Ignoring the thunderous groan which reverberated around the office, Wortel ploughed on.
“Anyway, her home in the country isn’t that far from the studios once you get off the main road and at that time in the morning she’d have little traffic to slow her down, so let’s assume she had the barbecue going by 7:30am. That’s around thirteen hours ago. We need another couple of hours before the judge can force Carbon Footprint to disclose what they know so let’s say fifteen to sixteen hours have passed. We’re not going to have much time to save him and we still don’t know for certain where he is being held. Dorothy you start sorting out the judge’s order, Oranges, you get onto PC Correctness and get him back to Leah Brown’s to check out the outhouses, and Lemons, find out why PC World still hasn’t got this door fixed.”
26
Plum in one’s mouth
Wortel paced the floor impatiently checking his watch for what he felt must have been the hundredth time. “Come on Dotty, where are you?” he said aloud looking down the corridor through the empty space where the door once stood.
“Sir, couldn’t we save some time and just head out to Leah Brown’s?” asked Oranges.
“No point Oranges. PC Correctness has just called in to say that she wasn’t there.”
“No luck with her outhouses then?”
“Nope.”
Wortel looked at his watch again, saw that next to no time had passed and tutted, chastising himself for looking. On his desk the telephone burst into life causing Wortel to charge across the floor, sprawling over his desk.
“Look at him move,” noted Lemons.
“Like a carrot version of Nureyev,” commented Oranges.
“Dotty is that you?” asked Wortel. He paused and listened.
“Dr Richards sorry. Yes good to hear from you too. You’re working late tonight.”
Wortel’s face changed as Dr Richards spoke.
“No wait for me to come down and you can tell me face to face. Oh before you go, have you had any luck confirming what the residue was on our anonymous letter?”
Oranges and Lemons looked at each with ever widening eyes. They both turned their heads in unison towards Dorothy’s desk on which sat the anonymous letter still in its plastic folder. They turned towards Wortel whose eyes bore into their peel.
“No, no, my mistake Dr Richards. It seems we still have the letter up here in the department. I’ll bring it down now.”
Wortel slammed down the telephone, stalked over to Dorothy’s desk snatching the letter before spinning on the spot brandishing the plastic folder with menace.
“Listen up you two. You better have a bloody good reason why this letter never made it to Dr Richards.”
Oranges went to speak but held his tongue as Wortel pointed a single finger in his direction. “Not a word. Not now.”
Wortel stormed through the empty door hesitating for a moment as he looked for something he could slam shut. His disgust at PC World grew even further. Oranges glanced at Lemons who shrugged.
“Did you see the way he spun on the spot? He’s really upset,” said Oranges.
“I noticed something else,” added Lemons.
“What was that Lemons?”
“His spin was less Nureyev and more Ginger Snap Rodgers.”
Still raging Wortel bounded down the staircase and soon found himself in the basement between the cells and mortuary. Dr Richards, whose nose had reduced in size and now resembled a rather large cherry, greeted Wortel warmly when he walked into the morgue.
“I told you I would have them put back together in no time,” said Dr Richards proudly pointing towards her workbenches.
Wortel’s eyeline followed to where Dr Richards was pointing and he saw the reconstructed bodies of Benedict and Darcy Blacktail, minus a large hole where part of their head used to reside.
“What on earth did this?” asked Wortel as he walked over to get a closer look at the beaten eggs.
“I was thinking an iron bar at one stage because of the curvature on some of the cracked shells but after some research I’d hazard a guess at a large metal spoon.”
“A large metal spoon, really?”
“I’m almost certain in fact. Mainly because of the shape of the wound but also in part because I found some bran flakes and dried full fat milk on the bodies. I cross checked this to the body of Professor Partridge and found similar debris among the mud and leaves.”
“Well I’ll be damned,” said Wortel looking around the mortuary. “Out of curiosity where is Professor Partridge?”
“In the deep freeze. The decomposition rates of fruits and vegetables after they expire are phenomenal.”
Wortel tried not to think too hard about that fact and changed the subject quickly.
“Here’s the letter that ‘dumb and dumber’ should have given to you earlier today. It has a residue on it that we were hoping you would be able to identify.”
“I suppose your new recruits were busy with the case load,” offered Dr Richards as she carefully took the letter from its plastic folder.
“They were probably arguing over the belle of Stepney. Don’t ask please,” said Wortel on seeing Dr Richards look puzzled.
Dr Richards went back to looking at the letter.
“What was it you wanted to show me?” asked Wortel.
“Hold your horses Wortel, this is really quite interesting.”
Dr Richards rubbed her fingers together and even with her surgical gloves on she could feel stickiness to the residue. “Well, it’s non-toxic and non-poisonous.”
“How can you tell?” asked Wortel.
“My gloves would have either dissolved or changed colour. Hmm, what is this I wonder?”
Wortel stepped back and watched Dr Richards as her brain whirred with possibilities. As he waited for some high-tech scientific experiment to unfold before his very eyes, Dr Richards did the one thing that Wortel least expected.
She licked her fingers.
“What on earth?” cried Wortel.
“Text book approach. If it’s non-toxic and non-poisonous and you are in doubt, then lick it.”
“How safe is this?” asked Wortel unable to remove the look of disgust from his face.
“Perfectly. I mean I’m not dwead am I. Dwead, Dwead. Oh no…”
As Wortel’s face fell, Dr Richards face went in the opposite direction, starting to balloon up, her nose increasing once again in size with her lips starting to expand as though being pumped up with a bicycle tyre. Wortel grabbed the telephone and called for help.
“What’s going on?” cried Wortel.
“Allwergic weaction,” stammered Dr Richards grabbing at her face.
“But you said you reacted to the duck spring rolls?” said Wortel pressing the security alarm.
Dr Richards replied although to Wortel it sounded as though she was speaking without the use of vowels. As the station paramedics arrived on the scene, Dr Richards made one final attempt to get Wortel to understand her.
“Nwfot dwuck. Plooffmm.”
Wortel screwed his face up in concentration. “Not duck?” he asked more in hope than expectation.
He thought that Dr Richards smiled her agreement although her face was so puffed up now that he wasn’t entirely sure where her mouth ended and her ears started.
“Plllmm dwppnnng shhss,” murmured Dr Richards.
Wortel understood now. “Plum” he exclaimed. “It wasn’t the duck spring rolls at all. You were allergic to the plum dipping sauce.”
27
Spit roast
A somewhat troubled Wortel returned to the main office having seen Dr Richards safely into an ambulance although it had taken an application of butter to grease the side of her head so that she could fit through the emergency vehicle’s back doors.
“Where’s Dorothy?” he asked.
“She’s still out getting the judge’s order. We heard there was an incident downstairs. Everything okay?” replied Oranges.
“Not real
ly. Dr Richards was testing the anonymous note and she found she had sticky fingers after touching it, so she did what she thought was right and tasted it.”
“That’s vile,” exclaimed Lemons.
“I know. Well her face started to balloon up in size. She suffered an allergic reaction to the substance. It was plum.”
“I thought she was allergic to the duck spring rolls?” said Oranges.
“So did she, but it seems it was the plum sauce she was dipping them into.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah, so she’s back to hospital which is a real bummer as there was something she wanted to tell me before the reaction kicked in.”
“Couldn’t she tell you?”
“She was trying as they put her into the ambulance but I couldn’t understand a word she was saying.”
“I’ve got some good news,” piped up Lemons.
“What’s that?”
“Maintenance has said we can have a new door within the month.”
“And that’s good news?” sneered Wortel.
“Well I thought so,” said a disgruntled Lemons. “They did tell me there was a three month backlog but they’d rush it through for you.”
Close to two hours passed before Dorothy returned, the tired rings around her eyes seemingly larger than ever, but she had a spring in her step that defied her appearance.
“Got it,” she said, waving the judge’s order above her head.
“Well done Dorothy,” said Wortel. “Oranges, start waking up the relevant people at Carbon Footprint and get us that information and Lemons, I take two sugars with my coffee, chop chop.”
Oranges leap into action and started dialling while Lemons rushed to the kettle and started boiling. In the intervening period Wortel told Dorothy about what had happened to Dr Richards and how they now knew the note must have been sent by Victoria Plum.
“I feared she’d seen or heard something she shouldn’t have,” said Dorothy.
“I know. Deep down we knew the note was from her. I think she’s been taken by whoever has murdered the Blacktails and Partridge. Victoria Plum knew too much.”
“Do you think she’s still alive?”
“Yes I do. Call it instinct but I think she’s okay.” Wortel paused before adding “…for how long though I wouldn’t like to guess.”
Wortel and Dorothy heard Oranges end his call with a courteous ‘thank you’ and looked across expectantly. Lemons headed their way and passed them both a hot drink.
“Even better news than about the door,” said Oranges casting a look across at Lemons which was met with a stony expression.
“After your ding-dong with them earlier they realised you’d get the judge’s order and so got out all the information we needed in anticipation of our call.”
“Excellent,” said Wortel, “come on everyone, we’re off to Leah Brown and we’ve not got a moment to lose.”
“That’ll be pointless sir,” said Oranges.
“Why?” said Wortel, looking suddenly surprised.
“Because the delivery went to Huntingdon Hall.”
Wortel sped out of the car park clipping the kerb, swerving one way to avoid a fire hydrant and then the other to avoid a woman with a pram who was walking in the street at an unfeasibly late hour, but which helped to create the comedy scene.
“Steady on sir,” screamed Oranges as he grappled with his seat belt.
“No time to lose. I make it that we’ve less than three hours before Llewellyn is well done and Huntington Hall has a lot of ground for us to cover.”
“Why don’t you phone ahead to Scottie Rodgers?” enquired Dorothy.
“Because he was last seen escorting Donatella DiMaggio home and I doubt they’ve both come up for air yet.”
“Didn’t you say he had a butler? We could call him and start a search of the grounds.”
“We certainly don’t want to do that. I suspect he and Leah are in this together. Scottie Rodgers told me Leah and his butler once had a fling together.”
“What’s his name?”
“Arthur Crown.”
“‘Leah Brown and Arthur Crown. That rhymes,” said Oranges and Lemons in unison.
“You two are not allowed to speak unless spoken to from now on,” said Wortel as he pressed down harder on the accelerator.
They approached Huntington Hall with a little under two hours to spare before Llewellyn Morris was toast.
“Sir, I’ve a question.”
“What is it Lemons?”
“What’s Leah’s motive?”
“Finally a good question from one of you two. If everything had gone to plan today Donatella and Scottie would have been blown into bite sized chunks of themselves and Llewellyn ends up roasted. She’d be the only remaining celebrity chef of any note, and by default she would get her TV show back. I suspect that she was hoping to frame Scottie Rodgers in the process, and with him blown to smithereens, there’d be no way he could deny it. But it hasn’t worked out that way. We just need to hope we’ve enough time to find Llewellyn before he roasts.”
“Okay…”
“What’s wrong Lemons, you sound unsure about something?”
“Well, you found Juanday Illflyaway twirling on the oscillating ceiling fan. Why didn’t they just kill him?”
“But that’s what they were trying to do.”
“How?”
“Do you realise that death by an oscillating ceiling fan is the most common, and painless, way to murder someone?”
“Really?”
“Yes really. The constant turning eventually addles the brain and when it can’t take any more it goes pop.”
“Then why didn’t Juanday’s brain go pop?”
“Ah, that’ll be his dance training you see. Not only is he a salsa specialist, but his ballroom favourite is the Viennese Waltz and that involves a lot of turning in circles, so he was able to cope for considerably longer than a non dancer would have lasted.”
“I never knew you were so well informed about ballroom and Latin dances,” said Dorothy somewhat impressed.
Wortel smiled. “There’s a lot about me you lot don’t know.”
As they drove up the never ending drive of Huntington Hall a distant orange and red glow could be seen.
“They’re here,” said Wortel. “Now remember, we are on the lookout for two of them so keep your wits about you and nobody is to play the hero okay?”
“Okay boss,” they all chimed.
“And don’t think that Leah Brown is going to be a pushover just because she may be three parts to the wind. She’s armed with a swordfish, she’s not afraid to use it and it’s a full moon which according to Scottie Rodgers cranks up her craziness another notch.”
“Terrific,” said Dorothy. “No wonder she got fired from Masterbaker.”
As they approached the glowing light they could hear Llewellyn Morris pleading for his life to be spared while his meat juices crackled away. The Food Related Crime team inhaled deeply for it was clear Leah Brown had marinated Llewellyn in a red wine sauce with a subtle hint of rosemary which drifted approvingly across the nostrils.
Wortel signalled for them to split in four directions: Dorothy would make her way to the opposite side of the spit roast, Wortel would approach from the front while Oranges and Lemons, who since leaving the car had managed to apply army face paint and camouflage helmets, would approach from the left and right respectively.
Wortel waited until they were all in position, gave them the signal and began to inch forward. In front of him he could see Llewellyn Morris strapped to the giant spit roast, turning and turning, his 17 stone bulk glistening a rosy pink all over. He didn’t have long left. To his side stood Arthur Crown basting Llewellyn as he rotated above the charcoal flames. Leah Brown was nowhere to be seen.
Dorothy was closest to Arthur Crown and she edged forward ready to pounce and disarm the old butler of his basting duties. She rose gradually, slowly prising herself from her prone position. Wortel lo
oked on. Where was Leah Brown? And then he saw her. Behind Dorothy. How had he missed her?
“Ooh arr,” slurred Leah Brown.
Dorothy felt the swordfish at her neck and froze.
“Step forward me dear and do as I say otherwise it’ll be curtains for you.”
“We can talk about this.”
“No we can’t. I’m quite plastered and not likely to make much sense.”
“You sound quite lucid to me.”
“That’s ’cos I loves ya. Did I tell ya that I loves ya, ’cos I do ya know.”
Leah Brown gave Dorothy a shove in the small of her back and walked her forward in front of the spit roast. Drunken tears streamed down her face.
“We’ve one more for din-dins Arthur.”
“We’ve h’actually got four more. This one ’ere you got, ’im over there,” said Arthur pointing to where Wortel was hiding, “and two odd looking things there and there,” he said pointing a finger towards the positions of Oranges and Lemons. “I suggest you all come out now before your lady ’ere comes to any ’arm.”
Wortel, Oranges and Lemons realising their cover had been blown stood up and walked forward.
“’ands behind your head,” ordered Arthur who was clearly in charge of the situation. “Well I never, four coppers and you’ve still cocked it up. Poor old Llewellyn ’ere thought you’d come to save ’is bacon. No chance.”
“Mr Crown. I suggest that you and Ms Brown give yourselves up and surrender your weapons immediately.”
Crown and Brown threw their heads back and roared with laughter. It was a momentary lapse but enough for Wortel to act. He dropped his hands from his head, reached inside his jacket and pulled from it the most dangerous weapon available to the Food Related Crime team – the pepper spray.
He darted forward and sprayed it at Leah Brown.
“My eyes…argh…”
The swordfish fell to the floor as Leah recoiled disorientated from the pepper spray which burnt her eyes. She struggled to get her bearings, her vision compromised even more than by being three parts to the wind on cheap gin. Dorothy, reacting to Leah’s temporary blindness, flipped out her handcuffs and with the help of Oranges restrained a writhing Leah Brown.
Addicted to Death Page 19
