Just at this moment, Terry Perry was confused.
Even as he was bundled into the dingy room, he sensed all was not well. It wasn’t that he’d just been caught stealing again and was likely to go straight back to prison. That was normal. As his heart slowed and he regained his breath, other troubles began to cloud his head.
For a start, he didn’t recognise the copper who was about to question him. And although he knew the interview room at Barnsley nick like old proverbial, tonight it seemed different.
Terry Perry began to reflect just how stupid and unnecessary was his current predicament. Just a day ago he had finally decided to retire. He was tired. He’d had enough. After years of being chased, nicked and put away for more than a third of his adult life, he had begun to accept the old cliché that crime doesn’t pay.
Not a question of morals, of course. More a simple case of profit and loss. Those early fleet-footed years of easy pickings had been followed by a long slide into what equated to failure in the criminal underworld - few jobs, less money and ever longer periods of incarceration. So by the time he’d reached the age conventional people call retirement, his life’s financial balance sheet was looking quite negative. Other aspects of his existence were not going so well either.
In his youth, all of Terry’s worries had been short lived, concerning no one other than himself. No wife, kids or mortgage then. He’d been free to go where he pleased and do whatever blags he’d wanted. He’d been good at it too and when things went wrong he’d usually been fast enough to get away. There was a time when he’d been widely known as the best burglar in Barnsley. He’d even had offers to go down south, where the big money was, to join up with the East End mobs. Of course he’d been tempted. But in the end he’d been content to stay where he knew and was known. Besides, he’d done a particularly long spell in Armley in the early 60’s, and by the time he got out the chance had gone.
Now he was single once more. The wife had finally had enough of his ways and the kids were grown and gone. In that one sense he was back to where he started - a man free of all commitments. Yet with each movement, his pained and creaking body reminded him that things were certainly not as they had been.
This was to have been his last job. After tonight, his thieving days would have been over. It wasn’t even a job in the true sense of the word. He just needed a telly. He could probably have scraped enough money together to buy one but that just didn’t seem right somehow. Like an electrician getting someone else in to do the wiring.
Before, if he’d nicked a telly, or anything else for that matter, it would have been for someone who’d promised to pay him for it. Or it might have been the easiest thing to grab from a property and sell in the pub after. He’d never had need of a telly as he’d never had the time to watch one. Tonight was a first; he’d been after a telly for himself. To take home and watch.
A few days before, his one daughter who still lived in the area had allowed him into her house for a cup of tea and a quick look at the grand kids. He knew she didn’t like him going there. Not that she thought he’d nick anything. It was more to do with what the neighbours might think. Or whether the kids might start asking awkward questions. Or whether he might be a bad influence. As it happened, this time the influence had been unwittingly exerted by them.
He’d was there just after the grand kids had arrived home from school and they’d all sat round in the living room, drinking juice, eating biscuits and watching the telly. He’d been amazed by its hypnotic effects. Irritated at first by the lack of attention they were paying to him, their mother or anything else, he was gradually drawn into the storyline of whatever it was they were watching. When it finished abruptly, they’d had just enough time during the adverts to explain that the story would continue the following day at exactly the same time. And the day after that, and so on.
As he’d walked home he’d begun to realise that in addition to enjoying the programme, he’d also felt the warmth and love of the family sitting together. Perhaps a telly would help him to adjust to his retirement.
‘Right, sir. Would you mind telling us your name?’ the copper, a sergeant, interrupted Terry’s thoughts.
‘What?’
‘Your name.’
‘You know me name. I told you when I came in.’
‘Tell me again. For the records.’ His voice was deep but not especially stern.
‘For the records? Look, you know who I am. I’ve been in here often enough. Go get Sergeant Forrester. He’ll tell you.’
‘Just tell me your name, sir.’
Terry sighed. ‘Terry Perry.’
The sergeant stared into his eyes particularly intently, as if Terry had revealed something more significant than his name.
‘Would you like to tell me what you were doing at 15, Tennyson Place tonight, sir?’
Number 15 Tennyson Place had always been one of his favourites. A huge Victorian terraced house in one of Barnsley’s more salubrious areas. He must have broken in there around half a dozen times over the years. Four floors, including the cellars and attics with a huge garden round the back, it had many means of entry and an easy escape route. Once inside, there’d always been plenty of stuff around to nick. More often than not, a new family was in residence, oblivious to the experiences of their predecessors.
Now he remembered, it might even have been the first house he’d ever burgled. That time they’d just had all the interior paneled doors covered with hardboard. Twenty or so years later it had been ripped away to reveal the panels once more. Funny how fashions change. Tonight it appeared to have gone all IKEA.
He thought he’d chosen the house this time due to its practical advantages but now he reconsidered, perhaps it had been for sentimental reasons.
He’d gone in through the back garden. The scent of cut grass had been in the air and sure enough the mower was still out on the lawn in the twilight. The door into the cellar wasn’t even locked. He’d been up the stairs and into the hallway before he heard sounds coming from a room nearby. Breathing hard and soft, heart beating fast, he crept up a further flight of stairs onto the first floor.
He remembered the layout here well enough to go straight for the largest bedroom. The telly here was too big either for carrying or for his modest bedsit. The second produced what was required. One of those 17 inch jobs, Terry reasoned it might even be small enough to hide beneath his coat if necessary. He carried out a quick inspection just to ensure it wasn’t a computer screen like the grand kids had. He cut off the plug, lifted the telly and silently made his way to the top of the stairs.
Once out on the landing, he took a deep breath and prepared for the descent. But at the very moment his front foot was extended, just as it hung in preparation to meet the first step down, he detected a movement or sound behind him. Imagined or not, it was enough to distract him. The step was missed, his foot remained in mid-air and Terry realised he was falling forwards, still holding the telly. He didn’t know how many somersaults it took but the descent was both painful and loud. Each time a part of his body came into contact with a step, hand-rail or wall, the dull thuds and his grunts of agony seemed to reverberate throughout the house.
‘Number 15 Tennyson Place, you say?’ Terry gathered his thoughts.
‘Yes, sir. Someone broke in there tonight. And we found you in the garden.’
Terry had been in situations such as this many times before. He knew it didn’t look good.
‘I want me lawyer.’ He knew it was time send for the re-enforcements.
‘We can’t get a lawyer at this time of night, sir.’
‘What about the duty lawyer?’
‘The what, sir?’
‘The duty lawyer. Every nick has one nowadays…’
‘Not here, sir.’
‘…and where’s the tape recorder?’
‘What do want a tape recorder for, sir? You going to sing us a song?’
‘No, for every interview there should be…’
‘You don’t need to worry about that, sir. I have my notebook here so I can write an accurate record of what you say…’
The sergeant looked genuinely hurt when Terry responded with a sarcastic snort. He continued his questioning.
‘Would you mind telling me what this is, Sir?’ He reached down and lifted the telly onto the table between them.’
‘I’ve never seen it before.’ Back to the standard responses from Terry.
‘I didn’t ask about that, sir. I asked you what it is.’
For a moment, Terry struggled for a suitable response. Further sarcasm was tempting but that took effort. He was exhausted and aching.
‘It’s a telly.’
‘A televsion, sir?’
‘Yeah, a television.’
‘A television? Are you sure?’
‘Course I’m sure. It’s one of those flat-screen jobs. They’re new but they’ve been around for ages now. Surely you’ve seen one?’
‘Nobody here’s seen anything like it before, sir.’
If this was some kind of interrogation technique, it was a new one on Terry.
‘Well I’ve not seen that one before and I certainly didn’t take it from that house.’
‘Nobody’s saying you did, sir. We showed it to them and they’ve never seen one before either.’
‘Of course they have. They’ve got at least two in that house.’ Oops. That interrogation technique had worked.
‘I can assure you, sir, they’ve not. We checked the whole house for other missing items and there was no other object like this.’
It took a few moments for the information to register in his battered head but Terry gradually began to realise he just might be in the clear.
‘Well that shows I’m telling the truth then. I’ve never seen it before and I didn’t nick it.’
‘No, sir.’
‘So, I’ll be on my way then.’
‘I do need to ask you one or two more questions if you don’t mind, Sir,’ the sergeant took a breath and paused. ‘You say your name is Terry Perry.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do you, by any chance, know any other Terry Perry’s?’
Terry thought about his ex-wife and kids. The last name on earth they would have chosen for any of their offspring was Terry. As far as he was concerned, none of his wider family was named Terry and he knew of no other Terry Perry’s.
‘No.’
‘Neither do we, sir. We have no record of any Terry Perry appearing in this nick before. Then two come along in one night.’
‘What?’
‘We have a man, well, a youth really, claiming to be named Terry Perry, in our other interview room right now. Do you know him, Sir?’
‘I’ve told you. As far as I know, there’s only one Terry Perry in Barnsley.’
‘Well, he’s there, sir. Looks a bit like you actually. A lot younger of course …’
Terry fought to focus flashes of memories from the night’s events. Those paneled doors he’d recalled from later visits. The IKEA shelves and units. The staircase with its hand rail and spindles. His long, painful fall followed by the cloudiness of concussion. He’d tumbled off enough roofs and buildings in his time to recognise how that felt. Then, lying at the bottom of the stairs in a silence punctuated only by the reassuring tick of a grandfather clock. A clock he’d admired in the past. A long time past …
‘…and he’s not been as fortunate as you, sir. We caught him with a whole host of items from number 15. Oh yes, sir. He’ll be a guest of Her Majesty in Armley for a long time.’
Monday, 16 March 2009
Even as he was bundled into the dingy room, he sensed all was not well. It wasn’t that he’d just been caught stealing again and was likely to go straight back to prison. That was normal. As his heart slowed and he regained his breath, other troubles began to cloud his head.
For a start, he didn’t recognise the copper who was about to question him. And although he knew the interview room at Barnsley nick like old proverbial, tonight it seemed different.
Terry Perry began to reflect just how stupid and unnecessary was his current predicament. Just a day ago he had finally decided to retire. He was tired. He’d had enough. After years of being chased, nicked and put away for more than a third of his adult life, he had begun to accept the old cliché that crime doesn’t pay.
Not a question of morals, of course. More a simple case of profit and loss. Those early fleet-footed years of easy pickings had been followed by a long slide into what equated to failure in the criminal underworld - few jobs, less money and ever longer periods of incarceration. So by the time he’d reached the age conventional people call retirement, his life’s financial balance sheet was looking quite negative. Other aspects of his existence were not going so well either.
In his youth, all of Terry’s worries had been short lived, concerning no one other than himself. No wife, kids or mortgage then. He’d been free to go where he pleased and do whatever blags he’d wanted. He’d been good at it too and when things went wrong he’d usually been fast enough to get away. There was a time when he’d been widely known as the best burglar in Barnsley. He’d even had offers to go down south, where the big money was, to join up with the East End mobs. Of course he’d been tempted. But in the end he’d been content to stay where he knew and was known. Besides, he’d done a particularly long spell in Armley in the early 60’s, and by the time he got out the chance had gone.
Now he was single once more. The wife had finally had enough of his ways and the kids were grown and gone. In that one sense he was back to where he started - a man free of all commitments. Yet with each movement, his pained and creaking body reminded him that things were certainly not as they had been.
This was to have been his last job. After tonight, his thieving days would have been over. It wasn’t even a job in the true sense of the word. He just needed a telly. He could probably have scraped enough money together to buy one but that just didn’t seem right somehow. Like an electrician getting someone else in to do the wiring.
Before, if he’d nicked a telly, or anything else for that matter, it would have been for someone who’d promised to pay him for it. Or it might have been the easiest thing to grab from a property and sell in the pub after. He’d never had need of a telly as he’d never had the time to watch one. Tonight was a first; he’d been after a telly for himself. To take home and watch.
A few days before, his one daughter who still lived in the area had allowed him into her house for a cup of tea and a quick look at the grand kids. He knew she didn’t like him going there. Not that she thought he’d nick anything. It was more to do with what the neighbours might think. Or whether the kids might start asking awkward questions. Or whether he might be a bad influence. As it happened, this time the influence had been unwittingly exerted by them.
He’d was there just after the grand kids had arrived home from school and they’d all sat round in the living room, drinking juice, eating biscuits and watching the telly. He’d been amazed by its hypnotic effects. Irritated at first by the lack of attention they were paying to him, their mother or anything else, he was gradually drawn into the storyline of whatever it was they were watching. When it finished abruptly, they’d had just enough time during the adverts to explain that the story would continue the following day at exactly the same time. And the day after that, and so on.
As he’d walked home he’d begun to realise that in addition to enjoying the programme, he’d also felt the warmth and love of the family sitting together. Perhaps a telly would help him to adjust to his retirement.
‘Right, sir. Would you mind telling us your name?’ the copper, a sergeant, interrupted Terry’s thoughts.
‘What?’
‘Your name.’
‘You know me name. I told you when I came in.’
‘Tell me again. For the records.’ His voice was deep but not especially stern.
‘For the records? Look, you know who I am. I’ve been in here often enough. Go get Sergeant Forrester. He’ll tell you.’
‘Just tell me your name, sir.’
Terry sighed. ‘Terry Perry.’
The sergeant stared into his eyes particularly intently, as if Terry had revealed something more significant than his name.
‘Would you like to tell me what you were doing at 15, Tennyson Place tonight, sir?’
Number 15 Tennyson Place had always been one of his favourites. A huge Victorian terraced house in one of Barnsley’s more salubrious areas. He must have broken in there around half a dozen times over the years. Four floors, including the cellars and attics with a huge garden round the back, it had many means of entry and an easy escape route. Once inside, there’d always been plenty of stuff around to nick. More often than not, a new family was in residence, oblivious to the experiences of their predecessors.
Now he remembered, it might even have been the first house he’d ever burgled. That time they’d just had all the interior paneled doors covered with hardboard. Twenty or so years later it had been ripped away to reveal the panels once more. Funny how fashions change. Tonight it appeared to have gone all IKEA.
He thought he’d chosen the house this time due to its practical advantages but now he reconsidered, perhaps it had been for sentimental reasons.
He’d gone in through the back garden. The scent of cut grass had been in the air and sure enough the mower was still out on the lawn in the twilight. The door into the cellar wasn’t even locked. He’d been up the stairs and into the hallway before he heard sounds coming from a room nearby. Breathing hard and soft, heart beating fast, he crept up a further flight of stairs onto the first floor.
He remembered the layout here well enough to go straight for the largest bedroom. The telly here was too big either for carrying or for his modest bedsit. The second produced what was required. One of those 17 inch jobs, Terry reasoned it might even be small enough to hide beneath his coat if necessary. He carried out a quick inspection just to ensure it wasn’t a computer screen like the grand kids had. He cut off the plug, lifted the telly and silently made his way to the top of the stairs.
Once out on the landing, he took a deep breath and prepared for the descent. But at the very moment his front foot was extended, just as it hung in preparation to meet the first step down, he detected a movement or sound behind him. Imagined or not, it was enough to distract him. The step was missed, his foot remained in mid-air and Terry realised he was falling forwards, still holding the telly. He didn’t know how many somersaults it took but the descent was both painful and loud. Each time a part of his body came into contact with a step, hand-rail or wall, the dull thuds and his grunts of agony seemed to reverberate throughout the house.
‘Number 15 Tennyson Place, you say?’ Terry gathered his thoughts.
‘Yes, sir. Someone broke in there tonight. And we found you in the garden.’
Terry had been in situations such as this many times before. He knew it didn’t look good.
‘I want me lawyer.’ He knew it was time send for the re-enforcements.
‘We can’t get a lawyer at this time of night, sir.’
‘What about the duty lawyer?’
‘The what, sir?’
‘The duty lawyer. Every nick has one nowadays…’
‘Not here, sir.’
‘…and where’s the tape recorder?’
‘What do want a tape recorder for, sir? You going to sing us a song?’
‘No, for every interview there should be…’
‘You don’t need to worry about that, sir. I have my notebook here so I can write an accurate record of what you say…’
The sergeant looked genuinely hurt when Terry responded with a sarcastic snort. He continued his questioning.
‘Would you mind telling me what this is, Sir?’ He reached down and lifted the telly onto the table between them.’
‘I’ve never seen it before.’ Back to the standard responses from Terry.
‘I didn’t ask about that, sir. I asked you what it is.’
For a moment, Terry struggled for a suitable response. Further sarcasm was tempting but that took effort. He was exhausted and aching.
‘It’s a telly.’
‘A televsion, sir?’
‘Yeah, a television.’
‘A television? Are you sure?’
‘Course I’m sure. It’s one of those flat-screen jobs. They’re new but they’ve been around for ages now. Surely you’ve seen one?’
‘Nobody here’s seen anything like it before, sir.’
If this was some kind of interrogation technique, it was a new one on Terry.
‘Well I’ve not seen that one before and I certainly didn’t take it from that house.’
‘Nobody’s saying you did, sir. We showed it to them and they’ve never seen one before either.’
‘Of course they have. They’ve got at least two in that house.’ Oops. That interrogation technique had worked.
‘I can assure you, sir, they’ve not. We checked the whole house for other missing items and there was no other object like this.’
It took a few moments for the information to register in his battered head but Terry gradually began to realise he just might be in the clear.
‘Well that shows I’m telling the truth then. I’ve never seen it before and I didn’t nick it.’
‘No, sir.’
‘So, I’ll be on my way then.’
‘I do need to ask you one or two more questions if you don’t mind, Sir,’ the sergeant took a breath and paused. ‘You say your name is Terry Perry.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do you, by any chance, know any other Terry Perry’s?’
Terry thought about his ex-wife and kids. The last name on earth they would have chosen for any of their offspring was Terry. As far as he was concerned, none of his wider family was named Terry and he knew of no other Terry Perry’s.
‘No.’
‘Neither do we, sir. We have no record of any Terry Perry appearing in this nick before. Then two come along in one night.’
‘What?’
‘We have a man, well, a youth really, claiming to be named Terry Perry, in our other interview room right now. Do you know him, Sir?’
‘I’ve told you. As far as I know, there’s only one Terry Perry in Barnsley.’
‘Well, he’s there, sir. Looks a bit like you actually. A lot younger of course …’
Terry fought to focus flashes of memories from the night’s events. Those paneled doors he’d recalled from later visits. The IKEA shelves and units. The staircase with its hand rail and spindles. His long, painful fall followed by the cloudiness of concussion. He’d tumbled off enough roofs and buildings in his time to recognise how that felt. Then, lying at the bottom of the stairs in a silence punctuated only by the reassuring tick of a grandfather clock. A clock he’d admired in the past. A long time past …
‘…and he’s not been as fortunate as you, sir. We caught him with a whole host of items from number 15. Oh yes, sir. He’ll be a guest of Her Majesty in Armley for a long time.’
Monday, 16 March 2009