Written by armfeetandtoe
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Monday, 31 October 2011

image for Midwinter Murders: Farts Mrs V shows her nose to Clacket

Inspector Clacket entered the village butchers shop.

"Good morning old poy". Greeted the owner, Mr Farquarson Patel. "A what I can do for you this wintery morning?"

Clacket stood by the counter. "I am Inspector Clacket from Causton police, I want to ask you some questions".

The owner, Mr Farquarson Patel, stood silent.

"Did you hear me? I want to ask you some questions" Stated Clacket.

"I know" Replied Patel, "I am awaiting your enquiry".

Clacket stood by the meat grinder. "Did you have a man in your shop yesterday afternoon, who, shall we say, was a little distressed?"

"Oh sir!" began Patel, "A most horrid situation, arose, while I was serving lamb cutlets to Mrs SKOOB. A man came in and stood behind her. Presently, the man began to turn purple, and made a very strange noise, then, Mrs SKOOB is falling to the floor. The smell is reminding me of my time as a sewer worker in Pakistan! Oh hohoh! I nearly died".

The inspector moved to the fridge; "So, he is silent, but violent, a nasty piece of work. Thank you Mr Patel".

Clacket left the butchers, and made his way to the bakers.

Mrs Vindaloo looked up from her magazine as Clacket entered.

"Mornin sir, would you like cakes, or a bun maybe?"

"No madam, I am here on business" Replied Clacket.

"Oh! If its business you want, Ms Nunery has a little place round the corner, very reasonable prices for a massage".

"Police business madam, I am Inspector Clacket, from Causton nick, and I want some answers to my questions". Answered the red faced detective.

"Sorry love, we get em all in ere you know" Said Mrs V.

"Was there an incident in here yesterday afternoon?" Enquired Clacket.

"Oooh yes, abart two o'clock it was, Mr Lowton came in for his French Fancy, not in a gay way, of course, an this bloke wearing a pork pie hat an a mack was standing behind him, suddenly, the man turns purple, theres a squeak, an he runs out, poor Mr Lowton, was all over the place, retching, swooning, then I copped a snout full of the smell, an passed out". Explained Mrs V.

"As I thought" Mused Clacket, "The Cabbage Farter from Farnham has been released, and is up to his old tricks again, I need to find him quick, before he goes to church on sunday, his attendence could be devastating".

Clacket got into his car and drove out of the village, the scenery men had just finished painting the backdrop for his house when he arrived outside the front door.

Somewhere, a director shouted; "Cut!"

Tune in next week, when Clacket corners his foe.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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