Colin Knowles was lying on a beach in the Caribbean. He was drinking a mojito and soaking up the rays of the sun, while secretly admiring some of the local females. Slowly the eloquent cawing of the parrots in the trees turned into the ringing of his phone and intruded into his dream. Knowles tried to find the device without opening his eyes, but only succeeded in knocking his mint tea on to the floor. Eventually he located the phone and drew it slowly to his left ear.
“’Allo, who is this? It had better be good.”
Sergeant Rod Barnes gave Knowles a very good and brief reason why Knowles should come back from his reveries in the Caribbean to the realities of Manton Rempville Hall.
“When was this reported, Barnesy?” asked Knowles, checking the floor to see whether his tea had stained the carpet.
“Around 7:15a.m. by Fairfax,” replied Barnes.
“And everyone else will know because of the ambulance sirens, I suppose,” said Knowles, soaking up the excess tea with his bedside tissues.
“Yes, it was the first thing that Bunny Johnson mentioned to me – I am not convinced she is completely in touch with reality; sirens only after midday, what a ludicrous idea.”
“What was the weapon that was used by the way; it wasn’t the missing dagger, was it?”
“Kitchen knife, sir, straight out of the drawer.”
“Someone is taking the mickey out of us, Sergeant Barnes, unless this is the thief’s work and not the first murderer’s work.”
“That’s getting very complicated, Inspector, having one killer is bad enough, but the thought there’s competing murderers here is mind-boggling.”
“Indeed it is, Sergeant – I will be over in thirty minutes. Keep everyone happy until I arrive.”
“I will do my best, sir, I will do my best.”