Suicide in Suffolk

1

He lifted the lifeless body and placed it in the vehicle, the weight heavier today, both physically and emotionally. He'd encountered death countless times, but this one held a haunting secret. Lowestoft, the coastal town, lay eerily still. The bustling streets had vanished, replaced by an unsettling hush, broken only by distant crashing waves. Navigating the unlit road cautiously, he reached the desolate car park, unease knotting his gut, urging him on.

After parking near the entrance, he turned off the engine, slipped the keys into his pocket, and cast one last glance at the body before heading towards the building.

Peering through the glass, he saw only darkness, his reflection uneasy with questions. Would they understand, or would suspicion arise? His trembling hand mustered the courage for several firm knocks.

Despite numerous failed attempts and mounting frustration, he checked his pocket watch. The hands pointed to an ungodly early hour, evoking a quiet sigh. He trudged back to the vehicle with slumped shoulders and heavy steps, fumbling for the correct key.

Suddenly, a light flickered on behind him, casting light on the car park entrance. A lock turned, and a silhouette emerged at the building's entrance.

A woman's voice called out, 'Hello, is anyone out there?'

'I'd nearly lost hope,' the man replied. He continued toward the entrance, his shoes shuffling on the cracked pavement.

'Is everything okay, sir?'

Without answering, he looked around the car park and stepped into the light, closing the gap between them. Coming to a stop, he scrutinised her closely, noting her appearance.

'Not exactly, Miss.' He adjusted his bow tie. 'I'm here to report a crime!'

'I see, sir. Unfortunately we're closed right now, but you can come back when we open or report the crime on our website, and we'll investigate—.'

'I don't use the internet, you see. This is rather urgent. Can you perhaps make an exception and let me speak with someone right away?'

She scanned his clothes and face, offering a brief smile, as if assuring herself that he wasn't a threat.

'Okay, follow me,' she said whilst motioning for him to follow her.

He followed the young officer down the hallway, matching her pace. Occasionally, she slowed and glanced over her shoulder at him.

'We don't often have individuals showing up to report crimes at this hour.’

'I understand it's unusual, officer. But I promise you, what I have to say is of the utmost importance. Lives may be at stake.'

The officer hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching his face for sincerity.

'Alright, if you say so, sir. But remember, we take matters of this nature seriously. If you're wasting our time, there will be consequences.'

He hastened his pace to match the officer's stride, eager to convey the weight of his revelation.

The modest police station had narrow, plain-walled hallways. The woman led him to the office area. The air carried a mix of stale coffee and an unidentified aroma.

She halted at the end desk near the window. With a friendly smile, she grabbed a chair from another desk and gestured for him to sit. As he took a seat, he observed the perfectly tidy workspace, complete with family photos and neatly arranged files.

As she bent over to her desk drawer and straightened up with a notepad and pen in hand, a lock of dark brunette hair slipped across her face. She quickly brushed it behind her ear, revealing a pair of attentive green eyes.

'I'm PC Cooper. I need to gather some details for our incident log. Could you please provide your full name, age, and address?'

Collecting his thoughts, he replied, 'Cecil Whitford, June 11, 1952. My address is 70 Denmark Road, Lowestoft, NR32 2EQ.'

'Okay, Mr Whitford, you're reporting a crime. Can you describe what happened?'

Taking his time to reply, he said, 'I'm not too sure. I never actually witnessed the crime taking place.'

'I appreciate your willingness to come forward, Mr Whitford. Reporting a potential crime is an important step, even if you didn't witness it directly. Please take your time and provide as much detail as possible. We're here to listen and gather all relevant information.'

His hands clenched the chair's edge, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.

'I'm here to report a murder,' he finally confessed.

2

'A murder?' she asked.

He nodded.

‘This is serious, Mr Whitford. Can you explain the situation? Let’s start with the victim.'

'I don't have much information. She's not very talkative.'

Before she could utter another word, Mr Whitford pressed on, 'Let me take you to her. I've brought the body. It's just outside.'

'Wait! What? Are you saying you brought a dead body here?'

'Yes. I'm parked just outside.'

His words hung in the air, leaving her trying to piece together the situation. She remained composed, her training as a police officer guiding her to handle the situation professionally. 'Thank you for sharing this information, Mr Whitford.'

Mr Whitford's admission surprised her. She couldn't dismiss it outright; instead, her duty as an officer compelled her to delve into this improbable situation.

'Follow me,' she instructed, gesturing towards the dimly lit hallway.

Their footsteps resonated ominously through the empty hallway. Pausing by a door, she struggled to steady her hand while attempting to unlock it.

'Please, have a seat.' She gestured towards the chairs in the room. 'I'll need to inform my boss about what you've said. I'll be right back.'

The room exuded austerity, furnished with a solitary table surrounded by four unadorned metal chairs. A single audio recorder, its soft hum the only disruption, rested on the bare table. The walls, cloaked in a drab shade of grey, seemed to absorb the room's lifelessness.

Mr Whitford strode to the table and took a seat, his movements deliberate. He folded his hands calmly on his lap. The fine lines etched on his face hinted at years of experience and stories untold. From the details he shared earlier, it was clear he had seen more than his fair share of life.

He was dressed smartly in a sombre suit and grey bow tie—the attire of someone who held respect for the solemnity of his profession. He remained facing her. She met his stare, her thoughts racing to untangle the enigma before her. Behind his composed exterior, what fears, regrets, or purpose lay hidden?

PC Cooper swiftly left the room, closing the door behind her in silence.

Wanting to verify Mr Whitford's words and take a break from the tense atmosphere inside, she walked to the car park.

In the dimly lit car park, her familiar white Fiat 500 sat alongside an unfamiliar, old-looking black vehicle.

Approaching cautiously, a sense of foreboding settled over her. Maybe it was just a prank, some attention-seeking ploy by an eccentric individual.

This had to be it. The rest of the car park lay deserted. She hoped for a false alarm, but her hope crumbled when a distinct shape caught her eye through the rear window. Drawing closer, PC Cooper peered through the glass and her eyes widened in disbelief. A body lay motionless inside the vehicle. She clenched her fists, her hands trembling involuntarily.

PC Cooper, who had devoted her life to upholding the law, felt her legs give way beneath her. She sank to the ground, overcome by a wave of shock and nausea. Her stomach revolted, expelling the remnants of her once-promising breakfast in a grotesque display on the pavement. She wiped her lips with a shaky forearm, taking a moment to steady herself before making her way back to the station.

The image of Mr Whitford haunted her. She wrestled with conflicting emotions, her curiosity warring with a sense of dread. What could drive a seemingly unassuming elderly man to commit such a heinous act? Why had he chosen to confess this to her?

Pausing outside Mr Whitford's holding room, PC Cooper strained to catch any sounds from within. Then, unexpectedly, his calm voice broke the silence, sending a shiver down her spine.

'Have you located her body?' His voice was steady, but it held a hint of anticipation.

3

PC Cooper's sense of duty propelled her into action, demanding both professionalism and urgency, no matter how unsettling it was. How could he be so calm after bringing a dead body to the police station? She maintained her composure, putting distance between herself and the man who seemed to be hiding something.

She hurried to her desk and called Sergeant Parker.

'Hello, Keeley. You're calling early. Is everything all right?'

Keeley took a deep breath. 'No, sir... something terrible has happened.'

'Are you okay? What is it? What happened?' Sergeant Parker's voice rose with concern.

'Well, I need to speak with you, sir. There's been a murder.'

'What!?' Sergeant Parker's voice reflected his concern.

'—Are you still there, sir? What should we do?'

'Yes. Just give me a moment, Keeley. Let me think. Give me the address, I'll send Paul and Hannah right away. You also need to contact the coroner's office,' Sergeant Parker instructed.

'Sir, I'm already on the scene. There's a parked car here at the station, and there's a body inside.'

'Good Lord, Keeley!' Sergeant Parker gasped. 'Call the coroner right away. Stay where you are. Keep an eye out for any suspicious activity and wait for my arrival. How on earth did we end up with a murder at our own station?'

'Alright, sir. I'll do that. Please, hurry.'

Keeley ended the call. She then quickly dialled the coroner's office, ensuring they would be part of the investigation.

The minutes dragged on, each one amplifying the urgency that hung in the air. Moments later, footsteps echoed down the hall. Keeley looked up to see Sergeant Parker approaching in a rush. His round face bore a determined expression, and his bald head glistened under the ceiling lights. Already perspiring, he dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief.

'Keeley,' he said firmly. 'Did you call the coroner?'

'Yes,' she replied. 'But they won't be here for a few hours.'

'It's okay. I'm here now. Let's go look at the body,' he said.

Keeley led the way back to the car park, her steps urgent. As they approached the vehicle, Sergeant Parker peered into the back. His brows furrowed, and he shook his head slightly.

A low, frustrated utterance escaped his lips as he stepped back, 'Damn it.'

'I know, it's disturbing. I've never witnessed something like this before.'

'Jees, what the hell is this I've stepped in?' he grumbled.

Keeley pressed her lips together, her shoulders shaking slightly with suppressed amusement.

He walked over to the curb and scraped his boots in an attempt to remove the neon green vomit.

'Do we know how this car got here? It appears to be an old hearse. Maybe a local funeral home is missing a body?'

Keeley's eyes widened as she noticed something she had missed earlier—the vehicle was unmistakably a hearse. In the dim light, the details had been obscure, but now, with the sun rising higher, she could see the black paint showed signs of fading, and the vinyl top appeared clean but slightly worn. Its elongated form seemed out of place among the few other cars in the mostly empty car park, mainly occupied by police vehicles. In the soft morning light, the silver accents along its sides gleamed subtly.

She cleared her throat, 'I have an idea how it ended up here.'

'Really? Tell me,' Sergeant Parker urged, his eyes fixed on Keeley.

'It belongs to Mr Whitford.'

Sergeant Parker's brows furrowed. 'Who's he? And why is his hearse parked here with a dead body in the back?'

Keeley took a breath before responding. 'Well, he drove it here this morning, sir. I'm currently holding him in meeting room one.'

The distant hum of traffic filled the air as Sergeant Parker let out a frustrated sigh.

'Alright, let's leave this here for the coroner when they arrive,' he said, gesturing towards the hearse. 'In the meantime, let's talk to Mr Whitford and figure out what the hell is going on.'

Keeley entered the building, leading the way to the interview room where Mr Whitford was held. Sergeant Parker followed closely, his presence reinforcing her resolve.

After unlocking the door, they stepped inside. Keeley focused on Mr Whitford. Her mind raced with questions and suspicions. His confident smile couldn't deter her. She knew there was more to him, and she was determined to uncover the truth.

Mr Whitford's eyes lifted as they entered. His face turned solemn as he spotted Sergeant Parker. 'I was starting to think you had forgotten about me.'

Keeley's eyes narrowed, and her voice carried a hint of steel. 'Thank you for waiting patiently, Mr Whitford. This is Sergeant Parker,' she said, gesturing towards her colleague. 'Based on what happened this morning and the body in your vehicle outside, we need to conduct a voluntary interview to aid our investigation.' The taste and smell of vomit resurfaced in her mouth.

Sergeant Parker examined Mr Whitford. He thought he recognised the man but couldn't remember where from.

'When you say voluntary, does that mean I can just leave?' Mr Whitford asked, narrowing his eyes.

Tension filled the room and heavy silence followed. Sergeant Parker and Mr Whitford exchanged looks, assessing each other's intentions.

‘Yes, but if you don't cooperate, we may have to arrest you later to get the information we need for the investigation.'

'Fine. Let’s proceed,' Mr Whitford replied calmly

. He had been in a similar situation before with the police for his misjudgement and rash actions.