Addicted to Death

by Matthew Redford

  “It’s very realistic if I may say so.”

  “It’s also very expensive.”

  “I don’t understand sir.”

  “It can be quite pricey keeping this secret out of the tabloids.”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “That’s the price of fame DI Wortel.”

  “Is it a price worth paying sir?”

  “I think so. The persona helps keep Huntingdon Hall running and it keeps old Arthur in a job, bless the old fool.”

  “He seems very loyal.”

  “He is. Just wish the same could be said of the folk here. My fault old chap. In trying to keep up this persona I’ve employed a group of ruffians, layabouts and a number of insane young folk who I need to make sure go nowhere near the knives and scissors. Mwah ha ha.”

  “And are any of them capable of sending death threats,” asked Wortel suddenly worrying about the number of suspects going from a big fat zero to over twenty in the space of a question.

  “Oh no I’m convinced not.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “The thing is old chap they might be mad or have criminal records but the one thing I insist on is that none of them are able to read or write.”

  “Why would that be Mr Rodgers?”

  “Mwah ha ha. It’s quite simple, they can’t write down my recipes and take them away.”

  “So how do they cook each day?”

  “They remember the recipes of course.”

  “Then I suppose it doesn’t matter that they can’t read or write if they can remember the recipes?”

  “Hmm. You’ve a point there old boy, hadn’t thought of that. Bugger.”

  Wortel left Goodeatery with Scottie Rodgers pondering how he could stop his staff from remembering things. Feeling a pain starting to form in the side of his temple, which was becoming an all too familiar feeling, Wortel decided that he would call Llewellyn Morris rather than visit him in person. Wortel settled himself in his car, dialled the number and waited for the alleged former Olympian to answer.

  “Hello, Juanday here.”

  “Oh, hello Mr Illflyaway. Can I speak to Mr Morris please?”

  “DI Wortel, so nice to hear from you. Have you any news on who sent those death threats?”

  “I’m afraid that I can’t disclose that information to you sir. Is Mr Morris available?”

  “Why can’t you disclose this information to me? I’ve a right to know.”

  “It was Mr Morris who had the death threat sir, and so it is to Mr Morris I need to speak.”

  “That’s outrageous. Llewy was devastated that someone would wish him harm. He now thinks it is a former Olympian upset at his success.”

  “I was led to believe that Mr Morris never actually participated in a recognised Olympics Mr Illflyaway. That was just an illusion to make Mr Morris more appealing to the public and as I understand matters, Mr Morris will occasionally attend a sporting event but when pushed to take part he always has some form of chronic knee injury.”

  “I hope you realise you can be a real bitch of a carrot DI Wortel. Anyhow, for what it’s worth, I think it was a veggie. I don’t suppose you know any?”

  “Is Mr Morris available?” asked Wortel ignoring Juanday’s jibe.

  “No, he’s filming. You best phone back,” said Juanday slamming the phone down.

  Wortel rested his head against the steering wheel and thought of his latest interactions with the celebrity chefs. There was no doubt about it; he was starting to hate them.

  Deciding to head back to the office, Wortel sat upright and stretched his back before tuning in to Radio Judgemental.

  “…and before the travel report a quick summary of the news headlines. Saintsco today reported a number of disturbances in their stores across the country as they ran out of a number of confectionery items. A representative from Saintsco said the last time they experienced stock leaving their stores this quickly was when they held an ill-fated, one-off shoplifters anonymous convention.

  “In other news, police appear no closer to solving the murders of Darcy and Benedict Blacktail or Professor Perry Partridge. The Food Related Crime Division have issued a press release saying they are following up on leads and have an open mind about whether these recent murders are somehow connected. Radio Judgemental believe the police are so open minded that nothing is sticking between their ears. Do you agree? Call us and let us have your opinion…”

  Wortel, fearing his rising blood pressure could lead to an aneurysm, shook his head, audibly sighed and switched off the radio. He slipped the car into gear, pulled out onto the empty road ahead of him and headed back to the station.

  11 Sponsored by Naked Chef Aprons – helping you avoid those frying pan accidents

  16

  Mr Bramley’s apples

  With his blood pressure back under control, Wortel walked into the station and through the reception pausing briefly to listen to the conversation of a young officer who was dealing with a rather irate farmer complaining about an incident which had happened in his orchard.

  Deciding that he had too much else to worry about, Wortel avoided eye contact with the farmer and headed up the stairs towards the canteen. As he neared the canteen he began to hear a low groan from within which increased tenfold as he pushed open the swing door and entered. At the head of a long, snaking queue stood Dorothy who was vigorously shaking her purse upside down as if that would cause money to materialise.

  “Hello boss,” called Dorothy enthusiastically across the canteen while continuing to shake her purse. “I know I’ve got change in here somewhere.”

  Wortel felt the eyes of his queuing colleagues begin to bore into his skull and he sheepishly took his place at the back of the queue and pretended he didn’t know Dorothy. As he continued to wait amidst the growing huffing and puffing from those still waiting to be served, PC Screen approached Wortel with a letter in hand.

  “Hello Screen. How’s the family?”

  “Good thank you sir. Yours?”

  “Eating me out of house and home.”

  “Mine too. We’re eating toffee and cucumber éclairs like they are going out of fashion. And what’s really annoying me is that the stuff they like is now subject to that bloody new food tax.” Both man and carrot nodded knowingly. “Anyway, enough of that, this was just handed in for you by courier.”

  “Thanks. Listen, out of curiosity, what was wrong with the chap in reception?”

  “Ah that’s Mr Bramley. Said someone has made his apples crumble and he wants to know what we are going to do about it. He was really giving PC Frozen a hard time. He’s sent it your way as a potential food related crime.”

  “Oh come on, you’re joking right?”

  “’fraid not.”

  “Oh well, the Super is going to flip his lid at the crime statistics this month.”

  “Don’t worry. Your two new recruits jumped up and volunteered to deal with Mr Bramley. Said something about how they’d get it solved and you’d be proud of them both.”

  “Oh lord.”

  “It gets better.”

  “How come?”

  “I take it you’ve not seen the front page of the Daily Forecaster this morning?”

  “No. But I’ve got a feeling I won’t like what it says.”

  “Well. It’s announced to the world that we’ve arrested Alexander Pine as our prime suspect.”

  “How the hell have they got hold of that news?”

  “Beats me. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your queue.”

  PC Screen walked away with a large smile on his face while Wortel shook his head wondering what mayhem Oranges and Lemons were about to unleash. Trying to banish the thought from his mind, Wortel tore open the envelope.

  ‘Señor Wortel’

  ‘That’s strange,’ thought Wortel.

  ‘Por favor, ayúdame. Creo que mi vida está en peligro. ¿Puedes reunirte conmigo en el parque esta tarde? Por favor, responda – 07880 1112222’
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  ‘Fantastic’ thought Wortel to himself. It was bad enough with everything else but now he had a letter in a language he didn’t speak. Wortel folded the letter back into the envelope and slipped it into his inside pocket. Dorothy, who had finally paid using her credit card, walked past Wortel and touched him on the arm.

  “There’s some really impatient people in this place isn’t there?” she said in non-hushed tones before walking on leaving Wortel to once again feel the eyes of his queuing colleagues staring firmly in his direction.

  After spending what felt like the best part of an hour reaching the front of the queue, Wortel made his way to his office where he found Dorothy looking at the photographs of Alex Pine berating Professor Partridge. Wortel walked over and stood alongside her.

  “We’re going to have to release him aren’t we boss?”

  “I know. We could have released him last night if truth be told. I was just hoping that leaving him in the cells overnight might make him more co-operative today.”

  “It’s a set up isn’t it? I mean it has to be surely?”

  “It does seem odd that he would confront Partridge, murder him a few hours later, steal the CCTV and then send us pictures that place him at the scene. If it’s not a set up it has to go down as the best double bluff in history.”

  “And what does your gut say?”

  “It says I’m eating too much of that new breakfast cereal. I could murder a bowl now actually. But as for Pine? Oh, I don’t know. I really don’t.”

  Dorothy looked around the office and suddenly realised that Oranges and Lemons were missing.

  “Have they changed career or have you sacked them?” asked Dorothy hopefully.

  “Neither sadly. There’s a farmer in reception, Mr Bramley. He claims something peculiar happened in his orchard earlier. Our gormless wonders have grabbed the chance to show me what they can do.”

  “Oh lord,” muttered Dorothy.

  “My words exactly,” agreed Wortel. “If you need me I’m re-interviewing Alex Pine.”

  Wortel waited for the lift and took it to the basement where the cells were located. The lift doors creaked open and Wortel stepped out to be welcomed by PC Vee.

  “Hello DI Wortel. Cells or mortuary today?”

  “Cells today. Alexander Pine.”

  “Now that surprises me. Thought you would have been off to see Dr Richards seeing as she returned to work today.”

  “Really, I never knew that,” said Wortel surprised. “How is she?”

  “It looked like there was still some swelling around her face, although it’s a little difficult to be certain as her face was always a bit puffy wasn’t it.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll pop along and say hi,” said Wortel sidestepping the remark completely.

  Wortel bade his goodbyes and headed towards the mortuary, which was located on the same floor but in the opposite direction to the cells. The two units had been placed near each other in the late 1970s as it made sense to have the cells near the mortuary so there was less distance to transfer the bodies following what was then a more robust system of police interrogation. While many in the force were sorry to see the old ways replaced with the modern phenomenon of jail terms based on sound evidence, the mortuary and the cells remained in close proximity, which was handy for the occasional accident that occurred inside a closed, sparsely furnished room.

  Wortel rapped on the mortuary door and looked through the glass window. Inside he saw Dr Richards and Dr Wilkinson in deep conversation with the remaining pieces of Darcy and Benedict Blacktail scattered on the cold slab in front of them. Grateful for the interruption they unlocked the door allowing Wortel to meander inside. Wortel always felt the temperature of the mortuary was warmer than necessary and today was no exception. Feeling the warm air strike his face, Wortel slipped off his jacket and folded it neatly across his left arm.

  “Dr Richards. Good to see that you’re back. How are you feeling?”

  Dr Richards turned and faced Wortel causing him to scream and leap backwards in fright. “I’m so sorry,” he stammered. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting your nose to be so puffed up.”

  Dr Richards’ hand instinctively went to her face and tried to cover her swollen red nose which had yet to diminish in size meaning that against her naturally pale white face it looked like someone had placed a salad tomato on top of a perfectly iced bun.

  “Yes. The nose is always the last thing to go down in size after an allergic reaction. I could be like this for at least another two to three weeks.”

  Wortel tried hard not to stare. “Do you know what caused the reaction?”

  “I was eating some duck spring rolls at the time.”

  “Eider not eat them again,” said Wortel, who on hearing the silence that met his remark remembered Dorothy had previously counselled him against trying to be funny.

  Dr Wilkinson, embarrassed on behalf of Wortel, changed the conversation. “I was explaining to Dr Richards that these pieces here are from the Blacktail murder scene but I have no idea which is which. I hate jigsaws.”

  “And I was just saying to Dr Wilkinson that last year I was crowned jigsaw champion of the force so this should be simple. I can’t wait to get stuck in actually.”

  “Well I’ll leave you both to it then,” said Wortel heading for the door before checking his stride. “Just one thing actually Dr Richards. I’ve always struggled with jigsaws; I don’t really have the patience. But how do you know where to start with a case like this? I mean it’s not as though you can start with the corner pieces.”

  “That comes down to instinct really DI Wortel. You might say I have a nose for it.”

  “You certainly do have that,” blurted out Wortel before he realised what he had said.

  The mortuary suddenly didn’t feel as warm as normal as an icy silence filled the room. Wortel fled at some pace from his own insensitivity back towards PC Vee, who looked up to see a rather flustered carrot hurtling in his direction. “PC Vee. Alexander Pine, which cell? Quickly now.”

  Oranges and Lemons entered the interview room quibbling over who was going to lead the questioning. Following a quick game of rock, paper, scissors which Mr Bramley had to arbitrate after Lemons tried to introduce the concept of a grenade, it was established that Oranges would lead.

  “Mr Bramley, I’m Oranges and this is my partner Lemons.”

  “We’re not partners in that sense,” chimed Lemons.

  “I think Mr Bramley knows that, not that it matters, thank you Lemons,” said Oranges turning to his partner.

  “Well, I know that it doesn’t matter, it’s just that I’m trying to get a date with that lovely Lucinda Limes, you know that page 3 stunner, so you saying we’re partners just confuses the situation.”

  “Really, Lucinda Limes. How is that going?”

  “Not so well. I need to meet her first.”

  “Well that does pose a problem.”

  Mr Bramley watched the exchange between the two fruit police officers with a strong sense that his complaint was not going to be handled well. “Excuse me?’ he interrupted.

  “Why what have you done?” asked Oranges.

  “I haven’t done anything,” replied Mr Bramley.

  “Yeah right,” said Lemons “They all say that after saying excuse me. Well Mr Bramley if you smelt it, you dealt it.”

  “I just want to talk about my apples which have crumbled.”

  “Oh yes, your complaint,” muttered Oranges still wondering how Lemons could expect to get a date with Lucinda Limes. “Well I’ve told you who we are. Why don’t you tell us what happened this morning.”

  Mr Bramley sighed. “About bloody time. Well, I was up at the crack of dawn to go and pick my apples. So, I’m enjoying the early morning sunshine when I hear my apples start to call me, to warn me about something.”

  “Did they say what it was they wanted to warn you about?” asked Oranges.

  “No, they never got the chance. I l
ooked down towards the stream and I can see this tall man in the distance. I didn’t really get a good look at him because the sun was in my eyes and then, well, he roared.”

  “He did what?” asked Lemons.

  “He roared, loudly. And loud noise is the worst thing you can do around apples which are ripe for picking. They got scared and they fell to the floor and started to crumble. I want that man caught as he has cost me a small fortune.”

  “What did he do next?”

  “He turned and ran.”

  “Can anyone verify your version of events?” questioned Oranges thumbing through some paperwork he had bought with him into the interview.

  “No.”

  “That’s a shame. So it’s your word against someone else who you can’t describe because the sun was in your eyes.”

  Mr Bramley felt his back stiffen. “Meaning what exactly?”

  “Well, before we came down here my partner Lemons found that you served a prison sentence for fraud. You were also guilty of assaulting the arresting officer.”

  Mr Bramley looked at the two fruits opposite him who sat smugly watching his every move. He went quiet for a few moments reflecting back on events from earlier in his life. “That was years ago. I was a fool then and it cost me my family. I spent time inside and I paid my dues. Once bitten twice shy and all that.”

  “A likely story. I’m willing to bet that it was a poor crop and you’ve culled your own apples in order to claim on insurance.” Oranges sat back in his chair triumphantly while Lemons decided to throw in an ‘aha’ for good measure.

  Mr Bramley threw his arms up into the air and pushed his seat backwards. “I don’t have to listen to this, this, this pack of lies.”

  “Wait. There’s more,” ventured Oranges. “Have you recently had any trees or branches stolen?”

  “Why? Are you going to suggest that I have been stealing from my own orchard?”