Silas Bream 3

Hazel Braithwaite switched off the alarm inside the front door as she always did at seven thirty every working day morning. Routine was the cornerstone of Hazel's life and being the first in and last out of the office had become a duty. She made her way to the small kitchen on the first floor and filled the kettle with water. She took a new filter paper from the packet on the shelf above the sink, placed it into the percolator and filled the cone shaped reservoir with coffee. Having then poured the water from the kettle into the boiler on the percolator she pressed the red button and left the machine to its own devices, carrying the aroma that had filled her nostrils along the corridor into her office. She savoured this time of day, before the phones and the people and the problems, just as she did at the close of play in the afternoon. This was her time, before the children woke and after they had been successfully put to bed.

Although Hazel was not a qualified solicitor, she had become a cornerstone of the business. She had worked for Silas, for his Father Edmund and for his father Frederick during her long tenure at the company and during this time had accrued a wealth of knowledge equal to anyone in the profession. The work she did was much more than secretarial or clerical, assisting Silas and the newly qualified Terry Briggs with much of the spade work in the bread and butter tasks of conveyancing, will writing, and divorce proceedings.

One of Hazel's favourite pieces of legislation was the Proceeds of Crime Act 2002, under which solicitors had a legal duty to check on the sources of funding for domestic and commercial property purchases. It was a criminal offence for any designated MLRO (money laundering reporting officer) to process any property purchase without checking that the funding for the purchase was legitimate. The nominated MLRO for the firm was Silas, as the senior partner, but in reality Hazel had carried out this, and other duties, with extreme diligence for many years.

The two non-qualified fee earners in the office, Jenny Burt and Andy Parker both relied heavily on Hazel's knowledge for their daily survival and even Silas and Terry had been gently censured on occasions when she had corrected some legal faux pas. Hazel was the very definition of indispensable.

By eight thirty shadows were passing her door, drawn towards the aroma of freshly brewed coffee further along the corridor and by nine o'clock the office had a full complement and the percolator was empty. Hazel went back to the kitchen to prepare the customary second brew from which she would eventually take her first shot of the day, after first taking one down to Silas where the two always ran through the day's appointments. Today was different however, because for the first time ever, when she knocked and entered, Silas
wasn't there.

* * *

The coffee machine in Dewsbury Police Station produced no aroma whatsoever, and on occasions, didn't produce any beverage either. Even when a liquid did trickle into the white plastic cup it was difficult to tell what it was supposed to be, but they drank it anyway because it was all they had. After two cups of today's mystery brew, Detective Sergeant Dave Oldroyd had finished reading through the reports that had arrived on his desk from the night shift and he'd been more than a little interested in the note left him by Angie Bedford. Peter Docherty's name had appeared before him yet again, once in the report of him leaving the hospital after a beating a few days ago and now allegedly having his van stolen and it being found by Angie on the Ossett Trading Estate. Today was already looking promising. He looked across at his new recruit and smiled. She was rummaging around inside her cavernous shoulder bag.

'Annie, stop raking about in that Gladstone bag before you fall into it. See if there's  been any report of a break in on the Ossett Industrial Estate last night'

'What's a Gladstone bag sarge?'

'Bit before your time....look it up after you've completed my little task.'

Annie Waters lifted the leviathan onto the floor beside her, stuck her tongue out at her boss and attacked her keyboard.
'Nothing so far sarge, but its early doors yet. Would you like me to check again in a couple of hours?'
'You wont be able to Annie, you'll be out and about, fighting crime with me.'
'Crime in general, or anything in particular?'
'Get your coat and meet me down in the yard in ten minutes, I'll explain it all to you as we drive.'

With that Oldroyd disappeared out into the corridor and headed in the direction of his Inspector's office. As usual Detective Inspector John Crowther was sitting behind his desk looking annoyed and careworn. This was his default setting, he appeared annoyed and careworn even when he wasn't. Dave Oldroyd poked his head around the open door and aimed a weak smile in his boss's direction.
'Just to let you know that Annie and I are out fighting crime boss, looking for Pete Docherty. I think he's been at it again.'

Crowther looked up from the file he was reading and looked annoyed, as usual.

'Is this one of the unsolved files I sent you?'

'It is boss and I think it may well be linked to a report I've received this morning from Angie Bedford concerning an incident in Ossett last night.'

John Crowther, still looking annoyed, shifted his gaze back to his file and spoke to his desk.

'We need results sergeant and we need them quickly. Keep me informed.'

Realising that this was clearly the end of the conversation, Dave Oldroyd returned to his office, put on his coat, picked up his hand held radio and made his way down to the yard. Annie was dressed in a blue wool coat and at just five feet four inches tall was barely visible above the blue unmarked Ford Focus parked in the corner.
'Driver's side Annie; you know I can't talk and drive at the same time.'

Annie grinned and climbed in to the driver's seat. She had already anticipated the situation by collecting the keys on her way down. It hadn't taken her long to get the measure of her sergeant.

'Where to sarge?'

'Birstall Annie, Dacre Terrace, it's just off Leeds Road.'

'I know it, it was on my first beat when I joined up. Spent many a happy hour trolling round there.'

'Then you may have come across Peter Docherty, well known local villain; lives at number twenty seven.'

'Must have moved in after my time there, the name doesn't ring a bell.'

The unmarked Focus made its way along the Bradford Road with Annie negotiating the endless sets of traffic lights and Oldroyd outlining his suspicions about Docherty, the break in at the nightclub, the hospital visit and now his allegedly stolen van. As Annie pulled into Dacre Close, Oldroyd touched Annie's arm.

'Pull over just here and we'll keep an eye on the house for a few minutes, see if there's any activity.'
Annie pulled in behind a parked van and switched off the ignition.
'I take it you know this Docherty character sarge, will he recognise you if he sees you?'

'He certainly will, I've nicked him twice in my time here. He's quite a talent is our Peter, especially with locks. Must have trained with Houdini because there doesn't seem to be anything he can't get into or out of.'

'Who's Houdini?'
'Look him up when we get back.'
'I must be missing something here sarge, because you seem to have made some sort of link between the break in at the Tempo, Docherty needing hospital treatment and his stolen van. What haven't you told me?'
'Jed Makepiece.'
'Who's Jed Makepiece?'
'Jedediah Makepiece is trouble Annie. He's a nasty piece of work and our local Mr Big; has fingers in every pie in the area. The Tempo is Makepiece's club and if he suspected Docherty of breaking in he would have sent his boys round, hence the hospital visit. Then this morning I read a report from Angie Bedford. She spotted Docherty's van tucked away on the Ossett Trading Estate at one o'clock this morning. No sign of Docherty and no reports of any break in on that estate, but I don't believe Docherty wasn't there. He must have seen Angie waiting for him and buggered off sharpish. Rang some mate or other to collect him and reported his van nicked.'
'So what we're doing is trying to prove that your suspicions are correct.'
'Indeed we are Annie, I know I'm right, I can feel it in my water as my grandad used to say.'

At that moment the front door of number twenty seven opened and a woman in her late forties emerged dragging a tartan shopping trolley. She set off down the street in Oldroyd's direction looking extremely annoyed. As she drew level with the Focus, Oldroyd wound down his window.

'Morning Meg, run out of tea bags?'
Megan Docherty stopped in her tracks and peered into the car.
'Sergeant bloody Oldroyd, what the hell are you doing here?'
'I'm here to see Peter, is he in?'
'No, he bloody well isn't. Haven't seen him for two days, so when you find him tell him not to bother coming home this time, I've had enough.'
'Any idea where we might find him Meg?'
'No I haven't, and even if I did, you're the last person I would tell. Now bugger off and leave us alone.' With that Megan snatched at the tartan trolley and headed, with great purpose, for Morrisons.
'Quite a girl is our Megan. Don't know how she's put up with Docherty for so long.'
'She obviously still thinks the world of him,' said Annie, 'a girl can sense these things. That means he can't really be all that bad a bloke sarge. Is he really such a villain?'
'Peter's one of the old school. Breaks in and nicks items of value, but never malicious. Never leaves a trail of destruction like some, in fact most of the time you wouldn't know he'd even been there. That's his MO I suppose, in and out like Houdini.'
Annie looked round at him and was just about to speak when Oldroyd lifted his hand to stop her. 'I told you earlier, look him up when we get back.'