Epilogue

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Yaxley Farcett and Fiona Morgan shuffled through the doors of Barnham Village Hall along with a hundred and fifty or so others. They had been to the Historical Society Meeting that Anne Worthington had organised. She had given her presentation on Opium Eating and had given over the last five minutes of her allotted time paying tribute to Reg Dixon. It was the only time she had been out of the house apart form Dixon's funeral the week before.

 

Farcett slid an arm around Fiona Morgan as they made their way along the Main street in the general direction of The Skaters Run. 'D'you fancy a drink ?' he said. Fiona gripped the sleeve of his jacket and replied, 'Not this evening Yax, Just you and me eh ?' They wandered along in silence with no particular place to go, enjoying the fine spring evening.

 

'What do you think will happen to my dad, Yax ?' Fiona asked. He stopped and placed his hands on her shoulders. 'Don't worry. I've had a word with one of the men in the Serious Crime Squad and they reckon that as no money changed hands he'll probably get conspiracy to fraud charge thrown at him. At the very worst he'll get six months or so. It means he can kiss his career goodbye but he'll not suffer too much. He'll recover, he's not the first to make a stupid mistake.' He paused, 'Y'know at one point I really thought he'd killed Dixon'. Fiona took his hands in hers and gave a small laugh, 'Yeah He told me about the cigarette packet you shoved in his mouth'.

 

Yaxley rested his head on the girl's shoulder and whispered 'My chief in Bradford has asked me back up to Yorkshire. He reckons he only sent me down here as a punishment and never expected me to stay'. Fiona didn't respond, but shrugged Farcett away and carried on along the street. She shouted over her shoulder, 'So you'll be off then I suppose. Back to the city...back to civilisation'. As she said this they could see Brian Worthington, Hummer Thompson and Clunch Parsons crossing the road and going in through the door of the Skaters Run. They saw Farcett and Fiona and waved before disappearing inside. An old red post office van drove past with Jak Jackson and Fleur inside. They also pulled into the gateway of the pub. Yaxley caught up with Fiona and held her hands. He put his face up close to hers and gave her an 'Eskimo kiss', rubbing noses back and forth. 'You silly sod' he said. 'I love this hideous fen of huge bigness, I love those characters that have just gone in the pub...... and you're not bad either you know' and he gave her a hug. 'I'm quite smitten by you Miss Morgan. Not so keen on your dad though' he added. Fiona grinned. 'You're staying ?' Yaxley laughed, 'Of course I'm staying. I can feel my feet taking root'.

 

They carried along past the church and round the corner until they were walking by the entrance to the cemetery. Yaxley pulled Fiona's hand and they passed through the iron gates. 'Why are we going in here Yax ?' asked Fiona. Farcett remained silent and they made their way down the grass aisles of the graveyard. They came to the fresh graves at the bottom end and they stood before Reg Dixon's grave. The earth was still piled in a little mound and a temporary wooden marker had been placed in the ground. 'Where do reckon he is Yaxley ?' Farcett shook his head. 'Dunno. I never met the man while he was alive but I would have gone for a pint with him. I should say he's gone to the right place...to some fantastic place'.  They held hands and read the inscription that Anne Worthington had carved onto the make shift gravestone:

 

 

REGINALD DIXON

31/1/63-18/5/98

NETTLES AND WEEDS TELL THE

TALE OF LOVE AND CARE PASSED

AWAY. WE ALL HOPE THAT WHEN WE DIE

WE MAY NOT BE QUITE FORGOTTEN

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE END



Episode 100

Yaxley Farcett was standing hesitantly in front of the door of Chestnut Farm, the home of the late Reg Dixon. He had left the severely distressed Anne Worthington in the care of Clunch Parsons and had made his way to Barnham. After Anne had made the shocking confession that it had been she that had killed Reg Dixon, albeit in an act of compassion, Farcett had rushed out to his car and headed to the quiet home of Dixon. He had to get another look at the diaries that Anne had spoken of that he had seen the day before. There must have been over twenty of them gathering dust on that shelf in his study. Farcett was unable to find Dixon's next door neighbour, Mrs.Brancaster, so he took more direct action and smashed the window of the door, reached inside for the catch and unlocked it. He entered and clicked on the nearest light switch without success. Even in the afternoon sunshine, the old fashioned heavy curtains made the room almost dark. The electricity board had cut off the power supply with unseemly speed. Yaxley tried to remember the lay out of the house from his visit earlier in the day. As he made his way across the room, his eyes became accustomed to the dark and he made his way around the room pulling back the curtains to let in the afternoon sunlight.

 

Yaxley turned the doorknob with a creak and let himself into Reg Dixon's study. He stood in front of the desk and looked at the twenty two volumes of diaries that almost filled the shelf.

 

Farcett took down the 1998 diary and sat down heavily with it in front of him. He opened the diary to the last couple of entries for Thursday and Friday; the last two days of Dixon's life. He read:

 

It's Friday morning and I'm sitting here at my desk, having just taken my medicine...just what the doctor ordered...ha ha. Doesn't seem to be helping much...my ribs feel like they're on fire and I'm sure Trent did some damage last night...the bastard. Though it won't make much difference in an hour or so's time...will it ? It's 7:30am and I'm off to meet Worthington in a bit. By then I expect to be almost there, I just hope I've timed it correctly. The dosage should be right, according to the web site...wonderful what information you can find...suicide.co.uk... I know this isn't all to do with Anne and the power station but I'm still going to have my say. How far am I away from unconsciousness?? How far am I away from a stream of unconsciousness ? Not the usual sort of thing you write is it ? A note like this. A note to no one in a book no one will read. No Courtney Love to read it to an adoring crowd. No fanfare for the fallen. No bugle for the broken and beaten.

I'm going to tell Worthington what I think of him and then I'll be ready. He's just an irritation. Just another example to convince me I'm doing the right thing. I'm fed up. I'm fed up with shouting at the deaf. Fed up with Feem Park fun, Fed up with seeing kids stone fire engines while teachers are made redundant, fed up with hospital beds closing while factories make computer guided missiles which kill ordinary people 'by accident', fed up with thirty years of Sesame Street producing kids which gun down their class-mates, fed up with religion, fed up with irreligion, fed up with being fed up, pissed off with being pissed off. Too much pulpit bullshit not enough people going to church and yes Mr.Zimmerman..the vandals have taken ALL the handles.

 

I know my handwriting is starting to deteriorate. I hope you (if anyone does) can still read this. It's probably illegible...like the joke: Q- 'What's that word. I can't read your handwriting ?' A- 'It's illegible' Q- 'Yes I know. What does it say ?' A- 'I told you ! It's illegible'....etc etc etc.

 

I've been flicking through all these diaries for the last couple of hours and a thought occurs to me. I've never considered it before, but maybe the fact that that I'm going to see Worthington has cleared my mind even at a time when I expected to be scared. But I don't. This is the most clear headed I have been for years. I now realise that these diaries have been leading up to this. Too much honesty, too many excuses, Anne has made me see the light. These diaries have been my........Two Million Word Suicide Note...

& thas' it. No more.........

 

Reginald Dixon 18/05/98 7:45am



Episode 99

As Yaxley leaned over the parapet at the top of the Great East Tower the gusting wind blew his hair across his face and in his eyes. Dragging it to one side with an impatient hand he stared down at the pavement below. He knew what he would see but he had to look all the same. From this distance he could barely tell if Worthington was actually down there. It could have been a black binliner, escaped from someone's garden. However, as the pool of blood began to widen and form itself into an estuary which travelled towards the nearest drain it was obvious that he would not be getting up from this one. There have been stories of people falling out of aeroplanes and skyscrapers and surviving, but no one could survive a fall from The Great East onto concrete and escape death. Yaxley felt for his mobile phone in his jacket pocket and dialled Ealham Police Station. There didn't seem an awful lot of point in getting an ambulance at this point. It would be more important to keep the rubber neckers away from the scene. Yaxley turned his back against the wind and bellowed into the phone for Sergeant Stumpsfield to get himself and a couple of officers to seal off the entrance.

Worthington had landed right in front of the door where about seven hundred people would soon be expecting to walk through. Stuffing the phone away he took a last look down at the increasingly gory scene some one hundred and fifty feet below and made his way across the lead lined roof to the low door, set in the corner of the tower. He made his way back down the three hundred and twenty seven steps, the soles of his shoes slipping as he stumbled in the faint glow cast by the emergency lights set in the walls. Cursing, he bashed the side of his head on a restraining bar which had been mounted in the staircase some fifty years before in an effort to shore up the rapidly deteriorating brickwork. Eventually he reached the door at the bottom of the stairwell and re traced his steps through the network of corridors and into the peace chapel. Still sitting patiently in their seats, as if waiting for a teacher to return after an errand, sat the expectant villagers.

 

As Yaxley strode across the Chapel, his face must have given away the events that had just occurred. Cedric and Anne rushed to him and as he shook his head it was obvious to all of them what had transpired.  'I've called the Station. They're going to seal the front of the Cathedral and sort things out. I wouldn't go out there if I were you. It's not a pretty sight'.

 

On hearing this, Cedric Morgan slumped heavily down in his chair, causing the ancient joints of the antique furniture to groan under his weight. He leant forward in the chair and buried his face in his hands. 'What a bloody fool I've been' he moaned, and he dragged a large handkerchief from his jacket pocket. 'A bloody stupid fool...too interested in my work and the power...what in the hell is happening to us all...have we all gone mad'. He looked across at Anne and said 'I'm so very, very sorry' Yaxley looked across at him with contempt. 'Shut up you pathetic man ! She doesn't need your sympathy' Morgan carried on, '....and all for the money. God knows why I couldn't see that I had more than any amount of money can buy, right here in The Fens without having to get even more'. Morgan then gave way to his normally well-hidden emotions and broke down completely, huge wracking sobs suffusing his large frame. Farcett's telephone rang and he answered it as Clunch Parsons began to shout at the distraught politician. Farcett was nodding and said 'ok...ok...Yup' into his mobile phone with an air of gravitas and turned to the assembled crowd. 'Hang on Clunch' he said to the shaking Parsons...'There's something else'. He paused and announced, 'Reg Dixon was full of anti depressants and opium the morning he died as well as being beaten and kicked half to death by Trent and Worthington.

Dr.Coggles has just finished the post mortem. He says the pitchfork actually finished him off, but he would have died within half an hour anyway......Dixon was committing suicide !' At this news there was a hushed silence in the Peace Chapel as the wind howled around outside. Anne Worthington suddenly began to cry and she shrieked, 'It was me ! I put him out of his misery. He begged me to. It was the pain he was in....he never thought it would hurt in that way. I put him out of his misery like you would a bird with a broken wing'.

Farcett stared at the woman. 'Anne...are you serious. What happened ?' Grotesque images were already starting to flow through Farcetts's mind and he hoped the woman was just caught up in the drama of her husbands death. 'It's true !' she cried. 'I was in the kitchen arguing with Daisy as usual and I saw John and Reggie shouting at each other. I saw Trent walking away across the fields and realised what was happening. Reggie had threatened to come down to tell John what he thought of him and I knew what John would do. I dropped the washing up and rushed across the field just as the wind started to get stronger and my eyes were starting to fill with soil as I got closer'. The rest of the assembled audience in the Peace Chapel were transfixed by these revelations. Even Graham Trent's face was showing complete absorption rather that it's usual arrogant air. 'I got to the pair of them' continued Anne, '..and Reggie was on the ground holding onto his stomach and groaning. He looked near death, his face was a horrible yellowy colour and he was dribbling from the side of his mouth. I knew John had beaten him. I could tell. He was standing there like a playground bully. I screamed at him to go inside to his precious mother and to get out of my sight'.

 

Yaxley moved closer to Anne and said softly...'and was Dixon dying at this point ? 'Anne nodded. 'Yes he was..he told me what he'd taken and he begged me to finish it off. The pitchfork was there, just stuck in the ground. Reggie nodded towards it and just said 'You know what to do Anne. Be strong for me'. Then I had to get down on the ground to make out what he was saying. I screamed at him that I couldn't do it but he was in so much pain..he said it felt like his stomach was going to explode.' She paused and lowered her head. 'And I put the pitchfork through the heart of the man I love, while he looked into my eyes'

Yaxley rushed towards her and caught her as she almost slumped off her seat. Just as Anne was about to lose consciousness she shouted, 'Just look in his dairies...he always said everything would be explained in his diaries !' and she fell into Yaxley's arms.



Episode 98

Yaxley Farcett rose from the ancient seat and addressed the small audience before him. Unknown to him only three days previously, they had become inextricably woven into his life over the past fifty-four hours. He had shared moments of extreme tenderness and passion with Fiona Morgan and Anne Worthington. His encounters with Cedric Morgan and Graham Trent had been explosive and occasionally violent. Clunch Parsons and Hummer Thompson had proved to be loveable and vulnerable rogues that typified the Fenland character he had observed so far. John Worthington sat brooding in a corner, his face made ugly by the shadows cast by the architecture of the Peace Chapel in Ealham Cathedral. John's son, Darren, seemed oblivious to the unfolding drama as he gazed round at the walls reading the inscriptions on dozens of plaques dedicated to the fallen of countless wars that had been fought since the Cathedral had been built over seven hundred years before.

 

'I don't know what to make of you lot, I really don't' said Yaxley, the exertions of the past three days now beginning to show. As he had come over to Ealham with Fiona he had dispensed with his trademark jeans and tee shirt and now sported a pair of khaki chinos, blue shirt and a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches. He also wore a very stylish tie, which could easily be mistaken for a cravat. Stylistically and ascetically, he looked the part.

 

'Yeah...In your parlance, Yor a rum lot o' buggers' he continued. 'Although it is Mr.Morgan's fault we are all in here now, I think we know the real reason fate has thrown us together'. He paused, 'The killer of Reg Dixon is in this chapel...'

 

Graham Trent looked up and spat out, 'Yeah..And I've already told you..I gave him a slap in the car park..nothing more !' Yaxley strolled slowly toward Trent and looked him up and down, unable to hide the contempt in his face. 'Yes..you've told me. And I believe you. You may be capable of boorishness, violence, fraud and many other things but I know you didn't kill Dixon. Once the Serious Crime Squad has finished with you, you'll see your day in court, but not for murder'.

 

Farcett gave Trent a last withering look and made his way to where Morgan sat, still rubbing his wrists following his incident with Hummer. The honourable member for Fenland South looked up, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked tired and beaten. 'Don't even ask', he said. 'My career and my marriage are in tatters and there's a strong chance of going to gaol for something I did on the spur of the moment in a committee meeting twenty years ago. No...I didn't kill Dixon'.

 

Before answering Yaxley looked across to Fiona. She smiled and he continued..'No, you will have to wait for your chance to put your side of the story. I know what you were up to when Dixon was killed...that's between you and your conscience'.

 

He moved round to Clunch Parsons. 'Clunch here as also been less than honest in the last couple of days, but I think we have reached an understanding that 'Parsons and Worthington-Purveyors of Fine Tinctures' has now been closed down for good. Clunch lowered his head shamefaced, and nodded agreement. On hearing his family name, John Worthington perked up. 'What's all this about? Tinctures ? Yew daft buggers aren't still messing around with that stuff are you ? I'll crown that Brian when I get hold of him'.

Farcett looked over to John and pursed his lips. '...and you... John Worthington. I've deliberately left you until last. I have it on good authority that you were the last man to see Reg Dixon alive'. Farcett then remembered that he had been given that information by Trent and he qualified it by adding 'My enquiries have led me to discover that you were, in all probability, the last person to see Reg Dixon alive. 'What happened John ? What made you snap ? Did Dixon tell you something you didn't want to hear ?' Was it worth killing him for ?' Farcett circled Worthington while he fired the questions. He hoped that the pressure of an audience would draw out the truth from the dour farmer.

 

Worthington cast his eyes around the room, resting his gaze on each one for a fleeting second before speaking. ' How would you feel if you had a wife that was growing further away from you every day of your life. I met and loved that woman..' he pointed to Anne angrily...'from the first moment I set eyes on her. Then a few years ago she set about 'bettering' herself..meaning better than me. She took to studying, going out all the time to evening classes and then in the end going off on summer schools, getting up to god knows what. The last straw were when she got tangled up with Dixon. I couldn't stand it'.

At the admission of the affair, eyebrows raised around the room. It was the first time the village had heard of Anne's activities. Farcett stood protectively beside Anne Worthington and said, 'So you met him in the field on Friday morning ?' John nodded, 'Yeah. He knew the Trent was coming down to see me and he must have followed him down the drove. I'd just seen Trent off. He'd had a wasted visit as I already knew about their dirty little Thursday meetings. Dixon came staggering across the field. He looked like he'd been up all night drinking and he could hardly speak...looked bloody awful..and I gave him a piece of my mind. Anyway, he kept on and bloody on, calling me everything under the sun and in the end he started telling me about him and Anne and how he'd given her everything I hadn't...like my time. He kept saying that the greatest gift you can give someone is your time. Just kept screaming it in my face like a bloody Hari Krishna'. Farcett moved away from Anne and stood by the altar. 'And what did you do John ?' Worthington covered his face with his huge farmers hand and mumbled, 'I pushed him in the chest and he went over like a cardboard cut out...and when he laid there looking up at me in that pathetic way, still bloody going on about 'time', I kicked him...good and hard in the guts. The bastard..I just wanted him to shut up. I gave him a few good uns and left him there in the muck, where he deserved to be. I should have chucked the bastard in the drain to drown'

 

During Worthington's admission, his wife had sat staring at him.Unable to believe his hatred. She leapt from her pew and rushed towards him, grabbing the candlestick from the altar as she passed. John saw her approach and jumped from his chair with a look of horror. He dashed through the chairs and pews and nipped behind a heavy velvet curtain in the corner of the chapel. Yaxley grabbed Anne's arm and prevented her from giving chase. 'Let him go...we'll get him'.

 

Clunch looked across to Yaxley and said, 'I think you'd better go after him now. That's the corridor that leads to the Tower. God knows what he'll do in this state'.

Yaxley Farcett ran, skidded across the tiled floor of the Peace Chapel in pursuit of John Worthington. He reached the bottom of the stairwell, and although still afternoon, found it difficult to see in the dimness. He could hear Worthington ahead of him and they both made their way up the three hundred and twenty seven steps of the Great East Tower of Ealham Cathedral. Eventually, Yaxley crashed through the door at the top of the stairs and looked round to get his bearings. The roof was topped with a lead covering and around the castellations were eight ancient and frightening gargoyles, which were probably as old as the cathedral itself.

 

The wind howled and Yaxley could barely make out what Worthington was shouting at him... Yaxley moved closer and his smooth soles slid on the lead as he slithered over the roof towards Worthington. 'I told you didn't I Farcett ! Remember ! I'd sooner kill myself than Dixon !' He moved closer to the wall. 'She wants time...she'll get bloody time...all the bloody time in the world for the rest of her bloody life'. He leaned against one of the gargoyles and made to lift his leg up onto the low wall.

 

Yaxley took a leap forward but he slipped on the lead and fell. Worthington, with a face that registered equal measures of fear and hatred shifted his weight against the wall and the crumbling gargoyle finally disintegrated and began to fall outwards taking Worthington with it. As Yaxley looked up from his horizontal position he saw John Worthington's legs disappear over the wall on their journey of a hundred and fifty feet to the pavement at the base of The Great East Tower................



Episode 97

Clunch Parsons took a deep breath...'Yaxley ! It's Mr.Thompson, in the chapel, with the candlestick !!' Farcett stared at him, believing that Clunch was in the grip of some kind of Cluedo induced madness. The heads of many visitors to Ealham Cathedral craned round to see what all the fuss was about. At the far end of the cathedral, the graduates continued to file past the lectern to collect their hard-earned degrees from the Bishop of Ealham. 'Clunch' hissed Yaxley, 'Tell me slowly and carefully what has happened'.

 

Clunch leaned forward and spoke into Farcett's ear. In front of them, the Worthington's also waited to see what Clunch had to say. 'I went into the Peace Chapel a minute ago to get some more hymnbooks and I saw Mr.Morgan in there. He was practising the speech he's got to make later. Just kept wandering around repeating something about 'straying from the path of righteousness' and giving a funny look into this mirror. Anyway, Hummer came in to find me and saw the Welsh Windbag standing there...' He realised Fiona was there and quickly nodded to her and mumbled, 'err err no offence meant, Fiona'. Yaxley grabbed Clunch's sleeve. 'What's going on?'

 

Suddenly getting louder, Clunch shouted, 'Hummer got hold of Cedric Morgan by the neck and he's gorn to smash his bloody skull to bits with a candlestick if we don't get in there quick !' On the word 'smash', Yaxley was up out of his pew heading towards the Peace Chapel. As he'd been in there the previous day with Anne Worthington, he was able to lead the way. In his wake followed; Fiona, Clunch, Anne, John and Darren Worthington. As they scuttled round the back of the centre aisle towards the corridor they passed Graham Trent who was leaning against a wall taking notes. He saw the Barnham contingent heading, conga-like, in the direction of the Chapel and quickly followed, sensing that something was afoot.

 

Thirty seconds later they crashed in through the Chapel door and all stood transfixed as they registered the tableau before them. Hummer had taken the cords from half a dozen chorister's gowns and had tied Morgan's wrists and ankles to a chair. Hummer stood over him, obviously very distressed. He was brandishing a gold candlestick, which he had taken from the small altar of the most intimate and atmospheric of chapels in the historic building. Yaxley, realising this was serious, quickly turned around to lock the door. The huge key turned with a clunk and they waited for Hummer Thompson to speak.

 

He kept the Candlestick above his head like a javelin thrower about release his payload and turned his tear-streaked face to the ensemble. 'The bugger ! He knew my dad wanted that land to go to the village. Thought he'd make some dirty money out of it...I heard about it this morning. Turns out he started his fiddling nearly twenty year agoo !' Yaxley stepped forward and motioned to the others to sit down. Hesitantly, they found places on the pews as Hummer looked on, confused. He had fully expected to be manhandled to the ground and wasn't expecting an audience. Yaxley sat down nearest to Hummer and Morgan, only a short leap away. Instead of trying to surprise Hummer, he said. 'We're all here in the peace chapel and I know what this place is like. I was here with Anne only yesterday'. He turned to Mrs.Worthington and smiled. As she returned the smile, John Worthington scowled and pulled at her arm, which she shrugged aside impatiently. 'Yes' continued Yaxley, 'I think we should all say a small prayer for a few things. For the soul of Reg Dixon, who you all knew. For Hummer's dad and the love he had for the village of Barnham. And lastly' and he said this glaring at Morgan..'for all the people in the world who have greed in their hearts.'

 

As Hummer made the mistake of actually closing his eyes whilst praying, Yaxley bound forward and snatched the candlestick from Hummer, who stood rooted to the spot with his arm aloft like a startled Statue of Liberty. 'Nice one Farcett ! Nice one' shouted Trent from his position at the back..'Now lock the silly old bugger up..He can't threaten a Member of Parliament like that !' Yaxley turned sharply, clutching the candlestick and barked at Trent, 'If you don't shut your mouth, you'll get it'. Farcett then put his arm around Hummer and gently sat the old man down, leaving Morgan open mouthed in his chair. 'What about me ? Isn't someone going to let me go?' Fiona sighed and went forward to untie her father, commenting that she agreed with Yaxley that he deserved to have his brains bashed in.

 

After Morgan had been released and he had done a fair bit of rubbing his ankles and wrists and had threatened to sue Hummer for everything he'd got (which was rich seeing as how he had swindled a good proportion of his dads estate already), Yaxley sat down in the seat Morgan had been tied to. He took in the scene and realised that it was strangely Christiesque. His chair was in the centre of the chapel and scattered around him on pews, chairs and in the case of Trent, leaning against a wall, were all the main players in the Reg Dixon case; Clunch Parsons, Hummer Thompson, Graham Trent, John Worthington, Anne Worthington, Darren Worthington, Cedric Morgan and Fiona Morgan.

 

Yaxley placed the candlestick back in its position on the altar and turned to face his audience. Hummer had his head bent forward and appeared to be repenting for his attack on Morgan.

 

Farcett coughed and said....'Let me take you back to the beginning.....'



Episode 96

Yaxley Farcett and Fiona Morgan were strolling, hand in hand, around the greens and gardens that surrounded Ealham Cathedral. Hundreds of visitors to the City were milling around the same areas as they waited for the time to arrive to collect their Degrees in the Cathedral.

 

The pair skirted alongside the south end of the building to find yet another secluded green, which sported a large marquee, providing refreshments for the influx of strangers to Ealham. To Yaxley's surprise, and delight, it turned out to be a beer tent. Making his way past groups of chatting families, all in their Sunday best, Yaxley arrived at the bar. A large familiar figure had his back to the bar and was pouring a pint of 'Summer Threaknecks' from a barrel mounted on a trestle table. Johnny Swift turned around and boomed 'Was it one or two o' these lad ?' to a bespectacled youth standing next to Yaxley. He noticed Farcett and Fiona and let out a sigh, 'Bugger me ! Not you two an all ? I reckon the whole of Barnham's over here today'.

Yaxley enquired who else Johnny had seen, and it turned out that for a variety of reasons the Skaters Run regulars had a part to play in The Open University's big day. Dave Stumpsfield was on duty outside the East Door, ensuring that nobody got out of hand after too much Champagne; Clunch Parsons and Hummer Thompson were ushers inside the Cathedral, although they had already visited the beer tent four times each . Anne Worthington was wandering round in her Graduate regalia taking in the sunshine and looking very nervous as her time approached to collect her degree. According to Johnny, she also had her husband John and son Darren with her, although they looked bored with the whole affair and would rather be doing something more 'useful'. As well as that clutch of locals, Fiona's dad was 'pressing the flesh' in his role as local MP and frequently dragging his speech out of his pocket to make sure he would be word perfect. Hummer Thompson had heard of the allegations against Morgan on the radio and he knew that it was his Father's land that was the subject of the fraud. Whilst drowning his third pint he had said to Swift that 'that thieving bugger needs sorting out ! That land were given to the village by my ol' dad'. 'So he knows then ?' asked Yaxley. 'We all know now Yaxley...and no one is best pleased. I know he's your dad Fiona but he can't get away with it. When I asked him about it, he said he couldn't comment because he was seeing his solicitor!' Fiona gave a non-committal shrug and wandered off to find her dad. 'So, that's the lot is it Johnny ? Anyone else I should watch out for ?' Swift laughed, 'Well your mate Graham Trent is here as well. He's covering it for The Ealham Observer, taking a few photos and speaking to any locals that are getting their degrees today'.

 

Yaxley frowned; all the main players in the Dixon murder seemed to have gravitated towards the Cathedral in an uncanny, and some might say contrived way, as if the denouement to this whole sorry story were approaching.

 

As Yaxley stood with his drink, taking in that gorgeous smell of grass in a marquee, Clunch Parsons walked over carrying a tray of drinks. As well as being an usher inside the cathedral, he was also acting as waiter outside. 'Afternoon Mr.Farcett' he said happily, 'Fancy a glass of 'great with vol-au-vents ?' nodding at the drinks on the tray. Yaxley shook his head. It was probably a drinkable wine but he wasn't prepared to drink something with a name like that. Along with pre-grated cheese, he thought this new tendency for 'dumbinh-down' was the lowest the supermarkets had sunk in their efforts to 'educate' the great unwashed. 'No thanks' Clunch' he said, 'But while you're here can I have a quick word ?'

 

Clunch put the tray down on a nearby table and indicated that they should both sit down. 'Is it about Hummer ?' he said 'The soft old bugger is about ready to rip Morgan's gizzard out. It takes a lot to get Hummer riled but this has got 'im going. You don't cross a Thompson and get away with it' Yaxley shook his head. 'Well...no it's not. I'll have a word with Hummer though. He can't take the law into his own hands. No...this is about you and Brian and your private enterprise' Clunch frowned, 'What you mean.... The Cordial ? I haven't made any of that for years....what's he said ?' Yaxley leaned forward and said firmly, 'It's all gone now..and I'll say no more about it as long as you promise your Godfrey's Cordial days are over'. Clunch nodded furiously, 'Yes Yes Yes Inspector...You can be assured I have forgotten the recipe and have no access to any equipment. You have my promise...Safe as a church tied to a bloomin' hedge that is ' and he scurried off with his tray to find Hummer.

Yaxley finished his drink and wandered around to the main door of the East Tower, where he had gone to meet Anne Worthington the day before.

He found Fiona talking to Stumpy and he appeared to be sympathising with her for her fathers' present predicament. As Yaxley approached he heard Stumpy say, 'Oh yes Fiona, Yaxley was very fair with your dad. The model professional'. Stumpy winked at Yaxley as he approached and asked the couple if they wanted to go in. Farcett agreed with Fiona that it might be interesting and he took two admission tickets from Stumpy and they ducked in through the ancient oak doorway.

 

As they took in the scene; a Cathedral almost full of people and flowers and with the strains of Vaughn Williams 'In a Fen country' soothingly played over the pa system, Farcett could feel a sense of well-being wash over him. He led Fiona to a pew at the back and they sat down. Fiona dipped her head and appeared to be giving some kind of a prayer when Yaxley realised that in front of them sat the Worthington's. He tapped John on the shoulder and the large man spun around. 'Farcett!' he exclaimed 'What are you doing here ?' At the sound of the name Anne and Darren also spun round to see why the Drainage Inspector was there. Yaxley explained that he was just taking in the atmosphere and John Worthington barked, 'I wish I was at home...Only here cause she's come to collect her piece of bloody paper to prove she knows something about history' and he pointed to Anne who was also looking as if she would rather be elsewhere. Yaxley leant forward and whispered to Anne. 'Enjoy it, you've worked hard for seven years for this moment...don't let anyone spoil it for you'. Anne touched Yaxley sleeve and nodded, careful not to let John see any intimacy.

 

As the first graduates began to file towards to front of the Cathedral to collect their degrees, a harassed Clunch Parsons scuttled down the aisle, causing many heads to turn in the process. He arrived at Farcett's pew and gasped for air...'Yaxley, thank god you're here, I was going out to get Stumpy, but I think you'll deal with this better !' Yaxley leaned across and hissed. 'Come on Clunch what is it...The ceremony's started..spit it out !'

 

Clunch took a deep breath....'It's Mr.Thompson, in the Chapel, with the candlestick !!!!'



Episode 95

Yaxley Farcett was in his flat at 25B Main Street, Barnham cooking breakfast. He had left Ealham Police Station the previous evening, had a hot bath on his return and the luxury of an early night. After Graham Trent's statement, that he had left Cauliflower Drove just as an apparently drunk Reg Dixon had staggered across a field to talk to John, he felt that he had taken things as far as he could for one day.

 

The problem was, he didn't believe a word Trent said. John Worthington had told him that he would sooner kill himself than Dixon. And Yaxley believed him. After filling his plate with bacon and scrambled eggs, Yaxley flicked his radio on. It was still tuned to Gasbag 109 from the previous day. It appeared that they only had one DJ, as the abrasive tones of Sidney Prince filled the room as Yaxley sat down to enjoy the wonderful aroma of freshly grilled bacon.

 

'Ok.. you're boring me now. Go away person who wanted to be on the radio!' he barked at a poor caller that was only trying to plug their bring and buy sale. 'Who's next on Gasbag ?...You'd better make it interesting. Our ratings are dying with saddo's like that last caller hogging the line'. Once more, a synthesised voice came out of the ether. But with a difference. This time the Stephen Hawking sound a like was confessing to the murder of a woman in Suffolk, whose body had been found a week previously.

 

'Is that you again Keith' shouted Sid Prince...'Now listen mate' he said becoming serious, 'Can you speak to me off air ? I'll play a CD and we can chat...You need help Keith. How many people do you think you've got rid of this week ? Stay on the line mate..You're sick. You need help'.

 

Yaxley glared at the radio and realised that he had been led up the garden path by being a newcomer to the area. He finished his breakfast and rang Gasbag 109. After giving his details he was put through to Sid Prince, who unsurprisingly, was an extremely nice man off-air. He explained to Yaxley that Keith Shedd was a serial confessor. He regularly rang Gasbag and also had a habit of turning up on live TV audience participation programmes. The subject could be inflation, pollution or War in the Balkans but as soon as the microphone was pointed at Keith Shedd he would start saying that he had Shergar in his garage or that he had shot John Lennon. Security would cart him away...until the next time. Yaxley sighed, put the phone down and drew a line under that particular avenue of enquiry.  

 

After washing up and tidying his room for the first time, Yaxley phoned Fiona Morgan and arranged to pick her up to have a walk around Ealham. Farcett was determined to have a normal day. John Worthington could wait until Monday. Just as he was about to turn off the radio, Sid Prince began the news bulletin. With his hand paused above the off switch Yaxley listened, as it would only be the usual two minute round up. The last item caused him to remove his hand from the switch and scratch his head. Prince revealed that a minor scandal had rocked the small village of Barnham as allegations of fraud had been made about local MP, Cedric Morgan and mentioned Thompson's Wood. 'Trent !' thought Yaxley. The bastard is retaliating first. Obviously has media friends at the radio station.

 

He picked Fiona up at her parent's house. Diplomatically, she was waiting outside, ignoring the attentions of the two reporters that had already turned up. Cedric Morgan stood on the doorstep shouting at the photographer to get off his property or he would be calling the police. Fiona climbed into Farcett's Escort and they left, leaving the Morgan's to do the doorstep show of solidarity that newspapers love. Pity the poor politician's wife having to pledge allegiance to the oily lying bastard that has been cheating on her ever since he learnt how to fiddle an expense account and operate a trouser press.

 

Fifteen minutes later and the couple were strolling round in the warm sunshine near the cathedral. It dawned on Yaxley that there were a lot of smartly dressed people around, many sporting cloaks and mortarboards. 'I know I'm being thick Fiona, but what's going on ?' 'It's the Open University Graduation Day. They hold it here most years. There'll be about seven hundred people getting their degree's today'. 'Ah...I remember' replied Yaxley. 'Isn't your dad going to be here ?' Fiona grimaced. 'Yeah, If they let him out of the house. He's presenting an award from the government department he's on. The silly old prat really has got himself in it this time. They'll follow him over here and hound him until they get a story'.

 

Yaxley stopped her and said seriously, 'Wouldn't you rather be at home.He may need you'. Fiona clasped his hands, 'Yaxley...He's thick skinned, You don't get where he is without being like a rhino. Anyway, I don't agree with any of his politics, he's got to look after himself on this one'.

 

They passed a group of Barnham 'Broom Dancers' that were performing some strange manoeuvres over a couple of brooms like an arthritic river dance when a be-cloaked man walked up to Fiona and beamed. 'Oh You do look the part Jim. Hope it goes well for you'. The man thanked Fiona and moved on with his wife. 'Who was that Fi ?' asked Yaxley. 'That's Jim Floyd. He's getting his degree in Astro Physics today. He's a bit eccentric. A couple of years ago he was put on probation for killing a cat'. Yaxley frowned, 'Go on then...why did he kill a cat' 'Well' explained Fiona, 'He had this theory. If you pick a cat up a throw it in the air. It'll always land on it's feet. Right ?' Yaxley nodded. 'Well there's another theory that if you drop buttered toast on the ground it always lands buttered side down..right again ?' Yaxley nodded once more. 'Well' continued Fiona, 'Jim got hold of his next door neighbours kitten, strapped toast on it's back and threw it off the top of the cathedral !!'



Episode 94

Yaxley Farcett folded up the review that Reg Dixon had written and put it into his jacket pocket. He couldn't explain why, but he thought it might be significant. He pointed once more to the pictures of Dixon's broken body. 'Ok let's forget the cod journalism for a moment and get back to this. Have you got an alibi or not ?' Graham Trent pursed his lips. 'No. I haven't. My lady left about six months ago. I was enjoying the sleep of the just at around that time I should say' and he gave Farcett an oily grin.

 

'Do you deny having a fight with Dixon ?' 'No. Not at all' answered Trent. 'We were in the car park after closing time and he'd had too much to drink as he usually does, or did, recently. He started banging on again about that bloody field and making out I was public enemy number one. I told him to shut his Fen Boy mouth and asked if he'd been to Ealham Market lately. Or if he was still giving the delightful Mrs.Worthington one'. Trent took one of Farcett's cigarettes, lit it and blew smoke rings toward the ceiling. 'Well', he continued 'He went mad, like a rabid dog, just leapt on me, flapping his arms about like a big girl, screaming and shouting a load of rubbish about 'pure love' and 'friendship' and accused me of being a caveman'.

Yaxley considered this. He hadn't been expecting any co-operation. 'And what did you do ? he asked. 'Well, I defended myself didn't I. I was scared for my life. So I gave him a slap !' Yaxley grimaced. 'A Slap'. the new catchall description for anything from a tap on toddlers bum to a smash across the skull with a baseball bat. He blamed 'East Enders'. 'A slap' he repeated. Trent raised an eyebrow, 'Yeah a little one...just to bring him up short. He was all over me, I told you !' 'And what constitutes 'a slap' in your opinion Mr.Trent ? A minor blow to the face with an open palm or a knee in the ribs followed by swift kick, which almost burst Reg Dixon's spleen ?' 'I told you' barked back Trent, 'I was scared for my life. A man has to defend himself. There are some nutters out there you know.'

Yaxley took back his cigarettes from Trent's side of the table and lit one himself. He inhaled deeply and blew a minor cloud into Trent's face causing him to rub his eyes. 'And what condition was Dixon in when you left him ?' asked Farcett. 'Well he was alive, if that's what you mean. He was leaning against the pub coalbunker holding on to his ribs... I think he'd fallen against the corner' he added as an afterthought. Yaxley narrowed his eyes and drew on his cigarette once more. 'Did he say anything ?' Trent laughed, 'The man never bloody shut up. He'd had a slap and still he kept on...'True Love', 'Fraudster', 'Mickey Mouse Journalism'...I just left him there holding on to his guts !'

Yaxley stood and walked round behind Trent. He was considering twisting the Londoners ears. 'By the way Trent' he said, 'The matter of the illegal land acquisition by yourself and Cedric Morgan while local councillors is now in the hands of the Serious Crime Squad. Morgan has confessed to the lot. I'll be handing that one over as it isn't within my Drainage jurisdiction. My only concern with Thompson's Wood is that it may have been sufficient motive for you to run Dixon through with a pitchfork'. Trent strained to look over his shoulder at Farcett, 'Why would I kill the bloke ? The way the public enquiry is going over the building of the Power Station it'll be years before the damn thing's built. If anyone had a motive, it was Morgan. He's the one with the rising career.'

 

'But he has an alibi, and you haven't', replied Farcett. 'And you were going down to Split Feather Farm on Friday to see John weren't you ? That places you at the farm at the time of the murder.' Farcett indulged himself and grabbed Trent's ears and gave them a quick but very sharp twist, before shouting 'And you needn't have bothered, because the miserable sod knew already. His mum had caught them at it months ago...you needn't have bothered going down there.'

 

Trent rubbed his ears and glared at Farcett as he sat down. Dave 'Stumpy' Stumpsfield spoke for the first time since they had walked into Interview Room Two. 'You might as well tell us it all Graham. The games up old mate'.

'Alright...Straight Yeah ? I got a couple of mates from Cambridge to visit old Fred Rickett's a couple of times...just to move things along a bit. I didn't know they'd done his dog in - honest. If you say Morgan has grassed me up, I'll just have to take my chances on that. But as far as killing Dixon goes, you're out of order. I may be a lot of things but I'm no murderer. I went down to Cauliflower Drove at about half past seven on Friday morning, knowing I'd see John about somewhere. After listening to Dixon's 'holier than thou' bullshit the night before I just wanted to tell John what his wife was getting up to...let him know how his duvet was being disturbed on a Thursday afternoon' Farcett interrupted, 'And he took the wind out of your sails ?' Trent nodded. 'Yeah he did. We stood there chatting and he told me the lot. Did some right crying on my shoulder'. 'Then what happened ?' asked Yaxley. 'I told him that what he'd told me wouldn't go any further and I left, just as that bloody wind got up. The land was already starting to blow down at the bottom of that field'.

 

Yaxley started: 'The ten acre field, where Dixon was found ?' 'If you say so' replied Trent. 'So you just left John Worthington standing there at the side of the drain and left ?' Trent nodded. 'And as the Fen started to blow up around my ears I saw Reg Dixon come staggering across the field from the other direction. He was still drunk from the previous night I reckon...and he was heading straight for John Worthington !'



Episode 93

Cedric Morgan pulled a small notepad from his jacket pocket and scribbled down a name and address. He pushed the pad across the battered table of Interview Room Number One and glared at Yaxley Farcett. 'She is my PA' he said through gritted teeth. 'She will confirm my whereabouts for eight o'clock on Friday morning'.

 

Yaxley ripped off the top sheet and neatly folded it before leaning across the table and saying, 'We could have saved ourselves a lot of time, couldn't we Mr.Morgan ?'. The MP stood up, brushed the remains of crushed cigarettes from his face and walked round the table to stand face to face with Farcett. 'Do not think I will forget this Farcett. If any of this reaches the ears of my wife or daughter...I will...I will...' he paused as a suitable threat struggled to find the tip of his tongue. 'Poison my dog ?' Yaxley suggested as an ending for his sentence. Morgan stared at him, obviously confused. 'What madness is this now ?' he spat. 'What dog ?' Yaxley gave a wry smile...'Forget it Morgan. You're free to go to your evening soiree now. You might get there in time for the port'. As Morgan's hand reached for the doorknob, Yaxley called him back. 'You're not thinking of going too far are you ? I might have to speak to you again'. 'Don't worry' replied Morgan. 'I've got to get back for tomorrow's Open University Bash at the Cathedral. I'm presenting some of the awards.'

Yaxley went to the window and watched Morgan climb into the back of the patrol car once more. He had instructed the driver to put the siren on and get him to the Guildhall as quickly as possible. Although loathing the man, he was now beginning to think that maybe it hadn't been a good idea to shove a packet of cigarettes in his mouth and twist his ears. Once the car had disappeared around the corner, Farcett turned to 'Stumpy' Stumpsfield.

 

'Right Dave' he said smartly, 'Is our man ready next door ?' Stumpsfield nodded. 'This might help an all' he said and passed Farcett some sheets of paper. 'What's this then Stumps ?' asked Farcett. Stumpsfield explained that Burton Coggles had taken some digital pictures of Dixon's battered torso and had scanned them so they could be sent via e-mail to Ealham station. Stumpsfield had printed off the pictures while Morgan was telling Farcett about his 'other woman'. Farcett laughed and said 'You catch on quick. I am impressed !' Stumpsfield beamed at receiving such praise and said 'It's the digikal age !'

 

Following the same routine as before, Farcett and Stumpsfield barged into Interview Room Two and asked the young PC to go and put the kettle on. As he left, Farcett sat down opposite Graham Trent and stared at him, unblinking. After about a minute, in which neither of them had so much as fluttered an eyelid, Yaxley pulled the sheets of paper from his jacket pocket and threw them across the table at Trent. 'Explain !' he barked. Trent gave Yaxley a sidelong glance and sifted through the pictures of Dixon's injuries showing little obvious interest. 'So...Who is it ?' he asked. Yaxley clenched down hard on his teeth to suppress his anger. He had never come across such blatant arrogance. 'Well, there's no face in the picture is there ?' argued Trent.

 

Yaxley let out a huge sigh. 'Trent...I have evidence that you have been and still are involved in a fraud involving property in the parish of Barnham. I have a signed statement saying that you had a fight with Reg Dixon on Thursday night and that you were threatening to go to see John Worthington. You also sacked Dixon a fortnight before his death. Still you had the gall to say he had a 'spurkerling parsonality'. He paused. 'Where were you on Friday morning at eight o'clock ?'

 

Trent eyed Farcett suspiciously. 'Lots of grand words there. Hope you can prove all this. It'll make for a good editorial in next weeks Ealham On the Net. I need some more readers to win back the ones that Dixon scared off'. Yaxley frowned. 'What do you mean ?'  Graham Trent pulled a sheet of A4 paper from his pocket and passed it to Farcett. 'I reckon he was going round the twist. He kept hounding me all the time about this bloody land deal...which I have nothing to do with, by the way... and his writing got more and more bizarre. You read that crap !' Yaxley smoothed out the sheet of paper and gazed down. Dixon had written a review of the Hadlode Thespian's spring show. Bucking the normal trend of praising the show to the rafters to encourage the community in their amateur efforts, Dixon had written a scathing condemnation of village productions with all the biliousness of an NME reviewer. Liberally smattered with four letter words and exclamation marks, the review blistered across the page.

Gwen Tweedy, a veteran of twelve such productions was described as a 'screeching witless hag that should have had her vocal cords extracted at birth'. The song which the ensemble cast sang at the finale was considered by Dixon to have been not just been murdered by the collective but taken out into a back alley and kicked to death.

Yaxley whistled and said '...and this went on your site did it ?' Trent nodded. 'Yeah. He used to go on line directly after I'd edited his first few articles about badgers and magpies. I trusted him. It was about November when he started all this trendy critical rubbish' and he pointed angrily to the review. 'It was two days before I knew what he'd done and by then the damage was done. Most of my advertisers had pulled out by then. It took me a month to get them back'. He paused and added, 'Have you read the last bit ?'

Yaxley looked back down at the sheet of paper. According to Dixon; 'Rather than have suffered this performance of 'Cinderella', I would have preferred to stay at home and set about my nipples with a cheese grater'.





Episode 92

Yaxley peered in through the spy-hole of the Interview room door and turned to Dave 'Stumpy' Stumpsfield. 'Is he stewing nicely in there Stumps?' he asked. 'Yep' replied the sergeant, 'Like a cup of signalman's tea'. Morgan was pacing the floor and appeared to be haranguing the PC that had been left to look after him. The PC stared straight ahead and was apparently oblivious to Morgan's requests for a solicitor, a cup of tea and a phone call. Morgan sat down heavily in the wooden chair and ran his hands through his thinning hair. 'Righto Stumpy' said Farcett. 'Nice Cop- Nasty Cop time. Which do you prefer ?' Stumpsfield smiled. 'Oh Yaxley. I've never had a chance to do this. I'm not sure. Which do you want ?' Farcett frowned and replied, 'C'Mon Stumps, this isn't a bloody parlour game. What do want to do...nice or nasty ?' Another decisionless pause caused Farcett to say 'I think you'd better be 'nice' don't you ?' Stumpsfield nodded. 'Ok Yaxley...I think you're better at being nasty than me'. Farcett assumed his Clint Eastwood drawl and snarled 'You better freakin' believe it !' as he kicked the door open on a startled Morgan.

 

Yaxley strode into Interview Room number one, known to CID locally as 'The Kitchen' because of all the villains they had grilled in there. The walls were painted a dull grey and the only furniture was a battered old wooden table and two chairs. The table was marked with a thousand stubbed out cigarettes and insults scratched onto the surface. Farcett inclined his head to indicate to the young PC that his presence wasn't required any more and he turned to face Cedric Morgan. As soon as the door shut, Morgan opened his mouth to speak and Yaxley, like a gunslinger, shoved a cigarette packet into Morgan's mouth. 'Right' hissed Yaxley leaning across the table, 'Don't think you have any rights because you haven't. No brief, no phone call, no cups of tea until I get the truth. You're not dealing with the regular force here. I'm Farcett of the Drainage Division and we operate on the edges of  the law in pursuit of the truth'. Not bad he thought for something he'd just made up. '...And no taped interview either. The only tape in this room is my 20 Disco Chartbusters' and just to prove it he took it out of his pocket and slotted it into the top pocket of Morgan's jacket, disrupting the perfect folding of the neatly positioned handkerchief. 'Listen to it later', he said, 'It might slacken your stiff arse !'

 

Stumpsfield, having now had full view of Yaxley's nastiness stepped forward. Farcett got up, turned his back on Morgan and winked at Stumpy. Stumpsfield coughed with embarrassment and said meekly, 'Y'awlright then Mr.Morgan ?' as nicely as he could. Morgan's eyes bulged and his jaws clamped down on the cigarette packet. Unfortunately, the more he tried to protest, the further the cigarettes entered his mouth. He pulled the packet out and spat out showers of tobacco and paper before shouting, 'My God ! My God ! He's an animal Dave....where did you get him from ?' He was just about to add that he would complain to his MP when he remembered that he was his MP and he pointed at Farcett's back, 'I told you before boy..I know the Chief Inspector. You'll never work again !

 

This has been the biggest mistake of your lousy life !' Stumpy leaned in towards Morgan and mumbled, 'D'you fancy tea or coffee. Yew look a bit dry', as flakes of tobacco flew from Morgans lips and chin as he continued to rail at the back of Farcett. 'We've got some hob-nobs as well' added Stumpsfield, wondering if he was being nice enough.

 

'Bugger off Dave...Just Bugger off !' shouted Morgan. 'What's wrong with him', he complained, jabbing an angry finger at Farcett's back. Yaxley completed his inspection of the wall and turned round to face Morgan. He took three steps towards him and then circled behind him. As he turned his head to see what Farcett was doing, Yaxley grabbed Morgan's ears and held him there, so he could only face forward. The more Morgan struggled, the harder Yaxley twisted the politician's lugholes. 'You're mad' screamed the politician, hands now trying to drag Yaxley's fingers off his ears. 'You cannot do this ! You cannot ! It's 1998. You cannot attack an innocent man like this ! Stumpsfield Do Something' he shouted. Stumpy looked at Farcett and saw him grin and shake his head before giving Morgan's ears another twist. 'No can do, Cedric' said Stumpy. 'This is a Drainage Squad matter. I can only act on DI Farcett's instructions....Did you say you took sugar or not ??'

 

Farcett let go of Morgan's ears and sat back down across the table from Morgan. 'I spoke to that gormless script writer cum accountant of yours earlier' he said. 'He said he had breakfast with you, but that wasn't until much later than eight o'clock. You've lied to the people of Barnham about Thompson's Wood and you're lying about where you were on Friday morning...Aren't you ?'

 

Morgan put his head in his hands. 'You know about all that do you ? Dixon's papers I suppose ?' Farcett nodded. 'I know most of it'. 'Ok..'said Morgan. 'I was at my girlfriend's flat in Cambridge until half past eight. I caught the train to Ealham and Lancaster picked me up'. Yaxley smiled, 'Good. Now we're getting somewhere', and he kicked Morgan on the shin. Quite nastily.