‘It’s on local radio now, as well as all the social media.’
Councillor Brian Blogs was beginning to wonder why he had been so keen to get elected, let alone becoming the leader of the council. His colleague Jaylene turned the radio up.
Locals are up in arms over the gigantic new art installation down on the sea front, apparently installed without any consultation. These were some of the comments.
I thought the council were broke.
Call it art, monstrosity.
Completely spoils my sea view.
Brian turned the radio off and proceeded with plan B. Go and see it for himself. Would the public believe the council had nothing to do with it? The two black monoliths were not there yesterday and this morning they were, set firmly in the ground …
‘Jaylene, call the police and um, do we have an engineering department? Could this thing be dangerous, topple over?’
Brian had to admit he was impressed. The monoliths stood close, an eerie silence emanating from them, amid the hub bub all around. Black with a strange glitter, interesting textures … his thoughts were interrupted when a microphone was shoved in his face.
‘Councillor Blogs, who came up with the idea for this very unusual structure?’
‘Absolutely no idea, this has nothing to do with the council, it has been illegally erected. Our engineers will be examining how it can be removed safely and police will be investigating who put it there.’
‘Is it true that no one saw it arrive?’
‘CCTV footage shows nothing there one moment and the next moment it was there, as if it had appeared from outer space. I suggest our next move will be to get the UFO experts in.’
Brian was rather pleased with the result of his radio interview. All the UFO experts and other nutters had come out of the woodwork and taken interest away from the council. He was beginning to think they had the only logical explanations.
‘Time to put away your toys children, count the Jenga blocks to make sure none are missing.’
‘Daddy, two are missing, I bet it’s Yogo’s fault.’
‘Yogo, have you been throwing toys down the chute again? If those blocks have fallen out that will be another planet we can’t secretly visit.’
‘Daddy, you promised we could land, we’ve never been to a planet with water.’
‘If the inhabitants are clever they might already be tracking us, we can’t take the risk. Let’s see what data Mummy has found out.’
‘Mummy, Mummy are there any people on this one?’
‘Yes darling, just like us, except, except… they are very small, that explains how they fit so many on their little planet.’
‘How small, I promise to be careful.’
‘As small as your Lego figures. We would frighten them and that goes against the second convention.’
‘But I want my Jenga blocks back.’
‘Daddy, can we have some as pets.’
‘No, certainly not, that goes against the third convention. We do have an obligation not to leave litter so we will use electromagnetic extraction and hope no tiny humans are in the way.’
Meanwhile in the wider world I missed this tiny bit of news on Friday morning and wondered why a friend messaged saying ‘hope Microsoft gets fixed so you can order your carpet.’ I wondered whatsap on earth she was talking about. Thank goodness brunch with friends was not affected and fortunately they had heard what was happening, or rather, not happening around the world.
Meanwhile at the carpet shop one doesn’t need a computer to pick a carpet and they write in a book.
And luckily you could still get hydrated for free with an amazing new invention… a water fountain.
All the rain has been good for nomowing.
When ‘news items’ pop up on your computer do you get distracted from writing your blog? Am I theonly person who hasn’t heard about these folk before?
’10-foot-tall people’ discovered by archaeologists in Nevada cave – Extraordinary human remains have been found in the US state of Nevada, with some of the skeletons measuring up to 10 feet tall. Alongside their jaw-dropping size, the bodies – some of which were said to have been mummified – were found to have had red hair.
Back to the present and what lies round the corner?
After a ride on that perhaps you had better go somewhere more relaxing.
Have you been affected by the big switch off or ten foot giants?
Catch up with what is happening where you are or aren’t…
Which of these will steal your lunch?
Is this the smallest waiting room in the country?
New report on the dark side of toy rabbit life.
DIY ideas
Increasing numbers of home owners are putting their houses in light bulbs.
Enjoy a sunny trip to the seaside
But make sure you obey all the rules
A support group has been started for readers who never manage to complete the weekend puzzles in their favourite newspaper.The founder of the group said ‘People don’t realise what a devastating effect this is having on lives.‘
Where do you like to shop? Why not visit the popular Vintage Quarter?
Or follow Doctor Who to his favourite shopping location.
How has your week been? Have you been anywhere interesting?
‘Have you found a job yet Joel? You’re not going to lounge around this house till university starts.’
‘Nothing wrong with winding down and actually I am going for a job interview this afternoon down at the sea front.’
‘Good… lifesaver, beach warden or are you going to serve at that new Sandbourne Seafront Diner?’
‘Nope, going on the big wheel.’
‘But you hate heights!’
‘I don’t have to go on it, just sit in the box taking the money.’
‘Was that the best job you could find?’
‘Yup.’
Joel was successful at the job interview, especially as no one else had applied and he was enjoying his first day. He soon discovered he had a good way with the customers, or passengers as they were supposed to call them. Kev was impressed with the steady flow of people lining up to be inserted safely by him into the Flying Pods. Joel had a reassuring manner.
You tell your Gran there’s nothing to be scared of, all the grannies go up and love the view out to sea.
No, your Dad was kidding when he said you have to climb up that high ladder to get on. You just have to wait for an empty pod to come round to the platform.
Of course it is safe, did you ever hear of a big wheel toppling over?
I assure you it never gets stuck, it’s never come to a halt all the time I’ve been working here.
The morning went quickly, but then Joel noticed his orderly queue had come to a halt and a small crowd was gathering and looking up. At that moment Kev came rushing to Joel’s box.
‘Don’t sell any more tickets just now, bit of a hold up.’
‘All the pods full?’
‘Yes unfortunately, the wheel’s stuck.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Stuck as in won’t go round.’
Joel thought of the nervous aunties and scared little kids he had urged on board, knowing he would never go in a pod himself.
‘So what happens next?’
‘Axel sorts it out.’
‘Where is he then?’
‘Away on a safety course in Wales.’
‘Do you know what to do?’
‘No, I only do the buttons on the ground, I’m not allowed up the ladder as I get vertigo.’
Joel thought of his science A levels and the mechanical engineering course awaiting him at Cambridge University, somehow that did not seem as if it would help this situation.
‘So we call the fire brigade then.’
‘NO… boss would kill us, we don’t want to lose our licence.’
‘Where is the boss?’
‘Goodness knows, I think he was on a bender last night. Anyway, I think I remember what Axel does, he takes a heavy spanner to the top of the wheel, it’s always at the top that a pod gets jammed. Axel is very set on safety, so you must clip the safety harness on to each rung as you go up.’
‘I can’t go up!’
‘Well there’s no one else.’
‘I thought Joel would have been home by now… what did you say John… local news… hang on I’m coming… Oh goodness, Coastguard helicopter hovering over the wheel and all those fire engines and it looks like someone’s stuck on the outside. Good thing our Joel only works in the ticket box. He’ll be sorry to have missed all that excitement if he was already on his way home.’
Charlotte stared at the computer screen, her novel was not going well. Having ventured back to the Hambourne Happy Creatives writing group she had succeeded in confusing them with Lottie Lincoln’s latest mishaps in Puddleminster-on-Sea. There had been comments such as ‘So what happened to the head?’
She had made life too complicated for Lottie and hadn’t really settled on which event should set her hapless heroine on the path of reluctant crime investigator. Perhaps she could round off the body parts story on a lighter note, introduce a dog…
A week later Lottie decided she must get back to her morning beach walks. Puddleminster was returning to normal, the police had finished searching everywhere and locals were unlikely to learn what really happened until the trial started, which could be many months away.
As she took in the fresh sea air and observed the near empty beach, she was caught off guard by a large dog bounding up with a huge stick in its mouth. For a moment she did not recognise the owner as he stumbled over the sand to apologise.
‘So sorry, oh it’s you Lottie, er Mrs Lincoln.’
‘Sorry I didn’t recognise you with a dog.’
Once again she was face to face with Doctor Geoff Good, the pathologist now famous for losing a body from the hospital mortuary. What should she say?
‘Is he your dog?’
‘No, friends gone on holiday to Australia. I volunteered to look after him while I’m suspended, at least I’ll look less suspicious out with a dog next time I’m caught on CCTV.’
‘Oh dear, will you get your job back?’
‘Yes, otherwise the bodies will be mounting up! Just required procedure, our department under special measures… Hey, clever you, right about there being no murder and my technician taking a body to create a forensic drama. Obviously completely insane, he had the head at his flat, kept as a souvenir!’
‘Goodness, they kept that out of the news.’
‘I only knew because I overheard them talking when I was on one of my many visits to the police station. Hmm, forget I told you that.’
Lottie felt a thrill at being entrusted with secret information and besides she didn’t know anyone to gossip with yet.
‘But the point is he passed all the usual checks, no criminal record, no record of anything untoward. He knew the entry codes because he worked there and had security clearance. No CCTV in the mortuary as we don’t expect bodies to try and escape. He must have slipped in during the night. Oh by the way, it turns out my wife loves your novels, read all of them, in fact she’s rereading them for gentle escapism after all this business. She wants to know if you are writing a new one.’
‘I have writers’ block, I thought a quiet life at the seaside would inspire a new story after my husband died suddenly.’
‘Oh sorry, I didn’t realise.’
‘No of course you couldn’t know. I was just reading in the newspaper an article on being widowed and it said don’t make hasty decisions such as moving house or getting a dog; I had just been wondering if I should get a puppy or a rescue dog…’
Charlotte wondered what could have caused Lottie’s husband’s sudden demise, something dramatic for a darkly humorous novel, a piece of space station crashing on him, had she read in the paper about a chunk of space debris plunging through someone’s roof? Or something closer to home, Lottie and Callum probably lived in London, he was trampled by bolting cavalry horses, that would be tragically unexpected.…
Children or other family? No, that’s why Lottie and Callum were so close and now poor Lottie was truly on her own, except of course for all her writer and arty friends in London; she was after all a very successful author, well popular and best selling, not in the upper echelons of the literati, but certainly far more successful than Charlotte.
Now she just had to think what Lottie was going to do next…
Today’s story is the final part of strange events in Puddleminster-on-Sea and follows on from Mortuary Mystery. Lottie Lincoln has returned to the police station.
‘It was the day before yesterday, or was it the day before that? I know it wasn’t raining. Anyway, the point is, I did not know the man in the CCTV photos at all, only to say hello to, nodding acquaintances, no idea what his name was. I always walk down to the sea past the Queen Victoria Memorial Park, early and he always walks past me on his way home with his newspaper, at least I assume that is what he is doing. Well we did before all those body parts were found.’
Lottie looked across the table at the young CID chap sent to interview her. She obviously wasn’t interesting enough to warrant two officers, good cop, bad cop and far from interrogating her, he had not asked her a single question yet.
DC Dan Berk looked across at the woman who had turned up at the police station and wondered how to get a word in edgeways.
‘Sorry, what did you say your name was?’
‘I didn’t, Lottie Lincoln, the author? You probably don’t read my novels, I expect you prefer dark crime.’
‘Okay Lottie, can we start again at the beginning. What is your real name?’
‘That is my real name.’
‘’Okay, so Lottie, Mrs Lincoln, you go for a walk every morning and say hello to complete strangers.’
‘Yes, I thought that’s what people did at the seaside, relaxed way of life, everything jolly, well perhaps not if you’re always finding body parts. Anyway the point is, I am innocent and so is the man.’
‘If he is a complete stranger, how would you know if he was a murderer or not?’
‘I am a writer, I observe people, I have an instinct.’
‘Well thank you for coming forward to help us with our enquiries. I just need to ask you a few questions about yourself. How long have you lived in Puddleminster?’
‘A few weeks.’
‘Do you live alone?’
‘I was widowed.’
‘I see.’
‘Very recently.’
‘Oh sorry.’
‘Very suddenly.’
‘I am sorry for your loss, did you and your late husband have a connection with this area?’
‘None at all, I wanted to go somewhere quiet where I wasn’t known, a little place rather like the villages in my cosy novels.’
‘So if you could give me your current and previous address and a few other details. We will do a few checks, but it is unlikely we will need to see you again. Thank you for coming and I hope we haven’t put you to too much trouble, goodbye.’
‘Wait, wait, there’s something I have to confess, just in case I have been caught on CCTV again. I bumped into him just now, the man, when he was leaving the police station. So you think the body was kept in a fridge and he works at the mortuary, but that doesn’t make him guilty. Others work there, in fact it might not even be a murder, a theft of a corpse, he’s got that assistant that’s obsessed with forensics…’
Lottie did not like the frown on his face, perhaps she was talking too much. How long since she had had a good natter in her new life? She was beginning to realise what it must have been like during Covid for people living by themselves. Lottie and Callum had been self contained, they missed going out, but they were not lonely. Now she not only missed him, but her busy life and her friends; perhaps peaceful and quiet was not such a good idea… she realised the chap was talking to her.
‘Mrs Lincoln, this is out of order. We have not released any more information yet or talked to anybody else. I trust you won’t go on social media or start speculating in the local community.’
Late that night Doctor Geoff Good was back inside the police station for questioning and a detective inspector from head office had arrived, he frowned at the small team gathered in the tiny office.
‘To summarise so far, the body of John James Smith is missing from his drawer at the hospital mortuary. Doctor Geoff Good the pathologist claims to be astonished and cannot offer any explanation as to how a body could escape his well run mortuary. His new assistant has just gone on annual leave and we have no idea where, but he doesn’t appear to be at his flat in Puddleminster. John Smith died of natural causes, a post mortem was not planned and no DNA samples had been taken, as his large loving family knew who he was. He was awaiting collection by the undertaker tomorrow who would be preparing for a family viewing. A situation that could not be worse. We have no proof that the remains in the park are his, if they are what do we tell the family. If they are not his, where the hell is his body? Oh yes it could be worse, your team has failed to find a head.’
The mortuary is locked and off limits to all hospital staff. We have no option, but to have the whole hospital searched in case the body has been hidden there. I will be going to speak to management. Sergeant, you will visit the undertaker first thing in the morning and explain why they will not be collecting the body yet. Constable Berk, it is your unenviable task to visit the family of Mr Smith and inform them with the briefest details what has happened. I suggest you imply he is still within the hospital, but you have to also persuade them to provide DNA samples. At first light a team of officers and the forensic team will carry out a methodical search of the whole of Puddleminster. I’m sure you appreciate the need to keep all details out of the press and off social media, but that won’t be easy.
A week later Lottie sat glued to the local news as she did several times a day. She had not been near the sea, Puddleminster was overrun with police search teams. At the shops she tried to glean local gossip and there was plenty of that; satanic rites, multiple bodies unearthed everywhere and a serial killer on the loose. She wondered about poor Doctor Good. Every news bulletin a police officer of increasingly high rank would be urging the public not to speculate and assuring them there was no danger to the public. Then at last that evening there was news. A serious looking policewoman with lots of badges on her epaulettes, was standing outside the hospital.
‘We have today arrested a mortuary technician from this hospital and charged him with preventing the lawful and decent burial of a body. I can confirm no other individuals were involved and our enquiries are now complete. The family of the deceased have asked for privacy at this time.’
Of course that was not the end. On breakfast television the next day Lottie watched as the son and daughters of John Smith were interviewed.
‘We want to know how this happened to our Dad.’
They had obviously waived the right to privacy and Lottie guessed poor Doctor Good would be in for more vigorous investigation by the media. Would Puddleminster-on-Sea ever be the quiet place she had hoped for? But she couldn’t help smugly thinking she had been the first to guess what had happened.
He didn’t even know her name, but there they were on the local news as the couple sought after by police to help with their enquiries. Geoff wondered if his wife had seen an earlier bulletin before she went to work. Who said the camera never lies. As the presenter moved on to the topic of pot holes the picture faded from the screen, but not from his mind’s eye. The body language suggested they knew each other well. When was the picture taken? He always wore the same coat, but it must have been one of the few mornings when it wasn’t raining.
With his job, Geoff was not a familiar figure locally, but friends and a few dog walkers would recognise him. Perhaps their brains would not register it was him linked to a totally different woman.
The woman was new in Puddleminster, he was sure of that. Only newcomers strode enthusiastically down to the beach every morning whatever the weather. Geoff would be on his way back from what his daughter would call a power walk, stopping at the little beach shop to get his newspaper. They would merely smile or say good morning.
He needed that fresh air and exercise before setting off to commute to work in the county hospital. Now nobody would be walking that way for a while with Queen Victoria Memorial Park cordoned off. It had been a shock to hear body parts were found in the park, quiet little Puddleminster-on-Sea. He had certainly not seen any body parts when he went for his lap round the park yesterday morning. Maybe if he had a dog it would have come bounding out of the undergrowth with a hand in its mouth, probably how the grim discovery was made. He chuckled to himself, his career had given him a dark sense of humour, but the police weren’t giving any details.
Then reality resurfaced in his mind. Was there CCTV in the park as well as on the road next to it? Did they also have pictures of him walking early in the park, looking suspicious without a dog? Here was a right dilemma. Should he call the police to explain, no he had missed the special phone number. He could drop in at the little Puddleminster police station, if it was actually open. What would one say. He had no idea who the woman was or where she lived. If she was new in the area it was unlikely anyone else would have recognised her.
There was no time to do anything, he had to leave for work. He could phone his wife from the car, better than keeping quiet and her maybe thinking he was hiding an affair with another woman.
But as he opened the front door he was confronted by two police officers on the front path.
He couldn’t believe this had happened, handcuffed and sitting in the back of a police car. What did they actually say to him? Geoff was so bewildered he sat quietly, to struggle would have suggested guilt. This could be sorted out at the police station, hopefully no one he knew would be strolling by.
It was amazing how much harder it was to get out of a vehicle when you were handcuffed. He just wanted to get inside the building, by the back door if there was one, but they led him straight up the front steps, just in time to see the woman from the photo dash inside. All would be well, she would explain.
Geoff did not get a chance to even exchange a glance with her, he was ushered through a side door and into the interview room, soon joined by a man and woman in plain clothes who introduced themselves as a constable and sergeant. They did not look as if they had ever dealt with a murder, their tactics owed more to television drama than proper procedure. Photos were laid on the table, Geoff striding through the park.
‘This is ridiculous and how did you know where I lived?’
The cocky young DC answered with a smirk.
‘Your wife called the hot line, anxious to explain she was not the woman in the photo, but keen to assure us you always walked that way and were totally innocent.’
The tight lipped woman sergeant leaned in closer.
‘The wives are always the last to have any inkling.’
‘Can you confirm your job and where you work?’
This was not going to look good. When people found out what his work was they would get excited and remark ’Like on that television series.’
‘I’m a pathologist at the hospital and no I don’t chop bodies up, I just find out what disease your great uncle died of.’
The two officers looked at each other and Geoff realised they didn’t appreciate his sense of humour.
‘We have not released any details of the crime scene.’
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 