Eminently Respectable Capers

by Tony Brennan

  He called it his ‘Father Brown Hat,’ after he had seen the old black and white film starring Alec Guinness, as Father Brown. Sammy Spotels thought it looked like a flat pancake, or a model of a flying saucer. Sammy noticed the cardinal was wearing his red cassock with a black cloak which came to his ankles.

  As soon as the prelate saw his secretary, he shouted at him:

  “Sammy did you bring the oils?”

  Before the secretary could answer, Inspector Rex David thrust himself forward. He was a bulky man with a dark heavy face, thick eyebrows, a rather full nose, and sensual lips. His eyes were black; he was not happy.

  “This is no time for oils; we’re not cooking anything …”

  “Take no notice of him, Sammy,” shouted the Cardinal, “go straight back and get the oils quickly; the young policeman’s still alive but won’t be much longer.” Sammy immediately revved up his bike, and as the inspector shouted: ‘Oh, no you don’t’, he DID! Sammy was soon a fading trail of exhaust smoke, as he tore back to the cathedral for the Holy Oils.

  Back at the dumpster, the cardinal was assuring the inspector that his secretary was not fleeing the country; would be back in a few minutes. As that was the case, he demanded that he be left alone, as he had lots of prayers to say for this poor dying young policeman, lying on a bed of rotting cabbages, and overturned yoghurt.

  Within a few minutes the secretary had returned, and Cardinal York anointed the young policeman with gentle, sure fingers, while Father Spotels held the hand of the dying man gently, answering the responses.

  The police were embarrassed and some lifted their caps in respect for their colleague. It was only a couple of minutes later that the cardinal lifted his head and told the men: “I’m sorry, he’s gone. May flights of angels lead him to Paradise.”

  He folded the young dead hands together and took out his identity card from the policeman’s pocket. He looked at the photo of a beautiful young woman which had been in the pocket as well. Her name was written underneath the photo, with the words: ‘my beautiful wife’. The cardinal read the name and his eyebrows rose.

  He turned to Inspector David. “Excuse me, Inspector, what did you say your name was?”

  “You know it, you old fool. It’s Inspector David.”

  “I don’t think your mother, God rest her soul, actually named you ‘Inspector’. I mean your first name.”

  “What do you want with my first name?” The Inspector had had enough of this ridiculous charade. The secretary broke in:

  “Eminence, I know it. It’s Rex.”

  The Cardinal rose to his full height and glared at the policemen.

  “Aha! Now listen to me. Detective Constable Uri Costello has been shot twice with a police revolver; the two shots were fired from below, as he was standing here in the dumpster – the exit wounds indicate that. Constable Uri Costello was ordered to be here, on his own, to spy on the drug gang which uses this alleyway for their collection and distribution sessions.

  “He was sent here alone on a dangerous and impossible mission, by an officer who was trying to seduce the young man’s good wife. She had declared to the officer, that she would never be unfaithful to her husband; she would be faithful even to death.

  “The only way to fulfil the officer’s evil desires, was to kill the husband. It is a case of Murder. After the young constable had taken up his position, the officer came here before the gang arrived, shot the young man, and then returned to headquarters.”

  The cardinal lifted his arm and pointed dramatically at Inspector David.

  “Arrest Inspector Rex David immediately, for the murder of Detective Constable Uriah Costello.” Then, in a more homely tone: “What are you waiting for Sammy, tackle the brute!”

  The police moved in on their superior officer. Inspector David started to sweat heavily. He looked up at the strange figure in the garbage dumpster, looking for all the world like one of the prophets in the books that his old Jewish mother had shown him as a child. He attempted to lie:

  “I didn’t mean to actually kill him …”

  “Liar,” shouted the old cardinal. “You carefully planned every movement. If I had not been taking a little walk around the city because I couldn’t sleep, you would have got away with it. But,” again, he pointed at Rex David. “If you had only lived as your good parents hoped, you would have fled a mile from any attempt on the life of a man called Uriah.”

  “How did you know all this? And why on earth should I have avoided that name?” The Inspector’s collapse was complete.

  He was so shocked at the unexpected revelation of his crime, that he let the officers take his gun away and put handcuffs on his wrists without resistance.

  “Oh, read your Scriptures, you silly man.” The cardinal turned away. “Get the ambulance; this poor boy can be taken away now.” He then climbed down out of the dumpster.

  “Take me home, please Sammy. We’ve got that awful visit to the Children’s Home in the morning early.”

  ***

  The cardinal and his secretary went to the motorbike which the cardinal hated. However he held his tongue this time.

  As soon as they had begun to move – this time very sedately – the cardinal leaned forward and whispered to his secretary. “Sammy, I need to go to Confession.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  “No, it cannot. Keep driving, but carefully please. Bless me father – no don’t bother taking your hand from the handlebars – I have sinned. I have pretended that it was I who was able to deduce the facts about the murder …”

  “Good grief, wasn’t it?”

  “Not entirely, Father. You see the leader of the drug gang was once my altar-boy – God have mercy on him, breaks his mother’s heart – and he saw me out walking and called me over and told me all about it; he also told me that the young man was still alive.

  “You see the gangster knew I’d want to absolve the dying man from his sins – so the poor gangster can’t be all bad, can he? He said there wasn’t much time left, he thought. The gang had seen it all, although the police inspector didn’t see them.

  “They wouldn’t, and couldn’t, give evidence, so I had to do something for poor Uri Costello – I’ve known him since he first learnt to play marbles. But, Father, I’ve been guilty of pride and vanity for I did enjoy myself up there in the dumpster, and that was wrong and sinful of me. I humbly beg pardon and absolution from you, my ghostly father.”

  The secretary was trying desperately hard not to laugh. So, the old villain had fooled everyone including him. But, he was also touched by the simplicity and goodness of the old man and, turning slightly, he raised his right arm to give the absolution – totally forgetting he was on a bike: “Ego te Absolvo a peccatis tuis …” That was as far as he got. The bike spun madly out of control and the machine and passengers parted company in a dramatic, and quite spectacular manner.

  ***

  Sammy woke up in a hospital bed. He was aware that something was wrong with one arm; he couldn’t move it easily. He gingerly tried to move his legs but they seemed to be all right. He opened his eyes to see the worried, anxious face of the old cardinal leaning over him. There were tears in the old man’s eyes.

  He had escaped without a scratch.

  “Oh, Sammy,” he whispered, “I’ve been so worried that you weren’t going to make it.”

  “Aha! Just as I thought! You’d actually miss me, wouldn’t you?”

  “To be honest, Father … … no. But today, yes, indeed. You see, Father, you didn’t give me a penance after my confession last night, so I need you to give me one now.”

  Sammy was irritated by the answer, so easing his aching arm, he spoke severely. “Your sins are indeed wicked and should be of great concern to you. Your penance is to make a genuine promise to God – binding under grave sin – that you will not take solitary walks at night in the city for the next three months. Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly clear. Anything else?”

&n
bsp; “Yes, you looked at the photo of the young policeman’s wife. You told me her name was written on it. What was it?”

  “Really, I thought you, with all your fancy degrees, Father, would have worked that out for yourself. If you didn’t spend so much time fooling around with that wretched motorbike-contraption of yours and attend to your studies … Oh you young chaps! That was dead easy … it was Bathsheba.”

  The cardinal moved to the door. “Enough of all that! I’ll wait in the hallway, Father, while you get dressed.”

  “Get dressed?”

  “Of course, there’s no need for you to be lying about in a hospital bed all day; you’ve only got a sprained wrist and a bit of concussion. You must have forgotten we have a busy schedule today. We have that awful visit to the dreaded kids’ Home; you can’t expect me to face those monsters on my own!

  “You can show them your arm in its bandages, and make up wonderful stories about how you hurt it rescuing a trapped king who was being eaten by tigers, or something; I’ll be inside inspecting the books – pretending that I understand them ... Now, hurry up; I’ll drive that bike-thing – it wasn’t damaged.”

  Alone in the hospital room Sammy climbed out of the bed awkwardly with his painful left wrist, and suddenly began to laugh! Who would have thought that working for this extraordinary old man could be so exciting? And so funny! There was something new and unexpected happening every single day!

  He suddenly stood stock-still. WHAT did he say? He’d drive? No, No, No, NO! Never again! Not on your life! He nearly killed us last time!

  “Eminence,” he called through the closed door. “I’ll be there in a minute. Don’t worry, I’ll drive; I’m fine, really fine. Be with you in a moment.”

  Outside the door, standing in the corridor, Charles smiled. He thought that would do the trick!

  THE CLASS REUNION

  Detective Inspector Naseby, accompanied by Detective Constable Costello, found it more difficult than they had expected when they turned up at the cathedral offices, demanding to see the Cardinal Archbishop of the city, Charles Cardinal York.

  Firstly, there was the obstacle of the outer office, presided over by the enchantingly pretty, but utterly ruthless, Miss Amy Wright, with her assistant, Janet Nubbs. The inspector was subjected to such an intense interrogation by Miss Wright that left him wondering if they could adopt her technique down at the station. It was only when they had produced enough identification to satisfy Miss Wright that they were permitted to go to stage two in the process – that is, to the Cardinal’s secretary’s office.

  Miss Wright tapped lightly on the office door, opened it and announced:

  “Father Spotels, a Detective Inspector Naseby and a Detective Constable Costello to see you.”

  Father Sammy Spotels stood up to greet his visitors politely, when he was suddenly aware of both the name and the appearance of the young constable. He was confused – his mind was obviously playing tricks on him.

  He hastily tried to pull himself together, and turning to the inspector, the first thing he noticed was the large nose on the policeman’s face. He tried frantically to remember what name Miss Wright had said – it had started with N … He hazarded a guess: “Come in Inspector Noseby,” and politely motioned the men to the chairs.

  “Not Noseby, Naseby!” angrily replied the Detective. Then turning to his constable, he spoke sharply: “Take notes, Costello – might need them in court.”

  Now Father Sammy Spotels, admirable priest in every way that he was, was not going to be put down by any rude policeman. He immediately pressed down a little key on his intercom, which connected him with Miss Wright’s office: “Miss Wright, please come in immediately; you are to take notes; we might need them in court when we sue.”

  There was dead silence at this impasse; the men waited for Miss Wright who, poised and unflappable as usual, came in and took her place in the corner, with her pad on her knee.

  The inspector realised that he had not been very wise in the approach he had taken with this tough character, and tried to regain the upper ground. “She said you were very busy, yet all you’re doing is reading the newspapers – wasted a whole thirty minutes I have.”

  Father Spotels glared at the man. “Not busy! I’d just like you to have to do this for just one morning.”

  “Do what?”

  “Go through all this junk, making notes of every single thing I think the cardinal should know; what every silly jumped-up politician said, or didn’t say; what the fashionable so-called celebrities – who are totally moronic and, consequently, cannot speak English, let alone write it – said on every subject, from the morality of genetic research to global warming.”

  “But, you’ve got the Entertainment section open before you,” protested the inspector. Father Sammy Spotels kept trying to concentrate on the inspector, but his eyes kept darting to the constable. However, he managed to continue the conversation.

  “Indeed, I have. It’s easy to see why you’re called a detective!” Sammy then dropped his sarcastic tone, and was suddenly serious.

  “Look here, Inspector, the cardinal’s a very important man – you must know that. As such, he’s invited to all kinds of ritzy functions, with important people from all walks of life. Now, part of my job is to keep files on just about all the so-called ‘important’ people that the cardinal is likely to meet; I keep them while they are alive, and then the files go to Miss Wright.

  “For the live people, I have to be able to tell the cardinal, before he goes to a meeting, whether the host is a keen golfer, or loves sailing; whether he likes Opera or, whether he’s into Bridge, Chess, Racing cars, whatever … you know … just to help him to have something to say to these people.”

  “Good heavens! Is that what the VIPs talk about at important meetings?”

  “Of course,” the secretary replied, surprised, “you didn’t think they ever said anything really important, did you? Why, only the other day, when the poor cardinal had to attend a special meeting called to discuss the outbreak of war in a certain place, he complained to me afterwards, that all the chief ‘Big-Wig’ wanted to talk about were his varicose veins!”

  “But what do you keep the dead files for?”

  “For the Remembrance Services that the cardinal has to attend; or, if he has to entertain a visiting foreign prelate of some country, or other, he can pay a tribute to the previous president, or dictator, or monarch, or … Get the drift?”

  “Well, I never! Is that a fact?” the inspector shook himself, his big nose going from right to left. “However, that’s got nothing to do with why we’re here. “

  “Before you begin, Inspector,” Sammy interrupted. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask your constable a question – I can’t put it off any longer; it’s distracting me.” Sammy looked closely at the young man who appeared to be about thirty. “Constable haven’t we met somewhere before? I didn’t quite catch your name. It isn’t Costello is it?”

  The constable smiled hugely. “It certainly is, and to my knowledge, we have never met before.”

  “But I held your hand when the cardinal was anointing you, as you were dying!” Sammy shouted; then added savagely, “and let me tell you something, Buster. I’m not in the habit of holding men’s hands, so when it happened, I most certainly do remember it. So, spill the beans son: how can you be here, when you’re dead.” In her corner, Miss Wright uttered a little scream. The constable turned to her.

  “It’s all right, Miss Wright, I’m not dead. That was my brother Uriah, my name is Bello Luigi.”

  “Bello Luigi Costello?” queried Father Spotels, “that’s as weird as your brother’s name.”

  “My mother’s fault, Father,” laughed Bello. “She reads these books, you see …”

  The young constable was rudely interrupted by his superior officer. “Can it, will you? Could we get on with the investigation?” The constable apologized, and the inspector continued.

  “Look sir, we received a complaint
about the cardinal, and we have to follow it up. It most probably is nothing but …”

  “What is it?”

  The Inspector felt foolish, so he spoke harshly: “It is claimed that you were riding your motorbike in a dangerous manner – with the cardinal on the back – around about eight o’clock last night, and with that long ‘walking-stick-thing’ he carries, you actually smashed one of the lights in Riordan Street down near the Opera House. And, if that’s not enough, several cars reported that they received large scratches on the sides of their cars.” The inspector nodded his head at the priest and winked slyly.

  “Look, sir, just tell me it’s a load of nonsense, and we’ll be on our way; there was no real harm done – the motorists will get their money from their insurance, and as for the light globe – a few dollars would cover that.”

  “But I can’t do that, Inspector,” Sammy said regretfully. “You see, it’s correct. I didn’t know the cardinal was carrying his crosier when he got on the back of my bike last night, fully dressed – mitre and all – as we dashed off to the Opera House where the cardinal performed on stage, in Act I Scene Two of the Opera ‘Attila’… It’s by Verdi, you know, Inspector …”

  “Sir,” gasped the policeman, “I’m not feeling well. I’m obviously missing something; I don’t know what the hell – excuse me Miss – you’re talking about. What stage performance? What was the cardinal doing on the stage of the Opera House? Why was he fully dressed – with his pointy hat and all – on the back of a motor bike?

  “No, this is all beyond me … would it be possible to get a glass of water?”

  Miss Wright hastened to do as asked. Father Sammy Spotels took pity on the detective inspector. He spoke kindly to the policeman.

  “Look here, Inspector, it’s a pretty weird story, I know. But, it all makes sense in the end. I mean, we didn’t know we’d be going to the Opera House at all …It all happened so suddenly. I’ll tell you, blow by blow, what happened … This is how it all came about: