Chapter 5
Sergeant Holmes was in fine fettle as he drove home
at a leisurely speed, elbow out the window, enjoying the weather. Now
that evening was drawing on he was looking forward to his dinner. A
pleasant hour with John and Dugal had etched a deep smile into what most
people referred to as his 'serious' face. He breathed in a lungful of
heathery air and savoured the scent of the drowsy moors. With a nod of
his head, he decided he was going to buy a good pair of leather walking
boots and get out more into the moors.
When he reached
the town and was driving by the hospital, he spotted the Thompsons'
hearse pulling out of the main gates. The hearse sped past in somewhat
of a hurry, and neither of the twins seemed to notice him.
'That's strange,' muttered Holmes, checking the clock on the dashboard.
'Whereffer are they going with a coffin at this time of day?'
The hearse took a sharp corner almost a little too fast and disappeared
behind a row of houses. With a reluctant sigh, Holmes decided it was
time to pay them a visit for a quiet chat about their driving.
When he got home, he kicked his front door closed with his foot and hung
his jacket on a hook under the stairs. Still pondering how best to
approach the delicate business of a speeding hearse, he wandered into
the kitchen to prepare his dinner. When a few sausages were spluttering
under the grill, he retired to his armchair and picked up his crossword.
'My goodness!' he exclaimed, casting a dubious glance at the knickers
which were still lying where he'd left them. 'What on earth does
incertitude mean?'
He picked up his dictionary and
as he did so the phone rang. Flicking pages with one hand, he
absent-mindedly reached across and picked up the handset with the other.
'Yes?' he asked, still with one eye in the dictionary.
'Is . . . is that you Bob?' asked a nervous woman, whose voice he didn't
recognise.
'Yes, yes it is,' he beamed, pleasantly
surprised.
She sounded quite young too.
'And who is this?'
There was silence on the other end of
the line for a few moments and then there was a click as the phone went
down. For a moment it didn't register. Then, with trembling fingers, he
dropped the dictionary and hurriedly dialled 1471.
'You
were called today at eighteen fifteen hours,' said the automated female
voice. 'The caller withheld their number.'
In a state of
shock, he stared across at the knickers on the couch. He was still in a
daze when he switched off the grill. Leaving his dinner half cooked, he
slipped on his jacket and headed off to the pub.