29 June 2009
Rather Amiable Police Officer, Considerably More Hostile Police Officer
WINSOME PINE sat in a chair across the desk from Botter and I, chewing his nails nervously. I eyed him suspiciously, then leant back in my chair, contemplating my opening gambit. If I was to extract the truth from this suspect, then my line of questioning would have to be very well reasoned, extremely thoughtful and thoroughly rigorous.
“So, Mr. Pine,” I said slowly. “Why exactly are you such a terrible cock-pipe?”
Pine’s face reddened with rage.
“I say! You cannot talk to me like that! I am more than willing to be questioned regarding this awful crime, but I most certainly did not come here to be insulted!” he whined.
“Oh,” I remarked. “Then where is it you usually go to be insulted, sir?”
“Why you!…” Pine began, clenching his fists in a completely futile attempt to look threatening, but was silenced when I held up one, single finger. The power I can yield with a single finger never ceases to amaze me – with it, I can bring a man to silence, or bring a woman to screaming ecstasy. It really is quite a skilled digit, I can tell you.
“Excuse me, Mr. Pine. I just wish to confer with my colleague, if I may.”
Pine nodded sullenly, while Botter and I retreated outside the room.
“Botter, I am sensing that this suspect is rather hostile.” I said, as my man-servant closed the door behind him.
“That might be because you insulted him, milord – twice, to be exact,” Botter replied.
“Preposterous!” I exclaimed. “It is clear to me that this bounder is hiding something, and I’d wager that the ‘something’ is the stolen pearl necklace! We must press for a confession!”
“How do you propose to do that, milord?”
“Well, I have witnessed a psychological technique employed by those at Scotland Yard for such an occurrence, whereby one detective shall assume a rather confrontational manner, while his partner shall be more friendly and warm. I believe it is known as ‘Rather Amiable Police Officer, Considerably More Hostile Police Officer.”
“Oh! You mean a sort of Good Cop, Bad Cop kind of thing?” Botter interjected.
“Pffft. Why must you always insist on reducing everything to a handful of syllables, hmmm? That is your problem, Botter – you are much too simplistic!”
“Soz, m’lud,” Botter replied, meekly.
“Hmmm. Anyway, I think we should employ this method upon Mr. Pine. You shall assume the role of the Rather Amiable Police Officer, while I shall be the Considerably More Hostile Police Officer…I am confident that in this way, we shall be able to wrench the truth from this wretched cove!”
“Very good, milord,” Botter sighed.
“Excellent! And be sure to keep some notes during our questioning, for they may prove useful later.”
“Yes, milord.”
“Jolly good! Have another biscuit,” I grinned, tossing my man-servant another treat.
And so, thus rejuvenated, Botter and I re-entered the study, where we slowly and silently assumed our places behind the desk once more.
“Ahem,” Botter coughed, politely. “And…erm…and how are you, good sir?”
“Hmph,” Pine sneered. “How do you think I am?”
In a flash, I leapt up from my chair, and smashed Pine across the face with my cane, sending him falling over backwards on his seat.
“ANSWER THE RUDDY QUESTION, ARSE-FACE!” I bellowed, standing over his sprawled form, cane in hand.
“Alright! Alright!” Pine cried, holding his hand up. “Jesus Christ, just keep away from me, you lunatic!”
I turned to Botter, and smiled an extremely satisfied smile. “See, Botter? There is something to this technique after all!” I beamed, before thwacking Pine again for having the gall to call me a lunatic.
*****
After a very thorough interview, we let a rather battered Mr. Pine wobble out of the study and back to the rest of the party-goers.
“Peeves, could you send in the next victim, please?” I asked the Fircombe’s rather surly butler.
“Victim?” Peeves rejoined, slightly astonished.
“Um, that is to say suspect,” I said, hurriedly correcting myself. Peeves rolled his eyes in despair, and skulked out of the room, while I turned back to Botter. “Right then, did you make some notes during that interview, Botter?”
“Yes, milord,” came the reply.
“Good show! Would you care to read them out, then?”
“Certainly, milord. Let me see…ah, yes. Here we go!” Botter cleared his throat, and began to read the transcript of the interrogation. “Ahem: ‘Ow! Ow! Ow! Please stop hitting me, ow, ow, ow, you’re insane, ow, ow ow, please take your foot off my face, ow, ow, ow, what are you doing with that lamp? Ow! Argh! Ow…‘”
“Mmmm,” I pondered, stroking my moustache in deep thought. “Very interesting…anything else?”
“Well, you did manage to make him admit that he has not earnt very much at all from his published poetry, and that he was very hard-up…could be a possible motive for stealing a very expensive item of jewellery, milord.”
“Yes, quite,” I mused. “Read the bit where I am standing on his face again, I liked that.”
But before Botter could do my bidding, Peeves returned, coughing politely in the doorway.
“Gentlemen, Mr. Swypes is here, as requested,” he droned, as the reformed jewel thief in question peered cautiously around the corner.
“Well, send him in, man!” I snapped, quickly falling back into my Considerably More Hostile Police Officer character. Peeves mumbled something about not being paid enough, and then he ushered Pilferton Swypes into the study.
“Evening gents,” Swypes smiled.
“Good evening, Mr. Swypes,” Botter cooed. “Would you like to take a seat, sir?”
Swypes eyed us nervously and then went to move the chair, but before he could I was upon him, beating him to the ground with my cane, and twatting him about the body.
“BLOODY ANSWER THE QUESTION, YOU BASTARD!” I roared, as Swypes cowered beneath me.
I must say, I was rather enjoying this policing lark.
- Lord Likely.
Don’t Forget! Keep searching these entries for clues, for soon YOU shall be able to vote on which one of the party-goers YOU feel is responsible for the theft of the pearl necklace! Eyes open, dear readers!
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