Howard Catswell (rough)

As he emerged from the hospital local doctor Robin Fitzgerald looked gaunt and tired as he was chaperoned to an awaiting car by two armed policemen. Police have thus far said little about the investigation but it is understood that Dr. Fitzgerald has been arrested in connection with the discovery of his wife, Alison Fitzgerald, being found dead next to a nearby stretch of road near Alkstead.

The police has voiced their suspicion that Alison’s death was no accident. Dr. Fitzgerald is yet to be charged with his wife’s murder but inside sources have suggested that he could be charged as early as Friday morning.

Report by Howard Catswell.

****

After writing up his report Howard passed a copy to the Belbury Standard’s editor and slunk out of the office. Standing on the doorstep of his office he gazed at the park across the road and sighed. It had been a long day. Crime was outlandish enough in Belbury let alone murder, and the entire thing had left him feeling somewhat distanced from society – most of all the small time hacks still lodged in the office. They were still analysing the best way to sensationalise the incident and villainise the doctor at the centre.

As he walked home across the park he saw children playing, hopelessly unaware of the human tragedy occurring on the outskirts of town. A feathery man in a long coat fervently tried to avoid Howard’s gaze. The autumn evening crept in and a chill wind picked up causing the man’s long coat to flare open and he stumbled on the path. Howard was sure he saw a tear in the man’s eye as he walked past.

The clouds rolled in as Howard continued across the park. One of his colleagues coming the opposite way nodded in recognition. The man was dressed so despicably fashionably and was constantly hooked up to his iPod like it was the matrix. This thought stuck with Howard – ‘This can’t be it!’ he thought. ‘This’ remained ‘it’.

Wilberforce Scops (rough)

“Honestly Mrs Willis, your son will be fine, just ensure he keeps taking his medicine.”

“Oh thank you Dr. Scops, I will. Charlie will be so pleased when he hears!”

With that, Mrs Willis was gone. Dr. Scops returned to the overt nervousness that had plagued him all day. It was almost time for his appointment and he sat in his office shaking.

“Miss Saunders, is that the last of my appointments for today?” He asked his intercom.

“Yes Dr. Scops.” His intercom dutifully replied.

Like a man condemned Dr. Scops pulled his coat from the coat stand and put it on. It was a large coat somewhat reminiscent of the sort of thing a first world war soldier would be found scrabbling around the trenches in. Dr. Scops had bought it for himself on his 25^th birthday as a treat – it made him feel like a confident man about town. Yet today nothing seemed to fit.

Dr. Scops was adopted. He had known nothing about his parents yet had repeatedly refused a DNA test out of pure fear. The thought of definite, tangible results – like a gravestone scared him. Since discovering his adoptive parents were not truly his, however, a sense of emptiness had hung over him like a tenacious rain-cloud. He longed for identity – and today he was to get it.

The culmination of years of waiting and dreading had him worked up. He hadn’t been sleeping well and was now a shell of his former self. There were bags beneath his eyes and he was greying and not even a charismatic coat could cheer him up today.

As he left the surgery he though about all the possible outcomes; what if his parents were famous, alive, dead, criminals, royalty, rich, poor.

“Belbury centre.” He said, his voice trembling, as he boarded the bus into the nearby Belbury town.

“Rough day, Will?” Enquired the kindly, bearded bus driver.

“You could say that Alan” Muttered Dr. Scops, fumbling for his ticket.

The bus thundered through country roads from Dr. Scops’ village practice in Wetteridge to Belbury and Dr. Scops felt his anticipation growing as the metres trailed away with the exhaust. Hamlets and country pubs waved quaintness at the windows, Scops felt sure he would be frequenting such an establishment later drowning his sorrows or jubilantly treating the locals to round after round.

Finally the bus arrived at the appropriate stop and Scops, shaking in his charismatic coat, disembarked and walked into the hospital.

“Wilberforce Scops…I’m here to see Dr. Fitzgerald…about my test results” Said Scops fearfully.

“Ah yes, Wilberforce! Dr. Fitzgerald will be along for you shortly, in the mean time take a seat.” The receptionist gently indicated a free seat.

Wilberforce gladly sat himself down and set to resolutely fidgeting. It wasn’t long until Dr. Fitzgerald arrived. He was a stern looking man a little over six foot tall and with large eyebrows which seemed to represent his great wisdom. Despite his fierce demeanour he was an old friend of Wilberforce Scops and welcomed him warmly.

“Will! Lovely to see you!” He boomed and placed a tender arm on Wilberforce’s shoulder.

“Robin.” Said Wilberforce, acknowledging him with a friendly nod.

“Come, come! Let’s see a little more fight in you, let’s go to my office.”

After a few minutes of traversing busy corridors, Wilberforce and Robin found themselves in the familiar office. Robin motioned Wilberforce to have a seat.

“I have the all important test results here Will. Are you ready? All that waiting is almost over. I’ll admit these results will be a little shocking, but they’ll give you that identity you’ve been searching for. Are you ready?”

“Oh god…” Muttered Wilberforce, “yes, give them to me…”

“Ok. First off, we couldn’t find any DNA matches from our databases, but your sample did throw up something surprising. It’s the first time I’ve had to break this to a patient – you’re an owl Will.”

”A what?! An owl?!?”

“Yes, an owl. A Scops/Barn owl cross to be exact. Your mother was a Scops and your father a Barn owl. Understandably it was impossible to trace your exact parents. I’m afraid this was the best we could find in the way of results.”

“I’m…frankly, shellshocked. What…how can I come to terms with this?” Asked Wilberforce, gobsmacked.

“Tell you what, Will, I clock off in an hour or so, we’ll go down the pub and talk. Maybe the Rat and Badger?”

“I think that would be a good idea, Robin. I need a pint. I’ll be in Westenhanger park, I need to think.”

“See you later then, Will! Don’t let it get you down, it’s just a bit of a shock.”

Wilberforce left the hospital in a daze and trudged across suburban recreation grounds and past baying gangs of teenagers. After a while he found himself in Westenhanger park just a little outside the city centre. It was a grand expanse of grass and trees surrounded by distinctly Victorian railings. ‘The jewel in Belbury’s crown’, claimed the council proudly.

Wilberforce placed himself heavily on a decaying bench ‘dedicated to Janet Longleat’ it happily informed his back. He sat blankly for an hour or so. He was scarcely aware of the time passing. He was equally unaware of the police sirens hastening towards the outskirts or the shouting of unruly children in the park.

After a good three hours Robin had not arrived, and Wilberforce walked home alone.