A Criminal Act of Poverty

"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.

The DCI and Jones entered the shop, The place was empty, except for the barber Joseph Brigham who was sitting reading a paper in one of the three barber's chairs, a wireless was playing some music quietly. He looked up and nodded, then spoke out loud, loud enough for his boss in the back office to hear him. "Hello Mr. Huntington, what brings you down here?"

The DCI stopped and looked to the back of the room, where a simple plain curtain separated this work area from the going on in the back room. Before too long James McDougal came through the curtain, pulling his braces up onto his shoulders. "Ahh, Mr Huntington, how can we help you?"

"Just a quiet word Jimmy," He said and started to walk towards the back room. McDougal stepped in front of him to bar his way. The DCI looked down at the pink bald head, he didn't have to say a word before Jimmy McDougal let him pass. The Sergeant stayed in the front shop keeping an eye on the barber, who just smiled and settled back into reading his newspaper. Hunter pulled aside the curtain and walked into the office, there was a small side room, where McDougal had a kitchenette and a bed, his 'secretary', was still in his bed and she pulled the covers up to her chin when she saw the DCI. Jimmy went over and pulled the door closed.

"You are a prick Jimmy," Hunter told him bluntly.

"Yeah, so I've been told time and again. Now what's on your mind, Chief Inspector."

He turned his back to the door, "Edward Simpson and the Magill boys. They are working for you at the moment aren't they?" It wasn't a question but more like a statement.

McDougal looked at the policeman and carefully worded his reply. "They do some small collections for me from time to time, nothing big or heavy-handed,"

"I'm told that Simpson had a run of good luck of late, at your expense mostly," He asked the small man.

"Entirely at my expense Mr Huntington. But no real harm done, it is good to let him have a win now and then," Jimmy replied. While he refilled his empty whisky glass from a bottle of red-label Johnny Walker. Not offering one to the DCI. Hunter wouldn't have taken it even if he had offered. Such was their dislike for each other.

"So you weren't upset at their winning streak?" He asked and wondered if the use of the plural tense would hit a nerve, would the little prick pick up on it? If he did understand he didn't let on.

The bookie sniggered, "Nar, as I said Mr. Huntington, in the long run, it is good for business," He sipped at his whiskey. Then shouting over the DCIs shoulder he called out to his 'secretary', "Claire darling, bring me my fags,"

After a short while, the blonde woman dressed only in her bra and knickers slightly opened the door, but wide enough for the DCI to get a good look when he turned around and she handed her boss a packet of Craven A's mild-plain cigarettes.

The DCI looked and then looked away. McDougal smiled at his guest's unease at seeing a semi-naked young woman.

"What are you poking around for Hunter, is this all about Simpson's sudden demise the other night?"

The one thing Hunter did appreciate about James McDougal was his bluntness and he went straight to the point. He slowly turned his attention back to this weasel of a man and looked at him sternly, "Did you have anything to do with it, Jimmy? Did you set the Magill boys onto him?"

"Don't be ridiculous Mr. Huntington, why would I want to kill old Eddie, the money he won off of me these past weeks I'd get back tenfold over in the next twelve months. So no I didn't have him done in, besides the Magill boys would be the last lads I'd asked to beat a man to death. They are way too soft," He said matter-of-factly, all the while staring into the DCI's eyes.

The DCI listened, taking it all in. He knew that McDougal had contacts who would do his dirty work for him. "Did Ronnie Lambert do it?"

"Why are you asking me such things Hunter, you are way out of line sunshine," He was getting rather annoyed with all the questions. "I'm telling you once and for all, I had nothing to do with it and neither did any of my lads, all right?" he lit up a fag, and blew the smoke in the general direction of the policeman.

Huntington smiled through the smoky haze, waited, eyed the little man up then turned on his heels and walked away. He marched past the two in the shop and continued out to his car. The Sergeant scurried along after him. "What do you think Sir?" he asked as they sat in the vehicle.

"I think that Jimmy McDougal doesn't know too much about what happened to Eddie Simpson," He looked back at the barber's shop and saw McDougal leaning up against the doorway. "And he is concerned that we are suggesting he had something to do with it."

"Are we suggesting that, Sir?"

"It did cross my mind, but now I am certain he didn't have any involvement," He looked at the Sergeant and with a simple little nod told him to drive. "Just something he said, off the cuff. I know he isn't a complete idiot but he mentioned that old man Simpson was beaten to death,"