Part 55 of “A Couple of Tenors Short” unlike a certain brand of lager, reaches parts that other blog serials fail to reach. My advice would be to use calamine lotion twice a day and not to scratch.
After scientific study of the temperature of the precipitation, I believe we now have consensus that it is indeed Summer. So, what better way to celebrate that to hold the World Sauna Championships? It is a rather tragic tale, but another example that life is stranger than fiction. Although I am left wondering if there is typo in that article. Surely they mean temperatures of 110 Fahrenheit rather than 110 Celsius (which is 230 Fahrenheit)?
Errrr... I am reliably informed that they do indeed mean 110C. Such is the heat, contestants are banned from wearing hair gel lest it melt, get into an eye and fry the eyeball. I wondered why Evar didn’t seem keen about entering!
Onto the quiz question then. This is probably easier than the last few, but I still give you the 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 email that Jones prepared complaining about the pathologist was vitriolic and peppered with profanities. The first draft flowed from his fingers in minutes, before he reworked a section and added a few extra choice phrases he considered appropriate. Jones sat back, considered his masterpiece of complaint and smiled. Jones leant forward and hit the delete key.
Jones then wrote a memo to the Superintendant requesting his assistance to increase the priority of his tests. The memo was more considered and diplomatic and nowhere near as satisfying to write. Jones sent the memo and headed to the briefing room.
The briefing room was noisy. Conversations about the latest in the Horace Adkins saga flew across the room. Voices were being raised as people competed to get their opinions into the mix. The entrance of Jones had no impact on the noise level. Jones standing by the briefing board appeared to go un-noticed.
“GOOD MORNING!” Jones shouted above the din, simultaneously slamming his folder onto the desk to provide appropriate punctuation.
The noise faded and the briefing got underway.
There was a more energy about the briefing than the day before. Contributions were coming from all sides and there were snippets of information about the generator thefts. They didn’t really take the investigation any further forward, but at least Jones had something to add to his notes.
The news about the delay in bailing Dunker Phil even got a small cheer from the ensemble, so Jones was beaming when he recounted the interview with some gusto.
“That’s a co-incidence.” Johnson interrupted when Jones mentioned the mysterious Sergei involved in the abduction.
All eyes turned to Johnson before slowly turning to Jones.
“What is a co-incidence, Johnson?” the calm, measured tone was in contradiction to Jones’s flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes and flared nostrils.
It might have been prudent for Johnson to look up, but he continued to doodle on his notepad. “The name of the dead bloke who was fished out of the Thames was probably Sergei.”
“Oh? That really is very interesting. I’m so glad we have made a breakthrough in that case.” Jones continued to speak slowly and softly as he moved from the front of the room to stand next to Johnson. “Tell me his surname and how long have you known that.”
The room had fallen totally silent now, not even the sound of scratchy pencils distracted the group from the unfolding scene. Johnson flipped over a couple of pages in his notebook.
“His landlady rang a couple of days ago. Said he was a Russian called Sergei Plutov and that she hadn’t seen him since the weekend and that he hadn’t been back to his room....” Johnson’s voice suddenly trailed off when he looked up from his notepad to discover a red faced Jones looming over him.
“Truly fascinating.” Despite the fuse being lit and a small amount of spittle forming at the corner of his mouth, Jones continued to keep his voice quiet and calm. “Please tell your colleagues why you didn’t feel the need to trouble us with this information.”
Johnson looked around the room at his colleagues. As his gaze settled on them, each in turn turned their gaze to something else that had suddenly become intriguing. Johnson swallowed hard and turned to face Jones.
“At the time it didn’t seem all that important.” Johnson whimpered and ran a finger around the inside of his collar as he noticed the vein throbbing on Jones’s flushed temple. “Besides, he was a Russian, a foreigner, so not really important in the scheme....”
“A FOREIGNER? NOT IMPORTANT?” The fuse met the main charge within Jones. “Since when does being a foreigner mean that you’re not entitled to British Justice?”
Johnson, considered this and tried to form a response, but Jones was in no mood for interruption. The public berating of his detective by Jones continued as the inspector regaled him with his principles of police work. Jones started with the principles of justice, moved on to the equality of the law, gave an impassioned defence of the need for the impartiality of justice before explaining the need for effective police work in order to not only ensure justice was done, but seen to be done.
Jones could have continued, but he was cut off by the sight of three athletes jogging across the office followed by the Superintendant in his gold lamé, full dress uniform. The four of them burst into the briefing room. The athletes took up station by the door while the Superintendant flounced to the front of the room.
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