Saturday, November 24, 2007

On the Police Carpet

Rumours, rumours that was all that was going around Barclays Bank, Rhyl. Most of it unconfirmed, by me at least, even until this day. Bryn Roberts, our ex Chief Clerk was still suspended, still on full pay, supposed to be working as a taxi driver in Rhyl. That should help his financies, two full time incomes. Our Manager. Believed to have been interviewed by the Police, rumour again but it was supposed to have turned nasty on one side or another, or maybe both. That did'nt surprise me, if you wanted nastiness you did'nt need to look any further than Myfyr Hedd Jones Owen full of alcohol. Ask any freemason in Rhyl. Mr Lewis, our first cashier, seemed to know most of what was going on, or was he just guessing? One fact that was definate, though, was the Police had called, at night, unannounced, at Wyn's bungalow in Abergele. He told me himself about it. He said that a lot of the questions were about me. One thing in particular I remember. They said that on the afternoon the first deedbox was discouvered missing they had been told I was in a state of panic. I did.nt think I had been, but, if I had, so what. If I was the criminal, I would have been prepared for the discovery. If I was'ent the criminal, I was supposed to be in charge of deedboxes, so it would have been understandable for me to be concerned. Another week or so, another knock on the side door, same two coppers going upstairs again. Half an hour later our new Chief Clerk, the Inspector suddenly said to me "Damn, I forgot all about them. The Police are upstairs and they want to see you." The delay? Rehearsed under orders, maybe, to try to get me in a nice state. If that was what was intended, it did'nt work. I went upstairs, went into the private room and the "fun" began. Mr Sweet, the second in command, and Mr Sour the top C.I.D. man in Flintshire Constabulary. And boy, was he Sour.. Questions began about 2.30 and finished about 5.30. I was to return to Rhyl Police Station at 6.30. I chased back to my shop in Wellington Road, dragged all the toys and fancy goods in off the stalls outside, and shut the shop. And I went and sat on the wall outside the Police Station and waited to be asked in. The present Police Station is on the original site but now it is a new building built in the 1970s. At the time I am writing about it was what had been a very large private house adapted by the Police, a few bars on the windows etc. After about a half hour I was aware that someone was standing behind me----Mr Sweet. "Come In." The questions went on. At one time "Sour" appeared to be nodding off asleep. Sometimes the questions were friendly, leading me on, at others very agressive. Suddenly a lull, "Sweet" says "Shall I bring it now?" Sour nods his head. Was I going to be offered coffee? No chance. Sweet returns carrying what I instantly recognised as the Butterworth bag. It was unmistakeable, although I had bought an identical one from Lewis's in Liverpool a few months before. XXXXXX Oh dear, I should'nt have printed that %$&*£ I cannot find the delete key!!! He placed it on the desk between us. Sour----Have a look inside." I opened it. Inside what looked like a pile of builders waste, bits of brick, small stones thick paper like the remains of a bag of cement. AND THAT WAS ALL. Total value, 5p to fill a hole in a garden. Sweet---what do you make of that? Me----not a lot, looks like bricks to me. The bag was taken away. More questions, now centering on where I thought the thief would have hidden the dosh. They told me they knew my bungalow had been searched by Mr Bayley the Inspector. Then, suddenly, they said they wanted to go over it. By now its 9.30. at night, I knew my Wife would be not pleased, I asked if there was any chance of my having a phone call to her to tell her they were on the way. They did'nt laugh, but I think they would like to have done. They let me walk back to my shop to get my car, and they followed me in another car to Ffordd Derwen where I lived. We went in, they woke my 10 old son searching around in the matress which he was lieing on in bed asleep. They tipped my wifes private drawers out i.e. where she kept her underware and all in all it decended into the most almighty row between them and my Wife who was literally spitting blood with anger. I tried to smooth things down but with absolutely no luck, my first wife in a rage was enough to frighten anyone, even Flintshire's C.I.D. finest. I don't think there was much doubt they were delibrately getting her going. Then, up a broken ladder into the loft, Sour up the ladder with a torch. Five minutes later he struggles down clutching a large, battered brown suitcase---near enough identical to the one missing from the Bank. Ah ha, whats this, case on a bed , lid open, nothing inside. My Wife screaming at me, tell them where my late Father in Law worked. I said "The Coop drapery in Colwyn Bay." She points at a label on the lid, Coop Colwyn Bay. Cops departed with case, "Stay here. We will be back in ten minutes." I went outside to let things cool down. Ten minutes later they returned with the case, chucked it out of their car, and said "Thats not the one." And then promptly said " going and we will see you again." Where could they have gone to in 10 minutes to identify or otherwise the case? The only place within distance that I could think of was either Bryn Roberts or Caredig Lewis's houises. And then, at the end of this eventful day, I had to drive like hell to Sandycroft where Monica lived, I don't remember whether it was anything special or was I just on a promise.


eastcoastlife said...

You are a great blogger! I like the unusual way you are posting, it's very clever of you.

This story is getting my full attention.

Needatourleader? said...

Hello eastcoastlife and thanks for your interest. I will be back with the next instalment in a day or so, I'm up to my eyes in work for the last few days. Mike