Mission London

18

Dale Rutherford was responsible for the fauna of Richmond Park. This was a pleasant occupation, involving many walks in the great outdoors and communication with nature. Dale Rutherford loved animals and especially the small groups of ducks, which nested around the edges of the Pen-ponds. That is why he was confused when, one morning, heading for the small lakes, he didn’t hear their merry quacking.

The poor little things, he said to himself touchingly, where can they have got to?

In the park there were various smaller lakes, where the fowl sometimes went to swim around for their amusement. The closest one was called Sheep’s Leg, but there was not the slightest sign of his favourites there. Eaten by vague worry, Dale hurried down the bridle-path to the Isabella plantation, where, amongst the orchids, laurel bushes and other decorative flower-beds, three small ponds lay hidden. Disappointment also awaited him there, however, if one excluded one lazy swan, who was regally rearranging his plumage. Now seriously worried, Dale left the Isabella plantation and made for a very little known pond by the gloomy name of’ ‘The Gallows’. Three geese swimming there started to hiss in hostility as soon as they saw him. He suddenly realised that the whole environment had its hackles raised, ready to defend itself against unwanted intruders. The trees had closed in, whispering amongst themselves and the deer ran around the park as though bearing unpleasant news.

Dale pulled out his mobile and called Ray Solo, head of security.

“Ray,” he said weakly. “I’ve cause to believe something terrible has happened…”

“What’s wrong?” Ray’s voice sounded stressed.

“My ducks have disappeared,” sobbed Dale. “My little ducklings!”

Ray Solo had just been reaching for the packet of biscuits, he liked to dunk one in his morning coffee. The news made him temporarily forget about the biscuits and he mechanically dipped his two fingers in the boiling liquid beneath him.

“Christ!” Ray yelled in pain.

The day was starting badly.

After overcoming their initial stress, the management of the Park took some over-energetic measures. They immediately contacted the police, who immediately sent out an impressive investigation team. They mobilised every available officer, and the latter then searched the park to the last square inch. The result of these sizable operations, however, was not particularly forthcoming. A handful of feathers and tracks from chunky wellingtons were found on the right bank of the Pen-ponds. The only fact confirmed with certainty was that the entire population of ducks had disappeared. By evening the grim tidings had made the rounds of the whole of Richmond, had been through Twickenham and Kingston-upon-Thames, and even made it as far as Teddington.

The ducks of Richmond Park had disappeared!

People’s strong reaction forced the management to call an urgent press conference. The hall of the cafeteria, where this event took place, was filled to overflowing: journalists, members of the Board of Directors, local councillors, representatives of Green organisations, as well as some ordinary members of the public, all wanting to know, immediately, the fate of the birds. There was also an entire class from the local school, who had become the birds’ sponsors the previous year. And, of course, Dale Rutherford. He looked as though he hadn’t slept a wink. He sat in the front row next to Ray Solo, drawn and pale, though his eyes blazed, thirsty for revenge.

The President of the Board, Jeremiah Kaas, opened the conference mournfully, “Citizens of Richmond, honoured guests! The reason for this conference is already known to usall — unfortunately, bad news travels fast. For now, I am only able to confirm what we all already know: the ducks of Richmond Park have disappeared, whereabouts unknown. I assume that you have many questions. Here with us is Dale Rutherford, in charge of the Park’s fauna, Ray Solo, the head of Security, as well as Detective Nat Coleway, from Scotland Yard, who is heading the investigation. I’m sure that these gentlemen will be able to satisfy your curiosity better than I can. If you please, gentlemen.”

Jeremiah Kaas stepped back discreetly and, once the three men had taken their places, quietly mingled with the crowd.

The old fox knows when its time to go, Ray muttered to himself, looking the most dispirited of them all.

“Mr Rutherford!” A small man in a green suit immediately jumped up. “Kenneth Bowl, Twickenham Star. Rumour has it that the ducks were killed by feed that was past its sell-by date. The Twickenham Star has reason to believe that the bodies of the ducks were buried somewhere nearby to cover up the gaffe.”

The hatred of the people of Twickenham for their richer neighbours from Richmond was well known, but this time it had gone beyond all reasonable limits.

“I categorically deny any such insinuations!” Dale’s voice trembled in indignation. “I personally oversee the feeding of the birds and can assure you that we never give them anything that is beyond its sell-by date. I have the documentation to prove it!”

“Susan Tipper, Richmond Press.” A short-haired, ash-blonde woman, in a stylish beige jacket, stood up. “Mr Rutherford, is it possible that the ducks may have suddenly migrated owing to worsening ecological conditions?”

“I strongly doubt it,” replied Dale coldly. “I believe that I know the character of these ducks better than anyone. And I can assure you that they felt entirely at home in their habitat.”

“Detective Coleway, what is the police’s take on the incident?” the new question came in a flash.

Nat Coleway’s thick brows furrowed, and he said tiredly, “I think we’re dealing with a robbery.”

He did not like long speeches, and the attention surrounding the incident was also annoying him. He did not feel remotely as though he had found the winning lottery ticket.

“How many ducks are missing?”

The detective blinked helplessly. Dale rushed to his aid, “Forty-five.”

The hall filled with a judgemental and hushed muttering, that sounded like breaking ice. Then an enraged voice was raised, “How is it possible for so many ducks to be stolen at once without Security so much as noticing?!”

Glares focused on Ray Solo, who had stayed wisely silent up until this point. His wide face blushed deeply. He smiled awkwardly and spread his hands. At that moment Nat Coleway intervened, “As far as we can tell, the ducks were drugged beforehand. That probably took place after the Park’s closure. The hit-men stayed hidden in the bushes of the Botanical Gardens near to the Pen-ponds. Then they gathered up the birds and made off under the cover of darkness.”

This new revelation dropped like a bomb. The journalists hurried to take notes. Nat looked over the auditorium with the bitter realisation that he’d lost control. He had drawn his conclusions from the fact that they had discovered some ears of wheat that had been dipped in Lidocaine, near to the ponds. He had to save those spicy details, however, in the interest of the investigation.

“What, in your opinion, might be the motive for such an abominable act?” cried an old lady, whose hat looked suspiciously duck-shaped.

Nat Coleway coughed into his fist, and said without feeling, “To eat them.”

“To eat them?!!” Her mouth dropped open in horror before she could cover it with her hand.

The assembly stared, sickened, as though the mere thought of such a thing was an outrageous attack on society’s mores. The figure of the Inspector suddenly darkened; it was no longer reliable, but guilty of the crudeness of spirit and secretive malevolence of the lower classes. If hecan think of such a thing,he could dosuch a thing. This frightful thought afflicted the most delicate amongst them. Then a youthful voice tore through the grey veil of despair like the carillon of church bells, “Do you think, sir, that these monsters will be caught quickly?”

The voice belonged to the young scout, Todd Robins. The presence of his youthful French teacher, with an arse like a horse, intoxicated him and made him want to shine with courage and nobility.

“Yes,” replied the Inspector laconically.

He felt that the public wanted more, but suddenly felt totally empty himself. As though he had spent the last penny from his purse. He had no more.

Ray Solo sat silently, his head bowed.

“They won’t get away with this so easily,” called out Dale Rutherford unexpectedly. “We’ve a small surprise in store for them too, which they won’t like at all.”

Nat Coleway reacted instantly: he grabbed Dale by the elbow and hissed in his ear, “Are you trying to ruin everything?!”

“What do you mean Mr Rutherford?” Kenneth Bowl of the Twickenham Star instantly jumped in.

Dale pulled himself together by force of will alone, and said, “All in good time.”