'Should we go for plan 'B' your majesty?'
'I think we must Margaret.'
The man in the Margaret Thatcher mask picked up an oil can, and trickled some oil onto the rope, before speaking,
'Do check we haven't left anything before we go.' she said to the others, who duly looked around before preparing to leave.
'Wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Hill, but frankly you were a bit of a disappointment, however, if you do think of anything to say, it had better be quick.' And with that she set light to the oil on the rope. The Queen, Mrs Thatcher and Prince Charles started to walk away, leaving Tony Blair to continue filming.
Ann found herself holding her breath as the flames spread, eating into the rope. Darren Hill was screaming at them to stop, but the only response was for The Queen to call back,
'Not hearing anything new, young man!'
'There's heroin coming in from Dover tomorrow,' he suddenly screamed, 'I swear to God, it's on a Parker & Baldwin truck, put that bloody fire out!'
'You still haven't told us if your family has anyone on the take in the police or the council?'
'I don't know, nobody tells me, put the fire out.......'
It was too late, the rope suddenly burned through and Hill started dropping head first towards the concrete floor, a high pitched scream came from him that chilled Ann's blood, she shut her eyes, unable to look. Only when she realised that Ian was laughing did she look again.
'How did that happen?' she said, staring at the screen. Hill was still suspended upside down, but now his head was only half a metre from the floor.
'They had a second rope tied to his ankles, anchored it to the roof beam without Hill knowing. That made sure he wouldn't actually hit the ground. Bet he got a hell of a fright, though!'
'He's not the only one, I thought for a second I was going to chuck up my breakfast!' said Ann, still looking a bit queasy. 'Our vigilante friends seemed to get a bit of amusement out of it though.'
'They certainly appear to have a sick sense of humour, that's for sure.' agreed Ian.
'Do you think there's any truth in that story about the heroin on a truck from Dover?'
'Soon as I heard it, I got onto the Borders agency, turns out they had an anonymous tip-off at around midnight last night, and they have people looking for it, both on the ferries, and the main routes from the port. Obviously, the Hills will know we're looking, but they might not have had a chance to get rid of it yet.'
'Problem is, unless the Borders Agency find something, we can't touch Hill. He'll claim it was a story to stop them from torturing him.'
'On the other hand,' said Ian, 'If they do find something it will be a win for the vigilantes.'
Ann eyed him suspiciously.
'I hope you're not coming out in support of these people, Ian, you know we're going to have to try all the harder to track them down after this little caper!'
'Don't worry boss, I know my job, but be honest, you must get a tiny bit fed up sometimes with the way we sometimes seem to be fighting the bad guys with one hand tied behind our backs.'
Ann was still eyeing him up,
'I'm just wondering if I should put Brian in charge of tracking down these clowns and find something else for you. Sitting at a desk analysing overtime expenditure for the last eighteen months perhaps?' He held up his hands in mock surrender,
'Aw, come on boss, you know me better than that, You don't seriously believe I would give this case any less than one hundred per cent?' He was wearing his most endearing smile, a slightly soppy puppy dog look that Ann always found hard to resist.
'Just remember, I'll have my beady eye on you, don't you dare let me down.' She wagged a finger, and teased him, 'Just ask yourself, What Would Jesus Do?'
Ian Hopkins was a regular churchgoer, a rarity in these secular times when it seemed that anyone believing in something greater than the 'gods' of lucre, or television, or football was perceived as being some kind of weirdo, and it wasn't unusual for his fellow officers to jokingly refer to the WWJD question.
Ann considered Ian to be the most un-weird police officer she knew, and didn't doubt for a moment that he would be totally committed to the case. Ian and Ann had worked together for a few years now, and she considered him a friend as much as a colleague. One of the most dedicated officers she knew, he was also undoubtedly the best detective she had ever encountered. She was aware that some people in the station felt that he deserved to be in her job, but she knew he hadn't even bothered to apply for it, having little time for the paper-pushing, infighting and office politics associated with stepping up the managerial ladder. He was much happier with the practical aspect of detective work, which better suited his patient, methodical, and generally laid-back attitude to life.
Recently she had called at his home, and had been spotted by his wife, April, as she walked up the path. Opening the door before Ann could ring the bell, April beckoned her inside while holding a finger to her lips. Leading her through to the rear, she carefully opened the kitchen door for Ann to have a look inside. Ian was sitting back in a chair smiling to himself while his young daughters practised their make-up skills on him. The giggling threesome had adorned daddy's hair with a huge set of pink rollers, given him bright red clown lips, Aunt Sally cheeks, and a wild excess of purple eye make-up, rounded off with a very fetching yellow bed-coat to protect his clean white shirt.
As Ann prepared to take a photo on her mobile phone, the girls excited squeals of 'Hi aunty Ann!' alerted him to her presence, causing him to sit bolt-upright. The resulting picture of a goggle-eyed, slack-jawed apparition wearing garish make-up had made it's way onto a number of spoof wanted posters distributed around the station. It was testament to his easy-going nature that he (eventually) forgave Ann, and started talking to her again when he encountered her at work, as opposed to flicking her the finger in a most unchristian way, and pretending to waft farts in her general direction.
'Okay, let's have a word with Darren Hill, see if he is willing to give us any information about this little incident, although I doubt he'll be willing to talk. I'll take Kit with me, and you take Brian. Start by looking into where this might have been filmed, presumably these clowns aren't driving around wearing masks and overalls, so someone might have witnessed them changing, maybe saw a vehicle, you never know. The last location had a connection with the Hills, perhaps this place does too, they have various workshops for their car sales and taxi and haulage businesses so I think we should start from that angle.'
Julie joined her family at the table where the others were already starting on the simple but extremely tasty lasagne and garlic bread she had prepared. Cooking was something that gave her both pride and pleasure, a skill she had learned from her late mother. Some of her happiest memories were of the kitchen at home when she was a small girl, her mother, and sometimes her gran too, the room full of laughter, the sounds and smells of eggs being whisked, flour mixed, and pans bubbling on the stove. Her heart ached at the memory. Cancer had taken both women before their time, a loss she still struggled to come to terms with. Perhaps that was why she felt the need to grasp the opportunity for fun and excitement that David had offered, why she
