Buying Llamas Off the Internet

by Ian Edwards

  ‘So, we’re lost. I’m hanging out of the top of the tank with my binoculars looking for anything that looked familiar. We were approaching this little hamlet, a couple of out-houses, that sort of thing. I looked closer to make sure there weren’t any Germans milling about, and we approached. Slowly. Turns out we weren’t behind enemy lines as we feared, which in itself was a first. So, we approached this little hamlet, village really, to ask for directions.’

  Alan snorted a laugh.

  ‘It’s not funny, we got trapped behind enemy lines all the time. We kept getting told off for it. I’d rather face a bunch of angry Germans than an angry Sergeant Major any day of the week.

  ‘So, we climbed out of the tank and went in to a little restaurant, bar place. They were very nice. They told us where we had gone wrong and told us how to get back. Then they offered us a drink. We hadn’t had alcohol in weeks, so one beer became three. We had a right old time, but eventually we had to make out way back. Trouble was, when we got outside someone had nicked our bloody tank!’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Alan exclaimed.

  ‘I swear it’s true. Bloody French, we were there to help them and they robbed us blind. We had to walk back thirty odd miles to safety. But here’s the thing, we never did find the tank.’

  ‘So why are you telling me this?’

  ‘That’s what I’m telling you. It’s here.’

  ‘What’s here?’

  ‘My bloody tank!’ Frankie pointed to the vehicle in front of them.

  ‘I’m sorry Frankie,’ Alan said, ‘but don’t all tanks look the same? How do you know it’s yours?’

  ‘Because of this…’ Frankie pointed at a row of etchings on the side of the tank.

  ‘It says here,’ Alan said, ‘that the marks on the side of this tank are unknown, but military experts believe them to relate to the number of German tanks this one took out.’

  ‘That’s cobblers,’ Frankie said. ‘See this,’ he pointed at the marks. ‘Look closely.’

  ‘I don’t see anything other than tally marks,’ Alan said. ‘Twelve of them.’

  ‘Exactly. Twelve. But look more closely. See that mark at the top?’

  Alan peered closer to the tank, almost taking down the red rope protecting it from visitors. ‘Yes, I think so. What is it? It looks like…it looks like a kid’s face of some sort.’

  ‘Yes and no,’ Frankie confirmed. ‘It is a face. But not of a kid. It’s a cow.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like any cow I’ve ever seen,’ Alan frowned.

  ‘Well it is. It’s a cow’s face.’

  ‘What the bloody hell were you doing drawing a cow’s face on your tank?’

  ‘It’s a little embarrassing actually,’ Frankie admitted.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well…we didn’t actually come in to contact with any enemy vehicles.’

  ‘So, what is this all about then?’

  ‘Well…the tally marks relate to how many cows we accidently hit.’

  Alan roared with laughter, startling a woman and two children. ‘That’s just bloody marvellous.’

  ‘It gets worse,’ Frankie admitted. ‘You see, when we got back, we said we had lost the tank in battle and had to fight for our lives. We were given medals.’

  ‘This is priceless,’ Alan laughed. ‘You should write all this down. It would make a hell of a book. Come on, I need to get out of here,’ he said as he led a thoughtful looking ghost out of the museum and down the steps into the park.

  Chapter 17.

  ‘What do we know?’ Monty asked.

  He stood to one side of two large white boards covered in photographs, plans and post–it notes.

  Jayne stared blankly back at him, whilst PCs Wen and Howe stared blankly at each other.

  ‘Come on people,’ Monty urged. ‘What do we know?’

  ‘Clive Oneway is dead.’ Wen said, eventually.

  ‘We found him.’ Howe added.

  Monty took a deep breath and eyed the desk drawer that held his hip flask.

  He sighed again. ‘Yes, we know that. But what have we learnt over the last fortnight?’

  Jayne enthusiastically put her hand in the air. Monty nodded at her.

  ‘PC Talbot. What can you tell us?’

  Jayne took a sip of water from the bottle in front of her and stood up.

  ‘There are lots of unanswered questions about what happened to Mr Oneway.’

  Monty sighed again. ‘Right then,’ he said. ‘These are the facts...Clive Oneway was found on the ground in front of his apartment block by our very own Constables Wen and Howe. The post mortem confirmed he had died from severe internal injuries consistent with a fall from height, most likely from the balcony of his penthouse suite.’

  Monty looked out at his team and thought again of the hip flask. He continued.

  ‘Our brief is to investigate the incident. PC Talbot and I have interviewed a neighbour of Oneway’s. A Mrs…err…’ He paused and looked at Jayne for a prompt.

  ‘Armitage.’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Talbot. Well done. Mrs Armitage. She wasn’t a great deal of help but she did say that there had been a visitor to Oneway’s apartment earlier that evening.’

  Jayne looked at her notebook and said, ‘Mrs Armitage describes Oneway’s visitor as tall, attractive with long fair hair and an accent from one of the bat countries.’

  ‘Bat countries?’ Wen asked, puzzled.

  ‘She means somewhere like Romania,’ Jayne told him.

  Wen stared back blankly.

  ‘Romania? You know, Dracula. Bats..?’ Jayne explained.

  ‘I see,’ Wen said, turning to Howe who nodded.

  Monty took a large permanent marker pen from the desk, turned to the white board and wrote “BAT WOMAN” under Clive Oneway’s name.

  ‘This lady here,’ Monty tapped the whiteboard with the pen, ‘The Bat Woman, she’s the key. We find her and we’re a step closer to finding out what happened that night.’

  ‘She should be quite easy to find,’ Wen pointed out.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Jayne asked.

  ‘We just have to shine the bat spot light into the sky. That’ll bring her out,’ he grinned.

  Jayne sniggered, causing Monty to glare at her.

  ‘Sir,’ Howe called out. ‘Where are we going to look for her?’

  Monty scratched the side of his face with the marker pen. ‘Good question. Any suggestions?’

  ‘I have, Sir,’ Howe said.

  ‘Well?’ Monty said, scratching the side of his face with the permanent marker pen again. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Sir, you should put the lid back on the marker pen before scratching your face with it.’

  ‘What?’ Monty frowned.

  Jayne produced a small mirror from her handbag and offered it to him. Monty took the proffered mirror and brought it to his face and saw four distinct black stripes running down the side of his cheek.

  ‘Oh for f...’ he stopped himself with a sigh. ‘Did none of you idiots think to tell me sooner..?’ he said angrily. ‘I look like a bloody albino Amazonian. Do any of you halfwits know how to get permanent marker out?’

  *

  Rosie stepped out of the X-ray room, closing the door gently behind her. She could see Jayne sitting in one of the plastic chairs that ran along the wall that was laughingly called the waiting area.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked, walking over to speak to her sister.

  Jayne dropped her phone into her bag and smiled. ‘I’m here with a colleague,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d fancy a coffee.’

  ‘Definitely. Can you give me five minutes to find out if Mr Gates has swallowed his false teeth and I’ll be with you?’

  *

  Rosie and Jayne took a table in the corner of the busy Hospital restaurant.

  ‘So what brings you here?’ Rosie asked. ’You said you were here with a colleague..?’

  ‘It’s my boss,’ Jayne explained.

  ‘The famous Monty?’


  ‘Yes,’ Jayne confirmed. ‘He’s a patient here.’

  Rosie stopped fiddling with her plastic wrapped sandwich.

  ‘What’s happened to him?’

  Jayne rolled her eyes and said, ‘He managed to write all over his face with permanent marker pen.’

  Rosie sighed. She had strong views when it came to unnecessary visits to A&E.

  ‘I’m not sure that A&E is the right place to get pen marks removed from your face.’ she frowned.

  ‘No, I didn’t bring him because of that. I brought him because one of the PCs tried to clean his face with white spirit and he had a reaction. His face is all blistered and swollen now. He looks like he stuck his head in a hornets nest and blew a raspberry.’ Jayne explained.

  ‘How on earth did that happen?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘They thought it was like paint and white spirit would get it off. They got the white spirit off a drunk in the cells and tried to wipe Monty’s face clean,’ Jayne explained.

  ‘Where is he now?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘It gets worse,’ Jayne told her.

  ‘How?’

  ‘They took some blood and his alcohol level was so high they have admitted him for tests.’

  ‘I imagine that’ll take a while,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Jayne asked. ‘Surely they will rush the tests through?’

  ‘In cases where a patient has high levels of alcohol in his blood, they can only take the blood during licencing hours,’ Rosie explained.

  Jayne stared at her sister. ‘They can’t keep him in, we’re investigating a murder case and we need him back at the station.’

  Rosie kept a straight face for a few more seconds before laughing.

  ‘I can’t believe you fell for that’ she said.

  Jayne tossed a rolled up paper napkin at her sister.

  ‘This is no laughing matter,’ she said. ‘We’re investigating a suspicious death.’

  That caught Rosie’s attention. ‘Ooh, that sounds interesting, do tell.’

  ‘It’s the Oneway investigation,’ Jayne looked around and then dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘We have a witness who saw a woman leaving his flat the evening he died.’

  ‘So you think it’s a murder then?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Jayne said. ‘But we are looking for this woman to help us with our enquiries.’

  Rosie laughed at Jayne’s use of the age old police expression.

  ‘My sister the murder Detective,’ she said proudly.

  ‘I’m not saying it’s a murder!’ Jayne protested. ‘We have to interview the bat lady first.’

  Rosie frowned, a puzzled look on her face. ‘The bat lady?’ she queried.

  ‘That’s the name that we’ve given the mystery lady,’ Jayne explained.

  Rosie’s further questions were interrupted by the bleeping of Jayne’s phone.

  Jayne checked the screen. ‘It’s Monty,’ she said. ‘He says that no one will tell him when he will be discharged.’

  ‘It’s not going to be before 6pm,’ Rosie explained, innocently.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘That’s happy hour.’

  *

  ‘Leicester?’ Alan said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oldham?’

  Frankie shook his head.

  ‘Bath?’

  ‘Sorry, no.’

  Alan and Frankie sat in large comfortable armchairs in Rosie’s tastefully decorated living room while Alan fired random place names at his ghostly friend in an effort to jog his memory about his past.

  ‘So this is your masterplan to help me remember my pre-death life?’ Frankie said. ‘You just shout out the names of towns you have visited and hope that it jogs my memory.’

  Alan shrugged. ‘Kind of,’ he admitted. ‘Chipping Norton?’ he added.

  ‘I don’t know why you are so bothered about me remembering my past,’ Frankie said, before adding, ‘…and no.’

  Alan looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean, No?’

  ‘Chipping Norton. It doesn’t ring any bells.’

  ‘I just think it’s weird that you can remember in detail your comedy career and your time during the war, but you can’t seem to remember where you lived or if you had a wife or any family,’ Alan said.

  ‘You’re talking to a ghost and you think my memory loss is weird?’ Frankie said. ‘You need to take a step back and look at yourself, son.’

  ‘It could be a ghost thing, the memory loss,’ Alan suggested.

  Frankie shrugged and patted the arms of the chair. ‘I like it here. Rosie’s got a nice place, you should move in.’

  ‘Don’t change the subject. Hang on, what’s wrong with mine?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Your place is fine. It’s just that Rosie’s is nicer, more comfortable.’

  ‘Look,’ Alan pointed at the television in the corner of the room. ‘It’s only a 40 inch screen. I have a 50 inch. Can you imagine what it would be like trying to watch the football on that tiny little thing?’ he gestured at the perfectly acceptable TV.

  Frankie looked over at the TV in the corner of the room and nodded. ‘I see what you mean.’

  Any further conversation about the advantages of Alan’s 50 inch TV over Rosie’s marginally smaller screen was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and Rosie calling out.

  ‘Hi, sorry I’m late.’

  Alan looked over at Frankie. ‘Better make yourself scarce, you’re sitting in her chair.’

  ‘Are you talking to yourself?’ Rosie asked as she entered the room.

  ‘Course not,’ Alan blurted out a little too quickly. ‘I was singing.’

  Rosie dropped her bag on the floor and wandered over to the chair that Frankie was still slumped in. Alan winced as she made to sit down, but at the last minute she stopped and said, ‘I’ll just put the kettle on,’ and moved off towards the kitchen.

  Alan let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding in. It was odd, so often people seemed to avoid occupying the same space as Frankie. No matter where he was, standing, or seated, people tended to give him a wide berth. Making a mental note to consider this further, he got up from his chair and followed her out to the kitchen, where Rosie had placed two mugs on the kitchen work top and was waiting for the kettle to boil.

  ‘Good day?’ he asked.

  If Alan was being honest, he had no interest in Rosie’s day, but he thought it was type of question a responsible person would ask their partner when they returned from work. He would feign interest in the answer and hope that it would keep Rosie away from the living room for a little longer, thus avoiding a possible supernatural phenomenon.

  ‘Jayne came into see me today,’ Rosie told him as she filled two cups with boiling water.

  ‘Was she hurt?’ Alan asked.

  ‘No she brought her boss in,’ Rose explained.

  ‘Oh, right,’ Alan mumbled. ‘Any biscuits?’ he asked, opening the cupboard where he knew the biscuits were kept, and peering in.

  Rosie placed a packet of Hobnobs in front of him. ‘We had a coffee. She told me they are treating the murder of Clive Oneway as murder.’

  Alan frowned at her whilst picking at the biscuit wrapper.

  ‘Clive Oneway? The property developer? The theatre?’ she explained.

  ‘Oh yeah, didn’t she mention that when we were out?’ Alan said, struggling to find a way in to the biscuits.

  ‘Yes, she did, and apparently they have a suspect,’ Rosie said as she took the biscuits from Alan and opened them in one swift movement.

  Alan snatched the opened packet back and helped himself to a handful as he listened to Rosie finish her news.

  ‘They’ve given the suspect a name.’

  ‘What do you mean, a name?’ Alan asked through a mouthful of Hobnob.

  ‘The Bat Lady,’ Rosie explained. ‘Jayne told me that they are looking for the bat lady. Don’t you think that’s a bit of a coincidence?’
/>   ‘I suppose so,’ Alan agreed before adding with a smirk. ‘So the police think Oneway was killed by a superhero?’

  ‘Jayne didn’t say anything else,’ Rosie said picking up her mug and leaving the kitchen.

  ‘Should be an easy one to catch though,’ Alan said following her back into the living room.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just arrest the first woman they see with her pants on over the top of her clothes. I reckon even your sister could get that right.’

  Chapter 18.

  ‘It’s been getting worse over the last few weeks,’ James explained. ‘The drinking that is. She’s always been a bit moody, but this is bad. Even for her.’ James took a breath before continuing, ‘I’ve asked her what the problem is, but she doesn’t want to talk about it, and just snaps at me or accuses me of being unreasonable. I just don’t know what to do. I’m out of options,’ James paused before adding, ‘so any advice you can give me, however small, will be more than welcome.’

  The bus driver looked across at him, and with his left hand he pointed up at a sign above his head which said;

  Please do not talk to or distract the driver when the bus is moving.

  James nodded and made his way to the back of the bus.

  *

  On a completely different bus, Alan sat on the back seat, gazing out of the window. A cool breeze blew across him, and he instinctively turned to look at the doors, expecting to see passengers climbing aboard.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  Alan turned to his left to find Frankie sitting beside him. Unflustered, Alan said, ‘The Hoof. I’m meeting James.’

  ‘Do you mind if I tag along?’ Frankie asked, ‘only I don’t get out much these days. What with me being dead.’

  ‘Be my guest. Just don’t scare any of the locals,’ Alan told him, and went back to looking out of the window, leaving Frankie to look around the bus.

  ‘Isn’t it difficult appearing on a moving target?’ Alan finally asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Catching up with me here on a bus. It’s moving. You normally appear at my flat or somewhere fixed.’