The quirky vegan-friendly counting story of Wibbolywub’s day-trip to Earth was once available in paperback, but not anymore. You can always read it here of course, but what if the internet goes down?! 😮 Safer to have your own copy right? 😀 Good job you can download it for free!
The story of Clarence and Luca, the turkey brothers who touched our hearts almost ten years ago, is now no longer in print but you can still read this Christmas story – Big Blue Sky – on this site and, if you’d like to read it offline, you can now download your own free copy too. Don’t worry, it does include a happy ending ❤
These numbered posts about the top vegan Christmas presents for kids are not in any deliberate order – they are ALL EQUALLY AWESOME!
In this ‘Hansel and Gretel’ type story, two little pigs are running home as fast as they can because the big bad butcher is trying to catch them. Problem is, they don’t know which way to go so they have to keep stopping to ask directions from the different animals they pass along the way.
The Two Little Pigs is a bright, fast-paced, vegan-friendly rhyming story, perfect for reading to little ones at bedtime. Beautifully and colourfully illustrated with crayons. Happy ending included.
But that’s not all! This picture book also includes the wonderful story of Deidra – a dairy cow who keeps wandering off. She always comes back but no one can guess where she’s been and she certainly isn’t going to tell them. Where are you going Deidra? is the second colourful rhyming story in this beautiful hardback gift edition.
Published by Little Chicken Books and available from all good bookshops
But don’t delay – order today! To prevent waste our books are printed on demand, ie not until they’re ordered, so there’s no next day delivery. They will take at least a week, maybe even two, to reach you.
These numbered posts about the top vegan Christmas presents for kids are not in any deliberate order – they are ALL EQUALLY AWESOME!
Fantastic BUMPER comicbook for kids – the new Big Plate of Beans on Toast is the compilation of five issues of the Beans on Toast comic by Miranda Lemon. 207 pages of Marvellous Mildred and the Girl Scout Twins, What Me and Jude Did While Everyone Else was at School, and Sherman & Geynes: Pretend Detectives. Plus all the puzzles and fact files from the original comics and a game board on the back!
Perfect for animal lovers who enjoy funny stories, from ages five and up !
Published by Little Chicken Books and available from all good bookshops
But don’t delay – order today! To prevent waste our books are printed on demand, ie not until they’re ordered, so there’s no next day delivery. They will take at least a week, maybe even two, to reach you.
These numbered posts about the top vegan Christmas presents for kids are not in any deliberate order – they are ALL EQUALLY AWESOME!
Trees Please is different from most of our other books because it contains no stories or rhymes. It is a picture book, scrapbook, notebook, art journal. A big, beautiful, spiral-bound, art-filled book explaining why trees are so important to the planet and everyone who lives on it, as well as what they mean to a few animals in particular. Its pages are filled with bright, colourful, idiosyncratic illustrations and backgrounds created with paint, coloured pencils, ink and collage – some with facts about tree-loving animals, some with space for the reader’s own notes and drawings. There is also a section explaining how to grow your own trees from apple seeds. A joyful picture book, notebook, scrapbook, art journal for children and adults.
But don’t delay – order today! To prevent waste our books are printed on demand, ie not until they’re ordered, so there’s no next day delivery. They will take at least a week, maybe even two, to reach you.
These numbered posts about the top vegan Christmas presents for kids are not in any deliberate order – they are ALL EQUALLY AWESOME!
Number 3, for example, Luke Walker: animal stick up for-er – the story so far is just as FANTASTIC as the top vegan children’s Christmas gift #1 and #2, it’s just different. For readers aged 8 to 108 who love funny and exciting short stories in words not pictures – this is perfect!
Of course you can read all these stories for free right here, there are even free e-book downloads if you want to read them offline, but if you want something tangible to put in a stocking, something with pages that actually turn, something to entertain your kids when there’s a power cut, get them a copy of the paperback! 😀
But don’t delay – order today! To prevent waste our books are printed on demand, ie not until they’re ordered, so there’s no next day delivery. They will take at least a week, maybe even two, to reach you.
This big, beautiful, hardback, vegan-friendly picture book contains two stories. The first, by Edward Benn and Juliet Mahoney, is How Many Friends Could A Bibbolybob Make if a Bibbolybob Came to Earth? It’s about a Bibbolybob called Wibbolywub from the planet Bobbolybib who visits Earth for the day and makes friends with ten different Earthlings. This original early learning story introduces the numbers zero to ten (for counting – not maths) and shares some very interesting facts about Earthlings.
The second story, by Lavender Laine, is What’s Good for the Goose is not Good for the Panda. It’s a rhyming story about a hungry panda called Patty who is on a quest to find the right food. She meets lots of other animals willing to share their food but when she doesn’t like what they like, she has to keep searching. This delightful story is written and illustrated entirely in collage and will inspire children to make art out of old odds and ends like food packaging, maps, stamps, yarn and buttons as Lavender Laine has done here.
This colourful hardback book, suitable for ages 2 to 5, will be treasured by little story lovers, whether they’re vegan or not, and would make a wonderful Christmas present.
But don’t delay – order today! To prevent waste our books are printed on demand, ie not until they’re ordered, so there’s no next day delivery. They will take at least a week, maybe even two, to reach you.
Struggling to come with ideas for great Christmas gifts for vegan kids? Look no further –
Vegan Rascals Collection: A Violet’s Vegan Comics 277-page full-colour bumper edition containing all the stories so far from Megan & Flos, The English Family Anderson, and Venus Aqueous, suitable for readers aged 10 and up.
This fantastic compilation of exciting comics is sure to engross any vegan story lover and would make a wonderful Christmas present.
But don’t delay – order today! To prevent waste our books are printed on demand, ie not until they’re ordered, so there’s no next day delivery. They will take at least a week, maybe even two, to reach you.
And James Appleyard is the artist and Violet’s Vegan Comics Club member responsible for the awesome sketches of Columbo. Thanks James 😀
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Speaking of the Violet’s Vegan Comics club – our next monthly prize draw for club members is on Wednesday so if you want a chance of winning a fantastic vegan children’s book of your choice from the Little Chicken range, you’d better join the club today! Or tomorrow. Certainly by midnight on Tuesday 😀
Oh yes – Miranda just tapped me on the shoulder and reminded me that this time, since it’s nearly Christmas, the prize will be, just this once, THREE beautiful books. So come on, get out your pencils and email us your home-made membership card for the chance to win!
Finally – another Friday puzzle, even though it’s Saturday! 😀 If you have a fondness for the calm, dog-loving, often underestimated detective Columbo, you’ll like this one 🙂
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Find the episode titles in the word search above – you can save the image and print it, or save ink and paper by solving it on your computer in Paint. Or, if you’d rather, you can download the puzzle pdf below. The choice is yours! If you get stuck, here are the puzzle answers 😀
Sria’s Science Project continues from yesterday. For the story so far, click here 😀
*
What?! What’s happening now?! That was totally unexpected. Who’s Hatty? How has she escaped? Where has she escaped from? These questions and any more you might have will be answered as soon as Miranda’s finished drawing this comic. Sorry, I was hoping I’d be able to say Find out tomorrow but … well, she’s drawing as fast as she can, and that’s all anyone can do 😀 Make sure you’re following this blog so you don’t miss it when this story resumes. Back soon! 😮
Well, Miranda tells me that her new story – Sria’s Science Project – is in the style of Hey Arnold. Maybe because all the characters have very different hairstyles and that’s how you know who’s who 😀
I’ve already read some of it and, let me tell you, it’s well worth a look.
Sria’s Science Project starts tomorrow – I suggest you don’t miss it, but if you do, you’ll be able to find it on the Funny Comics for ages 7 and up page 😀
Everyone is excited because it’s Grandpa Wollemi’s birthday but Cedro is a little worried. Kauri and Myrtle have spent days making special presents for Grandpa but Cedro thinks he isn’t very good at making stuff so he doesn’t have anything to give. Luckily he realises just in time that he can make Grandpa a birthday cake. This story explains how he does it. A happy picture book, colourfully illustrated in naïve style, with simple vegan cake recipe included. Suitable for reading, and baking, with little ones.
Luke Walker: animal stick up for-er – a vegan Just William for the 21st century!
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Luke Walker: animal stick up for-er (the story so far) is funny, exciting and very entertaining. Twenty-four unputdownable chapters about the rebellious schoolboy who won’t be deterred from sticking up for animals no matter how much trouble he gets into.
“A great read – so, so hard to put down once started ! Thoroughly recommended for animal lovers and great literature lovers.” – Dave Smailes
Reflecto Girl: How would YOU like it? just like the girls’ comics you grew up with – but better coz it’s vegan! And not just for girls! Complete with puzzles, fact files, recipes, chocolate ads and NINE (!) exciting Reflecto Girl episodes! 😀 Suitable for ages 8 to 108.
HUMANS ARE NOT OMNIVORES! [vegan nursery rhymes are a bit different] – oh yes they are! Full of veganised traditional nursery rhymes as well as completely brand new ones, this is a cheeky, irreverent and, above all, happy little book for those who want their tots to love all animals.
Here is a wonderful educational colouring book: Colour By Nutrients. It is at once a resource for artistic indulgence and an educational tool. Divided into chapters of different vitamins and minerals, the book illustrates which foods contain significant amounts of each.
Luke, Joe, Isabel and Tania looked at the circle and gasped. They hadn’t believed it could happen. Now that it had, they were scared.
“That’s it then,” said Luke eventually, “I’ll prob’ly be dead by Christmas.”
***
Three days earlier everything had seemed so ordinary. Boringly so. Class 5A were doing History. History was sometimes interesting, sometimes exciting and often-times boring. This particular lesson seemed like it was going to fit into the last category. Mr Beardsley was talking whilst writing on the board, which meant he had his back to the class, which meant very few people were even pretending to listen.
“… historians believe that many of these traditions originate from Celtic harvest festivals, but others are of the opinion that it has always been a Christian ….”
“T,” whispered Luke.
“No,” said Joe, as he drew a diagonal support on the gallows.
“F,”
“Yes,” said Joe and filled in the Fs.
“Ooh, two Fs! Is it coffee?”
“No,” and he drew the noose.
Mr Beardsley rambled on and Luke found it disturbed his concentration. He felt sure he was close. There couldn’t be that many words with double F. Then the teacher said something that caught his attention.
“… Christians historically abstained from meat on All Hallows’ Eve, which is why it was traditional to eat certain vegetarian foods on this special day. In particular they ate apples, potato pancakes, and soul cakes.”
“What’s he talkin’ about?” Luke asked Joe. Joe looked at him blankly. Isabel Jessop tapped him on the shoulder and passed him a note which said ‘Halloween’.
Luke nodded a thank you to her. He pushed the note across to Joe.
“Halloween is a veggietareun day! We’d better listen coz he might want us to explain things to the others.”
Joe nodded and smiled uncomfortably. He’d never been called upon to explain anything to anyone and the idea didn’t appeal to him. However, realising that if any explanations were needed his friend would certainly provide them, he regained his composure. The boys watched their teacher and listened.
“All Hallows’ Eve, otherwise known as All Saints Eve, Allhalloween or, nowadays, just Halloween, begins the three days of Allhallowtide during which people remembered saints and martyrs and other dead people.”
“Oh my gosh!” thought Luke, “it seemed like it was gettin’ int’restin’ so we stopped playin’ an’ now it’s borin’ again!”
“… such as roasted sweetcorn, roasted pumpkin seeds, toffee apples,…”
“Toffee! Is it toffee?”
“No,” said Joe, drawing the condemned man’s circular head.
“… and they would enjoy these foods at Halloween parties where they’d also play some fun games.”
Mr Beardsley had their attention again.
“So I thought we could have a Year 5 Halloween party. We’ll invite class 5B and play some of these traditional games.”
A buzz of excitement filled the room.
“When?” someone shouted.
“On the 31st of October of course. The day after tomorrow. Friday.”
“Where?”
“Here. At seven o’clock ’til ten. I’ll send a note home to your parents today.”
Mr Beardsley was so disorganised. Luke liked that about him.
“Will it be fancy dress?”
“Indeed it will, but stop shouting out and let me finish. I’ll answer any questions you still have at the end of the lesson.”
***
Friday’s party was eagerly anticipated by everyone. It was going to be historical. They were going to play traditional games and eat traditional food – which they would have to make from scratch over the next couple of days. Mr Beardsley had given them recipes to take home. And they needed costumes. There was a lot to do and very little time in which to do it. Luke and Joe talked about it while they put on their coats and boots at the end of the day.
“I’m going to be a pirate,” said Joe.
“You can’t be a pirate, it’s not historical.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No, it’s made up. Like in Peter Pan.”
“Pirates are real,” Isabel couldn’t help pointing out when she overheard their conversation.
“Not Long John Silver, or Captain Hook, or someone with a parrot on ‘is shoulder,” Luke clarified.
“What are you comin’ as then?” asked Joe.
“William Wilberforce’s ghost,” said Luke proudly.
“Ooh, good one,” said Tania as she returned to Isabel the scarf she’d borrowed.
“I’m coming as Queen Elizabeth I,” she added, shaking her auburn curls.
“Who can I be?” Isabel wondered aloud. The girls walked away in deep discussion. Luke and Joe were not far behind. Joe was disappointed that he couldn’t go as a pirate.
“What can I go as then?” he asked his friend.
“Go as a lunatic from one of those old asylums,” suggested Simon Butler who’d appeared from nowhere, “then you wouldn’t need a costume!” And he laughed so loud on his way out that Mrs Tebbut shouted ‘PIPE DOWN OUT THERE!’ from the classroom next door.
Luke scowled.
“Idiot Butler! Not even s’posed to be in this cloakroom,” he hissed under his breath. “Don’t worry,” he told Joe, “you’ll be somethin’ better’n ‘im!”
***
“Not Mr Darcy! Mr Wilberforce!” Luke insisted. “I don’t want to look like some posh bloke from Priden Precipice!”
Mrs Walker pulled the black trousers, white ruffled shirt and long black coat from The Village Players’ costume trunk.
“William Wilberforce would have dressed like Mr Darcy Luke, these will be just the thing,” she assured him, “I’ll just give them an iron.”
“Okay,” Luke tentatively agreed, “but what about Joe? Is there anythin’ in there that Joe can wear?”
Luke’s mum set up the board and plugged in the iron.
“Who’s he going as?” she asked.
“Depends what costumes you’ve got,” said Luke, keeping an open mind.
Mum had only recently joined the local amateur dramatics group so she wasn’t sure what costumes they’d got. Most of them were a bit worse for wear but they were lucky to be allowed to use them.
“See for yourself,” she suggested, “have a rummage and see if anything captures your imagination.”
Luke rummaged. Pink tights, brown tights, knickerbockers, caterpillar costume, spider costume, Cheshire Cat costume, blue dress with white pinafore. So far not so good. Red ball gown, green ball gown, yellow ball gown, purple tutu, red clown shoes. Really not good.
“Rubbish!” said Luke ungratefully, “it’s all rubbish!”
Mum sighed and switched off the iron.
“Luke – don’t just throw them around like that! You’re lucky we’ve been allowed to borrow these,” she said, exasperated.
Luke was sorry. He just wanted to find something good for Joe to shut Butler up. He helped Mum pick up the costumes and re-fold them.
“Sorry,” he said.
She pressed her lips tight together and looked him in the eye.
“That’s alright,” she said. Then, just as she was about to put the folded pile back in the trunk, she noticed a couple of things Luke had missed.
“What about these?” she said.
“A nightgown and a Father Christmas beard?” said Luke, unimpressed.
“Not a nightgown, a robe,” she explained, “men used to wear these in the olden days, especially in hot countries.”
Luke’s blank expression indicated he needed another clue.
“Who’s that maths guy you like?”
Still blank.
“Vegetarian? Triangles?”
“Pythagoras!”
“Yes!” Mum smiled, “I bet he would have worn something like this. And he probably had a long white beard when he got old.”
“Yeah!” Now Luke was excited, “We’ll both be veggietareun people from history! Joe can be Pythagoras and I’ll be William Wilberforce’s ghost!”
“Why not just William Wilberforce? Why do you have to be his ghost?”
“Coz it’s a Halloween party. Ya know: Ha-llow-een. It’s all about ghosts and scary stuff.” He thought his mum would have known that.
“Yes, but you’re all going as people from history.”
“Yes.”
“So they’re all dead.”
“Yeah.” There really was nothing confusing here.
“So why doesn’t Joe go as Pythagoras’s ghost?”
“It’s supposed to be someone who’s dead. So he’s Pythagoras. The man.”
“Yes, I see, so why aren’t you the man?”
“I’m going to be William Wilberforce’s ghost.”
“Not man?”
“No.”
“But if you’re a ghost why isn’t Joe going to be a ghost. Or if he’s the man, why aren’t you the man…?” She caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror and paused, wondering why she kept asking questions to which there could be no satisfactory answer.
“Can you iron this one as well please?” her son asked, handing back the white robe, “I’m goin’ to phone Joe and tell ‘im.”
***
On Friday 31st of October at 7.08 pm, Luke and Joe said goodbye to Luke’s dad at the school gate and walked towards the classroom carrying their contributions to the party food. Luke had followed the Halloween recipes given to him by Mr Beardsley for barm brack (a kind of fruit bread) and colcannon (mashed potatoes mixed with cabbage). Mum had helped a bit. Joe brought the treacle-covered scones he’d made with Janet’s assistance, using another of their teacher’s traditional recipes. He’d also remembered the string.
Mr Beardsley’s classroom was almost unrecognisable.
Hanging from the ceiling were two large imitation crystal chandeliers, covered in cobwebs and emitting a very dim, creamy light. Long dark-purple velvet curtains replaced the Venetian blinds that usually hung in the windows, the bottoms of which sat in folds on the floor around large pumpkins carved with grotesque gargoyle faces.
*
The boys approached a long table at one end of the room. It was draped in a ragged, dark red table cloth whose dusty hem skimmed the dusty parquet. On it fifteen white candles stood tall on three candelabra, complete with realistic-looking orange and yellow tissue paper flames and untidily littered with long drips of dry wax. Various plates and bowls of food, brought by the children, were set upon the table. Luke and Joe added theirs.
“No, not on there boys,” Mr Beardsley startled them, suddenly appearing as he did. “Those are for the games, remember?”
Luke and Joe looked at their teacher and then at each other and laughed. Mr Beardsley had really pulled out all the stops for this party. His already lofty frame appeared even taller than usual, and his apparently-severed head rested in front of his chest, supported by his left arm. Atop the severed head sat an enviable black hat, with wide upturned brim and a sinister-looking white skull and cross-bones on the front.
“Who are you supposed to be?” asked Luke.
“Can’t you guess?” teased his teacher, rubbing his brand new coal-black beard.
“No,” said Luke. Joe also shook his head.
Mr Beardsley tutted.
“Boys, boys boys,” he said, shaking his head, “don’t you ever listen to my lessons?” he asked rhetorically. “I’m Blackbeard. Remember? The famous pirate who was beheaded in 1718?”
“Pirate?” said Joe, looking daggers at Luke.
Luke decided to change the subject.
“Where shall we put these then?” he asked.
“Not here,” said Mr Beardsley, “or they might get eaten. Put them on my desk behind the screen.”
The boys did as they were told and made their way through small huddles of various royalty, warriors and poets, a couple of Shakespeares and a Jesus. No sooner had they placed the food on the desk than Mr Beardsley asked Joe to give him the treacle scones and string so that he could set up the game. They would be starting in about ten minutes he told them. Music was already playing and a few people danced self-consciously in the middle of the room.
“This one’s for you Joe,” came a familiar voice through the speaker when the record changed.
Luke and Joe looked around to see Simon Butler behind a turntable across the room, dressed in a short blonde beard; a gold fitted jacket zipped up to his neck; short gold trousers fastened below the knee; long socks and large-buckled shoes. He thought he was so cool because Mr Beardsley had let him be the DJ. The Lunatics Have Taken Over The Asylum by Fun Boy Three filled the room and Butler laughed excessively at his own joke. Luke and Joe paid him a visit.
“So glad you took my advice Joe,” he said privately, “you look even more like a loon than usual!”
“I’m Pythagoras,” said Joe, holding up the right-angled triangle he’d made out of three rulers.
“Oh, yeah, I know you think so, lunatics often think they’re somebody famous,” he chuckled smugly.
“I’m not a lunatic! I am Pythag…”
“What are you s’posed to be anyway?” Luke interrupted their pointless argument to draw attention to Butler’s ridiculous ensemble.
“Sir Walter Raleigh,” Butler confessed without shame.
Luke cast his best contemptuous glance at his arch enemy and said nothing.
“Okay, switch the music off now Simon, it’s time for the games to begin,” Mr Beardsley called across the room.
Mr Beardsley and Thomas had put out four small tables at intervals around the room. They were set up with different traditional Halloween games.
“Take it in turns to play the games at each table,” Blackbeard instructed, “have fun!” He was the kind of teacher who didn’t believe in too much control. He liked to give the children enough room to find their own way and, since he’d already explained the games in class, he chose not to recap. “You can put the music back on now Simon,” he added.
“This table is for apple bobbing,” said Thomas who, unlike his colleague, preferred to make sure things were being done properly. “One at a time. Katia – you go first.”
Luke and Joe decided to come back later for apples and wandered over to see what was on the next table. Joe’s treacle-covered scones, with long lengths of string tied to them, were suspended above the table and dangled at different heights. Queen Elizabeth I and Boudicca were already tucking in. With hands held behind their backs, Tania and Isabel tried to bite the scones and every time they got a nibble, the sticky pendulums swung away and then back, bumping their noses, their chins, their cheeks and their hair. Boudicca, being less concerned about her appearance than the Queen, finished her scone first and bowed her grinning, sticky head in gratitude for the applause of her peers. Queen Liz, dignified in defeat, shook her opponent’s hand and went to the sink to wash her face.
“Us next!” said Luke, standing beside the table and leaning forward. “Go!” he shouted before Joe was ready, and tried to grab an untouched scone in his teeth.
Joe hurried to join in but found himself at a disadvantage when one scone stuck to his thick beard, just below his bottom lip, and prevented him from getting close to any other. Thomas laughed and reminded Joe that he couldn’t use his hands but he needn’t have said anything because Joe was not a cheater. Luke was the clear victor, finishing his scone in just four bites, and afterwards Joe was allowed to manually detach his scone from his beard and eat it normally. There were less hairs on it than one might expect.
At the next table were small plates with chunks of barm brack on them, cut from the fruit breads that Luke and a couple of other people had made.
“I’ve got a coin!” said Isabel as she broke up her piece with a fork, “that means I’m going to be rich!”
“I think you’re s’posed to just bite it,” said Joe, “it might not work if you pull it apart like that.”
“Plus it’s dirty,” added Tania, “money’s really dirty you know. Just think how many people have touched it without washing their hands.”
Joe had already bitten into his chunk of barmbrack and discovered that he too had a coin. He spat it quickly into his hand.
“It’s not dirty,” Luke assured him, “don’t ya think I washed ’em before I put ’em in?”
“Is this the one that you made?” Joe asked, a little relieved.
“Yeah,” said Luke confidently, “well, it looks …, yeah, definitely.”
Luke bit into his piece of bread and found only currants and orange peel.
At the next table were three large dishes of colcannon, accompanied by a stack of small bowls and spoons. The game was the same. If you found a coin it meant you would be rich; if you found a ring it meant you would find true love. Luke hadn’t had any rings to put into his baking, and he’d put all his spare coins into his barm brack, so he loaded his bowl from the colcannon he’d made himself, knowing that the only thing he was in danger of finding was a pile of delicious grub. Thoughtful as always, he didn’t spoil the game for the others by telling them that.
A few minutes later, Luke, Joe, Tania and Isabel, all happy in spite of finding nothing but cabbage in their mash, found their newly stimulated appetites craved more and made their way to the long table. It was a good job they hadn’t left it any longer as many of the other children were already digging in and the good stuff was going fast. Luke took a large paper plate from the pile and filled it with roasted sweetcorn, monkey nuts, roasted pumpkin seeds, bonfire toffee and … oh no, Joe got the last toffee apple.
“Oh, do you want it?” Joe offered when his hand reached it just before Luke’s.
“Nah,” said Luke, trying to sound casual, “it’s yours.”
“We’ll share it,” Joe decided.
Luke smiled.
“Okay.” This was a good party.
Then he noticed something bad on the table. Something not in keeping with the celebration. Something odious. Something which was in shockingly bad taste: Scotch eggs.
“Hey! They can’t have them on Halloween! Who brought them?” he asked, pointing with disgust at the flesh food and surveying the faces around the table.
“What’s wrong?” asked Isabel.
Luke didn’t hear her. He angrily snatched the plate from the buffet, intending to dispose of the offending items.
“Mr Beardsley said it’s a Halloween tradition to be vegetarian,” Joe explained to Isabel, “so Luke is cross that somebody’s not doin’ it right.”
“So I see,” said Isabel as she watched Luke trying to move through the crowd holding the large plate of Scotch eggs above his head with both hands.
“Hey! Where you going with those?” Butler asked as Luke passed the music centre on his way to the toilets.
“Gettin’ rid of ’em!” said Luke, “they’re not Halloween.”
“Hey! Bring them back! My mum made them! Bring them back!”
Luke hurried through the cloakroom door with Butler close behind him. The music stopped and everyone could hear the two boys arguing loudly on the other side of the door.
Mr Beardsley hurried after them.
“Don’t come any nearer or I’ll drop ’em,” Luke threatened, forcing Butler to back off.
“You’ve got no right to throw away other people’s stuff!” he shouted angrily, “you think you’re better than everybody else! You think you’re so good but you’re not – you’re a thief! Give them back!”
“It’s no meat for Halloween!” Luke asserted, “dint your teacher tell you that?!”
“We don’t have to do what you say! Some of us want to eat meat – most of us actually – coz it tastes good! Mmm, I’d love a nice bacon buttie right now, or a nice bit of fish and chips, or a big juicy burger.”
His infuriating smirk pushed Luke to the limit and he lunged for the toilet door.
“Stop!” The boom of Mr Beardsley’s voice did not encourage disobedience.
Luke froze, plate in hand, his back to his teacher and his adversary.
“Could someone please tell me what on Earth is going on here?” Mr Beardsley asked more calmly.
Both boys talked at once: “He’s throwing my mum’s food in the toilet” / “Meat’s not allowed on Halloween!”
“Stop!” their teacher said again, “Luke, what are you doing out here with that plate of Scotch eggs?”
“They shouldn’t be here! You said people dint eat meat on Halloween! It’s tradition!”
“Yes, that’s true, I did, it is traditional not to eat meat on All Hallows’ Eve.”
“But my mum made them! He’s got no right to throw them away!”
“Simon!” Mr Beardsley quieted him, “no one’s going to throw away your mother’s food. Go back in to the party please and get the music going again.”
Simon reluctantly did as he was told and Mr Beardsley turned back to Luke.
“Give me the plate please,” he instructed.
“But they’re not …”
“Luke, now please.”
Luke handed him the plate.
“But you’re not gonna put ’em back on the table are you? They’re not s’posed to be …”
“Luke, I know you feel strongly about this and I respect that but you can’t force your beliefs on other people. Everyone has to be free to make their own choices.”
“Yeah right! Tell that to the chickens and pigs they’re made out of! If they’d had free choice they would’ve said NO THANK YOU VERY MUCH, I DON’T WANT TO BE A SCOTCH EGG!”
“Yes, alright Luke you’ve made your point. Now kindly return to the party and stay away from Simon Butler.”
Back in the classroom Luke found his plate and his friends and told them the whole story.
“You’re right,” said Tania, “Simon knew he was supposed to make something from the traditional vegetarian recipes Mr Beardsley gave us. He should’ve been reprimanded for not doing it right.”
“Typical!” added Isabel, “look at that, Beardsley’s just putting the scotch eggs back on the table. That flies in the face of everything he taught us! What’s the point of teaching us about historical tradition and saying you want to have a traditional party if you’re just going to let people be inauthentic?”
“Yeah! It’s fraudulent!” Tania concurred.
Luke hungrily polished off his sweetcorn while he listened to the impressive but unfamiliar vocabulary being employed by the girls and was in no doubt that they agreed with him.
“I think we should boycott this party!” Isabel declared.
“Whaddaya mean?” asked Joe.
“On the grounds that it’s a sham.”
“What?” said Luke and Joe at the same time.
“She means it’s bogus,” Tania explained, “spurious, phoney, false, fake.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s fake alright,” said Luke, catching up, “he’s ruined it. It’s not thentick at all now!”
“If we want a truly educational, authentic, realistic, traditional Halloween experience, we’ll have to do it ourselves,” Isabel went on, “we should go now and play the other game he told us about. The one he said we couldn’t play.”
The others gasped and then grinned.
“That’s ezzactly what we should do,” said Luke.
***
A noisy, activity-filled party with only two adults in attendance was easy to sneak away from. It hadn’t even been difficult to get the matches from Mr Beardsley’s desk drawer. Fortunately there had been no rain for a couple of weeks so it didn’t take long to find ample dry twigs and fir cones in the churchyard over the road. Now all they needed was a big stone each and that would be no problem either because Luke remembered seeing some different coloured pebbles, curiously arranged in the shape of a fish, close to the church entrance. They’d just been left there. No one was using them.
It was just after nine o’clock and very dark in the churchyard. Two owls hooted back and forth. Every so often bats flew overhead between the bell tower and the vicarage. Now it really felt like Halloween. The children made themselves comfortable on the ground near the oldest gravestones they could find. Covered in lichen, the writing on them was almost illegible.
*
Making sure there was nothing flammable nearby, Luke built a small fire with the twigs and fir cones on the crumbling horizontal stone base of one of the graves. He had no trouble getting it going with the few scraps of paper found in Mr Beardsley’s desk drawer earlier.
As their teacher had told them, the game was simple. On Halloween night, participants made a fire and when the fire burnt out they placed a ring of stones in the ashes, one for each person. The following morning they would check the circle and if they found any stone displaced, it was said that the person it represented would die before the year ended.
Luke drew a circle in the ash with another stick. Their pebbles were easy to distinguish from each other. Luke’s was the biggest and the darkest. He put it in the twelve o’clock position, closest to the gravestone. Joe’s was a little smaller and had a notch on one side. He placed it at nine o’clock. Isabel’s looked like it had a nose, hers was placed at six o’clock and Tania’s, the smallest of them all, was placed at three o’clock.
“What was that?” Isabel turned suddenly to look behind her.
“Just a rabbit prob’ly,” said Luke, “or a badger.”
“Or a fox,” added Joe.
The boys looked around eagerly, hoping to see some majestic nocturnal wildlife. They weren’t so lucky.
“We’d better get back,” said Tania, looking at her watch, “it’s nearly five to ten.”
“Wait!” whispered Luke as he ducked behind a tree, “that’s my dad!”
The churchyard was a short-cut between the school and Luke’s road so he might have known his dad would come this way to meet him. Everyone laid low until he’d passed.
“My mum’s probably at the school by now too,” said Tania.
“They’ll all be there, waiting outside the classroom for us,” said Isabel anxiously, “how will we get back in without them seeing us?”
Luke and Joe smiled at each other. For seasoned outlaws like them, this wasn’t going to be a problem.
“Follow us,” said Joe, and they led the girls to a little known entrance to the school which was always left open when the caretaker was around so that he could duck out quickly for a smoke without going past the kitchens or the offices. The door led to the school hall which had a connecting door to Mrs Tebbut’s classroom which shared a cloakroom with Class 5A.
“Don’t tell anyone about this,” Joe added as an afterthought.
Without raising suspicion all four of them rejoined the rest of their class as they emerged from the party. They parted with a secret promise to meet early Saturday morning and check on the fire circle. Each agreed to wait until they were all together before they looked.
When all children had been collected Mr Beardsley and Thomas returned to the classroom to clear up the mess. They were tired but it had been fun; they were glad they’d done it.
“Excuse me,” Mrs Butler put her head round the door.
“Oh, hello,” said Mr Beardsley, “are you looking for your plate? It’s in a stack in the sink. I’ll wash it up and send it home with Simon on Monday.”
“Er, thank you, no, I’m looking for Simon. Did he leave with someone else?”
Mr Beardsley’s jaw dropped. Filled with dread he looked at Thomas. Thomas shook his head. At that moment the classroom door opened again and Simon walked in.
“Simon! Where have you been?” his mum asked, awash with relief.
“Looking for you,” he lied, “shall we go?”
***
If you’d like to read more Luke Walker stories, click here 😀
HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYBODY! ❤
Violet’s Vegan Comics – creating funny and sometimes dark and creepy vegan poems and stories since 2012
The gamekeeper walks, shotgun in hand, A frown on his face, he litters the land With barrels and bags of game bird feed, With cages and wire, and bodies that bleed.
The bodies of animals killed by his gun Are hung on the tree, one by one. With hardness of heart, and misery of soul, The gamekeeper's is a grotesque role.
Day after day, and year after year He does his job with no guilt and no fear. What he doesn't know is that someone is watching And when the storm comes ... his clock will stop ticking.
Land Rover won't start, the engine's kaput, The storm closes in as he trudges on foot. He strides for the castle, looking for shelter, He's whipped by debris as the wind rises higher.
It's darker now as the rain lashes down. The ravens watch the sinister clown. He's soaked and he's angry, he yells at the sky, And the lightening yells back "And now you must die!"
****
Violet’s Vegan Comics – creating funny and sometimes dark and creepy vegan poems and stories since 2012
A funny, intriguing and sometimes badly-spelled journey of discovery, The Rebel Gang and the Number Ciphers contains the documents pertaining to a secret investigation by The Corporation into a group of individuals suspected of trying to undermine the authorities. The group communicates with coded messages and it is up to the investigating team to intercept and decipher their messages before they destroy civilization.
Big Plate of Beans on Toast – just like the funny comics you grew up with – complete with more than 200 pages of stories, puzzles, fact files and chocolate ads – but better coz it’s vegan! 😀 Get yours now!
***
Violet’s Vegan Comics – creating happy, funny and exciting vegan-friendly comics and stories for all ages since 2012
Check out this new sab-tastic caper on our stories for Teens and up page! 😀
Have you ever wished people wouldn’t keep birds in cages? Have you ever wished they wouldn’t shoot them for fun? Have you ever wanted to do something about it? If so, you’ll love this story.
We have been supporters of Safer Medicines for many years so as soon as we saw this book by their Research Director, Dr Pandora Pound, we snapped it up.
It is a very well-written, easy to read book, full of all the information we need to know in our fight against vivisection. It is clearly and eloquently laid out and comes complete with many many citations.
I love the excitement and optimism the book has inspired:
“Rat Trap ends the debate about animal research once and for all. She shows that, far from being a necessary evil, it is one of the most important and urgent scientific issues of our time.
“Animal research harms patients and holds back medical progress. Superior technologies based on human biology could transform medicine if not for the iron grip of animal research.
“Rat Trap is dynamite! It blows the lid off decades of dogma.”
*
While we’re on the subject, the following video from 2019 is well worth half an hour of your time 🙂 (it is just a calm conversation, there are no disturbing images or descriptions).
*
NB The pro-vivisection website Understanding Animal Research, criticised this video in an attempt to discredit Dr Greek (a board-certified anesthesiologist) by calling him a ‘conspiracy theorist’ and ‘science denialist’. So it’s very interesting that what Dr Pound tells us in Rat Trap about her personal experience as a scientist, and her research into this topic, corresponds with Dr Greek’s research and experience, and that of his wife and co-author, Jean Swingle Greek, who is a veterinary surgeon. Their findings were published over twenty years ago in their book Sacred Cows and Golden Geese: The Human Cost of Experiments on Animals.
Highly recommended.
Another brilliant book on the subject which we have read several times and can highly recommend.
“Bamboo.” The coded message over the intercom indicated to Fran and Toby that there was an update.
“Interview suspended at 14:23.” Fran got up to leave.
“Tea break?” asked Carter miserably, “Two sugars in mine.”
“Not a tea break, no.” said Toby, “just an update. I expect they’ve found the other murderer and they’ll tell us we don’t need to waste our time with you anymore.”
“Other murderer? You mean THE murderer! I’m not a murderer. Never murdered anybody. Never harmed a hair on their heads!”
“Never harmed …? Without you there would have been no one to murder.” Toby did not hide his disgust. “For over a year you have kept slaves, sexually abused th-”
“Sexually -? You have no idea what I was doing. I’m not a pervert! I was administering fertility treatments. They do it in hospitals every day.”
“Yes, to consenting females who wish to get pregnant. And to consenting males who are indulged with a general anaesthetic before being electro-shocked up the arse. Not to unconsenting slaves who are held in restraints for the procedures; who are never free to leave; and whose kids are abducted and butchered!”
Carter shook his head. “I’m just paid to look after them. That’s all I do. You can see they’ve been well looked after. They’re well fed, and not a mark on ’em.”
Carter’s solicitor tried to silence him “Michael, don’t say-”
“Are you actually pretending you don’t know what happens to them after you hand them over to him?” Toby continued.
“I don’t. It’s none of my business. I can’t be held responsible for what happens after they leave my care.”
“Your care?” Fran could no longer stay out of it. “You don’t care about them. You cause them to be born so that you can sell them. They are commodities to you.”
“I don’t sell them! I work for him! I don’t know where they go when he takes them away. I didn’t know it was anything bad!”
“Oh gimme a break! What about their mothers? They stayed with you. You knew they were suffering. But you cling to wilful ignorance about what he does to them because you want to get paid!”
Carter started to panic. “Well ‘course I wanna get paid – so do doctors and nurses – don’t mean I don’t care. I look aft-”
“He’s an evil, sick bastard – he’s a monster! – but you’re just as bad. No, you’re worse. Because you pretend you’re the good guy.”
Toby looked concerned. “Perhaps we should switch the tape back on.”
“I didn’t turn it off.”
***
DC Bonner stood with DC Abbott at the front door of 241 Conway Avenue. Two of their colleagues were at the back door and members of the armed Tactical Response Team surrounded the house. Bonner knocked on the door.
“Coming,” a small voice came from within but no one opened the door.
Bonner looked at Abbott who was on the phone to the Chief. “He said Go!”
Bonner banged on the door with the side of his fist. “This is Kilridge Police. Open -” The door began to open.
“Hello?” Muriel Wood, a petite woman with a walking frame opened the door and smiled. “Sorry, it takes me a long time to get to the door these days.”
Another woman’s voice emerged from a room at the end of the hallway. “Who is it Muriel?”
Mrs Wood looked at Bonner. “Who is it?”
“I’m Detective Constable Bonner, and this is DC Abbott. We’d like to talk to Peter Wood if we may.”
“Oh yes, well, he’s not here at the moment. But you can certainly come in and wait if you like.”
“Thank you very much madam, that’s very kind. Do you think he’ll be long?”
“Not long, no, he’s gone to meet the boys from school.”
Abbott stepped back to pass that information to the rest of the team, before following Bonner and Muriel into the house.
“It rarely takes him longer than ten minutes, unless someone gets him talking of course.” She laughed and directed them to the living room. “Make yourselves comfortable, I’ll get Margaret to make us some tea.” The detectives stepped into the living room. “Margaret,” Muriel called to the kitchen. “Could you get some tea and biscuits for the nice policemen.”
“I’m sorry but we don’t have time for tea,” Abbott told her. “Is he driving to pick up the children? In his Vauxhall Astra?”
“Oh no, he always walks. Good for the heart you know.”
Bonner looked at the photographs on the wall. “Is this him?” He pointed at one of them. “Is this Peter?”
Muriel smiled proudly, “yes, that’s my Peter.”
A younger woman popped her head around the door. “Oh, hello, can I help you?” she asked them.
“Have you made the tea dear?”
Margaret put her hand on Muriel’s shoulder and looked to the detectives for answers. Bonner told her they needed to talk to Peter and that Mrs Wood had invited them in to wait for him.
“Shall we all sit down?” Muriel suggested. “Margaret, bring the good biscuits.”
“Actually Muriel, I can’t remember where you put them. Would you mind?”
Muriel tutted. “If you want something done right, do it yourself. Excuse me gentlemen,” and she slowly left the room.
“That photo you’re holding is Giles Wood,” Margaret said, “Muriel’s son.”
“She said it was Peter.”
“She gets confused sometimes and it’s best to just play along. We don’t want to upset her. I believe Giles looks a lot like his dad at that age.”
“Is Peter around?”
“Peter died two years ago.”
Bonner looked at his colleague. “Do you know what happened to Peter’s car?” he asked Margaret. “A grey Vauxhall Astra?”
“Yes. It’s in the garage I think. I keep telling her to sell it but she says Geoffrey likes to borrow it sometimes.”
“Geoffrey?”
“Her nephew. Geoffrey Norman.”
***
“No comment.”
“Oh, we’re back to that again are we?” Fran looked at Toby.
Toby was tired. “Sergeant, can’t we just charge him?” He looked at his notes. “We’ve got him on the false imprisonment and penetration without consent, and when a jury sees this tape, they’ll know he took part in the murders as well. I mean, he shows no remorse.”
“Amateur hour,” mumbled Carter with disdain. “Have you actually been trained for this?”
“A confession would be nice,” Toby went on, “but we don’t actually need it. He must have taken part in the murders.”
“What do you mean?” Fran was genuinely curious.
“They couldn’t have been done by just one person. I mean, the victims wouldn’t have made it easy. They would have struggled. And yet, there was no sign of struggle. They were all killed by a clean cut to the throat.”
Fran nodded. “There had to be someone else there, to hold them still.”
Carter shook his head. “Even if there was, it wasn’t me!”
“You’re all we’ve got.”
“You can’t do that! I didn’t kill anyone! You know it wasn’t me!”
“We don’t. We know at least two people were involved. We know you were one of them. And we know you know who the other one was. Face it Michael, you’re looking at twenty years for false imprisonment and numerous counts of sexual assault.”
“At least,” said Toby.
Fran nodded. “Yeah, at least. The only thing I haven’t decided is whether to charge you with murder or accessory to murder. Either of which would mean the rest of your life living in the same conditions as your victims.” She paused for a moment, tilting her head and pushing her chin up under her bottom lip. “Come to think about it, that seems a very appropriate outcome.”
“I didn’t do anything!” Carter insisted, “I wasn’t there! If he needed ’em to keep still he prob’ly tied ’em up!”
“They weren’t tied up. There were no ligature marks on the bodies.” Fran turned to Toby. “He was there. Let’s get him charged.”
“Cuffs don’t leave marks!”
Fran and Toby waited in silence for their suspect to realise what he’d done. It took barely a moment.
“He uses cuffs.” Carter looked defeated. “Smooth, round, metal. They don’t cut into them. They don’t leave marks. He showed them to me, made them himself. With cuffs on, they’re immobilised.”
“Who is he?”
“Geoff Norman.”
“Where does he live?”
“I know where he lives,” said Fran. “Interview terminated at 16.03.”
***
Geoff stood back to admire his gleaming motor. It was perfect. Two and a half hours of painstaking work and attention to detail had paid off. In spite of the fact that it was almost three years old, it looked like new. Smiling, he went inside to put the kettle on but before he had time to decide between chamomile and Darjeeling, there was a loud knock at the door.
***
Sunday 26th April
“Congratulations ladies and gentlemen, you’ve done it.” Ted’s smile was sad and exhausted. “The SOCOs – sorry Ann, CSIs – said it was the easiest search they ever made. The bastard was so complacent he hadn’t hidden anything. Everything was neat, tidy and on display. On a shelf in his dust-free garage they found labelled jars filled with various items of hardware – screws, nails and the like – including one labelled ‘cuffs’. They are so clean we’re not likely to find any forensic evidence on them, but in an album of photos in his magazine rack we found a picture of one of the victims wearing them. If wearing is the right word.” Everyone waited while he drank a pint of water without pause. “But that’s not all.” He nodded at Ann.
“We now know why he took his victims’ organs and feet.” She held up the bagged and labelled exhibit number 23D. “We found this on a shelf in the kitchen with all his other recipe books. It’s filled with more than thirty hand-written recipes. His favourites – he’s underlined them twice and put an asterisk next to them – are ‘Fried liver with ginger and garlic’, ‘Slow-cooked liver and onions with gravy’, ‘Braised, stuffed hearts’, and ‘Feet with chickpeas’.”
Toby rushed from the room but Bonner didn’t have time. He threw up in his waste paper basket.
“And,” Ann continued, “two drawers in his freezer were filled with these meals, labelled and dated.”
“So,” said Fran, “he wasn’t doing it for money. He’s just a psycho.” She picked up her bag, took her empty mug to the sink, and went home.
Fran grabbed her jacket and headed for the door. “I’m going for a drive.”
Toby scribbled a note for Bonner and hurried out after her. By the time he caught up she was reversing out of her space so he pulled at the passenger door handle. It was locked. He banged on the window. “I’m coming with you! Let me in!”
The roads were pretty busy but traffic was still moving at a steady thirty. Fran headed north towards the industrial estate. “Got the results back from the paint traces on Kerdy’s car. The murderer was driving a dark grey vehicle.”
“Wow. Specific.”
“Ha haa. It could be valuable trace evidence once we’ve -” a drink can, thrown from the vehicle in front, hit the windscreen. Fran switched on the siren and blue lights for a second, instructing the vehicle to pull over. She parked a few feet behind it and, over the loudspeaker, instructed the driver to switch off his engine.
“Have we got time for this?” Toby asked.
“It won’t take a minute.” Fran got out of the car, walked up to the other driver’s door and held up her warrant card. “Wind down your window.”
The white male, approximately thirty to thirty-five years old, was wearing a shirt and tie. His suit jacket was hanging on a hook behind him. He smiled. “I’m sorry officer,” he said, “I didn’t realise I had a police car behind me.”
“Littering is an offence whether you have a police car behind you or not,” Fran told him sternly. “Driving licence please.”
He took it out of his wallet. “Is this really necessary? I’m late for an important meeting.”
“That is not my concern Mr Ellis. My concern is that you have thrown hazardous material into the road.”
“Hazardous? Come on!”
“It hit my windscreen at speed. If I had been a pedestrian or cyclist it may have caused serious injury.”
“I wouldn’t have tossed it if there were pedestrians about.”
“Because you’re so conscientious?” Fran handed his licence back to him and proceeded to write a Fixed Penalty Notice. “There are all sorts of pedestrians, Mr Ellis. Many have been severely injured, trapped, mutilated and choked by litter. That’s why dropping it is against the law.” She gave him the penalty notice. “Sixty hours community service, to be completed in not more than one month. You can start by walking back along this road to pick up your drink can.”
The driver was incredulous. “You can’t do this! I’ve got a full time job! I haven’t got time -”
Fran was unmoved. “Eight hours a day on Saturday and Sunday for four weeks will suffice.”
He swore and started his engine.
“Mr Ellis.” Fran pointed to the traffic camera at the side of the road. “I will be checking the footage from that camera when I get back to the office and if I find that you did not go back to pick up the can you tossed, I will increase your community service to six hundred hours.”
Fran walked back to her car.
“That was longer than a minute,” Toby told her.
She smiled and started the engine. “It was worth it.”
They continued towards the old Little Rollingham road and, almost five miles later, passed the quarry and saw the level crossing sign up ahead. Fran slowed down. “It must have been somewhere around here, where Carter’s van pulled up alongside the murderer’s car. They probably exchanged a few words. The murderer told Carter to get Kerdy off his back.”
Toby looked around. “Still, there’s no way of knowing where he came from. I mean, the distance.”
“Isn’t there?” said Fran. “The murderer had probably known Kerdy was following him since he left the crime scene. He needed help to get rid of him so he called Carter from the car. If Carter had been any great distance away he wouldn’t have got here in the ten to fifteen minutes it took the the murderer and Kerdy to reach here.”
Toby nodded. It was sound logic.
Fran pulled into the station car park. The branch line had been closed for over a decade and the old waiting room and ticket office were fastened with rusty padlocks. They were also covered in ivy and brambles. Flowering weeds grew through the cracks in the old concrete platforms and, on the other side of the tracks, the roof of the old engine shed looked down on a spiky white skirt of blackthorn. From the far end of the platform though, Fran could see something else. Something not derelict. Something out of place. She tossed a small stone at Toby and pointed across the tracks. From where he was standing he couldn’t see what she was pointing at so he hurried down the platform to join her. Just visible behind the engine shed was the back end of a blue and yellow van.
***
Organ Grinder Incident Room, Kilridge Police Station, Saturday 25 April
DCI Wicket updated the team. “Thank you all for giving up your weekend. Our suspect is Michael Carter – forty-eight year old electrician – who was caught guarding eleven captives: eight adults and three juveniles including one newborn. There was also another newborn, dead at the scene. Also found were restraints, medical equipment and a small fridge containing vials of what we have every reason to believe is his male captives’ semen.” He paused to allow various expressions of disgust to subside. “We await confirmation from the lab. We have sufficient evidence to charge him with false imprisonment and numerous counts of assault by penetration, contrary to section 2 of the Sexual Offences Act 2003. Fran and Toby are interviewing him right now in an effort to get the conspiracy to murder and accessory to murder charges, as well as, hopefully, the name of his accomplice.
“All we know about the accomplice is that he drives a dark grey hatchback that was involved in a minor collision with a red car. Find out if any of Carter’s colleagues, relatives or neighbours has a grey hatchback, and call every garage in a thirty mile radius to ask if they’ve repaired any grey hatchbacks since the fifteenth of this month.”
“We’re also searching Carter’s house,” added Ann, “so listen out for updates. I’ll put them on the board.”
***
“Michael,” Fran sounded calm and unemotional, “can you tell us exactly what you were doing when we found you at Little Rollingham station yesterday?”
“You know what I was doing.”
“We saw you, yes, but we didn’t really understand what was happening. Could you explain what you were doing and why?”
“No comment.”
Fran opened her yellow folder and pulled out some photographs. “Okay, let’s start with something a little easier. What’s this?” she pushed one of the photos towards him. “I am showing Mr Carter a photograph – exhibit 14A.”
Carter looked away. “No comment.”
“Looks like some kind of restraint.”
“No. Comment.”
“In fact we know it’s a restraint.” She pushed another photograph towards him. “I’m showing Mr Carter exhibit 13B which is a photograph of someone being restrained by the object in exhibit 14A. And that’s you isn’t it Michael? In the picture, that’s you, fastening the restraint around his neck.”
“No. Comment.”
***
“Hanson’s Motors.”
“Hello, I’m DC Bonner, calling from Kilridge police station. Could you tell me whether you’ve repaired a grey hatchback that was damaged in a collision, within the last two weeks?”
“Hang on a minute, I’ll check.”
Bonner doodled on his notebook while he listened impatiently and repeatedly to the Hanson’s Motors jingle.
“Hello, sorry to keep you waiting. No, we haven’t repaired a grey hatchback recently.”
“Okay, thanks for your -”
“But on the sixteenth of April one of our regular customers purchased an aerosol can of grey paint, and a new headlight. Does that help?”
“Could you give me their name and address please?”
Bonner slammed the phone down. “Boss! I’ve got one! Peter Wood, 241 Conway Avenue. Owns a dark grey Vauxhall Astra!”
Ann covered her phone with her hand. “Any connection to Carter?”
“We’re about to find out!” Moving faster than he had in weeks, Bonner left the room, closely followed by three other detectives.
“I’ll get Tactical to meet you there!” Ann called after them.
“Michael Carter. That’s right.” Fran waited while the office manager at The Trade Clearance Company talked to a colleague. “Right. I see. We’re trying to get – great. Thank you.” She scribbled onto her jotter and put the phone down. “The TCC says he only helps them out occasionally. Last time was January.”
“And?”
“He did work the carpet warehouse clearance two years ago!” She keyed a number into her desk phone, “and he’s got more than one phone!” It rang five times.
“The person you are trying to call is not available at the moment. Please leave -”
“Not answering.”
“Maybe he’s got no signal. Or his battery’s dead,” Bonner suggested. “What were you going to say to him anyway? Please come to the police station, we’d like to talk to you about a few murders?”
Fran flashed a sarcastic smile. “I was going to ask him if he was available to do a factory clearance.”
“If either of those numbers made or received a call or a text on the day of the murders, we’ll be able to find out where they were.” Toby pointed out.
Fran could hardly believe she’d forgotten that. She left to update Ann.
Toby smiled. Bonner threw a packet of crisps at him. “Don’t get smug.”
Fran returned a moment later. “I want to know who this guy is. What’s he like? Where does he go? Who does he hang out with?”
“Back to the neighbours?” Toby asked.
“I don’t want to spook him. Let’s just see what we can find out from here. He doesn’t have a criminal record, but does he belong to a group, a political party, a gym? Get his vehicle registration and see if it’s been caught on any ANPR cameras. Put a marker on it.”
“Right.”
Bonner retrieved his packet of crisps from the floor and went to put the kettle on.
****
Wednesday 22rd April
*
“Looks like he wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Toby commented.
“If murderers looked like murderers we could all work half days,” Bonner chuckled as he wandered lazily to the gents.
“I wish you’d work half a day.” Fran grumbled. She looked at the face in the photos. “You knew the camera behind Marvin’s wasn’t working; and that the carpet warehouse was empty. May well have had a key to it. Now we find out you’re a medical courier.”
“Used to be.”
“So you know how to transport organs without damaging them. Are you selling them?”
“This is too sick!”
“Sicker than cutting them out for no reason?” Fran followed her train of thought. “Medical couriers keep organs fresh for transport. For transplants.”
“Murder to harvest organs? For money?”
“What else?” Fran tapped a few words into the search engine. “Look at this – a heart is worth over a million dollars for transplants and research. And livers can fetch $157,000.”
Toby shook his head. “I guess people have murdered for a lot less. But what about the feet?”
“There’s no mention of feet on this list, erm, oh, they’ll pay for bones and ligaments though. $5,000 per bone! We need to get an arrest warrant.”
“On what grounds? This is all circumstantial.”
“I don’t know. Failure to update address on driving license!” She marched into the chief’s office.
***
“We need an arrest warrant.”
“What have you got?”
“We’ve got a self-employed electrician who knew about the empty warehouse and the camera not working behind the superstore.”
“That warehouse has been empty for two years. Plenty of people knew about it.”
“Do plenty of people have a key for it?”
“Does he?”
“He might have. He worked for the company that cleared it out. They say he would have had one when he did the job.”
“And he didn’t return it?”
“The point is, he had it that day. He could have copied it.”
Wicket frowned. “That was two years ago. Did he plan the murders a year in advance?”
“No one else knew that camera wasn’t working at the back of the superstore. Except the night manager and he was on camera inside the building the whole night.”
“So, maybe the night manager blabbed to someone else and forgot. Or maybe the electrician did.”
“No, I know it was him. I know it! Oh – and he used to be a medical courier! They know how to transport organs.”
This new information gave him pause. “Hmm, that does make him a person of interest. Okay, we’ll issue a BOLO for him and I’ll get Collins and Shaw to watch his house.”
“Discreetly.”
Wicket nodded.
***
When she returned to her desk, Fran was handed a sheet of paper by Bonner.
“From Ann,” he told her.
She took it from him. “DNA results?”
He nodded gravely. “From the autopsies.”
It only took a moment to read the first line. “The warehouse victims were twins.”
“Read on.”
She read on. “And they were siblings of the first victim, from last May.” Her jaw dropped and she stared at Toby. “Three victims from the same family. What does that mean?”
“The mother must be in on it.” Bonner spoke almost inaudibly.
Fran shook her head slowly. “Have you ever been pregnant Jim?”
Bonner tutted. “Oh yeah, couple o’ times.”
“Didn’t think so,” she stared at him, her mouth drawn tight around her words. “I could tell because someone who had been pregnant wouldn’t have said something like that. Someone who had endured months of discomfort followed by hours of agony for the purpose of bringing a tiny, precious, helpless baby into the world,” the words caught in her throat, “wouldn’t give them up to be butchered. Not for anything!” Tears pricked her eyes as she suppressed her simmering fury.
“Not all mothers are good mothers.”
“True. But she’d have to be a hell of a lot worse than ‘not a good mother’ wouldn’t she? She’d have to be pure evil.” Fran looked at him in silence for a moment. “Were any of the other victims related?”
“No.”
“So that means there are at least six different mothers. How likely is it that Carter found six evil mothers who were willing to help him?”
Bonner shook his head. “If they’re not evil they’re still negligent,” He blew his nose on a ketchup-daubed hot dog napkin, “letting their tots get snatched.”
“You can’t watch them every second!” Fran snapped defensively.
Bonner didn’t usually bother to get caught up in serious arguments but he was irritated. “Three? Three taken from the same mother? Don’t you think most not-evil mothers would keep a closer eye on her other children after she’d lost the first one?”
For once Fran heard him and she sat down to go over her notes again. Jim was right. If they didn’t know anything else the mothers must know their children are missing. They must be desperate to find them. Yes, there are terrible mothers in the world but not these. She was sure of it. These mothers weren’t perpetrators. They were victims.
“They’re being held captive,” she said quietly to herself.
“What?” Bonner pulled the semi-colon and comma keys off his keyboard and removed the half peanut that was hindering their movement. “Who’s a captive?”
“The mothers. They’re being confined, raped, impregnated, and then robbed of their children. They are his baby factory. His organ factory.”
“Oh my God,” Toby felt sick.
“As soon as one pregnancy ends, he impregnates them again.”
Toby pushed his fingers through his hair. “There must be another explanation. This can’t be -”
“It is.” Fran clenched a black marker in her fist and hammered it onto her pad until it and her hand were covered in ink.
****
Thursday 23 April
“Run this down will you?” The inspector handed Fran a page from the Action Book. “Might be nothing.”
Fran scanned the notes, “or it might be something.” She nodded eagerly, returned to her computer and logged in.
*
“It’s 11:05 on Thursday 23rd of April. Present in the room are DS Trent,”
“DC Melton.”
“And -”
“Caroline Smith, solicitor.”
“And -”
“Alistair Kerdy, 5.4.84.”
“Your occupation?”
“Bit of this, bit of that.”
“Meaning?”
Kerdy raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Meaning, I am what you might call: Self. Employed.”
“Doing what exactly?” asked Toby.
Kerdy grinned. “If I told ya I’d have to kill ya.” His solicitor frowned and shook her head at him. “I was joking!” he said with exasperation.
Fran pushed a sheet of paper towards him. “Your fingerprints Alistair.”
“Yeah. What about ’em?”
“We found them at a crime scene. Burglary on Fisher Street.” Kerdy said nothing. “The occupant has been on holiday. Came back yesterday afternoon to discover a broken window, an open back door and a missing laptop.”
Kerdy remained silent.
“She called us as soon as she got in, explaining that her burglar alarm was linked to her old phone, the one she’d left at home, so she didn’t see the text alert until she got back.” Fran took a sip of her tea. “The alert was sent at 4.11am, on Wednesday the 15th of April.”
Kerdy stared at mark on the floor. “No. Comment.”
“The thing is Alistair, we believe that alarm spooked another offender nearby, and we’d rather have him than you. So, if you help us now, we might be able to forget about what you were doing.” She tore up the photocopy of his prints. “Tell us what happened Alistair, after you left the house on Fisher Street. Did you go straight home?”
Alistair looked at his solicitor and then back at Fran. “I don’t trust you lot, or your fake promises.”
“Look at it this way,” said Toby. “We already have you for the burglary. We know it was you. So why not take a chance? What have you got to lose?”
Kerdy was tempted but knew he did have more to lose.
Fran glanced at his rap sheet. “Looks like it’ll be a custodial sentence this time Alistair.”
Kerdy knew she was right. “Will you let me off everything that happened that night?”
Toby and Fran looked at each other. “If it’s nothing serious,” Fran told him.
“You don’t have to say anything,” his solicitor reminded him.
“It was an accident! Wasn’t even my fault!” Kerdy was determined to make sure he was safe before he told them anything. “So if someone told you it was my fault, he was lying!”
“Well, we did wonder.”
“Should have had his lights on!”
“Alright Alistair, go on. Where was this? What happened exactly?”
Kerdy took a deep breath and started at the beginning. “When the burglar alarm went off – it was really loud – I got out! I grabbed the laptop off the kitchen table, ran out the back door, down the garden and over the fence at the bottom. Fisher Street backs onto the industrial estate and that’s where I leave – left – my car, in the empty PlayDome car park.” Without realising it, Fran was holding her breath. PlayDome was two doors down from the old carpet warehouse. “There’s no one around and I get in the car and drive off. Turn out of the car park into Billings Road, then – bang! He was on the wrong side of the road and didn’t have any lights on!” Relieved that both detectives made a note of that, Kerdy continued with more confidence. “I got out, like you’re supposed to, to see what damage. My bloody radiator grille was all mangled, and his right headlight was smashed. But he didn’t get out. Just kept trying to start his engine – he must have stalled when we hit. He tried a few times before it started, and all the time I’m shouting – telling him he’s gotta pay for the damage – then he took off. ”
“Which way did he go?”
“Down the old road to Little Rollingham.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah! I wasn’t gonna let him get away with that! I followed him.”
Fran took a deep breath and tried not to show her excitement. “What kind of car was it?”
“Medium-sized hatchback. Dark colour.”
“Make?”
Kerdy shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Where did it go?” Kerdy didn’t respond. Toby asked again. “So you followed it down the old road, – did it go through Little Rollingham or turn off before that?”
“There is no turn off before that! You new around here?” Toby didn’t respond and Kerdy hesitated before continuing. “You said, if I told you what happened, you’d let me off the Fisher Street thing. So you can’t take that back if I don’t tell you what you want to hear – they can’t take that back can they?” he asked his solicitor.
“Alistair,” Fran spoke in an unusually gentle tone, “unless we discover that you have been dishonest in this matter, we will not be pressing any charges for the burglary on Fisher Street.” Kerdy nodded. “We believe that the vehicle you followed belongs to a very dangerous man.”
“Er,” Toby’s eyes widened and he tried to stop Fran from saying too much. “Did you see the car stop anywhere?”
“We need your help to catch him, Alistair.”
Kerdy wished he could help. “I don’t know where he went,” he admitted, “but he did stop, for a second, when a car that was coming the other way stopped next to him. Then he drove off again but, when I tried to follow, the other car,” he paused to look at Toby who was taking notes, “it was a van – did a three point turn in the middle of the road so I couldn’t get past. Then it didn’t even turn round. Went the same way as it was facing before, back up the old road towards town. By the time the van got out the way, the other car was gone.”
“Where was that? Where did he stop?” Fran asked eagerly.
“I don’t know! It was dark. In the middle of nowhere!”
“Before you got to Little Rollingham?”
“Yeah.”
“Before you passed the quarry?”
“No. I think it was after the quarry.”
“Do you remember passing anything else?”
“No. I don’t think so. It all looks the same down there at night.”
“What about the station?”
Kerdy thought carefully. “I could see the level crossing sign.” His face lit up slightly. “It was just before the station. Just this side of it!”
“What kind of van was it?” Toby asked.
“A smallish one.”
“Colour?”
“Black, or dark blue maybe, and yellow. It had a phone number on the side.”
“I don’t suppose you can remember it?”
“Of course I can, just call me Rain Man.” Kerdy shook his head. “But it wasn’t a landline, I remember that. It was a mobile number. And there was a picture under it.” He suddenly resembled a child eager to please his teacher. “Looked like a rounded square with short fat oblongs sticking out on one side. And a curved line on the other side.”
Fran gave him a pencil and a piece of paper. “Can you draw it?”
Kerdy nodded and did his best. “Something like that. The middle line was longer. I remember that. The top and bottom ones were shorter.”
*
Toby turned the paper around to look at it. “Looks like a plug.”
“Does it?” Kerdy tilted his head to one side, “yeah, maybe. Is that good?”
“It’s 14:10 on Thursday the sixteenth of April. Present in the room are Detective Sergeant Trent and – ”
“Detective Constable Melton.”
“And? State your name please.”
“Greg Underhill.”
“Your date of birth?”
“7th of September 1980.”
“And your occupation?”
“Night manager. Marvin’s Superstore.”
“At Oakleaf Retail Park?”
Underhill nodded.
“Speak aloud please. For the tape.”
“Oakleaf. Yes, that’s right.”
“Did you work last night?”
“Yes I did.”
“I’m sorry, you’d probably like to be asleep right now.”
“er, yeah, I would actually.”
“Sorry about that.” Fran paused while she studied the contents of the folder in front of her. “Are you working tonight?”
“Yes. What’s this about?”
“Just a couple of things you might be able to help us with. We want to clarify a few things from your last interview. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can get back to bed.” She closed the folder. Underhill nodded. “Has the CCTV been fixed now? At the back of the superstore?”
“Er, yes, it has, yes.”
“When did they finally get around to it?”
“Oh, I’m not sure. Few weeks ago I think.”
“I thought you would remember. I mean, they probably made a lot of it when you were interviewed in February.”
“February seems a long time ago now. I have a lot of responsibilities. More than just CCTV cameras.”
“Yes, of course. But it’s your responsibility alone is it? The cameras?”
“Er, well, no, it’s everybody’s. Anyone who notices a camera isn’t working is supposed to report it.”
“How would they notice? Blank screen in the office?”
Underhill smiled and shook his head. “No. We don’t actually have anyone watching screens. Staff will report if a camera’s red light isn’t working.”
“But the red light was working on the camera in the back.”
“That’s right.”
“So no one could tell it wasn’t working.”
“Right.”
“So how was it discovered to be faulty?”
“I check the footage once a week. On the computer.”
“And there was no footage for that camera?”
“That’s right.” Underhill looked at his watch. “I explained all this in February. I really could do with some kip.”
“Who else knew that camera wasn’t working?”
“Erm, whoever gets the requisition forms at Head Office I guess. I ordered a new one in December.”
“But would they know which camera was down?”
“Erm,” Underhill tried to recall the requisition form, whether it asked for the position of the camera. “Actually, no, probably not. No.”
“Okay, so you would be the only person who knew the camera overlooking the bins wasn’t working?”
Underhill’s eyes narrowed as it dawned on him that he was being led into a trap. “You think it was me?”
“Just trying to get the facts straight.”
“You think I’d put someone I murdered into a bin at my own work?”
“Someone you murdered?”
Underhill sighed. “I’m being hypothetical! If I murdered someone, I wouldn’t leave their body at my work would I? That would be pretty stupid.”
“Or pretty brazen.”
“I don’t believe this,” he complained with a yawn, “I should be asleep right now! I come down here to help you out. As a favour to you because you didn’t want to do it on the phone. And now I find out why. You’ve run out of ideas and you want to pin it on me!”
“Greg, please calm down. If you haven’t done anything wrong you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“You call me Greg like we’re friends. We’re not.”
“Mr Underhill, -”
“I know what you’re trying to do. I want a solicitor.”
“Mr Underhill, you’re not under arrest. You’re free to go at any time. We just wanted to understand how the murderer knew the camera wasn’t working and you’re the only person who can help us with that.”
Underhill was very uncomfortable. He didn’t want to say another word without consulting a lawyer.
“Nights is awful isn’t it?” Toby tried to break the tension.
“What?”
“Working nights. It’s awful. I worked nights for a while in Bournemouth. Five nights on, two days off. It was a nightmare. Couldn’t get my body clock back to normal on my days off so I ended up with next to no sleep.” Underhill shrugged. “Couldn’t stick it. Got back to days as soon as I could. How long have you been on nights?”
“Few years.”
“A few?”
“Nearly ten.”
“Really?”
Underhill nodded. “I prefer it when there aren’t so many people around actually.”
“There’s not many on the night shift?”
“At the beginning there is. Twenty seven shelf fillers, re-stockers, whatever you want to call them, from eight ’til midnight. Then it’s just me ’til the cleaners get there at seven.”
“So you’re on your own for seven hours? Does it drag?”
Underhill was relaxed again, if a little grumpy. “No. Too much to do. Prefer to be on my own. Other people slow me down. Like if there’s a problem and I have to call someone out, all they want to do is talk talk talk. I haven’t got time for that.”
“Problem?”
“Yeah. Like last week, perfect example. The customer toilets were blocked. I had to call out an emergency plumber. By the time he got there it was about, er, half twelve I think. No, closer to one. Anyway, the others had gone, I was on my own, just getting into my work, then he arrived. Non-stop gabbing from the moment he got in the door.” Underhill realized he was at risk of doing the same and cut his story short. “Anyway, no, it doesn’t drag. I’d rather be left alone.”
Toby looked at Fran and she nodded for him to continue. “Does that happen a lot? Problems.”
“Not often, no. Only a couple of times this year. The plumber last week and, a couple of months ago, had a power cut,” Underhill’s words came slower as he started to remember something. “Needed an electrician.” The detectives waited. “Yeah. We had a power cut in January I think. End of January. It was before midnight because the others were still there. I couldn’t leave it ’cause of the freezers, so I called an emergency electrician. He didn’t get there ’til getting on for two and when he’d finished he wanted to check everything was working before he left, and we looked at all the camera footage – yeah, so he saw the one in the back wasn’t working. Asked if I wanted him to try and sort it before he left but I told him not to bother. I’d already ordered a new one.”
“Do you know the electrician’s name?”
“No.”
“He didn’t tell you or you can’t remember?”
“Either. Both.”
“Does the company keep a record of people like that?”
“Electricians?”
“Yes. Outside contractors. Or was he an employee of the company?”
“Probably not employed by the company, no. You could ask Head Office. They might know.”
“They would have had to pay him.”
“Right.”
“What can you remember about him?”
“Er, I dunno. Bit older than me. Middle-aged. Chubby.”
“Was he a talker? Did he talk about himself? His family? His work?”
“Er, not really. Although he did -” Underhill paused to think. “He noticed some damaged shelving and asked if I wanted him to fix it. Said he was a multi-tasker, or multi-skilled. Multi-something. Reckoned he could turn his hand to anything if the money was right.”
Toby nodded. “Okay, thank you. Did he tell you anything else?”
Underhill shook his head. “No.”
“Thank you Greg,” Fran smiled. “We’re sorry to have disturbed your sleep, but you’ve been very helpful.” She gathered up her notes. “Interview terminated at 14:24.”
“I can go now?”
Fran nodded and pushed a button to call the uniformed officer who would escort Mr Underhill out of the building. Toby opened the door.
“Next time, phone.” Underhill suggested on his way out, “but not ’til after five.”
****
Monday 20th April
“The CSIs have finished at the scene. They say they might have something for us on the blood and fingerprints by the end of the week.” Fran put down the phone and broke off a chunk of Toby’s Vego.
“Hey!”
“Hey Sergeant.”
Toby grabbed the rest of the chocolate and stuffed it safely in his pocket. “What about the autopsies? Anything useful there?”
“Erm, hang on,” she read from the screen, “death caused by sharp knife to the throat …. organs and feet removed post mortem. No, nothing we didn’t already know.”
“Aghh!” Bonner returned a mouthful of scalding coffee to his mug.
Fran logged off and grabbed her bag. “I’m going to chase down the other electrician on that list from Marvin’s Head Office.”
“Shouldn’t one of us come with you?”
“Ooh, how could I choose?” she replied with icy snark and left the room.
****
In a quiet cul-de-sac of seventies-built semi-detached houses, a window cleaner climbed his ladder to reach an upstairs window of number sixty-six. At number seventy-four, a middle-aged man prepared to wash his already pristine car.
“Excuse me,” Fran smiled, “are you Michael Carter?”
“Next door,” the man spoke without looking up.
“Oh really? They told me seventy-four.”
“Seventy-two. But he’s away.”
“Away?” Fran stepped back to avoid the spray as the man switched on his jet washer. She tried to keep smiling. “Would you mind switching that off for a minute? Sir? Excuse me, SIR!” She showed him her warrant card. “Could you switch that off for a minute please!” He switched it off and turned his sour face towards her. “Is Mr Carter on holiday?” The man shrugged. “Does he live alone?” The man nodded. Fran lingered for a moment before stepping across the wet lawn and over a miniature hedge into the front garden of number seventy-two.
“Oh yeah, don’t bother to walk round on the pavement. I was hoping for one of those muddy tracks across the lawn that are so popular these days.” The quiet man switched his jet washer back on as he wondered why he’d bothered to be so helpful. “I told her he wasn’t there, but why listen to the bloke next door? What does he know?”
Fran knocked on the front door and peered through the window. It certainly looked like no one was home, but there was only one letter on the mat so he probably hadn’t been gone long. She turned back towards the grumpy neighbour before deciding to try number seventy. There was no one home there either. As she returned to the pavement en route to number sixty-eight she met the window cleaner coming the other way.
“Looking for someone?” he asked.
“Michael Carter. Do you know him?”
The window cleaner grinned. “Do you?”
She showed him her warrant card. “Not yet but I’m hoping to meet him soon. Is he on holiday do you know?”
“Couldn’t tell you that. Got a text from him yesterday,” he scrolled through his inbox to find it. “He wrote Upstairs only please mate, money’s in the usual place.”
“The usual place? So he’s often not here when you clean his windows?”
“I wouldn’t say often. Sometimes.”
“Because he’s away?”
“Might be away. Might just be at work. More than half my customers are at work when I come round.”
“The man at number seventy-four said he was away.”
“Nosey-Norman? Well, what are you asking me for then? If Nosey-Norman says he’s away, he’s away.”
Fran took out her notebook. “Norman what?”
The window cleaner smiled amiably. “Not Norman Something. It’s Something Norman.”
Fran bit her tongue, forced another smile and tapped her pen on her notebook. “Could you tell me his first name? Please.”
“That’s Geoff Norman.”
“Thank you. And could you give me Michael Carter’s number?”
The window cleaner shrugged and read it to her. “It’s not a secret – it’s on the side of his van. No one’s died have they?”
“We just need a chat with him,” Fran told him coolly, “nothing to worry about. What’s your name, by the way?”
“Ooh, now you’re trying to drag me into it.” He grinned and shook his head.
“If you’ve done nothing wrong -”
“I’ve got nothing to fear, yeah, yeah – but which of us has done nothing wrong?” He smiled again before answering her question and adding, “have you tried his work? They might know where he is.”
“I thought he was self-employed.”
“As an electrician, yeah, but he works part-time for that trade clearance company as well – er, what are they called?”
Organ Grinder Incident Room Kilridge Police Station Wednesday 15 April
“There’s been another one.” DCI Ted Wicket addressed the crowded incident room.
“Two.”
“I hadn’t forgotten Ann.” He snapped. “Listen up! Two victims this time, found in an empty warehouse on Billings Road, the old carpet place. Your uniformed colleagues are talking to the locals. SOCOs are on the scene. This is where the murders took place, the bodies weren’t dumped elsewhere this time. Something must have spooked him and he took off without them. They’re not long dead – only a few hours it looks like – so this is the best chance we’ve had of someone in the area remembering something.” He paused to look at all of his detectives. “I refuse to believe that this sadistic bastard is smarter than us. Find him!”
Inspector Ann Lester clipped the photos to the board. “Two white juvenile males, identities unknown. Throats cut. Hearts, livers and feet removed. Same as all the others. Except there being two victims. That’s new.”
“And not dumping the bodies elsewhere,” Fran reiterated. “How were they found?”
“Kids on their way to school noticed a fox licking the ground in front of the warehouse door. He was slow to move off when they approached him but when he did they saw what looked like blood, a partial footprint.”
The four inquiry teams talked eagerly among themselves until silenced by the inspector. “Sergeants – you’ll keep your DCs informed of any new information as it comes in but, until it does, continue to follow your current lines.” The noise increased again from all corners except one. Ann looked over at Fran and her dozing team of DC Jim Bonner.
“Has she lost another one?” The Chief Inspector asked quietly.
“Finch called me this morning. Says he’s sprained his ankle.”
“Can he read? Can he use a phone? Send a car for him!”
“He’s put in for a transfer.”
Ted frowned. “Because she won’t put up with any of his crap?”
*
Fran studied the hideous photos angrily. Trying to get into the mind of a deranged serial killer was taking its toll on her mental health. She shook the green smoothie in her flask and took a swig.
“Fran,” Ted strode up to her desk, closely followed by another man, “this is DC Melton.”
“Toby,” the young man added with a grin.
Fran looked up without smiling and nodded. The chief had already left.
Jim Bonner farted without apology and turned around in his seat at the next desk. “Transfer?” he asked.
Toby nodded. “From Bournemouth.”
“Got bored of deckchair and zimmer frame thefts eh?” Smirking at his own joke, Bonner headed for the toilets.
Fran looked back at the case file and tried to find her place. Toby picked up one of the photos. “Put that down! I’m trying to sort … no, not there, leave it where it was!”
“Sorry.” Toby returned the photo and pulled up a chair.
“Haven’t you got your own desk?”
“The chief inspector said you needed help.”
“I do, but from a grown-up.”
Toby stopped smiling. “I can handle it.” He held her stare with naïve self-assurance until she sighed and looked away.
Fran showed both palms in mock surrender. “Here,” she pushed one of her folders across the desk. “Get familiar with this. All of it. And find a desk of your own!”
****
“Organ Grinder” 7 May victim dumped in the canal 2 August victim dumped in the canal 14 October victim dumped in the canal 1 January, victim found at East Ridge scrapyard 3 February, victim found in industrial bin behind Marvin's Superstore (Oakleaf Retail Park) 10 March, victim found at country park 15 April, 2 victims, disused warehouse, Kilridge Industrial Est.
Toby tapped his pen thoughtfully on the paper. All locations were devoid of functioning CCTV cameras. The killer had made sure of that. That’s why he stopped dumping them in the canal – because CCTV cameras were set up there in October, after they found his third victim.
“Should have hidden them,” Toby mumbled to himself, exasperated at the stupidity. “That’s just basic.”
Bonner laughed.
“What’s basic?” Fran took another bite of her tofu mayonnaise sandwich.
“What’s he laughing at?” Toby asked.
“Seinfeld. What’s basic?”
Toby leaned sideways to see that his colleague was watching Netflix on his phone.
“WHAT’S. BASIC?”
“Cameras. At the canal. If they’d hidden them, the killer probably wouldn’t have changed his dumping spot. We could have caught him.”
Fran logged on to her computer. “I’m sure they …. would …. yes, look – October 22nd – micro CCTV cams installed.”
“Where could they hide cameras at the canal? It’s wide open isn’t it? Nothing to fix them to or hide them in.”
Fran found the email she’d been looking for. “… spy cameras installed for a period not exceeding twelve months … bla bla bla – keyhole cameras on lock gates.”
“New tech on those old gates would be pretty easy to spot wouldn’t it?”
Fran sighed. “Have you seen how tiny those things are? The surveillance crew know what they’re doing. They will have made sure the cameras were hidden.”
“So why did the killer stop dumping bodies there after they were installed?”
“He must have known we’d be watching the canal after he’d -”
“Done it three times? Wouldn’t he have assumed that after he’d done it twice?”
Fran rubbed her chin. “We should have been watching after he’d done it once.”
“But he knew you weren’t. That’s what I mean.”
Fran noticed an ink smear on the desk and tried to wipe it off with her thumb. “So, if he couldn’t see the cameras, maybe he saw them being installed.”
She reached for the yellow folder and found the witness statement of Marvin’s night manager. As one would expect at a retail establishment, Marvin’s had CCTV cameras inside and out. All were in good working order and checked every week, except the one that overlooked the bins at the back. The night manager said he had requested a replacement from Head Office in December but had so far not received one. However, he had not pressed for it because, as the camera’s red light was still functioning, he’d considered the faulty camera an adequate deterrent. So how had the killer known that that camera wasn’t working?
The choice is yours, it's up to you To be and feel your best. To be sharp of brain and agile of knee, Be regular of bowel and pale of wee, Just CHOOSE to drink enough water Each day, And live your life with zest.
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bee by Schanin of Pixabay.com
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And of course don’t eat any animal products – but that’s a given, right? 😀
Violet’s Vegan Comics – making vegan-friendly stories, poems and things-to-make-and-do since 2012
It just happens to be National Teddy Bear day so here’s one of ours 😀
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And here are the answers to Friday’s crossword:
This is actually not an exhaustive list of scientifically valid (ie animal-free) methodologies, it’s just that if I’d included anymore it would have made the puzzle really small. I mean, the puzzle would have been bigger in that there would have been more questions and answers, but it would have been on a page the same size so the writing would have been too small. For me anyway 😉
But if you want to find out more about this stuff, click on the teddy bear. That highly-rated book, by the way, is already in our local library. Maybe it’s in yours too 🙂
Stuck on some of the questions? You can find all the information needed to complete this puzzle on the Safer Medicines site: go to https://safermedicines.org/resources/ and click Frequently Asked Questions 🙂
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********* Puzzle created at wordmint.com **********
Find the funny-sounding wild flowers in the word search puzzle above. If you click on the picture you can save it and solve it on your computer in Paint. Or you might like to download the pdf below, print it and solve it with a pencil 😀
Click over to the Wildlife Trust website if you want to find out more about these amazing wild flowers.
“The Fly Orchid flowers resemble flies. They release a scent which mimics a female wasp’s pheromones, luring in males who attempt to mate with them. The male wasps get a dusting of pollen, which they carry on to the next flower, hopefully pollinating the plant.”
"I'm hungry!" said the herring gull "Be gone!" came a reply, "The council says my food's not yours So don't you even try!" "I'm hungry," said the herring gull, Again, once more, with feeling, "I'm forced to beg and snatch and grab, YOU stole MY food with trawling."
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Violet’s Vegan Comics – creating funny, exciting and always entertaining vegan stories and poems since 2012
Violet's Vegan Comics 