BOTH SIDES OF THE MOON

 

                                                                         Chapter Nine

 

Sergeant Trevor Branner was also sitting in his office thinking back over the week-end, and about the curious incident he had witnessed on the Saturday afternoon. He remembered he had paused for a few moments, wondering what the noise was all about. He had expected to find a row involving people who had been drinking too much, so he was surprised to see that it was a young couple arguing outside the jewellery shop. Of course, as a member of the local police force it was his duty to maintain law and order, but he was always reluctant, if it could be avoided, to interfere in a row between a man and a woman. Softly softy was his way, but he felt it prudent to get closer; just in case. They were after all making a bit of a noise, quite a lot of noise in fact, but it did not seen to be a violent encounter, and as far as he could see they were not giving anyone else any problems. Just the same he thought it was about time to show himself. He was just about to walk on, deliberately going close to them in the hope that his presence might just calm their tempers, when he realized that he knew one of them.

    “Mr Wilson from the comprehensive school.” he noted, somewhat surprised. He didn’t know him all that well, but had come across him at school functions a couple of times, and once; he was trying to remember; “That’s it” he thought “Yes, last year I had gone to the school to give a road safety talk to some of the younger kids, and he introduced me.”

    His interest was short lived however, as he noticed that they were now quiet, and after a short time they walked away, all the shouting done; his intervention no longer required.

    “Didn’t expect that from him,” he thought as he continued his stroll down the high street, “he always seemed to be above that kind of behaviour; just shows you.” His thoughts were keeping step with the steady rhythm of his stride. "you never can tell.”

 

Gradually Rodney recovered his composure, and promised his head-teacher that he was alright, and that he would join him a little later at assembly. Mr Pickering was somewhat reluctant to depart, but finally accepted the younger man’s assurance, and left, leaving him at the mercy of the unpleasant memories which returned almost before the door closed.

    He remembered how he and Wendy walked to where they had left the car in complete silence. There was no anger left. Their anger had been dispersed at the top of their voices, and spread around the town. Their anger had been hurled and twisted and wrenched and left hanging in the air for all to see. There was none left. All that was left was a shared utter astonishment that two people in love, and on the brink of committing themselves to each other for life, could engage in such a brawl,  caring nothing for the hurt they were causing, seeking only to win.

    They had both felt it, and they were both ashamed. But shame and recognition could not turn back the clock, and though they both would like to say sorry, they each wanted the other to say it first. The battle had been joined. There had been casualties on both sides, but the battle was not yet over. Even now, shocked and scarcely believing what they had done, they were still seeking to gain the moral ‘high ground’, both blaming the other, if only to themselves, for what had happened.

    The rest of the journey home was silent save the noise of traffic, and other road noises. Not a word was exchanged, and when they reached the flat, Rodney in his customary fashion walked round to her side of the car to open the door. She remained where she was until the door was opened, but instead of the usual “Thank you my man.” or some other silly remark which had in the past always caused some laughter, there was nothing.

    Wendy got out of the car without a word.

    Despite his gloom, Rodney could not help a smile at the memory that this little scene evoked. It was hard to believe that a situation just like that which had seen the beginning of their relationship, could now be a witness to its end.

    Although they had been at arms length romantically, they had quite often partnered each other on local social occasions, especially those where one of their parents had been involved in the organization of some event. The matchmaking conspiracy continued in spite of repeated assertions by Rodney and Wendy to their parents that they were wasting their time, but they still managed to come up with reasons why their mutual attendance was essential.

    They had cooperated when they could, and had usually enjoyed these ‘one off’ evenings together, almost conniving to get one over their folks. It had almost become a two way family joke. On one such occasion, not all that long after he had settled into his new home on the edge of Wixley, Rodney had received an urgent call from his mother, explaining that their guest of honour for the annual dance at the tennis club had gone down with the ‘flu’. Could he possibly help out, to present the prizes.

    Seeing through this at once, Rodney asked if Wendy had also been asked. “Oh’ I think  so dear,” mother answered with practised ease “just in case you couldn’t manage it, but I don’t know if she can come, so please say yes.”

    Of course he had said yes, and of course Wendy had said yes too. On the night of the dance he collected her from her home in his new - second hand - car, and took her to the village hall.

    Arriving at the front door, Rodney skipped round to open the car door for her and offered his hand to help her out.

    “Thank you my man,” she had said in the haughtiest voice she could manage, “take the rest of the day off.”

    It wasn’t the funniest thing that had ever happened to them, but it set then off laughing, and set the tone for the rest of the evening. It was a happy event, and he stood back to allow Wendy to present the prizes to the tennis tournament winners. They had a few drinks, danced a lot, and had a good time. He took her home of course, leaving all the parents behind clearing up, and when they arrived he drove up the drive to the front of the house.

    Once again, dashing round the car so that he could open her door, but this time Rodney slipped and fell to the floor, in the full glare of the car headlights. Letting out an uncharacteristic expletive, he disappeared from her view. Fortunately he was not hurt, except for a slight dent in his pride, but they both collapsed into uncontrollable laughter, and Wendy was forced to alight unaided.

    “Your fired.” she said as she went to help him to his feet, while he, feigning injury, hobbled to the front door.

    Neither of them had drunk too much at the dance, so it was not very clear why they were in such a happy mood, and they were still laughing helplessly when they finally got to the door

    It was to have been a fairly light good night kiss between friends, pleasant and uncomplicated, and - like all the others before - was not intended to lead to anything else.

    “Thank you Wendy,” Rodney said as he put his arms around and squeezed her quite tightly “It’s been a lovely evening.”

    The kiss when it came took them by surprise, and then astonished them. It was like nothing else they had experienced. Not a bolt of lightening, more like being enveloped in a warm mist, with gentle music.

    When at last they parted, and Wendy’s face was snuggled under Rodney's chin, they knew at once. Cupid had fired his arrows with unerring accuracy. They were in love.

    “Just wait till I tell my mother.” Wendy said, laughing.

    “And mine.” Rodney joined in, and then they were kissing again.

    Two sets of parents, still busy clearing up after the dance, were soon to discover that at last their conspiracy had paid off !!

    Rodney shook his head sadly as he remembered that scene, and watched the now unsmiling Wendy walk away from him silently, without a backwards look.

 

Sergeant Branner was on familiar territory as he walked through the front play area of the school. ‘Wixley Comprehensive’, it stated on the big sign by the gate, but that was  not its name when he had attended this school as a boy.

     It was different then. “St. Stephen’s High school for boys.” he remembered as he reached the front door. It was a large heavy door, but it pushed open surprisingly easy and he entered  once again a place where, as a youth, he had spent so much time. Just inside, a smaller door marked ‘General Office’ opened to a small room in which were a few chairs, and an information window. A sharp ‘rat tat’, on its glass produced an immediate response and it slid open to reveal a thin faced, unsmiling, young lady.

    “Yes.”

    'Probably a student.' Branner mused. He was not in uniform, so he had his badge in his hand. “May I see Mr Pickering?”asked the Sergeant.

    The young lady turned away, called to someone unseen. “There’s a man here to see Mr Pickering.” her curt manner, and unwelcoming expression remained unchanged.

    A door opened, the one next to the hatch but one of a number in this vestibule, and out came a lady who quite took his breath away.

    “Hello.” she said, with a smile that any Cheshire cat would be proud of. “You want to see Mr Pickering, can I tell him who is calling?”

    The policeman smiled back, though his smile was no match for hers. “Sergeant Branner, Oatley Central.” he answered , this time holding up his badge for her to see.

    “I’ll just see if he is in; does he know you?” giving him just a hint of a flash of teeth through another smile.

    “Yes I’ve met him a few times.”

    She picked up a phone, and after a brief conversation, returned to her visitor. “Mr Pickering is free and can see you now, can I show you the way?”

   “No need,” said Sergeant Branner, “ I know the way.”

    As he walked along the busy corridors passing both students and teachers he had time to reflect on one of life’s mysteries. Most people recognize the passing of time when the policemen seem to be getting younger. Clearly policemen need a different yardstick to ‘mark’ their passing years, and Trevor thought he had found the answer. “It’s the teachers who are getting younger”.

    As he chuckled at his little joke, he found himself facing a familiar door. Another ‘rat tat’ on the glass panel marked 'Head Master', this time produced a mellow and rather friendly invitation to come in. Inside he found the school secretary seated at a desk, beyond which was another door with Mr Pickering’s name on it.

    “Sergeant Branner?” asked the lady at the desk, a pleasant round faced women of mature years, whose smile, though no doubt  just as sincere, was no match than the one he had just seen. She waited for confirmation of his identity.

    “Yes that’s me.” he answered in an easy manner, “I think Mr. Pickering is expecting me."

    “So he is,” she said smiling again, “Please go in.”

    “Hello Mr Branner” Mr Pickering said, preferring the less formal title, and pointing to a chair “Please sit down.”

    By the time he had settled into, or rather onto, a not too comfortable upright chair, Mr Pickering was speaking again.

    “It’s nice to see you again, and I think it’s some time since you were last here.” his voice rising as he went on, making a statement sound like a question.

    “Yes, it’s about eight months; it was at last years open day, I remember.”

    “Ah’ yes; and didn’t it rain hard that day?” he too making a small backwards leap in time. “I know we had to make a lot of last minute changes to our outside events because of the rain.”

    “That’s right, and I was one of them.” they both smiled. “I had brought a dog handler with me and he had to do his display in the assembly hall.” He laughed at the memory of this.

    “The poor old dog couldn’t keep it’s feet on the polished floor and was all over the place.”

    They both laughed again at that, remembering that the event had turned out to be something of a nightmare for the handler.

    “But the kids seemed to enjoy it.” Mr Pickering observed.

    “And so did the dog.” added Trevor.

    They were both in a good frame of mind, after this little banter, and Mrs Philipson - the school secretary -  had brought in coffee and biscuits, and so it was time to move on.

    “Now Mr Branner, are you on a social call, or do I call you Sergeant if there an official reason for your visit?”

    “Well really it’s a bit of both; just to keep in touch, and one or two little things,” he answered, “nothing too important I don’t think, but things we need to look at.”

    “Let’s have a look then, and we will see if we can help.”

    Mr Pickering was as always keen to cooperate with the police. He had managed to find the narrow path between loyalty to his boys and girls, supporting them if necessary; and a different loyalty to satisfy the needs of the wider community. Sometimes it was a difficult balancing act, but he was a man of great integrity, and could usually rely on his innate sense of right and wrong.

    Sergeant Branner took out a note book. “A couple of weeks ago the Superintendent at the cemetery reported some damage to one of the graves. It was only the one grave, as though it was targeted, so we don’t think it was wanton vandalism; and a boy, youngish, probably teenage, was seen by a dog walker climbing the fence. “Also," he proceeded “it was a new grave, so it seems unlikely to be family." Looking up briefly, he continued, “Not spoken to them yet; except to let them know what has happened, but of course we haven’t ruled it out.”

    "Yes, I see that.”

    “Funny thing though,” he said, looking up again from his note pad. “a new grave, less than a week old is wrecked, and not a word from the family; you would have thought that they would be chasing us.”

    “How do you think I can help you in that case?” asked Mr Pickering.

    “It’s just information really,” he answered. “it might be a schoolboy, one of yours perhaps, so we are asking around. If you or your staff hear anything.”

    “Of course I will let you know if anything comes to my notice; is there anything else?”

    There were one or two routine matters, which were quickly disposed of, and then the sergeant, with just a little hesitance, spoke of the other matter that had been on his mind.

   “A funny thing really, more of a puzzle than anything else, but I have a curious feeling about one of your staff; a Mr Wilson, your sports master I think.”

    The headmaster waited a moment before he answered, wondering what might be coming, and knowing that, even as they spoke his young colleague would still be getting over his distressing outburst of just a couple of hours ago.

    “Mr Wilson is a very well liked member of my team.” answered Mr Pickering. “You will need to be a lot more specific and have good reason, before I can discuss any of my staff.”

     Now wearing his ‘protector’ hat, Mr Pickering was choosing his words carefully, and Sergeant Branner recognized the signs. He did not want to lose a cooperative confidant.

    “I’m sorry.” he said “I have no reason to believe that Mr Wilson is anything but an honourable man, and I do not suspect him of anything.”

    “What then?”

    “It’s just that I saw him behaving very oddly at the week-end.” He waited a moment, “I don’t know him very well it’s true, but what I saw seemed to be out of character.”

    “What did you see?”

    Sergeant Branner was beginning to feel that it was he being interrogated. “Well, he was making a bit of a scene in the high street; actually a surprisingly big scene.”

    “Many people do that; is that a crime?” a touch of irritation entering his tone.

    “Quite right, and I am sorry if you feel that I have impugned his reputation, that certainly was not my intention.”

    Mr Pickering eased back a little. In the last few minutes without realizing, he had adopted an upright position, as if ready to pounce. “Mr Wilson is an important member of staff, and is well liked by his colleagues, and I might add, by me.”

    He was comfortable again having beaten off the aggressor, and was once more the avuncular father figure. He looked carefully at the policeman. “But I do know of a personal problem he is addressing at the moment, and all I will tell you is that what you saw the other day has something to do with that.” but he continued, “I can vouch for Mr Wilson; I hope you will you take my word about that.” Not waiting for a reply he asked “Is that all for today?” not rudely, but with just a slight change in his voice, indicating that the interview was over.

    Sergeant Branner stood up and offered his hand. “Thank you sir,” he said “you are the gentleman as ever.”and then, thinking to maintain good relations he added. “Sorry if I touched a nerve just then, I do respect your judgment, and I guess that sometimes we do ask some funny questions.”

    In accepting the handshake warmly, Mr Pickering's answer was a simple one “We all have our jobs to do.”

    Trevor left the ‘Head’s’ office, said goodbye to Mrs Philipson, who repaid him with another smile, and then left the building.  He liked Mr. Pickering; he liked his loyalties, and his good sense. He knew that the Headmaster, in his dealings with staff, students, and the community at large, was engaged in the weighing up of differing priorities, and was governed, though not bound, by these.  In the end, in his judgement, ‘right’ would win over ‘loyalty’.

     Branner felt that he could live with that, but just the same, he had a funny feeling about Mr Wilson