The Drama Continues: DCI Borchardt Will Interview Everyone in the Lounge
I must blog softly as the property is swarming with coppers. Mrs. Frothingmunster, my nemesis, arrived a moment ago in her vintage Rover. Lovely motor. She is, no doubt, anxious to cast aspersions in light of the latest Turn of the Screw . By the way, Haskell’s post notwithstanding, I am neither cringing nor cowering; command and control has never left The Earl’s possession, except briefly, when Chalfont-Smythe menaced me with a trowel. She is entirely to blame for this momentary breakdown in real time coverage of all matters literary. One suspects that Chalfont-Smythe and Frothingmunster harbour deep resentment over my horticultural triumphs this season; only the Dutchess of Wey remains a loyal friend through the tribulations.
DCI Borchardt is no Inspector Rebus for you Ian Rankin fans. Borchardt is a pompous fellow bedecked in corduroy and plaid, and, I suspect, not a reader. There was a hue and cry when a head was discovered on a pike a few moments ago….they’ve been searching high and low for the head for some time. It appears to be a German tourist. Did he vote SPD or CDU? One wonders. Awful fuss. Meanwhile I’ve got Denise Mina’s Field of Blood to occupy me; I suppose they’re going to blame me for this head business. I suspect Depew, my brooding Labourite. From my vantage point on the garage roof I can see Borchardt gathering the staff in the Lounge. More details as and when. Your Servant, The Earl.