A Fishy Tale

The smell invaded and occupied his nose as soon as he set foot in
the garden. The malodorous aroma set up camp in his olfactory gland and
refused to budge for anything. It was the perfume of a rusty fishing
trawler and a deck full of rotting salmon. The overgrown garden, full
of wildflowers and colourful bushes, should have smelt delicious, but
it was completely overpowered by the other smell, the fishy smell that
made him want to cover his mouth and nose with a handkerchief even
though he knew it wouldn't help one bit. He had to try and ignore the
overpowering stench however since it required a great deal of
concentration to pick his way through the dense grass and plant growth
without falling over and making a fool of himself. A part of his mind
was also fearfully afraid of tics, even though he was wearing long
trousers, and an even more irrational fragment of his brain was aghast
at the thought of snakes. It was after all, only a typical suburban
garden, albeit one that had become monstrously overgrown through
neglect. It appeared now that this was no longer a house with a garden,
it was a garden with a house.

A neighbour had phoned the police and asked them to send someone to
the property, as the occupant had not been seen for some time and the
smell suggested something not quite right had happened. So, PC Lance
Felwood was here, on his very first day in the job, stumbling through a
tangle weed assault course of a garden towards a house that smelt as if
it contained the rotting carcass of Moby Dick. He really did not
appreciate being so rudely thrust into what was not so much the deep
end of things, but the shallow and smelly. What he resented further was
his 'partner' on this case, PC Dunn, providing 'support' from the seat
of the squad car. He was supposed to be talking to the neighbours, but
as Lance struggled toward the front door of the house he could not help
but notice that his erstwhile comrade had yet to leave the vehicle.
Instead he was munching rather messily on what had to be his fifth
donut of the day. Dunn had recently spent some time with the police in
New York as part of some kind of exchange programme and this annoying
and semi-ironic eating habit seemed to be the only thing he had learnt
over there. Another thing Lance could not understand about Dunn was how
he was still only a Constable when he was clearly in deepest middle
age. Had he not heard of promotion? It was a mystery, but not one Lance
could question because although they were officially the same rank,
Dunn was his senior by a long way and thus also played the part of
superior, a position that Lance did not feel capable of challenging for
the moment.

He reached the front door, which was painted an innocuous dark green,
and knocked heavily. There was no answer. He pressed the doorbell but
had no idea if it had actually made sound, or if there was anyone to
hear it in the house. He turned and shouted to Dunn 'There's no
answer'

Dunn wound the window down further. 'What?'

'I've knocked, there's no answer'

'Try round the back' Dunn shouted in reply, without even a smidgeon of
give-a-damn.

'Aren't you, I mean shouldn't you be talking to the neighbours?'

'Will do' Dunn replied, before winding the window up again and
fixating once more on his donuts.

'Great, I'll just do it all myself then' Lance muttered under his
breath before resuming his jungle trek round the side of the
house.

The garden round the back of the house was even worse, and Lance
half-expected to be carried away by a tribe of pygmies. The white paint
of the back door was peeling and grimy, but more importantly this door
was also locked. The blinds were down on both the door and the windows
and Lance could not see into the house at all. He did however notice a
grimy looking welcome mat and two small and slightly broken plant pots
near the door. The poor penitents of these pot prisons had been stuck
in the shade with no water or light and were thus in a state of extreme
deadness. Lance felt sorry for them, dying of thirst and darkness when
they so close to such a thriving primeval wilderness. He could not
waste too much time on compassion for plant life however, he had human
life to worry about. He checked under the doormat but found only a
large family of woodlice. Lance had heard somewhere that woodlouse
parents stayed with their young for the rest of their lives, and he had
always felt very compassionate towards them. So he replaced the doormat
carefully and left the little creatures to their own business. Under
the first plant pot he found nothing, but under the second he hit the
jackpot. 'A-ha!' he exclaimed quietly to himself, he had found a small
door key.

Even more fortunately (though quite predictably considering its
proximity) the key fitted easily into the lock and the back door of the
house swung right open once Lance had given it a slight shove with his
shoulder. The door led through to the kitchen. The smell inside the
house became so overpowering that Lance gave in and covered his nose
and mouth with a handkerchief, even though it really didn't help one
bit. He looked around. The kitchen was very dark and very dirty. It had
the usual appliances, washing machine, fridge, oven, toaster, though
they were all covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. Lance wasn't
exactly a house-proud new man, but he did like things to be fairly
clean, especially in kitchens and bathrooms. This place disgusted him,
there were mouldering crumbs and festering stains across the entire
floor and all the surfaces, the plague had started from less. In the
sink a primordial soup of stagnant water did its best to hide what
appeared to be a burgeoning collection of rotten mussels. Lance didn't
have to be the world's greatest detective to deduce from the decaying
debris that the owner of the house had either left and not come back or
else he was lying dead somewhere within. Nothing living could exist
within those four walls, except perhaps for flies and cockroaches. An
image of a rotting corpse blown with maggots and buzzing with flies
made Lance gag slightly, and he went back outside to try and get some
air. Not really wanting to deal with such horror alone, especially on
his first day, he decided to go back to the car and seek help from his
self-appointed mentor. Dunn wasn't in the car though, and looking
around Lance could not see him nearby. He must have gone inside one of
the neighbours' houses. That left Lance in a quandary, he had been told
by Dunn to look inside the house for the man who lived there. He really
didn't want to go poking around in that pit of pestilence anymore than
he had already but if he went back to Dunn empty-handed, especially
when Dunn was doing his part of the job by interviewing the witnesses,
he would appear something of a coward. His senior officer would not be
pleased, and no doubt the story would be repeated to everyone at the
station. Lance had no choice then, as far as he saw it, but to go back
inside the house and search it fully for the body he presumed was lying
in wait in there. Doubting (not for the first time) that he had chosen
the right career, he headed back into house and proceeded through into
the living room.

The hall was even darker than the kitchen, but eventually Lance
managed to find his way through to the living room. When he opened the
door he wished he hadn't. It was full of flies and the smell of rotting
fish, and again it made Lance gag, though this time more violently. He
closed the door quickly. Though he had seen flies, he had seen no body.
The smell seemed to be emanating from the large number of bowls,
plates, tins and glasses in the room, all of which seemed to bear some
quantity of sardines, tuna and other small fish and seafood produce.
The flies were enjoying it, but clearly no human had touched any of it
in some time. Feeling very sick by this point, Lance tried to regain
his composure, and after briefly checking the largely empty dining
room, made his way up the stairs to the upper floor of the house. He
wanted to get things over with, and decided to go straight to the
bedroom. Without giving himself time to think it over, he strode over
to one of two doors that appeared not to be a bathroom and flung it
open. It was not a bedroom, and neither did it smell as bad as the rest
of the house, but it was curious nonetheless. It contained a small
collection of fishing paraphernalia, including several lines and pairs
of waders. There were also cut and ripped up tarpaulins and wetsuits
lain out on the floor, along with several books on fish and fishing.
Who lives in a house like this? A very dedicated angler Lance thought,
one who seemed to be hunting his piscine quarry with all the techniques
of a police psychological profiler. Dedicated was simply not the word.
Lance felt no need to investigate the room further as he was certain he
would find the grisly remains of the occupant in the next room. He was
surprised then when after steeling himself and preparing for the worst,
he entered the bedroom to find it rather bare and certainly containing
no corpses, no human corpses anyway. The room was occupied by a large
water-bed and a huge tropical aquarium that seemed to be the focal
point of the chamber. The several fish that had once inhabited this
piscine paradise had been dead for some time, and had gone off to join
the pot plants in whatever the afterlife had in store for non-human
living things that had died tragically. Lance sighed with something
like disappointment before leaving the room and heading for the
half-glass panelled door that he had assumed was the bathroom. Suddenly
a new thought entered his head, what if the owner of the house had slit
his wrists in the bathtub? That would certainly be a terrible thing to
have to see, but Lance had no choice did he? He was a police officer
now and this was his job.

He gripped the doorknob, drew a very deep breath, and then flung the
door open like he was conducting a dawn raid. Again his worst fears
weren't manifested. The bath was full of water, but did not contain any
bloated corpses. There were clothes and towels strewn about the small
chamber, it looked more lived in than the bedroom, but there was
nothing of great interest. Now confident that the house was empty of
bodies, and feeling a strange of mixture of relief and disappointment,
Lance turned to leave. Just as he was doing so however something caught
his eye. It was a large, A2 sized photograph positioned opposite the
bath. It was of a small cottage next to a river. Perhaps this was where
the owner of the house did his fishing? Perhaps this was where he was
hiding? The photograph was in a sufficient resolution for him to be
able to make out the registration plate on the car parked by the
cottage. It was J161 KBA. If only I could find out where that cottage
is, he though to himself. He scanned the photograph carefully for more
clues. Wherever it was it was somewhere along the river, at a point
where its banks were becoming quite heavily forested. That still left a
lot of countryside to go scouting round, assuming that the cottage was
even in the same county. Suddenly he got an idea, he took the
photograph off the wall and carefully removed it from the frame.
'A-ha!' he exclaimed to himself again, a little louder this time. He
was right, the picture had been taken by a professional photographer
and there was a telephone number on the back. Crucially, there was also
a serial number on the photograph for ordering quick reprints. He wrote
both numbers down on his notepad and then quickly and excitedly
proceeded downstairs and out of the house again. All they had to do was
to find out the name of the man living in the house, or even just the
postcode of the property (neither of which would be a very difficult
task) and they could hopefully then learn from the photographer where
the cottage was located. It was brilliant detective work, and he
couldn't wait to tell Dunn about it. He was sure the older man would be
impressed despite his studied cynicism.

As Lance was making his way back through the jungle of horrors towards
the front gate Dunn appeared from the house next door.

'Anyone inside?'

'No' Lance replied, grinning, 'I've checked all over, but I think I've
found something that might help us find him.'

'Who? Mr.Gould? Well tell me in the car, we'd best get going.'

'Where?' Lance asked, slightly puzzled, Dunn had not even heard his
plan.

'Neighbour says he had a cottage out in the country, the car's gone so
I'm thinking he's gone there. Best go and check it out.'

'Ah, but how will we find it?' Lance posed triumphantly.

'Neighbour was given the address years ago in case of emergency. Come
on, let's get going.' Dunn opened the car door. 'What was it you wanted
to tell me?'

'Nothing' Lance replied, utterly crestfallen.

'Good, now get in' Dunn slid into the driver's seat and Lance climbed
sulkily in beside him.

'So what was it like inside?' Dunn asked as soon as he had finished
reporting their findings into the police radio.

'Fishy.' Lance replied, staring out of the window moodily.

'Eh? How do you mean?'

'Fishy, as in, full of fish.'

'Alright, there's no need to be bloody sarcastic.'

'Wasn't sarcasm' Lance muttered quietly.

'What?'

'Didn't say anything'

'You're a right one you aren't you.'

'What does that sentence even mean?' Lance replied, though only in his
head.

They continued the journey in stony silence for the next fifteen
minutes, before Dunn sighed heavily and, for reasons that Lance could
not fathom at all, tried to make conversation.

'So what was it you were doing before you joined up? College was
it?'

'University' Lance replied, still sulking.

'Same thing isn't it?'

'Not really'

Two minutes of silence.

'What was it you were doing at this college then?'

'Art' Lance replied, rather weakly.

'Art? So why aren't you off being an artist then?'

Lance flushed with annoyance and stuttered 'I-y-I-just because you do
art at university doesn't mean you become an artist, it's just a
degree.'

'Degree eh? I suppose you're one of those fast-trackers then aren't
you? Be in CID bossing me around in no time no doubt' Dunn's voice was
thick with resentment.

Lance had not even thought about the fast-track scheme, he had always
assumed he just wouldn't be good enough.

'So why join the police?'

The question hung in the air like the bad smell they had just left
behind at Mr.Gould's. Lance's mother had asked the same question
repeatedly in the past few weeks. In fact, practically everyone he had
met recently had asked him it.

'Hold on' Dunn said, pulling over and parking by a newsagent.

'What are you doing?' Lance asked, puzzled.

'Got to get some stuff for the wife, won't be long.' Dunn replied
nonchalantly whilst undoing his seatbelt and exiting from the
car.

'We're on double-yellow' Lance protested.

'Who are they going to call, the police?' Dunn laughed.

Lance sat in the car rather uncomfortably, noting with embarrassment
the looks of distaste that people gave him as they walked past. It was
a distaste mixed also with a kind of fear however, and this was a
strange new feeling for Lance, nobody had ever been afraid of him
before. He didn't know what to think of it.

Ten minutes later Dunn returned with a small shopping bag of purchased
items. He handed the bag to Lance and told him to hold on to it whilst
he made himself comfortable in the driver's seat. Lance could see a
packet of tea, some chocolate digestives and a copy of Woman's Own in
the bag.

'Do you have a wife Felwood?' asked Dunn rather absent-mindedly whilst
pulling out into the road without even the pretence of checking his
mirrors.

'No'

'Probably for the best.'

'What does that mean?' Lance replied somewhat angrily, unsure of what
his partner had meant by the comment.

'More trouble than their worth' Dunn continued as if preparing to go
through a well-rehearsed monologue. 'Still, a man will always need a
woman, and a woman will always need a man,' he noted philosophically
'unless they're gay of course. You're not gay are you Felwood?'

'No!' Lance retorted, unsure at what to be offended.

'Only joking lad, only joking with you. You don't look the type anyway
despite everything.' Dunn paused again for a minute whilst turning off
a roundabout. They were heading into the countryside now. 'No, you can
always tell.'

It was four o'clock by the time they reached the cottage. Lance
recognised the number-plate of the car parked outside it. 'That's his
car' he noted.

'How do you know that?' Dunn brought the car to a stop.

'I know more than you think' Lance replied, before getting out of the
vehicle and closing the door heavily behind him. He breathed in the
thick forest air. It smelt of wet pine, he found it very invigorating.
He was a country-boy at heart. The cottage itself was in a state of
some disrepair. The roof had several slates missing and the area around
it was overgrown and unkempt. It seemed wherever Mr.Gould went he had
no time or care for appearances.

Lance knocked on the front door and waited for a few minutes. There was
no reply.

'Is it locked up?' Dunn asked.

Lance tried the handle, it was unlocked. This Mr.Gould must be a very
absent-minded person, he thought.

The interior of the cottage was much better-kept than its owner's real
home, though it was still in need of a good clean. The main room they
had entered was sparsely decorated, a sofa, a coffee table, and a small
side-cabinet up against the eastern wall was all there was to see. It
was almost open-plan, with the far end of the room trailing off into a
small kitchen.

'So what do we know about this man then?' Lance asked as he and Dunn
explored the ground floor.

'Usual wacko stuff really.' Dunn replied. Lance raised his left
eye-brow quizzically. 'Lived alone, kept himself to himself, no trouble
to anyone.' Dunn continued.

'I see'

'Worked in the tax office apparently, though I don't think he was very
high up the ladder.'

'How old?'

'Mid-fifties I think.'

'Your age then?' Lance replied, but again only in his head. He smiled
anyway.
They entered the kitchen. Oven, check, fridge, check, cupboards, check.
There was nothing unusual here, considering all he had seen in the
other house, this surprised Lance somewhat. They returned to the living
room and began to climb the stairs. The curtains were drawn on the
upper floor and it got darker and mustier as they ascended.

'So, what do you reckon? Is this one a suicide or a serial
killer?'

'What?'

'Well it's always one or the other with these types.' Dunn sighed
without real care.

'What types?'

'Y'know, quiet, kept themselves to themselves, no-one really knew them.
These types, I've seen 'em a hundred times before. They either end up
killing themselves or other people. Let's hope this one did himself in
for all our sakes.'

They reached the landing, it was very dark now. Lance pulled open a
curtain and felt a thick layer of dust rub onto his fingers.

'Just because people might be a bit strange doesn't mean they're all
psychos.'

'No, but in most cases?'

There was no arguing with the man, Lance gave in. There were three
doors. Lance took one and Dunn took another. Lance found himself in the
bedroom. The bed was unmade, the curtains were drawn and the room had a
funny smell that Lance couldn't quite place, but there was no body. He
turned to Dunn. 'What's in there?'

'Must be a spare room, lots of boxes, fishing rods, a few photographs
lying about.' Dunn bent over and picked one up. 'This one's black and
white, of a young girl.' He looked on the back. 'Doesn't say anything
about it.'

They both turned to the final door. 'Must be the bathroom' Lance
commented, feeling a sudden chill and shivering slightly.

'Odds are the silly sod's in here.' Dunn sighed again, and Lance
thought he may have detected some kind of emotion in the grumbling old
stereotype.

The bathroom was very small and cramped. A length of thick climbing
rope lay on the damp floor, two more sturdy fishing rods leant
awkwardly against the wall by the sink, and a few rolls of water-proof
canvas lay heaped by the side of the bath. There was no body in the
bath, but there was something very strange. It seemed to be some kind
of body-suit made out of a thick green tarpaulin.

'Is that some kind of wetsuit or something?' Dunn asked, furrowing his
brow.

'I don't really know' Lance replied, equally puzzled. He knelt down by
the bath-side and inspected the thing a little more closely. It did
resemble some kind of wet-suit, albeit a very thick and very
strange-shaped one. There were no legs to it, just one big trunk that
tapered off at the end. The top end of it was attached by a zip to what
must have been the 'head.' The end was curiously pointed, and though
there were eye-holes with a clear material stretched over them, there
didn't seem to be any kind of decent-sized opening for breathing
apparatus, just a small slit near the zipper. Lance carefully lifted
the suit and turned it over to get a better look at the side.

'Are those fins?' Dunn asked incredulously.

'That's what they look like.'

'Some kind of Halloween costume?'

'I'm not sure'

Puzzled and confused, but still having no clue as to Mr.Gould's
whereabouts, Lance and Dunn left the cottage and emerged back into the
fading sunlight.

'I think we should go and check by the river.' Lance suggested. Dunn
sighed and mumbled something about the weirdo drowning himself. The
strange suit had aroused Lance's curiosity however, and he wanted to
find out what had happened to its equally strange owner.

It was a short walk to the river's edge, but it was muddy and Lance
could not avoid getting his shoes and the bottom of his trousers dirty.
All part of the job, he thought, with an uncharacteristic lack of care.
When they got to the river they found what appeared to be the remnants
of a rather queer fishing expedition. There was a deck-chair and a
small hamper next to it, but the fishing rods themselves were suspended
from tree branches that leaned over the river. Even more strangely, in
between them, dangling from a particularly sturdy branch, was a very
thick length of rope. All three lines dangled some distance into the
calm but deceptively deep water. The whole apparatus reminded Lance of
the control mechanism of a marionette. He inspected the hamper and
found it to be full of small fish.

'This is our man's place alright'

'That river's not fast enough to carry a body away,' announced Dunn
with a weary confidence.

'How can you tell?'

'It's deep but it's not fast-flowing. If he'd drowned in there he would
have gone straight to the bottom, and we'd be able to see him. Wherever
the bugger is he's not here.'

'Are you saying he's alive somewhere?'

'I don't think so.' Dunn replied, sighing again, this time very
heavily. 'Look' he said, pointing to the other side of the river. 'We
need to find a place to cross.' On the opposite river bank there was a
wide trail of disturbed grass and mud, as if something heavy had
dragged itself up onto the bank and through the undergrowth. 'Come on,
we need to find a crossing.'

Lance followed Dunn's lead as they hurriedly trailed the course of the
river upstream, hoping to find a place where it might be possible for
them to cross without having to swim. He had not seen Dunn so animated
all day, and as he followed on behind it again became painfully clear
to him who was in charge here.

They eventually found a place where the river was narrower and there
were a fair number of rocks that could serve as stepping stones. Dunn
bounded over them with surprising agility. Lance however was not so
sure of himself. 'Come on' Dunn called to him. He felt his ankles
tremble with uncertainty as he stepped gingerly across the wet stones.
He very nearly slipped on the last stone but Dunn was there to grab his
arm and pull him up and onto the bank. He mumbled his thanks,
embarrassed, but Dunn was already on his way back down the river. 'Come
on' he said again.

A few minutes later and they were back near the cottage, albeit on the
opposite side of the river. 'I think he must have dragged himself out
of the water and crawled away somewhere' Dunn mused, kneeling down next
to the muddy wake. It reminded Lance of the trail left by a slug.

'We should follow it, see where it goes.' Lance suggested

'Funnily enough Sherlock, that's just what I had in mind.'

They followed the trail of flattened and muddy grass out of the thick
vegetation by the riverside and into a small wood. They had not been
going long when Dunn pointed to something lying near a large clump of
briars and whispered 'Over there'. Lance's heart sank, here was the end
of their investigation.

They had found what appeared to be another of the strange wet-suits,
though this one was coloured grey and occupied by someone. A familiar
smell of rotting fish invaded Lance's lungs.

Dunn knelt down next to the body and searched carefully for the zip.
Lance wavered slightly on his feet, feeling more than a little
nauseous.

'How do you think he breathed in this thing?' Dunn asked, rather
rhetorically for he had quite given up on Lance providing any further
useful input into the proceedings. 'I didn't see any of that scuba
stuff anywhere, he's dragged himself a fair way too, wonder why?' He
found the zip, took a quick peek inside the fish costume and closed it
again. He stood up and respectfully and removed his hat. Lance did the
same.

'I think it's our man, Cod rest his soul.' Dunn laughed gruffly. Lance
didn't find it funny. Disgusted, he sat down on a nearby tree
stump.

'Oh come on Felwood, don't take it so seriously.' Dunn paused, as if
preparing something fantastic to say. 'You know this man right, he
lived and died like a' He paused again for the big finale 'Fish in
water!'

'Out of water'

'What?'

'Like a fish OUT of water, not IN.' Lance corrected.

'Bloody pedant.'

Lance was sweating, he felt hot and flustered, like he couldn't breathe
properly. He put his head between his hands and assumed crash
positions.

'You'll have to get used to this kind of thing you know.' Dunn
commented unsympathetically. 'If you want to fit in?if you don't want
to be?.out of plaice!' He laughed again, commending himself on his
continued witticisms, unaware that phonetically that last joke was
unintelligible anyway. He wandered back over to the body in search of
more inspiration.

The way Dunn took the loss of a life so casually amazed Lance, even if
it was a death so comically inclined. He thought about Mr.Gould a
little more, how life must have been like for him. He imagined the
strange, shy old man, working his whole life in a job he despised,
going nowhere and with no-one around him and no-one to care for him.
Isolated, alone, and with human life having so little to offer him, he
longs to be someone else, to be something else. The air that gives life
to everyone else's lungs suffocates him. He longs to escape this
troubled human existence, and to be something simpler, something purer.
Never happy as a man, the only pleasure he found in life was
in?well?being a fish. Lance sighed, he wasn't sure whether the whole
episode was comedy or tragedy, whether he should laugh or cry. The
matter only grew stranger however, for when the coroner examined the
body later it was found that, though Mr.Gould's respiratory system had
been functioning perfectly and he should have been able to breathe in
the deep forest air without any trouble whatsoever, he had nevertheless
died from asphyxiation.