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I ll tell her. Good day.
He pressed the end-call button and handed the mobile back.
He said he was very sorry to hear about your accident and he ll call you
later. I don t think he believed me.
No, it s going to take more than my death to put him off, but thanks anyway.
What s your name?
Constable Tibbit.
Sergeant Mary Mary, said Mary, shaking Tibbit s hand,
pleased to meet you.
The young officer thought hard for a moment, then said, Arrange a& symmetry.
Mary arched an eyebrow. Pardon?
He didn t answer for a moment but again thought hard and finally said in
triumph, Many& martyrsagree.
Are you okay?
Of course! replied the young constable brightly. It s an anagram. If you
take Sergeant Mary Mary and rearrange the letters you get Arrange a
symmetry or Many martyrs agree. The trick is to have them make sense. I
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could have given you My matey arrangers or My artery managers, but they
sort ofsound like anagrams, don t you think?
If you say so.
She had thought that perhaps Tibbit might have been a life raft of normality
that she could somehow cling to for sanity, but that hope was fast retreating.
It was little wonder he had been allocated to the division.
It s a palindrome, continued the young constable.
Sorry?
Tibbit. Easy to remember. Reads the same backwards as forwards.Tibbit.
Mary raised an eyebrow. You mean, like Rats live on no evil star ?
He nodded his head excitedly. I prefer the more subtle ones, myself, ma am,
such as A man, a plan, a canal,Panama .
Mary sighed. Sure you re in the right job?
Tibbit appeared crestfallen at this, so Mary changed the subject.
How long have you been here?
Six months. I was posted down here for three months, but I think they ve
forgotten about me. I don t mind, he added quickly.
I like it.
First name?
Otto, he replied, then added by way of explanation, Palindrome as well. My
sister s name is Hannah. Father liked word games. He was fourteen times world
Scrabble champion. When he died, we buried him at Queenzieburn to make use of
the triple word score. He spent the greater part of his life campaigning to
have respelt those words thatlook as though they are spelt wrongly but
aren t.
Such as& ?
Oh, skiing, vacuum, freest, eczema, gnu, diarrhea, that sort of thing. He
also thought that abbreviation was too long for its meaning, that
monosyllabic should have one syllable, dyslexic should be renamed O and
unspeakable should be respelt unsfzpxkable.
How did he do?
Apart from the latter, which has met with limited success, not very well.
Mary s eyes narrowed. She feared she was having her leg pulled, but the young
man seemed to be sincere.
Okay. Here s the deal. You stay out of my way and I ll stay out of yours.
Get me St. Cerebellum s number and make Jack a cup of coffee.
8. The Armony
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The Forensic Department inReading was an independent lab and covered all
aspects of forensic technology as well as being an R&D lab for Friedland
Chymes s sometimes eccentric forensic techniques. The department serviced not
only the Oxford & Berkshire Constabulary but also the Wiltshire and Hampshire
forces, too. Chymes had insisted long ago that they should be close enough for
personal visits, which always made for more dramatic stories than sending
material off and receiving technical reports in return. It pissed off
Inspector Moose inOxford no end, but that might have been the reason Chymes
did it.
Excerpt fromChymes Friend or Foe?
The armory and ballisticsdivision was run by George Skinner. He was a large
man with a bad stoop, graying hair and a permanent hangdog expression. He wore
pebble specs and a shabby herring-bone suit that seemed as though he had
inherited it from his father. Looks can be deceptive and were definitely so in
Skinner s case. Not only was he an inspired ballistics and weapons expert,
able to comment expertly and concisely on everything from a derringer to a
bazooka, he was also highly watchable in the documentaries that often followed
one of Chymes s investigations. But despite his somewhat sober appearance, he
was also a lively fixture ofReading s nightlife. He could outdrink almost
anyone, and if there was a report of someone dancing naked on the tables down
at the Blue Parrot, you could bet safe money it was Skinner.
Jack knocked on the open door. Hello, George.
Come in, Jack, said Skinner without turning around.
Jack walked over and watched him for a moment. Like Mrs. Singh, Skinner was
one of the few officers who didn t treat the NCD with the derision that seemed
to hallmark Jack s association with the rest of the station. Friedland swore
by Skinner, and Friedland expected the best it galled him something rotten
that Skinner was so chummy with Jack. Jack waited patiently while Skinner
finished what he was doing, and then he produced the sawed-off shotgun.
What do you make of this? he asked.
Ah! said Skinner thoughtfully, signing the evidence label before removing
the gun and carefully checking to make sure it was empty. I make this a
Marchetti twelve-gauge pump-action shotgun. Illegal, as all pumps are, and
shortened like this, it s a nasty piece of work.
Skinner replaced his glasses, making his eyes appear twice as big as they
were. He peered at Jack for a moment and then pulled a file off a shelf. He
looked up the make against reported stolen or missing guns.
Oh, he said in a tone that made Jack nervous.
What?
He looked at the frame number again.
Bingo. Jack, meet the weapon that was stolen from Mr. Christian. It could be
the murder weapon in the Andersen s Wood murders. That was one of Friedland s,
wasn t it?
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One of the many, replied Jack with a sigh.
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