Who Killed the Mince Spy?

by Matthew Redford

  Before Wortel had the chance to respond, which was probably going to consist of a significant amount of swearing, Chief Superintendent Archibald called across the rearranged Food Related Crime office.

  “Ah, Wortel, do come on over and meet these two guests that I have invited to help with the investigation.”

  “Sir,” said Wortel on reaching the beanbag circle and seeing Oranges and Lemons sitting comfortably both with red scarves wrapped around their heads. “May I have a word in private?”

  “No can do, I’m afraid Wortel,” replied Archibald who was wearing a rather fetching large brown belt with an oversized metal buckle. It went well with the white pirate shirt he was wearing especially for the occasion.

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Take a seat and then I can introduce everyone.” Archibald waved his hand towards the empty beanbags and chose to ignore Wortel as he rolled his eyes despairingly. “Oh, and grab a garment, everyone must wear something.”

  Dorothy moved quicker than Wortel and plopped to the floor while grabbing the single remaining red scarf which lay discarded in the middle of the circle. Wortel lowered himself towards the floor and let out an audible sigh as he leaned forward and picked up the gold-coloured turban which Dorothy had skilfully avoided. He rested the turban on his head and hearing Dorothy start to snigger, tugged at her beanbag causing her to topple sideways and sprawl unladylike over the floor.

  Archibald glared across at his two supposedly senior staff members and made a loud, fake cough in order to get everyone’s attention. “Thank you all for being here,” he began.

  “Where else would we be, it’s our bloody office?” remarked Wortel cattily to Dorothy who had now managed to get her arse back onto a beanbag and not from pointing at the ceiling.

  “I have invited two distinguished guests to help with the investigation. I realise we have only just processed the crime scene and our burnt to a crisp mince pie is with Dr Richards, but every little help counts,” Archibald said talking louder so as to drown out the backchat from Wortel. “Please welcome two prunes who use runes.”

  The silence which enveloped the room was such that any passer-by to the Food Related Crime office might have mistaken the event for a minute’s silence in memory of a fallen colleague. Slowly, tentatively even, Lemons raised his hand.

  “Yes Lemons, what is it?” asked Archibald, pleased that someone was at last taking an interest.

  “Forgive me for asking sir, but you tried something like this in our previous investigation with the bananadrama. We had psychometric rhubarb last time, and well, not wanting to be rude, but it was rubbish.”

  Dorothy attempted to prevent her laughter from being too obvious by shoving a loose piece of red cloth that was draped around her head, firmly into her mouth. Wortel himself felt a guffaw building and tried to turn it into a spluttering fit similar to what he had when he felt he had swallowed half a ton of incense.

  Archibald stroked his chin and thought of the best way to respond. “Well, I admit that my last attempt to help may not have proved as successful as I had hoped. But I would say that on the up side, it showed we need to think beyond the traditional methods and explore some untraditional methods. This is why we are exploring divination at this session.”

  Lemons face struck its usual confused look. He turned to Oranges who was trying to give the appearance of sitting serenely on the beanbag when in reality he was clenching hard with his buttocks so not to fall sideways.

  “Oranges. Why are we meeting to talk about stupid countries?”

  “Pardon?” exclaimed Oranges nearly unclenching and losing balance.

  “Chief Superintendent Archibald has said we are going to talk about stupid countries. He said it himself, divi nations.”

  Oranges turned his head, lost control of his buttocks and sprawled forward into Lemons who also went flying. From his newly found prone position, Oranges started to scold his fruit partner.

  “No you fool. Archibald said divination. There’s a difference,” muttered Oranges sharply, while carefully placing his cheeks back onto the beanbag and getting ready to re-clench.

  “Really? I never knew. So what’s this divination malarkey then?” replied Lemons picking himself up and adjusting his scarf.

  Oranges, realising he didn’t actually know what divination was, chose to ignore the question and mumbled a response about how he should be quiet and maybe he would learn something.

  Archibald, who knew he had lost control of the situation, fake coughed again and passed the floor to the two wrinkly looking prunes that were decked from head to toe in green and blue flowing garments more suited to a fancy dress shop than a serious police department. Well, maybe describing the Food Related Crime team as a serious department is an overstatement, but the garb seemed far from appropriate.

  Wrinkly prune number one spoke first with a somewhat indistinguishable accent which Wortel and Dorothy would later describe over the water cooler as ‘French-cum-Thames estuary’.

  “Mesdames et messieurs, and er, well foodies I guess, thanks a million for inviting ze great Prunes a la Runes to assist with your stalling investigation.”

  Wortel looked aghast and glared at Chief Superintendent Archibald who himself had become fixated on a small spider he had spotted walking across the ceiling. He turned to Dorothy. “Stalling investigation. We’ve not had the chance to start it yet.”

  The wrinkly prune number two, whose accent was much more refined, continued. “We can help provide you with a breakthrough clue, but first we need to identify which of the group is most attuned with the rune world.”

  To say the Food Related Crime team sat forward in anticipation would be, frankly, a whopper of epic proportions.

  “So, I need everybody to say out loud a rune number, between one and ten. You first,” wrinkly prune number two said pointing a withered looking finger at Chief Superintendent Archibald.

  Archibald sat in silence for what felt like an eternity as he weighed up his options. Finally, as though he had received an epiphany, he spoke. “Rune number three.”

  Wrinkly prune number one shook his head and pointed towards Oranges.

  “Rune number one.”

  “No. You.”

  Lemons looked suspiciously at the wrinkly prune before whispering “rune number two”.

  Wrinkly prune number one shook his head disappointedly while Lemons punched the air in delight.

  Wortel could feel his stomach starting to knot once more. As the wrinkly prune looked in his direction he took a breath and said “rune number nine”.

  Wrinkly prune number one reached behind where he was sitting and pulled forward a bag containing something rather heavy. He reached inside and clasped his hand around the object before closing his eyes and going into a deep think. A full two minutes of complete silence passed before he opened his eyes and smiled a gummy grin at Wortel.

  “No. Next.”

  Wortel sat upright so quickly his gold turban very nearly flew from his head. He’d escaped! Dorothy not waiting to be asked sat forward.

  “Finally,” she said aloud. “Didn’t think I was going to get a go. Rune number eight.”

  Both wrinkly prunes looked at each other and started to nod vigorously. “Oh yes,” wrinkly prune number two cried. “You’re the one.”

  The two prunes with the runes invited Dorothy to join them in the middle of the circle so she was face to face with them. She tried leaping to her feet quickly which just resulted in her ending up once more sprawled face down and legs akimbo. Once she had managed to get into position, with the help of Oranges and Lemons who heaved her back to her feet, the wrinkly prunes were ready to continue.

  Wrinkly prune number one. “What zis your name?’

  “Dorothy.”

  “Ah. A great English name full of ze style and ze grace.”

  Archibald started to chuckle given Dorothy had looked anything but just a few moments ago.

  Wrinkly prune number two took over. “We have been
given an outline of your case. But in order to help us, please give us three numbers of your choosing between one and a hundred.”

  Dorothy smiled at the two wrinkly prunes. “That’s very easy. My numbers are 36-28-34. Can you guess what those figures relate to?”

  “Your imagination,” called out Wortel causing the office to erupt in laughter.

  Dorothy did not look across at Wortel but flicked him a two-fingered salute, which caused the laughter to continue for longer.

  The two prunes went into deep deliberation before a calm serenity appeared on their faces. Wrinkly prune number two spoke.

  “Your numbers have been enlightening. They have provided us with a clear picture and we are sure a breakthrough clue.”

  “Go on,” urged Dorothy.

  “We see a building. It is calm, still. No, that is wrong, It is cold. But there is danger. We can see you actually, and you are running, but we are not sure if it towards or away from something.”

  “Me. Running!” exclaimed Dorothy.

  “It zurprised us too,” said wrinkly prune number one rather too quickly for Dorothy’s liking.

  “Yes, you are running. But then it goes black and we cannot see much more. Your last rune is interesting.”

  “In what way,” asked Dorothy now intrigued.

  “Do you like buttercups?”

  “I prefer roses but I don’t mind them. Why?”

  “It is too difficult to tell. I sense that is important though.”

  “How interesting,” said Dorothy not really sure if it was interesting at all.

  Wortel had reached the end of his tether, in part because he had work he needed to do like to discover who the dead mince pie was, but mainly because he was getting a numb backside from the really quite uncomfortable beanbag.

  “Sir,” he said looking across to Chief Superintendent Archibald. “We really do need to be getting on with the investigation.”

  “We are done here anyway,” said wrinkly prune number two. “Our invoice will be in the post Chief Superintendent.”

  8

  MI GasMark5

  Now that the prunes with the runes had left the building, Wortel and his team were able to rearrange their office and get started with the murder investigation.

  “What do you think they meant by asking what flowers I liked?” asked Dorothy, as she and Wortel picked up the final out of place desk and carried back across the office floor.

  “No idea,” replied Wortel. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

  Oranges and Lemons were both looking at the same computer screen, staring intently at the message which kept appearing.

  “Do it again Oranges,” urged Lemons, as his fruit officer partner became more agitated at the computer.

  Oranges began tapping at his keyboard before throwing his arms up in the air once more. Dorothy sensed Wortel’s anxiety and intimated that she would go and see what they were up to. As she walked across to them, Chief Superintendent Archibald came limping back into the office.

  Wortel smiled at his boss and deciding against mentioning the prunes with the runes.

  “How is Mrs Archibald?” asked Wortel through his ridiculous sense of duty rather than any actual care in the world.

  “Oh, very busy Wortel, very busy indeed. There was a television appeal recently for knitting clubs all over the country to start ‘knitting one, pearling one’, to help the poor livestock who get very cold at Christmas time. Well, Mrs A was on it like a flash and as Christmas approaches Wortel, I’m so proud to say Mrs A has made sure those pigs are in blankets this year.”

  Wortel forced a smile onto his face which Chief Superintendent Archibald took as him being mightily impressed with Mrs A’s efforts.

  “Boss,” called out Dorothy, who now had the same look on her face as Oranges and Lemons.

  ‘Oh crikey,’ thought Wortel. ‘Please don’t say she is catching their stupid gene’.

  “What’s wrong Dorothy?”

  “You need to see this. The boys were processing the driving license we found at the crime scene and we’ve hit an access denied message. We don’t have sufficient security.”

  “What?!” exclaimed Wortel.

  “Ah, I can help out with that actually,” interjected Archibald. “In fact, that’s what I am doing back in the office. You tried to process that before the session with the prunes didn’t you?”

  Oranges and Lemons nodded.

  “Well, when I got back to my office I had an urgent call from the Food Sapiens Secret Service, MI GasMark5. It seems that our dead body is a secret agent and a Mince Spy to boot. The head of MI GasMark5 is coming across personally to meet us. He sounded rather peeved and he wants the body back.”

  “Now steady on,” said Wortel. “This is our crime scene.”

  Archibald held up a hand which caused Wortel to stop mid-rant.

  “Wortel, Wortel, Wortel. MI GasMark5 outranks us. We haven’t a chance of stopping them taking over if that is what they want to do.”

  “So we just give up then?” said Dorothy despondently.

  “I never said that at all,” replied Archibald, a devilish smile developing on his face.

  Dorothy and Wortel looked at each other. They had never seen Archibald like this before.

  “Sir, you’ve lost us,” muttered Wortel.

  “We haven’t given up team. Not at all. Now we play dirty.”

  **********

  The head of MI GasMark5 bounded through reception flashing his identification quickly to the surprised staff who manned the desk. Ignoring the lifts, he and his entourage found the stairs and began taking them two at a time. Reaching the floor he needed, he burst through the doors and headed for the Food Related Crime offices.

  “Ho, Ho, Ho, my name is Nicholas Claus and I am the head of MI GasMark5, the Food Sapiens Secret Service,” he boomed as strode purposefully into the Food Related Crime offices. “I understand you have one of my agents. I want him back and I want all of the evidence you have collected. I have with me disclaimers which you will all sign and you will never speak of this case again. Do I make myself clear?”

  Chief Superintendent Archibald stood waiting to greet this most unwelcome of visitors.

  “My name is Chief Superintendent Archibald and I am the accountable officer for this crime unit. Firstly, I understand protocol and when that has been followed all of my officers will be happy to sign the disclaimers. However, you have not yet identified your alleged agent and therefore we cannot confirm whether he or she is dead or alive.”

  Nicholas Claus was not used to being spoken to in his manner and he began stroking his long, fluffy white beard which his staff knew to be a sign of unhappiness. Turning away from Chief Superintendent Archibald he considered his options.

  “I can make things very uncomfortable for this unit and all those who work within it,” he said not looking directly at Archibald.

  “Right back at ya.”

  Nicholas Claus spun on the spot shaking his belly like a bowl full of jelly.

  “Do you know who you are talking to?”

  “I do. This is why I am prepared to send a press release to the Daily Melancholy giving them an update on the road traffic accident which occurred last night. I think the readers of the Daily Melancholy will be most perturbed by this breaking news.”

  The rosy cheeks which adorned Nicholas Claus’ face started to fade. “What road traffic accident?”

  “A young maiden by the name of Snow White was waiting for some friends, innocently passing the time of night without a care in the world when a motorised sleigh, driven by an out of control drunk reindeer mounted the pavement, hitting her and another vehicle.”

  Nicholas Claus lunged for his back pocket, pulling his wallet from his large red trousers. He thumbed through his store cards and realised the one for Widdle was missing.

  “I’ll bloody kill him,” he roared before storming out of the office.

  9

  The not so secret Santa


  Nicholas Claus had returned to the Food Related Crime office looking calmer than he had a few minutes earlier. In his hand he carried a long thin case which he rested on the edge of Wortel’s desk. Slipping off his large red coat, he drooped that over the back of Wortel’s chair before giving a signal to his entourage. As one they upped and left the office, closing the door behind them leaving Nicholas Claus and the Food Related Crime team alone.

  “I think we got off on the wrong foot, no offence intended,” Nicholas Claus said pointing towards Archibald’s false leg.

  “None taken.”

  “Good. This whole thing has come as a massive shock to us all. The death of an agent weighs heavy on the shoulders especially when you were the one that sent him into action.”

  Nicholas Claus paused for a few moments looking off into space as he gathered his thoughts. Oranges and Lemons thought he had spotted something on the ceiling and started looking for it as well until Dorothy clumped them both around the back of the head.

  “The agent who was murdered at Goodeatery is called Mitchell. He is, no, sorry, was, an excellent Mince Spy and would go undercover for eleven months of the year only resurfacing around December. I trusted him like no other agent and his death pains me. I want his murderer caught and caught quickly. That is why I want the case handed over to the Food Sapiens Secret Service. But, and I understand your position Chief Superintendent Archibald, my old friend Rudolph has thrown a spanner in the works.”

  Nicholas Claus walked away from Wortel’s desk and began pacing the room.

  “What I am about to do is unprecedented. I want the charges against Rudolph to be dropped. I will take care of him after all of the Christmas presents are delivered. He is my problem and I will make sure it is resolved. In return, I will share this case with you. Full disclosure from your team. Full disclosure from my team. Is that a deal Chief Superintendent?”

  Nicholas Claus extended his hand towards Archibald, who himself stepped forward.