Chapter 1 – Scoresby Police Station – Monday 8:15 am
“Good morning, Linda,” said Detective Inspector Colin Knowles as he strolled into the office. Knowles was happy the last vestiges of snow had disappeared on his journey into the office.
“Good morning, sir, how are you today? You seem happier than you have been for a while,” replied Detective Constable Smythe, embarrassed that she’d caught herself noticing how thin her boss now looked, or relatively thin anyway compared with a few months ago. He’d been working hard on his fitness by the look of it.
“Yes, I am, well spotted Linda, I had a wonderful weekend and caught up on my sleep. It’s the best I’ve slept since I came back from holiday in February. The cats are both well too and got along for the entire weekend which is unusual – they must be plotting something.” Knowles sat down at his desk and switched on his computer. He placed his mobile phone in a holder by his cactus plant.
“Well, talking of plotting it seems like someone’s been stealing plants from gardens in Melton Lazars again.”
“What Jubilee Gardens and Queen’s Road?”
“No, King’s Gardens this time.”
“Right, ask PC Mahoney to pay the people a visit. From what I remember the thief or thieves are following a particular route, because Queen’s Road leads into Jubilee Gardens and then King’s Gardens, so next it will be Princes Crescent.”
“Will do,” said Smythe, smiling at Knowles’s encyclopedic knowledge of the roads in local villages. She lifted the receiver of her landline and dialled a number.
At the same moment, Knowles’s mobile phone buzzed. He looked at the caller and mumbled under his breath…”Here’s trouble.”
He picked up the phone. “Hello Sergeant Barnes, how are you? Oh, I am glad you’re well, me too, now what is it you’re wanting to tell me – you sound all eager…..oh right..….really….a body? In the woods near Manton Rempville, you say. It’s not Bingo again, is it? Good, good, well I presume Forensics are on their way? Dr Crabtree and his latest helper, Michael whatshisname…? Waters, yes, that’s correct. Right, I will sprint over there right away. Yes, sprint Barnesy, sprint, my Land Rover has go-faster stripes on one side now, courtesy of a small wall that appeared out of nowhere last week when I was taking the cats to the vet and they were distracting me. Yes, I know blame the cats who can’t answer back. Oh, and what entrance to the woods is it best to use….? The entrance by the signpost in the village, right see you in about 30 minutes. I’ll bring Linda. We could use her sleuthing skills and eye for detail by the sounds of it. Bye, Sergeant.”
Knowles placed the phone in his pocket and skimmed through his emails which were almost all notifications of system upgrades at times he hoped he would not be awake. There were a couple of notifications about appearing in court in a month’s time in relation to a boy-racer case Knowles had worked on over in Frisby Waterless. A young man, Benjamin Greatbatch, had smashed his car into a bridge parapet when allegedly racing his friend Colin Pemberton. Greatbatch died and Pemberton denied all knowledge. Knowles was inclined to believe Pemberton, and not just because they shared a first name. He had an alibi that seemed cast iron.
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