This novel is something a little different for me. It is a satire set in the UK at the present moment. There are striking parallels between these days and the 1930s. There’s a lot of racist people around who are crawling out of the woodwork as they have been encouraged by the implications of the Brexit vote.
“You mean to say he’s shagged her so hard he’s killed her, and he’s passed out with the effort of it all.”
“Well, not exactly, because he has never been inside her, though someone has regularly.”
“You’ve had a good look around then?” said Tompkins winking at Ingram.
“All in a day’s work, Mr. Tompkins, talking of which can I see who’s in your house?”
“Come in, although it’s not my house, it’s the house of a friend, who is away at the moment.”
Ingram smiled and stepped through the opened door into the Dining Room, which was now thick with pipe and cigar smoke.
Tompkins introduced his pals to the Inspector through the haze. “There’s Terry, and Toppy, and Sandy, and through the fog I can just about make out Dapper Dan.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tompkins, there’s more mist in here than there is outside – well gentleman, can you please provide your home addresses, in case we need to get in contact with you regarding the strange scene outside.”
“What strange scene would that be?” said Sandy, sliding his card across the table towards the Inspector. Three other cards soon followed it.
“Seems like outside on the path, there’s an unconscious man lying on top of a dead woman, who has her legs wide apart, but no sex has taken place, because the Inspector had a good poke around and found out the facts,” said Tompkins nodding his head at Ingram.
“Is it some kind of artwork, a conceptual artist perhaps, who’s trying to make a name for themselves?” asked Toppy.
“Is she a real woman or one of those mannequins who’s been bent into a certain position?” asked Dapper Dan.
“Would you like a second opinion, Inspector, I am a GP so perhaps I could help?” said Terry.