From a Feint Into a Slip and Kicking From the Hip

I am eternally grateful to the loyal band of readers who are sticking with my serial, “A Couple of Tenors Short”. I must admit is was concerned that people would lose interest or become so totally baffled they would drift away, but looking at the statistics of my site yesterday, I realise that despite the difficulties posed by the way I have chosen to publish it, people are sticking with it.

Your loyalty has lifted my spirits more than you will ever realise. So, Part 62 is dedicated to you with heartfelt thanks.

For those of you frustrated with your daily commute, take heart from today’s strange news story. If you ever find yourself complaining about the traffic on your way to or from work, consider this.

 Today I was unable to find a quiz question related to the number 62. So, you will just have to make do with finding the song, connected vaguely to today’s episode, from which the title is taken. I have given you a picture clue and of course, here is 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...

Smithy looked over to where Jones was pointing. It was a piece of waste ground. The security fence that surrounded it had been vandalised. If there had ever been a gate, it was now long gone.

At the far end of the waste  ground, four youths, dressed in orange and blue striped blazers and yellow trousers, were tussling with another youth wearing a grey sweatshirt and jeans. The youth in the sweatshirt had his arms up around his head as the others pushed him around, occasionally throwing punches.

“On it, guv!” Smithy gleefully announced as he accelerated hard.

Smithy turned the Zephyr sharply to the left and bounced it up the kerb causing all the other occupants to cling on to their doors grimly. The Zephyr came to a halt just inside the gateway. The doors flew open and the four detectives rushed out.

They were half way between the Zephyr and the fracas when one of the youths shouted “Scarper! It’s the filth!” The four youths in blazers looked up then ran. Three took off in the direction of the right hand corner of the waste ground. There the fence had been almost destroyed, providing access to a side street. Smithy, Brown and Johnson took off in pursuit of the three. The fourth broke left and headed for a brick wall.

Before starting the chase, Jones looked over to the lad in the jeans and sweatshirt. He was half sat, half lying on the ground, dabbing at a cut above his eye, smearing blood across his face. Jones accelerated after the youth.

When the lad reached the corner he leapt up and grabbed at the wall to heave himself up. For a moment, it looked like he would be up and over, but then the bricks on top of the wall came away and the youth fell backwards.

“Give it up, son.” Jones slowed to a walk as the youth picked himself up.

The youth swore under his breath before snatching up a long piece of wood.

“Cummon, copper!” The lad jumped to his feet and swung the chunk of wood a few times.

Jones looked at the wood and a large, rusty nail that curled from the end. He shook his head.

As the youth swung the wood from side to side, it made a whooshing sound. Jones ignored the wood and concentrated on the thug wielding it, staying on the balls of his feet, feinting left and right, just out of range of the swinging length of two by four.

“You’re just going to make it worse for yourself, lad.” Jones spoke calmly, never dropping his guard for a fraction of a second.

The youth laughed and lunged forwards. Jones deftly moved to his left and let the club swung harmlessly past his right shoulder.

“You’re not very good at this are you?” Jones waved his hands, wriggling his fingers as he continued to bounce on the balls of his feet.

The thug swung his club violently from left to right. Jones danced backwards as it flew past his throat.

“Bloody coppers!” the youth aimed another swing, which Jones dodged easily. “Why are you so concerned for a freak anyway?”

The youth didn’t give Jones chance to respond, lunging forward swing his club. Jones dodged it easily and stepped inside the arc of the club. He grabbed the arm holding the club, he  pulled it. The momentum of the youth caused him fall forward. Jones twisted his body, while continuing to hold the arm, executing a perfect jujitsu throw. The thug fell to the ground. Jones twisted the arm he still held and expertly turned him over so that he was face down. Jones placed a knee on the thug’s back as he produced a set of handcuffs and fitted them tightly.

“I’m arresting you for suspected assault. “ Jones hauled the thug to his feet. “You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

“What?” the thug sneered and spat. “Don’t I even get a ‘you’re nicked, son’?”

Jones said nothing, just gave him a shove to move him back towards the victim of the assault, who was now sat up.

“Are you OK?” Jones shouted over.

The young man remained seated and continued to feel his various bruises and checking his hands for blood.

“Are you OK?” Jones rested his hand on the young man’s shoulder, then pushed the thug over to the wall.  “I’ll get you an ambulance. Get somebody to check you over.”

“I can’t hear you when you look away.” The young man spoke in a monotone, without inflection. “I’m deaf. I have to see your lips.”

After manhandling his suspect so that he was seated facing the wall, Jones came back to victim and crouched besides him.

“What is your name?”Jones signed

“Michael Langreen.” He signed back.

“See, he’s a bloody freak!” the thug shouted. “People aren’t safe if they let freaks like him roam the streets.”

Ignoring the thug, Jones completed his signed conversation with Michael before taking out his phone and calling for an ambulance and then a wagon to take away the thug. 

 

Oh God Said to Abraham 'Kill Me a Son'

Hot on the heels of Part 60 comes Part 61 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”. I had considered introducing some kind of random numbering system or perhaps start giving the various parts names like they do with hurricanes, but I resisted – for the moment at least.

You remember that writing stint yesterday? When I rattled off 1500 words in no time at all? I read it again this morning. Sad to report that the joy was short lived, it is now down to less than 500 words. What was I thinking?

It isn’t news as such, but they have announced the shortlist for the statue to fill the empty fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square. I thought you might be interested in seeing pictures of the shortlist. My favourite is the Cash Machine that triggers a giant organ on the top of the plinth whenever it is used. Sadly, I do not know what tune it will play. I will leave that open for suggestions!  

I’m able to continue the sequence for the quiz question. This one should be really easy (hence why I put one of my photos at the top there). Yet, I will 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 interview with Mrs Ford continued and Jones continued to poke around Sergei’s flat. After a little while, Jones resigned himself to not discovering anything else and he signalled to Smithy to wind the interview up.

While Smithy scribbled down the last of the anecdotes from Mrs Ford, Jones stepped out into the hall and ordered a forensics team to perform a better search and see if they could find something to identify the people who removed Sergei’s belongings.

When the four detectives met at the Ford Zephyr, it became clear that Johnson and Brown hadn’t discovered much either. A lot of the neighbours commented that they often saw him out running, but none really knew him.

“Perhaps we will have better luck with local athletics clubs.” Jones said as he climbed into the front passenger seat of the Zephyr.

“What makes you think that, guv?” Smithy asked as he buckled his seat belt.

“There was a pin board with bits of silk hanging from the pins and there were a lot of square shapes in the dust on the bookshelves which could have been trophies.” Jones spoke dryly as he looked at the sheet of notepaper in the evidence bag.

“That’s impressive deduction, guv.” Brown gave a low whistle from the back.

“It’s nothing really.” Jones gave a smile. “The real giveaway was all the different athletics vests and tracksuits in his drawers.”

The revelation was greeted by groans and a weak laugh from Johnson.

“So, Brown! I want you to follow up on that for me. And Johnson...” Jones paused and allowed himself a smile. “I want you to follow up with the Russian embassy to see if we can get in touch with his family.”

“Yes, guv” Johnson responded meekly.

Taking out his mobile phone, Jones dialled the number written on the paper.

“Hello?” a deep baritone voice answered.

“Hello. This is Detective Inspector Glynn Jones. May I speak with Professor Ibsen, please?”

“Oh.” There were a few seconds of silence. “This is Professor Ibsen. So it was Sergei then.”

“Errrm...” Jones gave a start at the response. “Can I ask why you say that?”

“I saw the picture of the dead man found in the Thames in the evening paper and thought it might have been Sergei Plutov, my former research assistant. However, I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t ring. That was remiss of me. ”

“I’m sorry to tell you that we believe it might be Mr Plutov.” Jones voice conveyed sympathy. “I wondered if you could spare some time to help us discover more about him and how he came to be swimming in the Thames?”

“I’ll be willing to help all I can, but...” Professor Ibsen paused for a moment. “I hate to compound my original oversight, but I fly out to a conference tomorrow and am unavailable all afternoon. Unless we could meet over lunch? I’ll happily pick up the tab.”

The two arranged to meet at one o’clock at a small restaurant near the college. It was a restaurant with a reputation for fine seafood, the anticipation caused Jones to look out of the window and salivate.

“Smithy! Pull over! Over there!” Jones shook himself from his daydream about sea bass and pointed to a fight going on a patch of waste ground.

 

The Way You Talk, The Things You've Done

Part 58 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”. I keep rattling away at this. Amazing really, I suppose at some stage I should consider what I should do with it once it is complete. I have already started to cast the TV mini-series in my head, but I am rather stuck over who should play Smithy.

You will be pleased to know that life in the real world continues to outshine anything I can dream up for “A Couple of Tenors Short”. All I can say is that dominoes in the Rat & Ferret is nothing compared to how they play it in China.

More severe doubts over the quiz question, at least in part due to me not being sure I have a picture of the right band. The answer suggests that it should be easy to people of my generation, but I suspect it’s not.

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...

Inside the Zephyr, Smithy, Johnson and Brown considered Jones’s question over the oddness of the world. The three of them looked at Jones and then each other.

After one of the exchanges of glances, Smithy had to brake hard to avoid knocking over a particularly little old lady who was riding a large dog across the pedestrian crossing. The little old lady pulled up her steed and glared at Smithy from under a bright orange parasol.

“What do you mean odd?” Smithy asked turning around quickly to avoid the irate lady’s withering look.

“OK, look.” Jones clasped his hands together, interlocking his fingers. “We are four policemen, driving through London in a bright pink Ford Zephyr Mark III with no flashing blue light or sirens...”

“Oh yes, flashing Lights, but perhaps we should go for lavender lights?” The Sat-Nav cut in.

“... and with a Sat-Nav that thinks it is some kind of camp style advisor.” Jones voice took on an edge in response to the interruption. “We’ve just nearly knocked over an old lady riding an Irish Wolfhound side-saddle while wearing crinolines, numerous petticoats and carrying a parasol. Don’t you consider that the slightest bit odd?”

“Camp? I’m not camp!” the Sat-Nav squealed. “Just for that you can find your own way to... to wherever it is your going!”

As the detectives considered Jones’s question, the old lady grew bored with glaring at the car and moved across the crossing. Smithy crunched the Zephyr into gear and moved off.

“Well, it is London, guv.” Brown was the first to respond. “This is a city that is a zany melting pot of style and fashion. Where London leads, the world follows.”

“Did you have those funny pains before you gave that answer, Brown?” Jones asked gently.

“No, not at all..” Brown spoke slowly, “it seemed the right answer.”

“When was the last time you saw a little old lady riding side-saddle on a dog in a busy city street?” Jones pressed.

The other three in the car consulted before admitting that this was the first time they could remember. Jones relaxed slightly, sitting back in his seat, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Mind you, we ARE having memory problems.” Smithy reminded Jones, which caused the half-smile to vanish. “And London is known for its eclectic mix and variety of loveable eccentrics. Doesn’t mean we would have come across them all.”

“OK, let’s try and explain the moustaches.” Jones stroked the ginger monstrosity that flamed on his top lip. “How come we all grew moustaches? Not over a few days, but suddenly, all at once on a drive across London.”

The three detectives fell silent.  Johnson twisted the ends of his handlebar moustache.

“Is it some kind of virus?” Brown offered.

“Hurrumph. Is that the best you can come up with?” Jones asked dismissively. “Besides, why just a moustache and how come they grow ready styled?”

“Guv, this is giving me a headache.” Smithy complained.

Jones looked at his three companions. They all looked pale, their lips tinged with blue.

“I don’t feel so good either, guv” Brown admitted.

Smithy suddenly turned the Zephyr into a side street and parked. Smithy, Brown and Johnson all wound their windows down.

“I’m sorry, guv. I’ll feel better in a minute.” Smithy stuck his head out of the window and gulped in air. “I feel a bit dodgy.”

“In what way?” Jones looked at his companions who all had their eyes closed and their heads out of their windows.

“I dunno really. It’s a bit like I’ve been working a really long shift and now the adrenaline has run out.” Smithy spoke quietly, between deep breaths.

Brown and Johnson said nothing, but nodded their heads weakly. Jones stroked his moustache and stayed silent.

“I hope I’m not coming down with something.” Brown moaned. “I would hate to miss the Light Entertainment Championships.”

“That would be awful, what with the world record and the overtime and all.” Johnson added, never moving his head from the window.

The conversation about the Light Entertainment Championships continued. As it did, the colour returned to the faces of Smithy, Johnson and Brown and they became more animated. In his back seat, Jones said nothing, just observed, while stroking his moustache. After about 10 minutes, the conversation had got quite animated over who were the favourites for the competition.

When the conversation died down, Smithy announced he felt much better, started the engine on the Zephyr and pulled away. While the three of them argued over costume choices with the Sat-Nav, Jones sat quietly in the back, staring out of the window.

 

The Sun Shone In, The Glint In Your Eye.

Part 57 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”. Nothing much to add today, I just wanted to post the next episode.

 I’m not sure about today’s quiz question. The  answer seems somehow familiar, but I don’t know if that makes it any easier. Mind you, I think the name is ace.

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...

In a break from normal practice, Jones sat in the back of the Zephyr with Johnson while Brown sat in the front with Smithy who drove.

After fastening his seat belt, Jones positioned himself so he could easily glare at Johnson. Johnson shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Good morning, luvvies!” The Sat-Nav greeted them as Smithy gunned the engine into life. “Where to, my little bundles of angel fluff?”

“Turn that bloody thing off!” Jones shouted from the back seat without ever losing the intensity of the glare at Johnson.

“Temper, temper!” The Sat-Nav responded as Brown poked around it. “Oooo, you have cold hands and that tickles!”

Brown admitted defeat, turned to Jones and gave a shrug. Jones swore under his breath.

Gunning the engine in the Zephyr, Smithy accelerated between a llama carriage and a group of elderly men with a small handcart laden with cauliflowers. A chimney sweep on bicycle, with his brushes slung over his shoulder briefly blocked Smithy’s path. The sweeps eyes opened wide before violently swerving onto the pavement, scattering pedestrians. The bicycle collided with post box, sending the sweep over the handlebars and into the white canvas awning of a butcher’s shop. The sweep bounced from the awing, performed a passable somersault before deftly landing on his feet on the pavement.

Looking in his wing mirror, Smithy gave a chuckle at the comedic sweep-shaped sooty splodge on the butcher’s awning.

During the entire incident, Jones’s gaze never left Johnson.

“Guv, I’m sorry.” Johnson shook his head and looked down into his lap. “I know what I did was wrong, but.... well... at the time it seemed right.”

“Seemed right?” Jones spoke quietly, yet his eyes flashed.

“It’s difficult to explain.” Johnson scratched his head without lifting his gaze. “Everything you said in the briefing, I know that is right and proper. I’ve always known, I wouldn’t have joined the police if I didn’t believe that.”

“It’s like those memory problems, Guv.” Smithy cut in from the front. “You know, like we talked about yesterday.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is kind of.” Johnson looked up at the back of Smithy’s head. “You sort of find yourself puzzled by something, you try to work out why, but it sort of... hurts.”

“I know what he means.” Brown spun round from the front passenger seat.  “You suddenly find yourself confronted with something, you try to remember what to do, then things pop into your head that don’t seem right, but if you try and question it, it kind of hurts until you accept it.”

“Exactly!” Johnson sat up and waved a hand towards Brown. “When I got that report, I wanted to jump up and shout, but something held me back. I got confused and then the foreigner thing cut in.”

Jones stroked his moustache and considered the conversation for a moment.

“Would you look at that? There’s a sale on at Embroidery World!” the Sat-Nav cut in, but was ignored.

“Just like the Garden Gnomes.” Smithy muttered from the front seat, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

“Garden Gnomes?” Jones blurted out before realising his mistake, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“It was my wife’s idea. Let’s turn the front garden into a Gnome Sanctuary she said.” Smithy leaned forward in the driver’s seat, his knuckles starting to turn white as he gripped the wheel. “I hate the bloody things and wanted to say no, but for some reason, I couldn’t. It hurt. So I agreed. Now I seem to spend all my free time installing rockeries and ponds in the front garden. I can’t go near a garden centre anymore because when I do, I end up buying another bloody gnome!”

“I would just love to give you directions to a garden centre.” The Sat-Nav chimed happily.

“SHUT UP!” The four detectives shouted in unison.

“Doesn’t it happen to you, Guv?” Brown asked.

“Well...” Jones took a deep breath and let it out slowly and noisily. “I seem to have gaps in my memory, but not the pains. I find that with a little self control I can handle...”

Jones let the sentence drift off, before running a hand through is hair and swearing under his breath.

“What the hell is going on here, lads?” Jones implored. “Why is everything so... odd?”

 

Is it a Gun Is it a Knife Is it a Wallet This is Your Life

Before I let you loose on part 41 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”, I should offer my apologies at the lack of updates in the last week. This was down to a very busy week and a particularly difficult part of the plot to put into words.

I normally write a couple of episodes ahead of what I am posting. Before I start writing anything new, I give the previous couple of episodes a read and a quick edit. Then I do my writing, then another edit on the piece I am due to post. Sometimes this also involves tweaking earlier bits in my manuscript. Well, such were the difficulties in part 43; this has taken a lot longer to reach you than I would have hoped.

Now, I think that the lyric today is an easy one, so instead I give you a picture I took last week, but as always, I 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...

David Heatherington, the security man pressed his palms together and rested his nose on his two forefingers. Despite steeling himself as soon as Heatherington started the move,  Jones found himself giving  a shudder.

“An interesting response, Inspector.” Heatherington dropped his hands and gave a smile that, for once, managed to implicate his eyes. “However, we really do not have time to explore it further. I need to ask a couple of favours.”

“I see.” Jones stared at the lift door.

“In the spirit of co-operation, I wondered if I could see Phillip Duncan’s statement?”

Jones opened his folder and pulled out a copy of Dunker Phil’s statement which he passed to the security man.

“Sir Terence hates Horse Racing, you know.” Heatherington stated as he started to read. “Yet, on the spur of the moment, he decided he wanted to host a small gathering at Newmarket on the 15^th. He took the hospitality box next to Vera, Veronica and Violet Adkins. Among his guests was Sir Andrew Witherspoon.”

“That is, as you would say, interesting.” Jones watched Heatherington as he continued to read.

“Indeed.” Heatherington turned the page slowly. “Victoria Adkins worked for Sir Terence’s electronics company in Research and Development. Gossip suggested that they had an affair, although I cannot substantiate such tittle-tattle.”

“Victoria Adkins? A fourth sister?” Jones closed his eyes and clenched a fist. “Why didn’t I...”

“Memory playing tricks? I know how that feels. Even now it takes an effort to recall her. ” The security man continued to read. “She’s gone underground. Nobody seems to have seen her for nearly two weeks. Sir Terrence has had his feelers out trying to find her. I want to find her first.”

“Mr Heatherington, wouldn’t we better off discussing this in an office, in the form of a case review?” Jones asked the security man who in response plucked the folder from under Inspector Jones’s arm.

“It is the old cliché, walls have ears.” Heatherington opened the folder and slipped Dunker’s statement back into it.

“Lifts have walls.” Jones curled his lip.

“I’ve checked. I would describe this lift as a deaf mute where it not for the loquacious manner in which it mutilates the classics.” Heatherington flipped through the pages in the folder. “I would be very grateful if you did not interview Sir Terrence or Sir Andrew unless you clear it with me first and it would be beneficial if you did not pull Darrius Kipling in just yet. My men are keeping a close watch on Darrius, he is more use to us on the streets at the moment.”

“That’s three favours.” Jones paused and stroked his moustache. “Besides Darrius Kipling is my prime suspect in the murder of an unidentified man whose body we dragged from the Thames.”

“You have the evidence to support that?” Heatherington snapped shut the folder and looked at Jones who nodded. “A further complication, but my request still stands. I’m rather hoping that Mr Kipling will lead me to Victoria Adkins.”

“Why do you think he would?”

Heatherington handed back the folder and punched the button for the ground floor. “Just a hunch.”

The two men stood in silence observing each other as the lift counted down the floors and regaled them with the timeline of the English Civil War.

The two men left the lift and walked in silence to the car park.

“Inspector, can I rely on you to respect my wishes on those little favours?” Heatherington asked as he offered his hand to Jones. “In return, I will make sure that you are immediately informed of any developments from my end.”

“I’ll not interview Sir Terrence or Sir Andrew.” Jones shook the security man’s hand. “And I will give you the weekend to follow your hunch on Darrius, but after that we’ll have to see.”

The security nodded and gestured towards an old Bentley S3 Continental in the far corner of the car park.

The Bentley moved around and stopped next to the security man. A chauffeur dressed as William Pitt the younger leapt out and opened the rear door.

“That seems fair given the circumstances.” Heatherington climbed into the Bentley. “I will be in touch on Monday.”

The chauffer closed the door and leapt back into the driver’s seat. Jones watched the Bentley leave and then glanced at the Pink Zephyr and his own Datsun. Shaking his head, he thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets and sauntered back into the station.

Squint Your Eyes and Look Closer

Somewhere in the next few paragraphs of part 32 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”, you will sail through the 25000 word mark. Amazing, isn’t it?  

As the numbers get bigger, finding quiz questions becomes harder and the actual answer comes as something of a discovery even for the person setting the question!

OK, the quiz questions 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...

“That was a bit much, guv.” Smithy whispered to Jones as they crossed the foyer to the exit.

“Yes. Getting help from those three is like trying to catch eels while wearing boxing gloves.” Jones replied while examining the lavish plaster ceiling.

“Not them, guv. You!” Smith stopped and glared at Jones.

“Me?” Jones turned to Smithy open mouthed. “You saw them in there! Why on earth do you think it was me going over the top?”

 “They’ve just lost their father!” Smithy’s eyes glistened and he quickly ran the back of his hand across them. “You didn’t offer them any condolences or anything. It’s just a bit much!”

Smithy turned away from Jones and walked out of the club. Jones stood watching him, his head shaking slowly. He took another look at the gilded plaster ceiling, swore under his breath before following his sergeant out into his street.

Jones stood on the top step and watched Smithy taking animatedly to Brown and Johnson. He waited a while before slowly crossing the street and walking back to the Zephyr.

Jones had been leaning against the car for a couple of minutes before the three detectives joined him.

“So? Back to the station then, guv?” Smithy asked coldly.

“Not yet.” Jones continued to stare at the club. “Let’s wait for our uniform guys.”

A few minutes later the six constables walked around the corner. In the middle of the group, in handcuffs was Dunker Phil.

“Dunker! How are you?” Jones grinned and got off the car.

“Inspector Jones as I live and breathe.” Dunker scowled. “I heard that they had put you out to grass.”

For a moment, Jones’s brow furrowed and his right hand waved in the air slightly. A memory floated close to recall before vanishing again.

“Nope, still here to keep the streets clean.” Jones stroked his moustache with his forefinger. “I’m so pleased you sorted out your family emergency so quickly.”

“What emergency?” Dunker looked quizzically at the inspector.

Jones shot Smithy a look. “Phillip Duncan, I am arresting you on suspicion of the abduction of Archie McRamie on or about 15^th April. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

Dunker gave a grunt then swore profusely as Brown and Johnson helped him into the Zephyr. Smithy and Jones waited until he was sandwiched between Brown and Johnson in the back seat before climbing into their places in the front.

They drove most of the way back to the station in silence, the sat-nav not even offering directions. Occasionally, Smithy shot Jones glances. Jones ignored him and instead studied the racing pages in the old newspaper.

“I’ve done nothin’ wrong.” Dunker suddenly stated from the back seat. “I want my brief.”

Jones pursed his lips and then inhaled slowly and noisily. “You know the drill by now, Dunker. We’ll get you settled at the station and sort all of that out.”

Back at the station, Jones and Smithy took Dunker down to the cells and ran through the formalities. Dunker glared at Jones, but said nothing. Smithy glared at Jones and also said nothing.

Jones ignored them both. With the paperwork complete, he left Smithy to finish off and started to return to his desk.

“Inspector Jones! How are you?” A deep baritone voice filled the corridor.

Jones looked up and found he was facing a short, rotund man with a ruddy face and gleaming grey eyes. The man’s sparse dark hair had been greased and manipulated to try and give the impression of providing full coverage of his scalp.

 “Sir Andrew.” Jones spoke quietly and broke out in a huge grin as he pumped the hand offered by the lawyer. “Sir Andrew Witherspoon, as I live and breathe. What on earth brings you here? I would have thought you would be snowed under at the Old Bailey.”

“Ahhh, yes. Normally I would spend all my time at the bar.” The barrister gave a chuckle at his own pun. “But, I have been asked to perform a very special favour for a particular client. So, I’m slumming it at the sharp end to represent one Phillip Duncan. Do you know where I can find him?”

Inspector Jones swore under his breath.

Where Children Play Without Despair

We find ourselves gathered around the portal leading to part 30 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”.

This is another post where the title is taken from a song lyric with some kind of associated picture to give you a clue. This one is linked to the number 30.

Not quite so difficult today given the clue, but in the spirit of infant cordial, I give you the answer.

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

And having devoured the mantra, you will now find yourself looking down the road awaiting that troublesome recap. But wait! What has happened here? It’s gorn!

Well, not really, I have picked it up and placed it on a page of its own. If you feel the need to oil your important little places, feel free to find the recap here!

Now read on...

Jones stared at the block of ice as the chain saws slowly revealed the figure of Britannia. He watched the smiling faces of the dancers as they twirled and leapt on the pavement and on the street. He watched the glowing faces of the impromptu children’s choir as they belted out a rousing version of On Ilkla Moor Baht 'at.

Jones swore under his breath again.

Jones slowly opened the door of the car and went to the boot where he retrieved the previous Thursday’s copy of ‘The Sun’. Slamming the boot shut, he climbed back into his seat.

The occupants of the Zephyr watched in silence as two elderly men in white linen suits and broad brimmed fedora hats appeared from an office building. They were struggling with a waxwork of Oliver Cromwell dressed as Father Christmas. A couple of the children broke from the choir and helped position the waxwork by the piano. The elderly men rewarded the children with some Werther Original toffees.

“What do you make of that?” Jones shook his head slowly and passed the paper to Johnson.

“It’s on old newspaper, guv.” Johnson flicked idly to page 3.

Jones snatched the paper back and folded it to the entertainment section before thrusting it back to Johnson. “Read that.”

The girls had finished the ice sculpture. They had switched off their chainsaws and were standing back to admire their work. The various dancers, musicians and singers joined them and engaged in a round of exuberant hugging, back slapping and laughing. The crowd broke up and went on their way. In a few moments, all that was left behind was a waxwork of Oliver Cromwell looking disapprovingly at a haughty ice Britannia.

“Wow!” It was Brown who broke the silence in the back seat. “That is going to cause an absolute uproar. How on earth do they think they can get away with printing lies like that – and attributing them to the Prime Minister?”

Jones crossed his arms and stared straight ahead. There was a rustling of paper in the back.

“Hang on.” Johnson gave a laugh. “This is all a joke, right? This is one of those parodies. It’s full of daft stories about people I’ve never heard of. Is it Student RAG week or something, guv?”

Jones took a deep breath. “You’re the detectives, you tell me.”

The three detectives started to look for explanations for the article with the sat-nav occasionally interjecting to admonish Smithy over his driving, provide directions or to bring attention to various shoes on display in shop windows.

 Jones withdrew his mobile phone from his pocket and went through the address book. Hitting the dial button, he placed it to his ear.

“Evening Standard? Can I have your diary editor, please?” Jones hummed like an old fridge while hold music played in his ear. “Mike, you old dog, how are you doing? It’s Glynn Jones and I wonder if you can help me out. Were there any student RAG weeks or major charity events week commencing 11^th April?”

The arguments in the back seat continued as Jones made a series of grunts and nods.

“OK, so nothing big. Have you heard anything of anyone doing a large print runs of parody newspapers?”

The back seat fell quiet as the two detectives became aware of the inspector’s conversation.

“You’ve heard of nothing at all? Thanks, Mike.” Jones turned to the two detectives in the back seat and gave a huge grin. “Oh, it’s just one of those silly bets we have at the station. You know how it is. See you soon. Bye”

Jones hung up.

“Well lads, it seems you need to get your thinking caps on.”

The theories that sprung from his companions became more fanciful and ludicrous to the pensive Jones. He sat back in his seat and let them flow over him.

“You have now reached your destination.” The sat-nav interrupted, adding. “Classy place!”

I Got a Trapdoor Right Under His Bed

<

We find ourselves gathered around the portal leading to part 29 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”.

This is another post where the title is taken from a song lyric with some kind of associated picture to give you a clue. This one is linked to the number 29.

This is a toughie but with an answer well worth discovering – so to help you in the discovery, here is the actual answer.

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

And having devoured the mantra, you will now find yourself salivating at the troublesome recap. Still without any ideas on how to get this under control, I find myself shamed that on occasions the recap is actually longer than the accompanying episode.

The world has gone mad. Inspector Glynn Jones believes that everyone else is out of step not him. A view encouraged by the man from the State Security Services, but not by his colleagues. Jones is sticking by his view for now after an experiment with his wedding ring where the engraving mysteriously changed when Pippa gave a different wedding day for their marriage than was originally on the ring.

Jones has no recollection of any marriage, but he is finding being hitched to Pippa Hucknell, an investigative journalist, rather enjoyable. Other events are not so pleasurable. He has found that he driving a rather chirpy, lime green Datsun Cherry that behaves like a puppy; suffered numerous random wardrobe malfunctions; keeps re-growing a ginger moustache; bet against his own station in the upcoming police light entertainment championships; had run in with gangs of Buddhist monks; had one of his team hospitalised by the feral Girl Guides and found the camp Sat-Nav unit in the pink Mark III Ford Zephyr is developing a personality and cannot be switched off.

Then there are the strange cases he has to solve, the abduction of Archie McRamie, the theft of industrial generators, forged tickets for the Light Entertainment Championships, feral Girl Guides, the smuggling of illegal Macramé yarn, a suspected murder of a ‘John Doe’ dragged from the Thames, and the disappearance of a number of petty criminals.

Doctor Wilkins, the famous TV Pathologist, has confirmed the unknown swimmer drowned in the Thames after taking a large high tea. The Fruit Fancies of his last meal are being linked to Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling. Darrius and Dunker Phil both work for Horace Adkins, the beloved Barbers Shop Quartet impresario who is presumed dead after a massive explosion at his Georgian Mansion which the local police have suggested was suicide.

Archie McRamie is a best-selling author credited with the book ‘The Cat Crowed at a Little After Two-thirty’. The main character in the book appears to be Horace Adkins. However, it appears that it is his wife and secretary, Elspeth Periwinkle that writes all his books.

Constable Rory Tiddles has found some interesting CCTV footage related to the abduction of Archie McRamie. It shows Dunker Phil climbing into Archie’s car at a filling station unchallenged. Jones and his squad are now on their way to the Red, White and Blue club to ask Dunker Phil a few questions.

Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling and Dunker Phil were observed with Vera Anne Adkins and Violet Ann Adkins, two of Horace’s daughters, visiting the offices of London’s premier trial lawyers, Witherspoon, Lewes, Grambling, and Witherspoon. Vera Adkins had gone there to instigate a defamation case, but her sister Violet arrived and talked her out of it.

Jones has had a meeting with his Superintendant and a man from the State Security Services who were very interested in finding out why this visit took place, but have told the Inspector that he will be disowned if his investigation results in adverse public opinion. After reading an old newspaper that once wrapped a fish supper, Jones believes he now has the answer.

I hope that has made everything clear? Oh well, at least I tried.

Now read on...

Progress to the club was slow. This was due in part to the traffic, but mostly because Jones had Smithy stop at every fish and chip shop they passed. At the first one, Smithy pulled up, Jones leapt from the Zephyr and sprinted into the shop before returning empty handed to the car.

Johnson made a comment about feeling peckish and how a bag of chips would go down nicely. Jones turned and gave him a glare.

At the second and third stops, Jones came out of the shops with an armful of newspapers which he put into the boot of the Zephyr.

At the fourth, Jones practically danced back to the car waving a sheaf of newspapers above his head. Racing round to the back of the Zephyr, Jones put them in the boot.

With Jones seated back in the Zephyr, the small convoy moved off. Smithy, kept turning and staring at the inspector. Brown and Johnson leaned forwards in their seats, their eyes boring into the back of Jones’s neck.

“Eyes on the road, dearie!” the sat-nav exclaimed as Smithy narrowly missed a small flat bed van with a string quartet, dressed as Vikings, practicing on the back.

“I know how to drive you box of... err... box of wires!” Smithy snapped back at the box.

“Oooo, get you!” the sat-nav responded.

There was silence inside the Zephyr as it crawled towards the West End. A group of men dressed as chefs and carrying a huge block of ice on a litter appeared from a side street and carefully set it down in front of a grocery store. More men in stripy blazers and boaters appeared from the opposite direction and gathered around the chefs and the ice-block. The growing crowd spilled out into the road and caused the traffic from a crawl to a halt.

“What is with the newspapers, guv?” Smithy asked as he drummed his fingers on the wheel.

“Just something that doesn’t make any sense.” Jones stared out of the windscreen as a group of girls in lilac pinafore dresses and chain saws joined the crowd.

“Guv, we’re supposed to be team. You keep telling us that we work together to keep the streets of London safe for everyone, remember” Johnson whined from the back seat.

“Yeah!” Brown cut in. “You tell us that we are all in this together. All for one and one for all and all that stuff.”

“Look over there.” Jones pointed to the crowd who had been joined by the string quartet from the back of the van. “Don’t you find that odd?”

The four of them watched as a group of young boys wheeled an upright piano into position and the musicians started to play Yorkshire folk melodies. The chefs started to pick partners from the passersby and dance.

“They’re just letting off steam. A bit of harmless fun.” Smithy gave a shrug of his shoulders.

“A group obstructing the traffic and wielding lethal chain saws in a public place is a bit of fun?”

The young girls with the chain saws started to attack the huge block of ice. The tempo of the music and the pace of the dancing increased. A group of school children started to form up behind the piano into a choir.

“So you are all prepared to accept... accept...” Jones stabbed a finger towards the crowd carousing around the developing ice-sculpture as he attempted to find the right word. “Accept THAT, but find it odd that I want to collect a few old newspapers?”

“The newspapers thing is different, Guv.” Brown leaned over the front bench seat of the Zephyr. “You’re our Guv’ner. You going off on your own and keeping stuff secret from us just isn’t right, not normal. It’s like you don’t trust us.”

Jones swore under his breath.

I Hope They Don't Stop At My Door

We find ourselves gathered around the portal leading to part 28 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”.

As with most of the posts for this novel in my blog, the title is taken from a song lyric with some kind of associated picture to give you a clue. This one was going to be called “Dance ballerina girl, go go go!", but it got hijacked. This first title is linked to the number 28.

The actual title, ‘I hope they don't stop at my door’, cropped up when I was looking up an image. The title of the track is somewhere in the story and the artist is in the picture.

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

And having escaped the mantra, With that out of the way, I shall fling you headlong into a recap that is getting out of all control. It would be great if somebody could come up with a better way to deal with this recap beast. It is getting quite unwieldy.

The world has gone mad. Inspector Glynn Jones believes that everyone else is out of step not him. A view encouraged by the man from the State Security Services, dressed in green lycra, he discovered in his kitchen. Later, when trying an experiment, the engraving on his wedding ring mysteriously changed when Pippa gave a different wedding day for their marriage than was originally on the ring.

Jones has no recollection of any marriage, but he is finding being hitched to Pippa Hucknell, an investigative journalist, rather enjoyable. Other events are not so pleasurable. He has found that he driving a rather chirpy, lime green Datsun Cherry that behaves like a puppy; suffered numerous random wardrobe malfunctions; keeps re-growing a ginger moustache; bet against his own station in the upcoming police light entertainment championships; had run in with gangs of Buddhist monks; had one of his team hospitalised by the feral Girl Guides and found the camp Sat-Nav unit in the pink Mark III Ford Zephyr is developing a personality and cannot be switched off.

Then there are the strange cases he has to solve, the abduction of Archie McRamie, the theft of industrial generators, forged tickets for the Light Entertainment Championships, feral Girl Guides, the smuggling of illegal Macramé yarn, a suspected murder of a ‘John Doe’ dragged from the Thames, and the disappearance of a number of petty criminals.

Doctor Wilkins, the famous TV Pathologist, has confirmed the unknown swimmer drowned in the Thames after taking a large high tea. The Fruit Fancies of his last meal are being linked to Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling. Darrius and Dunker Phil both work for Horace Adkins, the beloved Barbers Shop Quartet impresario who is presumed dead after a massive explosion at his Georgian Mansion which the local police have suggested was suicide.

Archie McRamie is a best-selling author credited with the book ‘The Cat Crowed at a Little After Two-thirty’. The main character in the book appears to be Horace Adkins. However, it appears that it is his wife and secretary, Elspeth Periwinkle that writes all his books.

Constable Rory Tiddles has found some interesting CCTV footage related to the abduction of Archie McRamie. It shows Dunker Phil climbing into Archie’s car at a filling station unchallenged.

Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling and Dunker Phil were observed with Vera Anne Adkins and Violet Ann Adkins, two of Horace’s daughters, visiting the offices of London’s premier trial lawyers, Witherspoon, Lewes, Grambling, and Witherspoon. Vera Adkins had gone there to instigate a defamation case, but her sister Violet arrived and talked her out of it.

Jones has had a meeting with his Superintendant and a man from the State Security Services who were very interested in finding out why this visit took place, but have told the Inspector that he will be disowned if his investigation results in adverse public opinion. After reading an old newspaper that once wrapped a fish supper, Jones believes he now has the answer.

I hope that has made everything clear? Oh well, at least I tried.

Now read on...

Back inside the station, Jones sought out Sergeant Collins. The sergeant was sat behind a pile of paper. When Jones approached, Collins put down his pen and stood up.

“So, was the chippy open?” Collins asked

“Fred opened up just for me.” Jones gave a grin. “Look, I need some uniform back-up in about half an hour. I’m going to pick up... errr... pick up a suspect.”

“Sure, I think I can manage that.” Collins paused and rubbed his chin slowly. “Glynn, we go back a long way. I remember you as a fresh-faced kid when you blew in from the valleys.”

Jones nodded.

“I’m worried about you, Glynn.” Collins spoke softly. “You seem to be trying to do everything yourself. You seem to have forgotten that to be a good copper you need trust and teamwork.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.” Jones waved his hands as he spoke. “It’s just... the whole world seems...”

The two men looked at each other as Jones grappled with his thoughts.

“It’s complicated.” Jones broke the sergeant’s gaze. “It’s like the world keeps changing around me. I need to be able to trust myself first.”

“You’ve been working too hard. Maybe you need a break.” Collins raised an eyebrow. “Not that you will take a break. But if you won’t do that, you need to find somebody to trust – and you know that I’ll be here if you need me.

Jones nodded. “Thanks.”

“Just remember what I said. You’re no good to anybody in a rubber room.” Collins pointed an accusing finger at the Inspector.

Jones gave a half-hearted laugh and then headed back to his desk.

After locking one of the two DVDs and one of the envelopes in his top drawer, Jones rang the Superintendant. It was answered by his receptionist who insisted that any appointment with the Superintendant was impossible before Tuesday. Jones scowled and told her to tell him that he wanted to update him on Vera Adkins meeting at Witherspoon, Lewes, Grambling, and Witherspoon. Jones heard voices in the background before the receptionist returned to the line and informed the inspector he could have a brief audience at 4 o’clock that afternoon.

Jones carefully replaced the receiver and swore under his breath.

For the next 20 minutes, he busied himself typing up his notes.

“Right then!” Jones shouted and slapped his hands down on the desk. “Smithy, fire up the Zephyr! Brown, Johnson, you’re with us. We’re going visiting!”

The detectives trailed in Inspector Jones’s wake as he strode from the office. In the car park, the rendezvoused with six uniformed constables who clambered aboard a police camper van when they arrived. The driver asked Jones where they were heading. Jones only told them to follow the Zephyr.

When all of the detectives were in the Zephyr, Smithy started the engine.

“Where to, guv?” Smithy asked.

“Oh, yes, please tell us, sweetie. I do just love an outing” the sat-nav piped in.

Jones prodded the off switch on the sat-nav.

“Stop that! It tickles!” the sat-nav giggled and refused to switch off.

“We are going to the Red, White and Blue club.” Jones announced.

“Oh, super!” the sat-nav cut in. “A show, I do so love a good show.”

“The Red, White and Blue club? Horace Adkins’s Red, White and Blue club?” Smithy queried.

“Are we picking up The Baker, guv?”  Johnson asked from the back seat.

“Yes, Horace Adkins’s club.” Jones gave a sigh. “And, no, until we have all the test results, I want to keep my powder dry for The Baker.”

“Oh very droll.” The sat-nav interrupted. “Powder, dry, baker, get it? Ooo you are a tough audience. At the entrance to the car park, turn right.”

Jones kept pressing the off switch to no effect. “We are going to invite Dunker Phil to come in for a chat. It looks like he was the last person to see Archie McRamie before he vanished.”