by Sam Short
Millie looked into the little birds eyes. “What spell, Reuben?” she said.
The cockatiel’s little chest expanded as he took a deep breath. “It’s… well, it’s… it’s a spell that… it’s a spell that can…”
A loud hammering at the cottage’s front door, accompanied by shouting, drew Millie’s attention. She glanced up the steps at the open cavern doorway which led to her living room. “Now what?” she said. “That sounds urgent!”
“The demon!” squawked Reuben, thrusting himself airborne and flying in erratic patterns around the cavern. “It’s the demon! Trying to break the door down so it can devour me!”
“Calm down,” said Millie. “That’s not a demon. I know that voice, it’s Mister Anon. I’ll go and see what he wants, you can tell me all about that spell later.”
Mister Anon’s shouting grew louder, and the hammering on the door more urgent as Millie climbed the steps and approached the front door. “I’m coming!” she shouted. “Have some patience!”
The door opened to reveal the angry face of Mister Anon and the bewildered face of a man Millie had never seen before. Mister Anon removed his sunglasses and fixed Millie with an accusatory stare. “It’s a good job one of us is watching the sand dunes, isn’t it?” he said. “I just caught this man sniffing around!”
The tall man standing next to Mister Anon ripped his wrist from his captives hand, and took a step backwards. “How dare you!” he said. “You assaulted me!”
“I did not!” said Mister Anon. “I forcefully guided you away from an area of beach which is off limits to the general public. Didn’t you see the police tape and the signs, or did you just choose to ignore them?” He looked at Millie. “Where is Sergeant Spencer? I saw him drive away almost an hour ago, and look what happened when he left — this man thought it was okay to trespass. He was digging around in the sand. He was taking photographs, too!”
“I wasn’t digging!” said the man. “Or trespassing. I was checking that no damage was being done to the Sea-stock flowers. That’s what I was taking photos of. They’re a protected species, and when my department received an anonymous phone call, telling us that dinosaur hunters had been digging around in the area, we had to come and make sure the plants were safe. They only grow in a few sites in England, and this is one of them!”
“A likely story!” said Mister Anon. “Who are you? Are you trying to get your hands on my skeleton? Those bones are mine!”
“Forget about the bones for a moment,” said Millie. “The area is off limits because it’s the scene of a crime. The scene of a murder.”
The man’s eyes widened. “I had no idea there had been a murder! Our department was informed that fossil hunters were digging around in the dunes, but I haven’t heard any reports about a murder. I certainly wouldn’t have gone traipsing through a crime scene, had I known!”
“Okay,” said Millie. “I can understand you not knowing about the murder. It hasn’t been widely reported. Would you mind identifying yourself, though? You happen to be on my land.”
The man nodded, and reached into the pocket of his green jacket, withdrawing an identification card. “I’m Robin Price. I’m from DEFRA — the Department for Environment, food and Rural Affairs, and I didn’t mean to trespass or sneak around.” He pointed at the small white van parked near Millie’s car. “I drove right up here, and nobody asked me any questions! It’s not very well guarded for a murder scene, is it? I can’t see one police officer, and I’d really like to speak with one about my mishandling at the hands of…” He looked Mister Anon up and down. “This… awful man in black.”
“You’re in luck,” said Millie, pointing along the track as the sound of an engine drifted towards them on the wind. “Here comes the sergeant in charge.”
“Wonderful timing,” said Robin, slipping his identification back into his pocket as Mister Anon hurried away to intercept Sergeant Spencer’s car.
“Yes,” said Millie, with a puzzled frown. “He’s back a lot sooner than I expected him to be.”
“I’m not going to get that man in trouble,” said Robin, watching as Mister Anon spoke to Sergeant Spencer through the car’s open window. “He comes across as a little unhinged. I think he requires help, not criminal charges filed against him.”
Millie nodded. “ I agree,” she said, looking out over the dunes. “So, are the flowers okay? I didn’t know there were rare plants here. Not until yesterday, actually. A man I met told me. Perhaps it was him who phoned you?”
“Even if it was, and even if I knew — I couldn’t tell you,” said Robin. “Everything’s confidential these days. But I will tell you that are numerous members of several environmental organisations in this area, so you’d be surprised just how many people around here care for their surroundings.”
“That’s good to know,” said Millie. “I’ve always tried not to stand on the flowers when I run through the dunes, but I’ll take even more care not to damage them from now on.”
“Don’t worry too much. They’re fine,” said Robin. “The person who called the department yesterday exaggerated the extent of the problem. I didn’t take the phone call, but the notes I was given say he was adamant that we came out immediately and stopped the fossil hunters from digging any more than they already had. He said the flowers were in imminent danger of being destroyed. We didn’t have time to come out yesterday, but it seems it would have been a wasted journey anyway. The plants are fine, and as long as the police and fossil hunters are careful, there shouldn’t be a problem. The storm damaged a few plants, but it’s a healthy population.”
Millie smiled as the crunch of gravel beneath boots indicated Sergeant Spencer’s presence. The policeman gave her a quick nod, pointed at the campervan and spoke to Mister Anon, who shuffled alongside him. “I need to speak to the gentleman from DEFRA without your input. If he is, as you allege, about to make a false claim of assault against you, then I need to speak to him alone. I’ll speak to you again later.”
Mister Anon removed his sunglasses and glared at Robin. “Don’t listen to anything he tells you, Sergeant Spencer. I hardly touched him.”
Robin Price smiled at Mister Anon. “Don’t worry, I’m not reporting you for assault. I’ll put it down to over enthusiasm on your behalf.”
“There we are!” said Sergeant Spencer. “Problem solved. Nice and simple! Nobody needs to get in trouble.”
Mister Anon muttered something under his breath, and gave Robin a final glance laced with suspicion. He replaced his sunglasses, straightened his cap and made his way back to the campervan, his shoulders rolling as he walked. He paused as he opened the side door, and turned around to face the cottage. “I trust you’ll hurry up and finish your forensic search of the sand dunes, Sergeant. I want access to that skeleton ASAP!” he shouted.
“Just get inside, would you?” yelled Sergeant Spencer. “I’ll speak to you in due course.”
When the van door had slammed shut behind the alien hunter, Sergeant Spencer smiled at Robin. “I just spoke to DEFRA on the telephone, after the gentleman who dragged you away from the sand dunes told me he thought you were using fake identification. Everything seems to be in order, but I would ask that you stay away from the dunes until my investigation is over,” he said. “I will need to take a full statement from you, I’m afraid. It’s standard procedure when somebody enters a crime scene without authorisation.”
“In case I’m the murderer and I’ve returned to the scene of my heinous crime to spread my DNA everywhere, to put you off my scent?” smiled Robin.
Sergeant Spencer nodded. “That sort of thing,” he said. “It’s to protect you, too.” He pointed towards his police car. “Would you mind taking a seat in my car for a moment, please? I’d like to have a quick word with this young lady.”
“Of course,” said Robin. He smiled at Millie. “It was nice meeting you. I’m not so sure about the man in black, though.”
“You’re back sooner than I expected,” said M
illie, as Robin headed for the car. “Where’s Judith? Did you catch the detectorists already?”
“You could say that,” said Sergeant Spencer. “Judith is in the hospital and —”
“The hospital?” said Millie, her stomach churning. “Oh no! What’s happened?”
Sergeant Spencer placed a hand on Millie’s arm. “Calm down,” he urged. “It’s not like that. Judith is fine. Honestly. It’s not her who’s been injured. It’s one of those idiot metal detectorists — who, by the way, did not kill Tom.”
“Really?” said Millie. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. With total certainty,” said Sergeant Spencer. “That’s why I rushed back here. I’ve spoken to Henry, and with a lack of other suspects, we’re both in agreement that the demon probably killed Tom. Henry is still searching for it, but he says it’s hiding well.”
“And you think it might come back here. To the sand dunes. That’s why you rushed back,” said Millie.
Sergeant Spencer nodded. “Henry says that until the bones in the dunes are dust, the other demon may keep returning. I know you can look after yourself, Millie, but those two alien hunting clowns could be in danger.”
“I could look after them, too,” said Millie.
“Without magic?” said Sergeant Spencer. “You’re tough, Millie, but what if the demon has possessed the body of a strong male? Without magic, I doubt you’d be able to fight him off, and to the alien hunters he’d appear to be a psychopathic human with anger issues — not a demon. Magic would need to be a last resort in their company.”
“And you could use the magic you keep in that pouch on your belt,” smiled Millie. “Without raising suspicion.”
Sergeant Spencer patted the black nylon pouch on his hip. “Exactly,” he said, with a wink. “A Taser would look a lot less dramatic than red sparks pouring from your fingertips! The demon has no supernatural powers while it’s in a human body. A Taser should drop it like it would any other person.”
“I understand,” said Millie, smiling at the sergeant. “But I’ll be happy when this is all over. I’ve got alien hunters camping in a rust-bucket next to my cottage, a murder scene and a decomposing demon in the sand dunes over there, a man from DEFRA sitting in a police car outside my home, and the worry that another demon might suddenly appear. Life is good.”
“It will all be resolved soon enough,” said Sergeant Spencer. “And life will get back to normal. In the meantime, Judith asked if you’d mind heading over to the hospital to help her. She’s trying to take statements from the detectorists, but it’s turned into a bit of a circus over there. I’ll take a statement off the man from DEFRA, and then see if any information has come back about the owner of the campervan.”
“Of course I’ll help Judith,” said Millie, closing the cottage door. She walked towards her car, pausing for a moment as Sergeant Spencer called her name. “Yes?” she answered.
“Do you call them biscuits or cookies?” said the sergeant. “You know, the things you dip in your tea.”
“Erm, that was random,” said Millie, opening the car door. “It depends. I call the thick ones cookies, and the thin ones biscuits. Why do you ask?”
Sergeant Spencer shrugged. “No reason,” he said. “It was just a thought.”
Chapter 12
“Biscuit, dear?” said the old lady in the seat alongside the hospital bed, thrusting a Tupperware box towards Millie. “There’s a choice of chocolate chips or raisins. I had made a batch of raisins and chocolate chips, but these three fools dropped them all over the floor of that dusty shed when you two young ladies attempted to apprehend them.” She pressed her lips together and glared at the man in the bed. “Isn’t that right, Jack?”
“Yes, Pamela,” said Jack, his striped pyjama jacket buttoned all the way up to his throat. “I’m sorry, but it was Eric who dropped them, not me.”
“Whoa there, Jack,” said Eric, from a seat near the window, the sunlight bouncing off the portion of his scalp not covered by his comb-over. “We don’t tell tales on one another in The Spellbinder Sand Diggers! The youngsters call people like that dirty grasses.”
“Sorry, Eric,” said Jack, fiddling with the cannula inserted in the back of his hand. “It’s the painkillers. They’ve given me loose lips.”
“Stop saying sorry!” snapped Pamela, slapping Jack on the thigh, eliciting a grimace of pain from the injured man. “You’re a daft old sod who has broken his hip because he should have known better. Two of you are daft old sods who should have known better, and the other one is a silly young man who is easily led.” She fixed Andy with a fierce stare. “Isn’t that right, young man?”
Andy passed his red baseball cap nervously from one hand to the other and gave a meek nod. “Yes, Mrs Hopkins,” he said. “I’m sorry, Mrs Hopkins.”
“What will your mother say, Andrew?” continued Pamela Hopkins. “When she finds out about this?”
Andy stared at the tiled floor, running a hand through his curly black hair. “She won’t be happy?” he guessed.
“No! She won’t!” said Pamela. “She’ll be livid! I’m sure!” She smiled up at Millie and gave the box in her hand a seductive shake. “Go on, have one, my dear. You’ll like them! The other policewoman did, didn’t you, dear?”
“They were very nice,” said Judith from her seat on the other side of the bed, wiping crumbs from the open file in her lap, giving Millie a nervous sideways glance.
Pamela’s face blossomed with pride. “And the tubby sergeant really enjoyed them, didn’t he? He had three, the greedy blighter! I don’t mind, though. He could have had five if he’d liked. I do enjoy cooking for a man who tucks in!”
“Yes, he enjoyed them, too,” said Judith.
“I didn’t care much for his terminology, though,” said Pamela. “He was a little disrespectful, but it transpired that it was ignorance on his behalf. Nothing more. There was no malice intended. Or so he says.”
Plucking one of the biscuits from the box, Millie frowned. “Sergeant Spencer was disrespectful?” she said. “That doesn’t sound like him at all. What did he do?”
Pamela placed the box on the bedside table, next to a plastic jug filled with water, and crossed her arms. She stared at Judith. “He’s your father, my dear. You tell your colleague what he did.”
Judith sighed. “He called them cookies,” she said.
Pamela took a deep breath through her nose, and exhaled slowly. “Cookies!” she spat. “Cookies? Since when did we become so American? It’s no good. What happened to traditional British standards?” She narrowed her eyes as she lectured Judith. “You keep an eye on him. I saw it happen during the war, when the young American soldiers were stationed here. My mother almost pulled her hair out when she invited a few of them for tea, and they called her homemade plum jam fruit preserve.” She tapped Jack on the leg again. “My mother told you that story when she was still alive, didn’t she, Jack?”
Jack gave a soft moan. “Yes, Pamela. She did. The memory of it never left her. She was very upset by the whole thing.”
“Yes, she was,” said Pamela, aiming a wagging finger at Judith. “She was very upset indeed! You watch that father of yours, my dear. It might just be calling biscuits cookies for the moment, but before you know it he’ll be putting things in the trunk of his car, turning the faucet on when he wants to wash his hands and, God forbid, calling a nappy a diaper.”
“I’m sure it won’t get that far,” said Judith. “I’ll keep an eye on him. I promise.”
“Good,” said Pamela. She gazed around the room. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes! You were taking statements from these three idiots concerning the events surrounding the murder of Tom Temples! Then Sergeant Spencer suddenly remembered he had an appointment and needed to rush off. He promised he’d send another officer in his place, and finally, she’s arrived.” She selected a biscuit from the box and took a large bite. “Don’t let me interfere with your questioning. Please, carry on. I’ve said my piece.”
Pamela gave a contented smile and nibbled at her own biscuit, tutting as Jack gave another groan of pain. “Count yourself lucky,” she said. “It could have been both hips. Then you’d have had a reason to make those irritating sounds of discomfort.”
Millie looked at the sheet of paper in Judith’s lap. “Maybe you should update me?” she suggested.
“It’s a sordid story,” said Pamela. “Be warned.”
Judith cleared her throat. “I’ll start from when the three men attempted to escape from the allotments,” she said. “They didn’t get far. Jack almost covered a full three hundred metres before tripping on a kerb and breaking his hip. When he was brought to hospital he confessed he’d been running from the police, so one of the nurses called Sergeant Spencer.”
“Called your father, my dear,” said Pamela. “Don’t be so formal. We’re all friends, here.”
Judith gave an almost imperceptible sigh, and looked at Millie. “The nurse phoned my father while he and I were searching for the suspects, so we came straight here and —”
“Good heavens!” said Pamela. “The wheels of justice really do spin slowly, don’t they? Spit it out! Come on!” She took another bite of her biscuit. “In fact, allow me to tell your colleague what happened. When the hospital called me to inform me of my husband’s mishap, I fed the cat, watered the plants, ironed some of Jack’s pyjamas, waited for some oven-fresh biscuits to cool down, put them in a box and then rushed here in a blind panic. I was happy to find out that they’d put him in this lovely room on his own, and not some geriatric ward. That took the sting out of the shock of learning he’d hurt himself. I almost feel like I’m in a hotel room. I was even offered a coffee when I arrived. It’s all a lot of fun, I must say.”