James Hawkins - Missing - Presumed Dead

“I doubt if there’s room,” gloated Donaldson, not concealing the fact he was being deliberately obstructive.

“It’s a goat not a woolly mammoth,” he said stomping out.

“Well, you’d better get it moved right now,” Donaldson yelled after him. “I don’t want any more complaints, and you might have to pay for the fumigation as well.”

The goat seemed to have put on weight as he half carried, half dragged it, across the car park to the garage, cursing Daphne at every step. I shall have to get a pick-up to take it away, he was thinking as he rammed the old animal into a convenient corner.

“You can’t leave that there,” called a gangly youth in a mechanic’s overall.

“Do you want a bet?” me mumbled walking away.

“Oy. I said …”

Bliss tuned him out and set his sights on Daphne who was emptying her vacuum cleaner into a garbage bin.

“I want to talk to you about that damn goat …” he barked but she dropped the cleaner in disgust and turned on him.

“It’s going to take me all day to disinfect that cell. And have you seen all that hair? It’s shedding faster than a cheap paintbrush.”

Bliss stopped in his tracks. “What did you say?”

“I said there’s hair everywhere, look at your suit — you’re covered.”

He looked, then grabbed her and kissed her wetly on the forehead. “You’re a whiz, Daph old girl.”

“Here, less of the old.”

“Sorry,” he said, rushing off along the corridor.

Detective Sergeant Patterson was shooting the breeze in the C.I.D. office when Bliss burst in.

“Yes, Guv?” he queried, as if Bliss had blundered into the women’s toilets by mistake.

“The duvet in the Dauntsey case, Pat — did we have it checked for hair?”

“Not yet — we ain’t got any suspects, so there’s not much point.”

“Do it anyway, will you please?”

“Why?”

“Just a hunch — at least we’ll know if we’re looking for a white-haired old faggot, or a purple haired pansy with a ring in his nose.”

Patterson looked unconvinced and said so, “Waste of bloody time if you ask me.”

“I’m not asking, Sergeant. Now have we got the results from the lab on that syringe yet?”

“Not yet, Guv,” he said. “It’ll take a week or so at least,” thinking it might take considerably longer if he didn’t get round to sending it.

“Well get onto them — I want it yesterday — understood?”

“Will do, Guv,” he said, and slid lethargically back in his chair. “Anything you say, Guv. You’re the boss.”

“Thank you,” muttered Bliss as he left, adding, “Now to make a modeler’s day.”

The Royal Horse Artillery gun carriage set, complete with original box, had not made Marshall’s day, or his week — it had been the moment he’d waited for most of his life. “He was bawling like a kid,” Bliss explained excitedly to a barely interested Donaldson half an hour later. “He stood with one of the tiny horseman in his hands, eyes closed, quivering in delight — like he was having an orgasm — then these tears started pouring down his cheeks.”

“Humph,” grunted Donaldson as he helped himself to a biscuit from a packet concealed under his desk.

“Anyway, Guv, it seems that Major Dauntsey left quite a legacy — one of the rarest sets of model soldiers in the world.”

“So where does that leave us with the murder, Inspector?” he asked coldly, and Bliss heard the snap of the biscuit under the desk as Donaldson prepared for his departure.

“Nothing changes. In fact I’m just off to see Doreen Dauntsey — she called saying she wanted to talk to me. With any luck, I’ll have the Major’s case sewn up in an hour or so.”

“And Jonathon?”

“Patterson’s working on that at the moment.”

“Right — And have you got rid of the goat?”

“I’m working on that.”

He could have left for the nursing home immediately, but he hesitated at the front door and decided that he should take a copy of the pathologist’s report with him — after all he was going to officially notify a woman of her widowhood. Returning to his office he flicked on his computer to pull up the report, then slumped as the blood drained from his face and his legs gave way.

In a daze, he picked up the phone, dialled Samantha’s number, then found himself wondering why.

“Samantha … is that you?” he squeaked as she came on the line.

“Dave, are you alright? You sound dreadful.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were O.K.”

“Just a sniffle — all I needed was a hot bath and a good night’s sleep. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh good — I’m glad.”

“Dave — there is something the matter, I can sense it.”

“Remind me never to lie to you. Can you meet me tonight? … It’s rather important, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, of course — I finish at ten but we could meet earlier …”

“No, ten’s fine …” he said, quickly adding, “But don’t come here. Meet me at the beach again.”

“Alright …” she replied inquisitivel, “I will, but something’s really wrong, isn’t it?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said, slowly putting the phone down, and he sat mesmerised by the words on the computer screen in front of him.

“Your time is up — BANG! — Ha-ha-ha.”

Samantha Holingsworth waited with uneasy anticipation at the beach-side car park as arranged, and was surprised to spy Bliss’s lonely shadow skulking along the beach in front of her.

“Over here, Dave,” she shouted, assuming he’d missed her in the gloom, and he froze, like startled prey, silhouetted against the grey ocean and star-peppered sky.

“Here, Dave,” she tried again, leaning out of the car window, and he straightened up and oriented himself toward her.

They sat in her car for a while, their conversation stilted by his anxieties sitting between them like an ugly little creature with halitosis.

“So, how are you?”

“Fine … and you?” The creature’s presence kept them to niceties … the weather … his hotel … her car…

“Very smart,” he said, meaning, “ Wow! ”

“Where’s your car?” Samantha asked, craning around.

“Further up the beach,” he said, without explanation.

And so it had continued: … movies seen … books read … Daphne’s dinner … the weather again.

“It was really warm today.”

“It’s still warm now.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Dave,” she exploded, unable to stand the suspense any longer. “Are you going to tell me why you needed to see me so urgently or not?”

He was having second thoughts — had been having second thoughts all afternoon — second thoughts from the moment he and Superintendent Donaldson had rushed back to his office to find the threatening message had evaporated from the computer screen.

“It was here,” breathed Bliss, “I swear it was here.”

You are going mad, he had told himself, searching the screen frantically, seeking some trace of the message — anything — even a single lingering pixel.

Donaldson laid a kindly hand on his arm. “Dave — you’ve been under a lot of stress …”

“Don’t give me that psycho babble, Guv,” he spat, wrenching his arm away. “I know what I saw … It was here. It said …” he paused and buried his head in his hands. “It said … ‘Ha, ha, Bang — you’re dead,’ or something like that, I swear it did.”

“Well where is it now?”

Looking up, blankly, he caught the superintendent unawares and saw his face pinched in scepticism. And behind the perplexed frown creasing his brow his mind was an open book. “ First he buys a flea-ridden goat — Now this — What next ?”