Jack(Barry Doughty) Jack
With his feet resting on a crate, a book on his lap and a cold can of John Smiths in his hand, sixty-five-year-old Jack Fuller relaxed in his recently acquired, armchair. It was tattered but very comfy. His contented expression conveyed his love of being tucked away in his little ten by eight shed, at the bottom of his garden.
The chair, together with an old refrigerator, was a gift from the woman next door, Eunice Hinks. For years, Jack had had a crush on Eunice, and since she’d been recently widowed, his interest in her had become more infectious.
Jack’s gaze drifted from the glossy page of his gardening book to the three strange looking mauve and white mottled seeds on the bench beside him. Beans, as he liked to think of them, for they did, in truth resemble the seeds of the runner bean plant. Jack then closed his eyes to let his mind wander into a fantasy world of Giants, beanstalks, golden fowl and a fair maiden by the name of Eunice. These things to Jack, however, were not just a dream. They represented the possibility of a new and happy life. But of course, as in the fairy tale, He knew that he had first, a giant to deal with. No really!
The shed was Jack’s retreat, a place where his invalid wife, Alice, (the giant) was not likely to bother him, as bother him she did, with her tireless, nagging tongue.
Recently he’d added electricity to his shed, enabling him to stay longer and read a book when lighter evenings were short.
Gardening, to Jack, was an excuse to escape from Alice. He would do a little digging or plant a few seeds before disappearing into his shed to relax in his chair. He’d even brought home his present gardening book from the library to substantiate his bogus hobby. In truth, he hated gardening. Until that day, he really had no interest in plants. It had all been a front, an excuse to hide from Alice and her ceaseless nagging, but things were about to change. Gardening now had a real purpose. It began a week ago when he randomly opened his present library book and read the heading: The Castor Oil Plant.
Jack mused how strangely parallel his life was about to become with that famous fairytale: Jack and the Beanstalk. Even his name was synonymous with the main character. After he’d studied the book’s section on the castor oil plant, he had visited his local garden centre to acquire the seeds. As he stared at them, he was sorely tempted to carry out his plan there and then. Common sense, however, told him that safety measures had to be adhered to. Besides, what was another year he mused, if it meant the rest of his life was going to be happy ever after.
Jack scooped up the beans and went into the garden. A cat was sniffing around his freshly prepared plot. He smiled. Everything was falling into place. He made such a commotion of yelling at the cat that mister Corbin peered over his hedge, his frown demanding an explanation.
“It’s okay Fred,” said Jack. “It’s that blasted cat again. I just hate cats.” Corbin offered a short,
“Yeah, know what you mean,” before retreating to his own gardening chore.
Jack planted his three beans, stood up, grinned and murmured quietly to himself,
“Once upon a time.”

One year later:
Jack winced with pain as he pushed himself out of his chair to change channels on the fifteen-year-old television.
“See! I told you didn’t I? The high-pitched whine came from Jack’s wife, Alice. Alice sat in her usual place, an armchair by a window overlooking the back garden, the ideal place to keep an eye on Jack.
Her wheelchair stood in the corner of the room collecting cobwebs. Alice had not sat in it for eighteen months. “It’s about time you bought a new telly,” she said. “Other people don’t have to get up every time they want to change the programme.”
“No, you’re right, and I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t sat on the bloody remote control.” Alice ignored Jack’s rebuke.
“Too long working in that garden, that’s your trouble,” she nagged. “What is it you’re doing out there, anyway? You never liked gardening. Why now, especially when your back is playing up? I’ve been watching you from the window, you keep looking at those funny looking plants, what are they? They look like that stuff they smoke. You better not be growing those cannibal plants!”
“No of course not, and the word is cannabis, not cannibal. You can’t smoke a cannibal; I think they prefer to smoke you.” Then under his breath, he mumbled. “You’d keep one fed for a year.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I haven’t mowed the grass for a year.”
“Oh…well, anyway, those leaves look like that drug stuff. I saw some on the telly once.”
“Well, they’re not. The leaves on my plants are much bigger.”
“See! That’s what I mean, my plants! You said it like you think more of them than me. For someone who never liked gardening, it seems a bit weird. When you’re not poking about in the garden, you’re down in that shed or chatting to that nosey Eunice Hinks, next door. If I had the strength to push my wheelchair down there, I’d pick some of those leaves and get them checked. I don’t trust you!”
“You leave them alone.” Jack sat back down, scowled at his wife and let out a sigh that secretly formed the word, “Soon.”
“What do you find to do down in that shed, anyway? Why don’t you do something useful like getting rid of those spare patio slabs that’s left over? I said you had ordered too many.”
“Don’t matter, I’ll find a use for them.”
“You spend hours down there in that shed, are you hiding food from me? That’s why you keep that fridge down there isn’t it? What food did you buy in the groceries this morning? Where’s the bill?”
“I threw it away. Anyway, you know why I keep the fridge locked away down there, it’s for your own good; you know what the doctor said? If you don’t start losing some weight, he wouldn’t be responsible.”
“Huh, what does he know? One little piece of chocolate a day never hurt anyone, and I’ve cut down on the fags, what more does he want?”
“You’re still smoking fifteen a day! And 230grams is not a little bar of chocolate.”
“So what? I’ve got to have some pleasure out of life, or I might as well be dead.” Jack mumbled something that Alice didn’t quite hear.
Something then attracted Jack’s attention in the garden.
“Now what are you looking at? What’s so interesting down there?” Before Alice had finished speaking Jack had the back door open and was shouting,
“Gerroutofit! I’ll kill that bloody cat.” He picked up a yard broom and threw it. The broom hit the fence some yards from the cat. The cat leapt the fence and was gone before a face appeared above the fence and a voice called out,
“Now, now, Jack, are you giving that cat a hard time again.”
“Excuse my language, Eunice, I just hate cats.”

A week later:

“It’s that bloody ginger tom again I’ll kill it!” Jack said staring out of the window.
“Well why don’t you put something down,” said Alice
“What do you mean, poison? I can’t do that, besides I’m sure it belongs to that new couple over the back.”
“So what, does it matter?”
“Of course it matters. You can’t just go around killing cats just because they mess in the garden.”
“Well, don’t keep on about them then, Mr Corbin thinks you’re paranoid.”
“How would you know what he thinks, you never go into the garden, in fact, you never go anywhere. When was the last time you used that wheelchair?”
“Never you mind. Mrs Corbin came in for a chat the other day; she told me how you keep shouting at the cats. Why are you grinning? I don’t know why you’re grinning, she said her husband thinks you’re mad!”
“Well, it’s annoying when a man takes a bit of interest in his garden…”
“Oh forget about the bloody cats and the garden! Did you get those pork pies I asked you to get this morning?”
“Yes and they’re staying down the shed in my fridge, you can have one at 8 o’clock when I make the last cup of tea.”
“One! I think you’re trying to starve me.”
“Yes, one. The doc said I have to be responsible for keeping you alive, so you’ll eat when and what I give you.”
“Well don’t forget the mustard and I want one of my fruit yoghurts for dessert…I don’t believe it!”
“What now?”
“That nosey Eunice Hinks is peering over our fence again. Go and see what she wants, and don’t be too long! I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
“Now don’t be nasty, Alice, she’s been very good to me. When I had my coal round, I swear she stuck to a coal fire just to help keep me in work.”
“Oh shut up and just go!” Jack made his way down the back garden.
“Hello Eunice, what can I do for you, love?”
“Oh, I didn’t want anything Jack. I just wanted to give you these seeds back.”
“Oh, why is that Eunice? You said you liked my plants. I saved the seeds especially for you.”
“Oh I do, Jack, but I found out they’re poisonous.”
“No! Really?”
“Yes, they’re castor oil plants, aren’t they?” Eunice had lost her husband two years earlier to the big C. No not cancer, Caribbean. He drowned in a diving accident while on holiday. To Jack’s frustration, Eunice to that day had stayed single, and while Alice was permanently peering from her window seat, Eunice would remain unattainable.
“Yes, I looked them up in my book on plants,” said Eunice. “Now that my sister’s little girl has started to walk, I couldn’t live with myself if she were to put one in her mouth, but thanks anyway.”
Eunice handed the few beans back to Jack, looked at her watch and said, “Oh that reminds me, meeting my sister in ten minutes, Jack, I’ve got to go. See you later, bye.”

A month later, the desk sergeant of the local police station received a call from the local hospital. The message was immediately passed on to a Detective Inspector Andrews who then visited the hospital.
The following day, Andrews, accompanied by a Detective Cross, pulled up outside the home of Mr Jack Fuller just as Jack was lifting some heavy paving slabs into the boot of his car.
“Mr Jack Fuller?” DI Andrews asked.
“Yes. Be with you in a minute.” Jack said, loading the fifth and last slab into his car.
“Heavy work that,” said Andrews.
“Yes, you can say that again especially when one has a bad back.”
“The hospital said it was you that called the ambulance for your wife, Mr Fuller. Is that right?”
“Yes, I did. Heart attack, the hospital said? I wasn’t surprised mind. Her weight, you see. The heart can’t take it. Come in, I’ll make some tea. You’ll have to excuse the mess Inspector; I’ve been too upset to worry about cleaning the place.”
Both Andrews and Cross scrutinised Jack’s untidy lounge as Andrews commented,
“You don’t appear to be too upset Mr Fuller. Not for one who’s just lost his wife. Were you married long?”
“Forty-one years…and well it’s not like it was a total shock. Her doctor warned…”
“It wasn’t a heart attack.” Andrews interrupted Jack while studying his reaction. Jack stood there, mouth agape for a moment, then,
“What! But the hospital said…”
“Yes, but they made a mistake.” Detective Cross interrupted. “They jumped the gun. Like you said; your wife was grossly overweight, twenty-seven and a half stone to be exact. They just assumed it would be her heart. That was before they’d made a detailed examination.” Jack sat open-mouthed for some time before saying,
“So if it wasn’t her heart, what was it?”
Andrews studied Jack’s face before voicing his next word,
“Poison.” The word was meant to startle and frighten a guilty person but if it had this effect on Jack, he never let it show, and Andrews thought to himself, “Jack Fuller, you’re good.”
“Ricin, to be exact,” Andrews continued. “Have you access to any of this substance Mr Fuller?”
“Don’t even know what it is!” said Jack, trying not to smile with pleasure at his own superb performance.
“It’s an extract from the castor oil plant. Like those I can see in your back garden” Andrews said, staring out the rear window.
“Oh my God!” Jack buried his face in his hands and mumbled, “What have I done, it’s all my fault.” The two officers stared at each other. Andrews suspected foul play even before he’d met Jack Fuller. The hospital had briefed him about the poison, and he was prepared for all kinds of excuses and denial from Fuller. What he didn’t expect was a confession, if that was what Jack Fuller was about to unfold.
“What have you done Mr Fuller?” said Andrews.
“Eunice told me only last week that those seeds were poison, but I never meant…it’s all because of those bloody cats.”
“Mr Fuller, you’re not making sense. Who’s Eunice? And what have cats got to do with this?”
“Eunice is my neighbour. Oh my God, yes I think I may know what’s happened. Alice must have found the key to my shed.” Andrews appeared to be losing his temper “Mr Fuller, please explain yourself.”
“Well, it all started when the doctor warned me that if Alice didn’t lose weight, he couldn’t see her living past retirement age. But Alice wouldn’t listen; she couldn’t stay away from the fridge. Our grocery bill would have kept a family of six, so I started keeping the food locked in a fridge in my shed. I’m guessing that while I was visiting the library, she found my key, wheeled herself down the garden and raided the fridge.” Andrews had stopped listening and was staring at the wheelchair; something about it was irritating him, but just what, wouldn’t surface.
“What the hell has all this got to do with cats?”
“Well we’ve been plagued by cats lately, dirty animals, stinking up the garden. So then, when Eunice, next door, told me that the seeds from my plants were poisonous, I decided to try using them to get rid of the cats.”
“You like to poison cats, do you Mr Fuller?” said Detective Cross, frowning at Jack.
“Well I know it wouldn’t be everyone’s solution to the problem, but then not everyone hates them like I do.”
“So how did you poison them?”
“Well I’m not sure I have, but I must admit I’ve tried. I split the castor oil seeds open and mixed the contents with a fruit-yoghurt then I put some in a saucer and set it down behind the shed…Oh, God.”
“What?”
“Alice loved her fruit yoghurt’s. I must have left the rest in the carton. Can’t remember if I put it back in the fridge or not, but Alice must have found it.”
“This is all speculation so far Mr Fuller. Let’s take a look in this shed.”
“As Jack led the two policemen into the back garden, he said,
“This is the first time I’ve been outside the house since Alice…Oh look, there’s the tracks of her wheelchair, she must have come down here.” Andrews crouched down and examined the depth of tracks. He also felt the firmness of the earth. They reached the shed and Andrews took note when Jack climbed two steps to reach the door.
“I’ve not been in here since Alice...” Jack’s voice trailed off as he opened the door and followed Andrews and Cross inside.
“Just as I thought,” Jack said pointing to the three pork pie wrappings and empty yoghurt carton littering the potting bench. “That’s the yoghurt carton I mixed the powder in. Like I said, I put some in a saucer. You’ll find it outside behind the shed, that’s where the cats do their business. I suppose without thinking I put the carton back in the fridge.”
Jack read the look of suspicion on the officers’ faces. “It’s true, you can go look if you don’t believe me.” Andrews nodded to the younger detective prompting Cross to go and look. He returned moments later, holding out a saucer of yoghurt.
“I don’t expect you’ve killed any cats with this, Mr Fuller,” said Cross. “My cat doesn’t like yoghurt, and I think that might apply to cats in general.”
“Oh! Well, I suppose that’s a good thing then. I didn’t know that.”
“Better bag it, Cross, and the carton,” said Andrews. “Do you know that poisoning cats is against the law, Mr Fuller?”
“Well I know it’s not a nice thing to do, but they were getting beyond a joke. Anyway, it doesn’t look like I have poisoned any, does it? Oh, God what will happen to me? I never meant to…Alice was always hunting for food and, oh hell yes, I went to the library that day. She must have found my shed keys.”
“Mr Fuller I’d like you to accompany us to the station for further questioning.”

Andrews was convinced that there was foul play concerning Alice’s death. Something was nagging at the detective’s subconscious. Also, the fact that Jack Fuller said he’d not been down to the shed since his wife died, yet he had to unlock it. He even doubted that someone of Alice Fuller’s weight and wheelchair dependent could climb up two steps to enter the shed, and when leaving, taken the trouble to lock it behind her.
Then there were the three Castor oil plants growing in the garden, but no other flowers, but when they checked the depth of the wheelchair tracks using weights equal to twenty-seven and a half stone, it checked out. Andrews was sure there had been foul play here, but it seemed like Jack Fuller hadn’t missed a trick. Yet, something was still bothering the detective, something he knew he’d missed.
Andrews believed that Jack was a clever, but evil man. Thinking there was enough evidence for the charge of murder, he arrested Mr Fuller. The prosecution entered a charge of first-degree murder. The judiciary found Jack’s hatred of cats convincing, especially when neighbours were called to give evidence confirming Jack’s hatred of cats. This made Jack’s poisoned yoghurt theory convince the jury that Alice’s death was just an unfortunate accident. The prosecution’s most persuasive argument was the two steps leading up to the shed. They put it to the jury that a twenty-seven and a half stone woman in a wheelchair could not have gained access to it. However, Jack killed this assumption with six little words: Oh, she could walk a little. In his summing up, the judge ruled that any other decision other than accidental death would be unsafe.

Some weeks after the trial, Jack was sat in Alice’s chair near the window. He smiled as he slipped a letter and cheque from that day’s postal delivery, back in their envelope. He found the purring of his new friend asleep on his lap, strangely comforting. This was a stray ginger cat.
“Well Thomas,” he said stroking the cat. “The nasty giant is no more. The princess Eunice has agreed to our first date, and the cheque from the Pru tells me I’m going to live happily ever after. You, my friend Thomas, don’t look much like a golden goose but you are as close as I’m likely to get.”

Meanwhile, less than a mile away, The nagging thought that had been troubling D.I. Andrews suddenly came to the fore and caused him to visit Jack Fuller’s local library.

“That is the right one Inspector,” said the young librarian. “I’m sure it was the last book Mr Fuller borrowed, although it was over a year ago, you can see by the date it was stamped. “Yes, thank you,” said Andrews, his finger stopping on the book’s index at the words Castor oil plant.
“Is there anything else I can find for you Inspector?”
“Not unless you have a book that explains how to fit a twenty-seven and a half stone woman into an eighteen-inch-wide seat of a wheelchair.” Then as if talking to himself, he said “Mind you if I wanted to make deep wheel tracks, half a dozen patio slabs would sit in there perfect.”

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