For the junior von Blimff, all was going well until the news of his father’s deteriorating health came through. When his father passed away, von Blimff made the bold decision to change the direction of the company away from armoury production towards the more respectable manufacture and distribution of healthy food and drink items. Throwing himself into the business, von Blimff set about increasing the market share of AstraArms, which, while pleasing his shareholders, caused consternation amongst his rivals, who were slowly driven out of business as the large corporate machine started to dominate its new industry.
Wortel had called ahead to AstraArms and was advised to park in the staff car park located four floors below ground level. Leaving the keys with the car park attendant, Wortel took the lift to the main reception entrance. Four large trees dominated Wortel’s view as he stepped out of the lift. The reception desk, which Wortel guessed was as wide as two double decker buses, was adorned with gold writing stating the company name and the unmistakable AA logo. There was no doubt about it, AstraArms was an unashamed ambassador of wealth and excess. Wortel walked past four large sofas where a group of suited and booted individuals sat watching one of the two large screen televisions which hung from the walls. The rolling news was of the Strawberry Strip Club and the murder of Professor Partridge. Prime Minister Greggs was rushing out a gushing statement about the work of Professor Partridge and promising swift action to bring the culprits to justice. Bad news travels fast.
The four identikit reception staff guided Wortel towards the lift and von Blimff’s penthouse suite. The lift whizzed from bottom to top in less than fifteen seconds causing Wortel to swallow deeply in order to try to regain his hearing. He managed to get his ears to pop as he approached the desk of a severe looking middle aged woman who sat protectively in front of two imposing wooden doors.
“Hello. I’m Detective Inspector Wortel. I called earlier and made an appointment to see Mr von Blimff.”
“Very good. Take a seat.”
Without breaking the hardness on her face the receptionist buzzed von Blimff and spoke softly into the telephone. A few moments passed before the large wooden doors swung open to reveal a distinguished looking individual who, Wortel guessed, was aged around his mid fifties although he could easily pass for younger. And yet there was a weariness to his face which looked like it had been etched permanently with age many years before.
Dressed in a pink shirt which had a thin white stripe, he matched that with a white jacket and trousers, a brown belt and brown shoes. Wortel stood to greet von Blimff, who, as he walked across the floor, looked the detective up and down from head to toe.
“Detective Inspector Wortel. To what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise visit?”
“Can we go somewhere more private please sir?”
“Of course. Follow me.”
Charles von Blimff extended his arm and encouraged Wortel to follow him into his office. Wortel was immediately struck by the grandeur of the office, which was all the more impressive because of the view across the city. To the east stood the newly built and supposedly iconic building ‘Unfinished lump of glass’9, while to the west stood Withering Heights perched overlooking the greenery of Moxley Park gardens.
“It’s certainly an impressive view.”
“Yes. I’ve always liked open space. I think that was why I enjoyed running the plantations back home in South Africa, lots of space to walk, to think. I often find myself doing that here in the office when something is troubling me. I can get up, walk around, look at the view and forget I am located in the centre of a city. Quite relaxing. You should try it sometime.”
“I’ll need to get a large penthouse office first sir.”
“Yes, I suppose you would, wouldn’t you? Anyway, what can I help you with DI Wortel?”
“Do you know Professor Partridge, the Minister for DAFaRT?”
“Our business paths have crossed yes.”
“And what is your relationship to the Strawberry Strip Club?”
“I am an honorary member. Is there a problem?”
“That’s what I’m trying to determine sir. When you say an honorary member what do you mean?”
“That’s quite a personal story. Is it of relevance?”
“I’ll let you know after you tell me the story sir.”
Charles von Blimff looked at Wortel and realised that this carrot was not for turning. “Well, because I focus on my work, my personal life has had a tendency to be somewhat chaotic, and I’m ashamed to say that I used to frequent the services of, well, professional women. One lady in particular caught my attention more than the rest and we became good friends. Nothing more than that, but in many ways we helped each other get our lives back to some form of normality. I gave her a job and a steady wage here at AstraArms and she was able to leave her squalid flat and move into something much more respectable with her daughter.”
As Wortel listened to von Blimff he looked around the office at the pictures and mountings on the wall. One picture in particular caught his attention. “Do you holiday in Cornwall very often?”
von Blimff strolled across the office and stood alongside Wortel, who continued to look at the picture of the young Victoria Plum with her mother.
“You have an eye for detail DI Wortel. I could use a carrot like you.”
“While I appreciate the compliment sir, you haven’t answered my question.”
“No I didn’t did I?” said von Blimff fully aware that he hadn’t. “Yes, I’ve been once or twice. But then I think you probably know that already don’t you?”
“I figured that out when I saw the photograph. I saw the exact same one just a few hours earlier at the Strawberry Strip Club. Tell me sir, what time did you arrive there last night?”
“I wasn’t at the club last night and how did you get to see that photograph? It’s in Victoria’s office. Is she okay?”
Wortel noted the air of urgency that had entered von Blimff’s voice. “Victoria Plum is fine. Now back to your attendance at the club. Are you positive that you did not attend, only the entry records indicate that your membership card was used to grant you access to the club last night.”
“Ah. I lost my wallet in an altercation a few nights back. I was meaning to advise the club but I never got around to it. Tell me DI Wortel, what’s happened?”
“You’ve not seen the news this afternoon sir?”
“No. I’ve been in my office all afternoon catching up on some paperwork. I always need complete silence to be able to focus.”
“Well, I’m sorry to inform you sir that Professor Partridge, Minister for the Department of Fisheries, Agriculture and Rural Trade, was found murdered at the Strawberry Strip Club. We’ve been able to work out who was at the club and their subsequent movements with one exception. Yours.”
On hearing the news von Blimff folded his arms and dropped his head towards the floor. He paused before returning his gaze to Wortel.
“Well I’m shocked. But as I said, I lost my membership card a few days back now. How has Victoria taken this news?”
“You said you lost your card in an altercation?”
“Yes. I left the office late the other evening after some long meetings and this angry young fellow came bounding over out of nowhere, ranting about food sapiens and how they were the enemy of all men, or some such nonsense. I assume he was one of those strange chaps, you know the sort. Every new year someone claims it’ll be the end of the world, this one has decided that the troubles of the world are caused by you foodies. So I pushed past him, we bumped shoulders, and when I got home I discovered that my wallet was missing. I checked the office the next morning in case I had left it here but my wallet was gone. I have to assume that he was very good at pick pocketing and stole my wallet as we touched.”
“Did you report this as a crime, sir?”
“Now DI Wortel. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but the police force has no obvious leads about what happened to my staff member that w
as murdered. I hardly think you have the time to worry about my stolen wallet. It was a few membership cards and around £30 in cash. I’m not going to become bankrupt as a result am I now? Now please tell me how Victoria has taken this tragic news.”
Wortel ignored the dig and carried on looking at the pictures adorning the walls, which included von Blimff’s father and a younger looking von Blimff standing in his homeland with a large hat and a blunderbuss.
“She is shaken but unharmed. This picture here. That is you isn’t it sir?”
“Yes. That’s me and papa on the ranch. He was such a talented hunter and I followed in his footsteps. You should see my flat. I have the most fantastic wall mounts of my conquests: lions, boars, and a cheetah among others. I did have an elephant’s head at one stage but I kept falling over the trunk.”
Wortel found the news rather distasteful and tried to hide his feelings, although he wasn’t entirely sure it had been successful.
“Were there any witnesses to the incident the other evening sir?”
“Sadly not. It was late and there was no one around.”
“Pity. I have to ask sir, where were you last night?”
“I was having dinner with a friend.”
“Can I take their name please?”
“Is that necessary?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. I was dining with the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Theo Smith. I was driven home by his chauffeur around 1am, possibly a little later. We were discussing some business opportunities and time ran away from us. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”
Wortel knew there wasn’t much point pursuing the conversation any further and held up both hands and shook his head. Charles von Blimff headed towards the main door before stopping and turning back to face Wortel.
“Look, while you’re here, would you like to see where Benedict Blacktail worked?”
“Actually that would be most helpful. I always think it’s good to try and kill two birds with one stone. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes I do,” replied von Blimff. “Although in the circumstances I’m not sure the saying is in the best possible taste.”
9 Sponsored by Shard Window Cleaners Limited – ‘we clean brass, glass but not your arse’
11
Muscle sprout
von Blimff walked Wortel from his office, stopping briefly at the desk of his PA. “Angela, will you give the concierge a call and let them know that DI Wortel will be leaving shortly and to make sure his car is ready.”
“Of course sir. Anything else?”
“Yes. Let the lab know we’re coming down. I’m going to show DI Wortel where Benedict Blacktail worked. Tell me, do you know how the funeral arrangements are coming along?”
“Yes sir. Human Resources have been instructed to liaise with the estate as per your wishes.”
“Excellent. Thank you Angela.” Charles von Blimff turned to Wortel. “I like to take care of my staff, even in the most tragic of circumstances.”
von Blimff and Wortel stepped into the lift and headed for the lower ground floor with the owner of AstraArms trying hard to ignore the carrot detective inspector who was pinching his nose and swallowing hard to try to prevent his ears from popping once again.
Arriving within seconds, they stepped out into a large white tiled reception past a tall, jaundiced looking fellow who wore a long flowing coat. Wortel went to thank him for waiting but was unable to make eye contact as the chap with the yellowing skin kept his head down almost reverential in style. Wortel looked at von Blimff who smiled sheepishly.
“It’s a bit embarrassing really Wortel. Being the owner of this place tends to mean that I’m treated with a god-like status by some staff. They can be a little overwhelmed by my mere presence.”
The reception was just the right side of sterile, mainly thanks to the occasional splashes of colour from the abstract pieces of art which adorned the walls. A grey slate security desk sat in front of the entrance to the laboratory which was occupied by a number of incredibly young looking technicians, or to give them their correct title, geeks.
“Did Benedict Blacktail work in there?” asked Wortel.
“Not directly. He was connected to our lab system but he was in a more managerial, oversight position rather than being a white coat himself.”
“And what is it that they do Mr von Blimff?”
“They are the leading food specialists in the UK, arguably in western Europe. As an example, we’ve recently developed a new supermodel food range. For just £250 per bar, the top catwalk supermodels can purchase a chocolate bar and not put any weight on when they open the wrapping.”
“Really? How does that work?”
“Well, there’s nothing inside the wrapping you see. But they can smell the chocolate and that’s sufficient to sustain a supermodel for at least a month.”
“Amazing,” said Wortel. “You’re like a real life Willy Wonka.”
Charles von Blimff’s face hardened. “I am nothing of the sort, thank you DI Wortel. He was a fictional character written for children. He had Oompa Loompas and a chocolate river. You’ll never find anything so surreal in our lifetime Wortel. We are just normal homo and food sapiens going about our business.”
Realising he had agitated his host Wortel changed the direction of the conversation by pointing towards the geeks, who continued busily with their work.
“They look incredibly young, don’t they?”
“They used to say that about policeman.”
Both man and carrot laughed politely as they approached the security desk guarded by a short, stout muscle sprout. He was perched on a high branch, his green skin taut, eyes narrow as he watched Wortel and von Blimff head in his direction. He shifted uncomfortably on his branch and nervously adjusted his uniform, which consisted of a dark navy jacket, the AstraArms double-A emblem stitched into the lapel, and a grey pair of trousers which were just a fraction too short at the bottom giving the appearance they had just been involved in an argument with his ankles and were keeping a watchful distance from the safety of his shins.
Charles von Blimff smiled at the muscle sprout as they reached the security desk. “Good morning. I’d like to show DI Wortel the labs. Can you open up please?”
“I’m sorry but I need to see your pass.”
“I beg your pardon. You do know who I am, don’t you?”
“It’s Charles von Blimff isn’t it?”
“Exactly. Now open up.”
The muscle sprout stood up, reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol. Raising the gun, he pointed it directly at von Blimff who took a step backwards in surprise.
“What, what on earth are you doing?” stammered von Blimff
“Put the gun down please sir.” Wortel, shocked at the turn of events, took a small step forward to try to gain control of the situation.
The muscle sprout glanced at Wortel.
“Stand still DI Wortel. Your presence here is unfortunate. It’s von Blimff I have been ordered to eliminate. You just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
‘Story of my life,’ thought Wortel.
The muscle sprout turned his attention back to von Blimff, whose colour had drained from his face leaving him looking older than his years, the weariness Wortel had noticed earlier now more apparent than ever. Shifting his weight from side to side the muscle sprout finally settled and cocked his head to the right.
“Goodbye von Blimff.”
The muscle sprout pulled the trigger and heard the click of the chamber. And yet it was silence which filled the room. No bullet; no noise; nothing. The muscle sprout pulled the trigger once more. Again no bullet was fired. Again he tried. And again. And again. And still no bullet emerged from the empty chamber.
The ramifications of what was happening raced through the muscle sprout’s body, causing his limbs to feel as though they had been anchored to the spot. He looked at von Blimff, looked down at the gun and realised he had be
en double crossed. He turned and looked at Wortel who was no longer looking in his direction but instead at von Blimff.
“Sir, please don’t…”
As the muscle sprout turned his attention back towards his intended victim, Charles von Blimff drew a long bladed, ivory handled hunting knife from a well hidden holder that was attached to the belt of his trousers. With a flick of his wrist the sharp, curved blade flew through the air and slashed at the skin of the muscle sprout who recoiled in pain as the cold metal ripped into his throat tearing at his main artery.
As the muscle sprout fell to the floor, bleeding out, von Blimff walked past the dying security guard, picked up his hunting knife, took out his handkerchief and began wiping the blade clean. Wortel rushed forward towards the muscle sprout aware that suddenly von Blimff had become incredibly calm, his hunting instincts taking over.
“I wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to find another way of trying to kill me DI Wortel. I value my life, and yours for that matter, too highly.”
Wortel squatted alongside the security guard, felt for a pulse, which was an odd thing to do given the muscle sprout clearly wasn’t a member of the bean family, and pronounced him dead.
“I pronounce this muscle sprout dead.”
“Clearly.”
“I know. It’s procedure though.”
“Fair enough.”
“Do you recognise him?”
“Yes. He’s relatively new here. Been here for around two to three months. We went through a recruitment drive to boost our security numbers and he was one of the successful candidates. He passed all of our tests.”
“I suggest you re-check the other candidates as well sir. If you have one bad apple there is every chance you may have another.”
“He was a muscle sprout.”
“Sorry?”
“That’s okay no need to apologise. I think the shock of what just happened has confused you slightly.”
“I’m sorry; I don’t follow why you said he was a muscle sprout when I suggested you re-check your other new recruits.”
Addicted to Death Page 9