Another Case for Inspector Peter Osgood - A Daffodil at NoonA Story by Roderick Blakeman A Detective Story - Please read the "Author's Notes".  Her face lay in a pool of blood, throat cut and so obviously dead that none of our small group of three even bothered to follow procedure and check for a pulse.We had been directed here by the police radio, a "calling all cars" introduction to our latest case. We had been cruising down 4th and main after enjoying a coffee and eggs over easy breakfast. We were hoping for a relaxing day after last night’s commotion, some hope. Yeah, last night we had got involved in a right to-do. A broken nose, two wrecked cop cars, and Charlie ending up with dog excrement smeared over his natty new suit. But that's another story for a later day, today we were now staring at yet another corpse that had on first viewing been delivered by the daffodil killer. This ridiculous nickname had been bestowed on our killer by our very own death squad, for his rather unusual signature of placing a fully blossomed daffodil in the crack of his victims arse.  This rather large posterior was that of a woman in her mid to late 50's, obese would hardly describe her without the prefix of grossly. The bulbous face which was now quite pale having been drained of its nectar was ugly enough for Charlie, (who was still pissed about the dog s**t on his new suit) to comment that daffodil had done the world a favour. Charlie wasn't the most feeling of detectives, getting in touch with his feminine side consisted of occasionally saying "please" when he wanted something.Mrs D Craven, as the pile of mail, (mostly bills) told us, had now departed this earthly coil and was unlikely to be any more help than the previous five victims. Still, we went through all the s**t of getting in the fingerprint boys and the men in white suits who would spend the next couple of hours crawling around on the floor and coming up with f**k all. The three amigo’s, (yes I know it’s a bad moniker) retreated to the squad car to decide our next move. Charlie was first to interject with his opinion that if we didn't do something soon we would be off the case and it would be passed on to that prissy dick Miles, and his equally prissy team. Cage didn’t offer an opinion at all, he rarely did. This left me, the brains of the outfit, to yet again solve the case. Over the past three weeks we had been looking at a multitude of files searching for someone with a bit of previous, plenty of names but none that tied up with the murders. We had of course had the woodentops knocking on doors hoping that the sighting of a stranger in the area, or even a vehicle that they didn’t recognise might shine a light on a lead, however faint. But nothing, the jokers with previous had at least an alibi or two for where they were on the evenings, days even, when the planting of the daffodils had taken place. It was time for a different method of detection, and I was just the man to provide it. I took my two compatriots to Gino’s, a local pizza joint that would provide us with enough cold beer on the house to get my mind lubricated. Four hours had passed, and about twenty-four green bottles, when it suddenly came to me. “Charlie, Cage, listen! What have we been missing, what have we failed to take into account” The pair of them looked at me blankly, well to be honest Cage looked at me blankly, Charlie was himself face down and snoring at the exact moment my mind had whirled into gear. “The daffodils, the f*****g daffodils, they are the answer, find out who has been buying a single daffodil on six separate occasions and we have our man”. I was onto the station in moments, instructing the woodentops to hit all the flower-shops, daffodils was the answer, “I want the name of everyone that has bought a daffodil in the past three weeks, and don't forget the dodgy b******s that sell them, put them top of the list of suspects”. Once I had my list the next step was so simple, and yes I admit that it took a few beers to fathom out, but yes, once I had my list it was simply a matter of checking out which one of them had a fat domineering mother that tormented them day in day out. We arrested Stanley Pettigrew before darkness fell. He held his hands up as soon as we arrived at his flower shop. He was a timid little man, had been brow beaten his whole life and this was his escape. In court he told how placing the daffodil in his victim’s rear was how he dreamed of humiliating his mother. His ultimate ambition was to have his mother found stark naked with flabby folds of flesh flopping all around her, and with the daffodil protruding from her most offensive feature. He had planned to dump her either in the busy thoroughfare where she would be on show to all and sundry, or maybe outside the local soap factory with the hope that they would turn her fat carcass into something useful. Mr Pettigrew got a lot of sympathy, and many anonymous letters of support. It seems we have a good many other potential serial killers just waiting to surface. I left the court with my two bumbling henchmen and took them for a slap up meal to celebrate the cracking of the case and more importantly the successful conviction of the daffodil killer.  The guests of honour at the restaurant, Gino’s of course, were our own sweet mothers, not one of them over 140 lb’s.The End
© 2014 Roderick BlakemanAuthor's Note
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Roderick BlakemanBrighton, East Sussex, United KingdomAboutI have lived a reasonably full life taking in a bit of travel and a few different occupations. I have always loved writing but tend to do it in phases. If you like any of my poetry or short st.. more..Writing
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