Wortel stood patiently alongside Dorothy in the canteen queue, coffee in one hand, money in the other, their morning ritual. The cases come and go, the faces in the office change over time but Dorothy and Wortel always had their morning coffee from the canteen as their one constant.
Wortel handed over his change, always the correct amount, and stood to one side while Dorothy rummaged through her purse looking for some small change. Wortel knew it was coming and yet everyday he felt his shoulders tighten as Dorothy began to hunt high and low through her purse only to realise, time and time again, that she didn’t have the correct money. Not that she didn’t look each day though, just in case.
As the penny finally dropped that she didn’t have the exact amount, Dorothy pulled out a crisp five pound note and collected her change from the till operator. As she slipped her change into her purse she looked at Wortel pulling a face which implied she was surprised she couldn’t muster up the money she needed from the shrapnel she carried.
“I could have sworn I had the right money today,” Dorothy said to Wortel as she emptied a sachet of sugar into her beverage.
“One day Dorothy. I’m sure you will one day.”
As they left the canteen Wortel told Dorothy about his meeting with Charles von Blimff and the now deceased muscle sprout.
“So he just pulled a gun on von Blimff without warning?”
“Just like that,” said Wortel trying to mimic Tommy Cooper by shrugging his shoulders and putting on a funny voice.
“Don’t do that Wortel. Carrots can’t be funny. Not your fault, it’s in the genetics.”
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay. So back to the muscle sprout.”
“Oh yes. He pulled out the gun and he fired but there was no bullet in the chamber. He tried again and again and nothing happened. Before I can say boo to a goose, von Blimff has pulled out this old hunting knife he carries with him for protection and the muscle sprout has an arterial bleed from his neck.”
“Before you say boo to a goose?”
“Yes. Have you never heard of the saying?”
“No.”
“Shame. It’s quite useful.”
“I’ll take your word for that. Anyway, back to yesterday. That’s poor planning on the muscle sprout’s part don’t you think. Getting into position to shoot someone and then forgetting the bullets. Jolly lucky for you both I’d say.”
Wortel was going to respond when he heard a great commotion coming from within the Food Related Crime office. He looked at Dorothy with a concerned face and started to increase his stride. Dorothy reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Ah. Now before you go charging in there, that’s probably Oranges and Lemons.”
“Who?”
“Oranges and Lemons. I started to tell you about them at the Strawberry Strip Club yesterday afternoon.”
“Oh yes. Before you developed an inability to hear me.”
“That was unfortunate timing,” said Dorothy grinning at Wortel. “Look, they’re eager. Go easy on them.”
Wortel and Dorothy opened the office door and were hit by a crescendo of noise emanating from Oranges, Lemons and Chief Superintendent Archibald who was in the middle of telling a story involving a significant amount of arm waving.
“Wortel,” cried Archibald excitedly. “Come, come. I’ve got two new recruits for you to meet.”
Oranges and Lemons, realising their new boss had just arrived, leapt to their feet, straightened their backs, pinned back their shoulders and stood ready and alert for action.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir,” said Oranges, a small squat fellow whose pitted skin looked incredibly tough and impenetrable.
“In case you were wondering I’m an easy peeler, which is ironic given we are anything but, because I’m almost impossible to get into,” he boomed, his voice bursting with pride.
“And it is my privilege to be assigned to the team sir,” a squeaky voice piped up from next to Oranges. There stood another small young chap, thinner but with bright yellow skin that looked equally tough. “I may not be the sharpest knife in the kitchen drawer but if you need me to descale anything, I’m your man.”
Wortel turned and looked aghast at Dorothy who was doing her best to retain her composure.
“Well, I guess you two must be Oranges and Lemons. Sergeant Knox has told me so little about you.”
Dorothy snorted into her coffee, which caused everyone to look in her direction as a spray of café latte left her cup like a whale spitting out water from its blowhole.
“Sorry. It’s hayfever. Sneezed as I went to take a sip.”
“Bless you,” said Oranges and Lemons in unison causing Wortel’s jaw to drop even lower.
“Good to know you can see through someone telling a lie,” said Wortel turning back to the two new fruits standing in front of him who, slightly confused by what Wortel had just said, decided to take it as a compliment.
“Now, now Wortel,” said Archibald “I’ve managed to get you some additional resources given we’ve so much work at the moment which you haven’t cleared yet.”
“What do you mean I haven’t cleared yet?” snapped Wortel feeling his blood pressure start to increase.
“Well, we’ve the double egg murder that you’ve not made any progress on, and let’s be fair, that’s no yolk.”
Oranges and Lemons fell about laughing, much to Archibald’s delight, while Wortel silently raged.
“You’ve got the death threats against the chefs to deal with, and now the Minister for DAFaRT is dead in what I gather is looking less like an accident and more like a suspicious death. Sounds like you are bursting at the seams to me, Wortel, so I thought you would be grateful for the extra pairs of hands.”
“I thought that the staff budget was already overspent sir. How can we afford them?”
“That’s the really brilliant part isn’t Dorothy?”
Wortel turned and looked at Dorothy who nodded an over exaggerated nod. “Oh yes sir. I still can’t believe how lucky we are that you won Oranges and Lemons.”
Wortel’s face became even more expressive. “Excuse me? Did Dorothy just say you won them?”
“It’s a great story sir,” said Lemons.
“It really is. Chief Superintendent Archibald was just telling us what happened when you arrived,” agreed Oranges.
Realising that the arm waving he saw when he first came into the office related to the story, Wortel decided to sit down at his desk and search for some aspirin to relieve the sudden pain which was throbbing in his head.
“You see, Oranges and Lemons were working for my good friend Chief Superintendent Magoo. Well, we were on the golf course just the other evening and he told me about these two young whippersnappers he had been trying to integrate into his team, not to deal with food related crimes as that’s your bag Wortel, but with general stuff. Anyway, he raved and raved about them so and I told him that he better be careful otherwise I’d try and steal them from him. Well, he only dared me to win them on the golf course.”
Oranges and Lemons nudged each other. “Here comes the good bit sir,” said Oranges looking across at Wortel who could feel the vibration from the vein in the side of his head growing stronger and stronger with every beat.
“I’m sensing that can’t be true,” said Wortel not hiding the sarcasm in his voice.
“It absolutely is,” cried Archibald. “Well, I haven’t beaten him on the course before but I wasn’t going to let a little thing like that get the better of me. I tee off on the first; it was a par three, 210 yards to the hole.” Archibald swung his arms through the air demonstrating the stroke to everyone.
“Good shot sir,” called out Dorothy, egging him on.
“Thank you Dorothy. It certainly was.”
Wortel shot a look at Dorothy who was smirking from behind her coffee cup.
“The ball flies through the air, skipping on the breeze like, well I’m not sure really, but it skipped on the breeze and landed just on the green. I putted well and made my par. As for old Magoo, well, he has a nightmare and takes twelve shots to get the ball down the hole. His putter was all over the place. Well, he never stood a chance of making those shots back and I beat him for the first ever time. And my prize is actually your prize Wortel, because here they are.”
“That’s just great sir,” said a less than enthused Wortel. “Just one question, how are we paying them if the staff budget is overspent?”
“Ah. That really is the best bit. Magoo even offered to pay their wages until the next financial year if I won. If only you could have seen how gutted he was at the end of the match.”
“I bet he was,” said Wortel thinking about Chief Superintendent Magoo, who was well known in the amateur dramatics circle as being good enough to turn pro.
“Well. I’ll leave you to get to know each other. I’m sure you’ll have these cases solved in a jiffy.”
Lemons burst out laughing but stifled his guffaw when he realised that Archibald wasn’t making a lemon related joke.
Wortel popped a couple of aspirins into his mouth, swilled the remaining coffee and swallowed. He sent a resigned look towards Dorothy who sent a reassuring smile back in his direction. Wortel turned his attention to Oranges and Lemons who were both still standing upright.
“Oh stop it the pair of you, you’re here now. Look, at ease or whatever.”
Oranges and Lemons relaxed. “What would you like us to do sir?” said Oranges, keen to impress his new boss.
“Well, you can start by telling me what you were doing while working for Magoo. Amaze me with your detecting talents.”
Oranges and Lemons shifted uneasily from side to side. Oranges ran a hand across the back of his neck, opened his mouth as though to speak before deciding against it and began to stare intently at his shoes. Lemons was stroking his chin with his hand, trying to look as though he was deep in thought, although to Wortel, he just looked more confused than normal.
“Would one of you like to speak?” asked Wortel, getting a little tetchy.
“Well, it was a challenging case,” said Oranges.
“Yes. Challenging,” agreed Lemons.
“In what way?”
It was Oranges who spoke next. “There was a gang rivalry between these independent girls’ schools you see. There had been a few scuffles between the schools and then there was an accusation of burglary.”
“That wasn’t us,” said Lemons.
Oranges looked at Lemons and raised his eyebrows to warn his partner to shut up.
“Why would that have been you?” enquired Wortel.
“I’ll get to that sir,” said Oranges trying to regain his composure. “You see the headmistress of St Clement School for Girls specifically asked for us to be on the case. They claimed they were being targeted by the Holy St Martin finishing school. Well, we went to investigate and they accused us of theft.”
“We didn’t do it did we Oranges,” chimed Lemons.
“No we didn’t. But you see, word got out that we had been accused of stealing money. That was when we received a blackmail threat.”
“A blackmail threat?” exclaimed Wortel.
“It was ridiculous,” said Lemons.
“Yes it was, Lemons, well said,” agreed Oranges. “Luckily Chief Superintendent Magoo traced the blackmail threat to the daughters of an elderly former judge called Bailey.”
“But not before the story was picked up by the local press and that horrid reporter Miss Susie Shoreditch decided we must be guilty and claimed we were stealing to fund our excessive private lives,” said Lemons. “Her headline about our apparent wealth was just vile.”
Wortel looked at them both. “Is that everything?”
“Not quite,” said Oranges who saw Wortel sinking further into his chair. “Her readers wanted to know more, and an outraged reader Mrs Stepney demanded regular updates. Well, a local psychic was called in but even though she was considered to be one the leading figures in her field, she couldn’t shed any light on the matter.”
“And then came the unfortunate incident involving the woodman,” whispered Lemons.
Oranges shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking even more uncomfortable. “Yes, you see, we wanted to prove that we didn’t steal the money from the Holy St Martin finishing school, so we went back there in the evening under cover. The woodman that lives next door saw us and thought we were burglars so came looking. His torch had run out of battery so he used a candlestick instead. He had that in one hand and his little chopper in the other.”
Dorothy let out a laugh which Wortel silenced with a look.
“What happened?” asked Wortel not really wanting to know, but feeling like he had to ask.
“Well, we saw him and I became scared and let out a little juice,” said Lemons. “Unfortunately some of it squirted up into his eye, he stumbled, fell to the floor and his chopper went flying through the air and when it came back down it took his head off.”
Wortel held his head in his hands and stared at the desk not sure whether he should be laughing or crying.
“And then the song started,” said Oranges.
“The song?” asked Wortel not looking up.
“Yes. The rest of the department used to sing it whenever we were close. If they weren’t singing, they would hum the tune instead. We felt victimised.”
“What song?” whispered an increasingly despondent Wortel.
The two new recruits looked at each other, shrugged and launched into voice together.
Oranges and lemons,
Say the belles of St Clement’s.
You owe me five farthings,
Say the belles of St Martin’s.
When will you pay me?
Say the belles of old Bailey.
When they grow rich,
Cried the belle of Shoreditch.
When will that be?
Says the belle of Stepney.
I do not know,
Says the great belle of Bow.
Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!
Wortel’s head slipped from his hands and thumped the desk hard. Dorothy let out a scream of laughter and rushed from the room, leaving Oranges and Lemons to wonder if they had made a good first impression on their new boss.
Dorothy returned once she had regained her composure and reapplied her make-up. Oranges and Lemons had distracted themselves by looking at the case notes from the egg beating murder, while Wortel still sat silently looking as though he was in a suspended state of disbelief. Dorothy’s reappearance caught Wortel’s attention and he looked up at his experienced sidekick.
“He won them in a fixed game of golf,” whispered Wortel, not able to hide the astonishment in his voice.
“I know, I know. I should have told you but I wanted to see your face when Archibald broke the news.”
“Yeah, well thanks for that. And what did you make of their work with Magoo?”
Dorothy’s face twitched but she contained another bout of laughter. “I genuinely didn’t know about that story. And as for the song…”
Oranges and Lemons sensed that Dorothy and Wortel had started talking about them and made an unconvincing coughing noise. Wortel half-smiled at Dorothy, stood up from his desk, adjusted his tie and stepped forward.
“Right. Team meeting everyone, this way.”
Oranges and Lemons looked uncertain about what to do, so following Dorothy’s lead, they joined their new boss at the white board which was pinned with pictures of the Blacktails, Professor Partridge and a copy of the death threat against the four chefs.
“Firstly, welcome to the team, Oranges and Lemons. I may not have given the appearance of being pleased to see you but I was just surprised that’s all. Now you are in my team I expect you to work hard, to scrutinise everything and to question everything. Leave no stone unturned. Got that?”
“Yes sir,” shouted Oranges.
“Why?” questioned Lemons.
“Why?” repeated Wortel a tad startled.
“Yes. I’m questioning why we should scrutinise and question everything.”
“No, no. You don’t have to question that for crying out loud,” bemoaned Wortel.
“Why not?” asked a now completely confused Lemons.
Oranges dug Lemons firmly in the ribs and looked sufficiently embarrassed for them both. Wortel sighed, turned to Dorothy and asked her to give Dr Wilkinson a call to see what he had been able to figure out. Wortel turned back to Oranges and Lemons.
“Right. Listen up the pair of you. I’m going to run through what’s happened so far on these cases.”
Wortel spent the next 30 minutes briefing Oranges and Lemons on the three cases, with Dorothy, who had finished speaking with Dr Wilkinson, chipping in from time to time. When Wortel finished his briefing he turned to Dorothy.
“Anything to add from pathology?”
“No news yet. He said that the blunt force injury to the head of Professor Partridge was caused by someone powerful and he speculates that if the same power was used on something more fragile, say an eggshell, then the damage would be horrific. And we know how bad the damage to the Blacktails was.”
“So, we’re looking for the same killer?” asked Oranges.
“It would seem so,” Wortel agreed.
“But there’s a problem,” said Dorothy. “He is struggling to put the Blacktails back together again. He keeps repeating that he is not a fan of jigsaws.”
Wortel’s mobile telephone burst into life. He looked at the number and moved away so that he could take the call. “Stella. What’s wrong?” Wortel listened intently before grabbing a pen and started scribbling with intent.
“Who’s Stella?” asked Lemons of Dorothy.
“His wife. By the look on his face and the way he is scribbling, he’s being given orders.”
Wortel ended the call and turned back to his newly expanded team. “Shopping list for tonight,” he said folding the piece of paper he had been scribbling on in half and then half again before slipping it into his breast pocket. “Amazing really. We’re going through peanuts, crisps and other snacks quicker than nits through a playschool. The family has had a sudden hunger burst.”
“I keep telling you, those new snacks are delicious,” said Dorothy who suddenly felt peckish at the thought of a packet of sour cream and radish crisps.
The door to the office swung open and in walked Chief Superintendent Archibald, an envelope in his hand and a serious look on his face. Wortel had only seen this look a few times before and it nearly always spelt trouble.
“Wortel, I need to speak with you. There’s been a development.”
“Sir, what’s happened?”
Archibald opened the envelope and took out three photographs, which he dropped onto the table in front of Wortel. Wortel picked them up, looked at each one, and passed them to Dorothy, who in turn passed them to Oranges and Lemons.
“Well, it seems we have a person of interest after all,” said Wortel looking again the photographs. “Dorothy we need to find out everything we can as quickly as possible.”
“Leave it with me boss.”
“And you two, go over everything on the Blacktail case and the Partridge case, and see if you can turn up anything new or connected to this chap here. Also make a point of speaking to Victoria Plum. I’m expecting her to come into the station at some stage today.”
Archibald scratched his head. “Wortel. One more thing.”
“Sir.”
“Brace yourself, but MadCow McBeef has applied for parole. The Board are listening to his case in the next 48 hours.”
Although Wortel could sense movement around him, a numbness struck his body causing time to feel as though it had ground to a shuddering halt.
MadCow McBeef potentially out on parole.
God help us all.