Paul Gitsham - The Last Straw

Leaning back in his chair, Warren closed his eyes. The morning’s hangover had largely disappeared, but the best part of a week of early mornings and late nights was starting to take its toll. Two minutes, he promised himself, before he moved on to the next item on his list. Two minutes wasn’t a lot to ask, was it? Just two minutes…

The knocking at the door woke him in a panic, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Shit! How long had he been asleep? He looked at the clock and felt his panic subside. He’d taken more than his allocated two minutes, but, depending on what time he’d actually dozed off, he hadn’t been gone for more than ten or fifteen. He prayed he hadn’t snored.

Grabbing a pen in an instinctive effort to look as if he had been busy, he bid his caller to enter. It was Karen Hardwick again, with Gary Hastings in tow. Karen seemed a lot more confident than when she had knocked on his door that morning, as well she might, Warren thought. Her late-night hunch might well have helped break the case.

“Ah, Karen and Gary. Any more ideas?”

“Just a thought about who to interview, concerning Spencer’s character.” Hardwick had deferred to her more senior partner but he was too polite to take credit for Karen’s idea and said so.

“His university file didn’t have much about his extra-curricular interests unfortunately, but did mention that he had represented his previous university in both karate and jiu-jitsu. So I decided to get on the web and see if he had a Facebook profile. He did and his privacy settings aren’t set very high. It listed him as a fan of UME Shotokan Karate Club. The club has its own fan page, which lists the contact details and training times of the club, plus a mobile-phone number.

“Even better, unlike a lot of university sports clubs, it isn’t closed over the summer and isn’t exclusive to students. The chief instructor is a school PE teacher, Mike Gibson, who lives locally and the club takes part in summer play schemes. We thought that a little visit to the club might be a good idea, sir. Perhaps have a chat with the instructor, see if he can tell us a bit about Spencer?”

Warren nodded approvingly. “Good thinking. When is the next session?”

Karen glanced at her watch. “The current session of the imaginatively titled Middlesbury Karate Kids Klub will finish in about forty-five minutes.”

“Then it sounds as if you and DC Hastings have just enough time for a quick cup of coffee before you go.”

Karen’s bright red Ford Fiesta wheezed to a stop outside the primary school hall that served as a temporary dojo for the Middlesbury Karate Kids Klub. A hand-painted sign stood outside welcoming children ages six to fourteen and promising four hours of fun, fitness and self-defence daily, run by qualified karate and sports instructors, all with clean criminal record checks. Something wasn’t quite right about the sign, Karen noticed. The four words making up the club’s name looked as if they had been painted by different people at different times.

The playground outside the sports hall was slowly filling up with parents. It was five minutes before the session was due to end and a large, well-built man, wearing a white-cotton training suit held closed with a well-worn black-belt, was chatting to an indignant-looking parent. As the two police officers drew closer Karen overheard the mother, a rather well-spoken woman in a designer dress not entirely suited to the weather, as she argued with the instructor.

“Mr Gibson, I really must take Benjamin with me now. I need to go and do the weekly shop at Waitrose before I take him to cello practice. The lesson is clearly over and I am sure that your helpers are paid more than enough to put away a few pieces of equipment.”

The instructor had clearly heard this before and remained in good cheer.

“Well, of course, Ms Linton, you are welcome to take Benjamin now, but I really wouldn’t advise it.” He gestured behind him to where two dozen or so children of different ages wrestled crash mats onto two wheeled trolleys. Most of the kids wore T-shirts and tracksuit bottoms and seemed enthusiastic but clueless, whilst a liberal sprinkling of children wearing cotton training suits and a rainbow of different belt colours helped organise the others. “The philosophy behind the Middlesbury Karate Kids Klub is that we all use the equipment, so we all help put it away. Kids have a strong sense of fair play at this age and they don’t like to see other students not pulling their weight. Plus, all of the karate instructors here are volunteers from the local club. Nobody gets paid for giving up their time — the subscription fee only covers use of the school hall and insurance.”

The immaculately coiffured Ms Linton looked for the briefest of moments as if she might cause a scene, before finally bowing to the inevitability of it and stalking back to her huge BMW SUV that was taking up the better part of two parking spaces. Karen and Gary resisted the urge to applaud.

Instead, not wishing to cause a scene in front of the gossiping parents, Hastings stepped up to the instructor and discreetly showed his warrant card. “Nothing to be concerned about, sir, but I wonder if my partner and I could have a few words when you are free?”

The instructor nodded, his face puzzled. “Of course. By the looks of things, just about every parent is here. We’ll be empty in no more than ten minutes.”

Nodding, Hastings decided to return to the car with Karen to wait. Despite their discretion, he noticed that a couple of the parents were openly staring, one or two clearly discussing the two formally dressed strangers. He wondered what rumours would be circulating amongst the chattering classes the following day. At least we didn’t borrow a police car, he thought, and Karen’s old banger didn’t look as if it was the sort of vehicle you would be conducting official police business in. He mentally pinched himself for being rude about his colleague’s car; after all, she didn’t have to offer to drive.

As they sat watching the car park empty Gary tried to start up a conversation. “You know, I’ve been looking at that sign.” He pointed towards the Middlesbury Karate Kids Klub sign, with its strangely painted lettering.

“Imagine if the sign originally said Karate Kids.” Karen nodded, unsure where he was going. “Then imagine that somebody, possibly from the council, decides that it needs to be a bit more explicit and so helpfully adds Klub at the end — spelled with a ‘K’ to keep the spelling ‘cool’ and consistent.”

He paused for a few seconds to let her process the thought. “Then you might just see why somebody hastily added Middlesbury at the beginning.”

Karen laughed out loud. “I can see why the Karate Kids Klub might not look good on council literature.” She continued giggling. “Imagine what they’d find if they googled KKK.”

Hastings smiled as the two of them leant back in companionable silence; he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She really was very pretty, he thought. And she had a lovely laugh. He noticed that she was staring hard at the door as the last few students exited. The last student to leave was a gangly teenage boy with a brown belt, who decided to take a swing at his instructor as he left. Gibson barely seemed to move, but before the punch could connect the boy was effortlessly upended with a leg-sweep. He landed flat on his back with a loud crack. Karen started in fear, before hearing the mingled laughter of the two martial artists.

“I nearly had you, Sensei ,” shouted the teen gleefully.

The older man snorted. “Nearly isn’t good enough, James. Good break-fall though. You slapped the floor just right.”