Sentence The Fortyfirst
Oh, fickle are the ways and fortunes of men, indeed, reflected Sergeant Brevity later, as he, Goldy and Isa sat in his office, drinking camomile tea and nibbling shortbread; before Gordon was the pile of statements taken from the DB or BNJ bar (Brevity found himself adopting Trixie Davidova's abbreviations) and he asked the others what they had noticed and it was the irrepressible WPC who said that it hadn't been Trixie's scream the barman heard, because she was adamant that she hadn't screamed, so it must have been the prostitute; “have we got any information about the shoe,” Brevity
then asked; and Goldy said that it was from Schuh, black boot-shape and strappy, like a frame, with a 5” stiletto heel; to which Isa – a regular wearer of designer shoes and au fait with all recent trends – said that there was no way the young girl had been wearing it, she pointed out that in the CCTV shots of her going through the rear doors her shoes were visible, and they were actually Cherry Deer
and her own pair cost her Bambi' shoes from Irregular Choice, £75 in a charity shop, but new they were £125; and although it was possible she had another pair in her bag, which, briefly visible, was quite capacious, however, reflected the philosophical Constable, the one embedded in Angus Og's head was pretty large and the bag might not have managed to contain a pair; Gordon nodded although, he commented “if the shoe is a weapon, she might only carry one for that purpose, we have to keep an open mind,” and the rather risqué WPC retorted: like Angus Og, and got a frosty look from Goldy; Brevity then told them that DI Bruse had instructed him and Goldy to interview Martin Elginbrod that afternoon and find out what they could about the girl, and that after a few calls, Brevity knew that the Advocate was due in his Chambers by 3 o'clock, so he and Goldy would visit him there; “do you know the story about Elginbrod's family?” he asked, and both Goldy and Isa shook their heads and Goldy asked if they came from Elgin – a natural assumption – but “no,” replied Gordon, “they seem first to be from Huntly – at least so far as records exist, before that, who knows – they are descended from the famous Martin Elginbrod (famous, that is, for his epitaph, which he is believed to have written himself) and I bet you know the apophthegm, surely:
'Here lies Martin Elginbrod,
Hae pity on my Soul Lord God,
As I would yours, if I were God,
And you were Martin Elginbrod' -
the family – lawyers from the year dot, got involved with printers during the reigns of James IV of Scotland and Henry VIII of England – they invested in Printworks, usually as unnamed sleeping partners, which gave them freedom and flexibility, and they represented printers charged with sedition, blasphemy, heresy, stealing other printers' work, publishing novels, plays, theologies, poetry, histories, ballad-sheets and a series of 'Last Words' uttered by the condemned immediately prior to their executions (by many and varied means) and sold for anything upwards of a Farthing to the spectators gathered to watch the execution, which made a handy souvenir to take home afterwards, and even for not paying the writers – and they also acted for writers, courts, guilds, churches, magistrates, bailiffs, executors, maligned injured parties, and the State – both Secular and Temporal – suing those same printers, taking briefs (and money) from both sides in civil actions, theological pursuits, and criminal cases – oh they were real shysters and made a great deal of wealth out if it, and The Act of Anne in 1710 and then the Copyright Act of 1842 helped them to consolidate, and the Martin Elginbrods (or should that be Martins Elginbrod – I'm never quite sure) of those times – I should say, there has always been a son, or a nephew, named Martin Elginbrod, so the line of inheritance is passed directly from one Martin to the next – were smart cookies, and one of the things they did was establish copyright of the Epitaph, in the name of 'Martin Elginbrod and his successors also named Martin Elginbrod without break in perpetuity' so as long as there is always another Martin living whenever one dies, so the copyright is retained by the family, a kind of laissez-aller, giving them freedom to print their own money – unlike everyone else, whose copyright only lasts for a period of years after the author's death – they got away with that for the epitaph and proceeded to acquire other, longer, more commercial writings which they also copyrighted in the family name, it sounds crooked – it certainly is – but somehow it's perfectly legal – so they've been milking the cow for generations; I really don't know why he bothers to practice at the bar, it can't be for the money, but the family, and they are all in the business, have wide interests in just about every aspect of life here in Scotland, and also internationally; so why was he in that pub, with a young streetwalker, who is now a suspect in the attempted murder of Angus Og – and who is the girl, I ask myself,” and the entranced Isa, slightly agog at the amount the Sergeant knew about everybody in Edinburgh, and wondering how much he also knew about her – and the private life she had out of uniform, then said that she had analysed shots and sequences showing the girl from different angles and noticed something she thought strange: in every image, every frame, the girl was holding an e-cigarette close to her right ear, she never took a puff, but the tip was glowing red all the time, and that bothered the redoubtable Isa, who had taken recourse to that form of nicotine replacement therapy in her effort to quit smoking and she had only ever seen that type of e-cigarette where the tip glows, usually red or blue, when you inhale, but in this case it was all the time, so she wondered if it was actually something else, and she had spoken to a friend of hers at the BBC and discovered that there is a small directional microphone, which could fit into an e-cigarette body, and which always glows red when it is switched on so that the presenters, or actors, know it is recording – her friend was sending one over to them; “so who was she recording,” wondered Gordon, “her Advocate,” but Isa shook her head, and said that she had checked all the lines and angles of intersection using some software from another friend, and it seems as if it was always pointing at one or other of her cousins, sitting in the booth quite nearby, they were who the girl was listening to, “but why, I wonder again, said Brevity, and Isa offered that, she had a strong feeling that the bodacious girl wasn't really a streetwalker with a grudge against Angus Og, but involved in something with much higher stakes than had initially appeared to them, “top marks to you, Isa, I think you're even righter than you know,” said Brevity, nodding to her, “oh, and by the by Isa – I know spell-check is a very handy thing, but, see when you write long, complicated sentences, with lots of conjunctions and parentheses and things, just mind that the closing bracket's the right way round and you dinny pit a staup whaur a comma's meant tae be – our
Inspector Bruse is a stickler for that, and anagrams, of course – but don't take offence, hen,” he grinned – like a Cheshire Cat – and nodded, again, “I can never work out the difference between a comma and a semi-colon, as the Guv'nor still casts up to me,” or the difference between scrambled eggs and an omelette, quipped Goldy, gathering up the tea things and indicating by a nod towards the clock that it was time for the two Sergeants to head off to Martin Elginbrod's chambers.
Oh, fickle are the ways and fortunes of men, indeed, reflected Sergeant Brevity later, as he, Goldy and Isa sat in his office, drinking camomile tea and nibbling shortbread; before Gordon was the pile of statements taken from the DB or BNJ bar (Brevity found himself adopting Trixie Davidova's abbreviations) and he asked the others what they had noticed and it was the irrepressible WPC who said that it hadn't been Trixie's scream the barman heard, because she was adamant that she hadn't screamed, so it must have been the prostitute; “have we got any information about the shoe,” Brevity
then asked; and Goldy said that it was from Schuh, black boot-shape and strappy, like a frame, with a 5” stiletto heel; to which Isa – a regular wearer of designer shoes and au fait with all recent trends – said that there was no way the young girl had been wearing it, she pointed out that in the CCTV shots of her going through the rear doors her shoes were visible, and they were actually Cherry Deer
and her own pair cost her Bambi' shoes from Irregular Choice, £75 in a charity shop, but new they were £125; and although it was possible she had another pair in her bag, which, briefly visible, was quite capacious, however, reflected the philosophical Constable, the one embedded in Angus Og's head was pretty large and the bag might not have managed to contain a pair; Gordon nodded although, he commented “if the shoe is a weapon, she might only carry one for that purpose, we have to keep an open mind,” and the rather risqué WPC retorted: like Angus Og, and got a frosty look from Goldy; Brevity then told them that DI Bruse had instructed him and Goldy to interview Martin Elginbrod that afternoon and find out what they could about the girl, and that after a few calls, Brevity knew that the Advocate was due in his Chambers by 3 o'clock, so he and Goldy would visit him there; “do you know the story about Elginbrod's family?” he asked, and both Goldy and Isa shook their heads and Goldy asked if they came from Elgin – a natural assumption – but “no,” replied Gordon, “they seem first to be from Huntly – at least so far as records exist, before that, who knows – they are descended from the famous Martin Elginbrod (famous, that is, for his epitaph, which he is believed to have written himself) and I bet you know the apophthegm, surely: 'Here lies Martin Elginbrod,
Hae pity on my Soul Lord God,
As I would yours, if I were God,
And you were Martin Elginbrod' -
the family – lawyers from the year dot, got involved with printers during the reigns of James IV of Scotland and Henry VIII of England – they invested in Printworks, usually as unnamed sleeping partners, which gave them freedom and flexibility, and they represented printers charged with sedition, blasphemy, heresy, stealing other printers' work, publishing novels, plays, theologies, poetry, histories, ballad-sheets and a series of 'Last Words' uttered by the condemned immediately prior to their executions (by many and varied means) and sold for anything upwards of a Farthing to the spectators gathered to watch the execution, which made a handy souvenir to take home afterwards, and even for not paying the writers – and they also acted for writers, courts, guilds, churches, magistrates, bailiffs, executors, maligned injured parties, and the State – both Secular and Temporal – suing those same printers, taking briefs (and money) from both sides in civil actions, theological pursuits, and criminal cases – oh they were real shysters and made a great deal of wealth out if it, and The Act of Anne in 1710 and then the Copyright Act of 1842 helped them to consolidate, and the Martin Elginbrods (or should that be Martins Elginbrod – I'm never quite sure) of those times – I should say, there has always been a son, or a nephew, named Martin Elginbrod, so the line of inheritance is passed directly from one Martin to the next – were smart cookies, and one of the things they did was establish copyright of the Epitaph, in the name of 'Martin Elginbrod and his successors also named Martin Elginbrod without break in perpetuity' so as long as there is always another Martin living whenever one dies, so the copyright is retained by the family, a kind of laissez-aller, giving them freedom to print their own money – unlike everyone else, whose copyright only lasts for a period of years after the author's death – they got away with that for the epitaph and proceeded to acquire other, longer, more commercial writings which they also copyrighted in the family name, it sounds crooked – it certainly is – but somehow it's perfectly legal – so they've been milking the cow for generations; I really don't know why he bothers to practice at the bar, it can't be for the money, but the family, and they are all in the business, have wide interests in just about every aspect of life here in Scotland, and also internationally; so why was he in that pub, with a young streetwalker, who is now a suspect in the attempted murder of Angus Og – and who is the girl, I ask myself,” and the entranced Isa, slightly agog at the amount the Sergeant knew about everybody in Edinburgh, and wondering how much he also knew about her – and the private life she had out of uniform, then said that she had analysed shots and sequences showing the girl from different angles and noticed something she thought strange: in every image, every frame, the girl was holding an e-cigarette close to her right ear, she never took a puff, but the tip was glowing red all the time, and that bothered the redoubtable Isa, who had taken recourse to that form of nicotine replacement therapy in her effort to quit smoking and she had only ever seen that type of e-cigarette where the tip glows, usually red or blue, when you inhale, but in this case it was all the time, so she wondered if it was actually something else, and she had spoken to a friend of hers at the BBC and discovered that there is a small directional microphone, which could fit into an e-cigarette body, and which always glows red when it is switched on so that the presenters, or actors, know it is recording – her friend was sending one over to them; “so who was she recording,” wondered Gordon, “her Advocate,” but Isa shook her head, and said that she had checked all the lines and angles of intersection using some software from another friend, and it seems as if it was always pointing at one or other of her cousins, sitting in the booth quite nearby, they were who the girl was listening to, “but why, I wonder again, said Brevity, and Isa offered that, she had a strong feeling that the bodacious girl wasn't really a streetwalker with a grudge against Angus Og, but involved in something with much higher stakes than had initially appeared to them, “top marks to you, Isa, I think you're even righter than you know,” said Brevity, nodding to her, “oh, and by the by Isa – I know spell-check is a very handy thing, but, see when you write long, complicated sentences, with lots of conjunctions and parentheses and things, just mind that the closing bracket's the right way round and you dinny pit a staup whaur a comma's meant tae be – our
Inspector Bruse is a stickler for that, and anagrams, of course – but don't take offence, hen,” he grinned – like a Cheshire Cat – and nodded, again, “I can never work out the difference between a comma and a semi-colon, as the Guv'nor still casts up to me,” or the difference between scrambled eggs and an omelette, quipped Goldy, gathering up the tea things and indicating by a nod towards the clock that it was time for the two Sergeants to head off to Martin Elginbrod's chambers.
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