Next to Albert, the crime scene chaps were getting ready to extricate poor Mr Pumphrey but discussing whether they ought to take the whole thing to the lab so they could preserve all the evidence. Albert wondered where the cat was, and hoped he wasn’t to be found in the mixer too.
Rex had no such concerns and would happily discover the cat had been turned into a Yorkshire pudding.
With external stitches holding the wound shut, Gary came to join his father and got close enough to peer into the mixer. ‘Terrible way to go,’ he commented.
Albert heard his son but didn’t reply. He was thinking. What he was thinking was whether the crime scene chaps would reveal a head injury on Mr Pumphrey. He walked across to the bakers, tagging onto the end away from where the detectives were talking to Beefy. The baker he came to first bore the name ‘Dave 1’ on his white jacket. It made Albert squint at the others where his eyes immediately found ‘Dave 3’. He remembered then that there were to be three Daves on the midnight to breakfast shift. They hadn’t taken themselves home yet, but would there even be a shift now? How much more of the ingredients had they lost in the batch containing Mr Pumphrey. That wasn’t what he came over to ask though.
‘Dave,’ Albert said quietly to get the man’s attention. When he turned his head, Albert asked, ‘Where was everyone when Mr Pumphrey went into the mixer?’ Dave gave him a blank, confused look in return. ‘I assume you weren’t watching.’
Dave’s expression shifted to one of horror. ‘God, no! What a thing to ask.’
‘So where was everyone? You are here mixing up the batter to go into the machine, but somehow Mr Pumphrey ends up in mixer number one.’
‘That’s mixer number four, actually,’ Dave pedantically corrected.
Albert ignored him. ‘What I mean is - Mr Pumphrey went into the machine, but how is it that no one saw it?’ Dave shrugged, so Albert persisted. ‘Did you hear a scream?’
‘A scream?’ Dave repeated.
‘Yes. Someone must have found Mr Pumphrey. Did they scream?’ A hand grabbing his elbow turned out to be Gary.
‘Dad, the local police can do this. There’s no need for you to be involved. You know how much the police dislike it when the public interfere.’
Albert fought the wrinkle appearing on his brow. ‘But I am not interfering, son. I’m wondering where everyone else was when Mr Pumphrey went into the mixer.’
‘That sounds just like interfering to me, Dad. There are two detectives here. They seem perfectly capable. You were telling me how tired you were earlier. How about we call it a night? I’ll make sure the local police have our contact details and know where to find us.’ Gary was doing his best to be gently persuasive but with an unmistakable subtext that he would get more insistent shortly.
While the humans argued, Rex continued to sniff the air. He wanted to explore what he could smell. It was the faint, but also distinctive scent of the moped he chased earlier. You might think all automobiles smell the same, but not to a trained nose. It was a less exact science than tracking humans, but he could generally discern one vehicle from another and though he didn’t know it, he was picking out each vehicle’s unique blend of disgusting hydrocarbons. Tiny variations in the quantities of oil, water vapour, and the type, or even brand, of fuel used, made a difference.
‘What about the ingredients?’ argued Albert. ‘Is there enough left to make the pudding now they have lost even more?’ He switched tactic on Gary, making his enquiries about the pudding and not the apparent murder.
Gary flapped an arm into the air in a motion of exasperation. His father was such a determined old codger when he wanted to be. He was in half a mind to abandon the old fool to his daft private sleuthing so he could head to a pub and then get to bed. If they were now short on ingredients, would they abandon the attempt or was his father about to stump up more money? Could it even go ahead now that they had a probable murder at the venue?
Picking up Albert’s question, Dave 1 answered, ‘I think it is just the one batch we lost. We need one thousand of them to have enough for the record attempt. I know Beefy ordered some extra as a contingency.’
Gary had been briefly hoping the record attempt wouldn’t be able to proceed and he would get his day back. That hope, too, was rudely snatched away.
‘At least, I think so,’ said Dave 1.
Albert slapped a hand on Dave 1’s shoulder. ‘Maybe we should go and check,’ he suggested.
Dave 1 looked a little startled, but said, ‘Oh, err, yeah, maybe someone should. We keep losing time, and it looks like we are going to lose mixer four. I don’t think we would use it even if they did take Mr Pumphrey out and leave it behind.’
They clearly were not going to do that because the crime scene guys were already walking it toward the door, employing a couple of spare uniformed cops to help keep it steady.
As Dave 1 and Albert started to move, heading for the storeroom outside, one of the officers keeping the bakers in
