LATERAL THINKING DRAMA

INSPECTOR Parnacki strolled around the large parking area, puffing on his pipe. The object of his annoyance, a small, tattered truck, was parked towards the middle of the parking space.

. Previously Whodunnit: The Captive

“It doesn’t make sense, Inspector.” Damon Olivers was the night clerk from a small grocery that looked onto the parking lot.

Keeping his irritation well disguised, Parnacki turned back to the man. “You’re sure about the order of events?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Talk me through it one more time, would you?”

Olivers nodded. “I was doing the evening sweep and general tidy-up. It’s usually quiet at this time, so that’s when I get to sweep the floors, stock the shelves, throw out anything that’s gone bad or past its sell-by date, and so on. I was down by the flour, trying to clean up a small spill from one of the bags. I heard a huge bang, and everything rattled. Clouds of flour drifted down, which made me curse, I can tell you.”

“I’m sure,” said Parnacki.

“Almost immediately, I heard whistles. I went up to the front of the shop and saw a huge cloud of smoke, with the truck in the middle of it. The door to Berrits, the tailor’s shop, was swinging closed. I saw a couple of police officers running. There were shots from Berrits. I could hear them through the walls. One of the officers pulled out a gun and returned fire. Then everything was chaos for a while. Lots of shouting, and shooting, and whistles. I was on the floor behind the counter by then. I expect you know the rest from your men.”

“Indeed I do. And you’re confident that there’s no back exit from Berrits?”

“Definitely not. All our units are the same. Big shop area, small back room, tiny rest room. Nothing else. The only way in or out is through the shop. Well, unless you break a wall down, I suppose.”

Inspector Parnacki shook his head. “Everything appears intact.”

“So does this mean whoever did this has got away?”

“Thank you for your time, Mr Olivers. You’ve been very helpful.”

Olivers nodded, with a wry grin. “I’ll be in the shop tidying for another half an hour if you need me, inspector. Good luck.”

Parnacki left the grocery and made his way over to the truck. Officer Christopher Coleridge watched him approach. He had been the first man on the scene, and still looked shaky.

“Hello again, inspector,” Coleridge said.

“Good evening, Officer Coleridge. I know it’s tiresome but would you summarise events for me one last time?”

“I heard an explosion and came running. Lee was with me, and I could hear that another patrol was close by. I recognised the truck as a mobile banking vehicle, and assumed the blast was someone trying to blow the safe, so I readied my pistol. As I approached the truck, shots were fired from the third unit in the row of shops. I returned fire. Several other officers arrived and provided assistance. When it became clear there was no more gunfire coming from the unit, we stopped shooting and called for the weapon to be thrown out. There was no response and after several minutes I went into the shop, calling for the gunman to lie flat as I advanced. A pistol was on the floor near the front window, and the driver of the truck was lying on the floor at the back of the room, handcuffed and facing away from the door. He had been shot through the back of the head. There was no sign of the murderer. We searched absolutely everywhere.”

“And there’s no way the murderer could have come out of the front door in the confusion?”

“No, sir. I had my eyes on that door the whole time from the first shot until the moment we went in.”

Parnacki nodded. “I am quite sure you did, officer. Thank you. I suspect I know where he is.”

Where is the gunman?

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CLASSIC CRIME

A Shot In The Dark by Lynne Truss: Raven Books £12.99

Short narrative:

The Keystone Cops might learn a thing or two from Lynne Truss. Her 1950s Brighton has a constabulary run by the brainless inspector Steine (pronounced Steen), who turns a blind eye to crime while composing radio homilies on the law and the citizen.

Steine has an ambitious sidekick who finds all the clues, but not necessarily in the right order. His confidant is the tea lady, who seems to know more about the local mafia than the whole force put together.

Into this mad medley springs Constable Twitten, a college boy set on making his name by nailing the killer of an obnoxious theatre critic, in town to savage the latest kitchen sink drama.

Everything that can go wrong does go wrong in a farce that gathers hilarious pace with every page.

More Marx Brothers than Agatha Christie, this is crime fiction turned on its head – a giddy spell of sheer delight.