Open Writing

A tall, sandy haired, man in his early forties is filling the pavement in front of his premises with furniture and seedy looking household bric a brac. To call 138b Teasdale Road a shop, would be to give it a quite undeserved accolade.

Andy Connick in faded green tee shirt, jeans and scruffy sandals, works hard and in fifteen minutes, there is barely a space for pedestrians to pass the maze of wardrobes, settees, hat-stands, and two barley sugar-legged tables covered in candlesticks, tools and other house clearance detritus. A once grand, ten-arm candelabra clinging to its yellowing candles, balances precariously on a cracked washstand.

The fading blue and yellow sign, over a heavily shuttered window, proclaims "Second Hand Furniture - proprietor Andrew Connick".
Connick, by a remarkable irony, is a good name for Andy. He has a well-deserved reputation as a con man and has been in the nick at least twice. A fit, and once handsome man, ladies were putty in his hands.

On this particular morning, the sun is shining and Andy is pleased that the display is to his liking. He is about to go back inside, when he sees his first potential customers of the day. The couple are elderly, the woman, tightly permed and seemingly handicapped, is leaning heavily on an unusual ivory handled stick. Her husband looks downtrodden and is shabbily dressed in a shiny blue suit. His one redeeming feature, a white handlebar moustache sits uneasily in his unremarkable face. He lacks interest in this wife-led endeavour.

"It's here Fred. I told you it was here! That's it. It's the one we saw from the bus. Oh, I think it's lovely Fred. It'll look grand in our Ethel's front room. Look! It's even got a drinks cabinet."

"Drinks cabinet. Drinks cabinet! What's she want a bloody drinks cabinet for. She's teetotal and he only drinks brandy! Buy him that plane and sander more like. Then he can build his own bloody drinks cabinet."

Andy looks at his display and tries to identify the piece Elsie is so keen on. He would like to clinch a much-needed sale. Elsie points at a particularly gruesome sideboard with her stick and almost falls to the ground.

"Ah, a good choice that love," says Andy "That's a much sought after design that is love. I'm always being asked for it. Oak bands let into the pine doors and strands of pewter in the hardwood handles. Very nice and clean that one."

Fred almost explodes. "Should be in a bloody landfill site that thing," he rants. "Pewter strands my arse."

"Actually, your wife's got a good eye Mr er." Andy looks enquiringly at Fred. "Miserable sod'' he thinks. "If you shut your gob, I could have a sale here.''

"Just let me show you these doors", he says out loud.

"I'll tell you what I can do here for you. You're a lovely couple and you've come on the bus to find Andy Connick's place. Give me £70, not £100. I'll deliver it where you say and run you both home. How's that? Cash would be much appreciated.'' he adds.

Andy was last in prison three years ago, dragged away in handcuffs to spend eighteen months in Armley Jail, Leeds. His wife Charlene decided then that enough was enough and since that day had made elaborate plans to get leave with, Frank Wiseman, her trainer at the gym and secret lover of five years.

Charlene had been slowly and carefully leaching cash from the business until she had what she considered to be her fair share.

Elsie and Fred were Frank's grandparents and Elsie had been well briefed to choose a particular sideboard that very morning.
"Well'' Elsie said "I think that's a very nice gesture, don't you Fred. We'll take it Andy. Give Andy the money Fred."

Fred handed over the £70, slowly counting out the fourteen five pound notes and swearing and muttering under his breath. "You're a bloody old fool woman. Pewter strands. Never heard such bloody tosh."

Later that night, Charlene helped Frank prise out the back of the drinks cabinet. Behind it,the Morrison's bag with fifteen thousand pounds in twenty pound notes was still intact. Thirty minutes later, the couple were on their way to Alicante. The 17 .50 Ryanair flight from Luton had been booked six weeks.

However all was not to end well. Elsie and Fred were found dead by neighbours in there council flat a week later. The apparent death was carbon monoxide poisoning from the defective gas fire flue in the lounge. The coroner's verdict however was different.