“I heard my name mentioned, sir,” said Smythe, putting her phone down.
“You organised Mahoney, Linda?” asked Knowles.
“Indeed, sir, he likes flowers apparently, and so is the right man for the job.”
“He is, just as long as he doesn’t enjoy stealing them. He must be patient and blend in when he’s watching the gardens of Princes Crescent.”
“Mahoney’s taking an unmarked car, so that will help, won’t it?”
“Yes, it will, did you suggest that Linda?”
“I did, Inspector, but I think Mahoney didn’t need to be reminded of that. There was a certain silence coming down the line, the sort of silence that shows someone is thinking ‘I didn’t need to be told that’, but doesn’t want to say that for fear of causing offence.”
“Understood, Linda, get used to that now we promoted you to a detective. You’re an officer, so relationships will be a little different from now on. Anyway, you did hear your name. We’re heading to Manton Rempville. We have found someone dead in the woods. Sergeant Barnes has recommended the path near the signpost in the centre of the village, and then it’s about 25 yards. We should go as he will get anxious otherwise.”
“I see, I take it that the Bingo dog from Goat Parva did not discover the body?”
“No, Linda,” replied Knowles, “Bingo the retriever didn’t discover the body. Sergeant Barnes made that quite clear.”
Manton Rempville – Monday, 9:30am
Inspector Knowles and DC Smythe chugged over to Manton Rempville in Knowles’s Land Rover at a sedate pace under a pale-brown sky that looked like it would last the entire day. The road to the village was now clear of snow, ice, and general slipperiness for the first time in 3 months. It was a shortcut that Knowles and other locals knew about, a shortcut that involved two steep ascents lasting for about 100 yards, and two steep descents of shorter duration. The tyres on his vehicle were only 3 months old and gripped the grey-brown, rutted surface with great assurance. This shortcut was one of those roads that seemed to last forever, with brown, skinhead hedges on either side that blocked out the landscape, which at this time of year was no significant loss to those who admired and enjoyed landscapes. The road emerged in the centre of the village of Manton Rempville, opposite the Dog and Duck pub, looking subdued in the morning light. The window boxes were devoid of flowers and the sign creaked in the westerly breeze. A Morgan coupe was parked at the front. Sergeant Barnes had reversed into the space, allowing him a quick getaway should the need arise. Knowles parked his Land Rover in another space on the opposite side of the green front door. He realised Sergeant Barnes felt people should be able to admire his car without an old, ugly vehicle sullying the view.
“Right, Linda,” said Knowles, “let’s see what we can find out. Sergeant Barnes has positioned himself by the signpost, just in case we didn’t know the way.” Sergeant Barnes was indeed lurking at the entrance to the woods, leaning on a metal handrail. He wore a burgundy coloured jumper under his jacket and grey slacks with running shoes. He looked elegant, in contrast to Knowles who looked crumpled even when he was wearing his usual work attire of smart black jacket, grey jumper, and designer black trousers, bought at a duty-free shop when coming home from holiday. Smythe was making the most of her promotion by wearing her favourite outfit of blue trousers and a red jacket, almost hidden by a grey mackintosh. She didn’t trust the weather, but it was great to be out of uniform. She waited for Knowles to change into his yellow wellingtons, a customary alteration for her boss, who wandered around without watching where he was placing his feet when contemplating a crime scene.
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