😮 Oh no! What dastardly fiend is sawing a hole in the bridge right where Sindy is standing?! Come back tomorrow to see what happens next, or read the whole story right now if you’d rather not wait 😀
Violet’s Vegan Comics – making funny, exciting and sometimes action packed vegan children’s stories since 2012
So, in conclusion, that’s the end of episode 2 of Sherman & Geynes (pretend detectives), but if you want more weird and wonderful made-up mysteries, pop over to the Sherman & Geynes page 😀
Violet’s Vegan Comics – making funny, exciting and sometimes action packed vegan children’s stories since 2012
Anne Paddock has exposed their dirty secrets – yeah, you knew it was going to be dirty didn’t you? – and I wanted to share her post with you but the Reblog button isn’t working properly today so I’ll just copy and paste some highlights here. But do go over to Anne’s brilliant blog and read the whole thing.
She writes:
Dairy Management Inc (DMI) is the big organization that most people haven’t heard of because unless you’re a dairy producer, work in the dairy industry, or work in the corporate offices of Pizza Hut, Taco Bell, Dominoe’s, or KFC, you would have no reason to know that this non-profit, tax-exempt 501 (c) (6) is the most powerful non-profit dairy organization in the country.
Considered a “check-off” program authorized by Congress but responsible to their members, DMI’s mission is to increase consumption of dairy products by finding more ways to get dairy products to the public including assisting fast food companies with menu items.
“DMI’s mission is to increase consumption of dairy products by finding more ways to get dairy products to the public”
How does DMI do this? By requiring America’s 37,000 plus dairy producers to pay 15 cents (and dairy importers to pay 7.5 cents) for every 100 pounds of milk (a gallon of milk weighs 8.6-11.6 pounds so 100 pounds of milk is roughly 10 gallons, meaning US dairy farmers pay DMI about 1.5 cents per gallon for their services). These funds are used to “fund programs aimed at promoting dairy consumption and protecting the good image of dairy farmer, dairy products, and the dairy industry” this includes paying some employees up to $2.7 million annually.
What they don’t tell you is that in order to produce milk for human consumption, the cows have to be pregnant (primarily by artificial insemination) or given birth to a calf, who is taken away from the mother to either be grown to become a dairy cow (females) or slaughtered at a few months old for veal (males) or raised as a beef cow. Those images of the happy cows in the fields by a barn are simply not the truth for most cows in the industrialized dairy industry.
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This is a tax-exempt charity???!!!!!!
Get over to PaddockPost.com and find out about so many rich, self-serving “charities”.
Sarat, so dedicated, so determined, so filled with love for all species, though you are no longer with us, your message always will be. We love you Sarat, you left too soon.
Quick! Vego is selling slightly out-of-date Vego Crisp (chocolate-covered rice crispies) for 70% off! And 50% off Vego Chocolate spread which will be out of date in a couple of weeks.
I just had to share this with you because that’s the kind of person I am so Get yours now while stocks last!
Now excuse me while I make a start on Miranda’s box of 60 Vego Crisp bars which just arrived today. Hey, don’t judge me – I’ll share my 60 bars with her when they arrive. Honest ❤
In the subsequent weeks a few more people broke the law, and each time, Brynja cast the spell to punish them. Before long the whole world knew that Brynja was as powerful as her mother and they took care not to break the law.
After six months of no one breaking the law, Brynja missed the euphoria that came with casting a spell.
“Maybe I should cast a different spell,” she wondered aloud.
“Why?” asked Bertha.
“Maybe something needs fixing. Or improving.”
Bertha shook her head. “You know what Mother used to say – you can’t improve on nature.”
“Well,” Brynja felt mischievous, “maybe I can.”
Bertha raised her eyebrows. “Mother couldn’t but you can?”
Brynja grinned. “I’ve found Mother’s spell book.”
“You have?” asked Bertha eagerly. “No, I don’t think you should use it. I don’t think she wanted us to … I mean, she never showed it to us when she was here.”
“You can’t draw any conclusions from that. Maybe she just didn’t get around to it.”
She should have known Bertha wouldn’t be onboard. Bertha liked to play it safe. Bertha had no sense of adventure. What did Bertha know? She wasn’t even a real witch. You couldn’t call yourself a witch if you were too scared to cast a spell. Brynja wasn’t scared. Brynja was powerful. Brynja could definitely improve on nature!
When Bertha went outside to pick the apples, Brynja fetched the spell book, went into her bedroom and locked the door. She sat on the floor behind her bed and began leafing through the book. It was divided into sections. Colour Spells, Garden Spells, Healing Spells, Mood Spells and Discipline Spells. She decided to start at the beginning and successfully turned her fingernails green and her Spider Plant blue. They were only little spells so they didn’t give her quite the exhilaration she was looking for, but it was a nice little buzz. Next she decided to try something more challenging – changing the colour of her eyes.
She collected the necessary ingredients: a pinch of salt, a handful of earth, a single mint leaf and, since she wanted her eyes to be gold like her mother’s, two dandelion blooms. She put them all in the granite mortar and pounded them with the pestle. Then she scooped up the mixture with wet hands and smeared it around her neck.
Brynja laughed. “Yuck. Yuck yuck yuck yuck!” She took care not to drip any of the muddy sludge on the book as she read the spell.
“I pick this colour from this bloom To be my eyes’ new bright costume. From birth was green behind my sight Now make gold while day becomes night.”
She closed her eyes and waited for the buzz, but none came. She went to the mirror and met the same green eyes she always met. In a rage of disappointment she picked up the pestle and threw it across the room, smashing the pink rose vase and spilling its contents onto the floor. Brynja let out a furious squeal and stomped into the bathroom to wash her neck.
That evening at supper, she was less than talkative.
“D’you want some more pie?” asked Bertha.
Brynja shook her head.
“All the more for me!” Bertha grinned as she cut another slice. “The apples are so good this year!”
“Mm.”
“Brynja?”
“What?”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Something’s put you in a bad mood.”
“Fine. I’m in a bad mood.” Brynja continued to push her half-eaten pie around the plate.
Bertha finished her pie and proceeded to clear the table. “Are you going to eat that?”
Brynja sighed and leaned back in her chair. “No, you can take it.” She looked grumpily at Bertha and pushed the plate towards her.
“Thank you.” Bertha paused to look at her sister.
“What?”
“Your eyes. They’re not green anymore.”
“They’re not?” Brynja was excited. “What colour are they?”
Bertha peered a little closer. “They’re pinkish … with gold around the edges. No, hang on, the gold is spreading.” Brynja tried not to blink. “The gold is nearly covering …. now they’re completely gold! Wow! Your eyes are just like Mother’s! I wonder if mine will change too!” She hurried to the bathroom to look in the mirror.
*
*
Brynja grinned. A new tingling sensation in her toes rose through her body. Through the window she noticed the red and orange sky. The sun had just set. Day was slipping into night and it reminded her of the words of the spell – while day becomes night. That’s why the colour didn’t change right away. It needed the sunset to finish the spell. The spell had worked!
Bertha came back into the room a little disappointed. “My eyes are still blue.”
Brynja smiled. “I can make them gold if you like. Or yellow or purple or any colour you want.”
“You did it? With a spell?”
“Yes,” Brynja was glowing. “Don’t look so shocked. I am a witch after all. You should try it.”
“You’re not supposed to use magic for frivolous things.”
“Then why is there a section in the book for colour spells?” Brynja was determined not to let her sister spoil it.
“I don’t know. Maybe for things that need to be changed like … erm,”
“Changing the colour of your fingernails?” She held up her hands to show her green nails. “Or maybe changing the colour of a plant?”
“The sun is out! What a beautiful day,” declared Lily, standing at the window. Florence arrived, bustling in with her shopping basket. “Hello Florence! Having a busy day?”
“A stressful one!” she replied. “The witness lied on the stand so the judge had to charge her with perjury, and she was the only one people liked so it’s cast a shadow over the whole case!”
“Maybe there’ll be a mistrial,” said Lily helpfully.
“Maybe,” said Florence, “we’ll have to wait and see.”
“The weather has turned out lovely, hasn’t it?” said Lily, looking out the window.
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” agreed Florence, slipping off her shoes.
“Hello everyone,” said Heathcliff, arriving abruptly out of nowhere. Before they could respond he continued, “My life is at an end! Cathy has left me for so-and-so next door. I’m dying of a broken heart.”
“Oh cheer up. Cathy’s a bit mad. You’re better off without her,” said Florence, biting into an apple.
“How can you say that?! She’s marvellous! I love her!” said Heathcliff.
“If she’s fallen in love with another person so quickly, then she doesn’t deserve you,” said Lily. Heathcliff took no notice of this so she continued optimistically – “Either that or she’ll fall back out of love soon enough.”
“Do you think so?” asked Heathcliff, brightening.
“Yes I do,” said Lily while Florence rolled her eyes, “Would you like to play Scrabble?”
“I’d rather play Cluedo,” said Heathcliff, “but we need at least three for that. Will you play Florence?”
“Ok, but only because you’re soppy and heartbroken,” Florence replied.
“Thanks for reminding me. But things are looking up. Cathy will return to me, you’ll see.” Heathcliff sat down at the table.
“I don’t think you’re right for each other anyway. She’s your adopted sister for crying out loud!”
“Adopted! No blood relation whatsoever!”
“It’s an infatuation. You’re attached to her as a family member. And you’re possessive of her because she’s the only one who was nice to you, other than her dad, and he’s dead. She’s not even a nice person, she’s only nice to you. She pinched Nelly!”
Lily set up the Cluedo board.
“So I should just set about falling in love with someone else then?” Heathcliff mused, pressing a finger to his lips as he looked thoughtfully towards to ceiling.
“Yes,” said Lily, winking.
“No!” cried Florence. “What is this obsession you have with romance? It’s as if you’re following a recipe and you want eight ounces of Cathy, and when you can’t get it you look for eight ounces of someone else to substitute!”
“What a strange thing to say,” said Heathcliff.
“Cathy’s not your flour,” Florence explained. “You don’t need flour at all.”
“We need bicarbonate of soda, and kale and spinach,” said Lily.
“I’m speaking metaphorically,” said Florence.
“I know, I’m sorry. I just keep forgetting to buy them.”
“Flour represents romantic partnership. Heathcliff you are following the recipe book of life which is telling you that you need a wife. But it’s an imaginary recipe book!” said Florence, pleased with her explanation.
“Right. Ok, so I should find a different life recipe? What other ingredients do I need?” asked Heathcliff, looking into Florence’s eyes and fiddling with his shoe laces at the same time.
“You already have all the things you need. In the pantry of yourself,” replied Florence, pleased with her metaphor.
“Ok, … what am I baking?” asked Heathcliff, finger on his lips again, eyes narrowed in concentration.
“Whatever you like! Do what makes you happy. Play Cluedo with Lily and me; read books; go to the beach; learn a language; go to court. I went today, it’s rather exciting. There’s a whole world out there to explore. Leave Cathy to Linton. She’s his problem now.”
“You’re right!” said Heathcliff. “Ok, great, thanks.”
“Who would you like to be?” asked Lily, pointing to the board.
“I’ll be Colonel Mustard,” said Heathcliff enthusiastically.
“Can I be Professor Plum?” asked Florence.
“Yes,” Lily nodded, “and I will be Mrs Peacock. Roll the die to see who goes first.”
Heathcliff rolled a six so he went first, although Colonel Mustard didn’t make it all the way into a room.
“If the singular of dice is die, why isn’t the singular of mice, mie?” he asked while Florence rolled a one and moved forward one, along the corridor.
“I don’t know,” said Lily. “I like the sound of mie. The mie ran up the clock; the mie sat down on the bread bin; the mie poured the tea. I like it!”
“Me too,” said Heathcliff. “The other alternative -“
“Your turn!” said Florence, passing the die to Lily.
“- is the singular of dice being ‘douse’, which is a different word altogether. Perhaps that’s why it wasn’t used in the first place.”
“But die is a whole other word in the first place,” said Lily. “Your turn.”
“Thank you,” said Heathcliff. He rolled a four and moved Colonel Mustard into the Conservatory. “Why did they call them dice anyway? I’d have called it a one-to-six, or a counting decider, or a random number generator,” he said, thoughtfully. “Colonel Mustard, in the Study, with the Candlestick.”
“You’re in the Conservatory!” Florence pointed out.
“So I am. I apologise. My mind was fixed on reinventing dice,” said Heathcliff.
Florence showed him her Candlestick card and he crossed it off his list.
***
Violet’s Miranda’s Vegan Comics – making fun and funny vegan-friendly fiction for all ages since 2012
Megan & Flos: Beginnings contains the first five episodes of Megan & Flos – it’s no longer in print but we’d love you to have your own copy in case there’s an end-of-the-world type internet-crashing emergency 😮 So here it is – our Christmas gift to you 😀
Struggling to come with ideas for great vegan Christmas gifts for kids? Look no further –
There’s plenty of colourful, funny and exciting vegan children’s books to choose from, for story-lovers, doodlers and colour-in-ers of all ages! And if you order them from our little shop they will come wrapped in cardboard, not plastic. But don’t hesitate! To prevent waste these books are printed on demand so there’s no next-day-delivery. They will take at least a week to reach you, maybe even two at this time of year 😀
Here it is – the last of the three 8-chapter editions of funny vegan-friendly short stories: Luke Walker and the Secret Society of animal stick up for-ers. You can’t get this hand-written version in print anymore so if you’d like your own copy you should download it here for free! 😀
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In Luke Walker and the Secret Society, Luke and his friends are now eleven and at secondary school. With their advancing years comes more independence so they’re able to stick up for animals in all sorts of new ways. Plus, different members of the society have different approaches, making them stronger as a team. It’s all good fun though, as always. Fancy a giggle? – enjoy some more Luke Walker adventures 😀
As mentioned yesterday, the original 8-chapter editions of the Luke Walker stories are no longer in print but we love the covers on these and the hand-written fonts inside, so we thought we’d immortalise them digitally 😀 Feel free to download your own copy!
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More Luke Walker: animal stick up for-er contains chapters 9 to 16 and now it’s getting really – well, more! An Amazon review from a reader in Canada in 2017 says “this book was more intense than the first, dealing with more dramatic, blatant, risk taking acts of animal rights activism” but I have to add (and so did she) that it’s still very funny. And remember, this activist is only 9 years old 😀
Since all 24 Luke Walker chapters were published this year in one volume – Luke Walker: animal stick up for-er – the story so far – the original 8-chapter editions are no longer in print. But it’s a shame to just cast aside the original hand-written versions so we’ve made them free to download for anyone who’d like their own copy 😀
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Luke Walker is an outspoken eight year old boy with a mind of his own. He’s noticed that life often isn’t fair for animals and that his parents’ and teachers’ justifications for this don’t make any sense. So, armed with nothing more than his own clear-sighted logic and a determination to right wrongs, he becomes a self-styled vegan outlaw who will not play by the rules if the rules mean somebody gets hurt. He knows he’s right but he also knows that, in order to do the right thing, he sometimes needs to be sneaky. Luke Walker: animal stick up for-er – the first eight chapters.
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.
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.
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.
The Two Little Pigs is a bright, fast-paced, vegan rhyming story, perfect for reading to little ones at bedtime. Beautifully and colourfully illustrated with crayons. Happy ending included.
There is also the wonderful story of Deidra – a 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.
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Violet’s Vegan Comics – creating happy, funny and exciting vegan-friendly comics and stories for all ages since 2012
Vegan-Friendly Storybook – Little Chicken Double Bill – incredible stories for kids and grown ups. Stories the way they should be. It’s Myrtle Mae’s favourite you know.
Little Chicken Double Bill: How Many Friends Could A Bibbolybob Make If A Bibbolybob Came To Earth? and What’s Good For The Goose Is Not Good For The Panda
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Violet’s Vegan Comics – creating happy, funny and exciting vegan-friendly comics and stories for all ages since 2012
Vegan Rascals Collection: A Violet’s Vegan Comics compilation edition containing all the stories so far from Megan & Flos, The English Family Anderson, and Venus Aqueous.
The only thing these intriguing, exciting and often humorous stories have in common is that their protagonists do not pretend it’s okay to imprison, enslave or kill animals, and they’re not afraid to break the rules.
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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.”
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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).
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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?
Room 4 of the Atlantis Hotel was occupied by Ms Finnian, who could not remember what she was about to do. It was raining, and she had on two pairs of trousers but her legs were still cold. She said:
“I’m wearing two pairs of trousers, why are my legs still cold?”
“Perhaps you have a circulatory problem,” came a voice from behind her.
Ms Finnian gave a little shriek, which was not unusual for her, when startled. She turned around to look at the voice, and saw a woman in a green jumper, stirring a cup of tea.
“I thought I was the only one in here,” she said apologetically, embarrassed by her shriek. “But this is my room, isn’t it? How did you get in here?” she asked. She only paused briefly, before continuing: “It is my room, isn’t it?” She looked around. “Who are you?”
The other woman calmly considered the string of questions posed to her, answering: “This is your room, and I don’t know how I got here, I’m Myrtle Fielding.” They shook hands. “And you are?”
“I’m, um, I’m…”
“Don’t you remember your name?” asked Myrtle, smiling.
“No, I do, it’s Celia Finnian,” said Ms Finnian, smiling. “I was distracted by your name, you see, I’m reading this book,” she held up a paperback, “which has a character called Myrtle Fielding in it.”
“Oh,” said Myrtle Fielding. “That’s probably where I came from then.” She sipped her tea, and sat down in a comfortable chair. “If your legs are cold, you should get under the duvet.”
“I, well, thank you,” said Celia, “You say you probably came out of my book?”
“Yes, and I must say it’s refreshing to get out and do something else for a change!” Myrtle exclaimed, beaming, and wiggling from side to side in her chair. She sipped her tea.
“I’m sure it is,” said Celia Finnian, wondering if she was asleep, or just insane.
“Do you have any plans for today?” asked Myrtle, smiling.
Celia considered the situation. If she was dreaming, then she could do what ever she liked, and if she was insane, it was probably a good idea to go out in public, where someone would notice and call an ambulance. If that’s what you do when someone is noticeably talking to a character from a book.
“I don’t have any plans,” said Celia.
“Excellent! Let’s go for a walk when we’ve finished our tea. That will be good for your circulation.”
Celia put on her hat, scarf and coat, and Myrtle borrowed Celia’s spare hat, scarf and coat, and they went out in the snow.
They walked past the florist, and the chemist, and the shoe shop. When they went past the craft shop, Myrtle was delighted by all the ornaments in the window, created by the artisans.
“Wow! Look at that tea cosy!” she exclaimed.
Celia thought it was rather nice, it was knitted to look like a fox in a waistcoat, arms spread out, as if he was excited to see you. She said,
“Yes, that’s beautiful. I’d buy it but it’s thirty pounds. That’s expensive, especially since I don’t have a teapot.”
Myrtle nodded.
“I see. Well I suppose if you -” she said, vanishing into thin air.
“Huh,” said Celia. “That was weird. I suppose that means I am insane.” she said to herself.
She decided to go back to the hotel and see if her spare hat and coat and scarf were still there. And then she remembered: “I haven’t got a spare hat, coat and scarf.”
“That’s the end of the story,” thought Edna, putting the lid back on her pen, and blinking. “I like writing short stories, because they don’t need to go anywhere, and they can end whenever I like.”
Edna brushed her teeth and put on her shoes and left the house. She said “hello” to her neighbours who were walking their dogs on the common, and they said “hello” to her too.
She arrived at work a few minutes early, which she always did on days she wasn’t a few minutes late. She was greeted by her supervisor, who told her to restock the homewares department.
Edna carefully placed the candles on the shelf, two at a time. It was a tense operation, she would be glad to finally get through them all, and move on to restocking the cushions and blankets, unbreakable items.
“It does smell nice though, doesn’t it?” a voice behind Edna said, as though reading her mind.
“Yes it does, I love the smell of the … candles,” Edna replied, as she turned around to look at the woman who was speaking. Just before she said “candles,” she recognised the woman: it was Celia!
“Celia! What are you doing here?”
“Smelling the candles,” she replied, amused by the question.
“Yes but you shouldn’t be, you’re imaginary. Now go back to -” she stopped in mid sentence. She had been planning to say “my room,” since that was where she had left her, but really, she needed to go back into Edna’s imagination. And how would you go about something like that?
“Ooo, this one smells gorgeous, how do they get them to smell so nice?” cried Celia.
“Sh, someone might hear you,” whispered Edna.
“Are you ashamed of me?” asked Celia, raising her eyebrows. “Do you suppose that you really are insane, since I’m here after all?” she asked, sniffing a candy-floss scented candle.
“No, I don’t. I’m not. You are an anomoly, and I don’t know, but I’m not insane.”
“Neither am I. I don’t like being written off like that, just “the end.””
“It’s just the end of the story, it’s not the end of you.”
“Well, obviously,” said Celia, pointing to herself.
“And you’re not insane in the story either, that’s just a verbal way of saying that you’re shrugging that whole incident off.”
“When we get home, can we watch Columbo?” asked Celia.
“You’re staying with me?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you stay at your hotel?” said Edna.
“The Atlantis? I assumed you made it up.”
“No,” said Edna, “It’s a real hotel, I could take you to it.”
Celia picked up a pumpkin spice candle and breathed in the fragrance with her eyes closed.
“No,” she replied dreamily. “I want to say with you.”
Edna wondered if the real Atlantis hotel would have a reservation for Celia. Was her imagination coming true? That was the only explanation. Unless of course, she was some sort of psychic. Though that wouldn’t explain Celia’s visiting her like this. Unless Celia was psychic too, and they were connected through a spiritual realm, connected yet discombobulated.
She watched Celia, dreamily enjoying the candles. She supposed it wouldn’t do any harm if she came to stay, really. Something crashed behind Edna, and she jumped and turned around to see Myrtle cringing apologetically, next to smashed ceramics.
“Sorry,” she said, “I just like breaking things.”
“You mean that wasn’t an accident?” asked Edna.
Myrtle took a deep breath in through her nose, before saying:
“No, … I did it on purpose,” she gazed calmly at the shards of vases on the floor.
Edna went to get a dustpan and brush. While she walked she considered what was happening. Celia was smelling the candles, which was something Edna loved to do, and Myrtle had broken all the pottery, which was something Edna daydreamed about doing, sometimes, as she walked down the aisles, it seemed like such a satisfying prospect, to just lean down and sweep everything off the shelf onto the floor.
“So you think we’re manifestations of your impulses,” concluded Celia thoughtfully.
“Oh my gosh!” shrieked Edna, who had no idea Celia was right beside her. It was unsettling to discover that Celia could really read her thoughts.
“Unless,” said Celia, “it is just a coincidence.”
“Exactly,” said Edna, who was preoccupied with the confusion of her imagination, at the same time as worrying that she would get the blame for the smashed items. She didn’t break anything, but she was nearby when it happened, and the real assailant was a figment of her imagination. She closed her eyes and rubbed her face with her hands. She wondered if anyone else could see Celia and Myrtle. If they could, then it was just a customer, and the customer was always right. So that was fine. If not, then it would have to be put down to a faulty shelf, just tipping its contents away.
Luckily Edna did not get blamed for anything, nobody else seemed to notice anything Celia and Myrtle did. Nobody talked to them, and they talked to no one but each other and Edna. They squabbled and giggled and played in the shop, and only broke a few more things, while Edna got on with her work. She began to relax and enjoy their company after a while.
On the way home from work they walked up the street single file, following Edna like ducklings. Edna silently pondered the reason for Celia and Myrtle’s arrival, eventually she developed a theory that perhaps they were here simply because they were unhappy with the way she finished their story, and if she wrote them another ending, they would go away in peace.
When they arrived at the flat, Celia and Myrtle made some tea, put the television on and watched Columbo, which made it easy for Edna to quietly get on with rewriting the story. She wrote that Celia visited all the shops in town, bought tangerines, grapes and bananas, and began to miss Myrtle very much. She wrote that when Celia arrived back at her hotel room, she found Myrtle there, in the comfortable chair, watching Columbo. “There you are,” they said to one another cheerfully. Celia sat down in the chair next to Myrtle’s. “Would you like a banana?” she asked.
“Perfect,” whispered Edna. “The end.”
She looked around and saw that Celia and Myrtle were gone from the living room, the television playing for empty seats.
“It worked!” she exclaimed. “They’re gone!”
She felt very pleased with the success of her plan, if a little bit sad not to have had time to say goodbye. They really were good company, she was going to miss them. She brushed her teeth, and went into her room to find Celia and Myrtle asleep in her bed.
“Would you like a banana?” Celia murmured in her sleep.
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.”
When Crustacean Compassion began back in 2016, it was with an aim to protect these fragile animals from pain and suffering. They began their campaign to get them included in the animal welfare legislation, and since then over 65,000 AMAZING supporters have joined them and signed their petition calling on the UK government to include decapod crustaceans in the Animal Welfare Act 2006 (England and Wales).
Will a new government mean new protections?
The last UK government legally recognised that decapods could feel pain, and historically included them in the Animal Welfare (Sentience) Act 2022 but… that is where they stopped. So Crustacean Compassion are calling on you again, to tell the new Labour government to act now and protect decapods. With this new government we have an excellent chance of getting decapods the protection they deserve, but we need your help.
Violet's Vegan Comics 