GONE
THE APPLEBURY MURDERS (PART ONE)
Ducks,Bodies, a Wizard and a Bear
FINAL DRAFT
The Bit Before the Beginning
A Thursday in July, somewhere in Gloucestershire
It’s not every day that you come across a body in a river. Yes, a body.
Face up in the Avon surrounded by ducks - quacking, happy ducks, although it’s difficult to tell with ducks, they always seem happy or, at the very least, moderately contented.
It’s a bald male in a loose lumberjack shirt, jeans and boots. He’s gently bobbing up and down next to Peg Thirty-Eight. I pull my phone out and take a picture. Well, three pictures. I’m not sure why, but it seems like the thing to do. Then I feel guilty. Again, not sure why, probably because I am looking at a dead body and not screaming in horror. I’m just clicking away heartlessly, because that’s what twenty-first century person does - click, upload and question the morality later, if at all.
This is the age of the self, after all, where vanity and personal stories matter most. Incidentally, in case you’re e-wondering, I have twenty eager followers on Instagram, thirty-two on Snapchat and a staggering forty-eight on Facebook. Yes, I know. Impressive. Double figures on all of them.
And I think the majority might be fascinated by a dead body in a river. But, then again, they’re an eclectic little group who might be more interested in the ducks. You see, the average person is not that amazed or horrified by sudden bodies anymore. We see them sprawled across our tellies every night either in dramas, or the real thing. As for ducks, well, that’s an entirely different thing.
All of these things go through my mind as I look at the bobbing body. I hit 999, (of course I do, I’m not that heartless), and sit down on a bench nearby and stare at my body. Yes, it’s my body now. Well, I did find it, so I do have proprietary rights, don’t I?
I wait for the police to arrive, not as a mark of respect to the recently deceased out there in the pondweed, but because I feel it my duty. I take a Tupperware box out of my daypack and begin munching a plastic salad, while staring at my body. I might as well use my time productively. This might be viewed by some as a tad insensitive by some, but hey-ho, I’m hungry and the body isn’t going anywhere.
I look around. There is a strong possibility that I may have been spotted by some eagle-eyed Applebury pensioner watching from some hidden vantage point - an Applebury pensioner taking notes. Another solid reason not to walk away now. Suspicions might be aroused and I would probably end up as a photo-fit picture on Points West, this evening.
No, I’m committed. I need to hang around, looking casual and innocent, until the cops pitch up. I am tied to my body, our destinies were intertwined. Our…
I pop a cherry tomato in and crunch carefully with lips firmly sealed – they have a nasty habit of exploding in your mouth, if you’re not careful.
An elderly man crouching in a mobility scooter hums down a towpath on the other side of the river and heads towards The Bear and Cushion. He has long white hair, thick-rimmed glasses and is wearing a builder’s yellow, high-viz jacket. Gandalf on wheels. I frown. It’s a well-known fact that wizards spot everything, so I’m definitely staying put now. That’s decided. I pop in another tomato.
Time for a bit of self-reflection and character description while I wait for the forces of law and order – just for you, gentle reader. I’m in my late-fifties (a lie, as I said before – I’m slightly older), am still fairly active, have thinning blond hair, look a bit gullible, am slightly overweight and wear t-shirts of seventies prog rock bands under limp brown corduroy jackets. In other words, a rural Clooney with attitude. Don’t laugh.
And so begins the first book of two in a world where murders occur when you least expect them and nothing is as it seems half the time.
Book Two is already in the last stages of production:
DONE
The Applebury Murders (Part Two)
Tunnels Quizzes, Battles and More Bodies