I is for I-Spy Murders, The

 

Released midsummer last year, The I-Spy Murders was the second STAC Mystery, and to date, remains my personal favourite. The tale is set within a reality TV series similar to Big Brother.

I’ve never made any secret of my antipathy to modern television. If, in the past, it was 90% dross, it’s now 99% dross, with only the occasional oasis of worthwhile new drama or documentary showing up. In my opinion, shows like Big Brother, I’m a Celebrity, and so on , are the epitome of everything that is wrong with TV, and the reason I leave it switched off most of the time. I’m certain there is room for such programmes, but do they have to be rammed down our throats day in, day out, ad nauseam?

I’ve only ever watched about five minutes of Big Brother, and that was because I was holidaying in a caravan, out of bed in the early hours of the morning, enjoying a cup of tea and a smoke, and the distractions I enjoy at home were not available to me. And what was happening in the Big Brother House? Nothing. Everyone was asleep.

Where is the drama? Where is the interest? What is the bloody point?

Rant over.

As a writer of detective stories, what occurred to me right away was how it would be impossible to commit a murder in the house. Or would it?

So I created the I-Spy TV show, a version of Big Brother which runs for just one week, the winner chosen by public telephone poll. I made Brenda a contestant on the show, and gave her an equal chance of winning before…

One of the housies is found dead. Not only dead, but as Joe insists, murdered.

The following extract, like others in this series of posts, gives away nothing of the plot but demonstrates Joe’s unique and grumpy humour as he tries to park his car in a field near the I-Spy house so Brenda can take her place on the show.

With the clock reading five minutes to eleven and Brenda in a state of near panic, a police officer waved them into a field on the right, where thousands of other vehicles were already parked, and hundreds more coming from east and west, waited to get in.

Indicating Brenda in the rear seat, Joe protested, “She’s a contestant.”

“Tell it to the parking stewards, mate,” the officer policeman replied and pointing again, urged Joe to get moving.

With an audible, “Tsk,” Joe turned into the field and stopped again as a steward approached him.

Wearing a fluorescent, yellow vest, a cloth cap keeping the sun off his head, he held out his hand. “Fiver.”

Joe frowned. “What?”

“You heard, mate. Five quid.”

“A fiver? What for?”

“Parking charge.”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Joe said. “She’s one of the contestants.” Again he jerked a thumb at Brenda in the rear seat.

The steward was unmoved. “I don’t care if she owns the TV company. If you’re parking in this field, it’s a fiver.”

Joe scowled. “Didn’t I see you in Parliament last week explaining why you’re hiking the taxes on small businessmen?”

“Now listen, pal…”

Joe cut him off. “No, you listen, you dipstick. She, Mrs Brenda Jump, is one of the contestants in this farce.”

“Then you should have gone to the contestants’ entrance on Gibraltar Hall Lane. Now either pay up or clear off.”

Joe slotted the car into gear. “Where is this Gibraltar Hall Lane?”

“Joe, for god’s sake, just pay him the fiver,” Brenda urged from the back seat. “I’m going to be late.”

“Yes, but…”

“PAY HIM!” Brenda yelled.

Joe dug into his pocket and fished out five pounds. “I won’t forget your face,” he warned as he handed it over.

The steward took his money and pointed towards the far corner of the field. “If you drive over there, one of the lads will tell you where to park.”

Joe looked over. It was at least five hundred yards away, and there was a queue of vehicles waiting to park. Bringing his gaze closer to them, Joe spotted gaps in the nearest lines of vehicles. “Why can’t I park there?”

“Reserved,” the steward said.

“You’re expecting the Queen?”

“For crying out loud, Joe…”

“Disabled,” said the steward.

“I’m disabled,” Sheila said from the passenger seat.

The steward looked doubtful. “Well…”

“Honestly, she is,” Joe promised.

“You have your parking badge with you?”

“Oh, yes,” Joe lied.

“Well all right. Put it in one of those gaps, but don’t forget to display your badge.” Joe drove along, leaving the steward to negotiate with the next driver. Nosing the car into a gap between a people carrier and a 4×4, he killed the engine, and while his friends climbed out to retrieve Brenda’s suitcase from the boot, he took a sheet of paper from his notebook, and began to draw on it.

“What the hell are you doing, Joe?” Brenda demanded.

“Showing my disabled badge,” he said, and put the piece of notepaper on the windscreen.

Sheila studied it. He had drawn something that might have been a wheelchair as depicted by a 5-year-old child, and underneath it, he had written, ‘disbled’.

“I wouldn’t care but you’ve spelled disabled wrong,” Sheila complained.

***

The STAC Mysteries are available as paperbacks and as e-book downloads in all formats, or direct from Crooked Cat Books in MOBI, EPUB and PDF formats