11. The Marriage

The DI learns an unexpected truth

WORDS MEAN DEATH

11. The Marriage

“Put the weapon down!” thundered DS Ian Rogers as he saw the Reverend Paul Wolf apparently raising the starting handle from his very old car boot into a threatening position over his own head.

“Hold it, officer,” came the voice of Mike Copperly, still standing by the open front door of his home, “that’s no weapon, for goodness’ sake!”

“Then what in the name of goodness is it?” demanded DI Dorothy Bramble, “If something looks like a pig and grunts like a pig and promises to taste like pig’s bacon then in my book it’s a pig ready to be butchered, and that metal object looks very much like a weapon to me!”

“Well it isn’t!” rasped the vicar, bringing the handle down so that it looked considerably less threatening, “it’s something that might unblock Mike’s toilet!”

“Toilet?” exclaimed a confused Sergeant Rogers to Mike Copperly, “It looked to me like the reverend was about to knock your brains out with it and that you’re lucky to be alive in much the same way as the bloke back in Brumpton is unlucky to be dead!”

“I dropped the best part of a toilet roll down my loo, and when I tried to flush it away it got stuck round the bend.,” added Mike Copperly, “and Paul here offered to try and shift it with the starting handle from his car. He lives here with Janice part=time, you know, when he’s not in Brumpton. And I can ber such a butterfingers changing the loo roll!”

“A likely story,” muttered Ian, “and what in the name of goodness is a starting handle?”

“You’re too young to know,” said Mike, “now stop threatening my visitor and let me know your business!”

“DI Dorothy Bramble from Brumpton CID,” said the DI, surprised that he didn’t recognise her, “and we’re in pursuit of a witness to the murder of one of the authors that you represent, sir.”

“Well, I didn’t see who did it, though I was there when a couple of schoolgirls discovered the body,” said Mike, “and so, I believe, was Paul here. But excuse me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you way off your beat? Look, you’d best come in and have your say before we have an audience of more than that cat!” he indicated a ginger tom cat as he spoke, and then led the way through his front door and into his house.

“Tea?” asked Mike in a hospitable way as they sat down round a kitchen table.

“Not for me,” replied Dorothy, “let’s get this over with and then we can get on our way.”

An elderly woman in a wheelchair trundled into the kitchrn. It was clear to Dorothy that she must have quite long-term health issues by the look of her, but she smiled at them and asked, in a croaky voice, “what are these officers doing here then, darling?”

The Reverend Paul Wolf smiled at her, bent down and dropped a kiss on her head, “they reckon I did my biographer in,” he grinned, “and what’s more, they’re sure I was about to do your mate Mike in as an encore!”

“And you in the church?” she smiled, “are they mad?” When she looked at her Dorothy could see that when she woman smiled there was a light in her eyes which seemed to sparkle with amusement.

“Let me introduce Janice, my wife of forty years,” put in the Reverend Paul Wolf, “and if you’re looking for a criminal then you might backdate my crime to just before our wedding in the eighties. I created a pie out of wild fruits and herbs, and didn’t know the good from the bad. We were all ill for goodness’ sake, but the good Lord spared me, when I thought I might be on my way out, but Janice almost died. She was in hospital for an age, months as I recall, and even now depends on things like that wheelchair to have anything close to a normal life. So you can arrest me for my ignorance when I cooked that damned pie, but I’ve not done anything else worth mentioning since then.”

“But the book?” demanded Dorothy, “about a fictitious clergyman who bears an uncanny resemblance to you? The one the man who died in his back garden back in Brumpton wrote? The one Mr Copperly here might arrange to publish?”

“It’s pure fiction, though he did look at me as a physical inspiration,” sighed Paul, “and I okayed it! But I’ve read it since, and the Reverend Fox is worse than a rogue! He’s a disgrace to the human race, so it’s just as well he’s not real!”

“You say that you’ve read it?”

Paul nodded. “He lived bang next door to me when I’m in Brumpton and I can hop onto his wifi when it’s on. So I have, and when he uploaded hos completed munuscript to Mike here I was able to invisibly grab a copy! It’s not theft, because it was there ready for anyone to take.”

Dorothy nodded. “I wonder if Dorian Hemsworth saw it like that,” she murmured.

“It was, to my mind, a fair exchange,” Paul told her, “he even borrowed my Christian name and added a very similar surname. And I do know that it’s leaked elsewhere in my neighbourhood. An elderly lady’s heard how naughty Paul Fox can be when he’s in the company of ladies of, shall we say, a certain age. Some of his antics have been attributed to me. Look, Inspector, I’m no angel. My wife, the lovely Janice here, will tell you that. Our private life, you know, the intimate part of a marriage, has never existed because her illness, the one that I caused, left her unable to fulfil any demands the animal in me I might have made of her…”

“Not that you did, darling, not often anyway,” smiled Janice, reaching for his hand, “he’s been so understanding,” she added, “and it really wasn’t his fault that I fell so ill. And when it comes to a man’s urges, I’ve never stopped him finding release when he feels he needs it. He can’t spend the rest of his days satisfying himself, for goodness’ sake. That wouldn’t be fair! As long as I know where he’s been and who he’s been with, he doesn’t have to tell me all the gory details, just that he’s feeling well. That’s enough for me.”

“Well, thank you all for being so frank and honest,” said Dorothy, “I really do appreciate it. And me and the DS here will wend our way back to Brumpton in the certain knowledge that we’ve got to look elsewhere for our killer.”

the two officers moved to the door and Ian grinned at Paul. “And I’ll check up on starting handles,” he said, “and see just what joys I’ve missed out on, by being born too late!”

© Peter Rogerson 17.01.24