And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!
Wortel’s head slipped from his hands and thumped the desk hard. Dorothy let out a scream of laughter and rushed from the room, leaving Oranges and Lemons to wonder if they had made a good first impression on their new boss.
Dorothy returned once she had regained her composure and reapplied her make-up. Oranges and Lemons had distracted themselves by looking at the case notes from the egg beating murder, while Wortel still sat silently looking as though he was in a suspended state of disbelief. Dorothy’s reappearance caught Wortel’s attention and he looked up at his experienced sidekick.
“He won them in a fixed game of golf,” whispered Wortel, not able to hide the astonishment in his voice.
“I know, I know. I should have told you but I wanted to see your face when Archibald broke the news.”
“Yeah, well thanks for that. And what did you make of their work with Magoo?”
Dorothy’s face twitched but she contained another bout of laughter. “I genuinely didn’t know about that story. And as for the song…”
Oranges and Lemons sensed that Dorothy and Wortel had started talking about them and made an unconvincing coughing noise. Wortel half-smiled at Dorothy, stood up from his desk, adjusted his tie and stepped forward.
“Right. Team meeting everyone, this way.”
Oranges and Lemons looked uncertain about what to do, so following Dorothy’s lead, they joined their new boss at the white board which was pinned with pictures of the Blacktails, Professor Partridge and a copy of the death threat against the four chefs.
“Firstly, welcome to the team, Oranges and Lemons. I may not have given the appearance of being pleased to see you but I was just surprised that’s all. Now you are in my team I expect you to work hard, to scrutinise everything and to question everything. Leave no stone unturned. Got that?”
“Yes sir,” shouted Oranges.
“Why?” questioned Lemons.
“Why?” repeated Wortel a tad startled.
“Yes. I’m questioning why we should scrutinise and question everything.”
“No, no. You don’t have to question that for crying out loud,” bemoaned Wortel.
“Why not?” asked a now completely confused Lemons.
Oranges dug Lemons firmly in the ribs and looked sufficiently embarrassed for them both. Wortel sighed, turned to Dorothy and asked her to give Dr Wilkinson a call to see what he had been able to figure out. Wortel turned back to Oranges and Lemons.
“Right. Listen up the pair of you. I’m going to run through what’s happened so far on these cases.”
Wortel spent the next 30 minutes briefing Oranges and Lemons on the three cases, with Dorothy, who had finished speaking with Dr Wilkinson, chipping in from time to time. When Wortel finished his briefing he turned to Dorothy.
“Anything to add from pathology?”
“No news yet. He said that the blunt force injury to the head of Professor Partridge was caused by someone powerful and he speculates that if the same power was used on something more fragile, say an eggshell, then the damage would be horrific. And we know how bad the damage to the Blacktails was.”
“So, we’re looking for the same killer?” asked Oranges.
“It would seem so,” Wortel agreed.
“But there’s a problem,” said Dorothy. “He is struggling to put the Blacktails back together again. He keeps repeating that he is not a fan of jigsaws.”
Wortel’s mobile telephone burst into life. He looked at the number and moved away so that he could take the call. “Stella. What’s wrong?” Wortel listened intently before grabbing a pen and started scribbling with intent.
“Who’s Stella?” asked Lemons of Dorothy.
“His wife. By the look on his face and the way he is scribbling, he’s being given orders.”
Wortel ended the call and turned back to his newly expanded team. “Shopping list for tonight,” he said folding the piece of paper he had been scribbling on in half and then half again before slipping it into his breast pocket. “Amazing really. We’re going through peanuts, crisps and other snacks quicker than nits through a playschool. The family has had a sudden hunger burst.”
“I keep telling you, those new snacks are delicious,” said Dorothy who suddenly felt peckish at the thought of a packet of sour cream and radish crisps.
The door to the office swung open and in walked Chief Superintendent Archibald, an envelope in his hand and a serious look on his face. Wortel had only seen this look a few times before and it nearly always spelt trouble.
“Wortel, I need to speak with you. There’s been a development.”
“Sir, what’s happened?”
Archibald opened the envelope and took out three photographs, which he dropped onto the table in front of Wortel. Wortel picked them up, looked at each one, and passed them to Dorothy, who in turn passed them to Oranges and Lemons.
“Well, it seems we have a person of interest after all,” said Wortel looking again the photographs. “Dorothy we need to find out everything we can as quickly as possible.”
“Leave it with me boss.”
“And you two, go over everything on the Blacktail case and the Partridge case, and see if you can turn up anything new or connected to this chap here. Also make a point of speaking to Victoria Plum. I’m expecting her to come into the station at some stage today.”
Archibald scratched his head. “Wortel. One more thing.”
“Sir.”
“Brace yourself, but MadCow McBeef has applied for parole. The Board are listening to his case in the next 48 hours.”
Although Wortel could sense movement around him, a numbness struck his body causing time to feel as though it had ground to a shuddering halt.
MadCow McBeef potentially out on parole.
God help us all.
13
Alexander Pine
“DI Wortel, it’s PC Software here,” the whispered voice said through the radio. “I need back-up. He’s here. Repeat he’s here.”
They raced to the scene but received no answer from the main cottage. And there was no time to wait for a warrant; they had no time to lose. Both Wortel and Dorothy knew he was a walking killing machine and his mere presence meant danger. They forced a window and slipped through, unaware of the horror that waited for them inside.
Blood everywhere. Severed limbs. Broken bodies. Families ripped apart.
Wortel and Dorothy recognised some of the body parts as belonging to Colonel Sanders, the burger restaurateur. They had warned him to increase his security, but being a former Marine he felt that he could take care of himself. Looking at the mass of blood and innards pooling on the floor they knew his faith in his own ability was severely misplaced. He’d been reported missing the night before and now here he was, in the home of his main supplier, scattered across the floor like the leftover bones from a bargain bucket.
The farm covered a large area, the number of outhouses meaning that he could be anywhere, hiding, waiting. PC Software had been called to the farm to investigate an allegation of breaking and entering yet when he arrived the farm was deserted. Or he thought it was until he saw him.
Wortel had told PC Software to get off the farm as quickly as possible. That PC Software was not around meant Wortel could only hope he had followed instructions. They tiptoed over the remains of Colonel Sanders trying hard to avoid the blood splatter on the walls and floor. After all, there was no point racking up an unnecessary laundry bill.
Nodding to each other, they noticed the four hoof marks which led out to the backyard. They gingerly walked through the kitchen, the back door swinging in the breeze. Wortel pulled the back door open and looked out. There he was standing brazenly chewing grass alongside a typical field scarecrow. At his feet was a limbless body. Wortel squinted. He couldn’t make out the face but the straw hat and tweed jacket meant it could only be Old MacDonald. Although he never once looked in Wortel’s direction, Wortel knew that McB
eef was aware he and Dorothy had arrived. The chewing had become more deliberate, slower.
Dorothy touched Wortel’s arm and pointed to the scarecrow. Wortel looked and turned back to Dorothy and shrugged.
“Wortel. There’s no crop.”
“So?”
“So why do you need a scarecrow?”
The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He turned again and looked at the scarecrow. He felt beads of sweat forming at the back of his neck, a swelling fear causing his chest to tighten. No. Please God no. The hat on the scarecrow had straw stuffed under it to make it appear scarecrow-esque, but it was too pointed. The straw poking out from the sleeves of the scarecrow hung limply but the jacket was on back to front, done specifically so that Wortel and Dorothy would see the police badge which glistened in the sunshine.
Bile rushed to Wortel’s throat. PC Software. A family man. Married just three years and with twin boys. Ignoring the threat to his own safety Wortel ran to the scarecrow. There stood PC Software, the look on his face searing into the consciousness of Wortel, never to leave him, often visiting him, taunting his dreams. PC Software’s feet were not visible, but buried beneath the ground so that he remained upright. His back was kept rigid by a plank of wood placed down the back of his shirt. Straw hung from his mouth, stuffed inside and yet failing to hide the look of fear which was now permanently etched onto PC Software’s face. His throat gaped open, slashed, ear to ear.
“He expected me to be slow. Many do you know. Cows are much faster than people give credit. He ran as hard as he could. And he cried for you Detective Inspector Wortel. Oh how he cried. That’s why I put the straw in his mouth. I had to shut him up. Well, before I slit his throat.”
Wortel turned and faced him. This was the first time they had spoken but not the first time they had encountered each other. The explosion at the abattoir that was meant to kill Wortel and Dorothy hadn’t been successful and he had reacted by massacring innocent diners at a fast food takeaway.
“Why him? Why not wait for us?”
“Why not? I knew you were coming and I needed to do something to occupy myself. I made a good job don’t you think?”
“He had a wife and children. Do you not care?”
“No. Not one iota. Do you think he ever stopped and wondered about the families of cattle murdered for burgers?”
“Don’t even try to justify yourself on that basis. You are a mass murderer, pure and simple.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he said turning to face Dorothy who had made her way from the kitchen to be alongside Wortel. “Now my dear, you’ve been awfully quiet.”
“Don’t call me ‘my dear’ you pathetic excuse of a cow.”
He bent down his head, pulled on some grass and munched slowly.
“So DI Wortel and Sergeant Knox. What do we do now? Colonel Sanders and Old MacDonald have bought the farm in the sky. You two seem indestructible and I need some time to think.”
“To think?”
“Yes to think. I’ve not been able to kill you. I have to say I underestimated you and I feel you deserve an award. And my tribute to you is this scarecrow. So my friends, and I hope that you don’t mind me calling you friends, for that reason, I give myself up.”
MadCow McBeef stopped chewing, bent his back legs, sat next to the body of Old MacDonald and began to meditate as Wortel and Dorothy phoned through to the station for reinforcements and a cattle transporter.
Wortel stood at the sink in the gents’ toilets and splashed water up onto his face. The flashbacks had faded over time, but the news about MadCow McBeef had rocked him to his core and he needed a few moments alone to regain his composure. He had seen the look of fear spread across Dorothy’s face, her anguish twisting the knot in his stomach even tighter. Not again. They can’t release him surely.
Wortel picked up some hand towels and dried his face. He took a deep breath and stepped back out into the station corridor ready to face the world as best he could. Walking back into the office, Wortel headed across to Dorothy and perched himself on the edge of her desk.
“I’m sure they won’t give him parole, but if they do, then we will face whatever comes our way. Head on. Like we always do.”
Dorothy nodded her agreement although her eyes suggested otherwise. “Like we always do,” she said her voice barely audible.
Wortel placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. He stood up and turned to his new recruits.
“Any news on our person of interest?”
Lemons nodded enthusiastically. “I’m pleased to say yes. Alexander Pine is being taken into custody now. He was picked up protesting against food sapiens outside the Tate and Lyle Museum10 in Piccalilli Circus.”
“Excellent news. Come on Dorothy,” he said picking up the photographs that Archibald had delivered. “Let’s go and see what the young man was doing confronting the late Professor Partridge on the night he was murdered.”
Alexander Pine eyed Wortel and Dorothy with suspicion as they entered the interview room. He was already defensive, and seeing the leading carrot in the police force enter the room only served to strengthen his sense of paranoia especially as he was arrested while on one of his now infamous protests against the food sapiens community.
“This is Sergeant Knox, I’m DI Wortel.”
“I know who you are.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Flattened would be better.”
“Do you think that was a threat Sergeant Knox?”
“I hope not. If I was in that seat I would think it unwise, especially given the predicament I was in.”
“What predicament? It’s a country of free speech the last time I looked. I don’t understand why I was arrested.”
“You are helping us with our enquiries,” said Wortel, rotating the photograph in his hand not yet letting Alex Pine see sight of their trump card. “Or at least we hope you will.”
“And why should I want to help a food sapiens detective?” spat back Pine.
“Probably because this food sapiens detective thinks you are the number one suspect in the murder case of Professor Partridge, Minister for DAFaRT.”
Alex Pine sat back in his chair, his eyes widening in surprise.
“You must be joking, right. I was protesting against food sapiens taking too much prominence in today’s society. I haven’t broken any law let alone killed anyone.”
“So you don’t know how Professor Partridge was killed then?”
“No.”
“That’s interesting, don’t you think Sergeant Knox?”
“Very interesting. Out of curiosity DI Wortel, what’s that you’ve got in your hand?”
Wortel smiled at Dorothy. “Thanks for reminding me.”
Alex Pine sat watching the charade being played out before him, in part with contempt and in part with intrigue to see where this was headed. Wortel turned and looked straight at Pine. He placed the photograph face down on the table, pushed it towards Alex Pine and turned it over. The still of the CCTV footage showed Alex Pine confronting Professor Partridge with the scene distinctly lit by the neon lights of the Strawberry Strip Club.
“So you see Mr Pine, we have evidence which shows that you confronted Professor Partridge on the evening of his murder, and if you look close enough you can see that you are both standing outside of the Strawberry Strip Club, which funnily enough was where he was murdered. As an intelligent human, I’m sure you can see why this lowly food sapiens detective is so keen to speak with you as a person of interest.”
Alex Pine picked up the photograph and looked at it intently. He sat silently gathering his thoughts before placing the photograph down and looking back across the table at Wortel and Dorothy.
“What would you like to know?”
“Why you killed Professor Partridge would be a good place to start.”
“Now Detective Inspector Wortel, while I doubt we are going to finish this conversation on good terms, let’s at least treat each other with some for
m of respect. You know as well as I do that this photograph places me outside the scene of the crime and I suspect that is all the evidence you have otherwise I would have been arrested sooner. Unless you have evidence that places me inside t he c lub a t t he s cene o f t he c rime, I suggest we start over. What would you like to know?”
Wortel and Alex Pine held eye contact with each other, the newly arrested young man knowing that he had struck a nerve judging by the strain that was showing on the food sapiens’s jawline.
“Very well. Tell me what you were doing in this photograph.”
“I wanted to know what the minister thought of these genetically modified foods and how he could justify the violation against the natural order.”
“I imagine he had an interesting answer especially as he was a genetically modified food himself?”
“That’s pretty much what I said to him.”
“Tell me. What is it about food sapiens that alarms you so much?”
“You’re not normal. You don’t belong here. This world was meant for homo sapiens, not genetically modified freaks. Your sort are becoming too vocal.”
“If you may allow me to speak freely, you offer up a very old fashioned view of the world. These arguments were the main opposition to the Genetically Modified Food Sapiens Act 1955. Over half a decade later and you are waging a one-man campaign which very few people are interested in. The majority of communities I know have food sapiens and homo sapiens working hand in hand with each other. There’s no malice or anger or suspicion. Just respect and tolerance.”
“Well then let’s all hold hands and sing Kumbaya.”
Under the table Dorothy stretched out her hand and squeezed Wortel’s arm. Leaning forward ever so slightly she decided to change the direction of the interview.
“What are your views on theft Mr Pine?”
“I thought I was being accused of murder, now theft, which is it to be?”
Dorothy smiled sweetly at Alex Pine, using her angelic ‘butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth look’ which often had the ability to lull suspects into a false sense of security.
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