The Mystery of the Sticky-back Dildo.

Meanwhile, on a back road near Harwich...

The man formerly known as "Douglas Manning," husband of Annie, pulled his car off the road and took out his Swiss Army knife.

Using the thing-for -taking-stones-out-of-horses'- hooves, he prised the bulldog clips from his car's UK licence plates, revealing NL plates. (He wondered, briefly, if he should keep them...then decided that it was unlikely he would ever be sent back to England so he frisbee'd both plates over a hedge into a scruffy copse.)

He glanced at his watch.So far, so good. He'd make his 9am ferry and be in Holland mid-afternoon. Ish. He always allowed for an "ish" eventuality. Being caught up in a particularly nasty football crowd once that involved police from three countries had taught him to plan for such exigencies. But with no matches scheduled for today, he should be fine...

He drove onto the ferry, parked his car on the car deck and went up to the lounge for some breakfast.

Like all others in his "trade" he was a people-watcher. An essential in the craft, his trainers had always impressed upon him the importance of noticing and noting the small, silly details.

And what he was noticing today was the mother with two unruly children, stuffing sugary cakes into their fat faces. Manning's eyes searched the room for a First Aid station. Someone might need that today...

He finished his coffee and walked  across to the book stall. Six hours to fill and he didn't want to appear too different from other passengers so he idly browsed the titles on the book stand. A strange volume about the origins of Tarot cards caught his eye. Its cover was bordered with a triangular device that reminded him of that Swiss confectionary ...he flicked through the pages and was tempted to buy it, but his training had taught him never to carry something that might attract unwanted attention. The last thing he needed was some daffy old woman engaging him in a lengthy discussion of horoscopic predictions. He bought a Telegraph and settled with the crossword.

The crossing uneventful, they docked at Hoek on time and cleared  customs and Manning drove away from the dock, heading for a small, nondescript shop on a back street. Parking around a corner, he donned a pair of dark-framed glasses and a worn, dark blue beret and a gaberdine coat.

The man at the counter was reading a newspaper and barely looked up when the shop bell rang.

Manning said, glancing left and right, and leaning across the counter," I'd like some sticky-backed dildo, please."

The shop man sighed, put his paper aside and reached under the counter for a tray of items...

"No! Sorry! I mean, um, Velcro."

Magical Mystery Tour.... [Chapter two-ish]

"Iris, what are you doing? Can you hear me?"

Douglas shook Iris's shoulder in an effort to wake her.

"What did you see? It's really important that you wake up now."

Iris lay on her bed, her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, but she wasn't dead.

"Iris, FOR PITY'S SAKE WOMAN, what did you see? And when did you see it?"

Douglas thumped his fist against the wall and as he did so a framed print of Salvador Dali's Persistence of Memory fell to the floor. Douglas bent to pick it up [if nothing else he was always tidy] and as he did so he noticed that stored under Iris's bed was an impressive array of shoeboxes.

'Wow', thought Douglas, 'this is an impressive array of shoeboxes, but Iris always wears battered old brogues, how peculiar.'

Douglas stopped thinking and pulled out one of the shoeboxes, he opened it, and gasped for dramatic effect. The shoebox did not contain leopard print mules, as suggested by the picture on the lid of the box, but three bulging scrapbooks and 10 used notebooks of the school variety.

He opened a notebook, this was exactly the information Douglas was looking for. He looked up fondly towards the slender, brogue wearing woman still laying unconscious, yet wide eyed on the bed, "I knew I could rely on you Iris, I'm so sorry I referred to you as a wretched curtain twitcher in a previous post, you were always such a meticulous record keeper, even when we were trapped together in that underwater cavern for days on end without food, water, a cuddly toy, a toaster, or your favourite Beatles album, you still found a way to keep meticulous records. What a woman."

Douglas began to read Iris's last entry, as he read his eyebrows began knitting together like two hairy caterpillars trying to make a sweater. When Douglas had finished reading he had three important questions:-

1) WHO IS THE SHORT MAN IN THE PINK RABBIT ONSIE WITH THE BIG GUN? [Clue: He isn't Mr Short]
2) WHO IS THIS RENNIE CHARACTER? AND WHY DID IRIS NEED HIS HELP?
3) WHERE IS ANNIE?
4) WOULD HE GET TO HARWICH IN TIME?
5) SHOULD HE PLAY IRIS'S FAVOURITE BEATLES TUNE?
6) WOULD IRIS'S FAVOURITE BEATLES TUNE WAKE HER FROM HER OPEN-EYED SLUMBER?

So many questions...but, as in every good epic, only three are important...

Chapter One, continued, part 2.14

Douglas eased his cuff back and checked his watch (not the too-flashy Rolex; no point making yourself too noticeable.)

10.15am. Hmm... he might be cutting it a bit fine, but, provided that bloody farmer with the muck-spreader didn't get in front of him he should make it home after Annie usually left for work.

But that wretched curtain-twitcher next door might still be at her window! He wondered if she also had a watch point from the back of her house. He'd have to wing it...

Hardly any traffic and he really would have liked to give the car a good, racing run. Better not to spoil things by getting a ticket to the Policemen's Ball. He eased his foot up and settled at 60.

He allowed his mind to go over his plan once more. Mr Short had never seen him and the money had all been odd bills, from various sources. So, really, all he had to do was nip back into his house, pick up the second briefcase, nip out and head for Harwich. A doddle, really...