Scrap 42

SCRAP 42
Frank has parked the loaded truck at the yard and driven back to his caravan for a sleep. The first he has managed in 3 days and he is looking forward to getting his head down. There is a note taped to the caravan door and he recognises the handwriting. Snatching it off, he screws it up and drops it in the waste bin by the door. So much for his chance of a peaceful 8 hours kip; the arrival of his sister on the scene has set his mind racing.
Every time there has been a family row it has been Frank who has had to back down and make the peace. Well not this time. The latest bust-up put the tin lid on it for him. He may not be the most honest of men but Frank does not approve of home wreckers.
When he was driving buses, Frank was on friendly terms with a group of drivers and conductors who would meet for a night out once a week and take days out at Ramsgate or Brighton on occasion. He thought they all rubbed along quite nicely and he was happy to be part of a friendly crew. But Frank’s sister Norah, one of the ‘clippies,’ had been having an affair with Dave Somers, a driver ten years her senior who was married with six children.
When Frank found out that Somers had left his wife and moved in with Norah, he was furious. Somers’ wife had cried on Frank’s shoulder telling him the whole sordid tale and begging him to do something. That ‘something’ had resulted in Dave Somers ending up in hospital with 41 stitches in his face after Frank had thrown him through a plate glass window in Chatham High Street after seeing him with Norah, chatting and laughing as though they didn’t have a care in the world.
Somers had agreed not to press charges against Frank provided that he stay out of their lives, a condition which suited Frank perfectly. He has kept to his side of the bargain but it seems now that Norah has decided otherwise and Frank does not wish to get involved in any more family squabbles.
He has managed to drift off to sleep despite the turmoil in his brain, but his rest is soon interrupted by someone banging on the door. Swearing out loud, he hauls himself up and looks out the window. Standing on the muddy ground outside are DS Roberts and his side-kick DC Staples. Frank groans, opens the door and confronts the officers.
‘We need to speak to you,’ begins Roberts. ‘We understand that you rent a lock-up barn from a Mrs Savage of Low Marsh Farm. Is that correct?’ Frank eyes them suspiciously, ‘that’s right, yes.’ The officer looks down at his nicely polished shoes, which are now caked in mud. ‘May we come in?’
Frank reluctantly agrees, and spreads sheets of newspaper for them to walk on, which is rich considering his boots are filthy too, but they go along with the charade and take a seat at the table. ‘Mrs Savage has been the victim of a savage attack,’ informs DC Staples, not realising what he has just said. ‘She has been killed and partially eaten by her Rottweiler dogs.’
Frank is horrified at the thought, though not as surprised as the officers had expected. ‘We don’t know yet if she was dead before the dogs started on her or if they are responsible for the attack, but we would like to have any information you may think relevant to our investigation,’ says Roberts.
Frank tells them as much as he wants them to know, focusing on the fact that Mavis’s ‘boys’ were always hungry and rarely let out for exercise. They would shit all over the house and Mavis would cover it up with newspaper, instead of cleaning it up. That’s why it squelched underfoot wherever you walked in there. He tells them that he would let them out for a run whenever he was visiting and that he often had to buy food for them because Mavis had ‘run out’ but she probably just forgot to feed them. She has not been quite right since the death of her husband many years previously and the farm has been in decline for decades.
He does not, however, tell them about the incident with the donkey. Perhaps the alarm bells should have rung at that time but it’s too late now to turn back the clock.
Staples has been making shorthand notes of Frank’s statement and asks if he will come down to the station later to formally complete and sign it. Frank agrees and they arrange for him to attend sometime in the next few days.
The men prepare to leave, then Roberts stops, turns back and asks ‘by the way, can we have the keys to the lock-up, Mr Ridley?’ Frank takes the keys from his pocket and hands them over. ‘I don’t think I’ll be needing them again anyway,’ he says.