DCI Cobley Crime File
‘Why are you bothering me with this trivia, Sergeant Gurney?’ Detective Chief Inspector Tom Cobley grizzled, ‘It’s just an old mare that’s died.’
Cobley’s faithful sidekick felt the stinging rebuke. Yes, it was an old mare, but it was a famous one too. The national newspapers would be on to it. He knew his boss liked to see himself in the papers.
‘It belonged to Tom Pearce, the …’ but before he could finish his sentence the DCI rebuked him. ‘Why didn’t you say so. There is no time to lose.’ Tom Pearce was a celebrity but no one quite knew why. His name was known across the land, even children recognised it.
‘He lent his old mare to a group from the village. They were off to the fair,’ Sgt Gurney appraised his boss on developments.
‘So, we know who killed it then?’
‘Not exactly, sir,’ Gurney retrieved a notebook from his pocket and flicked through the pages. ‘But we do have a shortlist of suspects.’ Then scrunching up his eyes to read his terrible handwriting, he almost sang the names, ‘Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawke,’ he peered at the notebook struggling with the last name, ‘And, it looks like there’s an uncle somebody an’ all.’
DCI Cobley sighed, there was work to do; this saga would go on for some time. ‘Get me a cup of tea and a biscuit. Chocolate if they have it, he directed. ‘Then we’ll crack on.’
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 