With This Ring

WITH THIS RING

Nigel held the ring in the palm of his hand feeling the weight of it. The weight of pain and blood, anger and fear, crimes past and present.
He hated that ring. Just to look at it turned his stomach. Typical of his Grandfather, the old bastard, to leave it to Nigel in his will.
“Did I ever tell you how I got this ring lad?” he’d ask, every time Nigel was taken to visit him.
“Yes Grandad, lots of times.” But it didn’t stop the old man and he laughed and told the story yet again. “Me and me mates had got separated from the rest of the company and we was tryin’ to find our way back to the others.”
“Trying to find something to pinch you mean.” Muttered Nigel’s dad under his breath but the old man ignored him and carried on. “Well, we found ourselves in this ruined chateau, nothing left of it really, just a few walls. We was poking about in the rubble when I spots this bit of cloth so I pulled at it and a few bits of brick fell away and there was a bloody dead Nazi and I was pullin’ at ‘is uniform!” He laughed. “A dead bloody Nazi! Can you believe it!”
“Yes dad, a dead bloody Nazi, we’ve heard it a thousand times,” Nigel’s father got up and stamped out of the room. “I’m going to the pub, I can’t be bothered to listen to all this crap again. I’ll be back in an hour. Just behave yourself.”
”Dad, dad, can I come with you? Please?” But the door had already slammed shut, leaving Nigel alone in the house with his grandfather. The old man held out the signet ring to the boy. “Here y’are, lad. Take it.” Nigel shrank from the heavy lump of gold in his grandfather’s hand. “Go on lad, take it, it’ll be yours one day. When I’m dead.” Then he laughed and carried on with the story he told Nigel every time the boy was brought to see him.
“He’d been dead a fair while and the rats had had a good go at ‘im. I was pullin’ ‘is sleeve, and I saw this flash of gold on ‘is ‘and – well, what there were left of it- and there it was, a bloody great signet ring. “You won’t be needin’ this any more my lad.” I says to ‘im “So I’ll ‘ave it thank you very much.” And I pulled it off ‘is ‘and, but ‘is whole bloody finger comes off with it!” The old man roared with laughter, as he always did.
Nigel sat, petrified. He knew what would happen next. What always happened next, when he was alone with the old man. When his dad was down the pub. His mum never came with them on these visits. Nigel had heard her telling his dad that wild horses wouldn’t drag her to “that disgusting old pervert’s place!” Of course, an argument followed when she told her husband how his father had repeatedly groped her whenever she’d been to his house and she refused to see him ever again. So Nigel was taken 4 or 5 times a year by his father and he dreaded every visit, particularly those when his father went off to the pub for an hour or so – which was just about every time.




Nigel had tried for so many years to block out those memories but when he saw the heavy ring with the double-headed eagle design it brought them all flooding back. He still didn’t know why he’d kept it all this time, hidden at the back of a drawer. He hadn’t looked at it for a very, very long time but developments at work had stirred up dark thoughts and when he got back home he’d taken it out of its’ hiding place.
The weight of it, physically and emotionally, bore down upon him, as his grandfather had, all those years ago and now, now what? Revenge? Impossible. The old man was rotting in his grave. Retribution? Maybe. Drawing a line under it all? Who knew? He’d joined the Police as soon as he was old enough and when he’d been asked at his interview, why? Why did he want to join the Police? He’d answered “I want to protect the innocent and bring offenders to justice.” They’d thought he’d given that answer because he thought that’s what they wanted to hear, but it was the pure, unadulterated truth. It still was.
Then yesterday he’d heard that a notorious but time-served paedophile had been released and was coming to live in the area. Of course, his exact identity and whereabouts were supposed to be a closely guarded secret, for the man’s own protection, but again, of course, everyone in the station soon knew. “If the bastard does get himself done in I’m not going to be crying at his graveside.” Andy, Nigel’s sergeant had spat in disgust. Another copper agreed. “Bloody pervert! Deserves a bloody good beating.” Nigel stayed silent.

Three days later, a body lay on the slab in the mortuary whilst the Pathologist and the Officer in the Case went over the list of injuries. “Somebody really went to town on this one.” The Pathologist remarked, “Ruptured spleen and kidneys, broken bones everywhere and his face is beaten to the proverbial pulp. Interesting thing though,” the pathologist pointed to a photograph he’d taken of marks occurring all over the body. “Looks like whoever did this was wearing a very heavy ring. It’s rather distinctive, see the imprint of the double-headed Eagle? It’s quite obvious in some places.”