The Interrogations Commence

The Prime Minister’s first live broadcast to the good people of East Anglia must be considered nothing but a triumph. Well – Minister for Culture, Media & Sport Mick Canning certainly insisted so, on the basis that they had received no complaints. In fact, the general populous had been very quiet in general, following the widespread issuing of the Government’s two greatest exports and a DVD boxset of 90’s TV programme Campion. There had been no out-cry about the Botanical Gardens being secretly converted into a giant cannabis factory by Chancellor of the Exchequer Ian Risk and Trade Minister Simon Daley, which was something of a surprise. However the coma-inducing qualities of the Cambridge Special Damson Gin probably had something to do with that.

With the public nicely sedated and Government coffers positively swelling, the PM decided to over-look the recent indiscretions of her two Cabinet ministers in favour of focusing on her National Economic Security and Recovery Act that was destined to reunite the country and put Great Britain once again on the world stage. However, it is a plan that seemed to be thwarted at every turn by her cavillous Cabinet Secretary, Sir Edd Evans-Morley. There was the murder of Tony Blair to consider, of course, but Wing Commander Tom and his men from the Cambridge Intelligence Agency were having a jolly good crack at that.

Tom had launched into his interrogations with aplomb and was currently ensconced in the Cabinet Office with a very nervous Steve – husband of Home Secretary Vicky Kirby and the lucky soul who found Blair’s body.

“I was out the back doing the barbecue all evening,” wailed Steve, the memory of the event quite clearly still a burden to him. “I came through to the kitchen with a fresh plate of sausages to go upstairs and I saw him… tied to the chair with most of his head missing.”

“When was the last time you saw Blair alive?” asked Tom, tapping his notebook with his pen.

“It was when I brought through the chicken wings,” replied Steve. “Mumsie was cross with me because they were burned.”

“The chicken wings were burned, yet the sausages left on the sideboard were cooked perfectly,” said Tom, leafing through his notes. “Why is that?”

“Oh –  well, I got distracted whilst they were on the grill.” Steve licked his lips, before continuing. “I heard the sound of a woman’s voice coming from the shed, calling out for help. I thought – that’s a bit strange, so I went over to have a look.”

“What did you find?” asked Tom.

“The shed was locked, for a start, so I couldn’t get in. I had a look through the little window on the side but there are crates or something piled up so I couldn’t really see anything.”

“And the woman’s voice?”

“No sign of a woman or a voice. Completely quiet. But then I noticed that the chicken wings had caught fire so rushed back over to the barbecue.”

Tom flicked through the pages of his notebook, the ruffling of paper the only sound in the room for a moment.

“You didn’t mention this voice before, can you tell my why that is?”

“To be honest, I thought maybe I’d imagined it,” replied Steve. “I’d had quite a bit of the damson gin by that point. And then the shock of seeing Blair – I really hadn’t thought about it until we started going through it all again now.”

“Is it possible that you did imagine it?” Tom suggested.

Steve fell silent and briefly examined the carpet between his feet.

“It is possible, I suppose.”

Tom made some final, furious notes before placing his pen carefully on the table.

“That will be all. You can go.”

Steve exhaled a heavy sound as he launched himself from his chair and scampered with some relief to the door. Just as he reached it, a scowling Prime Minister came bundling through.

“Tom, I think I’ve broken my printer,” said Lucy, standing aside to facilitate Steve’s escape. “Can you come and have a look at it?”

“Not now, Prime Minister,” replied Tom, politely. “I’m in the middle of my interrogations.”

“Oh, really? Marvellous! I’ll join you.”

Lucy skipped over to join Wing Commander Tom and pulled up a chair next to him, craning over to read his notes.

“Goodness, do you write your notes in some sort of top secret CIA code?” asked Lucy.

“No, Prime Minister, I’ve just got really bad handwriting.”

“Oh, right. So!” Lucy sat up straight and clapped her hands. “What do we know so far?”

“Steve said he heard a woman’s voice, calling for help from the shed,” said Tom, more to himself than anything. “But when he got there, the shed was locked and there was no sign of a woman.”

“Yes, Lord Westington said that Mumsie has the only key to the shed,” mused Lucy, stroking her chin in what she hoped was a contemplative manner. “Do you think she locked herself in by accident or something?”

“I don’t see how she could lock the padlock if she was inside the shed,” Tom shook his head. “Nonetheless, I shall ask her about it during her interrogation.”

“But you surely can’t be thinking of interrogating Mumsie?” gasped Lucy.

“I shall be interrogating everyone, ma’am.”

Before Lucy could argue further, there was a knock at the door. Minister for Good Ideas & Gin Dr Samantha Martens entered soon after.

“Excuse me, Prime Minister, but is everything alright?” asked Dr Martens. “Only there is a printer in the middle of your office, smashed to smithereens.”

“Yes…” replied Lucy. “The printer is… broken. I came here to ask Tom to fix it, but guess what?! He’s doing his interrogations!”

Dr Martens did the smallest of skips and her eyes lit up.

“I think I should help,” she said. “You might need good ideas and / or gin. Also I have got a box of amazing biscuits from that new bakery on Newmarket Road.”

“‘Bernard’s’?” asked Lucy, her eyes now also aglow. “I have heard good things about that place.”

Tom did little more than sigh, realising that anything he said from here on in was going to be fairly pointless.

“I’ll go and get them,” said Dr Martens. “Also, Boris King of Oxford and Nigel Farage are outside in the hall, do you want me to frighten them off?”

“No, no” snapped Tom “They are next up for interrogation.”

“Then it looks like I got here just in time!” announced Lucy. “Sam – bring me biscuits from Bernard’s at once. And then – send in the clowns.”


36 thoughts on “The Interrogations Commence

  1. Send in the clowns?! Now that was particularly clever. 🙂

    Mumsie with the only key to the shed, a woman’s voice calling for help – sausage and wing discrepancies — my, my, this gets murkier by the page. And it is odd that there was no public commotion over the new use for the Botanical Gardens. Is it possible that there has been a bit of black market coma inducement that no one has discovered as yet? Besides the gin, that is. Or perhaps along side it.

    Wing Commander Tom and Britain’s very own CIA (lol) certainly have their work cut out for them. Meanwhile, has anybody seen Mumsie?

    xx,
    mgh
    (Madelyn Griffith-Haynie – ADDandSoMuchMore dot com)
    – ADD Coach Training Field founder; ADD Coaching co-founder –
    “It takes a village to educate a world!”

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, the reason of no public out-cry is pure writing laziness on my part, explained rather glibly by everyone being off their faces on gin and cannabis, but it will be something I take up once the murder is solved, probably. I wouldn’t mind betting that Mumsie is in the arms of Boris’ butler Snetterton, the wily old dog!
      xx

      Liked by 2 people

      1. So hard to tell the hints from the herrings. I certainly hope there is no coup a-brewing (secret plotting could certainly explain the silence of some). However, unless Cambridge is VERY different from cities on this side of the pond, it’s difficult to believe there would be much that could get an entire city to cooperate in a secret *anything.* Has anybody checked to see if they’re all still alive out there?

        Ah well, I must await the next installment, whenever the muse knocks you over the head and ties you down again. ::sigh::

        I’m not a particularly patient reader, so I dearly miss the one advantage of stumbling upon PorterGirl late in the day. I suppose giving in to the whispers of the Sandman is in order (unless, of course, you intend to post something else tonight!)
        xx,
        mgh

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Rest assured, the people of East Anglia are safe and well, albeit rather quiet. Mind you, they might not be quite so well behaved once the press reveals something quite shocking later this week… 😉
        Have a lovely sleep, my dear, I shall be posting no more today!
        xx

        Liked by 1 person

    1. No doubt the magnificent Wing Commander Tom will turn his interrogation skills to all in Number Ten – Terry the cat included. I have no doubt that Terry sees and knows all, but whether he can be convinced to cooperate is another matter entirely 😉

      Liked by 2 people

      1. I love it!!

        and I love that I am helping with the interrogations… 😀 I can throw people off with random questions and confuse them so much that they unwittingly reveal things…

        or provide gin…which will undoubtedly help!!

        I am sure Wing Commander Tom is overjoyed to have us helping!! 😀

        **FOR THE BERNARDS!!**

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I can see absolutely no opportunities for anything to wrong with the interrogations whatsoever. Unless Sir Edd gets involved. Or the sneaky press find more dirt on the Government. Oh dear… 😉
        **FOR THE BERNARDS!!**

        Liked by 1 person

      3. no, nothing could possibly go wrong with us involved…
        It is not like Sir Edd would be hanging around throwing spanners in the works or the sneaky press waiting for their opportunity to strike…

        oh dear…

        :-/

        Liked by 1 person

      4. absolutely!

        we have some pretty good shoes and boots between us and according to the press this is the main qualification for being prime minister…
        plus…we like bernards and know how to use them!!
        😀

        Liked by 1 person

      5. This just goes to prove that we are the ladies for the job. We do have amazing boot collections and our hats are beyond compare. The press will love us, the public will love us – hopefully Boris and Nigel won’t love us, though. At least not in the biblical sense.

        Liked by 1 person

      6. We will be the most popular leaders the country has ever known 😀

        and no…I don’t think we need to be loved by Boris and Nigel… especially not together…or while watched by either of them O_O

        Liked by 1 person

      7. I notice that there has been a distinct lack of trouser-dropping since they launched their own murder investigation. All be have to do is keep them busy with various unlikely mysteries and I think we’ll be fine 😉

        Liked by 2 people

      8. It baffles me that they haven’t! Although perhaps running the country as if it is some kind of weird concoction of Yes Minister, Agatha Christie and Carry On Camping might not be the first thought of your average career politician. Which is exactly why we should take over.

        Liked by 1 person

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