Kit Handsome and the busy day at the Big Hotel 8

“Sorry guv, and other guv, but we’ve got new on the prints. We’ve found our killer.”

“So who is it?” asked Anderson.

“His real name is Dirk Thromboneson, he’s got various convictions for contract killings and attempted contract killings. You may not know the name, but you’ll recognize the face.”  He held up the photo.

“The sausage guy!” said Kit and Anderson simultaneously.

“He’s not in his room,” Wilson said. “I’ve got men scouring the hotel for him.”

“He’s probably long gone,” said Anderson. After all, why hang around when he’d made his hit and the place is crawling with cops.”

“We’ve held the ferry,” said Wilson. "If he tries to escape that way we'll catch him."

“Even so, he’d have come here by private boat,” said Anderson.

“What time is it?” said Kit.

“Time?” said Anderson. “It’s about ten to one. Why?”

“In which case I know where to find him. He’ll be in the lounge.”

“The lounge?” Anderson signaled his team to follow him into the lounge area. There, still wearing the same yellow ‘I love sausages’ T shirt, was the killer. On the plate in front of him, a pile of sausages.  

“Mr Thromboneson,” said Anderson. “I’m arresting you for the murder of Alan Stanton.”

“It’s a fair cop, I know I should have made a run for it, but these sausages are so good I thought I’d just go back for one more plateful.”

“That’s the last of those sausages you’ll be eating for a long time”, said Anderson.  

“Actually,” said Kit, “those are the same sausages they serve in the mainland prisons. He’ll be eating those for breakfast for the next ten years at least.”

“Yay, said the killer, a happy ending.”

“Take him to the mainland, Wilson,” Anderson said. “We’ll question him there.”

“Do you think he’ll tell us about the cartel who hired him?”

“He’d be mad to, Kit, those gangs have people everywhere, he’d be dead within a month if he tells. No, he’ll sit tight, keep the money, bide his time and enjoy the prison sausages.”

“So we may never know the full story.”

“I’m afraid not, Kit. This isn’t one of those slick crime novels where every detail of the crime is confessed at speed to satiate the reader. We’ll probably never know what Stanton intended to do with the tortoise.  I’ll brief my FBI guy, of course, he’ll be delighted, probably take me out to lunch as a thank you. I’ve heard the FBI have an unlimited budget for these things.”

“I must admit Kit, I didn’t think we’d turn this one around in a day. It’s always good to lock up a killer. I’ll let you know how the case pans out. I’d better leave you, I’ve got two international criminal gangs to bring down, and I know you’re busy too.”

“I am?” said Kit.

“At last count you had in your cells one tortoise thief, one penguin and one superduck.”

“Oh god, yes,” said Kit. “I’d better go back and sort out the mess. See you soon.”

“See you Kit. 

Kit hitched a ride back to the station.

“Well done Kit,” said Megson. “I hear you’ve got it all wrapped up.”

“How’s our little crime wave?”

“The penguin is sleeping. He’s been working twenty hour shifts apparently, he’s glad of the chance to get some shuteye.”

“And Superduck.”

“I heard from vomiting noises just now, so I think he’s woken up.”

“He’s still here? I’ll go and speak to him. It’s always a pleasure to get rid of him.”

Superduck was the name Mad Brian had given himself a few years ago, in the mistaken belief that wearing a T shirt with a big letter D on it was somehow sufficient to make him into a superhero.

This particular superhero was sprawled on the floor, groaning to himself, surrounded by his own vomit, his shirt covered in a mix of blued and green toilet duck, and bluey-green vomit.

“Brian,” said Kit in greeting. “I hope you’re starting to regret you’re behaviour. I’m willing to overlook the theft of numerous bottles of toilet duck if you promise me that you’ll never drink it again.”

“Kit,” said Superduck in greeting. “Sally’s got you cycling to work I hear. She’s a got woman Sally, just what you need to sort you out. You don’t have to tell me about drinking toilet duck, I think it disagreed with me.”

He staggered to his feet and lurched towards the cell door.

“I’ll find my own way out,” he said. “You’ve got a bit of a mess to clear up I’m afraid.”