Mrs Irritant - the old lady from the village who likes to help solve murders (1)

Inspector O'Reilly was hustled from his car to the footpath, where the body lay, which was already sealed off with police tape.

As they walked PC Wethers updated him on the case. "The deceased man, Mr Pankhurst, was seen jogging down the footpath, he suddenly stopped, clutching his chest, then collapsed onto the ground. The local who saw him phoned 999 then ran to the church for the defibrillator, but by the time he returned it was too late."

"So it looks like a heart attack. Is there any reason to suspec foul play, was there anyone who wanted to kill him?"

"Nothing obvious. The villagers I've spoken to all speak well of him, he seems to have been popular."

The two policemen were interrupted by the arrival of a grey-haired old lady, who positioned herself between them and their route to the body.

"Oh Inspector," the old lady said, "I'm glad you're here. I think I've solved the murder."

"Who is this?" Inspector O'Reilly asked Wethers.

"This is Mrs Irritant. She lives in the village. I've spoken to her several times today already."

"This isn't a murder investigation, Mrs Irritant," the Inspector said. "It's just a routine heart failure, there's no reason to be alarmed."

"But Inspector, Mr Pankhurst never owned a cat."

The Inspector was rather thrown by this statement. "He never owned a cat?"

"Exactly. So it must have been murder. He always preferred dogs, he told me so himself, many years ago now, when I had Bertie. You know, my Pekingese."

"I see."

"So it must be murder."

"I think if you leave the detecting to the detectives Mrs Irritant."

"I've got a photo of Bertie somewhere, perhaps you'd like to see it."

"Wethers, if you could please direct Mrs Irritant away from the crime scene. Death can be quite stressful for the elderly."

The policeman led Mrs Irritant back to the village, while O'Reilly approached the pathologist, who was leaning over the body.

"Ah, doctor, what have you got for me?"

"Well I won't know for sure 'til I can get him on my slab, but it looks like a heart attack brought on by exertion - the jogger's curse we call it. The deceased was middle-aged, overweight and the weather was hot and humid. There are no signs of outward abrasions, contusions or bruising, or any other possible causes of death."

"Well that's good, the last thing I need is a murder investigation. What are those scratches on his arm?"

"Just cat scratches I think. I've got similar marks myself." The doctor lifted his sleave to reveal an identical set of scratch-marks.

"But doctor," the Inspector found himself saying, "Mr Pankhurst never owned a cat. He was a dog man."