The Armchair Detective: Series One Read online

  www.thearmchairdetective.moonfruit.com

  THE

  ARMCHAIR

  DETECTIVE

  Ian Shimwell

  The Armchair Detective

  Copyright Ian Shimwell © 2010

  ALSO AVAILABLE IN SERIES ONE:

  The Armchair Detective and the Manor-House Mystery

  The Armchair Detective and the Celebrity Stalker

  The Armchair Detective On Holiday

  The Armchair Detective and the Psychological Secret

  The Armchair Detective’s Last Ever Case

  Contents

  Cast List

  Act One

  Act Two

  Act Three

  CAST LIST

  TRENCH

  OLD TOM

  SALLY-ANNE

  EDITOR LAW

  STONEBRIDGE

  JILL MASTERSON

  JENKINS

  LINDA STONEBRIDGE

  AGENT

  TIMOTHY

  ACT ONE

  OPENING MYSTERY MUSIC

  TRENCH: Remember, Sally-Anne, we want to speak to as many old people as possible in these flats.

  SALLY-ANNE: Yes, and as I’ve not completely lost my marbles quite yet, please stop repeating yourself.

  TRENCH: Right, you do this flat and I’ll do the next one… No, I’ll do this one and you do the next one.

  SALLY-ANNE: Brilliant, with a mind like that, one day you will make a great journalist. I can see it now, the local newspaper hack, Trenchy Trench wins the National Associated Press award for outstanding…

  TRENCH: Less of the Trenchy, I’m just Trench… and I don’t think I’m going to win an award listing our mature citizen’s top ten gripes, but sometimes bigeth things cometh from small stories…

  SALLY-ANNE: Maybe. Why do you want to visit that flat first, anyway?

  TRENCH: Call me old fashioned, Sally-Anne, but you have to start somewhere.

  SALLY-ANNE: Trench, you’re old fashioned – see you at the end of the row.

  TRENCH: Well, here goes.

  SALLY-ANNE: Wait, there’s no answer and the door’s naturally locked too.

  (We hear SALLY-ANNE try the door.)

  TRENCH: Right, well you try this one and I’ll try yours then.

  (They swap flats.)

  (We hear TRENCH knock on the door.)

  OLD VOICE: Come in, young man, the door is open.

  TRENCH: (Says quietly to himself:) Funny, I thought it was locked. Twenty-two B Mayflower Court, what am I letting myself into?

  (We hear an inner door creak open.)

  TRENCH: I’m sorry to disturb you Mr… err? There’s no need to get up from your armchair.

  OLD MAN: You have not disturbed me – and I have no intention of ‘getting up’ as you put it. You may call me ‘Old Tom’ young man. Be seated.

  TRENCH: Thank-you Old Tom, I’m a …

  OLD TOM: … journalist, I know – and you are master?

  TRENCH: Trench, I thought I was too old to be addressed as a master though.

  OLD TOM: Compared to me, Trenchy you are not too old.

  (TRENCH audibly winces at ‘Trenchy’.)

  TRENCH: Wait a minute, how did you know I am a journalist?

  OLD TOM: There is a tell-tale notepad and pencil peeping out of your top pocket, you’re manner is as condescending as I would expect from a member of your profession – and besides we were all informed by letter that members of the local Press would be here to poke their noses in.

  TRENCH: Which brings me to the point of my visit, Mr Thomas…

  OLD TOM: My name is ‘Old’ followed by ‘Tom’, Trench.

  TRENCH: Sorry, Old Tom, then. Are you adequately looked-after? Is the warden attentive? Do Social Services visit? Do friends and relatives regularly come to see you? Are you lonely? Is the heating satisfactory? Hang-on, it’s awfully cold in here – why isn’t your gas fire on? Can’t you afford it? Do you need more..?

  OLD TOM: (Who talks sternly with authority, instantly silencing TRENCH:) Enough. I can afford heating – but I choose not to use it. Heating breeds bugs. I never see the warden – again by choice. I have no visitors – and I am not lonely.

  TRENCH: You must be cold. Here, let me adjust your blanket.

  (We hear an audible ‘slap’. TRENCH quickly withdraws his hand.)

  TRENCH: Ouch!

  OLD TOM: Stop fussing, I am fine. You can do something for me though, if you’d be so kind, young Trench.

  TRENCH: Name it Old Thomas, I mean Old Tom.

  OLD TOM: My tea is on the table next to my armchair. Would you pass it to me?

  TRENCH: But you can reach that, oh never mind. Here…

  (We hear the slight rattle of a cup and saucer as TRENCH passes the tea to OLD TOM.)

  OLD TOM: I am indebted.

  TRENCH: But that tea feels stone cold.

  OLD TOM: I know, just how I like it.

  TRENCH: Well thank-you err… Old Tom for a most interesting conversation. I’ll leave you in peace now.

  OLD TOM: Wait. Have you not, at least, wondered why you’ve been given such an ‘exciting’ assignment?

  TRENCH: It’s simply routine. Elderly people complaining about their standard of care, sells local papers, would you believe?

  OLD TOM: Yes, but why here? Your editor plays golf with Councillor Stonebridge, does he not?

  TRENCH: How on earth do you know that?

  OLD TOM: Why does Stonebridge want to stir up trouble in these humble block of flats?

  TRENCH: I didn’t know he did, but I suppose it’s a possibility.

  OLD TOM: There are a lot of questions to ask in this matter. You are a journalist, Trench, so start asking…

  TRENCH: I’ll… I’ll look into it.

  OLD TOM: And when you have, my boy – you may report back to me.

  (There is a slight, amused chuckle at the back of TRENCH’s throat.)

  TRENCH: Of course.

  (There is a short play of whimsical music indicating a slight passage of time.)

  TRENCH: Don’t you just love it, Sally-Anne, being in the very heart of journalistic dynamism?

  SALLY-ANNE: What, a pokey office with two desks shoehorned inside, situated in the back streets of Stokeham? Doesn’t exactly fill me of inspiration.

  TRENCH: That’s what the motto of the Stokeham Herald should be: ‘Be inspired’.

  SALLY-ANNE: (Who gives a snort of derision:) Yeah right, anyway I think a car manufacturer or a computer company has beaten you to that one. You know, copyright and all that.

  TRENCH: Just a thought.

  SALLY-ANNE: Well I’m too tired to think – I must have visited over sixty flats on Mayflower Court. How many did you visit, Trenchy?

  TRENCH: Just the one.

  SALLY-ANNE: Most complain they haven’t enough money for heating; they either need a new bed or chamber pot; the warden appears to be the invisible man; the walls are literally crumbling; the flats are damp and draughty and, by the way, it’s hard to get a decent chiropodist these days… Excuse me, did I hear you right – you only visited one while I worked through over sixty of the over-sixties?

  TRENCH: We… err… we got talking.

  SALLY-ANNE: I’ll say you did. What were you discussing, the merits of ‘War and Peace’?

  TRENCH: His name is ‘Old Tom’ and he suggested that Councillor Stonebridge somehow persuaded our illustrious Editor, John Law to put us on this little assignment.

  SALLY-ANNE: That’s ridiculous. Why would Stonebridge even do that? Could he influence our editor, anyway? Are you sure your new friend still has all his marbles?

  TRENCH: He knew that Editor Law and Stonebridge were acquainted. He even knew that they pl
ay golf together.

  SALLY-ANNE: Oh come on, that’s easy. Don’t you ever read our own newspaper? Just look at page fifteen of last week’s edition.

  (We hear the rustle of the paper, as TRENCH turns to the page.)

  TRENCH: Ah, I see it. Councillor and local businessman, Sam Stonebridge beats Herald Editor John Law in club, charity golf tournament…

  SALLY-ANNE: I think, perhaps Trench, you were taken in by his, say, mysterious manner?

  TRENCH: Yes, I suppose it’s not exactly deduction on the Sherlock Holmes scale, is it?

  SALLY-ANNE: Did he ask you to go back and report on progress, by any chance?

  TRENCH: (Says hesitantly: ) Yes.

  SALLY-ANNE: I knew it. Old Tommy, I’m afraid, is just a sad, lonely old man simply looking for an excuse for some company.

  TRENCH: You’re probably right.

  SALLY-ANNE: So, are you going to chase wild geese, and follow up this Stonebridge thing?

  TRENCH: (Who laughs slightly.) Not a chance.

  (A short passage of music indicates a change of scene and time.)

  TRENCH: Excuse me, would it be possible to see Mr Stonebridge, Miss..?

  JILL MASTERSON: Ms Jill Masterson actually – and no it would not be possible. Mr Stonebridge is a very busy man who only sees people strictly by appointment.

  TRENCH: Well, you see I’m… err Trench and am on an errand from my editor John Law who’s a good friend of your Mr Stonebridge…

  JILL MASTERSON: Fascinating…

  TRENCH: They recently played a charity game of golf.

  JILL MASTERSON: Mr Trench, are you trying to bore me to death?

  TRENCH: And to cut a long story short, Ms Masterson - old Stonebridge lost one of his golf balls which has since been recovered…

  JILL MASTERSON: (Who rudely stifles a yawn.) Balls.

  TRENCH: … and I’d like to return it. You know how fussy golfers can be about this sort of thing?

  JILL MASTERSON: No, I don’t. Give me your ball and I will return it at my earliest convenience.

  TRENCH: My instructions were to return said ball personally.

  (At that moment, we hear the office door open.)

  STONEBRIDGE: Ah Jill, hold all calls. I’m going on an early lunch. I’m aware you are leaving soon, yourself.

  JILL MASTERSON: At once, Sam… sir.

  TRENCH: I was just saying to Jill here, is it possible, Mr Stonebridge, to have a quick chat about the Mayflower Court flats? I’m Trench from the Stokeham Herald.

  JILL MASTERSON: (Says just loudly enough for TRENCH to hear:) As I said, balls.

  STONEBRIDGE: Damned if I know what you’re talking about, err Trench – but you may talk while I walk, if you wish. I’m a busy man.

  TRENCH: As I’ve gathered. Thank-you sir.

  (There are several opening and closing of doors as TRENCH follows STONEBRIDGE out. We can hear the hustle and bustle of the small town, the pedestrians and traffic in the background.)

  STONEBRIDGE: You were lucky to find anyone in, I’m away at a council meeting this afternoon, in fact even Jill – my secretary you understand, has the rest of the day off.

  TRENCH: Really, Mr Stonebridge?

  STONEBRIDGE: Trench, isn’t it? Damn queer name if you ask me. Ah yes, Jill – it’s the anniversary of her father’s death. Thirty years I believe, tragic business.

  TRENCH: Death usually is.

  (We hear the beep beep of a Pelican crossing.)

  STONEBRIDGE: What did you say?

  TRENCH: Oh, nothing.

  STONEBRIDGE: Excuse me, Mr Trench but you did say you wanted to talk about the Mayflower flats.

  TRENCH: I did – and still do.

  STONEBRIDGE: I’d be intrigued to know my connection in all this.

  TRENCH: Can I ask what your business is – and your role as a Councillor?

  STONEBRIDGE: It’s no secret, I suppose. I am a property developer – and oversee the planning applications at the Town Hall.

  (TRENCH coughs in disbelief.)

  TRENCH: And you don’t see there is a conflict of interests in that?

  STONEBRIDGE: (Says sternly:) I make sure there isn’t. A polite warning young man – do not attempt to cross me Trench, it would not be worth your while.

  TRENCH: Relax sir, I was just checking.

  STONEBRIDGE: (Says with mounting frustration:) And the flats?

  TRENCH: Oh, yes. My colleague and I, that is we were asked – I mean checked on the concerns of the in-mates, I mean inhabitants of Mayflower Court.

  STONEBRIDGE: And?

  TRENCH: Do you know anybody in your professional or public life that is looking for an excuse to get rid of those flats?

  STONEBRIDGE: Life moves on, Trench. None of us can stand still. Progress can often mean the destruction of say ‘derelict’ flats…

  TRENCH: The Mayflower land would be a prime site for development being close to the town centre… Are you sure you don’t know anybody, Mr Stonebridge?

  STONEBRIDGE: No, I don’t – and now here’s my beautiful wife, Linda. So, if you don’t mind..?

  TRENCH: (Says quietly:) She is beautiful – and much younger than him.

  LINDA STONEBRIDGE: I’ve not had the pleasure.

  (TRENCH clears his throat, displaying his amused embarrassment.)

  TRENCH: Neither have I – I’m Trench and am about to take my leave. If you’ll forgive me.

  LINDA STONEBRIDGE: (Says slightly in awe:) Who was that?

  STONEBRIDGE: A troublemaker.

  (More music and a change of scene and time.)

  TRENCH: So, Mr Old Tom – that’s all I can tell you about my meeting with our friend, Sam Stonebridge.

  OLD TOM: Interesting, very interesting… You did report back to me though, Trench – thank-you.

  TRENCH: What can I say; I’m a man of my word.

  OLD TOM: So I see. Would you be so kind to pass me a piece of cake?

  (We hear a slight clatter of the plate as TRENCH passes the cake.)

  TRENCH: Do you actually ever get up from that armchair of yours?

  OLD TOM: (Who chuckles softly.) Oh yes, I do, my boy – but only very, very rarely.

  (OLD TOM munches on his cake.)

  TRENCH: Why did you think my chat with Stonebridge was ‘interesting’? Getting back to the matter in hand.

  OLD TOM: You don’t waste much time with chitchat, do you Trenchy?

  TRENCH: I try not to.

  OLD TOM: There finished. That cake was completely crusty and stale – and the cream had gone off – just how I like it.

  TRENCH: (Says resignedly:) Do you want me to pass your tea?

  OLD TOM: No, not yet – at the moment it’ll be far too warm.

  TRENCH: I see – no I don’t, but as you were saying, Tom about ‘interesting’..? (Then says quietly to himself: ) What in the name of ‘Scoop of the Year’ made me return to this luxury penthouse?

  OLD TOM: More of the ‘Old’ please.

  TRENCH: (Who sighs.) I’m sorry – Old Tom that is.

  OLD TOM: First, young Trench, I want to hear your conclusions about this lark so far.

  TRENCH: Lark? (TRENCH sniggers slightly.) I suppose it is. I don’t think there is any great mystery here. It is obvious to me that Stonebridge would like this Mayflower site to become ‘available’. Evidence suggests that he has already abused his position as Councillor to put pressure on certain people and eventually acquire the land and then make a huge profit.

  OLD TOM: Very good, my boy, carry on.

  TRENCH: You and all the other residents will be forced to move, whether you want to or not.

  OLD TOM: I like it here.

  TRENCH: And I think Stonebridge persuaded his friend – my editor to do an exposé: how terrible the flats are etcetera, to instigate the whole murky process.

  OLD TOM: So, Mr Stonebridge is public enemy number one then?

  TRENCH: I think so, Old Tom – don’t you?