A worried airman makes a confession to Newton. He has lost his RAF Identity Card, known as a ‘1250’. It turns out he is not alone. Joining in the investigation, Halliday falls foul of the people who are stealing the cards which could gain saboteurs access to British service establishments.

A Loss of Identity

I was chuckling over an advert for a magic potion in Singapore’s Straits Times

—“Are you Listless; Do You Suffer from the Early Morning Blues”— when, for the first time in days, Flight Sergeant Ellison came into the office. Despite his rest, Chiefy still looked decidedly pasty-faced. I vacated his desk but left the paper.

‘Morning, Chief. How are your kidneys?’ I pointed to the advert. ‘You should try a spot of Wang’s Elixir.’

Chiefy pulled a face as he sat in his chair. ‘All right, Newton, one sarky remark, but only one, yes?’

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A student of journalism has to complete an assignment. The only couple willing to give their time, present much more than the offered scoop; something which will challenge the student’s mind, and pose a question, forever.

Avril Lane

It was very clear to Avril Lane, I was pretty naïve. She felt comfortable with me because of it, at ease, and thinking about it now, I think that’s why she opened up to me. I’d just turned seventeen, with so much to learn, and such a long time ahead to achieve it. But I had ambition early on.

“Do you want a scoop? All journalists hunger for a scoop these days it seems.”

“If you have one, but my assignment is more—”

“General? On old people’s points of view, on all our difficulties – no doubt, it’s been done to death already, hasn’t it?”

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Sammi asks for Newton’s help to extract his sister from the machinations of a Singapore gang. The gang is using Sammi’s naïve sibling, Aisha, to filch money and materials from RAF Changi, the Royal Air Force’s largest station in Singapore. It is Newton’s first encounter with Chan, the gang’s boss.

Corporal Reggasammi’s Dilemma

‘Mr Newton? Can you spare me an ever so short minute?’

I turned from the shelf of Registry files I had been searching. ‘Of course, Sammy – I can spare you as many short minutes as you desire. What’s the problem?’

Corporal Reggasammi peered up at me from his desk, his eyes huge behind the thick lenses of his glasses. ‘I am so very worried about my sister, sahib. She has got in with a fast crowd – a very fast crowd.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Sammy.’ I gazed down at him. ‘But I’m not sure how I can help –’

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Summer life at the Lake brings a few twists when Maggie and Peter get new neighbours. Did he or didn’t he?  Did she or didn’t she? Non-intervention seems to be the safest route.

Déjà Vu

Maggie set the last of the plates in the rack to drain.  As she looked out the kitchen window she could see Robert and Barbara Howe in the garden next door start to circle each other in the nightly ritual that preceded all out war.  Soon their raised voices were screaming across the narrow yard.

“There they go again.” she sighed, drying her hands on the tea towel and draping it over the dishes.

“I can hear,” growled her husband Peter pouring a large glass of wine…  “Time to turn on the TV.   Maybe we can drown them out.”

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Changi Village’s garage owner, Eng Seng, has lost his newest car. The Tech Wing airman who hired it has also gone missing. Newton and Halliday find the car upside down in a Singapore ditch. But where is the driver? The intrepid airmen risk fire and brimstone to find out.

Eng’s Missing Minx

I answered the phone in my customary manner. ‘Morning. Tech Wing Discip – how can I help?’

‘Hello? Mr Newton?’

‘Speaking.’ No one on Changi’s RAF camp would address a Senior Aircraftsman as Mister. I asked suspiciously, ‘Who is that?’

‘This is Eng Seng, Mr Newton – from the garage in Changi Village.’

‘Oh – is it, indeed?’ Silence at the other end; had my tone offended? Quickly, I added, ‘Morning, Eng. This is a pleasant surprise – what can I do for you?’

‘I’ve lost my new car, Mr Newton. The 1961 Hillman Minx.’

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Who can you turn to when the law is on the wrong side?

Footprints

I haven’t done this for a long time. Not since Ma died. She got upset so I promised not to do it again, but she’s gone now. What she can’t see won’t hurt her and I’ll be really careful. This time no one will know except me.

I’ve been watching the house from my room across the road. I’ve seen them come and go, the tall girl with bouncy red curls like shiny new chestnuts, the smaller one with long golden hair and a coat that almost touches the ground and the tiny little guy who looks like one of Ma’s garden gnomes, but without the fishing rod.

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Newton is told that valuable high octane fuel is being stolen from installations on RAF Changi and beyond. He and Halliday call on Chan, believing the local gang boss to be a likely suspect. Their visit stimulates an explosive situation.

Fuel for Thought

‘Hello, Jock – you’re straying, aren’t you? What brings you to Tech Wing Discip?’

Junior Technician Jock McDougal hovered in the doorway. ‘I have “strayed”, as you put it, from my office in Aircraft Servicing Flight for a very good reason, Newton.’

The slim, grey-haired Scot continued to survey me thoughtfully; Jock was a great one for choosing his words carefully. ‘Do tell,’ I said patiently.

‘Aye, I will. I believe that our fuel pump has been tampered with.’

‘In what way, tampered with?’

‘Several gallons of fuel have been taken.’

‘Several gallons more than the loss through normal filching, you mean?’

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Halliday joins Newton on a trip to Frazer’s Hill in up-country Malaya, the venue for a jungle survival course. On the sleeper to Kuala Lumpur, Halliday overhears a plot to ambush a member of Frazer’s Hill’s staff. He and Newton seek a way to unmask the potential offender.

Hollywood Jungle

I blew cigarette smoke at the NAAFI’s ceiling. ‘I’ve been lumbered.’

Halliday laughed. ‘So what’s new?’

‘What’s new is Chiefy has volunteered me for a jungle survival course.’

‘Frazer’s Hill? Where the MO sent him a couple of months ago?’

‘Yes. I extracted the Michael once too often – I’m away upcountry on Sunday week. It seems there aren’t enough keen types signing up so Chiefy put me down for a basinful.’

Halliday looked thoughtful. ‘Book a place for me, Zack. My Chief has been getting a bit jumpy lately – be good to be out of his sight for a couple of weeks.’

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When Kitty travels to the Greek island of Skopelos to write a travel feature, she is intimidated by the attentions of Grigoris, a local man.Her visit takes a disturbing turn as past and present collide.

Hunted

She hesitated on the track, dust rising around her shoes as she looked ahead. He stood motionless, as dark as the tree trunk separated from him by a shard of light; only his eyes moved, slowly, as he watched her.

She felt the fear rise in her throat and her heart quickened. It was a lonely road, winding slowly upwards through the Greek pine forests, but she knew the island was safe to roam – or so she had been told.

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Helen Long finds herself number one suspect in a murder case and in the hands of a sadistic police sargeant, who seems determined to prove her guilty by fair means or foul! Her fear and confusion intensifies when she is ‘reluctantly’ released and realises suspicion is now falling onto her sister Rose.

Helen and Rose know the killer and fear for their lives, Rose’s drug addiction makes it seem a hopeless task unless they find someone they can trust to prove their innocence.

In the Name of the Law

Sarah Long shivered, as she tried to grasp what was happening to her. She had been kept waiting in the interview room at the police station, for what seemed like hours. Now this detective was firing questions at her and accusing her of what? What did they think she was guilty of? Close to tears she tried to answer the questions, but did not understand why this man was using such bullying tactics and not even listening to her replies.  Sarah could see he was shaking in anger and as he drew closer to her she jumped back away from him terrified.

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A revenge attack on a camping holiday goes wrong and results in murder.

Incinerating Something

“What ‘appened to that wine? I left it ‘ere, jus’ inside the tent.”

To any sober person Lorraine’s question, asked in her drunken Birmingham accent, would have been barely comprehensible but as I was a bit drunk myself I understood her well enough. “I thought you drank it all. Anyway, haven’t you had enough yet? You soak it up like a J cloth.” I said as I rummaged through my pockets for fags and lighter.

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She jogs in full make up trailing perfume. A man is captivated but the woman has her own agenda. What is his?

Jogger

The woman was running towards me. She ran effortlessly with the lightness of an experienced jogger. I veered over to the kerb side of the pavement and carried on walking. She had all the right kit – black lycra bottoms, gloves, beanie hat. It was a cold morning and her breath rose in clouds like steam from a classic locomotive. I glanced at her face as she passed and was surprised to see that she was immaculately made up. There was a gash of red lipstick, a hint of blusher. But the thing that struck me the most was her perfume – they say that smell is the most evocative sense don’t they.

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Tired of society and its expectations Johnny has walked the streets and hills of Sussex for twenty years, fending for himself and taking nothing that isn’t free. With oysters in his belly and the purest water at his lips, Johnny’s world turns upside-down when Mother Nature plays a trick of the light that stirs Johnny’s heart, and changes everything.

Johnny Frugal

They say you should never start by describing the weather. No dramatic sunsets; no storms battering ancient shutters on deserted moorland farmhouses. The state of the prevailing wind is tedious and distracting – apparently – regardless of how well it sets the scene. As an aged storyteller it’s a rule to which I’d normally adhere, but ye Gods, the sky that greeted me an hour after I awoke this morning chilled my very soul. The sky was green.

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Linda’s staying with Tony prior to going abroad to University; but he never noticed the evocative, unfamiliar and unexplained drifting smells, the items that moved independently, particularly in the kitchen.

Lingering Aromas

I felt a shiver go down my spine and the small hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I entered the kitchen. I quickly backed out and went into the living room.

“What’s that smell? I said, as I walked through the door.

“What smell?” Tony replied.

“I can smell violets and there’s another smell, like tobacco. It reminds me of my old granddad.”

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Teresa is neither psychic nor a thief, so why is she being haunted by a dead Queen?

Marie’s Necklace

The audacious weekend theft made headlines around the world – ‘Priceless Marie Antoinette Necklace Stolen’.  On Monday morning, the newspaper office was still buzzing when Teresa Piccolo arrived at work.  Ordinarily cheerful and fresh faced, her uncharacteristic gaunt and dishevelled appearance might have been mistaken for the flu.

A veteran newspaper man, Editor Harold Bartlet, was still doggedly pursuing the story, when he saw Teresa approaching his office.  Her lifeless eyes and trance-like state, were enough to tell him that something was terribly wrong.  He opened the door and beckoned her inside.

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Morfydd is dozing in the sun on a mountain in Wales. When she wakes she finds her life has been turned upside down.

Morfydd and the Mountain

Dozing, I was, vaguely aware of the springy, spiky heather beneath my body. The summer sunshine soothed my weary bones.

I heard the dog panting through the undergrowth before it stuck its damp nose into my face. My hands went up as my eyes opened reluctantly.

‘Duw!’ I groaned, fending off its muzzle. ‘A sloppy kisser you are, dog.’

‘Jackson, where are you?’ called a woman’s voice some distance off.

I sat up. ‘Jackson, are you?’ The black labrador met my gaze with quizzical brown eyes so I smoothed his head.

He barked, and the woman appeared, striding through the heather. Her clothes were strange, hardly those a woman would normally wear.

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Mitch has just discovered that his recently-deceased father was, in fact, a contract killer.  As Mitch begins to assemble the pieces of his father’s life, he must cope with his own identity, his father’s identity, and a strange man who seems to be following him…

My Father’s Bullets

My father was a contract killer for twelve years of his life.  Sometime between retiring from the Army, and writing investigative pieces for Canadian wildlife journals, he traveled the world assassinating people.  He only took two or three jobs a year; I remember him being home during my childhood, keeping up the house while Mom worked at the shop she owned.  When I asked my father what he did for a living, he would reply that he did “security work,” and that occasionally he had to go overseas.  Hong Kong.  Havana.  Cairo.  I was too young and too politically naïve to ever connect his travels with the subsequent assassinations; the people he killed were usually too low-key to make the American press anyways.

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Cynical yet sensitive, he finds that conveniences, while convenient, can also serve to separate.  He fights back — but what is he fighting?  Whatever it is, it’s getting closer and
closer, tighter and tighter.

No Data

I’m two steps out the door and the phone rings, and I decide to go back for it, but whoever it was hung up.  There’s no message.  The caller ID says “No Data”.  It could have been from some distant place, or it could have been a solicitor –  some of them show up that way – “No Data”.

It is aggravating, a waste of time and resource, utterly pointless – one of those things that is done only because it can be done.  “No Data”.  I will be thinking about that all day now.  It is offensive, souring.  Just one more thing.

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A young man travels north to spend a summer in Alaska. He meets a girl there and they go out on the ice together, hunting whales.

On the Edge of the Sea Ice

Whale blubber doesn’t taste the way you think it’s going to taste. Or perhaps you’ve never thought about that. I’d thought about it quite a bit, given where I was going that summer. I even thought about changing my diet before I went, but instead I was binging on steak, chips and red wine. Then, what do you know? The whale meat tasted just like beef.

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A dog gains a bad reputation when his owners keep dying. When he is returned to the rescue centre for a third time, it seems he may have to stay there for ever. Molly has to fight for his release, but is the dog’s reputation well deserved?

Saving Sam

Molly had never seen so many loveable animals. The dog rescue centre had every kind of dog from tiny Yorkies to gigantic Irish wolfhounds, plus everything in between. It was going to be very hard to choose.

“Do any of them appeal to you?” the girl asked.

“All of them,” laughed Molly. “How does anyone ever decide?”

The girl grinned. “I’m lucky.  I get to spend time with all of them. I don’t have to choose.”

As they turned the last corner, Molly stopped. A black dog was curled up at the back of one of the runs.

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A middle-aged man has had enough of his wife and offspring and decides to disappear.

Tender to Solitude

He had done the right thing, thought Barry as he sat on the upturned bucket. The foliage above him was so thick he could see hardly a chink of daylight, but that didn’t bother him – he was happy here, isolated, alone, deserted on this island. It had all become much too much for him – the job that never paid quite enough; the workforce that never got paid quite enough; the wife for whom he could never do enough; and the kids that just didn’t care about him enough.

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Peridot returns in a dream to help his old colleagues Hustings and Inspector Jupp solve the mystery of Mrs. Twist’s death. (Apologies to Agatha Christie)

The Case of the Fatal Fruit

Huge boughs arched over the pathway.  A morning mist lay thick and close to the ground proclaiming it to be an English country lane.  He couldn’t place the scene yet a certain familiarity brought a lump to his throat.  Then he realized it was a sound he recognized- the sound of footsteps, short and precise, identifiable before he could make out the man.  Then, walking towards him through the mist came that unmistakable silhouette dear to his heart, a short rounded figure of elegant dress, with an egg-shaped head perched slightly to the side, and of course the moustaches, those luxuriant never-to-be-matched moustaches of the Great Man.

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Can Annie and Evie find a missing lawnmower with only a  chocolate wrapper to go on?

The Chocolate Detectives Part 1

“I’ve reported the theft of our mower to the police, Annie” Gran said.  “They’ve given me a case number.”

“Did you show the bit of evidence to the officer?” I asked.

“Yes but he wasn’t very convinced – he seemed to think I was one chunk short of a bar.”

I wasn’t in the least surprised to hear it.

“Let’s have another look at it….”

Gran unearthed a clear plastic wallet. Inside was a purple wrapper that had once graced a bar of chocolate.

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When Gerald’s car is stolen and the wrapper from a Bounty bar is discovered, Evie is keen to start sleuthing again…

The Chocolate Detectives Part 2

“I’m right out of chocolate digestives,” my gran Evie told Gerald-from-up-the-road as he wandered in through the back door.

“Please don’t mention biscuits at a time like this.” Gerald slumped into the nearest seat and eyed the kettle.

“A time like what?” Gran glanced up from her Sudoko puzzle, muttering something about having two 3s on one line. “What’s happened?”

“My car has been stolen.”

“Really?” She sounded delighted. I groaned. Not more of this amateur detective stuff.

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The theft of two flowerpots and the discovery of a Maltesers wrapper lead Evie and co. on another detecting mission…

The Chocolate Detectives Part 3

“I’ve just been up to Barley House,” Gran announced.

“Barley House?” Gerald said. “Now why does that name sound familiar?”

“There was a bit in the paper about it last night,” I said.

“That’s right Annie,” Gran agreed. “Two terracotta pots full of plants were stolen from there and Jan Barley was reported as being ‘distraught’. So I went up for a bit of a nose around.”

I looked at Gerald. Gerald looked at me. Gran’s sleuthing mania was going to lead her into serious trouble if she wasn’t careful.

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