The Big Over Easy

“Certainly,” said Briggs.

“I’ve spoken to the editors at Amazing Crime Stories and they’re very taken with the whole chiropody/bioterrorism/nursery rhyme angle, so they’ll go with what you’ve got—sight unseen. I suggest that you make it seem to readers as if Spongg did kill Humpty. I’m sorry to say that publication might be seriously compromised if there were any complications, false endings or unresolved plot threads.”

There was silence.

“He’s right,” said Briggs. “Without Spongg in custody, the case remains open anyway. If we announce the findings that Brown-Horrocks suggests, it’ll be good for the force—and good for your Guild application.”

Jack didn’t say anything, so Briggs, sensing reticence, continued: “I’ve had the Chief Constable on to me twice today already. He thinks we should keep the NCD and promote you to DCI. The Chief is not happy that Chymes fabricated the entire Andersen’s Wood murder case and feels that we should advance someone from within the Reading force just in case. He is prepared to offer you all the help and assistance that might be required to make the NCD as much of a success as DCI Chymes was. Times change, Jack, and we have to change with them. Public approval is a currency we cannot afford to fritter away. Of course, this would all depend on your ability to play ball. You’ve moved up a notch, Jack. The stakes are bigger—but then so are the rewards.”

Briggs and Brown-Horrocks looked at him expectantly.

Jack thought for a moment and stared at the floor. He’d like the respect, the kudos, the extra cash, the parking place. He’d also like to make DCI. But most of all he wanted the NCD to stay as it was. Yet if he’d learned anything over the past few days, it was that Amazing Crime Stories and the Guild had no place attempting to make murder, tragedy and violence marketable commodities for the edification of the masses—that and never go near a thirty-seven-kilo verruca.

“This must have been how it all began with Chymes,” sighed Jack. “A small omission on one case, an ‘embellishment’ on the next. The question is not about what’s best but what’s right. Chymes had confused the two and compromised not only his own integrity but that of the police—and the due process of law. I’ll let you have a full report on Humpty by Monday morning, along with my recommendations regarding Solomon Grundy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and thank the team.”

Jack walked down the corridor to the elevator and pressed the “call” button. He turned to Mary.

“You know, Sergeant, principles cost money. And if I’ve learned anything over the past few days, it’s—”

“Sir,” interrupted Mary before he could embark on what would doubtless have been a very boring speech about moral relativism, “do you really believe that Grundy had Humpty killed?”

“I’m afraid so. But Briggs is right. Proving it will be tough. We’ll have to get a confession from the hit man himself, implicating Grundy.”

“We can start to delve on Monday, sir.”

Brown-Horrocks dashed up to them as the lift doors opened.

“I’m not going to change my mind,” said Jack.

“No, no,” said Brown-Horrocks quickly, “the day is not yet over, and my observational duties include your personal life—although from what you’ve told me about your regrettably abstemious and monogamous existence, there doesn’t seem to be much of interest. Still, orders are orders.”

Ashley, Tibbit, Baker and Gretel applauded Jack and Mary as they walked into the NCD offices and gave them some real champagne, but in plastic cups. It was too small in there even with Ashley stuck to the ceiling, so Brown-Horrocks and Gretel stepped outside to the corridor, where there was more headroom for them both. They looked at each other again. Brown-Horrocks was the first person Gretel had ever had to look up to, and she was the tallest woman Brown-Horrocks had ever seen—and, to him, the most beautiful.

“You’re the most… tall woman I have ever laid eyes upon,” said Brown-Horrocks after a long pause.

Gretel said nothing, went all shy and didn’t know what to do with her hands.

“Thank you,” she replied. “I like your overalls.”

“Well,” said Jack, clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention, “any news about Spongg?”

“Latest report,” said Baker, who had a large bandage on his leg but didn’t seem to be in any pain at all, “is that the French Coast Guard found the wreckage of a light aircraft floating off the Normandy coast. They’ll know more when the search continues tomorrow at first light.”

“Well, then,” said Jack, holding his cup aloft, “this is to all of us—and teamwork. Each and every one of you was exemplary. Long after we are ashes and the great adventures of this small department are chronicled for all to see, people will—”