65 year old is arrested. Why?
I WAS IN THE GARDEN ON MY KNEES WHEN I was arrested. I had been planting sweet peas in the last week of April, gambling on the end of winter frosts. I had already planted the first of two boxes. I heard a siren. I paid little attention to it. I always found it difficult to differentiate between alarm tones that I often heard from the busy road. Was it an ambulance this time or fire engine perhaps? No. The police car slowed down and entered the drive. I looked up. It was surely not coming here? I confidently knew I had a guilt-free conscience, though my face must have shown a degree of concern. The siren fell silent. I watched as the luminous car stopped in front of me. Two uniformed officers got out. I could not detect any friendly smile from either of them. Their stare fixed on mine. They approached me and took hold of my wrists. They gave the statutory patter of ‘I must warn you anything which...’ at such speed, I couldn’t take it all in. You can’t at the point of arrest.
The cuffs were on, behind my back before I could contemplate what was happening. I straightened myself then stood with their assistance. I didn’t know where to start as I felt my heart run away with itself.
They mentioned a man named McGraw, Daniel McGraw. It meant nothing. I thought they said Florida yet neither place nor person rang true for me.
‘You must have the wrong guy, I haven’t committed a crime,’ I insisted as I was led, with hesitancy, to the police car.
‘I’ve never heard of the victim and I’ve never been to Florida. You’ve got your cases mixed up, haven’t you? I mean, a traffic offence, speeding maybe? Overstaying my parking time? Wrong Watson perhaps? Yes maybe, I accept that........’
The officer put his hand on my head as I was lowered into the back seat of the police car. ‘No sir. I told you....Murder. On February 23rd in Taylor County, Florida, you did murder Daniel McGraw.’
A shudder went through my body. Yes, I had heard right the first time. It left my fingers twitching behind my back. ‘Christ, there’s something far wrong here.’
Me, Jack Watson, a widower, a man of sixty-five years of age, a writer, silver haired, spectacled and a pound or two over weight. God, what a mess I was in. But a murderer? No way.
‘For God’s sake, I assure you I’ve never even thought about murder. I couldn’t. I’ve no motive. What’s more I’ve never been in Florida. Some corpse you got there.’
I felt good I had got that out.
‘You’ll be advised in due course,’ the leaner of the two cops said.
‘You guys are stubborn.’ I hoped to provoke more information. I was wasting my breath. These uniformed servants were not your lollipop crossing supervisors. Serious crime, big fellas they were. They were not open to dialogue. Not a glimmer of doubt about the charge could I detect in the eyes of either officer.
Familiar streets sped by as we approached the police station. I kept my head low. Could I be seen behind the tinted glass? Would I be out by Thursday? I rarely missed my over 60s badminton games on that night. What would my friends think when they heard I was detained on a murder charge? An offence I knew I did not commit.
The cell was stark, save for some foul graffiti words and a drooping phallic drawing on the walls. A blue plastic mattress lay sloppily on a concrete bed. A fragrant smell surprised me. Some sort of sweat remover. Open windows were not a feature. It wasn’t a normal loo either. The U-bend went straight out of the wall and through some filter arrangement, apparently to trap drugs. What a job. It must be a police rookie that gets that one. They’ll find only Werther’s Originals in me. Loo paper had to be requested, I’m told. It seems if soaked, it can stick to the silent eye on the ceiling, watching my every move. To hell with them, I thought as I raised an inappropriate finger to express my bewilderment and anger.
‘Hey, anyone there?’ I clung to the door window bars and turned my ear to the corridor. There was no answer. A feeling of conspiracy grew. I waited a few minutes.
‘I said, is anyone there? Am I alone in this cage?’ An older policeman approached my cell. A man who’d seen every type of criminal before, many times I assumed.
He wandered through from his desk, taking his time. He stopped his chewing. ‘Yes? What do you want?’
I spoke to him in a controlled voice. ‘I want to know what this is all about. I want to get out and... well, sort these two wishes and I’ll be satisfied.’
He shook his head, with one hand on his left hip adjusting his trousers. ‘Can’t see you getting out. Murder is a serious offence, sir.’
I stuffed my hands into my pockets and nodded.
‘I could not agree more, but shouldn’t I be told what I’m alleged to have done? Who is it I murdered? How come in Florida? When’s my first court appearance? Come on, some answers please.’
The pleadings of an older man softened his response, for a brief moment.
‘Don’t think a date is set for you yet, sir.’
I could not believe what I was hearing.
‘Well officer, it damn well should be. Habeas corpus and all that. Innocent till proved guilty. Heard of it?’ I said raising my voice.
He stood tall and threatening. ‘Hey don’t get wordy with me. I’m here to make sure you are treated well. All I’m saying is it’s a complicated case I’ve been told.’
Complicated, perhaps that meant identification doubts. It seemed an insignificant problem to me.
‘What, complicated? You never had a murder case before?’
‘Sure have. It’s not just murder. It’s beyond me really. The boss is working with the Crown Office. They’ll make a decision soon. Maybe it will be your lucky day and the evidence will fall short. Anyway you’ll get to meet the duty solicitor when he arrives. He’ll help you out.’
I sat down. Facts and problems flashed though my mind in an unordinary manner. A lump in my throat tightened. It stemmed from the apparently insignificant fact that I’d be separated from my accordion.That instrument had been with me since I was fourteen. It was my comforter then and still was today. It had shared my anxieties, my confusion and my disgust. To live without it left a hole in my heart. It had begun its life at the depth of my nightmare. It helped to keep me afloat. I cringed at the thought I’d never see it again.
Then lights brightened my mind all of a sudden. My song writing and my novels could be inspired by my situation. If only I had a pen and paper. That was currently denied. However, they could not take the tunes from my head as long as I retained them. I needed them to calm me, right now.
Shortly after 10pm I was led to the interview room within the detention suite. I waited, seated on a chair before a desk. Both items of furniture were chained to a small stone mound, cemented into the floor. I heard the click of stiletto heels approach. A young female face peered round the door.
‘In you go, dearie,’ invited the policeman assigned and required by law to be within a reasonable distance from the interview room without hearing. It was a distance interpreted by considerable liberty each time.
‘Good evening, I’m your duty solicitor. You are Jack Watson?’ she asked as I felt her eyes assess me, her client.
‘Indeed. Do have a seat. Now you have an advantage over me. What’s your name?’
The solicitor momentarily hesitated. She seemed unsure whether she could tell me or perhaps I had forced my question too robustly.
‘Listen, you have nothing to worry about meeting me. I did not commit murder. That’s all you need to know.’
She smiled. Had I broken her reserved approach?
‘New to this situation are you?’I asked in as supportive a manner as I could muster. My question disarmed her. She seemed to relax.
‘No, not entirely new. No, third time actually. Breaches of the Peace and assaults mainly, so far.’ She seemed to be gaining in confidence.
‘First murder case then?’ Her cards had been played. We knew what each other had to know.
‘Listen, there’s always a first time for everything, except murder, of course.’ I found myself grinning. I longed to put a comforting arm around her. My words seemed to have fulfilled that purpose. She got underway.
‘I’m Debbie Kelly. I graduated last year. I’m in my third month with Coyle & Patterson. Yes, first alleged murder case.’
I gave a paternal smile. I liked to hear her say the word alleged. It gave me some hope.
‘There are a few questions I must ask you.’ She looked at her folder, as a set of bullet point questions came into view.
‘How long have you been in custody?’
A simple question although it took a moment to think. ‘Picked up mid afternoon on Friday and.... er.... this is Saturday night, right?’
She nodded and penned my reply diligently.
‘Have you been given your meals?’
‘Yes, huh. Local take-a-ways they give me. I can’t live this way without my vitamins. No fruit either.’
‘Are you on any proscribed medication?’ she asked.
‘Lamotrigine, Amlodipine and Warfarin.’
‘Have you been given your medication?’
‘Yup. Police doctor dropped them off at the desk and I’ve been given them at the right time.’ I noticed her pen slip down the list. We were making progress.
‘Does anyone know you are here?’
‘No, not till the papers tell them. I’m a widower.’
She lowered her voice out of respect.
‘Have you been officially charged?’
‘Yes, I have. God yes. It doesn’t make sense at all. I don’t know the victim; I’ve never been to the locus.’
She knew this was neither the time nor place to discuss evidence. She noted my response in great detail. There was a hesitation. A shuffling of feet came from the corridor then faded away.
‘Have you been offered the opportun......’
Her mid-sentence stopped unexpectedly. I could tell where she was heading. Opportunity indeed. A light bulb lit up my face.
‘Perhaps you are asking whether I have been offered the opportunity to contact my lawyer. I have none. So, I think we can take that as a no but the process is well underway with you.’
She placed her pen between her lips. It hid her smile. I smiled. My instinct had been right.
‘I have just one message to make clear. I don’t know the man I am alleged to have murdered and I’ve never been anywhere near the locus of this crime. I’ll damn well repeat that till everyone hears. It’s as simple as that.’ My last sentence was long drawn out for effect.
‘I have noted your clear denial, Mr Watson. I suppose there’s not much that can be done till Monday. Even then, it’s a very serious charge. I can’t see you being released right away.’ Her eyes looked up for a reaction.
‘Monday’s another day. As long as you tell an older colleague that I’ll be at court on Monday morning. With respect, I need a senior partner to take on my murder charge. No offence. I hope this is a learning curve worth experiencing nevertheless.’
She nodded. Her smile was more relaxed this time.
‘You have been very honest and helpful to me. I do appreciate what you have said and I have noted and underlined your clear denial of this offence. I’d say I would have thought the date, charge and locus should have been examined more carefully. I’ll tell my colleagues of this apparent discrepancy.’
‘Then I guess the interview is over. I’ve enjoyed it.’ I felt it in all honesty, yet recognising at the same time, it to have been a necessary inconvenience. It took my case no further forward.
‘I wish you well and if it’s a case of mistaken identity or there is no evidence forthcoming, then I expect you to be out soon.’
I nodded. She bent down to gather her case.
She arose and had difficulty pushing her chair towards the table. She looked underneath and saw the anchored chain. We both laughed. Before the mirth faded, a policeman opened the door further, to let Miss Kelly out.
‘Back to your cell, Mr Watson,’ he growled.
I spent the rest of the weekend in the cell. No one else visited. My wife Joan died of breast cancer three years ago. God, what would she have made of this? God, are you letting her watch me now, silently from above? I hoped not. How I missed her terribly. No-one would find me gone for some time, not until the press got hold of the story and what a story it would make. Not just murder, I remembered he said. I reflected on what the officer might mean. Murder with fraud? Murder with assaults? Mass murder? Too many questions and not enough answers to diminish the stress mounting in my head like an overheated car engine.
‘When did I do it?’ I uttered to the walls. ‘Was I acting strangely and was I alone? Perhaps it was a multiple car crash I had caused and not reported. Not remembered either.’ I shook my head and tugged my hair to the ever increasing questions.
‘I may have sliced through a worm when I was digging but for Christ’s sake they nabbed me planting sweet fucking peas and charged me with murder.’
‘Swearing, you’re under stress, assumes guilt,’ shouted the duty officer. ‘You’ll be advised of developments as soon as we have them.’
‘Ahhh, as soon as we have them. Really? Huh..... don’t I deserve to be stressed? I’ll tell you why. Not only did I not murder anyone, the system is not right. I’ve seen enough police procedures on telly to know something’s not kosher. I tell you that if there’s no court appearance on Monday, I’ll create merry hell. Mark my words.’
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Neighbourhood Feelings
We live in communities all over the world
A cacophony of voices is seldom unheard
We sing and we laugh, we speak and we shout
We sleep at home but then always go out
Returning so tired at the end of the day
We seem to be itchy, it’s often that way.
We pick on the person whose nearest at first
Explode our ill feeling aloud in a burst
The truth is it lies in the problem somewhere
A touch too loud music, a mess on the stair
We all can find fault, it’s not easily hid
More difficult I guess, to get permanently rid.
This time it’s my fault the next time is yours
And sometimes it’s not clear, only rumours.
So if mea culpa, then say sorry now
Do it today - it ends every row.
For you are all neighbours you need to get on
Harbour no ill wills, make sure they’re all gone.
Pick up the spirits and get on with the day
Life is for living the communal way.
Respect others feelings as you’d like them to be
Then they’ll respond, in all honesty.
The grass seems greener in the Outback waste
But home is where, you're presently based.
Neighbours are not just ‘them on the stairs’
Each of us must be a neighbour who cares.
One suggestion: "… to the locus [that place]." While locus may be a technical term used in crime novels or in Britain, I think you should be more generic. One thing that comes to mind and a term that most Americans relate well to is alibi. An alibi would prove that he was in another place at the time of the crime.
Ron