Wyse spun round, standing before him was Officer Rogers. His frame silhouetted by the hallway light showed off his rat like features and not a particularly endearing rat.
Officer Rogers had often hinted he was ex-military and although he maintained he was unable to confirm or deny being in the The Regiment he would always stroke his Hereford moustache and smile.
It was Wyse thought an odd sought of clue to your past mysterious military background. Sporting such a popular style of moustache which was abruptly masculine in its short trim appearance should allow no broker for comparison between deadly assassin and drag queen. Used to affect a certain air in its namesake county especially in nightclubs, it inferred you were part of the Special Air Service. A secret which should probably be kept very private, especially with deadly enemies seeking revenge after the various clandestine operations in foreign climbs one would have encountered. Unbelievably Rogers seriously believed people thought he had actually been part of the SAS and predictably had maintained his Walter Mitty delusions.
‘What, are you, doing here?’ demanded Wyse.
‘Why, I have to do my fair share of nights, as well you know. It’s not easy being at the top but then you must have forgotten about that by now,’ said Rogers.
Wyse had not forgotten the responsibilities of such lofty echelons and still lived by these values in and out of work, well aware that behind his back there were whispers and even accusations he didn’t have any sort of a life, except for the Service. He understood the jealousy which founded these prejudices all too well having constantly battled them throughout his life, knowing with the greatest humility his example was one few could ever hope to comprehend, let alone emulate.
‘That’s not what I meant as well you know, why are you here Rogers? We didn’t request an officer and frankly, we don’t need one.’
‘I’m here for your support old friend. It’s just you seem to be taking longer to do the simpler things and as you hadn’t reported back to ambulance control, I was concerned,’ a slyness crept across Rogers face, ‘you know, I’ve even asked control to let me know where you go so I can keep an eye out for you, just to make sure nothing is wrong.’
‘Nothing is wrong with me,’ Wyse said, ‘In fact, if I were...’
‘If you were wrong it wouldn’t need pointing out, because it would be so obvious, eh Wyse?’ said Rogers.
‘No, that doesn’t make any sense. For then it would never be pointed out I was wrong and therefore to assume I was, would be to say I was wrong all the time, which is obviously not the case.’
Rogers started to form his next words but stopped. He would never admit Wyse had a superior intellect over him but arguments with him were never straight forward, even when you knew you were right. Confused as to what he should be arguing about he retreated to the safety of intimidation.
Tuesday 31 August 2010
Monday 30 August 2010
PADS #11
Initially the amount of light available had only revealed the head and shoe of the victim and now that he considered it technically the head was still not really visible. From the other side of the bed the emaciated naked male torso was resisting the pulls of gravity by an eerie levitation of indecision towards his final destination.
The time elapsed from the moment of death had captured the victims last death throws in perpetuity with his other leg twisting up high behind his back and fragile arms reaching upwards towards the eponymous tunnel of light. This macabre illusion was completed by the dark purple post mortem staining and complemented the pale rigidity of his arms and legs in their final dance to the swinging disco light.
A dance which was oddly celebrated by the bucket still firmly attached to the victim’s head.
The professional part of his mind took immediate control and maintained a complete detachment from the surreal events unfolding. To the casual observer it would look like he had seen this many times before, whilst his subconscious started screaming that things were definitely not normal and maybe he should start screaming to.
The plastic bucket which adorned the man’s head was decorated with flowers of indiscernible origin and colours. It had been battered beyond recognition from the normal circular design into one of sharp angles and indents. The only other clue it had once been a bucket was the white handle precariously hanging to one side.
Examining it closer Wyse noted the edges of brown paper could be seen creeping down the neck of the man. The stench of vinegar filled the air. No doubt from the victim’s last meal Wyse surmised carefully placing a foot between the few scattered chips on the floor.
The bucket though was the coup de grace.
This would test the mettle of not only himself, but also more importantly his protégés and would make an extraordinarily appropriate first case. A multitude of questions flashed through his mind. Who was this gentleman? How did he die? Who, where or what was the murderer? What he needed was a modus operandi, some starting point.
The time elapsed from the moment of death had captured the victims last death throws in perpetuity with his other leg twisting up high behind his back and fragile arms reaching upwards towards the eponymous tunnel of light. This macabre illusion was completed by the dark purple post mortem staining and complemented the pale rigidity of his arms and legs in their final dance to the swinging disco light.
A dance which was oddly celebrated by the bucket still firmly attached to the victim’s head.
The professional part of his mind took immediate control and maintained a complete detachment from the surreal events unfolding. To the casual observer it would look like he had seen this many times before, whilst his subconscious started screaming that things were definitely not normal and maybe he should start screaming to.
The plastic bucket which adorned the man’s head was decorated with flowers of indiscernible origin and colours. It had been battered beyond recognition from the normal circular design into one of sharp angles and indents. The only other clue it had once been a bucket was the white handle precariously hanging to one side.
Examining it closer Wyse noted the edges of brown paper could be seen creeping down the neck of the man. The stench of vinegar filled the air. No doubt from the victim’s last meal Wyse surmised carefully placing a foot between the few scattered chips on the floor.
The bucket though was the coup de grace.
This would test the mettle of not only himself, but also more importantly his protégés and would make an extraordinarily appropriate first case. A multitude of questions flashed through his mind. Who was this gentleman? How did he die? Who, where or what was the murderer? What he needed was a modus operandi, some starting point.
Friday 27 August 2010
PADS #10
‘Do you think I should text them?’
‘Text who?’ asked Wyse.
‘You know the Society, it being the first time and all. That is if you think this is it?’ said Elms.
In a private moment Wyse may have admitted events had overtaken him and he had already become totally absorbed in the case to forget such a procedure, especially as he had formulated the correct protocol to follow if any member of the society discovered a murder, but this was not the time. If this was to be the first case for the Society then there was no better man to give the nod to open proceedings than the founder himself, taking a deep breath and judging the moment was correct he solemnly spoke,
‘Text the code Elms, we meet tonight in the locker room.’
A grin spread across the face of Elms. Pressing send, the message already saved on his phone flew out into the ether and winged its way to the other illustrious members of the Society.
‘Er, do you think we should have a quick snoop around before the old bill gets here?’ asked Elms.
‘The police won’t be here quite yet Elms. It’s coming to the end of their shift and the last thing they want to deal with is another dead body. Go speak to the friend and see what else you can find out, I’ll secure the scene.’
‘But, I...’
‘I understand Elms, but time is of the essence and we must all perform our duties no matter how insignificant they may seem.’
The door closed and Wyse found himself completely transformed. The victim lying at his feet had been the catalyst for this change, one for which he would forever be indebted to. The fellowship would have by now received their messages and be busily honing their own specialities in preparation for the challenges ahead and all of them would be relying upon him for his leadership qualities. He was disturbed from these thoughts by an unexpected appearance.
‘Sorry.’ said Elms, creeping back into the room and departing with a more satisfied grin upon his face.
He really would have to talk to Elms and his predilection for film noir which required him to add extra atmosphere wherever possible. The unadorned bulb suspended from the ceiling had now been sent into a frenzied swinging motion casting demonic shadows to spin manically around the room.
‘Text who?’ asked Wyse.
‘You know the Society, it being the first time and all. That is if you think this is it?’ said Elms.
In a private moment Wyse may have admitted events had overtaken him and he had already become totally absorbed in the case to forget such a procedure, especially as he had formulated the correct protocol to follow if any member of the society discovered a murder, but this was not the time. If this was to be the first case for the Society then there was no better man to give the nod to open proceedings than the founder himself, taking a deep breath and judging the moment was correct he solemnly spoke,
‘Text the code Elms, we meet tonight in the locker room.’
A grin spread across the face of Elms. Pressing send, the message already saved on his phone flew out into the ether and winged its way to the other illustrious members of the Society.
‘Er, do you think we should have a quick snoop around before the old bill gets here?’ asked Elms.
‘The police won’t be here quite yet Elms. It’s coming to the end of their shift and the last thing they want to deal with is another dead body. Go speak to the friend and see what else you can find out, I’ll secure the scene.’
‘But, I...’
‘I understand Elms, but time is of the essence and we must all perform our duties no matter how insignificant they may seem.’
The door closed and Wyse found himself completely transformed. The victim lying at his feet had been the catalyst for this change, one for which he would forever be indebted to. The fellowship would have by now received their messages and be busily honing their own specialities in preparation for the challenges ahead and all of them would be relying upon him for his leadership qualities. He was disturbed from these thoughts by an unexpected appearance.
‘Sorry.’ said Elms, creeping back into the room and departing with a more satisfied grin upon his face.
He really would have to talk to Elms and his predilection for film noir which required him to add extra atmosphere wherever possible. The unadorned bulb suspended from the ceiling had now been sent into a frenzied swinging motion casting demonic shadows to spin manically around the room.
Thursday 26 August 2010
PADS #9
‘Nothing in here, not a thing, no shoes no clothes. It’s completely empty, I mean it’s impressive, but why would you have it if you weren’t going to use it?’
‘And why would you lock it?’ said Wyse, approaching the cupboard for a closer inspection.
The cupboard which would have probably stolen the attention in any room regardless of other distractions, had been well cared for. It was almost as if the house had been designed around and maybe even built to keep it safe. Detailed painted panels of children playing, often featuring animals and mythical beasts decorated the doors and sides of the cupboard. The only blemish appeared to be some recent damage to one of the panels in the centre of the cupboard laying it open to the wood beneath. The remaining fragments above the damage depicted what seemed to be the roof of a small house and below a puddle of water had been finely embossed in gold leaf.
It was all somehow vaguely familiar to him.
‘What are they?’ said Elms tracing the panels with his fingers.
‘They are the work of a master craftsman, Elms. Perhaps this was the lasting legacy of our victim who has undoubtedly fallen upon hard times and been abandoned by all. Who finally succumbed in the end to the cruel reality of a world which no longer cares for such artistry and survived by selling all but his most treasured possession.’
‘You don’t know, do you?’ said Elms.
‘It is a logical assumption,’ said Wyse, turning away from Elms and the cupboard to inspect the rest of the room
The only other piece of furniture was the bed, which had been designed with the fragile in mind. Large black iron balls capped the four posts defending the oasis of sleep. A multi colour duvet was thrown across the bed, so that when the fragile cracked their heads open the blood wouldn’t show up too much against it. The curtains of the bedroom were heavy and fully drawn, their colour was indistinguishable from the purple lined walls and left the rest of the room empty, except for the shape of a body dimly lit by the embarrassed light.
Wyse breathed in deeply, this had been the physical moment when he had accepted the case and its heavy burden of bringing those responsible for this death to justice. He studied the dead body curled against the bed. He had seen many deaths in his time but even by his standards this was peculiar, before he could venture forward an anxious voice interrupted him.
‘And why would you lock it?’ said Wyse, approaching the cupboard for a closer inspection.
The cupboard which would have probably stolen the attention in any room regardless of other distractions, had been well cared for. It was almost as if the house had been designed around and maybe even built to keep it safe. Detailed painted panels of children playing, often featuring animals and mythical beasts decorated the doors and sides of the cupboard. The only blemish appeared to be some recent damage to one of the panels in the centre of the cupboard laying it open to the wood beneath. The remaining fragments above the damage depicted what seemed to be the roof of a small house and below a puddle of water had been finely embossed in gold leaf.
It was all somehow vaguely familiar to him.
‘What are they?’ said Elms tracing the panels with his fingers.
‘They are the work of a master craftsman, Elms. Perhaps this was the lasting legacy of our victim who has undoubtedly fallen upon hard times and been abandoned by all. Who finally succumbed in the end to the cruel reality of a world which no longer cares for such artistry and survived by selling all but his most treasured possession.’
‘You don’t know, do you?’ said Elms.
‘It is a logical assumption,’ said Wyse, turning away from Elms and the cupboard to inspect the rest of the room
The only other piece of furniture was the bed, which had been designed with the fragile in mind. Large black iron balls capped the four posts defending the oasis of sleep. A multi colour duvet was thrown across the bed, so that when the fragile cracked their heads open the blood wouldn’t show up too much against it. The curtains of the bedroom were heavy and fully drawn, their colour was indistinguishable from the purple lined walls and left the rest of the room empty, except for the shape of a body dimly lit by the embarrassed light.
Wyse breathed in deeply, this had been the physical moment when he had accepted the case and its heavy burden of bringing those responsible for this death to justice. He studied the dead body curled against the bed. He had seen many deaths in his time but even by his standards this was peculiar, before he could venture forward an anxious voice interrupted him.
Wednesday 25 August 2010
PADS #8
Turning Wyse closed the door, he knew it was vital every detail and observation be recorded meticulously. A process he had practiced many times in complete serenity.
It was therefore somewhat of a surprise to feel a slight nervousness to his thinking. One which was being closely watched by his body, in case it needed to do any shaking or even release some bodily fluid. It occurred to him the blame for this was due to Elms.
‘Elms, I can’t see! Why haven’t you put the lights on?’
‘I didn’t know you were going to close the door.’
‘Apology accepted Elms, now really do try to find the light switch.’
After a muffled response eventually the room was bathed in the twilight of an eco friendly bulb which was very politely trying not to interrupt the darkness too much. The generally invisible decor of the house had been continued into the sparse bedroom and contained only a bed and an enormous cupboard.
‘The body?’ said Elms.
‘First we must inspect the rest of the room, it is all too easy to miss that vital clue which will prove invaluable later,’ said Wyse through gritted determination.
‘That’s one big cupboard,’ said Elms.
‘Yes, it is rather large.’ replied Wyse, who had been making his way to the body before unconsciously stepping back from the sheer presence of the intimidating furniture.
‘You could get five people in there,’ said Elms testing the handle.
‘Or a murderer?’ mused Wyse.
‘Yes, I suppose you could hide in there if you had been unexpectedly interrupted,’ Elms paused mid turn as the handle clicked loudly, ‘it’s locked, can you see the key anywhere?’
‘Now is not the time to become distracted, Elms. We must concentrate on the matter at hand.’ said Wyse, ‘I am quite sure the murderer has long gone...’
‘I found it,’ said Elms, picking up a large brass key which was hanging off the bedpost by a piece of red ribbon. Quickly he unlocked the cupboard.
It was therefore somewhat of a surprise to feel a slight nervousness to his thinking. One which was being closely watched by his body, in case it needed to do any shaking or even release some bodily fluid. It occurred to him the blame for this was due to Elms.
‘Elms, I can’t see! Why haven’t you put the lights on?’
‘I didn’t know you were going to close the door.’
‘Apology accepted Elms, now really do try to find the light switch.’
After a muffled response eventually the room was bathed in the twilight of an eco friendly bulb which was very politely trying not to interrupt the darkness too much. The generally invisible decor of the house had been continued into the sparse bedroom and contained only a bed and an enormous cupboard.
‘The body?’ said Elms.
‘First we must inspect the rest of the room, it is all too easy to miss that vital clue which will prove invaluable later,’ said Wyse through gritted determination.
‘That’s one big cupboard,’ said Elms.
‘Yes, it is rather large.’ replied Wyse, who had been making his way to the body before unconsciously stepping back from the sheer presence of the intimidating furniture.
‘You could get five people in there,’ said Elms testing the handle.
‘Or a murderer?’ mused Wyse.
‘Yes, I suppose you could hide in there if you had been unexpectedly interrupted,’ Elms paused mid turn as the handle clicked loudly, ‘it’s locked, can you see the key anywhere?’
‘Now is not the time to become distracted, Elms. We must concentrate on the matter at hand.’ said Wyse, ‘I am quite sure the murderer has long gone...’
‘I found it,’ said Elms, picking up a large brass key which was hanging off the bedpost by a piece of red ribbon. Quickly he unlocked the cupboard.
Tuesday 24 August 2010
PADS 7
Ignoring another question from Elms, Wyse performed the yoga meditation breathing technique he had learnt many years ago. Remaining perfectly still he absorbed every detail and immersed himself within the investigative trance.
In the gloom it was difficult to ascertain exactly where the rest of the body lay but a tangle of unidentified shadows next to the bed seemed to indicate a probable resting place. He continued to stare at the visible body parts on the floor until he felt Elms sidling next to him and from the concerned look on Elms face, why he had apparently stopped breathing.
‘Is the leg attached to anything?’ asked Elms again.
‘Yes of course it is, now don’t look so worried.’
‘I’m not worried. You just went still and weren’t saying anything.’
‘That, is what thinking is all about,’ said Wyse.
Silencing Elms with a wave of his hand he took stock of the situation. Turning and from a respectably safe distance, Wyse softly spoke to the prostrate friend,
‘Please, accept our sincerest condolences at this time. I’m afraid my colleague is still somewhat inexperienced and was merely taken aback by the situation and apologises for the unfortunate noise he made. Could I ask to see your friend’s medication if at all possible and would you also be able to find details of his doctor? I believe they may well be in the Kitchen as that is where they are normally kept.’
Before Elms could interrupt the friend gradually rose to his impressive full height. Drying his eyes and calming his breathing, he continued to stare at Elms intently before disappearing down the stairs. Wyse noticed Elms was in turn intently staring at him.
‘No thanks needed Elms,’ said Wyse nodding, he had after all transformed the lost friend into a man of purpose.
‘I didn’t scream,’ said Elms.
‘Really Elms, the poor man has lost his friend to blame him for the noise is most ungracious.’
‘I’m not blaming him’
‘Excellent well done, acceptance is the first step in learning,’ said Wyse, knowing Elms had probably found this display awe inspiring, ‘the friend though I am afraid, will find things more difficult to accept. It is once he has completed the required bureaucracy when the real out pouring of grief will commence, one that will not be so easily stemmed.’
In the gloom it was difficult to ascertain exactly where the rest of the body lay but a tangle of unidentified shadows next to the bed seemed to indicate a probable resting place. He continued to stare at the visible body parts on the floor until he felt Elms sidling next to him and from the concerned look on Elms face, why he had apparently stopped breathing.
‘Is the leg attached to anything?’ asked Elms again.
‘Yes of course it is, now don’t look so worried.’
‘I’m not worried. You just went still and weren’t saying anything.’
‘That, is what thinking is all about,’ said Wyse.
Silencing Elms with a wave of his hand he took stock of the situation. Turning and from a respectably safe distance, Wyse softly spoke to the prostrate friend,
‘Please, accept our sincerest condolences at this time. I’m afraid my colleague is still somewhat inexperienced and was merely taken aback by the situation and apologises for the unfortunate noise he made. Could I ask to see your friend’s medication if at all possible and would you also be able to find details of his doctor? I believe they may well be in the Kitchen as that is where they are normally kept.’
Before Elms could interrupt the friend gradually rose to his impressive full height. Drying his eyes and calming his breathing, he continued to stare at Elms intently before disappearing down the stairs. Wyse noticed Elms was in turn intently staring at him.
‘No thanks needed Elms,’ said Wyse nodding, he had after all transformed the lost friend into a man of purpose.
‘I didn’t scream,’ said Elms.
‘Really Elms, the poor man has lost his friend to blame him for the noise is most ungracious.’
‘I’m not blaming him’
‘Excellent well done, acceptance is the first step in learning,’ said Wyse, knowing Elms had probably found this display awe inspiring, ‘the friend though I am afraid, will find things more difficult to accept. It is once he has completed the required bureaucracy when the real out pouring of grief will commence, one that will not be so easily stemmed.’
Monday 23 August 2010
PADS #6
Wyse came to an undignified halt and stared hopelessly into the darkness. Providence had determined he’d best go into the room first, after all when in mortal danger sometimes you had to lead by example and his sudden burst of speed had take Elms by surprise. The entangled duo had stumbled some way into the sinister room before he’d finally managed to prise himself away.
Wyse was completely disorientated but he knew discretion in such circumstances was probably the better part of valour, especially when he couldn’t see the circumstances. Feeling what he hoped was a bed he slowly started to edge his way back towards the lit hallway. The illuminated salvation promised was abruptly denied by the eerie apparition of Elms in the doorway. Once again he was plunged into darkness.
‘Why did you scream?’ asked Wyse, desperately attempting to catch the shreds of light escaping around Elms.
‘What! I didn’t…’ said Elms from across the room.
‘Never mind, the friend where is he? He tried to strangle me.’
‘I don’t think he was trying to strangle you, he just seemed impatient.’ said Elms, stepping to one side.
The friend hidden behind Elms had collapsed to his knees. The rhythmic pounding of his hands crashed upon the floor and the reverberations swept through Wyse. The melancholic beat was only disturbed when he attempted to wipe away his perpetual tears with a devoted handkerchief.
Wyse immediately emphasised with the man’s emotional turmoil, he too had once enjoyed a special bond which had been cruelly torn from him. He gave Elms a reprimanding look. Here was the man Elms had been alluding to as a murderer, an assumption obviously based upon his own fears. He would have to remind him later of the danger of such conclusions without evidence, intending to instruct Elms to console the poor man he was standing next to, Wyse stopped.
‘How did you get you over there Elms?’
‘This is where you er, I tripped over.’ replied Elms, understanding the natural order of the universe.
‘But we both fell over together.’
‘I know I did,’ said Elms, ‘but I’m not sure about where you fell over.’
Slowly Wyse surveyed the scene, if Elms was across the room what had tripped him up? There had been the struggle by the doorway and he had assumed, correctly at the time it had been Elms who had caused the debacle. But now it seemed that Elms may not have been the main protagonist after all.
Hesitantly he stared down to where he was standing. A sliver of light penetrated the room and exposed what was once again attempting to trip him up.
‘Are you okay? What is it?’ asked Elms, moving towards him.
‘A shoe,’ replied Wyse, nudging it with his foot, ’one which is still quite firmly attached to a leg.’
He had found the dead friend.
Wyse was completely disorientated but he knew discretion in such circumstances was probably the better part of valour, especially when he couldn’t see the circumstances. Feeling what he hoped was a bed he slowly started to edge his way back towards the lit hallway. The illuminated salvation promised was abruptly denied by the eerie apparition of Elms in the doorway. Once again he was plunged into darkness.
‘Why did you scream?’ asked Wyse, desperately attempting to catch the shreds of light escaping around Elms.
‘What! I didn’t…’ said Elms from across the room.
‘Never mind, the friend where is he? He tried to strangle me.’
‘I don’t think he was trying to strangle you, he just seemed impatient.’ said Elms, stepping to one side.
The friend hidden behind Elms had collapsed to his knees. The rhythmic pounding of his hands crashed upon the floor and the reverberations swept through Wyse. The melancholic beat was only disturbed when he attempted to wipe away his perpetual tears with a devoted handkerchief.
Wyse immediately emphasised with the man’s emotional turmoil, he too had once enjoyed a special bond which had been cruelly torn from him. He gave Elms a reprimanding look. Here was the man Elms had been alluding to as a murderer, an assumption obviously based upon his own fears. He would have to remind him later of the danger of such conclusions without evidence, intending to instruct Elms to console the poor man he was standing next to, Wyse stopped.
‘How did you get you over there Elms?’
‘This is where you er, I tripped over.’ replied Elms, understanding the natural order of the universe.
‘But we both fell over together.’
‘I know I did,’ said Elms, ‘but I’m not sure about where you fell over.’
Slowly Wyse surveyed the scene, if Elms was across the room what had tripped him up? There had been the struggle by the doorway and he had assumed, correctly at the time it had been Elms who had caused the debacle. But now it seemed that Elms may not have been the main protagonist after all.
Hesitantly he stared down to where he was standing. A sliver of light penetrated the room and exposed what was once again attempting to trip him up.
‘Are you okay? What is it?’ asked Elms, moving towards him.
‘A shoe,’ replied Wyse, nudging it with his foot, ’one which is still quite firmly attached to a leg.’
He had found the dead friend.
Friday 20 August 2010
PADS #5
Elms deftly stepped out of the way of the lumbering giant and Wyse decided to hold onto his breath in case it was needed for the impending emergency. Before he could utter the oath which had sprung to mind, the gentleman had passed him without incidence and disappeared from view up the spiral staircase
‘Sorry, about that.’ said Elms, ‘didn’t expect him to turn round so fast, he caught me off guard. He didn’t hurt you did he?’
‘Of course not,’ said Wyse dusting down his shirt, ‘I was more concerned for you. What did you do to make him charge off like that?’
‘Nothing, he just went all silent, I mean a lot more silent than he was and that’s when he turned.’
‘Well, what’s he doing now?’
‘He’s waiting for us at the top of the stairs,’ said Elms peering round the coiled banisters.
‘Come, now. Friend here,’ came the voice from upstairs.
Wyse motioned Elms to follow.
Elms initial hesitance was quickly overcome, mounting the stairs he stood opposite the friend on the other side of a single door at the top of the landing. To try to out wait Mr. Wyse was futile and this way he had decided all by himself to follow the murderer without being told.
‘Mr. Wyse, he’s opening the door,’ said Elms questioning the wisdom of his reasoning.
‘Yes, I can see that,’
Looking upwards towards the expanding darkness of the unknown room, Wyse could feel his heart pounding. Steadying himself he knew there was of course no need to rush and was assured Elms had agreed with him upon this course of action.
‘Mr. Wyse, I really do think you should see this,’ said Elms gesticulating wildly towards him.
Preparing to give him his full support, Wyse resolutely held onto the handrail as if it was to give way at any moment. Reaching the top of the stairs an uneasy truce between the three hung in the air supported by the hallway light.
‘Well, what is it?’ asked Wyse.
‘It’s very dark in there.’ said Elms.
‘I can see that, but what can you see?’
‘Nothing really it’s just very, very dark and well he’s not saying anything, so I thought...’
Holding up a hand Wyse nodded at Elms to proceed who simply answered with a deeper nod back towards the man. Knowing he would have to verbally reprimand Elms, a flash of movement distracted him.
The friend suddenly lunged himself at Wyse
‘Watch out!’ shouted Elms, who reacted instantly this time and moved to intercept the lurching colossus.
A scream cut through the air.
Thursday 19 August 2010
PADS #4
An odd sensation whelmed within Wyse. It was not however, the sense of fear and foreboding which others might experience when faced with the unknown, rather it was the realisation this may at last be what he had been preparing for his entire life, his true calling.
Hope welled from within him and an excited flush which he had not experienced since his youth started to creep from his cheeks towards his brow.
‘Dead! Murdered! My friend,’ repeated the man.
It was Wyse thought, an excellent opportunity for Elms to demonstrate what he had learnt in the past few months.
‘Right Elms, lead on.’
Unfortunately, Elms seemed to have completely forgotten the most basic lessons and remained steadfast next to him.
‘Carry on, please,’ said Wyse to the friend from the comfort of the bottom step.
Satisfied with this simple command the man nodded and shuffled back into the house.
‘Do hurry up, Elms,’ Wyse whispered, gently nudging Elms in the back, ‘I am after all the senior, and my expertise requires taking observations from an objective view point.’
‘Yes, I’ve noticed that,’ said Elms accepting the inevitable and tentatively made his way into the house.
Oak beams crossed the exposed ceiling above them and the stale air sought to escape into the night before the door closed. Wyse flicked the hallway light switch and although a light appeared from upstairs, there was no success with additional lighting downstairs.
‘No electricity.’ said the silhouetted friend without turning back towards them holding the candle high in the air.
Before Wyse could point out the implausibility of this statement the friend ignored the incongruous wrought iron spiral staircase leading to the light and they were led on a mysterious tour of every room with no explanation. Expectation rose high every time a door was opened, only to be dashed with disappointment and a certain amount of mounting weariness. Apart from the picture frames hanging on the walls waiting in vain to fulfil their purpose, the house was completely empty.
‘Do find out where the body is?’ said Wyse from a respectable distance, ‘we must find out what is going on?’
‘Yes,’ muttered Elms, ‘I’ll just ask him where he put his victim, might as well get it over and done with, no point dragging out our murders too.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous Elms. Why would he want to harm us?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, the fact we’re the only one’s here maybe? He hasn’t said anything about who the killer is. After all when he is brought to justice he will just say, ‘they didn’t ask if I was the killer’ and everyone will say, ‘well that’s their fault then, what were they thinking following a monster into such a house of horrors.’
‘I admit it is somewhat peculiar...’
‘There’s no television. I mean, not a wide screen plasma or anything like that but nothing. Not even a black and white,’ looking at Wyse he quickly continued, ‘not that it means anything. I mean a lot of people don’t have televisions, doesn’t mean they’re psychopaths does it?’
‘Television is not the be all and end all of civilisation. Now do keep up with the man.’
Having no other options Elms entered the next room and abruptly stopped, ‘Yes, it’s beautiful, er, Mr. Wyse do you want to have a look?’
‘I can see perfectly well from here thank you Elms,’ said Wyse impeding the retreating Elms.
Peering over his shoulder, Wyse could see the gentleman was holding a large mirror and supporting it on an antiquated cooker. It was decorated with numerous empty light bulb sockets and like the rest of the house was immaculately clean. A single chair and an ornate dressing table contained the obligatory cutlery and solitary radio.
The gentle hum of static filled the air as Elms stood still. Shaking his head Wyse took a deep breath and prepared to ask his first question.
‘May I...’ started Wyse when suddenly the friend turned towards him.
Wednesday 18 August 2010
PADS #3
Elms attempted to lock the ambulance and the random clicking noise from the ambulance indicated the central locking system was working as normal. Any combination of open or locked doors would now be possible and would only hinder them when they tried to get back into the ambulance with doors which refused to open.
A sharp wind funnelled through the narrow streets carrying away the smell of burning rubber and red hot brakes. Grimacing as the morning wind bit into Wyse’s bare arms, he regretted not wearing the service jacket but he would not back down on his impression of their new uniform. His view though was in the minority, even when he had pointed out that the new cargo trousers did not fit into a trouser press and a shirt which did not need ironing was not a shirt. In protest he refused to wear the fleece which had replaced the perfectly respectable v neck jumper and made it quite clear under no circumstances, including the virulent Health and Safety would he be wearing boots at work. His black patented shoes skimmed through the scattered puddles which threatened to drown his socks and dashed the reflection of the new lime green uniform with relish.
A moss covered garden gate barred their way and refused to be pushed or pulled open but eventually relinquished to a sharp kick from a very vigorous Elms who stomped along the garden path, whilst the crazed driveway attempted to mislead any visitors to various clumps of indestructible weeds and formed a formidable barrier for any possible future landscaping.
Reigning in Elms, Wyse stood before a Tudor cottage which was in stark contrast to the rows of doppelganger houses of the new housing development it found itself surrounded by. The threadbare thatched roof polluted grey by the smog of London, provided little protection from the elements and a chimney stack now precariously balanced on its last few remaining bricks. Most of the weather worn exterior plaster had abandoned the walls in large patches, exposing the hidden framework beneath and it was difficult to discern where the cottage actually started or finished as it blended in with the outside environment.
Even in its state of disrepair Wyse admired what once must have been a resplendent cottage. It was reminiscent of a more idyllic era and despite the obvious neglect had withstood the passages of time with a sense of dignity and grandeur which would be difficult to duplicate.
The comparison to his own life did not escape him.
Before Wyse could stop him, Elms unrestrained bound up the steps of the cottage two at a time and rapped furiously upon the warped front door. Screeching against rusted hinges the front door slowly opened and an elderly gentleman filled the doorway holding a flickering candle before him.
At six foot and two inches with a straight back Wyse was not diminutive, even so this octogenarian exuded a gargantuan sense of proportion over him. Wearing a full black tie ensemble, the gentleman’s bald head was left floating decapitated by the surrounding darkness. A furrowed mono brow obscured his eyes and a pencil thin moustache outlined a mouth desperately trying to keep up with a torrent of words.
Quickly retreating back down the steps and standing shoulder to shoulder with Wyse, Elms whispered, ‘He’s a giant! Look at the size of those hands, they’re like shovels.’
‘Come in now, please, my friend,’ sobbed the man, who had finally allowed his breath to catch up with his words.
An action Wyse had fully intended on doing so until he was stopped in his tracks.
‘He’s dead, murdered!’
Tuesday 17 August 2010
PADS #2
Wyse sighed and tapped the Mobile Data Terminal waiting for the computer screen to flicker back into life. Technology had moved on and he had been forced to move with it.
No longer did they receive the next emergency call over the radio with time for civilised pleasantries between the call dispatcher, now they received everything through the faceless computer mounted on the ambulance dashboard monitoring their every move.
Checking the MDT information Wyse felt assured some things never changed. They were going to another call with yet another unknown problem. The details of the call were vague at best, a distressed male had called for help but the operator was unable to gain any further details.
The location had been automatically generated from the caller’s phone number without the need for verification by the patient. This should have saved vital minutes but often was more of a hindrance especially when the mapping system tried to direct the ambulance into the nearest river.
They had though navigated through the new housing estate to their destination with comparative ease. No doubt the city councillors had finally taken notice of his letters bringing their attention to the difficulties they encountered with locating addresses in an emergency.
Impatiently Elms opened his door and Wyse pressed the MDT at scene button.
‘I’ve got the bags,’ said Elms holding out the response bags and waiting to lock the ambulance.
‘Once you have turned that key,’ said Wyse smiling at his impetuous colleague, ‘our approach to the scene must also change. It is essential to appear calm and almost sedentary to the general public, regardless of the situation we find ourselves in.’
‘But it’s an emergency, we should be hurrying up.’
‘It is, I accept an oxymoron,’ said Wyse, ignoring Elms’ infantile smile, ‘but as I have mentioned to you several times before, it only serves to illustrate the bizarre phenomenon of our calling. As paramedics we have a greater duty to the public than rushing around like headless chickens. Remember the great philosopher Zeno? He eloquently surmised our predicament with his arrow paradox. The true nature of motion implies that no matter how fast you move, speed has nothing to do with how quickly you arrive at where you really want to be.’
Elms stared at him, during their short time together he had quickly discovered many things about Mr. Wyse. One of these was how to respond to him when he started talking like this. After several seconds and when he was fairly certain Wyse had stopped talking, Elms ventured forward,
‘Well, can we jog then if we’re not running? Or did Zeno hate exercise as well?’
‘A brisk walk is more than sufficient considering the circumstances.’
Sunday 15 August 2010
PADS- #1
What follows is the true account of the first case for the Paramedic Amateur Detective Society - SOC
The ambulance raced through the greasy streets of North London battering through the crisp chilled air, rain spat weakly at the windscreen but effectively smeared any recognition of its occupants. Blue strobe lights dissipated into the new dawn as sirens echoed into the empty stillness, disturbing the tranquil serenity..
Roaring through potholes, which would normally take several minutes to safely negotiate their mercy dash continued with reckless abandon. Lurching violently across the street, the ambulance skidded onto new tarmac and fought against gravity’s pull to send it tumbling into explosive carnage. Catching the kerb, dustbins carefully placed on the edge of pavements for the day’s collection were left rocking gently as the whirlwind swept past them.
The morning chorus stilled by this raucous newcomer, hesitantly started again as all six wheels safely resumed contact and the sudden silence heralded a much more sedate pace. An ominous foreboding hung in the morning air awaiting its conclusion and storm clouds gathered for the main event.
‘What rumours?’ shouted Wyse who hadn’t adjusted to the change in volume and refused to relinquish his hold of the siren switch.
‘Nothing really, I mean, I don’t know why I mentioned it,’ replied Elms wishing he hadn’t.
‘Now Elms, I have broad shoulders and I will not ask for any names and I really do insist you tell me.’
‘Well, if you’re sure?’ carried on Elms, realising he had fallen down a hole and was still digging, ‘they say you’re getting too old and maybe you should retire. Be sort of er, put out to pasture, ever since...’
‘Who said that?’ demanded Wyse.
‘You said you weren’t going to ask for names.’
‘I didn’t realise I would have to defend such serious allegations.’
‘You don’t have to defend anything to me,’ said Elms, ‘no one believes the rumours.’
‘Of course they don’t but that is not the point. If one allows these falsehoods to continue unchallenged, eventually they gain a life of their own and in themselves become true.’
‘Really I don’t know who started them, honestly,’
‘I’m not angry Elms, if that is what you fear?’
‘You’re not?’
‘No of course not, I admit ordinarily these malicious slurs would crush lesser men but as you will learn, I am no normal man.’
‘Oh, I already know that. It’s just I didn’t want you thinking I agreed with them.’
‘My dear Elms, I know exactly how you view me.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes and although flattering, you must not put me on such a high pedestal. No it is others who must fear my wrath. I shall not rest until those who are responsible for what has happened to me have been exposed and brought to justice. In fact I am determined...’
‘Sorry Mr. Wyse we’re here,’ said Elms, abruptly stopping the ambulance with an unnecessary screech of brakes in the middle of the road. Hastily he released his seatbelt, opened the driver’s door and abandoned the ambulance before Wyse could take his next breath.
Roaring through potholes, which would normally take several minutes to safely negotiate their mercy dash continued with reckless abandon. Lurching violently across the street, the ambulance skidded onto new tarmac and fought against gravity’s pull to send it tumbling into explosive carnage. Catching the kerb, dustbins carefully placed on the edge of pavements for the day’s collection were left rocking gently as the whirlwind swept past them.
The morning chorus stilled by this raucous newcomer, hesitantly started again as all six wheels safely resumed contact and the sudden silence heralded a much more sedate pace. An ominous foreboding hung in the morning air awaiting its conclusion and storm clouds gathered for the main event.
‘What rumours?’ shouted Wyse who hadn’t adjusted to the change in volume and refused to relinquish his hold of the siren switch.
‘Nothing really, I mean, I don’t know why I mentioned it,’ replied Elms wishing he hadn’t.
‘Now Elms, I have broad shoulders and I will not ask for any names and I really do insist you tell me.’
‘Well, if you’re sure?’ carried on Elms, realising he had fallen down a hole and was still digging, ‘they say you’re getting too old and maybe you should retire. Be sort of er, put out to pasture, ever since...’
‘Who said that?’ demanded Wyse.
‘You said you weren’t going to ask for names.’
‘I didn’t realise I would have to defend such serious allegations.’
‘You don’t have to defend anything to me,’ said Elms, ‘no one believes the rumours.’
‘Of course they don’t but that is not the point. If one allows these falsehoods to continue unchallenged, eventually they gain a life of their own and in themselves become true.’
‘Really I don’t know who started them, honestly,’
‘I’m not angry Elms, if that is what you fear?’
‘You’re not?’
‘No of course not, I admit ordinarily these malicious slurs would crush lesser men but as you will learn, I am no normal man.’
‘Oh, I already know that. It’s just I didn’t want you thinking I agreed with them.’
‘My dear Elms, I know exactly how you view me.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes and although flattering, you must not put me on such a high pedestal. No it is others who must fear my wrath. I shall not rest until those who are responsible for what has happened to me have been exposed and brought to justice. In fact I am determined...’
‘Sorry Mr. Wyse we’re here,’ said Elms, abruptly stopping the ambulance with an unnecessary screech of brakes in the middle of the road. Hastily he released his seatbelt, opened the driver’s door and abandoned the ambulance before Wyse could take his next breath.
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