Wortel and Archibald travelled together to the Treasury offices where an audience with Chancellor Stephen Green awaited. Waiting in the reception area Wortel began to fidget nervously as he thought about the previous time he was here when he discovered that passing security was a much more intimate experience than a simple pat down and a look inside any bags or briefcases.
“What’s wrong with you Wortel?” asked Archibald becoming agitated by Wortel shifting from side to side.
“There’s nothing wrong sir.”
“Well then sit still for crying out loud. You’re shifting about so much I’m starting to wonder if someone’s lit a firecracker up your arse.”
“I’m sorry sir. It’s just, well, the last time I was here security was more thorough than I expected.”
Chief Superintendent Archibald broke out into a broad grin. “Ah, I see. Yes, when I came here for the first time as a young whippersnapper I was a little taken aback when the rubber glove appeared.”
“Rubber glove? Crikey, mine was a simple strip search,” said Wortel.
Archibald looked surprisingly wistful. “They say the standards in this country are slipping Wortel. Seems the malaise has even infected the Treasury.”
“So you don’t think it’s a little weird, you know, having to be, well, searched in that way?”
“Well, rest assured Wortel it won’t happen today. I’ve top level security and I can vouch for you.”
Wortel sighed in relief and settled back into the leather sofa which dominated the reception area. “Why has this meeting has been called sir?”
Archibald shrugged. “I’m as in the dark as you are Wortel. It wouldn’t surprise me if Chancellor Green wanted to thank us in some way for all of the work around the bananadrama. After all, it’s meant Green has been reinstated to the position of Chancellor.”
Both man and carrot sat comfortably in the reception listening to the piped jazz tones of Fizzy Pop Gillespie as they waited to be taken up to meet with Chancellor Green. Eventually a well-meaning civil servant arrived to take them to their meeting, but before they could venture through the turnstile entrance, a recent new policy meant they needed health and safety training in order not to injure themselves on the impossibly slow moving contraption.
After a thirty-minute lecture, Wortel and Archibald were awarded a certificate meaning they were able to use the turnstile. However, Chief Superintendent Archibald had failed to notify the Treasury that Wortel was a carrot, and for this oversight Archibald clearly needed his equality training refreshed. A further hour slipped past while Archibald was indoctrinated in the new rules. Having promised never to have an original thought, he was allowed, with Wortel, to pass through the turnstile and forward to his meeting.
**********
Chancellor Stephen Green was one of those people who it proved difficult to tell their age. His face looked weather-beaten and worn which gave the impression he was older than he really was. And in some ways that helped him as Chancellor, for it gave added weight and depth to what he said, even if the message was dressed up in the usual political language, otherwise known to the everyday man as piffle.
Archibald and Wortel were taken straight to Chancellor Green’s office where they found him hands clamped behind his back, staring out of the window, his focus on the disused power station which stood on the banks of the Thames, crumbling brick by brick.
“Do you know,” he said, not turning to face Archibald and Wortel, “that successive governments have said they intended to turn that building into something. It was going to be an arts centre, or an academy of science, or a sports facility for the poor, or fat, or the poor fat, something like that. And look, all this talk, and what’s happened? Sweet bugger all, that’s what’s happened.”
“Are you going to be the one to make change happen?” asked Wortel.
“Dear God no,” laughed Green. “Can’t be doing with any of that nonsense. Let someone else worry about it. I’m just here to make sure the books balance or when they don’t, to make sure everyone knows it wasn’t my fault.”
Chancellor Green turned around and walked across to the two police officers. He stretched out his hand and shook Archibald’s before turning to Wortel. He took Wortel by the hand and looked him up and down.
“Well, I have to say that after the Prime Minister sacked me I was living it up in Portugal on the golf courses. And then there was this food addiction scandal and Professor Partridge gets killed. There is a public outcry and I’m back in post. I guess you know what I would like to say to you both don’t you?”
Chief Superintendent Archibald stood proudly and patted Wortel on the shoulder. “We would say that we were only doing our job sir, but your thanks are most appreciated.”
Green averted his eyes from Wortel and shifted his weight so that he was face to face with Archibald. “You seem to misunderstand me. I was doing fine on the golf course. My handicap was much improved and now I’m stuck back here looking after the country’s finances, which frankly are shockingly bad, and I hate it.”
Archibald felt his jaw dropping but managed to stop it before he gawped in front of the reinstated Chancellor. “But why did you come back then if you hate it so much?” asked Archibald, which was a perfectly reasonable question to ask.
“Professional pride. I do hate this work. But I tell you what I hated more. The fact the previous chap was better at it than I was. I would never have thought of taxing food and making it addictive. I would never have thought of allowing sponsorship deals for all major tourist attractions, events and famous people. He did. He might have been a rotter, but he was good at keeping this deficit under some form of control.”
Wortel felt rather taken aback by what he was hearing. “Chancellor Green. So if I understand you correctly, you’re coming back to try and do equally ‘good’ work?” Wortel could hear his own apprehension in his voice.
Chancellor Green threw back his head and roared with laughter. “My good carrot. No, like any good politician, I’m here to discredit him and then take the plaudits for his work.”
It was Wortel’s turn to feel his jaw start to drop. “So I guess it’s safe to assume you are not going to repel the food tax then?”
“Not a chance. It is a money-spinner. The only difference is that I have no intention of getting into bed with a crooked CEO of a major food producer and committing murder.”
“Ah, now sir, about that you do need to be careful what you say,” said Archibald nervously. “We were never able to get any concrete evidence linking your predecessor to the murders, so he has never been charged on that point.”
“Do you think you are going to find any evidence?” asked Green.
“Unlikely sir,” replied Archibald, who had started to unscrew his false leg, his giveaway sign when he was nervous. “You see, the other people who we believe were part of the scam are all dead. So, it’s hard to make them talk isn’t it?”
“Yes it is. But actually, that’s quite good news all things considered.”
Archibald and Wortel looked at each other and it was clear both man and carrot were utterly confused.
“How come sir?” pressed Archibald.
“Well you see the thing is, the Prime Minister has just started the general election campaign and there are only another 1,765 days to go. It wouldn’t sit well if the government, and ministers of the government, were linked in some way to murder. That’s why the Prime Minister has launched this independent enquiry into the food addiction scandal.”
“Is that the independent enquiry which will be made up of self-appointed old cronies and which is already on its third chair person?” asked Wortel, feeling Archibald give him a sharp dig in the ribs.
“That’ll be the one,” replied Green cheerfully. “Anyway, it’ll take at least two years before the enquiry eventually meets for the first time and then they’ll need to agree terms of reference. That will go on for at least a year, and then once that’s all sorted, well, I’m sure something will surface which will cause that chair and the cronies to stand down.”
“And another few years will slip past with no outcome,” offered Wortel, ignoring the jabbing in his ribs from his superior officer.
“You’ve got it in one Wortel. You’re bright as a button. No wonder you have such a good record at the Food Related Crime team.”
“How much is this going to cost the taxpayer?” said Wortel, taking two steps to his right to avoid Archibald who was making loud hushing noises.
“Far too much. It’ll be well over budget. The sums will be eye watering, but no matter, justice will out. And the public will forget this whole affair ever happened in time. Let’s be honest, they forgave the Chancellor before me for selling off the gold reserves of the country for a packet of fruit pastilles.”
Wortel shrugged in defeated acceptance. “One final question sir, if I may?”
“Of course you may.”
“Why are we here?”
Chancellor Green smiled. “I would like to make you an offer that I don’t think you can refuse.”
Wortel felt his back stiffen at the suggestion, while Chief Superintendent Archibald, who had unscrewed, and then re-screwed his leg, looked at Chancellor Green with intrigue.
Chancellor Green noticed how he caught the attention of Chief Superintendent Archibald and moved into the space which Wortel had vacated when his boss was jabbing him in the ribs. Chancellor Green placed his arm around Archibald’s shoulder and turned him away from Wortel.
“I can only imagine how expensive it is to run your division Chief Superintendent Archibald.”
“Oh it is sir. We are always looking for ways to save money aren’t we Wortel?”
Wortel went to reply but Chancellor Green beat him to the punch.
“I thought as much. Which is why I want to increase the funding for your team. I want to make sure you have funds to cover your expenses for the lifetime of this parliament.”
“How generous of you,” boomed Archibald, taking Chancellor Green by the hand and shaking it vigorously.
Chancellor Green pulled his hand away sharply, causing Archibald to stumble slightly. Obviously he hadn’t tightened his false leg as well as he had thought.
“Just one thing Archibald. One small condition.”
‘Here it comes’ thought Wortel.
“I need to be confident that this murder case isn’t going to come and bite me on the backside. So do I have your word Chief Superintendent Archibald?”
Chief Superintendent Archibald mulled over the offer for a matter of seconds. “So when do we get the increased funds?”
Wortel threw his arms up in the air and bought them down on top of his head. Archibald looked in his direction and smiled weakly. “Look on the bright side. This means you get to keep Oranges and Lemons for so much longer.”
Chancellor Green walked Archibald and Wortel to the lifts and wished them well before departing. He liked them. He liked the way Archibald did business. And he liked the way Wortel wasn’t afraid of showing his emotions. Especially how he had burst into tears on realising he was able to keep his team together.
**********
It was in the taxi on the way back to the office that Wortel managed to regain his composure and stop the flood of tears. Putting his handkerchief back into trouser pocket, Wortel took a long sniff, shook his head and followed that up with a deep sigh.
Archibald, who had become increasingly embarrassed by his colleague’s behaviour and had been pretending he wasn’t with Wortel, stopped staring out of the taxi window and turned to Wortel.
“Have you quite finished?”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that sir,” said Wortel who felt he would burst into tears again if Archibald pressed him too hard.
“Thank the lord. You really embarrassed me in front of the Chancellor.”
“I was overcome sir. The thought of another five years with Oranges and Lemons, well, it was too much for me. You’d be the same if you were with them every second of the working day.”
“I would have held myself together; I can tell you that for nothing Wortel. I was mortified as we walked through reception with you blubbing like there was no tomorrow. The shame of it.”
“And I suppose you falling over because you hadn’t reattached your false leg properly had nothing to do with your embarrassment at all,” replied Wortel more tartly than he wanted.
Archibald reddened in the face as he remembered going arse upwards. “I think I slipped on the wet floor which had arisen because of your tears,” he shot back.
“I very much doubt that,” replied Wortel. “Anyway, I thought the receptionist was very gracious about the whole thing, especially as your leg hit her on the temple and smashed her glasses.”
Archibald turned away from Wortel and began to stare out of the window again, with neither man nor carrot speaking for the remainder of the journey.
**********
Dorothy consoled Wortel on his arrival back at the Food Related Crime offices.
“Want to hear something amusing?” she asked.
“Do I ever?”
“I told Oranges and Lemons the real story of Snow White and suffice to say they were a bit disappointed. Anyway, they initially misheard me and thought I was talking about how to communicate with deaf pandas, but I made them realise I was saying pantomime…”
Wortel raised his eyes to the ceiling.
“…well, they got quite excited by the idea of performing on stage and they’ve booked themselves in for some auditions. We might be off to see them in a panto this year.”
The news did indeed bring a smile to Wortel’s face as he slipped off his overcoat and hung it up on the coat rack.
“What pantomime?” Wortel asked tentatively.
Dorothy let out a small giggle. “I’m not entirely sure but I just know I stopped them from auditioning from a risky ‘adults’ only panto – A-lad-in Dick Whittington.”