The Announcement

"A murder is announced and will take place during the night on Friday 19th April at 17 Horesham Terrace."

 

Dan Azari's boss was taking the piss.

 

"Go check this out, Dan," he'd said, handing him the above cutting from the local paper.

 

"Guv," he'd protested, "There isn't actually going to be a murder. Criminals don't announce their crimes in advance."

 

"I know that constable," he said, stressing the 'constable', just in case there was any doubt who was the boss and who was the hapless minion who had to do what he was told. "But check it out anyway, just in case."

 

Which meant he was stuffed. He had to 'check it out' now in case something did happen, even something completely unrelated to the ad, anywhere in the vague vacinity of Horesham Terrace, else he'd get the bollocking to end all bollockings if he wasn't there.

 

The genius of the order was that he wouldn't be able to claim overtime for it. Chief Inspector Utter was a bastard, he did these things deliberately. If he claimed say 30 minutes overtime he'd get bollocked for not taking the warning seriously. However, if he claimed several hours, let alone for the whole night, he'd be bollocked for claiming so much overtime when he'd simply been told to 'check it out'.

 

So basically he'd have to sty the night, just in case, but daren't claim for it. That would be the third time this month.

 

He wouldn't put it past Utter to have placed the ad himself. It was the absolutely perfect way to ruin his Saturday night.

 

Azari rang the bell of 17 Horesham Terrace, but there was no reply. The house looked empty, no Agatha Christiesque crowd of potential murderers and victims waiting to confuse the detective with false leads and implausible motives. Nobody there at all.

 

He rang again, before taking a tour of the perimiter. If he had to break in that was another unwinnable dilema. If he didn't enter the house he'd get a bollocking for 'doing half a job', but if he had to break a window there would be another bollocking about the cost of fixing the glass, not to mention the piles of paperwork innevidably involved.

 

Luckily he found a window open round the back, the kitchen window, which meant that he put his foot in a sink full of water then crashed into the pile of washing up on the side, breaking a number of plates and mugs the cost of replacing which would doubless come out of his wages and involve mountains of paperwork and the inneviatable bollocking, most likely an official warning for breaking into a house when he'd just been told to 'Check it out'. Who washes up these days, haven't they heard of dishwashers?

 

He collected the broken crockery and put it in the bin. Maybe the owner wouldn't notice. It didn't look the most orderly of houses, not one where every plate, cup and spoon was counted at the end of every meal.

 

There was clearly nobody here. If there had been they'd have heard his crashing and banging and come running. Actually, Dan realised, this was a stupid line of reasoning. There might be someone upstairs lying in bed terrified of the intruder. They might be in the middle of phoning the police. In which case it was lucky he was here. He waited to see if he got a call, if he did that would make his entry into the house 100% legitimate and he'd be able to claim overtime after all.

 

He waited in the kitchen for his radio to buzz, but it remained stubbernly silent. Back to plan A.

"Police!" he announced loudly as he opened the door to the lounge. "I'm investigating reports of a possible incident."

 

Nothing.

 

He called out again at the foot of the stairs and carefully completed his exploration of the house. Nothing. Completely empty. No murderers, no victims, not so much as a red herring.

 

Still, the ad hadn't specified when the murder would take place, so he had to wait, just in case. He'd brought a book to read, a detective novel, the only kind of book he read. He enjoyed detective work in its written form.

 

He was so lost in his book that he didn't notice the figure enter the room, but when he looked up from the page there he was, just a few inches in front of him, over seven foot tall, dressed in an oversized cloak, carrying a scythe and, most noteable of all, a skeletal body staring at him through empty, souless eyesockets.

 

"Am I dead?" Azari asked, quite reasonably.

 

"NOT YOU," said Death, for it was he. "I AM HERE FOR THE MURDER. UNLESS OF COURSE YOU'RE THE VICTIM?"

 

"Don't you know? Don't you work from a list, rather than just turn up when you see murders announced in the paper? It seems an inefficient way for you to carry on."

 

"NORMALLY YES, MY LIST IS COMPREHENSIVE AND ACCURATE TO THE SECOND. BUT, ALL THE SAME, SOMETIMES IN MY ROLE IT PAYS TO FOLLOW A HUNCH. IT'S A LOT LESS BORING THAT WAY ANYHOW."

 

"So nobody's due to die here today?"

 

"NO."

 

"But you turned up anyway. That's a bit speculative isn't it. And how come I can see you if I'm not due to die."

 

"THIS IS ABOUT MORE THAN AN ADVERT, DAN AZARI, AND YES I DO KNOW WHO YOU ARE, I RECOGNISE EVERYONE. I RECEIVED A CALL, A MESSAGE, THE LIKE OF WHICH I'VE NEVER RECEIVED BEFORE. WHICH IS WHY I'VE REVEALED MYSELF TO YOU, THE  NORMAL RULES DON'T APPLY. AS I SAY, NOBODY IS DUE TO DIE TODAY, BUT ..."

 

The conversation was interrupted by a scream from upstairs.

 

"I'M NEEDED UPSTAIRS," said Death. "IT'S THE SECOND DOOR ON THE RIGHT, THE MAIN BEDROOM. SEE YOU THERE IF YOU'RE QUICK." And with that Death vanished.

 

Azari didn't hesitate, he leapt out of his chair and ran upstairs, to the second door on the right.