Nice To See You, To See You Nice (Chapter 2)

His jaunty joshery hadn’t gone down as well as he’d expected

Notes: Sam and I have a little generous rivalry going on right now. Neither of us have written a novella, and we both wanted to, so we coralled each other into doing it. Sam’s first chapter is published already. This is my second chapter.

If you haven’t, you can read Chapter 1 here.

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Day 1.
6.15am.
Alhambra Shopping Centre.

‘Well, that’s it then,’ DCI Paprika said, slurping her coffee and looking disinterested at the body in front of her.

‘That’s it then,’ DC Chocolate repeated, much less disinterested, much more wild in his eyes.

DCI Paprika and DC Chocolate were surveying the scene, as they called it in ‘the biz’. The biz being: police work. Good, sturdy, Yorkshire police work. They were currently stood surveying the rather ridiculous scene. The poorly positioned police tape: DCI Paprika had observed it wasn’t perpendicular to the floor. At best, it was at a 47 degree angle. She suspected it was done in a rush; the police tape was currently serving in tandem with the 50 or so people watching Bruce Forsyth’s dead body, as somewhat of a police cordon. DCI Paprika and DC Chocolate were right in front of the body, looking down on the (now former) light entertainer’s contorted body.

‘First thoughts then Chocolate. Let’s hear them,’ DCI Paprika said in the tone of a driving instructor, sat with that one student she couldn’t get to understand the basic concept of driving.

‘Right, let’s have a look,’ Chocolate said, picking up his trousers as he walked. ‘That there, is Bruce Forsyth. Well, was Bruce Forsyth. Is there a set period of time before a dead body becomes past tense? Is it after he’s been shipped off to the hospital? When the ambulance arrives? OR: does a doctor turn up and declare dramatically “THIS PERSON IS NOW PAST TENSE”?’

DC Chocolate beamed a smile back at DCI Paprika. He had a habit of talking too much, trying too hard to be funny, whilst simultaneously being incredibly endearing with it. Despite her best instincts, DCI Paprika likedDC Chocolate.

DCI Paprika sighed swear words.

‘Excellent observation skills, Chocolate,’ DCI Paprika said. ‘It is indeed Mr. Forsyth. That’s why we’ve got a crowd of 50 people and only poor Shaun over there to keep them at bay.’

DCI Paprika and DC Chocolate both looked over at poor PC Shaun Custard. Poor, poor Shaun. PC Custard was melting under the pressure of 50 pairs of rampant Barnsley folk’s hands desperate to create the first TikTok about Forsyth’s death. PC Custard could be seen jogging up and down the police tape, doing his best to look official and serious, but just coming off as a comedy character. From DCI Paprika’s angle, all that could be seen of PC Custard was his rather large helmet bobbing up and down, followed by the occasional squeal of: ’this is an active crime scene, please keep back’. Occasionally, he squealed even louder, his voice breaking as he said, ‘I’m SERIOUS. Please maintain your distance’. PC Custard’s life force had drained from him; white of face, staring a thousand yards into the distance, bobbing up and down, jogging, and squealing. Never had the British pejorative term for police officer—pig—been more appropriate.

DCI Paprika sighed more swear words. It appeared as though she was going to have to take control of the situation. She cleared her throat.

‘CUSTARD, WARM IT UP,’ DCI Paprika bellowed across Forsyth’s dead body. DC Chocolate was sure he spotted Forsyth’s moustache blow in the wind created by Paprika’s shout. ‘STOP TRIFLING AROUND. GET A HANDLE ON THE SITUATION. CALL IN BACKUP.’

PC Custard jumped in the air, began to visibly shake, reached for his radio, and shouted something into it neither DCI Paprika or DC Chocolate could hear. 

DCI Paprika sighed swear words again.

‘Right, back to this,’ Paprika held out a hand in front of Forsyth’s moustache. ‘Without telling me the obvious, tell me what you’ve spotted so far, Chocolate.’

This was DC Chocolate’s first murder case since he’d joined HMET —the Homicide and Major Enquiry Team. He was looking to impress. His jaunty joshery hadn’t gone down as well as he’d expected; DC Chocolate joked when he was nervous. Yes, several people had declared him as useful as a chocolate fireguard, especially when he was nervous.

‘Okay. Okay,’ Chocolate said as he steadied his trousers again. ‘Hard to say if it’s murder, and we shouldn’t predict such a thing so early on.’

He glanced at DCI Paprika. She produced a single nod. He continued.

‘I mean, he’s clearly been positioned after his death. Unless poor Bruce had done his pos so many times, his natural body position actually was that pose, so he’d regressed to his natural foetal form as he—‘ DC Chocolate could feel the intense stare of DCI Paprika boring into his soul. It was a disapproving stare; one that was normally followed with her trademark bellow.

‘So yeah,’ Chocolate cleared his throat with some words. ‘He’s been repositioned. Which would suggest at least evidence tampering. But if you were going to tamper with evidence, you wouldn’t make it look obvious, would you?’

‘Could be one of those red things,’ DCI Paprika said. ‘You know, what do you call them? Those red fish.’

DC Chocolate knew what she meant, but was afraid to say it.

‘RED HERRING!’ Paprika bellowed again. DC Chocolate definitely saw Forsyth’s moustache whoosh in the wind this time. Even PC Custard looked over, presumably to ponder why his boss had started announcing fish, as well as the colour of it, across the cracked paving slabs of Barnsley.

‘It could be to throw us off,’ DC Chocolate said. ‘As you always say: don’t assume anything.’

DC Chocolate looked closer. Aside from the obvious pose¹ of Bruce’s body, there was something white jutting out his breast pocket. Bruce was (had been?) wearing a rather fetching tuxedo. Chocolate spotted the shoes too. Proper shoes. Those types of expensive shoes that clack, DC Chocolate thought to himself. He took out a pair of single-use gloves, and began to try and fish out the white thing.

‘Don’t melt, Chocolate,’ DCI Paprika said.

Chocolate grabbed the white thing. Card. A business card, to be exact. A stained business card. Slightly yellowed. It looked like it’d been in a room where much smoking had been done over the years. It looked like the poor business card had developed a respiratory disease. 

On one side, the business card had a phone number. On the other side, it said a name, a job title, and nothing else.

DASHELL SALT
PRIVATE DETECTIVE

‘Who the hell is Dashell Salt?’ DC Chocolate enquired. ‘And who the hell works as a private detective around here?’ Chocolate theatrically gestured around a full 360-degrees, the entirety of Barnsley. At the same time, the 50-strong crowd turned towards him, as if to take great offence at his comment. DC Chocolate nervously pulled up his trousers.

DCI Paprika stared dispassionately into the distance. She knew exactly who Dashell Salt was. She knew exactly where she’d find him. She knew exactly what to do next. All she didn’t know was: why the hell Salt’s business card was inside Bruce Forsyth’s rather posh tuxedo. 

DCI Paprika sighed swear words again.

‘Come on Chocolate,’ DCI Paprika said. ‘Let’s go speak to Mr. Private Detective Salt.’

1. Google ‘Bruce Forsyth Pose’. You’ll see what DC Chocolate was talking about.