10. Talking of the Scumbags.

The truth starts to come out

“You will have noticed,” said the Bishop to Inspector Glumpy as he escorted Mrs Dresden into his office, “that I have put some effort into clearing up the mess that your prisoner left on your desk. I used your little sink in that alcove in order to wash the filth off my hands!”

There was a small alcove with a sink and what the DI described as a minuscule toilet curtained from the rest of the office, and the Bishop pointed at that.

“I don’t want you to get any idea that I’m anyone’s skivvy,” he added, “but the smell wasn’t too sweet and I needed to inhale purer air.”

“Right. That was good of you,” acknowledged Ian Glumpy, “now if you will forgive me, Bishop, but Mrs Dresden here wanted a word or two with me. Concerning your clergyman, that is, so you might want to hear what she’s got to say.”

He looked at Emma Dresden and nodded. “In your good time,” he muttered.

“I was only saying that the vicar wouldn’t harm a fly or even rob a wasp nest and certainly not do anything like try to rob a bank,” she declared “I’ve worked in the parsonage for the past many years and I’ve never known him put a foot wrong. Why, I’ve never even heard him swear! I even wear my most modest skirts when I’m not in trousers because I reckon the sight of my legs offends him. And that’s not the sort of man to go around shooting at people in banks.”

“I always saw him as a gentleman and not the sort to waste his time messing about with a woman,” grunted Bishop Pyke.

“He was always the gentleman with me as I dusted his office and so on. And the time he was said to be doing evil things in the bank he’d popped out to get me the few coppers that he owed me because the day before he’d asked me to do some shopping for him.”

“Was that one of your jobs?” asked the DI.

“Not at all! It was out of friendship because I know as he told me ages ago that the shops where he likes to buy his unmentionables, all the staff are young women and he can’t bring himself to mention some things to them. So I do it for him. Three pairs of white y-fronts, that’s what I got him, but he only gave me a tenner and I needed more. So I put it in and he owed me, but he couldn’t bring himself to as much as be in my debt for a few shillings and had to go to the bank there and then to withdraw what he owed me. Eight pounds and six pence, it was. I showed him the receipt. But the whole idea of being in debt hurt him like a wound might hurt an ordinary man.”

“You paint a picture of a saint,” nodded the Bishop, “and I know how fastidious he is with the moneys collected from his congregations on Sundays. He logs it down even to including the odd foreign coin that sometimes finds its way into the offertory plate, that’s what he does. And you, Inspector, think he might sally forth and rob a bank? Or even try to? Are you insane?”

Meanwhile, Doctor Gloria Blanding was aware that precious time was passing and after she had turned her back while the Reverend Pickle dressed himself she turned and faced him again.

“I don’t know about you, but I can’t spend any more time in this rather unpleasant tip,” she said, “come on, let’s go and find your Inspector.”

“He’s probably with the Bishop up some stairs in an office,” replied Barney Pickle helpfully.

“That’ll be his office, I know where it is,” smiled Gloria, “come on, your reverence, and we’ll sort the fellow out once and for all!”

She led the clergyman along a corridor and to the staircase that led to the Inspector’s office.

“Shush a moment,” she whispered, cupping one ear and concentrating. Down the stairs and echoing came the unmistakable voice of the Bishop Pyke, sounding like thunder might sound in a dark place.

“He’s got it on him!” whispered Gloria with a huge smile, “come on, let’s join the party!”

She led Pickle up the stairs, going slowly and trying to make no noise. Then, when they reached the top she paused outside the Inspector’s door, which was slightly ajar.

“There’s a woman in there too,” she whispered.

“I know the voice. It’s Emma, my cleaning lady, though I donly like to call her that. She’s more my home help,” explained the vicar, “she does for me once or twice a week, that’s all.”

“It sounds as if she’s giving you a character reference,” smiled the doctor, “come on, let’s introduce ourselves. I’ve got an old man who might be dead before I reach him if we take much longer.”

“I’m sorry,” breathed Barney Pickle, for no obvious reason.

Doctor Blanding tapped lightly on the door, and as it was already slightly ajar, pushed it open and went in.

“Inspector, I’ve got a very sick elderly man waiting for me to cure his ills,” she said, “so I have brought the good Reverend with me and will go forthwith to help my proper patient.”

Barney trundled into the office behind her, his head lowered so that he felt almost invisible,

“Ah, Pickle,” growled the Bishop, “this good lady has been explaining how you could never commit any crime at all and certainly not that of robbing s bank.”

“Yes sir,” frowned Barney, “I never said…”

“It was probably someone like those rapscallions, the two lads from the council estate, what are their names? The Scumbag brothers,” murmured the doctor as she prepared to take her leave.

“They were there,” nodded Barney Pickle, “I saw them. They used to be really very naughty at Sunday School when they were younger, nobody had anything kindly to say about them though I did try to understand the poor things.”

“Did you say Scumbag?” demanded DI Glumpy, scrabbling about amongst a pile of papers on his desk. “Did you tidy everything away?” he asked of the Bishop, “because some of these documents are of a sensitive nature…”

“A couple of your documents had the contents of Pickle’s stomach on them so I put them in that bin,” pointed the Bishop.

The DI pulled one sheet of rather sticky paper out of the bin and spread it out in front of him. Then he frowned, then scowled.

“It’s here in red ink,” he muttered, “besides the Reverend Pickle in the bank there were two others, the Scumbags! And Dedbeat, noted here that they were in the place but told them to get out, “

“I saw them,” sighed Pickle, “little devils when they were still at Sunday School. Pinched the communion wine, they did.”and that left Pickle all alone and holding an illustrated Bible with a hideous drawing of a shot gun all over it. And you,” he turned to Barney Pickle, “were such a fool, you should have known they were there and up to no good and used that in your defence instead of playing the innocent!”

“But I was innocent,” almost wept the Reverend Barney Pickle, and Emma really wanted to hug him when she saw the tear trickling down his cheek.

© Peter Rogerson 06.04,24