Addicted to Death

by Matthew Redford

  “Answer the question Mr Bramley.”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I had a tree damaged the other evening. I found it when I was checking the orchard in the morning. I thought the local kids had been messing around. It happens from time to time.”

  Oranges and Lemons looked at each other and nodded.

  “Mr Bramley, we have reason to believe that you are wasting police time by claiming that someone made your apples crumble. We think you are trying to commit another fraud. We also have reason to believe that the remnants of your so called damaged tree were found at the Strawberry Strip Club at the scene of a murder. Mr Bramley, we don’t know what your motive is, but aside from that, we are charging you with the murder of Professor Perry Partridge.”

  Wortel went through the motions of re-interviewing Alex Pine although tired of going over the same ground, and with no breakthrough from forensics, he knew he had little choice but to let him leave custody. Wortel and Pine completed the paperwork with PC Vee and took the lift back to the main reception.

  “Mr Pine. Please don’t go anywhere, and as I have already explained, I strongly advise you not to continue with your recent protests.”

  “Thanks for your advice but the world needs to know that food sapiens are a threat to society. They make you think that they are normal, everyday folk and then they screw you over.”

  As the lift doors opened, Wortel and Pine were confronted by a wall of noise emanating from the incandescent figure of Mr Bramley, who was not being placated by Dorothy, despite her best efforts.

  “Once again Mr Bramley I can only apologise for the impetuousness of my colleagues. They had no basis on which to charge you with murder.”

  A startled Wortel spun on the spot and saw an already scolded Oranges and Lemons looking on as Dorothy Knox employed all of her experience to try to appease Mr Bramley.

  “And of course DI Wortel would be happy to receive any feedback you wish to give via the complaints procedure. Once again sir, we are very sorry, and we will look into your apples crumbling as a matter of urgency.”

  Mr Bramley muttered a series of expletives under his breath and turned on his heel to leave. As he did he came face to face with Alex Pine who himself had frozen to the spot. Both men stopped and stared at each other, their eyes locked firmly as the colour drained from their faces. Alex Pine pushed past Mr Bramley, took one final look over his shoulder, and sprinted from the police station as fast as his legs would carry him.

  17

  In cabinet

  Wortel paced back and forth, his face contorted with rage as Oranges and Lemons recounted their version of the interview with Mr Bramley. Dorothy sat at her desk knowing that when Wortel went into one of his moods, which wasn’t that often, avoidance was the best tactic.

  “Just shut up the pair of you for a moment. Do you mean to tell me you got someone you idiotically suspected of murder to officiate a game of rock, paper, scissors to work out who could lead the misguided interview?”

  “It was the only fair way,” protested Lemons.

  “Only because you wouldn’t let me lead,” said Oranges trying to shift some of the blame.

  “Why should you get to lead? You’re not my senior,” retorted Lemons preparing to shove some of the blame back in Oranges’ direction.

  “So, it was the only fair way,” conceded Oranges, trying to find some conciliatory ground with his partner.

  “Yes, the only fair way,” agreed Lemons.

  “Until you cheated by throwing an imaginary grenade and saying that blows up rock.”

  “Yeah, but that’s because you kept delaying showing your hand to try and see whether I’d picked rock, paper or scissors.”

  “ENOUGH!” bellowed Wortel, his face becoming a deep intense carrot orange colour. “I don’t give a flying fig who had rock, who had paper or who had scissors. I don’t even care which of you got to lead the interview. Neither of you had the right to charge Mr Bramley with anything let alone with murder. Did either of you numbskulls not think to speak to me or Dorothy? No, of course you didn’t. Well, let me say this plainly so that you understand me. You two can get your coats and get out of here. I’m suspending you from duty with immediate effect.”

  “Ah, there’s a problem with that sir. Do you want to hear something funny?” asked Oranges.

  Wortel looked at the two fruit officers staring back at him. Never in his life had two people managed to infuriate him as much. Not even when the Rum Baba had given Stella a terrible haircut and charged her a fortune for the privilege. Hearing Oranges and Lemons tell him that he might have a problem suspending them from duty was doing nothing to improve their popularity.

  “And what problem would that be then?”

  “We technically still belong to Chief Superintendent Magoo, after all he is paying our wages. We’ve been loaned to you. So, you can’t suspend us without his permission.”

  “But Archibald won you in his fixed game of golf,” exclaimed Wortel.

  “You may wish to read the terms of the agreement,” said Lemons pulling out a contract from his desk drawer. He walked over to Wortel and put the contract down in front of him. “You’ll need to read paragraph 14.2 clause 4a in conjunction with paragraph 17.6 clause 2d.”

  Wortel took the contract, flicked it open to paragraph 14.2 clause 4a and read it slowly. Twice. He could feel his stomach churn as he turned the page, found paragraph 17.6 clause 2d and started to read. He turned away from Oranges and Lemons and walked across to where Dorothy was sitting.

  “They barely know what day of the week it is, but suddenly they can recite the terms and conditions of this contract without the slightest stumble. I’m going to speak with Archibald now but I think we’re lumbered with them,” he whispered.

  Dorothy reached out and placed a consoling hand on Wortel’s arm. “I’ll get them to write up their notes from AstraArms and Beaconborne Avenue,” she said as Wortel headed slowly for the exit, never once looking back over his shoulder towards Oranges and Lemons who were busy discussing what Wortel had meant earlier when he was talking about flying figs.

  Wortel’s meeting with Archibald yielded the result he expected. Oranges and Lemons were keepers.

  “There’s really no way of getting shot of them?”

  “I’m afraid not Wortel. You’ll have to train them up so they meet your expectations.”

  “Just my luck,” said Wortel. “They’re as welcome as a bout of haemorrhoids on a cycling holiday, only Oranges and Lemons are twice as painful and now it seems harder to extract.”

  “Now come on Wortel. You had to start somewhere. I bet when you were young and eager you made some mistakes you now regret.”

  “I never charged someone with murder without any evidence,” responded Wortel.

  “There for the grace of God, Wortel.”

  “What’s that meant to mean?” asked Wortel spluttering.

  Chief Superintendent Archibald raised himself from his chair and limped over to his drinks cabinet. He poured himself a scotch and offered one to Wortel who declined.

  “I’ve arranged for you to meet Chancellor Smith. You wanted to verify whether von Blimff was with him on the night that Professor Partridge was murdered. Well, he’s granted you an audience later this afternoon.”

  “I’m honoured. Should I go on bended knee?”

  Ignoring the sarcasm in Wortel’s voice, Archibald pressed on. “Don’t go making an enemy of him Wortel. He’s odds on to be the next Prime Minister and we need friends in high places especially with the cuts to the public services. Our funding is under review and we need the Food Related Crime Division to be seen to be co-operative with our political masters. So don’t go in like a bull in a china shop.”

  “I’ve never seen a bull in a china shop so I wouldn’t know what you mean sir. Besides, I’m only checking von Blimff was where he claimed. The interview should be a formality.”

  “Good,” said Archibald, pleased that Wortel had taken on board his concerns. “
Now Wortel, I’m glad you came to see me because there was a personal question I wanted to ask you.”

  “Okay boss. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s this darn false leg of mine. I’ve been thinking of getting it replaced and I wanted your opinion.”

  Wortel began to wonder where the conversation was headed but decided to stick with it for now.

  “Has the fitting become loose sir? Do you need to get it realigned?”

  “Nothing like that Wortel. I mean, it’s just a plain old wooden leg. I was thinking of getting something more modern.”

  “Oh right, one of these new plastic prosthetics.”

  “Not exactly. I was thinking of getting it fitted with electrics so when I’m out and about if my mobile phone or laptop starts to run low of battery I could just plug it into my leg and recharge the device.”

  Wortel felt his mouth start to drop open.

  “Or failing that, I thought I might get the limb turned into one of those Swiss army legs. You know, it could contain a corkscrew, pen knife, torch, that sort of thing. Well, what do you think?”

  “I’m really not sure,” said Wortel honestly, his mind racing at what was being suggested by Archibald. “What does Mrs Archibald say?”

  “She thought I could get my leg turned into a safety deposit box, but I’m damned if I’m going walk around all day carrying her jewellery. It’d weigh a ton.”

  Wortel arrived at the offices of Chancellor Theo Smith with the image of Archibald’s Swiss army leg stuck in his mind. Worse still, Wortel had thought of a dozen other options for Archibald ranging from a pogo stick leg to a portable vacuum that would make household cleaning so much easier.

  Wortel was taken through security which included a full body strip search he wasn’t expecting. He was taken and placed in a small waiting area which contained a number of lifestyle magazines that were all months out of date. In fact, if he didn’t know better, Wortel would have sworn he was in a doctor’s surgery. The rubber gloved search certainly aided that impression.

  Wortel thumbed through a cookery magazine while he waited for Chancellor Smith. After around fifteen minutes Theo Smith appeared at the entrance to the waiting area looking much slimmer, and with a new, trim haircut, than when Wortel had last seen him on television.

  “DI Wortel I presume?”

  “Chancellor Smith. Thank you for making time to see me today.”

  “My pleasure DI Wortel. Especially if my assistance helps you get one step closer catching who killed my dear friend and colleague, the Minister for DAFaRT.” Chancellor Smith turned his head away from Wortel and took a deep breath. “Such a tragedy. We lost one of our most talented politicians.”

  “He was certainly someone the food sapiens community looked up to,” said Wortel recalling that Archibald wanted him to play nice with the Chancellor.

  Both Smith and Wortel stood in silent reflection for a few moments before the Chancellor invited the carrot detective to his office.

  “You’ll be pleased to know my office is a little more comfortable than that waiting area,” said Smith. “I’ve been told it resembles a doctor’s waiting room.”

  “I guess that’s appropriate really.”

  “Why’s that Wortel?”

  “Well, with the cuts you’re imposing on the country we’ll all need a doctor.”

  Wortel could hear the words coming out of his mouth, and yet even though he was screaming at himself to stop, the words kept coming.

  “But, er, well, not that the country can afford to keep spending money it hasn’t got. No that would never do. We need to do something. I mean, imagine if your opposite number got his hands on the country’s finances. What would old Calamity Cooperfield do? We’d be bankrupt in no time.”

  Wortel let out a stilted laugh which Chancellor Smith failed to return.

  “Thank you for those insights DI Wortel. Anything else you would like to comment on?”

  “No thank you Chancellor.”

  “Good. Do take a seat. Now tell me, what can I do for the Food Related Crime Division?”

  “I understand from Charles von Blimff that he was with you on the evening Professor Partridge was murdered. Is that correct?”

  “Let me check my diary,” said the Chancellor. “One sees so many people that it’s not always easy to remember who and when.”

  “Mr von Blimff said it was an evening appointment and that you had dinner together.”

  “Ah yes, here it is. Yes, that’s correct. We had a business meeting which overran. We had dinner together and then if I remember correctly I got one of my staff to drive him home. It’s all come back to me now; it was one of my non-eating days.”

  “Non-eating days?”

  “Yes, I’m on the 2-5 diet hence this new slimline figure.”

  “The 2-5 diet. Hmm. Can I ask what that entails sir?”

  “You eat what you like for two days and then you don’t eat anything but force yourself to throw up for the other five days. It really works. I’ve lost two stone in the space of just a few weeks.”

  Wortel decided against suggesting this to Stella who was always looking for the latest fad diet in order to shed a few pounds. Besides, he didn’t think she would be able to leave the peanuts and flapjacks alone for that long, especially given the speed at which she was eating them of late.

  “Well that seems to be all thank you Chancellor,” said Wortel noting that Smith had started to look at his watch.

  “Not a problem DI Wortel. Do come this way, the photographer will be waiting.”

  Wortel looked puzzled at Chancellor Smith. “The photographer?”

  “Oh yes. I want to make sure the public know that the police and the Government are working together to catch the criminals.”

  Chancellor Smith ushered Wortel from his office and into another side room where a photographer was duly waiting, camera in hand ready to capture this choreographed scene. Chancellor Smith grabbed Wortel by the hand, shook it vigorously, and flashed a broad smile towards the whirring camera. Wortel on the other hand, caught off guard, looked decidedly vacant in the photo.

  Wortel made his way back through security and towards the exit. He pulled open the door and held it back for the onrushing individual heading in from the rain which had started to come down since Wortel had arrived at the Chancellor’s office.

  The incoming figure shook his rain mac and offered his thanks to Wortel who surprised the visitor by starting a conversation.

  “My pleasure Mr von Blimff.”

  Charles von Blimff looked up startled. “DI Wortel, what a surprise, I never expected to meet you here.”

  “Nor me sir. Have there been any more attempts on your life at all?”

  “Fortunately not.”

  “And I guess you’re here to see Chancellor Smith?”

  “Yes, another business meeting actually. I’d love to tell you more but I’d be breaching government security if I did.”

  “Well, I best let you get about your business sir.”

  “And you Wortel. Goodbye.”

  Charles von Blimff walked up the security desk, flashed a small card and walked straight through without a question being asked. ‘That’s the power of money’ thought Wortel as he stepped out into the drizzling rain, ‘bet he never has his private parts checked over for a concealed weapon.’

  Day 7

  18

  Psychometric Rhubarb

  “Wortel, there you are. Hurry up come on.”

  Wortel saw Chief Superintendent Archibald waving his arms and hopping up and down on his good leg and despite feeling his stomach knot ever so slightly he picked up his pace and headed into the office. Seeing the spring in Archibald’s good leg, Wortel decided that there would be little point suggesting a pogo stick as a replacement for his wooden limb. Shaking the thought from his mind Wortel looked up to find, standing in front of his team, a rather peculiar looking man smiling back at him.

  “Sit down Wortel, sit down. Let me introduce you to M
r Rhoger Rhubarb12, he is an expert in psychometric modelling. I thought you could do with some help working out who sent the death threat to the celebrity chefs. By the end of the session I’m sure we’ll pretty much have their profile clear in our mind.”

  Rhoger Rhubarb continued to smile at Wortel before he turned to face the rest of the team. He stroked his moustache and slipped off his jacket to reveal a distinctive, and some may say fetching, tank-top.

  “Thank you Superintendent Archibald, and thank you all for being in attendance this morning.”

  “We didn’t have a lot of choice,” mumbled Lemons under his breath.

  “Strong armed by the Super,” uttered Oranges back in agreement.

  Rhubarb let the comments ride and ploughed on regardless. “I would like you to relax and follow my lead. I’m a little unconventional in my approach but I get results. Now, I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?”

  Silence enveloped the room.

  “Good. Then let’s begin. Can you read the first threat please?” He nodded towards Dorothy who picked up the death threat and read it aloud.

  “Good. Good. Now read it again but this time in an accent. Try German, they’re normally bad ’uns.”

  “I’m sorry; you want me to read this in a German accent.”

  “Yes and there’s no need to be sorry.”

  Reluctantly Dorothy adopted a German accent and read the death threat to the group.

  Rhubarb paced the room, with the eyes of the team following his every movement. “No it’s not working. We need to take a different path. You there, come here,” he said jabbing a finger at Oranges. “Read it once more but this time try spinning in a circle.”

  Oranges tried to protest, got nowhere and started to spin on the spot while reading the note.

  “Yes, yes, I’m getting a vibe, this is starting to work. I’m getting a picture of someone who is a little unhinged and wants to harm other people. Excellent. Really rather excellent. Now, look you, yes you,” he said to a startled Lemons. “You’ve contributed nothing so far, so tell me; when you hear the death threat what sort of person do you think we are dealing with?” “Well,” said Lemons choosing his words carefully, “I wouldn’t have said that we, and by that I mean you, are dealing with this criminal at all.”