THE MITRE MURDER MYSTERY (PARTS 1,2,3,AND 4)
PART 1 (TEDS DEAD)
It was a little after midday and
the smell of stale piss pervaded the atmosphere of the dingy downstairs room.
Old “Pa Bumfold” crossed his legs but failed to stop the emission flowing from
his fetid soiled undergarments.
Placing both hands on the filthy
armchair he levered himself to his feet and shuffled towards the kitchen back
door and the sanctuary of the brick outhouse, unfortunately situated in the
back yard of the Victorian terraced property.
After a ten minute session in
the putrid latrine and doing the paperwork with an old copy of the Radio Times,
Pa Bumfold shuffled back in to the kitchen, where he was immediately set upon
by his deranged octogenarian wife Gloria, a failed gymnast and part time
exhibitionist from Kilburn. She managed to wrap here spindly legs around his
neck by leaping from the kitchen table and slowly began to squeeze the life out
of her befuddled husband.
A loud knock at the front door
interrupted the comic grappling in the kitchen, and both made their way to the
hallway and front door, where the unmistakable shadow of a policeman was viewed
through the tinted glass panel in the door.
Old Pa Bumfold, whose face was
still puce from the near strangling his wife had administered, turned the latch
and opened the door, fully expecting the old bill to nick him for his
ungentlemanly conduct in the Mitre public house the previous night, when he had
farted in the face of the opposing darts teams captain.
However, after removing his
helmet, the constable explained that during recent excavations so as to
facilitate the building of a new sports centre at Vale Farm, on the site of the
existing open air swimming pool, they had unearthed a skeleton of a deformed
dwarf like creature with missing teeth, broken wire rimmed spectacles, a curved
spine and a silver bracelet on his lower arm depicting the name “Ted”.
Furthermore, due to the boggy
nature of the soil, part of the creature’s skin had been preserved and upon it
was a child like tattoo describing the name “Ted” in blue ink. However, the PC
also stated that unusually for such cases, the skull was missing and was
presumed to have been disturbed by animals but would no doubt be found in due
course.
Old PA Bumfold and Gloria
shuddered at this news as both glanced at the skull like feature on the
sideboard across the other side of the lounge. The constable went on to explain
that he was calling on all the properties in the vicinity of the adjacent Mitre
pub, to ask if they had any knowledge of a missing person named Edward or Ted.
Sobering up fast, both the geriatric Bumfold's stated that they knew of no
missing people named Ted, Edward or any other name.
The PC made a quick scribble in
his notebook and made his exit. Pa Bumfold pulled a tin of old holborn from his
pocket and started to role a cigarette and was soon coughing and blowing his
way across the room towards the cranium shaped feature placed on the middle
shelf of the dilapidated sideboard. Holding the skull like ornament in both
hands he briefly smiled before placing the objet d'art back on to its plinth.
Old Pa Bumfold scratched his head
and without saying a word opened the front door and ambled towards the bus stop
where after exchanging a few words with a gangling youth climbed aboard the
bus, drawing hard on his roll up and blowing filthy smoke at the peroxide
clippy as she gave him his ticket.
PART 2 (THE CRIMSON WIENER)
SUDBURY TOWN
Straining to breathe the cold
air, Old Pa Bumfold walked the few yards from the bus stop and entered the
smoke filled drinking den known as “The Lodge”.
He scanned the room looking for
the unmistakable figure of Doctor Doyle and soon located him seated in his
specially strengthened chair at the bar. With trepidation, he slowly approached
the corpulent red faced doctor, his befuddled mind desperately trying to filter
reality from the untrue.
He reached out his emaciated
hand towards Dr Doyle but the shinny faced doctor refused to acknowledge his
gesture.
The Doctor shuffled on his bar
stool and turned slightly towards the foul smelling creature shuffling beside
him. "Hi Pa” he retorted distastefully, in a low husky voice which was
still recovering from his recent experience escaping from the clutches of his
arch enemy, KarlHeinz-Brunner, in war torn Europe.
Seated to his left was his long
time associated “Pope Pat” a retarded former priest and reformed alcoholic, but
prone to long lapses of abstinence that lead to him being incredibly unstable
and dangerous company to be with. However, he was a lifelong friend of
the Doctor and they had completed many dangerous operations in occupied Europe
over the last few years.
Indeed, Pope Pat had recently
saved the lives of Doctor Doyle and his South African accomplice, Ivan
Terrablanche, enabling the Doctor to complete a dangerous mission to obtain the
Munich Horn.
------------------------
BAVARIA -
(The recovery of the Munich Horn from Germany)
The light was fading fast as Doctor Doyle
and Terrablanche drove over the river Isar and headed for the sanctuary of a
safe house on the outskirts of Friedrichshafen. There they were to board a
small fishing boat, row across lake Constance (Bodensee) to enter neutral
Switzerland, and eventually fly back to the UK with the recently recovered
Munich Horn.
However, as they approached the small farmhouse on the banks of Lake Constance
they encountered Karl Heinz-Brunner. He was driving a large battered Mercedes which
attempted to crash in to the pair as they attempted to board the fishing boat with
the treasured Munich Horn.
In the fading light it was
difficult to precisely locate the duo as they ran towards the dark waters of
the Bodensee, but just as the battered Mercedes driven by Brunner crashed in to
the overweight and wheezing Doctor, a huge bulldozer driven by Pope Pat,
thundered in to action and utilising its huge metal blade blocked the speeding
car, stopping it in its tracks and smashing it to smithereens.
The collision enabled the Doctor
and Terrablanche to safely reach their vessel and escape to the sanctuary of
the Swiss border, and subsequently fly back to England. On arrival at Croydon
airport they were debriefed by the Ministry of War and handed over the fabled
Munich Horn so as to be safely stored by the military authorities.
After the successful mission to
retrieve the Munich Horn, Doctor Doyle, having said farewell to Ivan
Terrablanche, had lapsed in to his usual routine of overeating, over sleeping,
frequenting seedy whorehouses and drinking copious amounts of alcohol in one or
the other of his favourite drinking dens, the Mitre or the Lodge.
----------------
SUDBURY
At the Lodge, Pa Bumfold whispered
in to Doctor Doyle’s ear and stood back for a response. The Doctor picked at
his yellowing teeth with a cocktail stick and reaching in to his trouser pocket
for a stained handkerchief, blew his nose and cleared his tortured airways.
“So you have murdered Ted”
rasped the little chubby legged double agent.
Old Pa Bumfold recoiled in
terror as he envisaged the clientele of the bar overhearing the conversation.
However, as usual in the Lodge, nobody battered an eyelid or bothered to inquire
as to the content of their sordid discussion. Even Pope Pat continued to read
his yellowing copy of picture post, sipping from his huge glass of red wine,
whilst engaged in small talk with the host of the establishment, Frau
Grunewald.
Doyle, now grinning like a
Cheshire cat, continued, “who else knows of this delicate matter?”, to which Pa
responded “only the misses and you, your eminence.... , although the wife is as
pissed as Pope Pat so will not remember anything, so it’s just you and me!”
“However...”, stuttered the
geriatric piss stained octogenarian, “the old bill were making enquiries
earlier today, but I don’t think the Rozzer got wind that the skull on the
shelf was the deformed dwarf like creature known as Ted!”
Doctor Doyle stretched his diminutive
legs towards the floor and almost stumbled from his stool. Regaining his sense
of gravity he slid from the reinforced steel seat and stood before old Pa
Bumfold.
The Doctor fumbled with his
attire until he recovered a small red address book. The book was tattered and
covered with a selection of body fluids and beer. Reaching for the wire
spectacles hanging from the chain around his thick neck, he placed them upon
his broad nose and pinched them in to a secure position on the ridge of the
ruddy protuberance. Scanning the pages he quickly folded back a page and stared
directly at old pa Bumfold.
“The Crimson Wiener” where is it
Pa? If you lead me to the location of the Wiener I can arrange for your
involvement in the unfortunate murder of barman Ted to be extinguished and the
blame placed at the feet of your enemies. Perhaps one of the Artimarti
clan can take the can, or maybe the Taylors, or Redheads?
Anything can be arranged
provided I have access to the “Crimson Wiener” Pa, anything you wish!
Pa Bumfold looked at his soiled
boots and shuffled uneasily from side to side. “That was a long time ago
governor, and I don’t think I can locate the Crimson Wiener without upsetting a
lot of the local villains who would kill to get their hands on the Crimson
Wiener”. Doctor Doyle grabbed the wizened shoulders of Pa Bumfold and shook him
until Pa pissed his pants leaving a putrid yellow stain on his pantaloons and a
puddle on the dirty floor.
Grabbing a bar cloth from the
bar and wiping the excess urine from his legs, Pa Bumfold explained that he
would make enquiries towards getting the Wiener, and would start with visiting
his younger former partner in crime “Big Mac”, who was involved with the earlier
discovery of the artifact some twenty years earlier, and was implicated in its
subsequent disappearance, and the legend that has grown about its powers.
Although not established by
science, the Crimson Wiener” was believed to have aphrodisiac powers and when
immersed in a pint of cinnamon infused cider, and drunk in full without taking
a breath, would induce sexual arousal greater than that attributed to
Eros and his arrows, honey, oysters and/ or a night in the bed of Frau
Grunewald.
Pa Bumfold trudged towards the
Lodges door and slipped away with his mind full of terror and trepidation. A
bus glided to a halt at the stop and after pulling himself on to the lower
deck, and swearing at the clippie, Bumfold was soon heading towards the Swan
and a meeting with “Big Mac”.
PART 3 (BIG MAC)
Old Pa Bumfold pushed the door of the Swan open and surveyed the crowded bar.
His red eyes darted about the smoke filled premises as he searched for the
familiar bulk of Big Mac.
Big Mac had been an associate of Bumfold's for many years, and having first
met him in Wormwood Scrubs whilst doing a five year stretch for bigamy and
possession of forged petrol coupons, had become a firm friend.
Big Mac had been serving three years for G.B.H and took a shine to the much
older Bumfold, due to his ability to make him laugh when they shared a cell. In
particular, Big Mac was particularly amused the way he described the mad antics
of his debauched alcoholic wife back at the Mitre, and the way she would back
flip her way across the bar floor wearing no underwear and smoking a roll-up.
Pa Bumfold moved towards the lonely figure of Big Mac who was seated at the
end of the bar, quietly watching the radio as it played family favourites. He
gingerly placed his withered hand on the monstrous shoulder of his compatriot
and pulled up a stool beside him. Big Mac slowly twisted in his seat and
acknowledged Bumfold by raising his hand and pointing towards the barman. After
buying Big Mac a pint, they began discussing the weather and the lack of snow
for the time of year.
However, Big Mac soon tired of this chit chat and moving forward to within
an inch of Bumfold's face retorted "Dr Doyle has been in touch. I
know you need the Crimson Wiener. But you can forget it.....I'm not getting
involved!".
PART 4 (SWANSONG)
Big Mac and Old Pa Bumfold sat silent for twenty minutes until a mighty bout
of flatulence forced Bumfold from his stool. Struggling to slide from his lofty
perch, he groped for the brass foot rail with his flaying feet, whilst
steadying himself with his left hand on the Bar. Just as he obtained sufficient
balance to stand aside from the bar, he felt a hard blow to his arthritic
shoulder, and turned towards the significant bulk and large red face of Dr
Doyle.
Dr Doyle smiled at Pa Bumfold as the geriatric near cripple, broke wind, and
inadvertently followed through. Dr Doyle turned his grinning face to Big Mac
who had quickly averted his attention from the wireless, and was gesticulating
as if to shake the Doctors hand.
Big Mac was as surprised as Bumfold to see the Doctor, as he had spoken to
him on the phone only hours ago. However, he managed to maintain control of his
sphincter and nonchalantly offered the wheezing Doctor Doyle a drink.
The Doctor accepted Big Macs offer of a drink, but refused a handshake,
purposely placing both hands in his trouser pockets. After taking a glug
from his large Bacardi and Coke, Dr Doyle stood between the trembling Pa
Bumfold and the seated Big Mac and pulled a package from his war surplus
overcoat pocket. The package consisted of a scarlet handkerchief that had been
tied with cord so as to secure old black and white photographs, which on
inspection were taken in the Mitre public house.
However, on closer scrutiny,
it was apparent that two of the photos were of a far more revealing nature and
contained images of Ted the barman laying prone on the bar floor with both Old
Pa Bumfold and Big Mac standing over the lifeless body. Both had implements in
their hands, possibly a screwdriver and a spanner, and the darkened street
viewed through the windows, together with the pub clock in the background,
revealed that the time was 1.16 am.
Dr Doyle shuffled the photographs in his hands, and mentioned in an
aggressive but positive manner, that he had copies and that they would find
their way to Inspector Crapper at the Wembley Police station, if anything
happened to him. Removing his wire spectacles from his blotched red face, and
placing them in his inside coat pocket, the Doctor turned to Big Mac and
explained that unless he helps recover the Crimson Wiener, there will be no
alternative for him other than to hand the photographic evidence to the
police, together with further information indicating where the skull of the
murdered Barman could be recovered.
Turning to Pa Bumfold, Dr Doyle whispered “when you came to me earlier, did
you really think I didn’t know you were involved with the murder of Ted. I have
known since the day after you handed these photographs to your wife for safe
keeping. She showed them to be in the Mitre, boasting that she had taken them,
and for a few drinks she handed them to be together with the negatives. ”
The telephone behind the bar started to ring rhythmically and startled Big
Mac and Pa Bumfold from their panic induced silence. The governor of the Swan
lifted the receiver and stood back as the ranting of a hormone deficient
mountain goat bawled down the line. Regaining his composure the publican scanned
the bar and shouted to all and sundry as to whether a Mr Bumfold was in the
house.
Knowing it could only be his wife, Bumfold gesticulated that he wasn’t there
and that was sorry for the interruption. The relevant information was relayed
to his deranged octogenarian wife Gloria, who slammed the phone back on to its
base almost breaking the Bakelite casing.
Dr Doyle grabbed Big Mac by the shoulder and pulled Pa Bumfold towards his
screwed up face and whispered that unless he hears from both of them by the
morning regarding the whereabouts of the Crimson Wiener, they would both be
receiving a knock from the old bill and be taking a short walk to the hangman’s
noose shortly afterwards. So as to exaggerate his claim, he pulled a flat black
cap from his pocket and placed it on his head, before turning his back on his
trembling counterparts and swiftly exiting the Swan.
Big Mac and Bumfold sat with empty glasses for a few minutes until they
noticed a commotion coming from the direction of the Bar Billiards table. As
Big Mac ordered two further drinks, Old Pa Bumfold recognised that the fracas
was centred on “Pope Pat” a retarded and defrocked former priest from Achill,
an island located off the coast of County Mayo in West Ireland.
Pope Pat was
supposedly a reformed alcoholic, but was prone to prolonged lapses of
abstinence, and during these periods was extremely unstable and dangerous
company. He was known to be an associate of Dr Doyle, and had actually
previously operated on missions all over Europe with Big Mac and his
accomplices.
These operations had included undercover missions to Dublin, Paris, Rome,
Amsterdam, Brussels, Munich and other European destinations, together with
active duty in Edinburgh, Cardiff, Bath and the Isle of White. After
a few minutes the Bar Billiard table was surrounded by drunken travellers and
navies, shaking hands and hugging each other. Walking away from this melee was
Pope Pat who made a direct approach to where Big Mac and Pa Bumfold were
seated.
“How’s the crack, you whores” retorted the inebriate ex priest who pulling a
wad of five pound notes from his britches offered all and sundry a drink.
To be continued.....
Before long the weak willed women decided that it was time for bed and retreated to their apartments for sleep and a cup of tea. Big Jack, acting as Don Pats number two, accompanied the ladies to the entrance portal and after entering the appropriate digital code the external doors to the complex opened allowing the woman to enter. Having checked that they were within the sealed complex, Big Jack returned to the awaiting brethren.
