A Murder in Chatsbury Merlow

A farcical crime, by Mrs WH

Pottering about in her two-up, two-down cottage, Dolly Grainger paused to open a little post. Having seated herself down at an old mahogany table, lovingly bequeathed to her by dearest Violet Petronella, an eccentric aunt from her father's side of the family, (eccentric given that she had an inclination for wearing orange shoes and pink lipstick) Dolly was, for the first time in her life, rendered totally speechless. Oh! I simply can't believe it! she thought. An invitation, for me, little old 'Grainger the stranger'. Eagerly consuming the words like a ravenous pig that had been fasting, she continued, "An Afternoon Strawberry Tea at The Grange. Friday, 25th August…2pm. Please arrive promptly."

"But that's tomorrow!" she cried, admiring how the scalloped frame perfectly enhanced the outer edges of the card, even more so, how that particular shade of blue contrasted with the gold lettering. It was so very fancy, you see, but then again it was from The Grange. What would one expect? Slowly skimming her bony fingers across its surface, whilst somewhat giddy from the excitement, her mind raced on, What should I wear? The Laura Ashley hat? I bet it's going to be jolly posh. Barely able to contain herself, she rushed next door to tell old Lily the news, reminding herself that she must, must make her apologies to the reverend, as Fridays were when she usually cleaned at the vicarage. He wouldn't be too pleased if she postponed, especially if Elspeth stuck her two-penneth in, which undoubtedly, she would do. She supposed that she could always squeeze it in on Saturday, after the litter-pick. Dolly found the opportunity far too tempting to miss and never, not even for a second, gave it a thought as to why she had received the invitation in the first place. Quite frankly, it could have been an invitation to anything and she would have gone. Meanwhile, over at Hemingway Hall, the vicar quaffed wine like it was going out of fashion. It was all he could do to stem the boredom, with what was just another same old, tedious fundraising luncheon.

Friday arrived and with it brought a welcome burst of glorious sunshine. The weather lately had been consistently awful and sure enough it was beginning to tip several of the locals very slightly over the edge. Village life functions at its best when numerous things are taking place simultaneously, with people busying themselves however they can, where they can. After all, what is there to talk about down at the pub if you've done nothing all day.

The Body at the River:

Saturday, 26th August 2023

The village litter-pick commenced promptly at ten o'clock, on the green in front of St John's. A pitiful turnout, Elspeth blamed it on the splendid weather the previous day. The lingering odours from several barbecues were somewhat overwhelming come sunset, whilst the amount of alcohol quaffed didn't bear thinking about. Undoubtedly, there were a few sore heads this morning, hence the shameful number of volunteers. 

As details and instructions were discussed, gloves, litter-pickers and black bin bags were handed out. Roddy, in his extremely elaborate shirt, the one adorned with tropical parrots, had been designated the river. Unfortunately, it was a lot more than rubbish that he found there.

Dolly Grainger's body lay cold and lifeless at the edge of the water. She had been poisoned, that much was obvious. Roddy was totally beside himself and sought comfort in the arms of Harry, the local 'gamekeeper come dog's body,' usually seen in a passionate embrace with the sultry Danika. No-one really questioned Harry on his tendencies, it was best not to. DCI Bob Pratt and his sidekick, DS Mercedes Bonneville were heading up the investigation. Bald but to the point, Knobby (as he was referred to behind his back) found village folk insufferable. Sadie, on the other hand, was patient and of a caring nature, though at times a terrible bubble head. The two were on friendly terms and skilfully balanced out each other's approach.

The Previous Day:

Friday, 25th August 2023

Harvey Lassinger stood up Top Hill looking down on a glorious view. His dog was struggling today and it was barely two o'clock. He was getting tired on his old legs and it appeared that Moss was too. The sheep were finally settled in the shade and had all that they needed. All Harvey really desired on an afternoon such as this, was a good pint of ale and a fresh cheese and onion cob, a bit burnt on top and spread with best butter.

Nearby, in The Pheasant Inn, Ninny Fereday had taken down the curtains in the snug to give them a good wash, not realising that they were dry clean only. They hadn't been done since she and Sirius had moved in, not quite seven years ago. The windows were flung open, allowing in the warm, fresh air. The sunlight shone through, exposing shabby-chic walls that were in need of a lick of paint. The pub didn't open until four but that hadn't stopped Stan from trying the door at least three times. He paced around outside, smoking cigarettes like they were going out of fashion. Ninny could hear that rattling cough of his and wished that he wouldn't keep stubbing out his fag butts in her plant pots. Sirius hated working in this pub and made his regulars' lives miserable because of it. A few of them referred to him as 'Si', not short for Sirius, though he thought it was, but 'Sigh'. They only put up with him because there was no other pub within walking distance and he kept a good pint. 

Colin Godfrey was in his hobby room continuing with his model train project, whilst his wife Gertie was busying herself in the back garden, deadheading her mesembryanthemums. Looking terribly resplendent in her brand-new bucket hat and navy boiler suit, she wasn't too pleased as the darn wasps were of a particular nuisance that year. Probably something to do with climate change, she thought to herself. These secateurs are blunt. I'll have to get Colin to sharpen them for me. Off she went inside to find him. He wasn't there, though the radio still blared away and the glass of elderflower cordial that she had taken him just half an hour ago, sat untouched on the sideboard.

Minnie Fogle was thinking of Grayson, though this was not a habit, she didn't do it very often. He must be sweltering down in that polytunnel. Not of the inclination to show her husband much consideration, she felt oddly compelled to deliver him a refreshing glass of homemade lemonade, only to find him face down and passed out in the bloody petunias. Gawd. As if she hadn't got a ruddy nuff to deal with, she now had to sort him out. Typical of Gray, selfish to the bone. Pausing to ponder, she questioned whether or not to telephone for an ambulance. There could be a need for the horse piddle or then again, he could regain his composure sometime soon, she preferred the latter as she was meant to be visiting her sister later. Temperance was vociferous and Minnie licked her lips in readiness for the battle ahead. It would undoubtedly begin from the moment she turned her Land Rover Defender onto the block paved drive, which, she would tell her, was in good need of a jolly good weed. Pleading with God that she wouldn't have to cancel, she was secretly overjoyed when soon after, her husband had picked himself up and declared himself all tickety-boo, most insistent that she went. She simply couldn't refuse. He was such a dear, albeit she would never admit that.

Polly Wetton sat comfortably in her favourite deck chair. It was striped and resembled vintage male swim wear, a bit like her culottes today. On a sunny day like today, she preferred to sit around the front of the house, sipping Earl Grey, knitting, reading Mills and Boon or just watching the world go by. Sometimes, she did a crossword, however, her favourite pastime was knitting caricatures of the villagers, to be raffled off at the church bazaar. It was all meant to be just a little fun, very tongue-in-cheek, whilst at the same time helping to top up the funds in the village pot. Admittedly, she had upset a few people in the past, though not on purpose. Norman Mullet's toupee was an accident due to bad wool, whilst Roger Swinnerton-Smythe's ginger comb over was simply a misfortunate oversight. Both hadn't gone down too well though and at one point, they had threatened legal action. It was a good job the vicar had stepped in. Nevertheless, the situation was a lot calmer now, given that she had to run her little characters by him first.

Early afternoon, Harry had arranged to meet Danika up at Mr Saxby's top field. She was sexy, gorgeous and alluring and worked part time in The Pheasant, having settled over here from Poland. A few of the women in the village disliked her somewhat, finding her too overly confident and a bit of a you-know-what but most of the males thought her rather splendid. They naturally kept this to themselves. She had recently had a run in with Dolly, over the latter tittle-tattling to the vicar, accusing her of unregulated frolicking.

Meanwhile, Elspeth Fiddle over at Frogitt Cottage, lived alone with just her two cats, Grandma and Bunion for company. Busy as a bee with preparations for tomorrow's litter-pick, she had just telephoned Ninny to check that everything was in place for the big breakfast that would replenish the 'weary pickers' at around a quarter past twelve. She was pretty sure that this was the main reason why folk really volunteered and that it had absolutely nothing to do with maintaining a certain standard of tidiness. Rolls of bin bags sat in the rusty wheelbarrow outside, along with a number of spare litter-pickers and a box of disposable gloves. Dolly resented Elspeth's friendship with the vicar and felt more than a little pushed out.

So, you see, just the usual goings on in Chatsbury Merlow.

Crime Scene:

"What you got on the victim?" enquired DCI Pratt.

"Spinster. Sixtyish. Found face down in the river, surrounded by dead fish," answered DS Bonneville.

"COD?"

"Not too sure yet. Too early to say. Could be salmon."

"No, COD, as in cause of death?"

"Oh, possible drowning, who knows. But they reckon it happened between two o'clock and four o'clock, yesterday afternoon."

"Who found the body?"

"Erm, a Mr Roderick Crickle, the village shopkeeper, flamboyant shirt wearer. He's over in the pub now, The Pheasant Inn. Some of the villagers are having breakfast sandwiches."

"Right, get the team out here right now. Let forensics sort this."

"On it, Gov. Fancy a quick bacon buttie?"

"As long as you're paying. Plenty of ketchup, no grease or fatty bits and a serviette. Will someone stop those bloody litter-pickers from tampering with any more evidence!"

After the event, questions needed answering. Fortunately, local investigations were going swimmingly…

"Where were you yesterday afternoon? Can that be confirmed? Did you see the victim or anyone else, either heading towards or nearby the river between the times of one o'clock and four o'clock?"

Police Notes Thus Far:

Harvey Lassinger: "I were up top o' Top Hill checking on the sheep with my dog, old Moss. Dunno if anyone saw me, you'll have to ask them but I seen Dolly, she were all trussed up like summat on a chocolate box she were. Had her Sunday best on from what I could see. The time? Erm, half past one. I know this cos the church clock struck as she were crossing the green. Did I see anyone else? Erm, now let me think… Stan Podgit was outside The Pheasant and it looked like Ninny inside, at the window. Danika was on the corner of Whittle Way and oh yes…Polly Wetton were sat knitting in her front garden. I went um round three for me dinner and a quick wesh before heading to The Pheasant for a couple."

Ninny Fereday: "Spring cleaning in the pub. Stan Podgit was hovering around, he would've seen me at the window and I believe it was Harvey, Harvey Lassinger, along with his dog, Moss, up on Top Hill. Polly sat knitting over in her garden chair but other than that just Danika, in a right strop by the looks of it. Where? Turning the corner of Whittle Way. What time? The church clock had struck one thirty because that's when I saw Dolly. Which direction was she heading? Who? Dolly or Danika? Well, like I just said, when I saw Danika, she had passed the pub and had turned towards the rear of the houses on Tanners Road. Dolly, she was just crossing the green."

Sirius Fereday: "Picking up supplies from out of town. Got the receipts if you need them. Saw no-one. That's the way I like it."