By Lundy Langer
June 27 2012

Tuesday    -   in which Blunt  gets a new perspective  - Goodbody goes on line    - and  the killer strikes again. 

From the author

So where are we up to  ?    the plot if there is still a plot meanders  madly  and   one begins to wonder who dunnit. Your author is undecided  and uncertain of the way forward. The biggest difficulty with this project is how to develop  characters  and yet at the same time  keep the pace of the plot going. 

So your author thought we might sum up what we have in terms of suspects or characters who might become suspects. In the argot of the American crime series that bore me to death when  family watch them – who is  a  potential “ UNSUB “   or Perp  . Who would you like to see in the frame.  Some possibilities  ??

Ivan Spinks   -  the successful and ambitious business man is always good  for  this sort of thing.  Does he have a grudge ? 

Rathbone  the orthopaedic consultant  - knows how to cut bodies   and apparently has a secret.

Gordon March   the pedantic Leicester  boatman   -  clearly  not telling the truth about himself when he complained about Sgt Malcolm.

Meanwhile thanks to Rich Lindley for giving me an idea  - I have watched Game of thrones and read all of the books  in the “ Songs of Ice and Fire  saga.”   So more in a sort of “  Moans  of Mud and  Mayhem “ way some characters may  just cease to be.

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Harold Blunt sat at his desk  in his own office  with sergeant Malcolm  standing to one side  as he   fed  a DVD  into his computer. 

“Now then  Sgt Malcolm we are apparently about to see something of interest  what has been forwarded to me by a friend of ours .”

“May I ask who Sir “ enquired  Malcolm as they waited for the Disc to play. 

“Well I suppose you will work it out “ replied Blunt  “  It’s Mr Ivan Spinks what has sent this to me  and I can assure  you that he  is as we say on the level.”

One of Blunts most amusing habit – well amusing to his colleagues at least  - was his habit of peppering his speech  with Masonic references such as  “Let me square with you “ – and  “On the Level. “He , Blunt,  was convinced that  Free Masonry was the   benign backbone of the police service  and  that  it was good to give the impression that one was so connected.  In fact he wasn’t  and had never even  been approached to join that organisation. . His one and only meeting with the Chief Constable  had ended in embarrassment as the Chief hastily withdrew his hand from Blunts as a formally courteous handshake was turned by Blunts persistent  caressing of his superiors  thumb joint into  a bit of a farce.

“Here we go then  “ -and the screen  started to show a copy of the CCTV tape previously viewed by Spinks and his manager Ronnie.

Neither Blunt nor Malcolm spoke again until   they both simultaneously said  “ Stop there “ and rewound  to watch the telling shots of Joe Falattu   talking to the tall be -suited stranger and getting into a car with him. 

“Now then  “ said Blunt “ That’s  most interesting   - right let’s get this to the techies and see what they can come with -  car number plates etc. would be very helpful.”

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In another office at Midhampton Police HQ  that   afternoon   Goodbody also sat at a PC .  She had had to beg and perhaps flirt a little  to persuade the  usual incumbent to let her borrow  the room   but now she was there  - logging on as Bert Haddon had suggested to Com on you Angels .com.

Some two hours later  she had got the feel of it –and was beginning to see some patterns emerging .  It was a message board devoted   to news and discussion about the Angels and rugby in general. Some characters were evident – regular posters  many using  nomes des plumes -  whose individual styles and even prejudices were  clearly  evident. Some were witty and quite funny.  Nobody liked Leicester tigers  but that paled into insignificance compared to the scorn and sarcasm reserved for  Saracens.   She also noted  a pronounced English bias where international rugby was concerned and a general dislike of all things Welsh .  However the most venom seemed to be generated and responded to in kind by a poster who  went under the name of   “The Green Fairy “  His postings were  always making comparisons between the state of English rugby with that in Ireland.  It was also clear that he regularly watched the Angels   but to the annoyance of the  other regular posters  failed to offer in his postings unequivocal support for the local heroes.

His most persistent antagonist  - the poster who it seemed could be almost guaranteed to  respond  critically and sometimes abusively to the Green Fairies efforts  was someone who went by the name of  “Moseley “. What was also interesting was that  this particular poster did not seem to post on anything else – just posting  in response to the Green Fairy.

Clare also noticed one other rather interesting and regular contributor  -  a poster who regularly commented vociferously  on the number of foreigners or overseas players  in the Angels team and squad. This one  used the name  of    “Longshanks “

“I need to know who some of these people actually are “  thought Clare . She didn’t know why she thought that for a certainty but felt that   there might be something more to it than just  message board antics and mayhem.   At the back of her mind was the thought  that some of the  names used coupled with the trend of the postings   did suggest  some persons with strong prejudices.

The editor of the site  was apparently one  Illtyd  Williams  and Clare decided that she needed to have a talk with Mr Williams about  ISP  addresses etc.

 Later that evening  a  smart black  Mercedes  coupe’  pulled into the car park  behind the Midhampton  Marina Hotel.  Celia Weedon - Smythe had arrived.  In fact she had arrived in more ways than one . A successful barrister  expected to make it to “silk “status in the near future , Celia was about to attend  her first meeting as a newly appointed member of the board of  Midhampton Angels . She would be the only woman  and also despite her  rather  upper class name  would also be the only person of mixed race  to join that body. 

Celia  was slim and attractive with long black hair and  had one of those very beautiful faces that seem to be almost indigenous amongst some Asian women.  As she was wont to say   I got my silly name from my father and my looks and my brains from my mother.

Celia had made her name and reputation  in the fields of employment law and discrimination cases.  She had been invited to join the board of then Angels after her success just over a year ago   in a high profile  race discrimination case involving   a young teacher of Pakistani origin and  The Midhampton Collegiate School .  The Angels wanted to have an  in house legal professional  on board  who would be capable of dealing with the often incomprehensible and random disciplinary procedures of the RFU. 

Celia, however ,    never made it to the hotel entrance.  As she turned  the corner from the car park  and walked along the  shrub lined pathway and just as she got to the point where a small copse of ornamental birch trees stood she  thought she heard someone behind her . She looked around   and  saw a figure   dressed in a black   “bomber jacket “black trousers and with a  black balaclava pulled down over their  face emerge from the trees. 

The  sudden intruder was less than a few feet away from Celia and   was pointing  something   at her.  She recognised what it was as the figure raised the  object  so that it was level with her head .Celia started to try to speak -  but  a  sharp  pop rather than a bang   coincided with her world going black  as she fell  backwards  to the ground. 

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Harold Blunt was alone in his office  and the clock his desk said   7.30 pm.  Everyone else had gone home or was out somewhere.  He , Blunt , was staring hard at the  white board chart on the wall  trying to make sense of the names and arrows .   So far there wasn’t much  -  The victim’s name was in the centre  with connecting arrows to   places   rather than people  who might be linked as suspects.  He noticed that someone had added in a name since he last looked  - that of Gordon March ?    “ Who the hell is he ? “  thought Blunt then he recognised Sgt Malcolm’s hand  writing and determined to ask his sergeant what he meant by putting stuff on the chart without asking first.

So far all they had was that the murder weapon was a .22 pistol  very probably  the sort used in competition shooting according to the firearms boys. “Were there still shooting clubs “he mused . “and started to do a search on his PC when the phone rang.  

“Blunt  “ - he spoke into the phone 

“Sir  it’s me Malcolm – there’s been another one  - a woman lawyer – Asian apparently –   shot dead at the  Marina hotel – Uniforms are at the scene I’m on my way there now. “

Blunt started to sweat  - he put the phone down  - fumbling to replace the hand set properly. He stood up  and felt very hot  .

“A woman lawyer  ?  No it couldn’t be   - not her “

And then  things went out of focus and he slid for all his bulk gracefully to the floor where he lay staring  at the ceiling .  Spittle leaked from his lips which moved  as he whispered to himself   “No not Celia – not  my Celia.