‘I got a tip—off that something big was going to happen.’
‘And who tipped you off?’
‘I’d rather not say.’
‘Was it Lazlo Woodbine?’
‘I’d rather not say.
‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘But just tell me one thing. Do you think the Secret Government murdered the Doveston?’
‘No I don’t,’ said Danbury.
‘Oh.’
‘Because I don’t believe that the Doveston’s dead.’
‘Trust me,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen the body. He is dead.’ ‘Seeing the body doesn’t mean anything. People saw Elvis’s body, but Elvis isn’t dead.’
‘I think you’ll find that Elvis is dead,’ I said.
‘Oh yeah? So who’s that over there chatting up the singing nun?’ ‘Chatting up who?’
‘Oh no, it’s Giant Haystacks. I think my eyesight’s going.’ I peered in the direction of his pointing. ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Precisely,’ said Danbury. ‘When you’re really really famous, being dead doesn’t have to mean that you actually are dead. Not if you re in cahoots with the Secret Government. They can arrange anything. Elvis entered a parallel universe in order to save mankind from the Antichrist. I thought everybody knew that.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘Then just tell me this. If you’re wrong about the Doveston and he really is dead, who do you think could have murdered him?’
Danbury made a thoughtful face and stuck his hands into his baggy jean pockets. ‘Come over here,’ he said, beckoning me towards an alcove with a nifty elbow—gesture.
I followed him over and to my credit I hardly laughed at all when he smacked his head on an invisible suit of armour.
‘Now listen,’ he whispered. ‘If the Doveston really is dead, it can mean only one thing. That he defied the Secret Government. That they approached him, tried to enlist him, and he refused them.’
‘That sounds plausible. He was very much his own man.’
‘Well, that wouldn’t suit the Secret Government. They’re into total control.’
‘But who are these people who run this Secret Government?’ Danbury shrugged. ‘You perhaps. How would I know?’ ‘You know they exist.’
‘Everyone knows they exist. People just won’t own up to the fact. Look around you, what do you see?’
I looked around. ‘Lots of rich and famous people.’ ‘And how come they got to be rich and famous?’ ‘Because they’re more talented than other people?’ Danbury looked at me.
And I looked back at Danbury.
‘No, OK,’ I said. ‘Forget that.’
‘It’s all a conspiracy,’ said Danbury. ‘Everything’s a conspiracy. The only people who get on in this world are the ones with the right connections. And when original thinkers come along, what happens to them? Either they vanish without trace, or they get sucked into the fame system and end up turning out pap for their masters. They take the money and sell out.’
‘To the Secret Government.’
‘Ultimately. Most of them don’t know that. But actors can only work when they’re offered scripts and rock stars soon find themselves back on the dole if they play up too much.’
‘They all behave badly.’
‘Perk of the job. But the products they turn out are all strictly “safe”. They don’t invite rebellion. They don’t stir up the masses. They maintain the status quo.’
‘I’ve heard all this stuff before,’ I said. ‘Mostly from people who’ve failed to make it big.’
‘I’m not trying to convince you,’ said Danbury. ‘But let me tell you this: the one thing the Secret Government, or any other government, fears more than anything else is information. The free exchange of information. And with the World Wide Web and information technology, ideas can be passed around the world in seconds. And that’s why it’s all going down tonight. When the systems crash because of the Millennium Bug, there will be no more exchanging of information. Unless you own a carrier pigeon, of course.’
‘And you really believe that this is going to happen?’
‘We’ll soon find out, won’t we?’
‘But if it is true, then we should do something about it.’
‘And what would you suggest?’
‘I don’t know. Tell people. Get it all on the World Wide Web.’
‘It’s on the Web,’ said Danbury. ‘There are thousands of conspiracy pages on the Web. Many put there by the Secret Government to confuse the situation further. There is no way of stopping what’s going to happen. Well, there’s one way, but as that can’t be arranged, there’s really no way.
‘What would the one way be?’
‘Assemble all the members of the Secret Government in one big room and then blow the lot of them to kingdom come.
‘Not very likely.’
‘Although...’
‘Although what?’
‘Well, you’ll laugh when I tell you. But something really obvious has just occurred to me.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, it’s...’ Danbury’s right hand was moving in his trouser pocket.
‘Go on!’
‘It’s ...
Something whistled past my ear and Danbury’s left hand clutched at his throat.
And was that something a poisoned dart?
Well, yes of course it was.
And did Danbury manage to blurt out the really obvious thing that had occurred to him?
Did he bugger!
23
‘Tis pretty for an afternoon box, I grant you. But one would never take it out to dine.
I didn’t panic.
I could have, but I didn’t.
I was far too angry this time. I’d had sufficient. I mean to say, one cold-blooded murder at your party is bad enough. But two! That’s really taking the piss.
I glanced about in search of the assassin. But none was to be found standing conveniently by holding a blow-pipe in one hand whilst waving to me with the other.
Folk were gaily dancing now to the music of the mariachi band upon the minstrels’ gallery. Everyone seemed to be having a jolly good time.
Everyone but me.
But I didn’t panic. No. I was angry, but I was cool. I was so cool. Do you know what I did? Well, I’ll tell you what I did. I dragged Danbury to his feet. Danced him over to the invisible suit of armour. And then rammed his body into the back of it. Pretty damn cool, eh?
And if you’ve ever tried to ram a corpse into the back of an invisible suit of armour, you’ll know that it can be pretty tricky.
Especially if the corpse is sporting an erection.
Then I went searching for Norman.
I was angry with Norman.
The shopkeeper wasn’t hard to find. He was doing the Twist. All on his own. But being cheered on by a circle of adoring females. I thrust my way through this circle, much to their annoyance.
‘Norman! You twat!’ I shouted at him.
Norman flapped his fingers at me. ‘Go away,’ he shouted back. I ye got these women eating out of my hand. Look at Tear-apartmy-two-limbs-son’
‘Who?’
‘Tara Palmer—Tomkinson’
It wasn’t bad, but I wasn’t in the mood. ‘Norman!’ I shouted. ‘It’s happened again!’ Then put some more iodine on it.’
I made fists at Norman. Much to the horror of the womenfolk ‘Stop dancing,’ I shouted. ‘There’s been another murder.’
‘Oh,’ and Norman stopped dancing.
‘Aaaaaaaaaaw,’ went the womenfolk. ‘Dance some more for us, Norman.’
‘Switch your bloody suit off,’ I told him. Norman did so, grudgingly.
The womenfolk lost interest in Norman. They sort of coughed politely and drifted away and I stopped hating Norman quite so much.
‘Another murder, you say?’ he said.
‘Danbury Collins.’
‘Danbury Collins?’
‘Danbury Collins.’
Norman lifted his trilby and scratched at his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t get that one. Do you want to give me a clue?’