Bentley pondered and then said, “What are your feelings Chief Inspector?”
“I wouldn’t like to get egg on my face if there is something amiss, yet there is no point in making a big issue of it, if it is a nothing”.
“I will tell you what I suggest,” replied the Chief Inspector, “Woodcock here always had a good eye and ear for a mystery I suggest we permit him to get someone to look into it, sort of unofficially and report back.”
Bentley thought and then said, “Well with all the cuts we couldn’t be seen to be using too many resources if it is all for nothing”
Woodcock smiled and said “Gentlemen I suggest we ask ex Detective Superintendent Jack Richards of New Scotland Yard fame to look into it. He has recently moved north near me, I don’t think he has anything on so he may well be pleased to return to duty although in an unofficial capacity to look into this”.
“I recall Richards and many of the very unusual and complicated cases he has solved over the years, yes indeed there was the case of the ten headless women”.
There was a nodding of heads, “I seem to recall they call him Jack the Hat” replied Chief Inspector of Constabulary, Wilfred Jepson.
“I tell you what Woodcock?” He continued, “You fix this up get Richards back and on these cases. If there is nothing in it, there will be no rocking of the boats and won’t wreck any force budgets, you could cover it Woodcock under miscellaneous”.
“I will make a further suggestion; why not get him to report back to the annual conference of Inspectors of Constabulary and Chief Constables later in the year”.
“This will be a very nice change to the usual after dinner speeches we all get bored with”.
“What if he finds nothing?” asked Bentley.
“In that case it will be a little more wine tasting time,” said Jepson”
This caused a round of laughter.
“There is one thing?” replied Woodcock,” if there is anything in it Jack the Hat is the man to get to the bottom of it”.
“That is it then” announced Bentley “until the annual conference then, I bid you good day, and he rose and left the room”.
“Well done there Woodcock”, replied Jepson, “Very well done”.
“Contact Jack and be sure to give him all resources, make sure the Chiefs of the various forces understand it is approved by The Home Secretary as well as our department”.
They shook hands and parted.
Two days later Jack Richards was sitting in his study, he had started his book-completing page 100 but was now struggling, not through lack of knowledge or ideas but painstakingly typing.
The phone rang; he answered it, “Hello Jack Richards speaking can I help?”
“Hello Jack, it is Woodcock here, I need a word”
“Thanks for fixing up the membership at the golf club” said Richards
“Really, sorry not me I have been too busy. I need you on another matter.”
“How can I help?” asked Jack
“It’s too complicated to speak on the phone. Is it is Ok to come down we could discuss it sometime?”
“Very well I look forward to seeing you as and when”.
“Ok Jack, I will ring you from home and pop down and we can speak, bye”.
The call was ended.
PART SIX
JACK THE HAT RECALLED
He was proceeding nicely with his book, to quote a phrase from his long so long ago days of walking the beat in East London, at the regulation pace.
How he now wished all those years ago when just after joining the police when he had been brought face to face with a new instrument, which was to prove the main tool in his new life in the police.
A Remington typewriter, they were tall, heavy and black in colour. One also required black or blue carbon papers, as everything was required either in duplicate or occasionally triplicate.
A copious supply of scrap paper torn into small pieces used to go between the sheets to be typed amending the many mistakes. Finally and worse, three mistakes and the Sergeants insisted the whole page had to be retyped.
It went without saying of course most of this work was done in each officers own time after or before their normal tour of duty.
During the many recent hours he had spent, sitting, recalling, contemplating and almost as many typing, if only those years ago he had been able to learn the skill of touch-typing how much simpler life would be now.
There had of course been no time to learn how to touch type so it had been the first finger of each hand from those days until now.
Writing a book of his own was proving interesting, recalling incidents, embellishing others but always having at hand the fantasy. Occasionally he became despondent thinking of his first comments to Anne as to the difficulties of publishing a book.
It now came home to him even more, in the behind the scenes private world and solace of his office, study call it what you may. The reality had now struck home.
He had found himself actually talking to himself, “No one or practically no one will ever read what I am writing”.
He was consoled by the words his father had said when he was a small boy.
It was each Saturday afternoon at 5pm; the radio announcer had read the weekly soccer results. Father had checked these against the selected same numbers of what was known as, the perm. They being, the selected numbers to make up the plan of any eight from ten teams to finish with a drawn game.
They always failed to click so that the £75,000 as it was known in those days which if won, would change working families lives forever, it never happened.
When mother had commented every week it was a waste of time and money his father had replied immediately, again, every week the four magic but elusive words “Have a little faith”.
Regretfully mother had proved to be the prophet in the family for the £75,000 or anything like was never won.
Thinking of his current project and now looking at the screen of what he was currently typing he became more despondent.
Speaking with other budding authors practically all had failed to find someone prepared to publish their book.
The few that had now complained of waiting two years to see the results of their labour after all in their eyes it was the best book ever written and published in the public domain.
Their long awaited anticipation being rewarded with only 10% of the selling price of the book whilst the seller in the shop received a massive 50% simply for displaying the masterpiece on the shelf.
In the worst-case scenario if the masterpiece did not sell as the seller had them on sale and return the shopkeeper suffered no loss.
Perhaps he thought, the worst report he had received was of those who have been advised suggested to or conned into promoting their books free as an ebook on the Internet, which was guaranteed to bring massive numbers of readers.
Books that no one was interested in suddenly became popular and all who had tried the system reported many hundreds of down loads but for no recompense.
Since the free days they had anxiously been waiting for the downloads with payment.
Nothing had happened either for three months when they had attempted the promotion once again, either with a new book or the same book and once again received yet more massive downloads, followed by no sales.
Convincing them their books were good and many thousands wished to read them but only for free, the vast cost of £2 being a bridge too far.
He would also attempt to avoid the mistakes of those who had become a local bore or worse, a nuisance by discussing their book or books in depth with the locals who weren’t actually interested them or their books and so since the first encounter had avoided the budding authors like the black death plague.