Flowers for Mercedes

By Barnaby Wilde

Will Mercedes Drew ever find true love? Will Detective Inspector Flowers solve the mystery of the missing cat? Who is stealing the covers off the drains? Why won't Mr Chatterjee say who set fire to his restaurant? Who is Dogtooth? Where is the lead from St Stephen's Church roof?
Answers to these questions and more in Flowers for Mercedes (volume one)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barnaby Wilde
• Release date: Nov 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301610556

Barnaby Wilde

Barnaby Wilde is the pen name of Tim Fisher. Tim was born in 1947 in Hertfordshire, United Kingdom, but grew up and was educated in the West Country. He graduated with a Physics degree in 1969 and worked in manufacturing and quality control for a multinational photographic company for 30 years before taking an early retirement to pursue other interests. He has two grown up children and currently lives happily in Devon.

Book preview

Flowers for Mercedes

(Contains Parts 1 to 3 of the Mercedes Drew Stories)

By

Barnaby Wilde

Copyright 2012 by Barnaby Wilde

Barnaby Wilde asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Published by Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover picture: Girl on a motorcycle, public domain image.

Other published works by the author.

Humorous Novels

Out of Time (Time travel)

(The Tom Fletcher Stories)

I Keep Thinking It's Tuesday

A Question of Alignment

Every Which Way but East

Quirky Verse

Animalia

Life…

The Blind Philosopher and the God of Small Things

Not at all Rhinocerus

A Little Bit Elephant

Tunnel Vision

The Well Boiled Icycle

A is for Aardvark

Short Story Collections

Barnaby's Shorts (volumes 1 to 11)

Vertigo, (tales from the Vertigo Labs)

Chameleons

Love

Grow Your Own Man

The Women Furies

There Still Be Dragons (volumes 1 and 2)

Davey and the Holey Oak

Detective Fiction (The Mercedes Drew Stories)

Flowers for Mercedes

Free Running

Flandra

Smile for the Camera

Visit www.barnaby-wilde.co.uk for the author's blog and more information about the world of Barnaby Wilde.

Table of Contents

Part One … Flowers for Mercedes

Part Two … A Close Call

Part Three … A Burning Issue

Part Four (taster) … A Window of Opportunity

Other works by Barnaby Wilde

PART ONE

Flowers for Mercedes

The eBay clock ticked inexorably down towards the end of the auction. With five minutes to go, the bid activity finally began to increase. There was a flurry of action in the last fifteen seconds as the snipe bids kicked in, and the auction ended at two hundred and sixty-three pounds. Both buyer and seller would be reasonably happy with the outcome.

Detective Inspector Des Flowers parked his battered silver Mondeo in the only remaining parking space and rested his head in his hands momentarily before killing the engine and wearily trudging up the shallow grey concrete steps at the back of the Wembury Road Police Station. He swiped the pass, which was hanging on a chain around his neck, through the magnetic card reader and pushed through the glass door when the green LED lit.

He passed through the inner door and made directly for the coffee machine situated in the hallway, fumbling in his pocket as he went for a fifty pence coin. The coffee, when it came, was as bad as ever, but it was, at least, hot and cheap. He scalded his mouth, as he did every morning, by taking his first mouthful as he walked along the brightly lit corridor towards his office.

As he passed through the admin office he was hailed by one of the civilian secretaries. Boss wants to see you, she called.

What's new? he replied. What time did he say?

He said to tell you as soon as you came in. She glanced up at the wall clock. That was about half an hour ago, she added.

He looked down at his own watch. Five past nine. Thanks Janet, he sighed. He put his three-quarter full coffee cup on the secretary's desk. Keep it warm for me. One day I'll get to drink a whole cup.

As he walked back down the corridor towards the Chief Inspector's office, a voice from behind him said, I see Daisy's as happy as ever today.

Shhh! said Janet, glancing after the detective. He'll hear you.

D.I. Flowers, snorted quietly to himself. Still calling me Daisy are they? He shook his head. Could be worse I suppose.

Come, came the muffled reply to Flower's knock on the Chief Inspector's door.

You wanted to see me, Sir?

The Chief glanced at his watch before answering. Ah, you're in at last. Traffic again?

Flowers knew better than to answer and waited for more.

The Chief took off his spectacles and waved them vaguely in Flower's direction. I've got a rather delicate matter that needs your attention, Desmond.

Flowers groaned inwardly. If the boss was calling him Desmond it could only mean that he had some dirty little job that needed doing.

Sir? he said, hoping that he sounded more enthusiastic than he felt.

I need you to go and interview someone.

About?

The Chief Inspector looked a little embarrassed and moved a few papers on his desk before answering. He put the spectacles back on and pushed them further up the bridge of his nose.

Um… It's a missing cat.

A what?

It's a missing cat.

You aren't serious, are you sir? A missing cat? Surely that's not a police matter?

I did say that it was a delicate matter, Desmond.

But, with respect Sir. A missing cat? How can that be delicate?

It's not the cat that's delicate, exactly, Desmond. It's the connections.

Flowers waited for more information. If the C.I. was embarrassed then he sure as hell wasn't going to help him by un-embarrassing him.

This has come directly from the Superintendent's office, Desmond. Apparently, the cat belongs to a friend of his wife's and he's promised her that he'll get someone to follow it up.

Flowers snorted with barely concealed contempt. The C.I. busied himself with papers on his desk, which seemed momentarily to have assumed great importance.

Sir, he said. Couldn’t we just send someone round from uniformed, if we need to send anyone at all, that is?

The C.I. removed his spectacles yet again. Ordinarily I'd agree with you, Desmond, but the Super has asked me to put someone I can trust on it.

Why, Sir? It doesn't make sense. We're supposed to be cutting budgets, aren't we, not looking for stray cats?

That's why it's delicate, Desmond. You see, the woman whose cat is lost is the sister of John Wescott.

The name seemed familiar to Flowers, but he didn't immediately recall why. Wescott? he said.

Yes. John Wescott. Magistrate and member of the Local Police Authority.

… and general pain in the arse, thought Flowers. Fortunately, he kept this thought to himself.

I see, Sir. So, this is about politics, not cats?

Yes, Desmond. Well, no, not exactly. It's just that we don't want to do anything to upset Tom Wescott. It's just better that we're seen to be attentive, that's all. These are delicate times. Delicate times.

That word again. Delicate, thought Flowers. Fortunately, he kept this thought to himself, too.

The Local Police Authorities in the United Kingdom are responsible for ensuring efficient and effective policing of an area and each L.P.A. is made up of a mixture of elected members, who reflect the local political makeup and so-called Independent members drawn from the local community, which must, by constitution, contain at least three magistrates. John Wescott was one of the so-called Independent members, who seemed to have made it his mission in life to be as big a thorn in the side of the local police force as possible. The L.P.A.'s responsibilities are fourfold: Setting strategic direction and priorities, scrutinising performance, achieving results through community engagement and ensuring value for money. John Wescott chaired the subcommittee charged with scrutinising the police budgets, which he did in detail and with obvious relish.

These thoughts flashed through Flower's mind in an instant. He could see why the C.I. considered the matter 'delicate'.

Don't cock it up, Desmond, added the Chief Inspector. For all our sakes. Please don't cock it up. Just be nice to the woman and find her bloody cat.

Flowers headed back towards his own office, pursued by a secretary bearing a cold cup of coffee. I did cover it up, she said. But it got cold anyway.

Two miles away, across the city, the worst of the rush hour was over. Traffic was marginally lighter and speeds had picked up from almost static to approaching sluggish. Nevertheless, it was moving. A black leather clad motorcyclist was weaving skillfully through the slow-moving cars and vans. The red lights ahead changed to amber and the stopped traffic surged forward just as the motorcyclist reached the front of the queue. A white van coming from the left shot the red light and streaked across the intersection. There was a squeal of brakes and horns as the newly released traffic stream came to a sudden stop again. The motorcyclist, unsighted by the people carrier in the left lane reacted a little too slowly and, despite swinging the bike sideways, was clipped by the offending van. The rider was tipped to the ground, but fortunately bounced clear of the bike and the other traffic.

Three mobile phone calls were made simultaneously to the emergency services from drivers in the stopped vehicles. In the event, the ambulance was not required.

Flowers looked at the stack of folders on his desk and sighed. There were at least half a dozen cases he should be working on and he was being sent off on a wild goose chase. Or maybe that should be a wild cat chase. Well, he was damned well going to get a coffee before he left. He flicked the switch on his kettle, which almost immediately switched itself back off as the overheat control kicked in. He looked at the transparent gauge on the side and saw that it was empty. He closed his eyes momentarily and wondered, not for the first time recently, if his heart was really in policing these days. Perhaps it was time for a change. Problem was that he couldn't think of anything else he wanted to do either.

He decided to grab a coffee from the machine on his way out and drink it in the car. Maybe stop by the canal and watch the ducks while he drank it. He scrabbled for change in his trouser pocket and came up with thirty pence. Perhaps Janet could change a tenner for him? Sadly, no one in the office had change for a tenner and Janet, not for the first time, lent him the extra twenty pence for the machine.

Inside his dirty Mondeo, Flowers pulled out the cup holder and inserted the cardboard cup of steaming coffee. He had no lid for it, but decided it would be OK if he drove slowly. Unfortunately, the road down to the canal was well provided with speed humps and by the time he stopped, half the coffee was dripping from the cup holder to the carpet. He scarcely noticed the spilt liquid and gazed morosely over the canal to the allotments beyond as he drank what was remaining. Leonard Cohen's Greatest Hits was playing on the CD unit as it had done for weeks, but he was barely aware. He tossed the empty cup into the