confident.’
‘No,’ I said to my mother. Then, ‘No!’ and then, ‘NO!’
‘Not so loud, dear,’ said my mum, ‘you’ll have your parsnips going on the turn.’
‘Where is Andy now?’ I asked, suddenly having no care for parsnips.
‘He’s gone to the crime scene, of course. On the allotments, apparently. He said that any private eye worthy of the name would always check the crime scene first. Criminals always leave clues, no matter how small. They just do.’ And then my mother got that vacant look on her face that she always did when she was having one of her prophetic visions.
And I pushed my lunch plate aside and departed.
Hearing only the words ‘CSI Miami’ issuing from my mother’s lips. And the name ‘Horatio Caine’.
With no trench coat or fedora I was hardly going to look the part on my first day on the job. I did have my duffle coat, and as it was still snowing out, I donned this, did up the toggles and raised the special hood.
Which made me look like a British seaman serving on a wartime submarine. Which was not the look I was hoping for at all.
And as it was very nippy, I wore my mittens, too – the Fair Isle ones that my mother had knitted. And even though I was now totally impervious to the cold in my upper-body regions, this did nothing at all to raise my spirits as I trudged my way to the allotments.
And by the time I reached them, there was a definite blizzard going and I was forced to squint through this and tread very warily, too. And when I reached the doorway of The Divine Trinity I suddenly found myself face to face with my brother.
‘Andy,’ I said.
And, ‘Kenneth More,’ he said to me.
‘I’m not Kenneth More,’ I said. ‘I’m your brother, Tyler.’
‘So,’ said my brother, ‘I suspected something of the kind.’
He looked rather well, did my brother. Very fit. In looks he looked much like myself, although I was a tiny bit taller. He had the better physique, though, always did have. Lithe, it was, lean, pared down. And he kept himself fit. Did aerobics, even before they’d been invented. And he was a vegetarian. When he wasn’t being a carnivorous animal. And he always looked good in whatever he wore. He looked just great in that trench coat.
‘I like the hat,’ I said to him. ‘That is a snap-brimmed fedora.’
‘It was Dad’s, apparently.’
‘Hmmm,’ I said. ‘So how are you doing? Mum said you were up to some private-eyeing. How’s it going – have you had any luck with anything?’
‘What’s it to you?’ Andy asked.
‘Nothing,’ I said and I shrugged. And snow fell from my shoulders.
‘You’re tainting the crime scene,’ said Andy. ‘Bog off, will you.’
‘I just wanted to help,’ I said. ‘I could be your sidekick, if you wanted.’
‘My comedy sidekick?’
‘If you wanted.’
Andy made that face that gives the impression to those who see it that the owner of such a face must be giving matters some really serious consideration.
‘No,’ said Andy. ‘Bog off.’
‘I’ll pay you,’ I said, ‘to let me help. I’d like the training, in case one day I fancy becoming a private eye myself. You can never have too many strings to your bow, I say.’
‘Oh, do you now?’ said Andy. ‘Well, bog off all the same.’
‘Please,’ I said. ‘You’ve always been my hero.’
‘Really?’
‘Positively.’ And I crossed my heart and hoped very much not to die.
‘Well, all right,’ said Andy. ‘If you pay me. I’m not getting paid for this job because no one has employed me. I only know about it because I overheard two winos talking about it. They said that it had to be the perfect crime, so I thought that if I solved it, then it would prove that I’m a really good private eye and then I’d get lots of work in the future.’
‘And there were those who called you mad,’ I said. ‘Shame upon those fellows.’
‘I will get to them all in good time,’ said Andy, ‘and set things straight with them.’
‘Quite so.’
‘And then I will eat them. And it will serve them right.’
‘Quite so, once more. And quite right, too.’ And I shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold.
‘So what do you think?’ I asked Andy. ‘About your first case. This one here. Have you found any clues? Have you made any deductions? ’
Andy tapped at his nose in that manner known as conspiratorial. ‘I’ve drawn some conclusions,’ he said.
‘Go on,’ I said to him.
‘How much will you pay me?’ he asked.
‘How much do you want?’
‘I want ten thousand pounds,’ said Andy, ‘because I would like to build my own zoo. And building zoos costs money.’
‘Ten thousand is quite a lot,’ I remarked. ‘I could, perhaps, run to ten pounds. But I would have to owe you, as I don’t have it on me.’
‘You wouldn’t get much of a zoo for a tenner,’ said Andy. ‘You’d hardly get a cage for a tenner.’
‘You’d get a packing case,’ I said. ‘And you could use it to import animals.’
‘Animals?’ said Andy. ‘Why would I want to import animals?’
And at this point I felt it prudent to change the subject of the conversation. ‘So,’ I said, ‘that’s settled, then. What clues do you have?’
‘Well,’ said Andy. ‘And bear in mind that I am new to this game and just starting out and so haven’t reached my full capacity, as it were. I deduce that five individuals burgled this shed complex. One, given the evidence, would appear to have been clad in standard roadie attire. No distinguishing features there. The others are most anomalous. They left tracks of high-heeled shoes, but these were not women. Indeed, I have every reason to believe that they were only dressed up as women.’
I sighed, rather more loudly than I might have wished.
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ I muttered to myself.
‘Well,’ said my brother, whose hearing was clearly more acute than I might have expected, ‘that’s where it gets rather iffy. You see, I can tell you with complete confidence that they were not women.’
‘And?’ I said, without too much interest.
‘They weren’t men either,’ said Andy. ‘In fact, I have no idea what precisely they were. Aliens, perhaps.’
I looked at Andy and I shook my head. Sadly was how I shook it.
‘No,’ said Andy, gazing at me. ‘No, I’m not mad. I mean it!’
17
Aliens indeed!
My brother’s madness wasn’t going to help this situation. Not that it ever helped any situation, particularly. In fact, the more I thought about it, perhaps, ultimately, all this mess was not my fault after all. It was my brother’s. If he hadn’t bitten the postman’s ankle, then the postman would not have run away and I would not have been able to take possession of all that musical paraphernalia.
So perhaps I should just blame Andy and have done with it.
But nice as these thoughts were – and they were nice, because I was going through a bit of a mental crisis, particularly as he had got the trench coat – none of this was going to help in retrieving all the aforesaid musical paraphernalia.
