

I don’t know what she was seeing because all I could see was a boarded up, dilapidated old shop with a for sale sign on the forecourt. “When
was this?” I asked her.

“Whenever Daddy and Mummy had had a row, Daddy used to get his fishing rods out and take us fishing, but we liked the ice creams and playing in the water”

“Didn’t do much good for the fishing, you splashing about” Cummings commented.

“Oh Daddy didn’t seem to mind and we’d stop and buy fish and chips on the way home and he’d say ‘here’s some I caught earlier and we used to laugh and tell him he’d never get a Blue Peter badge by cheating”

“Where’s your Daddy now?” – a long shot but I thought it was worth asking,

“I don’t know, he went away when I was 12 and Mummy was very cross” tears started to run down her face again, and I cast about me to think
of something else to ask her; “You said that Daddy took you to the river, who else did he take?”

She smiled, “My sister, we used to have great fun there, but she went away to college” her face dropped again, “I didn’t see her again, she didn’t like Mummy’s new boyfriend”

“When was that?” she shrugged her shoulders and looked out the window.

“What was your sister’s name?” I asked, she looked at me and I could see she was trying to remember, but there was no reply.

By now we had arrived at the station and so we helped her in and took her through to an interview room, not the one we use for wronguns, but
the nice one where we talk to potential witnesses, it had a couple of comfortable chairs and a coffee table as well as an interview table with chairs either side. We helped her in to the room and sat her in one of the armchairs, then I went to make some tea, I wasn’t sure if she took sugar or not so I put some in a dish and put it on the tray with a spare spoon and carried it back to the room.

Cummings took his mug and shovelled some sugar in to it and said “I’d better go and book this in” and wandered out the room. I handed her a mug of tea and offered her the sugar which she refused and sat in the other armchair opposite her and took off my cap. “That’s better, that thing makes my head sweat when it’s warm like today, we’re lucky this summer aren’t we, there hasn’t been too much rain but I’ll expect
we’ll get some soon now it’s September”

She nodded and continued sipping her tea, “You’ve got a nice tan, been on holiday?”

She smiled and said “Yes, it was lovely holiday we went caravanning in France; I’ve still got some francs left from my pocket money”, well that didn’t get me far, I thought as she was obviously remembering a holiday from a long time ago, francs indeed!

“We went to Croatia, it’s marvellous how they’ve rebuilt the country since the war – and it was quite cheap” I said, but she didn’t seem to
notice what I had said, in fact the holiday had been last year with my now ex-fiancée Barry the two timing snake, but I thought it might have stirred a memory or two – you know all those UN troops and things.

I looked down at my finger and could still see a slight indentation where the ring had adorned it before I threw it back in his face,and an idea struck me. I looked at her fingers and she had a signet ring on her right hand but a definite large white band on her left hand where either a wide wedding ring or a wedding ring and an engagement ring had been.

“Where are your rings, love?”

She looked down at her finger and her hand shook so much I thought she was going to drop the mug, “My wedding ring, where is it? Have you
got it?”

I shook my head “No, love I haven’t, how long have you been married?”

She didn’t answer as she stared down at her finger and great big tears dripped on to her hand, “I can’t remember, but I’ve lost my rings”

I pointed to the signet ring on her other hand and said, “You’ve still got that ring, what’s the pattern on the shield?”

She looked down at her ring and fiddled with it, and then put her hand out to me to see. It had a small diamond chip in one corner of the shield and a heart inscribed in the middle with a “W” and a “B” in it. I asked her if I could take it off and she shook her head “It’s too tight and won’t
come off”, and she pulled at it to demonstrate how tight it was.

Cummings came back in the room, he was having difficulty with the form, colour of eyes etc, so I left him with her and went to finish it – “oh Sarge, that signet ring’s got initials on it, try thinking of names beginning with ‘W’,” I said as I went to find the form.

I finished the form, grey eyes, light brown hair, about 5ft 4, slim build and no distinguishing marks as yet. That would have to wait until we took her to hospital; she needed those feet dressed properly and a proper examination and assessment. We’d brought her here first because the hospital was in the middle of the town and there had been a few fights after the match and we didn’t want to upset her any more than she was already.

No one had reported her missing but it was early yet, to my knowledge she’d only been gone about five hours. Right next stop hospital.

Chapter 2

We arrived without incident at the hospital and were met by a specially trained nurse as I’d arranged who took Mrs W as we had started calling her into a cubicle, she went quietly, I had explained to her that she would have a full medical because it might help us find out who she was. I stood outside the cubicle in case I was needed, Cummings was back at the station tidying up the paperwork and looking through the missing persons lists, he’d also decided to put out a bulletin in case she had abandoned her car elsewhere along the road by the river bank. Wish I’d thought about that, but I suppose that’s what made him an experienced Sgt and me a constable. Still you learned by experience I suppose.

The nurse re-appeared after half an hour and drew me to one side, “Apart from her feet being in a bad condition and the memory loss, there’s nothing wrong with her, no bruises or cuts and she hasn’t been raped. I’ve put a call out for a psychiatrist to come and see her; it may take some time as it is Saturday”

I thanked the nurse and called out to Mrs W, “Can I come in?”

She didn’t reply so I popped my head round the curtain and she was sitting there on the side of the bed in a hospital gown and her feet were expertly bound up. She had been crying and I offered her a tissue from the box that the nurse had left by the bed and she took it to wipe her eyes.

“Let’s get you back in to bed; a doctor will be in to talk to you….”

“Don’t leave me please” she butted in, “The nurse didn’t know who I was either or where my shoes were”

I sighed, it looked like it was going to be a long afternoon; but I mustered a smile and put my hand on her shoulder “Never mind, the doctor will be here soon, he may be able to help you find out, I’ll get you a cup of tea”

She nodded and I got her settled back on to the trolley and went to find a tea machine and see what type of brown liquid it would dispense.
As I came back with two cups of nearly drinkable tea, there was a sudden burst of activity as two rather drunk football oiks were brought in under guard, both had blood pouring from wounds on their heads and were making a lot of noise. I hurried back to the cubicle in case they had alarmed Mrs W and sure enough she was cowering, squatted on the floor by the head of the bed.

I reassured her and got her back in the bed and put her cup on the trolley that the nurse had left beside her bed and I noticed that any time those oiks shouted Mrs W flinched, the psychiatrist turned up and I left the cubicle to radio in to report what was happening and got reminded that I’d broken protocol by not taking a DNA swab nor her fingerprints. I explained that there was a lot of noise in the station because of the drunks from the match and I’d planned to do it at the hospital, which they were quite happy about.

I grabbed another cup of that stuff that passes for tea from the machine and went back to my post, I could hear the doc talking to her and
her replies and tears, but it sounded like they weren’t getting anywhere. More football casualties were arriving and the noise was
horrendous for a hospital, even I who was used to noise found it beginning to hurt my ears and at one stage found myself stopping a lad who was starting to get aggressive to one of the nurses.

The doc popped his head round the curtain and beckoned to me, “I’m going to give her something to calm her down and get her up on the ward for some more tests, where did you find her?”

I gave him the rundown on what had happened and told him about the need for fingerprints and a DNA swab and he agreed to get a nurse to
help me once she’d had the injection and was up on the ward.

I arrived back at the station after my shift had ended and handed over the sample and card and signed out, at least the overtime would come in handy, I thought as I climbed on my bike and cycled home. I knew that the bods who dealt with the samples had long gone home and that they probably wouldn’t be dealt with till Monday as the case did not seem to be connected to any violent crime.

Sunday went quite quietly, I suppose most of the ne’er do wells were nursing hangovers from yesterday and I was back with my original partner PC Brian Collins who was nursing a black eye from the problems yesterday. Of course I did the usual ribbing about his wife blacking his eye, but it was only in joke; he’d been married about ten years and he and his wife were finally expecting their first baby, they had often invited me round for a bite to eat after I’d caught Barry on the phone to his wife and they had asked me if I’d like to be god-parent to “Master X” as they were calling him after the scan definitely showed that the baby was a boy.

We got back after our shift and I asked if there had been any news on Mrs W but there hadn’t, so I cycled back to my flat and thought no more
of it. I’d just made myself some supper, bacon and eggs when my mobile rang, it was Cummings; “Lucy, love, can I come round?”

I thought that was a bit strange and replied yes, and then he hung up; I looked round my scruffy little flat and spotted that bag that I should  have dumped yesterday, so I grabbed it and ran down to the basement.

One thing, in fact the only good thing about this block of old fashioned flats was that the heating came in with the rent and was run from an old boiler in the basement; so although we weren’t meant to do this – but we all did – I quickly chucked the bag in the boiler and my overflowing rubbish bin into the communal dustbins down there and headed back up the stairs. I’d just got back in to the flat and was trying to eat my
half cold meal when the door entry system went, I answered it and up the stairs puffed Cummings, he was still in uniform but I wasn’t sure of his shift pattern that day; I thought he was back on the communications.

He came in and sat down, breathing heavily; “You really ought to get more exercise” I said to him as he regained his breath, “Do you want a cuppa?”

He nodded, but there was something not quite right, he had a worried look in his eyes – “I’ll make the tea, love” he said “you finish your meal”

It had got really cold and congealed by then, so I laughed and said something about being on a diet and took it into the kitchen to dump in my now empty rubbish bin whilst Cummings put the kettle on. I ended up making the tea, he couldn’t find anything and we took it back into the living room, well it was a bedsitting room really but I’d put screens round one end to divide the bed off from the rest of the room; “Sit down love” he said “I’ve got something to tell you”

Worried now by his attitude, I sat and watched him as he took a mouthful of tea; “It’s like this, that woman we found yesterday, well we’ve found her car. A patrol had noticed it standing there on Saturday night, but as it’s a spot known for naughty goings on, they didn’t think any more about it. But it was still there this morning as they finished their shift and so they got out to have a look. It was unlocked and a handbag was inside it with a driving licence in the name of Wendy Jane King and the registration came back as being hers as well.”

I gulped “Wwwwendy King, bbbbut that’s the name of Barry’s wife!” I stammered, I do that when I’m upset. “So wwwwhat happened”

Cummings took another sip of his tea, “we’re not sure, but when we went knocking on their door it was open and there was King lying on
the kitchen floor in a puddle of blood, he’d been stabbed”

I felt shaky, OK I mean the bloke had been a two timing double dealing snake, but to hear that he had been found like that was a hell of a shock! I must have gone white because Cummings took his hip flask out and tried to pour some whiskey in my tea. I put my hand over my cup, I didn’t want any alcohol, I just wanted to be alone.

“I’ll be OK, it’s just a bit of a shock, I mean I haven’t seen him for nearly a year, I’ll be OK. Just let me get my head round it and I’ll be all right tomorrow” I said and stood up.

Cummings patted my shoulder and asked if I needed anything and to call if I wanted some company and then let himself out of the flat, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Chapter 3

For once I was glad I was not in the section house, as at least I had the peace and quiet to gather my thoughts, this place was expensive and took half my salary each month, but for once it didn’t matter.

Barry had persuaded me to lease this place, just for a year, he’d said then we’d move to somewhere better and prettier – well he had. But I was still here stuck with the two year lease that I’d optimistically signed for eighteen months ago and it was making a big hole in my bank balance each month. He’d never paid his half but had brought the groceries each week in cash so it didn’t really matter.

What I hadn’t realised at the time was that if he’d set up a standing order on his joint bank account it would show up, but paying his living expenses in cash each week, well no one was the wiser, were they?

And now he was dead, stabbed.

Well his wife couldn’t have done it, we’d found no sign of blood on her apart from her feet, and that was her own, and there was no sign of any in the car that they found. But where were her rings?

I smiled to myself, well Barry, you’ve got your comeuppance, I thought and went to cook some more bacon and eggs as I was hungry now.

The next morning, I went back in to work and asked how the case was going, the uniforms didn’t seem to know a lot as it had been handed
over to CID and all my lot were doing was the house to house enquiries.

I went up to the CID room and spoke to DS Winters and told him that I knew the deceased, but had never met his wife and how and why I knew him. He took a statement from me and I signed it saying that I hadn’t seen him since November last year when I’d thrown my  engagement ring back at him and told him I never wanted to see him again. I’d actually said a lot more than that, but I kept that to myself and I think they knew I’d cut out the expletives, but they didn’t seem to mind.

They told me that, as I had some vague connection to the case, I couldn’t help on the house to house, nor could I visit Wendy in hospital. I nodded and went back downstairs to where Brian Collins was waiting for me, he took the keys to the patrol car and we went off tasked to keep an eye out for shop lifters.

We had the usual tear-aways and managed to arrest one man who looked like he was part of the gang that was operating in the area and managed to get his van that was full of stolen clobber, the beat bobby would keep an eye out for the rest of them, whilst we took matey back to the station and arranged to have the van towed away for examination. He caught two more as they were looking for the van, so between us we had a good morning.

We went to the garage to look at the car and note all the goods that were in it, a few thousand pounds worth of high end shoes, handbags and clothes. Collins remarked that we’d saved the insurance company a few quid there and I nodded, but my attention was on the red mini standing in splendid isolation whilst the forensics pulled it apart to check for blood etc.

It was a bright red, six months old top of the range car; the type I’d always wanted but couldn’t afford because of the flat. It so wasn’t fair! But what good would it do her now? I wondered. I realised Collins had been talking to me and I apologised and told him about the car and the woman, he’d heard all the gossip and could understand my interest.

“Come on, at least dumping him when you did means that you’re not involved” he laughed as we went back up the stairs, leaving the clothes in boxes by the lift, we’d get them when the lift was repaired, no point in trying to carry them.

The shop lifting gang leader took up most of the rest of our shift and he insisted that he didn’t know anything about the clothes yadda yadda yadda, but we knew we’d got this one bang to rights as his “assistants” who had been picked up turned out to be illegal immigrants and were happy to confess because he hardly paid them anything for their “work” and it was their way of getting their revenge.

Revenge, such a sweet word, and I suppose that with Barry getting stabbed, I’d got mine at last! But I put that thought away and continued filling in all those forms then popped back up to the CID to see if there was anything new.

There was! Apparently a nosey neighbour had seen a white van draw up outside, the Kings’ house and a slim young lad in a black boiler suit had got out and spoke to Barry who was under the bonnet of his green BMW, she’d seen them walk round the back and then the youngster, he was only a skinny little lad had come back out clutching a news paper to him and got back in to the van and drove off. He thought that it was a bit unusual, but didn’t seem to realise that she might have seen the murderer, well it was either him or Wendy.

The old dear seemed to spend half her time nosing round her net curtains and was sure she’d never seen this person before but she described
him as slim, quite young and about 5foot 6 tall with long straggly dark hair under a baseball cap that was pulled low over his face.

Then she’d gone on to say that about ten minutes later that “nice Mrs King” had come rushing out of the house and got in to her car and driven off. She hadn’t seen her husband for the rest of the day and nor did Mrs King’s car come back, but as she didn’t like to interfere, she hadn’t rung us, because last time she’d rung to complain some snotty nosed constable had told her she was wasting police time, well she wasn’t to know that the kid climbing in through that window was a mate of the son of the house and because he had lost his keys, his mate had offered to climb up as he was more agile than him.

We all remembered who that “snotty nosed constable” was, he’d had his card marked several times for this type of thing, and was now working for a security firm on car park control.

Any way the old dear gave the house to house mob a good description of this young lad, but she hadn’t been able to see his eyes, nor had she thought to get the registration of the van. They called up all the CCTV footage for the time she said, but the description of a smallish white van
could fit a lot of vehicles and several had been spotted, near a car valet place as well as all over town.

They’d gone round there but quite honestly the lads didn’t have enough brains between them to help, they had had three white vans in on Saturday, they were regulars and gave the constables the details they had, which was basically just the name and what type of clean they gave them, and no they hadn’t seen any blood in any of them. So that line of enquiry had drawn a blank, especially as one had been driven by a woman!

Chapter 4

Tuesday came and went and there was no news from the investigation, house to house and other enquiries continued and the mini had no signs of blood or anything incriminating in it, nor had Wendy’s hand bag, but on Wednesday, all hell broke loose!

She had regained her memory and had screamed so much that they sedated her before CID could ask her any questions; they had to put her in
a side ward and now so Cummings told me confidentially.

Apparently, she was allowed to get up and have a shower, and on her way to the bathroom, she spotted a newspaper being read by one of the
other patients and on the front page was a picture of her husband, and she had stood stock still and screamed “Barry, all that blood, Barry, NO!!!” and fallen to the floor screaming and crying.

The nurses had called the psychiatrist and put her in a vacant side ward, she had kept on screaming the same thing over and over again, so the staff had no option but to sedate her and now CID were kicking their heels waiting to interview her.

So that’s what Wendy looked like, I had never seen her before not even a photo. I think I remarked something like “Well at least we know who she is poor thing” and I meant it; because it wasn’t her fault that her dead husband had been a two timing snake and I thought that she was better off without him. But of course I didn’t voice my thoughts, how could I?

Over the next few days, they patiently interviewed Wendy, she didn’t remember me or how she had got to hospital, but slowly her story came out: It was a Saturday, and for once she didn’t have to work, because of the football match, her boss at the agency had decided to close and board the shop up; these local derbies always had the chance of turning violent. So she’d had a lay in and cooked Barry a nice breakfast, he did like his bacon and eggs, and when he went out to check the bits on his car ready for next week’s break away in the Lake District, she had put the plates in to soak and took her rings off, because “the new engagement ring Barry gave me last year was a bit big and caught in the rubber gloves”.

She then remembered the glasses that he’d brought upstairs the night before and the bottle and decided that they ought to come down to be
washed up as well, so she had padded upstairs in her bare feet and, for some reason thought that she should shower and get dressed, which she did. As she had got dressed, she thought she heard Barry talking rather loudly on the phone telling someone to “Piss off and forget it”, he did
get annoyed when people rang him on his day off about trivial work matters apparently. Then she heard the back door slam, so she thought he had gone back out to the car and came downstairs, forgetting the wine glasses and bottle. It was confirmed that they had been left on the floor outside the bathroom – and now they knew why.

She had walked through to the kitchen and saw Barry laying there on the floor and all this blood and she couldn’t remember anything more
until she saw his photo in the paper that morning. The psychiatrist had said that this bit was normal and she may never remember how she had run out of the house and driven off and instinctively went to a place of safety and past happiness.

They never did find the killer, and now ten years later as a DS, I’ve been tasked to go through some of the cold cases from tat year and as
I open the box with all the files and paper cuttings in it the memories come flooding back.

The case was in the papers for a few weeks and got resurrected when Wendy, after being discharged from hospital after a few months put the house on the market and went to stay with her sister who had contacted the police when she saw Wendy’s picture in one of the national newspapers, I hear she finally recovered and got married again just recently.

They never found the van, nor her rings or funnily enough the rubber gloves, and I smiled to myself as I pull out the interview statement, the old lady is long gone and so we can’t interview her again, wouldn’t want to anyway. The white van she mentioned is probably rotting in a scrap yard now, but it was so nice of my neighbour to lend it to me to get my shopping in each Saturday morning, I didn’t have to pay for petrol either, just get it valetted once a month for him.

It was a handy deal I’d set up a few months earlier – so were the dust sheets and the extra steering wheel cover that I’d managed to get
hold of, that meant that any blood left on me could be absorbed by them and that boiler was so handy for disposing of them, the boiler suit, overshoes and the newspaper that I’d used to cover up the blood on the front of them. I had always used the name Barbara Smith at the valet place.

The rubber gloves went the same way too, well it stopped any blood on my hands and as for the wedding ring, that went the same way as the
knife, right in to the waterfall where the stream met the river and have never been found. I also grew my hair long again, it didn’t need to be so short anymore and people said it suited me.

The engagement ring, I still have, how dare he give it to Wendy – it was mine, the one I’d thrown back in his face when I had found him out! It’s still tucked in to the back of one the drawer in the chest in the bedroom of my new little house that I’m buying. It doesn’t cost as much as the rent I had been paying on that awful flat all those years ago!

It was a shame that Wendy had been at home, I had banked on her being at work as she usually was on a Saturday morning, and as I’d never seen her I didn’t realise who she was until I saw that signet ring. But even that worked out all right in the end, she’s better off without that two timing snake of a Barry, if only she knew that!

Yes, I thought, as I put the files back and put the box to go back in to the archives, Revenge is sweet.



  1. What a great read, thanks Pat

  2. Oh this is fab!

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