CitPC Chapter IV, part 1.
Sorry it took so long to write. But here you go.
Rating: PG-13 to be safe.
Caught in the Python's Coils
Chapter IV: Paradox, part 1.
Saturday, February 12th. 2:00pm, Scotland Yard.
An extremely glum atmosphere filled the building that day. After the incident the night prior, Mike, only by the skin of his teeth, managed to find the two detectives, and he told them everything. Afterwards he couldn’t take it anymore and he fell to his knees again and wept openly in front of the two. DCI Ian attempted to console him, and kindly took Mike home, to which his wife was waiting for him with open arms. As soon as they could, DCI Ian and DS Ian returned immediately to the station, and informed the Deputy Commissioner, John Waldron. He was not happy at all. Once he got over the sudden shock, Waldron issued a complaint to the Detective Chief about his carelessness in letting the crucial witness slip right between his fingers. Thankfully, this was the DCI’s first crucial mistake he had made in his 25 yr career, and Waldron considered him to be a most honourable of men, so he kept him in charge of the case. It is 2pm, and both Ians were currently sat in the DCI’s private head office, along with DI Keith Simpson, a long time friend of DS Sutherland.
“Hell, how could I be so bloody stupid?!” complained DCI Steele, smashing his hand against his desk angrily, “I should have pursued that Mr Jones right there and then!”
“Don’t beat yourself like this, sir,” DS Sutherland replied softly.
“This has ruined my reputation completely!”
“No it hasn’t,” said DI Simpson, “Everyone makes mistakes sir.”
“WELL I DON’T!” spat Mr Steele, startling the Detective Inspector. He sighed heavily and placed his head in his hands in defeat. “Now, because of me, we’ve lost a key witness to this murder AND that chap who was with Mr Jones the night he died has now lost his best friend, and it’s absolutely devastated the poor lad.”
DI Simpson rolled his eyes in annoyance.
“You can’t change the past sir, there’s nothing you can do. You’ll just have to put that behind you for now.” DS Sutherland said. He smiled confidently and nudged Steele playfully in the arm.
“We’ll be ‘ere for you, sir!”
The DCI glanced up at his colleague, and smiled warmly.
“Now that you’ve cheered up," Simpson said, "let's go uncover that goddamn killer and deliver the goods!”
Sunday, February 13th. 12:30pm, Highgate Cemetery, London.
High on one of the serene hills of the Highgate Cemetery, many people had gathered round a black coffin to mourn the short life of the short Python; Apart from the priest, Reverend Duncan Potter, attending the service were his parents, closest friends, his Python colleagues and their wives/partners, Carol Cleveland, Neil Innes, Ian MacNaughton, David Frost, and others from the BBC. They all were concealed by the shade of the large Elms and Beaches with their pretty crimson leaves sailing gently against a steady North-easterly breeze, which made the Priest shudder slightly, since he was more susceptible to the cold than the others. They all stood in an oval shape surrounding a rectangular shaped hole. Next to it laid the deceased Mr Jones, inside a shining black coffin. Several reporters from the BBC and journalists from assorted newspapers had also gathered, but they stood a fair distance away to show their respects. Everyone stood in silence as the Priest began to speak:
“Father, in your hands we command our brother. We are confident that all who have died in Christ, he will be raised to life on the last day and live with Christ forever…”
Terry’s mum was clearly in a most sorrowful of states, with her husband holding her tightly to provide any means of comfort. Her woeful sobs caused a number of mourners to choke up inside, most notably Michael, who was biting his lip so hard to stop himself from breaking down, it was nearly bleeding. Now the moment that everyone wasn’t looking forward to, especially Terry’s mum: The lowering of the coffin. Everyone was told to grab a handful of earth and to scatter it over the coffin.
“We therefore commit his body to the ground…”
“M-m-m-my Baby B-b-bwoy!” wept Terry’s mum, sobbing and blowing her nose into her Kleenex tissue.
“He’s gone to a better place now.” Terry’s dad whispered to her, “He’ll be with his wife in heaven, so he won’t be alone.” He turned round and watched unhappily as his son was gradually lowered into the ground.
“Earth to earth,”
I regret everything I said to you, Terry. Thought John, But I promise you this: I’m so gonna strangle the son of a bitch who did this to you.
Goodbye, my boy. My pride and joy.
“Ashes to ashes,”
Cya mate. Thought Mike, eyes becoming watery, Have a good one up there.
Python will never be the same without ya.
“Dust to dust,”
A fine writer of comedy. A pleasure to work with. You will be sourly missed.
“In the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life. Amen.”
Sunday, February 13th. 1:12pm, Highgate Cemetery, London.
The Pythons and their respective partners began to descend down a long grassy bank towards a main road. Each Python looked completely miserable. Michael stopped and turned his back at the others. His wife muttered something to the others and they all proceeded to stop.
“Hey,” said Helen to Mike, “Why’ve you stopped?” Mike didn’t answer. “Hey!”
Mike brought an arm up to his face and friskily began to wipe the tears that had congregated there, before Helen would notice.
Stop crying you bloody baby.
“Aww, come on. It’s alright.”
Dammit, she noticed. Mike was about to turn back round, when he felt a couple of warm arms wrap themselves around his body.
“It’s alright dear.”
“No I’m fine, honestly,” Mike smiled, turning round to face his wife, quickly composing himself.
“You’re ok?” she asked him.
Mike nodded confidently, but then his face began to crease up and become splotchy.
No! Don’t start again! He gulped hard. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tightly to stop himself. I mustn’t break down. Don’t…
Helen had let go of Michael by now, but she could see streams upon streams of tears trickling down his face. He failed.
Crap. He quickly shook his head. His emotions had got the better of him.
“N-n-n-n-n-n… n-n-no…” he spluttered. He then proceeded to break down and cry profusely in front of everyone. Helen sighed sadly and brought him into a warm hug.
“Shhh, it’ll be alright love,” She whispered.
“T-t-t-t-terry’s g-g-g-g-gone,” he stammered between sobs.
“I know, I know,” She replied.
Gil and Eric reacted to this and made their way towards Michael to comfort him.
“So,” began John bitterly, “Where have you been all this time… Graham?”
Graham stopped walking and twisted his body round to face John. He stared at him with a gloomy face, lowered his head and remained silent.
“WELL? What happened, dammit?!”
“I’m sorry,” he spoke quietly, “Personal matters prevented me from going to the meeting on MFriday.”
Everyone apart from Graham could hear Michael’s sobs from behind. They all exchanged saddened looks. Graham thought they were going mad or something.
“WHAT?! Terry’s bloody dead, how d’ya expect us to feel?!” John snapped, “Just look at Michael! He’s in bloody tatters for God’s sake!”
“Yeah, sorry,” He replied awkwardly.
John rolled his eyes.
“What’s gonna happen with ‘Python’?”
“This is not the time to be discussing Python right now, you selfish bastard!” John growled.
“Sheeesh, you don’t get half stressed out, don’t you?”
“You son of a-- Don’t you care about what’s happened?!”
John’s eyes widened. Graham gasped.
“Err… I-I mean yes! Of course I care!”
John looked around worriedly and quickly approached Graham with a dangerous glare, then proceeded to take him into a dark glade out of everyone’s view. He roughly grabbed held of Gray’s shoulders and pulled his face right up against Gray’s. Graham winced faintly under John’s intimidating black eyes.
“Tell me what’s going on Graham,” He said, his voice serious, but almost trembling with fear, “Where were you on Monday?”
“Personal matters… that I cannot reveal to you John.” Graham spoke, as cool as a cucumber.
John shook his head in disagreement. “Liar. You know something.”
“No, I do not.”
“Stop lying to me Gray!” John spat.
“I’m not lying, you deranged sod!” Graham hissed.
“What could possibly be so important to cause you to miss that Python meeting?”
Graham glanced his eyes around the secluded area, almost ignoring him, “It’s private.” He said softly.
“Not private. You just don’t want to tell me. You’re hiding something. You know about the murder all too well don’t you?”
Graham’s eyes enlarged dramatically and this time he began to shudder with nerves.
John scoffed and shook his head. “I knew it. I have you all figured out, don’t I?”
Graham averted his eyes from John to the floor quickly, and began fiddling with his hands, a certain sign that he had been found guilty of something… but what?
“So, tell me…” John spoke seriously,
“Tell you what?” Gray mumbled, still staring at the floor,
“You know what,” John uttered. “Who… killed… Terry and his wife?!” he said to him, desperation in his voice.
There was a long drawn out pause, with John beginning to tremble slightly under the anticipation of what Graham would reply to him. They remained silent for a while, until Graham glanced up and glared deeply into John’s eyes, and spoke those fateful words: