Midwinter Mystery of the Missing Wallet

“What the f***!” He exclaimed, before lifting the receiver and answering with an abrupt, “Who’s this?” A plaintive, whimpering voice on the other end asked, “Is that you Inspector?” Barney answered “Is that you Marzdin? What the ‘ell do you want this time?”

“Yes, it’s Granville here, Inspector.” said the voice in between sobs. Barney feared that this would be yet another tip-off to a wild goose chase. He regretted once telling Granville that he was one of his chief grasses just to make him feel important, whereas the truth was, he regarded him as the proverbial pain in the Aris. Everything he had reported so far had been worth sod all, usually regarding anglers fishing in the close season or alleged immigrants taking a few poxy carp from waters they weren’t supposed to.

“Well then young Granville, what can we do for you? Have you got a tip-off for a tackle shop raid or do you want to report some fish thefts, yet again?”

“No. This is really serious. I mean, this is really, really serious.” Granville said, blubbering into the phone. “My wallet has disappeared and I think someone may have stolen it!”

(DUMB-DUMB-DUUUUUUUMMMMBBB! [You know the music!])

Barney realised immediately that young Granville would never joke about a thing so close to his heart as his wallet. The Inspector knew that he took the greatest care of it, and knew where it was every moment of the day, even restricting those who saw it to very close family and a restricted list of friends. Even the Inspector had only caught a glimpse of it once and the fact that he was reporting it missing showed that he had already searched all of his hideaways and lockable storage deposit boxes.

“You sure of this Granville? It’s not a wind-up is it?” he asked.

“I can’t remember when I last saw it, but all I’ve done this morning is packed my fishing gear ready for a trip. Oh please help, Inspector!” He begged, “I’m absolutely distraught with grief and daren’t leave the house to go fishing. I’ve been so careful with it, but I fear it might have been stolen.”

Barney knew that to lift something the size of Granville’s wallet normally requires a fork lift truck, let alone getting past the fully sprung trap on his reinforced pocket.

“KORUMbs,” said the inspector and reassured Granville that he would follow every LEED And that no STONZE would be left unturned. The entire weight of the local police force would be engaged in TRAKKERing down this cunning FOX and if it were within his power he’d see the perpetrator dangling from the end of a KORD(A). NASHing his teeth he couldn’t conceive who could possibly have broken the code on the wallet’s CHUB lock. Normally that requires DYNAMITE, but he PRESTON.

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Having hung up, Barney immediately called for road blocks to be set up on the M6 causing yet another 25 mile tailback and utter misery for motorists. Next, he decided he would interview the usual suspects. ‘Fast Ed’ who could strip the hub caps off a car faster than you could lock it with a remote control. ‘Shifty Ron’ who, despite his gentlemanly appearance and dapper style, claimed he was a man of modest means, but puzzled everyone with his vast collection of expensive fishing tackle and flashy cars. Then there was ‘Dodgy Dog’ Nellist, the quiet one, innocent looking, but a trail of dripping fish slime from his never-washed fishing suit usually gave his game away.

He grabbed his hat, called upon his faithful sidekick D.S. Deanos, who he’d nicknamed ‘Tubbs’ after the character in Miami Vice, or so he’d told Deanos. In fact he given him the nickname because the enormous waistline Tubbs had developed over the past year on a diet of pies, chips, bacon butties, and beer.

“Get a driver Tubbs, we’ve got an investigation on our hands. That Hobson (he was their ‘choice’ of driver) chap will do, he spends too much time sitting on his backside dreamin’ about fishing. About time he made use of himself.”

“Yes Sir,” Tubbs said. “What’s afoot?”

“Twelve Inches,” replied Barney (yes it’s an old chestnut, but like I said, you get this site for free and it is the pantomime season!). “But more importantly, Granville’s wallet’s gone missing and he suspects it may have been stolen.”

“Cripes, Sir. Now that is serious. We’d best get on to it immediately, but can you smell something, Sir?” asked Tubbs. Barney thought for a moment before responding “Ah, yes. They’re carrying out some maintenance work on the drains, apparently.”

Speeding away they first went to visit Fast Ed who seemed a little surprised by their call and was desperately trying to cover the gap in the garage door.

“‘Ello, ello, ello, what’s all this …?”

“Aye, aye, aye.” Fast Ed cut in, “Der’s no need to push laaaaaaaaaaaa. What can I do for yous?”

Inspector Barney explained that Granville Marzdin had reported his wallet stolen and Ed’s eyes lit up.

“Who de ‘ell cud lift dat laaaaaaaaaaaa?. I tried once and nearly pulled a muscle. I’m not as fit as I used to be laaaaaaaaaaaaa. If you want to pull somebody for nicking dat, look somewhere else. It takes me all me time to lift hub-caps now yer soft scally!”

Fast Ed realised he’d dropped himself in it as Barney wrestled him away from the door, which opened itself under the weight of a thousand hub-caps pushing against them. “Oh yes, and where did all this lot come from? Book him Tubbs. Get in the car Fast Ed, you can answer all our questions at the station.”

“Alright laaaaaaaaaaa, it’s a fair cop, but I demand to see me lawyer.”

“Who is your lawyer now, Fast Ed?” asked Tubbs.

“That’ll be Nigel Crooner.”

“Nigel Crooner? You have to be joking. He’s more bent than you villains. I heard he even exaggerates the weights of the fish he catches. Folks reckon he can’t help adding a pound here and a pound there, just like his charges.”

“Maybe.” said fast Ed, “But he’s the best brief round ‘ere and by the way, what’s that ‘orrible f****** stench?”

Barney sniffed the air (curiously, he appeared to be savouring it) and replied, “Must be the local town gasworks. Now get in the car.”

Having run Fast Ed to the station and banged him up, they made their way over to see Shifty Ron. He welcomed the Inspector and D.S. Tubbs into his humble abode. It was very humble. A single, unshaded, 25 watt light bulb hung from the ceiling, samples of wallpaper torn from a pattern book had been pinned to the walls and the curtains were old bed sheets tied on a rod and suspended over the window. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the fellow.

When the Inspector told Shifty Ron of his investigation, he replied that he’d quit the life of crime now for good. “I’ll believe that when I see it Shifty.” Barney said.

“Well, you’d better believe it Inspector. I’ve found a new business, quite legitimate, that earns me more in a day than I would make in a year of crime. I’m selling figs now, by the ton! I sell them on the internet and post them.”

“Figs?” exclaimed Tubbs, “What the f*** are figs and where do you keep them?”

Shifty explained about figs and that he kept them in the bedrooms, kitchen, and bathroom. “Fortunately, I have a separate toilet.” explained Shifty Ron. “You need clear and ready access to a toilet when you eat the quantity of figs I do.”

Tubbs said “Urgh! Why aren’t you eating a decent diet like pies, chips, crisps and sponge cakes?”

Despite their questioning it became apparent that Shifty had had nothing to do with the missing wallet. “Alright then Shifty, we’ll leave it at that.” said Barney, “But don’t think you’re entirely off the hook. Does the health inspector know about the stash of figs in your bedroom and coal shed and you’re expecting the public to consume them afterwards?”

“Fair enough.” said Shifty. “I promise I’ll find somewhere better to store them. I’ll see if my newly found friend, his Lordship up at Firkham Hall, has any space available. The smell of them is bad enough anyway …. Speaking of which, what is that smell? That’s not my figs, I know. That’s a real gut-wrenching stink.”

Barney stuttered “Ahem. Well, when we came up here the local pig farmer was swilling out the sties. Might be that! It does drift y’know. See you around Shifty. Come on Tubbs, leave ’em alone. Stick with pies.” And off they sped to Dodgy Dog’s gaff.

“I don’t think we’ll find anything here. If he’d been anywhere near Granville’s place he’d have left that ‘orrible trail of slime and Granville would have known about it. That suit is very noticeable, if you know what I mean. The smell alone is enough to knock a horse out and even the local Indian restaurant complains when he walks past their front door.”

They found Dodgy in his shed making up another concoction of his secret bait ready for the weekend. Hobson (you’ll notice he’s been fairly quiet so far) couldn’t help but ask what was in it, but that, like all Dodgy’s brews and potions, would remain a closely guarded secret. “He wouldn’t part with his own wind that man.” said Hobson (but some of us know different.)

“Look Dodgy, I’ll come straight to the point. Do you know anything about Granville Marzdin’s wallet going missing?” asked Barney.

“Granville’s wallet you say? Oh what I wouldn’t give for a better look at that. I’d even part with one of my secret groundbait recipes for the slightest glimpse of that if the rumours of it are true. Even the pyramids of Egypt can’t hold a candle to it in terms of their size and enormity.” answered Dodgy.

“So you know nothing about it being stolen or lost perhaps and being picked up by mistake then?” asked Tubbs.

“Not a clue. If I had I’d be out buying a new bib and brace set now. Then again, I’ve got rather attached to these now, so much so, I can no longer get them off. Even Wily Wol’s tried helping me get them off – or at least I think that’s what he was trying to do.”

“Anyway, must go now. The smell of that suit is starting to clog up my sinuses.” said Barney.

“Speaking of smells.” said Dodgy, “What the f*** is that I can smell, and it’s not my suit I can tell you. That’s a real pen and ink and no mistake. Makes my suit smell like Chanel.”

Barney cut him off pretty quickly “Yes, well. It’s probably the local landfill turning over their waste. Come on Tubbs, let’s get out of here.”

On the way back to the car his mobile phone rang. It was Granville, “Good news Inspector.” he said. “The wallet’s turned up. I’d put it in one of my tackle bags and just like me, I’d completely forgot.”

“Forgot! FORGOT! Just you wait ’til I see you again Marzdin. All the trouble I’ve gone to. There’s absolute deadlock on the M6 now between Preston and Birmingham. I’ve had three officers turning this land over looking for your stupid wallet not to mention the manpower combing the fields and surrounding areas and a bloody helicopter with thermal tracking looking for any HOT SPOTs (slipped in another tackle plug there, folks). You take more care of it in future or I’ll come round your house and shove it where the sun don’t shine.” And with that he hung up the phone.

“Come on Tubbs. Let’s get back to the station, should be back just in time for the steak and kidney pie and chips. Your favourite I believe.”

“Ah, yes Sir.” answered Tubbs. “Well at least that’s another mystery solved.”

“That’s right, Tubbs. Which leaves just one mystery left. Just what is that f***ing smell that’s been following us around all day?”

He stopped and turned around, “It’s you, isn’t it, reader? All the snide comments thrown about on FishingMagic over the years about my gaseous expulsions and it was you all along.”

“Happy New Year anyway!”