The Goat Parva Murders – Chapter 1

The stalker trained his binoculars on the ground floor lounge window where Danica Baker-Clements could be seen in her underwear watching TV. Danica’s blonde hair tumbled over artificially brown shoulders and the rhododendron branches twitched as the binoculars moved slowly over her complete loveliness. An owl screeched in the trees behind the stalker – the bird was catching mice in Doggett’s Field near the Baker-Clements’ house and had been disturbed. The warm night air was filled with the scent of honeysuckle.

The stalker was anticipating Mrs Baker-Clements removing her clothes during the evening as was the custom on Tuesdays and so intent was he on sharing every moment with her that he failed to hear the slight footfalls behind him. Danica Baker-Clements began to unhook her bra and the stalker’s breathing increased in intensity.

As the bra fell aside the stone hit the stalker’s skull rendering him unconscious instantly. He fell forward into the bush and then slumped to the ground, his glassy eyes surveying the lounge window but this time without binoculars. The assailant picked a bloom, placed it in the stalker’s mouth, and clamped the mouth shut.

For Rosemary, thought the assailant, the fight back begins.

Two minutes later Tim Armstrong cycled down the Baker-Clements’ drive and parked his bike out of sight behind the greenhouse. He was on time. He kept to the shadows created by the strong moonlight and soon knocked on the dining room window. Mrs Baker-Clements smiled, removed her last item of clothing, and headed to the window. They were seen only by a pair of lifeless eyes.

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The following morning Adelaide Hills was walking along the path between Doggett’s Field and the river when her retriever, Bingo, started barking madly. He was always energetic on his morning walk but today he did seem particularly fascinated with some footprints in the mud. She pulled Bingo away and they carried on towards the Baker-Clements’ mansion with Bingo looking back at all times.

“Come on, Bingo,” she shouted, “any more of this prancing in the mud and I’ll have to hose you down when we get home.”

Bingo ran off into the bushes near the Baker-Clements’ garden; a pheasant flew away towards the river. Mrs Hills then saw Carly Waferr heading towards her carrying the mushroom basket that accompanied her on morning walks during the week.

“Good morning, Carly, found a good crop this morning, have you?”

“I has,” said Carly, putting an arm across the top of the basket, “and you can’t have any. Unless you come for lunch of course,” she added smilingly.

“Oh thank you, Carly, I’d love to, as long as they’re not poisonous of course.”

“Be no poisonous mushrooms in them woods,” said Carly, “well not poisonous to me at least, but I’m probably immune now. I ate a couple this morn.” She moved her head around in an anti-clockwise direction for five seconds before shaking her head vigourously.

“Are you sure – you seem dizzy?”

“That’s just the hangover from the rhubarb and dandelion wine last night; Emma left for Edinburgh late so we shared a nightcap afore she went.”

“What’s she studying again?”

“Medicine – oh – look what your dog’s found – a shoe.”

“Bingo, you naughty dog, put that down immediately.”

“How come dogs never find pairs of shoes; just one at a time? My shoes need throwing away, so I s’pose I should head to the animal shelter and borrow a couple of their retrievers and let ‘em loose; hopefully they’d bring back a matching pair.”

“This is a good shoe – Bingo where did you find this?” Mrs Hills gestured towards the bushes and Bingo flew off.

Carly Waferr was trying on the shoe when Bingo returned with the other matching shoe.

“My prayers have been answered, thank you lord,” shouted Carly and grabbed the shoe from the retriever. “They fit, it’s my day today,” she added.

“Who leaves a pair of shoes for a dog to find?” wondered Mrs Hills as Bingo went back to the bushes.

“Ain’t seen any campers,” said Carly admiring the shoes, “and there’s no tents around, ‘cept those of Danica’s admirers at her back door.”

“Oh that awful woman and her loose morals – teasing the men with her low cut frocks.”

Bingo came bounding up with a belt.

“Sorry, Bingo,” said Carly, “I don’t need a belt right now.”

“Where’s he finding all these things,” said Adelaide, “is there a suitcase around?”

“Does you think…” said Carly, “that Danica’s having sex outside with one of her friends and these are his clothes?”

“Alfresco fornication you mean?”

“Alf who,” said Carly, “is he new in Goat Parva?”

Mrs Hills raised her eyebrows and followed Bingo into the bushes.

Carly was trying on the belt when she heard Mrs Hills scream.

Sounds like Danica and this Alf character have been discovered by our Adelaide, thought Carly, I’d better hurry up, I don’t want to miss anything.

As she started towards where the scream had come from Mrs Hills came running towards her.

“He’s dead,” she shrieked, “Clem Shapiro’s dead. I’m calling the police; he was bird-watching by the look of it,” and she headed home following Bingo, who was carrying a glove that he didn’t want to share with anyone.

Carly went to see the body.

“Got your just desserts, Clem,” she said, “someone found out about you and the birds you were watching.” She looked through the rhododendrons and saw the Baker-Clements’ house.

A peep show for perverts more like, she thought and headed back home to cook a mushroom omelette for her Wednesday morning breakfast.

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Colin Knowles was eating his breakfast of black pudding, baked beans, and two fried eggs when his mobile phone rang on the kitchen counter. Knowles hauled his overweight frame to an upright position and having run his fingers through what remained of his brown hair, he answered the ringing summons.

“’Allo, Barnesy, what have you got for me?”

Rod Barnes, his assistant, replied in his normal clipped tones.

“Dead bird-watcher, sir, up by Doggett’s Field. Lots of blood and the body has been interfered with after death by the looks of it.”

“Charming, Barnesy, I was just having my breakfast as well – these people have no sense of timing, no respect for people’s eating habits. I will be there when I have finished eating.”

Knowles rang off and returned to the table but decided not to have more ketchup on his black pudding after all – why did people get bludgeoned to death so much – he couldn’t eat breakfast any more without thinking of previous cases. He moved the black pudding to his cat’s bowl – Gemma would love that after hunting in the garden and catching nothing as was normal. Poor cat.

Knowles belched and lit a cigarette before remembering what his doctor had advised and put the noxious weed out by burying it with the others in the rubber plant by the door. Gemma came in through the cat flap looking upset and Knowles rubbed her head, before Gemma smelled the black pudding, rushed to her bowl and tucked into the food. No murders for her to remember, thought Knowles, other than two mice. And that rabbit. He was brought out of his reverie by the phone – it was Barnes again.

“Bring some wellies, sir, it’s muddy around here.”

Knowles had them in his hand already; somehow Doggett’s Field was always wet even in the height of summer. He got into his Land Rover and set off to Goat Parva, a place he’d always regarded as strange and immoral.

Continues…