By Lundy Langer
July 16 2012

And so, to the relief of the picture editor - we reach the final episode of our "Nortampton Gris" detective tale 

So  we bring our twisted tale to an end  - it’s been both a bit of fun and a struggle – the struggle has been in trying to condense into  reasonably sized episodes what really required much more  explanation  and thought and time than  we could  give to the project. 

Apologies are due for the inconsistencies and seemingly odd  lurches in the plot as your author desperately tried to remember where we were supposed to be going with it all.

Your author has learned a lot from the experience – mostly that writing stuff  is a lot more difficult that you think it is.

The TV rights are available and Sir Kenneth Brannagh is on standby   to play the role of Sergeant Malcolm. 

Well   that’s it and I’m off down the Hop Bin  for pint of  “Old Pete.”

CHAPTER NINE   -     Conclusions  and loose ends 

The Angel's  rugby ground -   16.05 pm  -   Angels   13  Gloucester 15 

As Goodbody and her uniformed colleagues made their way around the back of the Shoe Makers Stand  all eyes were on the action on the pitch  where  the Angels   heavy weight pack were driving  hard  10 meters from the Gloucester line. It was pick and go  just to then right of the posts.  The Blind side was  tempting as only  one Gloucester player was in a position to defend a fast  and determined thrust   by the Angels 

The whistle went and the referee Rowdy  Ashton  signalled that Angels had knocked on and a scrum was indicated with the Cherry and Whites to put in. 

All  around the ground  teeth were  gritted and  jaws tightened  in disappointment  but then this was replaced by a surge of support – surely the   pack could do it – push Glaws off their own ball.   Angels ; Angels ; rang out   thunderously around the ground as the scrum was set.

The hit was good and although the Gloucester pack stood firm  a second shove from the men in gold black and green  started to push them back.    The noise levels rose to a crescendo. Gloucester really were going backwards and the referee was scuttling around the scrum  - whistle ready and arm poised to be raised. 

At the same time oblivious to the drama on the pitch Goodbody  reached the aisle  just behind the scruffy looking individual who Illtyd Williams had identified as Longshanks.  She reached forward intending to tap him on the shoulder when he reached into his duffle back took out an mobile phone and keyed in a number.

Now Longshanks was quite good at electronics and thus had been able to set up a device that would  activate  as a result of receiving a pre-set  signal from his mobile phone.   The device was secreted inside the  padding at the foot of the left hand post  at the Gloucester end of the pitch.  The signal worked.

Longshanks was not , however very good at chemistry  and the mixture of  ammonium nitrate weed killer which was to be the main charge  in his device  was not well prepared. It had been left overnight  exposed to the air in the  thermos flask  Longshanks was to use as his  “bomb”. He had not screwed on the lid until the last minute. The highly deliquescent properties of ammonium nitrate  now conspired against him  as although his stolen detonator went off the   main charge was very very damp.

So as the scrum went backwards and Rowley Ashton’s arm went up to signal a penalty there was a sharp crack -  and a cloud of smoke  from the base of the left hand post – the post swayed a bit    but that was all. 

Longshanks saw Goodbody and her colleagues and rose in his seat. He stared at the post at the far end of the ground  which was still smouldering but otherwise unharmed.  He had failed .  With an   unintelligible bellow of range he leapt forwards  running down the few steps to the barrier  at the edge of the pitch and with an athleticism that belied his age and demeanour  vaulted the barrier running out into the centre of the pitch. 

Play had stopped  as the referee and players from both sides  looked alternatively at the smouldering post  and now at the strange figure running onto then pitch.

Yellow jacketed stewards  ran after him – but he was too fast  for them and within seconds was advancing towards the main group of players  who were stood about under the posts at the Gloucester end of the pitch. As  he drew near he pulled from his  jacket  an object that he waved about   - it was a .22 pistol.

He ran towards  the players screaming incomprehensibly .  Suddenly  players and  officials and spectators  realised what he had in his hand. He stopped and started to lower the pistol  as if to take aim. 

He raised his arm which was shaking  and seemed to point the weapons at one of the Angels players when  like a great dark missile  the  long form of   Winston Rules   the Angels giant lock forward   flew through the air and flattened him.  Longshanks did not get up.

Players gathered around his prone form  as Clare Goodbody and the two uniforms rushed up.

Longshanks  lay  pale and moaning on the turf.  Goodbody leaned over him and said 

“Gordon March , I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Joe Falattu and for other offences under the firearms and anti - terrorism acts. “

Longshanks looked up at the Detective Constable as she  prepared to handcuff him.

“You fools “he said “you fools !! “

Goodbody ignored him and pulled him to his feet and with the help of the two constables  ushered him from the pitch into a waiting police car.

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Rowdy Ashton   blew long and hard on his whistle – and called the players from both teams together.  “Did they want to play on ? “There were seven minutes of game time left .  

Both captains said yes they did  and  Ashton re set the scrum   five meters out from the Gloucester Line  with as before a Gloucester put in.   This time the Gloucester pack held up and managed to get the ball away.  A long kick down the pitch failed to find touch and suddenly the Angels fullback was cutting through defenders with one of his characteristically fast and mazy runs.  He was tacked  just outside the Gloucester 22 but off loaded  to Alfie Turner who stepping on the gas    bursts past the last defender to score in the corner.

Angels   18   - Gloucester-  15  and   4 minutes to go. 

Ryan Myler steps up to take the difficult  attempt at a conversion which will mean that Gloucester have to score twice in a few minutes to win the match.  He lines up on the ball and  as he always does looks up at the posts .  He steps up  and kicks.  The ball flies through then air. -   breath is held around the ground as in absolute silence 13,000  people watch its journey. Is it on course – yes – no  - NO  it hits the left hand upright and bounces back into the field of play. 

Red and white shirts  gather to collect the ball but two players go for it once and collide leaving the ball bouncing loosely towards  the onrushing Angels players  -  Local lad  Phil Biggins gathers it and sprints over the line TRY !!   The crowd go wild  and the chant of Angels ,Angels   can be heard  far beyond the confines of the stadium. 

The match is won.

Midhampton Police HQ    20.30  

Acting DI Malcolm   and Clare Goodbody   sit in the DI’s office. They have taken a break from questioning Gordon March.

Malcolm  shakes his head and looks at Clare   “You know what gets me is that  he actually came into this building to complain about me and my boat on the river. Bold as brass  he was and I just thought he was some busybody .”

Clare nodded  “Yes that was odd  but probably in character – we sent some of the lads to look for his boat and we found out that what he was in that morning on the river wasn’t his boat – he had hired it for the week. Its where he  kept all his gear – his electrics , bomb making stuff  so that there would be no traces at his home.   Mind you when we searched his home we found all sorts of unpleasant pamphlets   from that England First mob   and who knows what’s on his computer?”

Malcolm – grimaced “I knew I should have followed up on “his boat “after he came in here  but we were totally misled by that  damn doctor. Makes charging that  idiot with wasting police time a bit thin don’t it ? “

Clare smiled  “Oh I think  failing to report a death ; mutilating a corpse   -  and a lot of other things could see  our Mr Rathbone facing a very embarrassing and costly day or two in court.”

“Yes , you’re right there “replied Malcolm.  “Any way despite then garbage that our friend March is spewing out – I think that once ballistics confirms that we have got the weapon that killed Falattu – he will break.

Clare got up   “Sir  - we can hold March for another 24 hours  so there’s no hurry now  and I could do with a drink “

Malcolm  grinned  back at her  “I think you right  - so let’s go have a drink  - oh and when we’re in the pub – you can drop then Sir stuff – it’s Frank .

“Right then Frank  “replied Clare  “Let’s go 

EPILOGUES 

Two days later   - Bert’s Shed 

Bert Haddon was reading the Monitor’s account of the bizarre incident at the Angels match and arrest of Gordon March when Clare Goodbody  appeared in the doorway to the shed.

“Hello Bert , I just thought I would call in to see how you’re doing now it’s all over.”

Bert Looked up   “Oh hello Love – so you got him in the end then – cup of tea ? 

Clare said that would be nice and sat down in the other chair. While Bert rose from his battered easy chair  and set about making tea.

“Course “he said “You should have come back and asked me about that nutter  - known about him for quite a while. Him and his  mates .”

“Really?  “queried Clare “what did you know then ? “

Bert paused to stir several sugars into his cup and gave the other one to Clare. “Well it’s like this “– he replied “I makes it my business to know what’s happening on my patch and apart from  his daft stuff on that message board  I seen him pushing them nasty leaflets through peoples letter boxes.”

Clare sipped her tea  - which was quite strong   “Didn’t you think to tell anyone about your suspicions ? “

Bert looked shocked at this suggestion   “Nah  -  who’d  listen to an old fool like me – anyway what do think I am some sort of policeman ?

Later that evening  Bert went home   and after his tea  went upstairs to his bedroom.  He opened his wardrobe  and moving aside the two old tweed jackets and  his one good suit  he stared  at the jacket and trousers neatly handing at the back of the wardrobe.

Bert had first appeared in Jimmies end some thirty years ago  and had told people how he had once worked as personal  driver and mechanic for  Lord  Masters    the motor racing enthusiast and at the time a government spokesman on Civil defence in the house of Lords. 

This may or may not have been true  because even through the plastic cover all   the garments at the back of Bert’s wardrobe   were  identifiable . They were  clearly a uniform of some sort – actually a very particular sort -  a light brown –not quite khaki    with  very obvious shoulder boards,. These were a distinctive blue  with three small gold stars on them.

Bert smiled to himself and said out loud without a trace of Midhampton accent – “Well I never did get to wear  it  - some sort of policeman indeed!! “

Six  weeks later  -   Near Twickenham West London.

Pete Shadwell  had decided to make a weekend of it  and  was walking along the road towards the pub where he was going to meet up with some Angels fans  down for the   League Final against Harlequins.  

As he neared the pub  he passed in a shop doorway a very sad looking sight. A man was curled up under a sleeping bag . He was dirty  and next to him was an empty can or three of strong lager. He was also wearing – it was just visible and despite the tares and soiled appearance  - the very distinctive multi-coloured shirt  that betokened Harlequins. 

“Blimey “though Shadwell “I always thought that their fans were supposed to be  quite classy ? “

He looked again at the man  who remained huddled down   with his face turned away. and carried on towards the pub.

About   twenty yards or so further on Shadwell turned again and looked towards the shop doorway.  The man had stood up and was unsteadily gathering together his belongings.    Then he turned and  looked straight at Shadwell  who looked straight back at the man.

Recognition  bounced between them . The man turned and scuttled off  back down the road . Shadwell stood staring after him  “ It can’t be  - no it can’t be   I , we all thought he’d gone to Spain.

Pete pulled out his mobile phone 

“Hello News Desk  - yes it’s me Pete Shadwell – you’ll  never guess who I’ve just seen ?  

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THE END