Saturday, August 07, 2010

Magic for Me, Magic Make No Sound

Part 54 of “A Couple of Tenors Short” hangs in the air then drifts in on a scented breeze to cause you olfactory curiosity.

It is also Saturday. You see you can’t slip those little details past me once I’ve had a cup of coffee.

 Now that Summer is truly here (you can tell by the rain being warmer), you might be considering a few days out to the British seaside, who knows, you might even be considering a visit to Hastings. I’ve been there, you know. It is a very genteel place. Alexandra Park was recently remodelled by Charlie Dimmock.

The reason I mention this, is that Hastings yesterday was descended upon by 6 166 people dressed as pirates.

I’m not sure if the quiz question is easy or not, but as I mentioned Charlie Dimmock, it’s as good excuse as any to include her picture. So, you will probably need the quiz question answer.

OK, the quiz question out of the way, here is my mantra. This is a serial. Any new-joiners should start with the opener known as Part One.   

The troublesome recap has now settled into its new home. You can find the recap here!

Now read on...

The pile of pastel files took Jones attention. As he lifted them onto his desk, he noticed half a dozen buff folders underneath. Jones pushed the pastel folders to one side and studied the buff folders first.

All six were missing persons. Five were for missing petty criminals. The sixth folder concerned a missing convicted tax evader. Jones used his computer to see if he could find a link between the six or with the other missing persons’ cases. Nothing showed up.

Picking up the folders, Jones slowly walked into the briefing room and added the pictures of the new missing persons to those already on the board.

Returning to his desk, he turned to the pastel folders. There were five new cases of missing generators; three more reports of illegal Macramé activities and a report of a firework being thrust through the letterbox of a boutique.  Jones got up and shared the folders around this team.

As Jones was walking back to his desk, Smithy arrived. Jones turned and stood by his desk and waited for him to carefully hang his Armani blazer on a hanger and pick off some fluff from the shoulder.

The two greeted each other before Jones asked Smithy had seen the report from Dr Wilkins. Smithy hadn’t.

Swearing under his breath, Jones went briskly back to his desk and phoned Dr. Wilkins.

“Hello?” Came the irritated greeting.

“May I speak to Dr. Wilkins, please?” Jones remained calm.

“Who is this?” the voice demanded.

“Inspector Glynn Jones. I’m calling about some tests that Dr Wilkins is running for me.”

“This is Dr Ewan Bright. Dr Wilkins has been transferred to Northumbria. I have taken over his show and his cases.”

“Dr Wilkins transferred? Why?” Jones spluttered.

“Not that it is of any concern of yours, but his ratings had been dropping and it was felt that his look wasn’t appropriate for national television. It was felt that he was better suited to regional broadcasting.” Ewan Bright replied curtly. “As for your tests, they will be done according to the priority laid down by the broadcasters. We have our ratings to consider.”

“These tests are a priority...” Jones attempted to state his case.

“I’m afraid not, Inspector.” Dr Bright gave a condescending laugh. “At the moment the priority is the unfortunate case of a rather attractive, young female ice-cream seller who was found face down in a vat of her own raspberry ripple whilst clutching a whistle in her left hand. It is a case that the network is very keen to connect to the menace of feral Girl Guides. It appears that this is a menace that you and your colleagues seem incapable of dealing with, Inspector.”

“This is an important case....” Jones attempted to build up a head of steam.

“I’m sure it is - to you. However, that doesn’t alter the network’s priorities.” Ewan Bright cut him off mid-flow. “Now if you will excuse me, I have s how to prepare for. And Inspector, in future please go through the proper channels if you wish to talk to me. This is my private number. Good Day.”

The line went dead. Taking the telephone away from his ear, Jones just stared at it before slamming it back into its cradle and swearing under his breath.


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