The 53rd Sausage
DC Avril was feeling hungry. The fact she had overslept and missed breakfast was bad enough, but now she was standing in a butcher’s shop investigating the theft of 53 sausages. Everywhere she turned there was meat, all saying “Eat me! Eat me!”
“Well then,” said Mr MacEspray the butcher, “are you going to dust for fingerprints?”
“I usually leave that to my colleague,” said Avril, “then he sends it back to the station for analysis. But he currently appears to be eating a pasty.”
“The finest pasty in all Beeznut,” said Mr MacEspray. “We have a deal with the bakers.”
“And you’re sure that it’s 53 sausages? Not 52 or 54? It’s a very precise number to steal.”
Mr MacEspray pointed at the sausages left in the cabinet. “There are 13 sausages in a link. Whoever it was took four links and an extra solitary sausage. If you look at this link here, it only has twelve. Can you take fingerprints from sausages?”
“I’m not sure,” said Avril, “it’s something I’ve never had to do before. I’d better take them down the station just to be certain. And while I’m here I’ll have a bacon sandwich as well.”
“Get one for me!” DC Fred said between mouthfuls of pasty.
As they were leaving, Mrs MacEspray entered carrying several steaks. “We are approved by royalty,” she said. “The old king was partial to our sausages. We sent him five links a month.”
“What of the new queen, does she like your sausages?” asked DC Fred.
“I think the princess does,” said Mr MacEspray, “you know, the Queen’s sister. Last month the order was upped to six links a month. Hey, should we send a message to them about the theft?”
“No,” said Avril, “I don’t think the Queen stole them.”
“The princess might have done,” said DC Fred.
“What about CCTV?” asked Avril.
“I’m in no mood for kid’s shows,” said Fred.
At that point the Chief Clown entered the shop. The Sideshow was in its final week in Beeznut, and they were having a barbeque to celebrate.
“I’ve come for my order,” she said to Mrs MacEspray.
“Indeed, it’s out the back,” she said and disappeared.
“Technically this is still a crime scene,” said Avril, “Evidence might be disturbed. We need the black and yellow tape.”
“You were leaving a minute ago,” said Mr MacEspray. “Should I stay shut and lose business as well as sausages?”
“Do you have CCTV?” asked Avril.
“No, no call for it,” said Mr MacEspray.
“Well, listen here, Mr MacEspray, that is where you are wrong,” said Avril, “and take note of this, you might learn something. At some point last night or early this morning, can’t be sure when, 53 sausages were stolen. Fifty! Three! And we don’t know the time, we don’t know how, we don’t know who, yet there is a distinct possibility, listen to this, a distinct possibility that if you had had CCTV installed we could have seen who did it!”
“Well it wasn’t me,” said the Chief Clown, “I was up at the Sideshow all night shaving the bearded lady.”
Mrs MacEspray returned with a cardboard box full of meat. The Chief Clown paid and left. DC Avril was deep in thought. DC Fred was deep in offal.
“This is good, can I have some to go?” he asked.
“Back to the station, let’s go on what leads we have,” said Avril.
“Do we have any leads?” asked Fred. “At this stage it could have been Gnasher and Gnipper!”
“When anyone offers an alibi without being asked then I get very itchy,” said Avril. “Very itchy indeed.”
“I get itchy when I wear the same underpants for three days,” said Fred, as they finally both left the butcher’s shop.
News of the theft spread throughout the town. Bill Bond at the department store decided to employ extra security. “If they’re taking sausages,” he said, “they might take my frozen produce!”
The local school took the name of every child who had meat in their packed lunches.
It wasn’t long before Flo the local journalist was knocking on doors, asking for quotes about sausages.
News even reached Queen Kathy. She issued a royal statement calling the theft “barbaric and savage”.
Worse news befell DC Avril back at the station.
“There were no usable fingerprints found on the sausages,” she told Fred. “On the plus side, we did find some at the crime scene.”
“Well, it’s a busy shop,” said Fred, “lots of customers.”
“We found 72 different sets of fingerprints. Let’s make a start.”
“You are seriously kidding me?” Fred went to look out of the window. “It’s a contaminated crime scene, we’ll have to dispose of them. It wouldn’t stand up in court. Look out there.” He pointed out of the window. “Are there even 72 people in this town? This is Beeznut, not Winchester!”
“It’s the only evidence we’ve got.”
Local hero Catsuit Blonde had been on a mission to fill a hole in the ozone layer with silly string. Now she was back, and Flo caught her up with the news.
“Best guess is whoever took them has ate them,” said Catsuit Blonde.
“Then we must investigate, see who’s had a hot dog or sausage roll or whatever in the last 24 hours,” said Flo. “Then beat it out of them!”
“Woah, calm it, calm it,” said Catsuit Blonde. “That is not the way of the hero of the twenty first century. Let’s keep it real and keep it calm and try not to put anyone in hospital. I’ll fly around to see if I can see any suspicious behaviour.”
Between them, Avril, Flo and Catsuit Blonde covered the whole town in less than three hours. They met up in The Stranded Albert, a pub on the edge of town.
“Door to door revealed nothing,” said Flo, “except that when a house has a sign saying No Junk Mail, the person inside likes pointing at it and shouting abuse at you. I didn’t even post anything through the letterbox!”
“We’ve catalogued all 72 sets of prints,” said DC Avril.
“From above I saw three men sunbathing nude, the local science teacher feeding grapes to the traffic warden, three dogs attacking six cats, and Mr Banana putting ten bananas in a coolbox, but nothing else.”
After another three pints, Flo asked, “A coolbox?”
“Yeah,” said Catsuit Blonde, “one of those blue plastic things.”
“Why would he be putting bananas in a coolbox?” asked Avril.
“Keep them cool, I suppose,” said Catsuit Blonde. “It is a bit humid.”
“That’s if they were bananas,” said Avril. “Could you see inside?”
“Alas, I have not been granted X-ray vision,” said Catsuit Blonde, “and when you see the things I see, that’s probably for the best. That sideshow up the hill, they were having a barbecue.”
“They collected their meat this morning,” said Avril.
“Were there any sausages in their order?” asked Catsuit Blonde.
“Why?” asked Avril.
“There was some on their barbecue.”
Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, Catsuit Blonde changed back into plain old Blonde and accompanied Avril and Flo up to the sideshow.
“Leave all the talking to me,” said Avril.
“Of course,” said Flo, “I’m just here to record everything and report it back verbatim in the morning paper.”
“And I’m here because there’s a barbecue and I’m having a burger,” said the Blonde.
“Yes, DC Fred will be sorry he missed the burgers, but that’s paperwork for you.” Avril raised her hands. “Oi! You! C’mere!”
They had arrived. Among several sideshow folk doing what can only be described as rehearsing, a small group were sat around the barbecue eating. A woman in a red jumpsuit and spiky blonde hair was cooking burgers and sausages.
“DC Avril, Beeznut police. Where did you get those sausages?”
“From MacEspray’s butchers shop,” said the Chief Clown. “Wanna hot dog?”
“I’d like a burger, please,” said the Blonde. “With onions if you have them.”
“So you admit you took them from the butcher’s shop! You’re under arrest!”
“You saw me this morning,” said the Chief Clown. “I collected a box full of meat from the butcher’s shop. You spoke to me!”
“You also gave me an alibi I never asked for,” said Avril, “and for that I am sticking my nose well and truly into your business! You may notice my little friend from earlier is not with me.”
“I don’t blame him,” said the Chief Clown. “If I had a choice, I wouldn’t be with you either, but here you are invading my barbecue and my personal space. Have you got a warrant? You can’t search here without one.”
The Blonde started to eat her burger. Flo started taking photos.
“I don’t have a warrant, but I do have a copy of your order,” said Avril. “DC Fred Ways has been back to the shop and sent me a copy of your order. Guess what?”
Avril grabbed Flo and made sure she was taking notes as she delivered her bombshell. “You didn’t order any sausages!” She paused for effect.
The Blonde looked up from her burger. “There’s loads in the hamper.”
“Loads,” repeated Avril. “Loads of sausages. Yet you didn’t order any.”
“Do you want me to fetch the bearded lady?” asked the Chief Clown, “Though as I said, she’s been shaved, so she’s now our singer.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Avril.
“Where did you get the sausages?” asked Flo.
“And who in seven kitchens are you?” asked the Chief Clown.
“I’m Flo. Award winning journalist. If it happens, I write it down. If it happens again, I type it and print it out. If it happens a third time, you’re front page news, baby!”
“If you must know it was some blonde woman with a big hat, she had a whole car boot full of them!” said the Chief Clown. “Cost me a tenner, but as the butcher’s didn’t have any, she saved my bacon. And yes, I have started to be facetious, so jog on, do one or whatever the vernacular is around here and leave me to my barbecue.”
“Blonde woman in a hat,” said Avril to Flo. “Know who that reminds me of?”
“No.”
A short car ride later, Avril was knocking on the door of the top secret headquarters of Gangster Mike and Mary Sue.
“Think about it,” said Avril. “Blonde woman in a hat. Mr Banana putting bananas in a coolbox. What’s the betting they weren’t bananas, but sausages placed in banana skins to keep them cool?”
Flo had finished the last page of her notebook. “I hope she sticks to one word answers, I’m going to have to pay attention now!”
“What happened to your dictaphone?”
“Lost it in a fight.”
Mary Sue opened the door. “Tch, what do you want?” she asked.
“Sausages,” said Avril, “I believe you have a car boot full of them.”
“So what if I have? It’s not a crime.”
“The butcher’s was broken into and 53 sausages stolen. That is a crime,” said Avril, “so let’s get to the end game.”
“I’ve got close to a thousand sausages in the car,” said Mary Sue, “so how on earth are you going to identify those 53? If indeed, they are among them.”
“Why have you got a thousand sausages?” asked Flo.
“I was trying to pretend you didn’t exist,” Mary Sue scowled at Flo, “but since you’ve piped up, I acknowledge your existence. Now get stuffed.”
At that moment Mr Banana turned up. Avril turned to face him.
“Mr Banana, why have you been seen carrying bananas around in a coolbox?”
With a sleight of hand a magician would be proud of, the coolbox in his hands was suddenly behind the bushes. “I’ve been what?”
“Show me one of your bananas,” said Avril.
“Get stuffed,” said Mr Banana.
With grace you wouldn’t normally associate with a DC, Avril retrieved the coolbox from the bushes, handed it to Flo and opened it up. She pulled out a banana. “This one will do. You’re for it now!”
She peeled it. It was an ordinary banana. She broke it in half.
“They are just bananas,” said Mary Sue, “he buries them at strategic points in town should he ever need a top up.”
Avril peeled and broke another six bananas. “You don’t fool me,” she said, “you’ve stolen 53 sausages, disguised them as bananas and buried them all over town.”
“That’s what you’re going to put in your report, is it?” asked Mary Sue.
“And my exclusive front page article,” said Flo.
“Why would I bury sausages all over town?” asked Mr Banana.
“We’ll come to that,” said DC Avril as a text message came through on her phone. She read it and then looked smug.
“Oh dear,” said Mary Sue, “the smug face, the one that makes me want to punch her. That’s a point, she’s been here for ages and I haven’t punched her yet, I do apologise.”
“There’s no need for that,” said Avril, “but my colleague has been sorting through the fingerprints at the butchers shop and he found Mr Banana’s.”
“Doesn’t prove anything,” he said.
“It’s enough circumstantial evidence for me to arrest you. Are you going to come the easy way or the hard way?”
Mary Sue took the opportunity to punch DC Avril and Mr Banana ran down the street. Gangster Mike came out of the building, holding a newspaper. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“She’s trying to arrest Mr Banana,” said Mary Sue.
“She’s not going to get very far flat on her back with her hand over her eye,” said Mike. “And what’s that reporter doing here?”
“You recognise me?” asked Flo, “I am deeply honoured.”
DC Avril jumped up. “I’ll deal with you later. Flo, call Catsuit Blonde, see if she can find any of those buried bananas. I’ve got to get after Mr Banana.”
“If you wait here long enough he’ll come back for his tea,” said Mary Sue.
“If I wait here long enough, you’ll thump me again!” said Avril.
“Without a doubt,” said Mary Sue, “a girl’s got to have a hobby.”
Bill Bond was sitting in his garden. He’d spent most of the day installing extra security at his department store and was now trying to de-stress. Catsuit Blonde landed next to him, flattening his favourite gnome.
“What’s the meaning of this?” said Bill, “I’m trying to de-stress!”
“Well not having that multi-coloured monstrosity to look at will help,” she said and then started to scoop up dirt from his flowerbed.
“You think you’re above the law,” said Bill, “but you’re as much of a menace as those gangsters, at least they don’t smash gnomes! That one was called Billy and he was a wedding present.”
“You say that,” she said, “and I concur, they don’t smash gnomes, but they do bury bananas!” She pulled a banana out of his flowerbed. “Trust me, that’s not how they grow.”
She opened the banana to reveal a sausage. “Now that’s odd. Not unexpected, but why bury a sausage inside a banana skin?”
Bill went inside and had some coffee.
Catsuit Blonde decided to tear away at the sausage meat to see if there was anything inside that too.
Mr Banana meanwhile had reached the motorway on the edge of town. It was always fairly busy. Not many often turned towards Beeznut, but many couldn’t wait to see it disappear in their rear view mirror.
“You’re trapped now!” said Avril, disguising the fact she was out of breath quite admirably. “I know you, you’re a fall guy, a patsy, the lowest level of a three tier system. I know you’re not going to run into the traffic, it’s not worth it. Look, there’s a lorry, flatten yourself. No, I didn’t think so, you’re trapped!”
Flo arrived and got out her microphone. “I forogot I was carrying this, it’s a bit clunky, but will do the job. Now, try to talk loudly and clearly,” she said, “as it’s going to be hard to decipher ‘cos of all the traffic noise.”
“I’m telling you nothing!” said Mr Banana, and threw a punch at DC Avril. She ducked, and the momentum made Mr Banana fall over. She put a foot on his chest and beckoned Flo to bring her microphone closer.
“Make sure you’ve pressed the record button,” said Avril, “as I’m going for Officer of the Year.”
A crowd started to gather as Avril questioned Mr Banana by the roadside. Alternating between showing off to them and asking probing yet slightly clunky questions, she uncovered the truth.
After two hours of questioning, Catsuit Blonde landed nearby and handed Avril the sausage she had dug up.
“Very nasty,” said Avril, as DC Fred also showed up and drove them all back to the station.
“Explosives! Explosives hidden inside a sausage inside a banana, buried at various points around the town,” said Catsuit Blonde, “53 of them to be precise. I’ve disarmed this one. The meat acts as a silencer and the banana skin allowed it to be buried without any risk of damage or contamination. Activated by a timer or an over-ride switch.”
“And with the information Mr Banana gave us,” said Avril, “the other 52 have been remotely deactivated. Had they gone off, the town would have been levelled and we’d be dead. For once, that was quite dangerous. I take it somehow you would have survived.”
“The master remotes have a force field generator,” said Mr Banana, “with a user only catchment area. That’s why there are three remotes. That, and we have an underground bunker should the need arise.”
“Even just one of these could destroy a five hundred metre radius,” said Catsuit Blonde, holding the sausage aloft. “Deadly.”
“We only retrieved two remotes from the headquarters,” said Avril.
Suddenly a light on the exposed explosive turned red. From somewhere we won’t mention, Mr Banana produced the remaining remote.
“Hot dog!” said Mr Banana. DC Fred slammed on the brakes, and he, Avril, Flo and Catsuit ran for their lives. They were nearly hit by three different vehicles, but reached the pavement safely.
Avril was then run over by a cyclist using the pavement. DC Fred chased after them, something his body would regret for six days afterwards, and arrested them. Catsuit Blonde had to fly them all back to the station as in the commotion Mr Banana had driven away in the police car.
In the end, he did not set off the last sausage bomb, but buried it again in the next town as insurance, or collateral as he called it.
He returned the police car to the station at two in the morning and then went back to headquarters, but as Gangster Mike and Mary Sue were asleep, he had to sleep in the garden.
DC Avril did win Officer of the Year, but for another case entirely.
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