Buying Llamas Off the Internet

by Ian Edwards

  Buying Llamas off the Internet

  By

  Ian Edwards

  &

  Paul Waller

  Text copyright ©2017 Ian Edwards & Paul Waller

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places events and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to everyone who bought Fat Kid Stuck in a Flume and provided such a positive response. We hope you enjoy this as much.

  We would like to thank David Padfield for his invaluable help in the development of this book.

  A big thank you to Kit Foster and Robert Chute of Kit Foster Design for another outstanding cover.

  Ian would particularly like to thank David Padfield and Mike Fishman for their continued support and friendship. You guys inspire me.

  Also available by Ian Edwards and Paul Waller;

  Fat Kid Stuck in a Flume

  Also available by Ian Edwards;

  I Sociopath

  www.edwardswaller.co.uk

  Table of contents

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1.

  Chapter 2.

  Chapter 3.

  Chapter 4.

  Chapter 5.

  Chapter 6.

  Chapter 7.

  Chapter 8.

  Chapter 9.

  Chapter 10.

  Chapter 11.

  Chapter 12.

  Chapter 13.

  Chapter 14.

  Chapter 15.

  Chapter 16.

  Chapter 17.

  Chapter 18.

  Chapter 19.

  Chapter 20.

  Chapter 21.

  Chapter 22.

  Chapter 23.

  Chapter 24.

  Chapter 25 – Saturday.

  Chapter 26 – Sunday.

  Chapter 27 – Monday.

  Chapter 28 – Tuesday.

  Chapter 29 – Wednesday.

  Chapter 30 – Thursday.

  Chapter 31 – Friday.

  Chapter 32 – Saturday.

  Chapter 33 –Sunday.

  Epilogue – Monday.

  Prologue

  ‘They arrested Mental Martin again today.’

  PC Ken Howe looked up from his log book. Any incident involving the local eccentric was worth listening to.

  ‘What’s he done this time?’ he asked, looking over at his colleague.

  ‘Apparently,’ PC Andy Wen said, ‘he was down at the Broadway directing the traffic, stark bollock naked except for a pair of Speedos.’

  Ken grinned. ‘That’s almost fully dressed for Martin. He must be on new medication.’

  ‘He was wearing them on his head.’ Andy smirked.

  ‘That must have been draughty,’ Ken smiled.

  ‘Apparently he said he could direct the traffic more accurately if he had something to point with.’

  Both officers laughed at the image of the local eccentric controlling the busy Broadway traffic with his genitals.

  ‘The thing is,’ Andy continued, ‘the traffic flowed much better than it normally does. I heard the council have offered him a permanent job on the condition that he puts the Speedos on properly.’

  ‘I suppose they could give him a High–Vis jacket. That might cover any unnecessary traffic pointing,’ Ken suggested, and went back to the log, trying hard not to dwell on the image of Mental Martin naked in the middle of the street.

  Andy watched as the pouring rain ran in steady rivulets down the windscreen. The strong winds and rain combined to create the illusion that the rain was coming in sideways.

  ‘Bad night tonight,’ he said. ‘I really don’t want to be going out in this. Do me a favour and don’t answer any calls.’

  ‘I reckon we’re OK tonight. No self-respecting criminal is going to be out on a night like this.’

  Andy reached for the lever under his seat and slid his seat back. Stretching his legs out he said, ‘The last thing I want to do tonight is go splashing through puddles chasing idiots. I don’t want to spend the rest of the shift in a soggy uniform.’

  The sound of tapping on the window beside him disturbed Andy’s train of thought.

  Andy and Ken looked over at the window. A very wet man was standing by the car gesturing that they should wind down the window.

  Andy pushed the switch on the door and the window eased down.

  ‘Are you the Police?’ the man asked.

  Andy and Ken exchanged glances.

  ‘That’s what it says on the car,’ Ken said, leaning across Andy so he could clearly see their visitor.

  The man stared into the car.

  ‘Can we help you?’ Andy asked. ‘I take it you actually want something, and don’t just want to have a look inside a police car.’

  ‘And you’re getting a bit wet.’ Ken added as the rain continued to soak the man, dripping into his eyes and off the end of his nose.

  ‘Yes, sorry,’ he said. ‘There’s a body. A dead one,’ he added helpfully.

  The words “dead” and “body” got the attention of the two police officers.

  ‘OK Mr…?’ Ken asked.

  ‘Kingsley. Steven Kingsley,’ the man replied.

  ‘OK Mr Kingsley, where did you find the body?’

  ‘In front of the flats over there,’ he said, gesturing behind him.

  Ken and Andy looked beyond him at the block of luxury flats which stood several hundred metres behind him. Referring to them as flats was like referring to Buckingham Palace as a detached family home in Central London with good views of the park.

  ‘Have you called 999 and reported it?’ Andy asked.

  Kingsley shook his head and said ‘No, I saw you parked here and came straight over.’

  ‘OK, get in the back and you can show us where this body is.’ Ken said to Kingsley, who opened the rear door and slipped onto the back seat.

  Ken started the car and began to pull forward. Kingsley sat in the middle of the rear seat and leaned forward between the two officers. He directed them along the road, bordered on both sides by expensively landscaped public gardens.

  ‘You need to follow the road round to the front of the block,’ he said.

  The police car splashed through puddles as Ken drove round to the front of the apartments. A series of spotlights were positioned in the ground, their light beams illuminating the front of the building and highlighting the torrential rain.

  Ken bumped the car up onto the kerb.

  ‘I’ll show you where it is,’ Kingsley said, and climbed out of the car.

  ‘That’s good because I have no idea what a body looks like,’ Andy said sarcastically.

  Ken zipped up his coat, put his hat on and opened the door. ‘Come on, let’s get this sorted,’ he said.

  Mumbling something inaudible, Andy followed suit and joined his colleague out in the rain. Kingsley was standing about twenty metres away from them, alongside one of the spotlights, beckoning them closer.

  As they approached, Andy and Ken could see that the spotlight lens was partially covered by something.

  ‘Here,’ Kingsley pointed out.

  The spotlight was partially obscured by what looked like a large bundle of clothing. On closer inspection the clothing contained, as Kingsley had rightly said, a body. The torso was mainly hidden by a long raincoat. One arm could be seen poking out from under the coat, and a large dark stain had formed around the head.

  Ken knelt down and lifted the raincoat. Andy turned away and called it in. He listened for a moment ‘they want to know if we c
an confirm that the person is dead,’ Andy asked.

  ‘Hold on, let me just wipe the bits of brain and blood away and I’ll know for sure,’ Ken grinned, lifting up the raincoat. ‘You can tell them it’s a man.’ he added.

  ‘Check his pockets. There might be some ID,’ Andy suggested.

  Ken reached into the dead man’s coat pocket and removed a wallet. He carefully opened it and flicked through the contents.

  ‘I’ve a driving licence here,’ he said.

  ‘Who is he?’ Andy asked.

  ‘Looks like today our winner is…’ Ken turned the licence over, ‘Mr Clive Oneway.’

  6 WEEKS LATER

  Chapter 1.

  ‘So…Alan…’ Graham said, leaning forward in his chair in the small meeting room. ‘I’ve arranged this meeting as it’s time for your mid-year review. Tell me, how do you think the year has gone so far?’

  ‘Well,’ Alan replied, lounging back in his own seat, ‘I think we need to improve our home form. We’re decent enough in away games, but we are always so disappointing at home. I reckon we still need a centre half and a striker.’

  Graham frowned. ‘This is no laughing matter Alan. Your performance has taken a real slide in recent months. Frankly I have to tell you that you are being considered for a poor performance marking. I hope you realise how serious this is?’

  ‘What a pompous twat.’

  Alan tried not to laugh at Frankie Fortune, who was sitting next to Graham, with his feet on the table, idly flicking at Graham’s ear.

  ‘Well..?’ Graham continued, unaware of the ghostly presence next to him, but shivering slightly at the pervading cold. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’

  ‘Graham. Mate…’

  ‘I’m not your mate, I am your manager…’

  ‘Bloody hell, son, how can you work with people like this?’ Frankie laughed. ‘I mean, who needs to run away from here to join the circus when it’s already full of clowns?’

  Alan tried, and failed, to suppress a giggle.

  ‘I’ve already told you this is no laughing matter, Alan. Your performance has not been up to scratch. You are constantly late, you are rude to people and your work is shoddy. This is a tightly run team and we only want people who are committed to delivering a good service, people who share this Department’s values and corporate identity.’

  ‘Corporate identity?’ Alan scoffed. ‘We work in the public sector, we’re not a corporation. Nor should we act like one. It’s just management speak for everyone must think the same and be the same. It’s pretty much how fascism started.’

  ‘There’s no need for that. We do exciting and important work here. We are shaping Britain’s future.’

  Alan caught Frankie’s eye and they both collapsed into fits of laughter.

  ‘Is this bloke serious?’ Frankie said, his laughter subsiding. ‘Shaping Britain’s future? God help us.’

  ‘Alan,’ Graham continued, ‘If you are not going to take this seriously then I will have no alternative but to recommend you for a poor performance marking. This is not one of your silly comedy clubs. Yes, I know what you do in the evenings, and by all accounts you’re not very funny. You need to forget about this comedy nonsense, knuckle down and take your career seriously.’

  Alan tried to compose himself and replied, ‘I’m sorry, mate…It’s just that I’ve had several more important things on my plate recently, and, well, this is just a job. Its only purpose is to pay the bills. This is not the centre of the universe. You may want to limit yourself to a dull 9 to 5 pen pushing middle management mediocre existence, but it’s just not for me. And if I were to take this job seriously, I would no doubt be your boss. Except I wouldn’t strut around the building like I had a stick up my arse.’

  Alan knew he had probably gone too far, but he couldn’t care less. If more people had his attitude, perhaps there would be fewer people ringing offices up and down the country pretending they were sick and more people going to work with a smile on their face.

  Alan looked at Graham. There was certainly no smile there. In fact, Alan thought, it looked as though Graham was about to explode.

  ‘Cracking job, son!’ Frankie grinned.

  Graham picked up his papers and stood. ‘Listen here, you immature little sod, I have worked hard to get where I am, and I deserve some respect...’

  ‘Actually, son, I think he deserves a slap!’ Frankie added, helpfully.

  ‘…I am going to speak to the senior managers about your attitude. It is simply not good enough.’ Graham strode purposefully towards the door. ‘One more thing, smart arse, there is a redundancy scheme coming, and I fully intend to recommend you are on the list. See how you like that!’

  ‘Actually Graham, I think that sounds great. I’ll look forward to hearing from you soon.’ Alan grinned as Graham opened the meeting room door.

  ‘Well, son,’ Frankie said grinning and stretching out to put his hands on the back of his head, ‘I think that went rather well, don’t you..?’

  Chapter 2.

  Rosie Talbot bent down and picked up the large pot plant. She heaved it into the trolley, taking care not to gouge her sister’s eye out with the long supporting cane. Finishing her wrestling match with the pot, she turned to her sibling.

  ‘It’s OK, I didn’t need any help,’ she said sarcastically.

  Jayne looked blankly back at Rosie.

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

  ‘Clearly,’ Rosie replied unimpressed.

  ‘What are you going to do with it?’ Jayne asked, gesturing at the plant.

  Rosie looked the plant up and down. ‘I think I’ll put it by the back door,’ she said. ‘It will get a lot of sun there.’

  ‘I suppose that would work, Jayne replied without much enthusiasm.

  ‘Right,’ Rosie said, wiping her hands on her jeans. ‘I just need some seeds and then we can get a coffee.’

  Rosie led her sister through rows of plants, trees and shrubs before stopping at the racks of seeds. Jayne nonchalantly dropped a couple of packets into the trolley while her sister selected specific packets, carefully reading their instructions before putting them in the trolley.

  ‘Your hearts not really in this,’ Rosie pointed out as they joined the queue for the checkout.

  Jayne smiled ‘I’m OK, really. I just need a coffee. Now.’

  *

  Rosie looked around the Garden Centre’s half empty restaurant.

  ‘The advantage of us both working shifts is that we get to come here when it’s not busy. This place gets packed at the weekends.’

  Jayne looked up from sprinkling brown sugar on her Cappuccino.

  ‘Do you know?’ She said gesturing around the restaurant, ‘I always used to think that coming to a garden centre with your partner was a sign that you were in a proper grown up relationship.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rosie asked whilst buttering a roll.

  ‘Choosing the plants and shrubs, planting things that will grow. In a way it’s like building a relationship.’

  Rosie stared at her sister. ‘You’ve clearly given this a great deal of thought.’

  ‘It’s obvious really. Yes, you have the ordinary shopping for clothes and food, but things you buy here involve forward planning and an assumption that you are going to be together long enough to at least see the flowers bloom.’

  Rosie rolled her eyes. ‘Will you please find a boyfriend and lighten up.’

  ‘It’s alright for you,’ Jayne whined. ‘You have Alan. You can spend every weekend wandering around garden centres.’

  Rosie laughed. ‘You are kidding right?’

  Jayne took a sip of coffee, saying nothing, knowing her sister would fill in the silence.

  ‘That Sarah has him working virtually every weekend now. In any case, we came here once a couple of years ago. We lasted twenty minutes before he had a dizzy spell and had to go and sit in the car.’

  ‘A dizzy spell?’ Jayne repeated.

  ‘Yes
. He said there was too much photosynthesis and it was making him light headed.’

  Jayne giggled.

  ‘It really annoyed me,’ Rosie said. ‘We had only seen the perennials. I had intended to have a real good look round.’

  ‘You’ve hardly scratched the surface with the perennials. You’d still have the shrubs and trees to go through, and you’d have to allow another hour if there’s a sale of tweed and Barbour jackets,’ Jayne added helpfully.

  ‘The thing with Alan,’ Rosie added, ignoring her sister’s jibe, ‘is that he can’t stand Garden Centres. He describes them as theme parks for the over fifties.’ Rosie took a mouthful of coffee and added, ‘Which is why I come here with you.’

  Jayne frowned. ‘I’m not sure how to take that.’

  ‘It’s like I said, because of our jobs we can come here when it’s less busy and we can avoid all the Titchmarsh zombies at the weekends.’

  Jayne sighed. ‘I knew there was a reason that I chose to join the Police.’

  ‘What’s wrong,’ her sister asked. ‘The lure of the job not doing it for you anymore?’

  Jayne stirred what was left of her Cappuccino. ‘I don’t know. I’m just so bored at the moment,’ she said. ‘I’m starting to wonder if the police are needed at all.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Rosie replied. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Criminals are so stupid that they would get caught even if there wasn’t any police. Today for instance, a man was arrested in connection with a series of armed robberies of Post Offices. You might have seen the appeal for help on Crimewatch last month?’

  Rosie nodded.

  ‘Well, a couple of witnesses had described him as a “short man.” He was so annoyed by that description that he called the incident room to argue the point.’ Jayne grinned, ‘He actually said that five foot seven was not short.’

  Rosie laughed.

  ‘He kept talking for so long that we were able to trace the call, sent a car round and arrest him.’