Where are the plastic bags?

The rain that afternoon was torrential. So much was coming down from the sky that the windscreen wipers on the Volvo estate couldn’t cope, even at full pelt. Rick slowed the car to a crawl and peered with total concentration out onto the road ahead. Not much further to go along the lakeside road he mused and then to find the tricky turn, up the lane to the cottage but finding the turn in this weather would be difficult. Rick racked his memory banks to visualise the trees, gates and features that would help him steer the car in the right direction. Suddenly a signpost reared up out of the waterfall and Rick braked, hard, feeling the vehicle aquaplane out of control. Fortunately, his low speed meant that it just glided to a halt with the nearside wheel in the shallow gutter, now overflowing. Rick crossed himself, touched the hanging St Christopher and pulled the car into the middle of the road and turned up the lane. The protection of the overhanging trees allowed him a clearer glimpse up the lane which was now a river of water. He gingerly drove on hoping that the farmer up on the hillside wouldn’t be daft enough to be out in his tractor on an afternoon like this.

Up the hill and turning right on a sharp bend he saw a white van with its front wheels in the gutter on the right. He gauged that there was just about room to negotiate a pass on the narrow road and steered carefully through the gap. He looked right at the van and saw that it had hit a tree but its headlights were still on but hazard lights not flashing. Rick had the strong feeling to drive on and ignore the incident but suddenly felt guilty at his antisocial thoughts and pulled over to provide some assistance to the unfortunate driver. At least he could give the unfortunate a lift to the farm which was probably his destination. That was the only traffic on this lane other than his Volvo, on sporadic visits to the holiday cottage, which was now his retreat, particularly when he had a lean time with his writing.

Unclipping his belt, he leaned over to the back seat and over to the rear cover and scrabbled around to retrieve a large brolly which was there but hardly ever used. Getting out and getting his brolly up in this rain seemed futile so he resigned himself in struggling to get his red climbing anorak on. It seemed ages and there was no sign of life from the van other than the headlights. To avoid the storm, he pipped his horn in an effort to attract attention but none was forthcoming. He resigned himself to a drenching, so putting up his hood he darted out of the car and ran around the van to the driver’s side. He whipped open the door and finding no one in the driver’s seat, leapt in for self protection. The passenger seat was also empty, so he turned to look in the back but found that blocked by a wooden bulkhead. Rick then switched on the courtesy light and saw that there was not a sign of anyone being present. No rubbish in the cubby holes, empty cigarette holder and even the glove compartment was totally empty, not even a service booklet. He concentrated on the controls and found the light switch on the pod and switched off the lights, exchanging them to the hazard lights. He suddenly realised that the engine was still running so he turned that off with the single key. The driver must have dashed out in a hurry and taken all of his belongings with him. He pondered on the problem of what to do next and decided that the best course of action was to get to the cottage and ring up the farmer for more enlightenment.

A horrid thought went through his mind that the driver and possible companion could be in the back, suffocating of self-induced carbon monoxide poisoning. He dashed out and smacked the side panels to alert the possible occupants in the cargo hold. The back doors were locked so he retrieved the single key and opened the twin doors. The goods compartment was full to overflowing with stuffed black plastic bags and one fell out onto the wet ground as he closed the door. At least there was no one inside. He picked up the bag which was heavy and aimed to swing it into the back with one hand whilst opening the door with the other. It didn’t quite work out and the bag got caught on something and tore open spilling some of the contents on the wet road. He picked up the two loose bundles and suddenly realised that he was holding bundles of cash, fifty-pound notes. He threw the bundles in the back followed by the torn bag, slamming and locking the door behind them. He slowly walked to the driver’s door now totally ignoring the torrential rain and placed the key carefully onto the black leatherette seat, closing the door and retreating slowly back to his car. He was thoroughly drenched and could feel his clammy pants squelching on his car seat. 

Rick sat there motionless as the rain lashed against the windscreen, wondering what his action should be having found a van, jam packed with bags of cash. He couldn’t imagine who would be daft enough to drive about the Lakeland countryside in a van full of money but decided it was no legitimate operation and why would the driver scarper, leaving his valuable cargo behind. Had he got lost? Had he taken a wrong turning? Where was the driver? What was he going to do? Reporting a vehicle, run off the road, to the police seemed the least of his thoughts, particularly when he thought of the contents. Life had been tough lately. His books hadn’t sold well and writing seemed harder than working as a small-time journalist on a regional paper. They had squandered their publisher’s advances on the success of the first novel but now hard times were gripping them. The cottage up the road was due to be up for sale and this particular trip was mainly to arrange things with one of the estate agents in Keswick and here he was, two meters away from a pile of loose cash that someone had abandoned. There was only one thing to do but he had to be careful, someone was bound to come and look for it, probably as soon as this rainstorm abated.

Rick made his decision and jumped out of his estate and lifted the rear door. He retrieved the key off the driver’s seat and unlocked the van rear doors and hurriedly started transferring the bags to his Volvo. There were lots of them and he packed his car to the gunnels, leaving just enough room for him to drive. The van doors were locked and the key was carefully deposited back on the driver’s seat and he drove on to his cottage. Instead of driving in, he turned the car round and proceeded back down the lane, past the van and onto the main road. He turned right, back the way he had come and soon turned off left down a track towards the lake. The water had risen. It was over his shoes as he got out next to a stone built and slate roofed boat house, quite a substantial building. This was the only remains of a rich Manchester cotton magnate’s house that had been demolished long ago, to make way for the lakeside road. He knew the boathouse well, having spent time in the loft watching the birds on the lake and dreaming about the day he would possess his own sailboat to explore the lake and its islands. The key was secreted in a crack in the stonework. He opened the door and rushed down to his car to transfer his load. He thought of it as his property now and carefully stacked it in the loft, closing the door and this time pocketing the key. The boat owner wouldn’t be back until the summer so he had plenty of time to stash his cash in a more secure place when he had worked out the next part of his plan.

He reversed the Volvo back up the lane to the main road and proceeded slowly back to his cottage. Passing the van with hazard lights flashing, he paused for a last look and smile of satisfaction and this time drove through the gates and parked as close to his cottage as possible. Rick’s next action was to light the heating boiler and put on the kettle. He suddenly felt cold and a little frightened, more by his imagination than by his actions that afternoon. Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil he decided to take the bull by the horns and ring the farmer.

“Hi Joe, it’s Rick, I’ve just arrived at the cottage in this bloody awful weather. How are you doing?”

“Oh, hello Rick, long time no see. What brings you out here in this storm? Wouldn’t let me dog out in this methinks!”

“Yeah, I know, I’m soaked just getting out of the car. Here to make arrangements for sale of the cottage. The kids don’t want to come any more and to be honest I’m a bit short of cash until the next book goes on sale.”

“Oh, didn’t know you were in the wars. Martha likes your books. I hope you keep sending them when you leave.”

“It won’t be for a while yet Joe but I’ll keep sending you a free one every time I publish. The reason I’m ringing is you weren’t expecting someone in a white van, were you?”

“No Rick, I wouldn’t expect no one in this weather.”

“Well, I nearly ran into some bugger’s van just past the first bend. Gone off the road and hit a tree. The driver had scarpered. Thought he might have been one of your visitors?”

“No Rick, no one here. Err, was there any writing on the sides of the van?”

“No, just plain white. I had to turn off the engine and lights, left the hazards on for him. Watch out if you go out.”

“Not going out in this today! By the way, was there anything in the back?”

“No, quite empty. I checked, thought some silly buggers might be sheltering in the back. With the engine running, you know! OK Joe, I’ll report it to the police and they might move it if the owner doesn’t turn up. Bye, say hello to Martha for me.”

“Hello, just want to report an accident.”

“Right Sir, can I have your name and contact number first.”

“Yes officer. Richard Trenton on Keswick 674 342, I’m at home.”

“Anybody hurt Sir?”

“Not to my knowledge Officer, the van has gone off the road and hit a tree. The occupants have gone. Do you know Dale End Farm?”

“Joe Croucher’s place?”

“That’s it. Just up the lane and in fact blocking it. Quite dangerous.”

“Have you got the reg. Sir?” 

“Sorry officer, could hardly see my hand in front of my face in this weather,” answered Rick smirking to himself. He knew the registration but now the police would have to come out and check for themselves.

“Where are you ringing from err Mr Trenton?”

“From Dale End Cottage just below the farm.”

“I know it. We may have to get some more information from you Mr. Trenton.”

“No problem, I’m here all week and if this weather keeps up, I shall be housebound.”

“Yeah, it’s particularly bad today. Had lots of accidents. We’ll be in touch.”

Rick re-boiled the kettle, made himself a cup of instant coffee and decided it was time to get out of his wet clothes. He realised that his adrenalin was pumping and he was on a high with this afternoons activities. Soon the full realisation of his actions would hit him and he had some planning to do. The water would take ages to heat when he remembered the electric shower in the guest room. He stood in the stream of hot water for ages, dreaming of what he could use the money for. He tried to calculate the amount that could be in the bags but gave up. He would have to leave that until he counted the contents of one bag alone. It could be millions he mused. Having dressed in warm clothing he suddenly had a thought that all of his plans could be undone if somebody inspected the insides of his car. It was all sopping wet and there could be bits of torn black plastic left there as clues. He put on an old raincoat and rushed out to open the garage doors. He inched it inside and turned the car heater up full to dry it out. He then started a meticulous valeting job on it. Everything was cleaned out and hoovered and at any moment he thought he might find a few notes or a bit of black plastic but to his relief none showed up.

“Hello Denise, how are the kids?”

“I’ve been waiting for your call. The weather forecast was bad for the Lakes.”

“It was awful. I had to slow down to a crawl that’s why it took me so long. The roads are flooded around here. Thought I might have to turn back or stay over somewhere.”

“I’m glad you’re safe. When are you going into see the estate agent?”

“Well, tomorrow hopefully, if the weather improves. I’m not going out in this.”

“Oh, it’s that bad, is it?”

“Yes darling, ‘That bad!’ I’ve told Joe it’s going up for sale.”

“So, you rang him first did you?”

“It’s not like that dear. There was a van blocking the road on the lane and I thought it might be one of Joe’s visitors but it wasn’t.”

“Make sure you get a high price for it. We need the money. Must go, cooking dinner for the boys. Bye.” We certainly need the money mused Rick but not now with a loft full of it just down the road and the key in my pocket.

“Shit, where is that key. Must find it and hide it in a safe spot,” he shouted angrily at himself.

The following morning a police car pulled up on his drive and two uniformed officers got out. He saw them coming and opened the door. “Got the kettle on, do you two want a cuppa in this vile weather?”

“Thanks Mr. Trenton but we need to get back. Seen the van down there and we’ll have it moved for you as soon as we can. Some routine questions for you, if we may?”

“Come in. Come in out of the wet. Sure, you don’t want something hot inside you? Well please yourselves. Did you find who the owner is?”

“It was stolen in Manchester last month. It was wet inside the cabin when we looked. Did you go inside Mr. Trenton?”

“Had to! To shelter from the blasted rain. Had to turn the lights off and the engine. It was me who turned the hazards on if you want to know and I left the key on the front seat.”

“Did you touch anything else Mr. Trenton?”

“Well yeah, I looked behind the visor and in the glove compartment to see if there was anything on the owner. It was all spookily clean as if it had been valeted recently. I also looked in the back but it was empty. Just in case you know. The driver must have got out and gone as soon as he hit the tree. With all this rain I would expect all the footmarks to be washed away by now.

“We found the same. It’s puzzling but no doubt somebody will turn up with something.”

“It might save you a journey, I called Joe at the farm to see if it was one of his visitors but he wasn’t expecting anybody yesterday, or so he said.”

“OK Mr. Trenton, well be on our way.”

“Can you let me know if anything turns up, I’m curious you know, helps me with my writing you know.”

For three days Rick withheld his curiosity of the boathouse loft and carried on with his business of putting the cottage up for sale but each evening he would walk out down to the lake, past the boathouse and stroll along as normally as possible, with his binoculars, for all intense and purposes a twitcher. He scanned the bushes for birds but mainly to check for any strangers and if he was being watched. This was a bit of paranoia but he was sure that if somebody had lost a vanload of cash, then surely they would come looking for it. He didn’t know a thing about any cash and if they found the loot stashed away in the loft of the boathouse then it wasn’t anything to do with him, just his bad luck.

On the fourth night, in the twilight, he sneaked out of the house leaving the TV blaring and the lights on, shining through and around the tightly closed curtains. He took the long way round to the boathouse, via the path through the copse, across the road, hopping over the stone wall and to the boathouse. A quick look and he was up the outside steps and inside the loft in quick time. He stood still for ages listening to the noises, mainly to the lapping of water and clanking of the boat against the boathouse wall. He then peered through a crack in the door but it was too dark to see anything in the fading light.  He switched on his penlight torch and cast the beam over his bags and was delighted that all were intact. He then donned a pair of surgical rubber gloves he had purchased in Keswick. One of his own stories had been about trapping a thief by covering surfaces in fluorescent substance so that it would rub off onto the thief’s hands as he handled the goods. The thief’s hands would glow under a special light giving his game away. He wasn’t going to be caught like that so easily. He mused that the substance hadn’t probably been applied to the outside of the bags, otherwise he would already light up like a Christmas tree if he was caught. He cut open a bag and counted out the bundles of fifties and twenties and put them all back apart from one bundle of fifties.

Next morning, he drove to an ATM machine in Keswick and drew out two hundred pounds in four fifty-pound notes. Next, he parked at the supermarket, next to the bus station and bought a few things. He presented the checkout girl with a fifty note from the bundle and watched her check it through the light machine they use in checking for forgeries. He held his breath until it was pronounced clean and he wandered off into the town to make some more small purchases testing out his new notes in other establishments. He was quite elated when they were all accepted without even a hint of hesitation. His four good fifties were to be his ‘get out of jail card’ if the rogue notes weren’t accepted. Rick’s last act was to go to a bank and deposit the rest of his bundle, eight hundred and fifty pounds, proceeds of a good car sale, as he whispered to the teller in confidence. He returned to his cottage in high spirits with numerous bags of trivial purchases.

That afternoon a black car pulled up in his drive and two burly men got out in plain clothes. They were about to knock on the door when Rick opened it asking their business.

“Just a few questions Mr. Trenton to clear up a few things.”

“The police have already been and I have told them all.”

“We know Mr. Trenton. They are locals, we are from Manchester. May we come in? We won’t detain you for long.”

“OK then. Do you want a cuppa?”

“No, that won’t be necessary, now let’s sit up at the table and I’m sure we can get this over quickly Mr. Trenton.” 

“We can but it would be more comfortable in the easy chairs by the fire.”

“We need to take notes Mr. Trenton. By the table please. Right let’s start, we have one main question. Where is the money?”

“Money? What money?”

“Now we can do this quickly if you will tell us where the bags are from the van.”

“The van. Oh, you mean the broken-down van in the lane. I told the police all about that. Had it been used in a robbery or something? Have you found the culprits? That’s quick.”

“Yes, we have found the culprit, you Mr. Trenton.”

“That’s preposterous! I went into the cab of the van and there was nothing there. It was totally empty.”

“We know Mr. Trenton but what have you done with the contents in the back? That’s what we are interested in.”       

“I don’t know what the contents were. There was a bulkhead and I couldn’t see into the back of the van.”

“But you opened the back doors of the van Mr. Trenton, didn’t you?”

“Look guys, it was peeing it down. Once I had established that no one was hurt, I buggered off home and reported it to the police. I was drenched and I wasn’t going to hang around. I looked into the back of a van just to see if anybody was in there, with the engine being on but it was bare. I wanted to get home and change.”

“That still doesn’t answer our question Mr. Trenton. Where is the money? We searched this place whilst you were out this morning and found nothing.”

“What? What do you mean? You’ve been in here without permission or even a search warrant and gone through this house. This is getting silly. You guys are way off beam. I was just doing a neighbourly thing and stopped to help someone in distress and you are now accusing me of pinching money. What is this money and what was it doing in the van in the first place? Seem a bit of a crack in security, shipping money in a white van, don’t you think?”

“Mr. Trenton, let us be the wise guys and just tell us where the money is. The thing is the money was just bait to catch one of the big boys, so just tell us where you’ve hidden it and we will go away quietly as if nothing has happened and you’ve just done your duty as an upright citizen in keeping the money safe for us.”

“Look, I honestly don’t know anything about any money. I was just preoccupied that night with getting home safely and getting into the dry not to think about stealing this money you’re talking about. I don’t know a thing about it. Now please leave, you are distressing me too much with your spurious assertions.”

“Sit down Mr. Trenton! We haven’t finished with you yet,” as he nodded to the silent man at his side, rose, walked to the other side of the table and gripped Rick in a vice like hold. “Now Mr. Trenton, let me demonstrate how you will tell us where the money is.” He nodded to his partner again who gripped Rick’s arm and forced his hand onto the table. The other man picked up one of Rick’s stone paper weights and smashed it down on one of Rick’s fingertips. Blood spattered everywhere as Rick let out a terrifying scream. “Now that was just a demonstration Mr. Trenton and we will continue with every finger if we have to. Now tell us all and we will go away.”

“Please, please don’t do this to me. I don’t know anything. Please believe me,” cried Rick.

“We don’t believe you Mr. Trenton.” Crash as another fingertip was smashed and another blood curling yell emanated from Rick’s mouth and he started to sob and shake violently in the strong man’s grip behind him. “Now you seem to have a taste for our lie detection technique. Maybe you tell us and save us from listening to your painful screams. It only gets worse you know.”

“Please, please,” slobbered Rick. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.” Smash followed by another scream as Rick convulsed and was sick over the table.

“Now there’s no need for that Mr. Trenton. Let us keep this clean. You tell us where the money is and we will let you free.”

“You aren’t the police, are you? They don’t get up to these things. Who the hell are you? Leave me alone, you’ve broken my fingers.”

“That’s for you to decide and believe Mr. Trenton. Now can we be quick about this and tell us what we want.”

“Fuck off, I don’t know anything!” shouted Rick as another crash came down on the table and his scream was suddenly cut by him fainting. He felt cold water dripping down his face and saw a crystal jug on the table through bleary eyes and the pain through his whole body was excruciating. Crash went the stone and again came the scream to be cut off mid stream as a relief. Rick revived and felt water being poured down his throat. This was an out of body experience, he could feel the pain and see vividly his torturer but couldn’t quite connect that this was happening to him. He shouted obscenities at his adversaries as the stone came pounding down again on his thumb this time. This was a nightmare of all proportions and he was longing to wake up and find himself in his cosy bed. He wished the man to stop talking to him so nicely. If he was a crook, then he should behave like one and shout and scream at Rick as they did in his tales. It was all so unfair. He felt his other arm being lifted onto the table and the stone crashing down as the monotone voice asked him stupid questions. He loved the times he faded into oblivion. It was like going to heaven and the pain stopped for a moment. Then the hell moment arrived when he had been revived with more water. “Come on,” he thought, “hit me again so I can pop up to heaven, go on don’t stop, I need to get away from this pain, go on hit me, please.”

“Now Mr. Trenton, we will leave you for now but someone will be watching you, all the time and if we find you have been telling us porkies then we will have no compunction in killing you and your family so bye for now.”

Many hours later Rick managed to rise from his chair and stumble to the phone. He held his arms out like a scarecrow and his fingers were a mass of bloody pulp. His hands had swollen to football size and every part of his body ached with acute pain. He knocked the receiver off with his chin and dialled ‘999’ with his nose. A voice answered on the receiver lying on the floor and he just shouted that he needs and an ambulance urgently and had the sense to tell them his whereabouts before crashing to the floor in a coma.

Rick woke up in a hospital bed and found his hands bandaged and arms hanging from slings. He couldn’t feel anything and felt very lightheaded and suddenly the realisation came to him about his ordeal. He started to cry with tears pouring down his cheeks.

“Hello dear, are you awake at last? Would you like something to eat?” as Rick shook his head in the negative, “Please yourself dear. The police want to have a word with you.” She walked off leaving him crying and feeling very miserable. At least he would have time to make up a plausible story to explain his severe condition. He couldn’t tell them about the money or the men that had done this to him. The police might want to continue to question him and follow up on the money. Better let sleeping dogs lie.

A reporter from the local rag came to see him, having been tipped off by the police, that there was an unusual case in the hospital. At first, he didn’t want to talk, but the young man had done his homework well and knew about his writing exploits and about his books. Having had his ego massaged, Rick decided to play ball and gave an embellished account of his ordeal. Being a former reporter himself, he knew exactly what the editors wanted and launched into a diatribe of sensational information, which was largely untrue but made a fitting story. The young reporter drank this all in and promised to return with the late edition. He returned next morning with last evening’s local rag and a national tabloid, proudly displaying a photo of Rick on the front page. The article had attracted a main line paper and the reporter was rubbing his hands together with the extra cash he was going to bank from the first sale of one of his stories to a major national. An author of crime novels, being subjected to some of the horrors of his own writing, proved quite newsworthy. Later Rick found that the publicity had actually increased the sales of his books and royalties which were highly welcome in his current circumstances of inactivity. 

“Now Mr. Trenton, tell us in your own time how you came into this condition?”

“I don’t know Officer. A couple of thugs broke into my house and manhandled me. They bashed my fingertips repeatedly with a stone and I passed out. I didn’t know they had beaten all my fingers to pulp because I just couldn’t stand the pain. That’s all I know.”

“Can you think why they should break your fingers only?”

“I remember telling them I was a writer and I remember them shouting that ‘they would sort that out’ and they broke all my typing fingers including my thumbs which I rarely use. I don’t remember much more really.”

“Can you describe these youths to us?”

“Well not really. It was getting dark and I’d just woken up from a nap at the table. They had hoods and were big and strong. Couldn’t tell you their accents, probably not local, but I was spared the worst by passing out. Did they steal anything?”

“That’s the puzzling thing Mr. Trenton. Nothing is missing according to your wife. Even your laptop and your wallet were left.”

“Maybe they were disturbed. I must have screamed the house down with the pain.”

“Well, your neighbour didn’t see or hear anything. We are quite puzzled by it all.”

“I’m sorry Officer but I can’t help you much. I wish I knew what happened.”

“Well, Mr. Trenton, if you remember anything else, please get in touch with us.”

“I will, but it will be a while before I can pick up a phone.”     

    

A few days later he had an unusual visitor at his bedside that he never expected.

“Hello Joe, what brings you out here? I thought you hated hospitals.”

“Oh, I do Rick but I thought I would pay you a visit seeing how you were in such a state. I brought you some grapes,” said Joe the farmer looking most uncomfortable.

“That’s very kind of you but you will have to eat them yourself seeing I’m much disposed,” answered Rick holding his bandaged hands up for Joe to see.”

“Err sorry, ahs didn’t think. Can ah sit down?”

“Yeah Joe, pull up a pew and get the weight of your legs. How’s Martha?”

“She’s fine. Sends her regards and hopes yer out soon.”

“Thanks, I believe she’s talked to my wife a few times she’s been over.”

“Yeah, it’s a rum business this. Was it connected to that white van? You know the one that was stranded during that gale?”

“Don’t know, what do you think Joe?”

“Well, some men came up to my place and asked about it. I told them that you had found it.”

“Did you tell that to the police when they came to see you, Joe?”

“Well, no, ahs didn’t think it was connected yer see. Did yer happen to look in the back?”

“Of course, I did, to check that no one was in there. You see Joe the engine was still running and I though somebody might be topping themselves.”

“Ah yer still selling up then, the cottage you know?” 

“Sure, thing Joe, need the money. We are skint and I can’t see me writing for a good while yet,” answered Rick holding up his hands for greater effect.

“So, you didn’t find any money in there?”

“What money Joe? There’s never been any mention of money. Who told you that Joe? The police?”

“Nar it wasn’t them.”

“Who was it then Joe? I want to know. Was it those two guys that visited you? Do you know them, Joe?”

“Nar, it’s nothing. I’d better be going now. As got the Mrs. waiting you know.”

“Joe, tell me about the money. Was that why those two guys beat me senseless? Was it about money? I don’t know anything about the money you mentioned. Joe, stop a moment and fill me in,” shouted Rick, smiling to himself, as Joe hurriedly departed. “Joe, they didn’t even take my wallet,” shouted Rick at the closing door as he chuckled to himself again.