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</WRAP> </WRAP> <WRAP > <wrap >//(Read from start)// </wrap> </WRAP> <WRAP >No one wanted to admit that the demise of Mr Robin Cock in the wintered wood was a blessing, as there was not a single person in the surrounds of the hamlet of Thornton Under Vale that didn’t have a motive to kill the singularly unpleasant Chinese Porcelain trader.</WRAP> <WRAP >Unfortunately, for Inspector Hawk, who was investigating the unnatural death, everyone also appeared to also have the opportunity. Looking for a way to close the case quickly, he asked Doctor Fish if the arrow in Mr Cock’s third eye was the only cause of death. That would narrow down his list to those who were practised in archery.</WRAP> <WRAP >In the immaculate Mortuary, steel glimmering, but with the sickly odour of opened corpse, recently defrosted, Doctor Fish returned the raised eyebrow. “I checked his blood. He was poisoned, before he met Cupid’s arrow. Then, there was the blow to his head. Of course he could have got that when he fell, but that would not really account for the traces of lead and silver polish. Oh, and he was dragged to the spot by a rope around his neck.” Inspector Hawk shrugged, “They certainly wanted to get rid of him. Candlestick; Rope; Dagger….”</WRAP> <WRAP >The silver haired pathologist interrupted, “Actually, an arrow… but, that could cover being shot or stabbed, if you are following the Rules of Cluedo. Nor was the body found in a basement.”</WRAP> <WRAP >The younger detective muttered, “He was discovered in the hollow know locally as The Under Vale. Gives the name to village. And, despite my instructions, Web allowed every damn villager to visit the body. There are foot prints everywhere. So much for the crime scene.”</WRAP> <WRAP >“I don’t think you can blame Constable Web. After all, you sent him to interview the slightly pregnant Miss Dove at The Linnet, right away. You know that gossip is the Devil’s Invention in that pub, and, I can confirm that Mr Robin Cock is, well, was, the father of her child. The DNA swab from Prenatal Clinic was young Web’s idea. Though our victim told her and his wife that he wasn’t. According to Miss Fly, that is.“</WRAP> <WRAP >Inspector Hawk sighed, “They were my best suspects, but Miss Fly hasn’t the strength to pull a Longbow; Miss Dove was serving at the Linnet at the time of death; and Mrs Ivanna Cock was on the phone to Reverend Castle, trying to calm troubled holy waters. Honestly, getting a Court Order to stop the Church Bells ringing because the vibrations could damage his precious China Collection. Hell, the church is a mile away in Thornton Du Bois. That certainly upset the bell ringers from The Bull. Actually, I recall they threatened to string him up, if he ever came to their village. I wouldn’t upset men that provide the only service garage in the whole district. I’d better put them on the list of suspects.” He paused, looked at his notebook, “Bugger. Another spanner in the Works. They had Darts Match practice.”</WRAP> <WRAP >The doctor moved to the pile of official papers, “Playing Pub Darts was the traditional way of practising aim for using the Longbow. Don’t give me that look, DS Hawk. I am just saying if it was just an arrow that dispatched our well-loved victim, you could reduce your suspects. But… I am awaiting the results on what poison was used. A local herbal concoction I would say.”</WRAP> <WRAP >The doctor methodically hammered a rubber stamp on each sheet, the noise echoing in the plain tiled room. “Well, I’ve finished with him. The undertakers, Beetle and Sons, want to get him buried before the ground is too hard, and that old sod Owl starts charging overtime for digging the grave. Is he on your list of suspects?”</WRAP> <WRAP >Inspector Hawk laughed, “They both are. Beetles for getting a speeding fine in their Hearse. Quick Service they promised, but a bit too quick for eagle-eyed late Mr Cock. And Grumpy Owl for being drunk in a public space…. the graveyard, for God’s Sake. Old Owl could have lost his job, but the key witness is on your slab, dear Doctor.” He tapped his fingers on the metal surface, by the body, which visibly annoyed the pathologist, who always complained of the risk of DNA transfer. “This is turning out to be a wild goose chase, “ muttered the detective, “All have motive, and alibis.”</WRAP> <WRAP >“Will there be many at the funeral?” said the doctor, neatly and precisely, lining up the forms for collection.</WRAP> <WRAP >Once again the detective laughed, ignoring the sanctity of the mortuary space, “ I expect they will all be there. Just to make sure the bastard’s dead and buried. According to Spider, the estranged son, Adrian, will be a pall bearer, together with his partner, James Snape.”</WRAP> <WRAP >The Doctor paused in signing forms, “Wasn’t James Snape originally Jenny, a Navel Wren?”</WRAP> <WRAP >This time there was no derisory laughter from the Detective. Nodding over to the un-stiffened corpse, lined with stitches like Frankenstein’s monster, Hawk remarked, “Yes. You know he wanted me to arrest the guy/girl because they were ‘offensive to Nature’, yet each year on the 23rd April he was perfectly happy about bragging about the Falkland War medals she had won for creating medicines from local Falkland herbs. I can’t blame Adrian for threatening to kill his father after that debacle on St Georges Day.”</WRAP> <WRAP >The Doctor moved over to the bagged clothes, and pulled out another plastic wallet. “I found Robin Cock’s new Will and Testament, that cut Adrian out of his inheritance, in his inside pocket. It was still unsigned and not witnessed. Maybe a Motive?”</WRAP> <WRAP >DS Hawk sighed, “Certainly is, but this damn problem of an unimpeachable alibi comes up again. Attending the opera with Lady Byrd…. Don’t laugh. I nearly did, but that’s her title now. Now, Lady Byrd had a motive, as that bastard,” nodding back to the arrow-less body, “fleeced her out of a lot of money selling her Romanov dinner service. She only got 10% of the real value. She is going to sing the psalms at the funeral.”</WRAP> <WRAP >The doctor looked up from his steel desk, “Wait a moment. Wasn’t she originally Mrs Thrush before her second marriage? Something about compromising photographs? Sat on a bush au natural? Caused quite a storm in the Sunday Papers at the time. The divorce was nasty, I recall.”</WRAP> <WRAP >Hawk nodded, “The same. Lord Byrd took the photos, so they were classed as Art, but it ruined the artist and they had debts. Hence the sale of Lord Byrd’s family dinner ware. Guess who was the source of the Sunday photo’s?”</WRAP> <WRAP >Doctor Fish raised his eyebrow, “A certain Robin Cock?”</WRAP> <WRAP >“You guessed right. You are missing your vocation, doc. Anyway, I am off to see Reverend Castle. It seems the Altar Silver Candlesticks are missing. And then to Mr Lark, the Town Clerk. Robin Cock accused him of embezzlement in the sale of old lead pipe.”</WRAP> <WRAP >DS Hawk shuffled out of the Mortuary depressed. There were so many suspects, with perfect motives, yet all had bloody alibis. He had to find some one to pin the death on quickly, or his own motive and whereabouts would be questioned. Constable Web was far too sharp a policeman to allow DS Hawk to avoid being added to the list of suspects.</WRAP> <WRAP >This was yet another occasion when he wished he could have vanished into thin air. Certainly, DS Hawk’s Attendance Certificate from the Company of English Archers would have to vanish completely. But would Constable Spider Web find the damn Certificate first?</WRAP> <WRAP >( Prompts Given: The game is up..; Wild goose chase…; Vanished into thin air..; Each year on the 23rd…; No one wanted to admit…; The devils invention…) </WRAP> <WRAP > <wrap >Now Read Part 3</wrap> </WRAP>
Authored by: Mark Baker; Last updated: 2021-07-04T09:47:53(UTC)