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Authors: Roger Forsdyke
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infinity. He began to feel faint, nauseous, about to embark on his first migraine since leaving puberty. It all fell into place. This was how she was so experienced, practised, competent. Always around, never out at work, but obviously well-off.
“You’re not…”
“Of course. What did you think?” She waved her arms around expressively, her eyes wide. “You think all this just happened?”
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” He closed his eyes and tried to get a grip on the wall of death, the rushing, spinning sensation that threatened to engulf him.
“It’s all right.” She shushed at him, “I’ve never charged you , have I?”
Oh fuck .
“It’s not that.”
FIFTEEN
South Yorkshire Police Crime report.
Burglary . 18 . 9 . 1971 , around 03 : 30 . Birdwell sub post office , Barnsley . Method of entry – two holes bored into window frame at rear of premises . Alarm activated , no entry gained , nothing stolen .
*
Greater Manchester Police
Divisional Miscellaneous Information.
All officers to note:
24 January 1972 , around 04 : 00 . Attempt burglary at Godley sub post office , Stockport . Intruder disturbed by occupant . Described as male , below average height , wearing a balaclava . Occupant assaulted , but nothing stolen . Entry effected by holes bored in rear window frame .
*
27 January 1972 , around 04 : 30 . Burglary at Grasscroft sub post office , Oldham . Entry gained by holes bored in rear window frame . Intruder not seen , small amount of cash taken .
Above offences similar in MO to offences committed in South Yorkshire Police area . Officers on night duty to be especially vigilant in area of all post offices .
*
Sidney Bulstrode found a place to park on Algers Road, Loughton, around the corner from Lower Park Road, where, according to his informant the Groats now lived. From there he could see the front of their house without being too obvious. He loitered in his car, pretending to read the newspaper, agonising over staying, or going. All those years of planning and now the wheels turned for real, an unusual uncertainty beset him. Perhaps it was a mistake, after all. What if Gloria looked out and recognised him? That would ruin everything, alerting them to his presence. She would have to tell Groat and that would spoil all his carefully laid plans. The distance between his chosen vantage point and the front drive of the Groats suddenly seemed to have foreshortened. He felt exposed and vulnerable. A novel and unwelcome sensation for the arrogant, super confident Bonehead. He lifted the newspaper a little higher. He experienced a horribly uncomfortable, leaden sensation in the pit of his stomach. Supposing she’d lost a lot of weight, like him or had her hair coloured? Perhaps after all this time, after all that fantasising, she would walk past him in the street and he would not even know her. After all, it was more than ten years. He was not sure what would be worse, her recognising him before the time was right, or him not recognising her at all.
He could not be one hundred percent certain it was the right house. He was fairly confident his information was accurate, but what if it was wrong and he was watching some other poor, boring bastards’ slice of urban beatitude? Twenty minutes later, a metallic steely blue Capri reversed out of the drive. He had seen the two vehicles when he first arrived, the Ford – a three litre Ghia – and a Java Green Triumph Spitfire. It would fit. Groat would have graduated to a motor with a bit of muscle by now and wouldn’t be seen dead in such a girlie car as a Spitfire. That would be Gloria’s. The early morning sun glinted off some bright work as it manoeuvred onto the road and accelerated swiftly away towards the city. Peering over the top of his paper, Bonehead was momentarily blinded by the flash of reflected sunlight and could not see to recognise the driver. It could well have been Groat, but then…
An hour went by before anything else
“You’re not…”
“Of course. What did you think?” She waved her arms around expressively, her eyes wide. “You think all this just happened?”
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” He closed his eyes and tried to get a grip on the wall of death, the rushing, spinning sensation that threatened to engulf him.
“It’s all right.” She shushed at him, “I’ve never charged you , have I?”
Oh fuck .
“It’s not that.”
FIFTEEN
South Yorkshire Police Crime report.
Burglary . 18 . 9 . 1971 , around 03 : 30 . Birdwell sub post office , Barnsley . Method of entry – two holes bored into window frame at rear of premises . Alarm activated , no entry gained , nothing stolen .
*
Greater Manchester Police
Divisional Miscellaneous Information.
All officers to note:
24 January 1972 , around 04 : 00 . Attempt burglary at Godley sub post office , Stockport . Intruder disturbed by occupant . Described as male , below average height , wearing a balaclava . Occupant assaulted , but nothing stolen . Entry effected by holes bored in rear window frame .
*
27 January 1972 , around 04 : 30 . Burglary at Grasscroft sub post office , Oldham . Entry gained by holes bored in rear window frame . Intruder not seen , small amount of cash taken .
Above offences similar in MO to offences committed in South Yorkshire Police area . Officers on night duty to be especially vigilant in area of all post offices .
*
Sidney Bulstrode found a place to park on Algers Road, Loughton, around the corner from Lower Park Road, where, according to his informant the Groats now lived. From there he could see the front of their house without being too obvious. He loitered in his car, pretending to read the newspaper, agonising over staying, or going. All those years of planning and now the wheels turned for real, an unusual uncertainty beset him. Perhaps it was a mistake, after all. What if Gloria looked out and recognised him? That would ruin everything, alerting them to his presence. She would have to tell Groat and that would spoil all his carefully laid plans. The distance between his chosen vantage point and the front drive of the Groats suddenly seemed to have foreshortened. He felt exposed and vulnerable. A novel and unwelcome sensation for the arrogant, super confident Bonehead. He lifted the newspaper a little higher. He experienced a horribly uncomfortable, leaden sensation in the pit of his stomach. Supposing she’d lost a lot of weight, like him or had her hair coloured? Perhaps after all this time, after all that fantasising, she would walk past him in the street and he would not even know her. After all, it was more than ten years. He was not sure what would be worse, her recognising him before the time was right, or him not recognising her at all.
He could not be one hundred percent certain it was the right house. He was fairly confident his information was accurate, but what if it was wrong and he was watching some other poor, boring bastards’ slice of urban beatitude? Twenty minutes later, a metallic steely blue Capri reversed out of the drive. He had seen the two vehicles when he first arrived, the Ford – a three litre Ghia – and a Java Green Triumph Spitfire. It would fit. Groat would have graduated to a motor with a bit of muscle by now and wouldn’t be seen dead in such a girlie car as a Spitfire. That would be Gloria’s. The early morning sun glinted off some bright work as it manoeuvred onto the road and accelerated swiftly away towards the city. Peering over the top of his paper, Bonehead was momentarily blinded by the flash of reflected sunlight and could not see to recognise the driver. It could well have been Groat, but then…
An hour went by before anything else
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