Birthday bash for parish gent By Viv Robins
‘Bash’ is perhaps not a word one would readily associate with my dad, Leslie Robins; suffice it to say he celebrated his 90th birthday in September with a party at Crocketts for family and friends, with the added bonus of fine weather and more than £500 raised for Cancer Research through guests’ generosity.
Those present were treated to a special edition of The Newsletter containing extracts from some of his best-received articles over nine years as an occasional contributor. Thanks are due to the special production team of Andrew Burnett and Allan Whittow.
However despite all the accolades on the day has my father’s life been entirely blameless? Judge now for yourself:
Mystery of heist at Lee fête
By our Crime Reporter Allan Whittow
I can report that a mystery of Midsomer proportions has only now come to light. Stallholders at the Church Fête sheepishly admit that most of their takings have been spirited away during the Fête itself.
Inspector Barnaby admits he is baffled. Proper investigations start with asking who reported the body to the police. But, uniquely in his experience, there is no murder – at least not yet. His razor mind picks up another feature of the case: nobody has reported the thefts.
Even allowing for the conspiracy of secrecy always shown the police by fiercely
loyal members of rural communities, it is hard to see why so many should
cover up their loss. By liberal use of the pressure (draught) at the Cock
& Rabbit, Barnaby discovers that the loss is not new but has been going
on for decades. Blackmail seems the obvious explanation. But what blackmailer has the ice-cold effrontery to gather his victims together to make their payments in broad daylight on the Village Green? Why should the cheerful innocent-looking Tombola group be taken for so much more cash than the presumably violent and ruthless operators known as Splat the Rat?
Careful casework, by DS Jones, reveals a remarkable pattern: meticulous planning means the suspect knows exactly when to ‘relieve’ the stallholders of their hard-won takings – in small-denomination used notes and large quantities of coins, all untraceable. Astonishingly this cool master-planner succeeds in collecting the cash without attracting the least attention or suspicion – clearly he is a familiar sight at the Church Fête, and almost certainly trusted by his hapless victims.
Local people are already being watched for conspicuous expenditure – say an expensive holiday or a lavish party. But Barnaby fears he may have met his match: such mastery of detail and human nature implies someone like a police inspector, but with a brilliant financial mind – perhaps an inspector of finance or tax ?
So Barnaby’s mind explores ever more complex scenarios: what about a subtler motive? Suppose our target’s love of money is strangely without corruption, but just an obsession? He can almost visualise a love for the coins and notes themselves: long lonely hours of secretly caressing, smoothing and sorting them, restoring their dignity, insulted through the casual handling by uncaring people.
Stop Press:
As always DCI Barnaby’s strange hunch proves right. He calls in advice from the local organist who is also a member of an international financial consultancy. By the sort of amazing coincidence we have come to expect, he is the very person our mystery man has confided in.
Apparently the takings have indeed been carefully sorted, counted to the last penny, and recorded against each and every fête stall. Then, instead of spending any, our man has stashed the lot under our noses in a bank in Great Missenden, in an account quite blatantly designated to receive funds from The Lee Church Fête etc. His conscientious work complete, our local hero has now passed on the details of the account, and the new handler can apply the funds to their originally intended purpose. No theft that a jury could convict on, so no arrest.
Quietly reflecting on this unique case, Barnaby instinctively feels there are still loose ends. ‘Why no murder?’ is his final thought, as the strong cords of a banker’s cash pouch tighten round his windpipe.