One Man and His Machete

This is the opening of a story from Darkness in Durrington

There was a time when a decent burglar (if there is such a thing) would wait until the family was out or at least try to burgle the house quietly without disturbing anybody. Not any more. Machete man will break into a house, usually with a friend; he will demand money, cards and pin numbers and he will start hacking off body parts if he doesn't get them.

Of course, this couldn't possibly happen in Durrington. Except that apparently it had.

“A couple in Dartmoor Close, Durrington were robbed by two thieves wielding machetes who broke into their house and demanded money with menaces on Monday night between the hours of ten and eleven. The police are appealing for witnesses,” More Radio announced.

Micah and I were sitting in the Black Cat having breakfast.

“It would have been dark and the street lights are coming on later and later as part of an economy drive,” Micah observed. “I live here because it is a nice place where this sort of thing does not happen. Be quiet, Craig.”

I hadn't thought of saying anything at this point.

“It's not our case obvs, but we can't let this go.”

She had picked up the use of “obvs” for “obviously” from a niece and I was quietly waiting for her to drop it again.

“So what can we do?”

“Well we could at least ask around.”

For me “asking around” usually meant a phone call to Sekonda. To Micah it usually meant illegally accessing police information. Still, each to their own.

That evening as we were tucking into spaghetti bolognese (my spag bol is of surpassing excellence if I say so myself) we compared notes.

“The man's name is Lech Bocks. That is to say the victim's name. I don't know Machete man's name. Not yet.” Micah began.

“He was bullied at school by people who wanted to see if he could box. Children can be very cruel,” I added.

Micah nodded.

“His partner is called Tayla Match.” Micah was making notes.

“Actually his wife. She just kept her maiden name for obvious reasons. Too many jokes just begging to be told.,” I said.

Micah also had their dates of birth and various other data.

“Machete Man had a strong Glaswegian accent. His accomplice was the silent type. Average height, average clothes, average everything really. The balaclavas were knitted.”

“Anything else?”

“Well a lot of people use their date of birth for a password and this couple were no different. Their bank account confirms that they took out all the money from it on the day of the robbery,” Micah paused.

I waited and eventually she continued.

“I looked back over the last few months. The lion's share of their incomes from the County Council (Tayla) and from Barclays (Lech) were transferred to a numbered account with Nationwide. The name of the account-holder was a money-lender, Simon Dangerfield. His rates of interest would make Shylock's eyes water.”

“Does that make him a suspect?”

“Yes and no. If they defaulted on a payment then he would have to make an example of them. On the other hand, if they kept up the payments he would be the last person to rob them. Added to which he is a nasty little man.”

I “accidentally on purpose” bumped into Lech at the Crown. It is not a pub I would frequent for choice. The carpets squelch.

I couldn't take Barker because they ban dogs. In any case I think he would need a bath after contact with that carpet. Nevertheless we did discuss dogs. Lech owns a Staffie called Jaruzelski. Jaruzelski had a number of little habits which were cute or irritating depending on your perspective.

We went on to talk for a while about Brexit and the state of the nation but he was bound to mention his recent experience as an example of the latter.

He did.

To be continued in Death in Durrington

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