The Mystery Of That Mysterious Thing That Happened

‘Dutch’ Henry, the loudmouth former east end loan shark with a pacemaker and a wooden leg, now retired and living a quiet life in the countryside, was polishing off a steak and ale pie. Not a microwave one, but a proper restaurant meal, made by a real chef and everything. Not the typical east end money lender, he wore a purple cravat, thigh length boots and a bone through his nose. Why they called him ‘Dutch’ was a mystery even to the ones that called him ‘Dutch’, though that did not discourage them from doing so, anymore than recently introduced legislation kept them from having sexual relations with goats. They’re a dirty bunch in the criminal underworld. I’m glad I don’t have to share a bathroom with any of them.

‘Dutch’ finished his pie, then signalled for the dessert menu, ordering two desserts even though he was dining alone, although you do get pretty small portions sometimes, so I’d probably do the same if I could afford to. As it is I can barely afford to eat in restaurants more than around once a month, and I usually don’t even bother with a dessert. Right, I’ve decided- next month I’m going to go to a decent restaurant, and have two desserts and a starter with my meal. I know how to live.

After ‘Dutch’ had finished his dessert he paid for the meal on his visa debit card, left a reasonable tip, went outside into the street, flagged down a taxi, went home to his cottage, paid the taxi driver, watched telly for a bit, drank a whiskey, then turned in for the night. Then someone murdered him. Who was it? It’s a mystery!

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