Writing for Fun
February 2016
A Missing Person - Reg Pound
'Right Constable, I have to visit four other district local nicks which, like us, are being closed down in the next couple of months, victims of Government cuts. As they are spread out over the County, I don't expect to be back until about midnight, just in time to help you lock up.
'So you'll be on your own for a few hours. Do you think you will be able to manage?'
'Yes, I reckon so Sarge,' Constable Peters replied with a confidence he wasn't sure he felt.
It was the Constable's first time at the Station reception counter. As a trainee he was learning the ropes from Sergeant Reynolds, a veteran police officer, who had seen it all and who would be retiring when some of the district nicks closed down. The system was keeping him occupied by allocating him the thankless task of supervising the closing down of these police stations.
'Well don't forget there's a form for everything from lost door keys to serial killers, although the most likely serial killer you'll ever come across is having too much sugar on your cornflakes.
Constable Peters gave a tortured moan which he managed to sound like a dutiful chuckle as if he hadn't heard the Sergeant make the same crack before.
'As well as the form don't forget to fill in the incident book in the unlikely event of anything happening.'
'Yes Sergeant.'
'I'll leave you to it then.'
The Sergeant left and Constable Peters settled down to what he expected to be a restful evening. But it was not to be.
The peace and quiet of the last few hours was disturbed by, 'Where's Sergeant Reynolds?'
A diminutive middle aged lady had entered the police station and thumped the counter which shook the Constable from his reverie.
'He's not on duty madam,' answered a startled officer. 'May I help?' at the same time thinking, I expect she wants help changing channels on her television.
'Who are you? You're new here aren't you? You look a bit young, but I suppose you will have to do, as long as you are a proper Copper and not one of those ABCs or whatever it is they are called.'
'Yes madam. I am Constable Peters. A proper Copper. May I help you?' He resented being treated as a novice, even if that was what he was.
'I've come to report a missing person.'
'Very well madam. I'll just take a few details,' he said as he reached beneath the counter to select a form headed 'Missing' from an assorted pile of various forms.
'Name?'
'Harry.'
'Is that short for Harriet?'
'No that is short for Harold, my husband's name,' she replied, thinking I've got a right one here, I never had this problem with Sergeant Reynolds.
'No madam, I need your name. The form requires I record the name of the person doing the reporting'.
'Very well, but Sergeant Reynolds never made all this fuss. My name is Betty and thats short for Elizabeth'.
'Surname?'
'Baker.'
'Address?'
'15, Roundmead Lane, Shoebury SA4 4BJ.'
'Thank you madam,' the Constable said as he wrote on the form. 'Now, breed?'
This Copper is worse than I thought, Betty reflected.
'Human, I suppose. What sort of question is that?' she asked.
The Constable looked at the form; mistakenly he had picked up a Missing Animal form instead of a missing person form. He selected another, correct, form.
'Sorry madam. I meant who is the missing person?'
'I told you once, it's Harry. That's short for Harold. That's H.A.R.O.L.D. And he is my husband.'
'Can you give me a description?'
'Of course I can. I've been married to him for 30 years. He's not pretty and he's not ugly, he's just pretty ugly.'
'I need you to be more specific for my report. How was he dressed when he disappeared?'
'The same as usual, in a brown sports jacket and grey trousers which I bought at Marks and Spencer for his birthday ten years ago.'
'Colour of eyes?'
'One black and one blue, but if I find him before you, they'll both be black.'
Constable Peters was getting a little impatient.
'How long has he been missing?'
'Since 5 o'clock this evening when he clocked out from work.'
Constable Peters sighed.
'It's only 11 o'clock now madam, I don't think that's long enough to treat him as a missing person.'
'Are you refusing to help me then?'
'No madam, but perhaps there is a reasonable explanation for him to be late home.'
'Oh he'll have an explanation alright, but it won't be reasonable.'
'Where was he last seen?'
'That's easy, going into a pub.'
'Which one?'
'If I knew that I wouldn't be reporting him missing, would I?'
The novelty of being in sole charge of the station was beginning to wear off and he guessed this lady was just a time waster.
'Very well madam. I'll check all the hospitals and get our patrol officers to check all the pubs.' Some hopes, he thought, with all the cut backs going on, although there was never a shortage of volunteers to do some overtime checking pubs.
'Leave me your telephone number and I'll let you know the result of our enquiries. Meanwhile, if he returns home, perhaps you will tell us and I'll call off our manhunt.'
She left the station mumbling audibly, 'Stupid youngster – there was never this trouble with Sergeant Reynolds.'
Constable Peters completed filling in the form making up what he hadn't asked. Next thing he had to do was to write in the Incident Book, thinking policing took longer than he thought it would. It was coming up to 12 midnight now and the Sergeant would be coming back shortly.
The entry in the Incident Book completed, he put his shoes back on, straightened his tie and prepared himself for the Sergeant's return, and then shutting up shop for the night.
'Had a busy night Constable?'
'Eh? Oh.' He'd just been dropping off to sleep. The Sergeant's return brought him back to consciousness.
'Not very, Sarge. Just some old lady reporting her missing husband.'
'Oh, not Mrs Baker was it? I should have warned you about her. She's been coming in every Friday night for the last six months to report him missing. We took it seriously at first until we found he always returned on Sunday morning. She always used to go to their local pub to drag him out at closing time, but then he started changing his pub and she didn't know where to find him, so she came to us and reported him missing. Now every week we just tell her we would search for him, check the hospital, drag the river, send up a helicopter and generally harness the full resource of the force. Which we did by tearing up the form and not bothering to write it up in the Incident Book. Anyway, it's time to shut up shop and go home. Goodnight Constable.'
'Goodnight Sarge.'
'Good evening, listeners. This is Radio Essex and I bring you the latest news of the trial of Mrs. Elizabeth Baker who is accused of murdering her husband, Harold. We go over to our reporter who is outside the Court to give you a summary of today's proceedings. Over to you, Ron for the latest news, but first of all perhaps you could remind us of the background to the case.'
'Yes. Thank you, Jerry. Mr Baker's body was found in a deep freeze cabinet in the garage of her home in Shoebury, Essex. The Fire Service was called out to a fire in the garage by neighbours. The fire was caused by a tumble dryer, which was also kept there. In the process of putting out the fire Firemen found the body of Mr. Baker in the deep freezer. After investigation by the police, Mrs Baker was arrested for murder, for which she is now on trial.
'Mrs Baker denies murder, but claims her husband died of a heart attack and pleads guilty to fraud in as much as she did not report his death because she wanted to continue receiving his pension which was paid monthly into their joint bank account. The Prosecution accepts this plea but claims that his murder was premeditated. The Coroner had been unable to establish the cause of death and had recorded an open verdict.
'The case for the Prosecution rested on the fact that for years before the discovery Mrs. Baker has regularly reported her husband missing to the local police, who, after months of his turning up within a few days, had ceased to believe her, and ignored her report assuming that he had just stayed out for a few moments of freedom. Her regular Friday night claim of her husband missing became a bit of a joke to the police at the now closed down station, who after the first few weeks had investigated the report and after that, as a result of his regular reappearance, had noted in the Incident Book 'NFA' (No further action), and eventually not even bothering to make any report or entry at all.
'The Prosecution claims that this was part of a plot that she had planned his disappearance by regularly reporting him as missing, to the degree that when he really was missing (by his death) she would not be taken notice of.
'The trial continues tomorrow, when the Prosecution sums up the case.
'Now over to you at the studio for the remainder of the day's news.'