What Makes A Detective.

At The Funeral

Toby frowned into the mirror, straightening his tie again. He hated being all dressed up like this, it made him feel like a poodle.

"Toby!" Quinne charged down the stairs, looking equally squeaky clean. "Where's my shoes?"

"I dunno" Toby shrugged. "But hurry up, or we'll be late."

Quinne swore at him, earning a clip around the ears from his mother as she entered the hall.

"Toby!" she fussed. "Tuck your shirt in properly! And comb your hair, for goodness' sake..."

"It doesn't do tidy, Mother, and that's your  genetics, so you can't complain!" Toby retorted, and it was true. Despite her obvious effort, his mother's hair still occasionally sprang out in small ringlets, perpendicular to her head. She clucked and fussed some more, and Toby stood and allowed himself to be dusted and tweaked and prodded as Quinne hopped back into the hall, one shoe on and doing the other lace up in the process.

"Are we late?" Toby's brother asked, straightening up abruptly.

"We will be" Toby replied smugly "unless you hurry up."

"Tarquin!" their mother sighed. "You look a mess! Hold still!"

Toby leant against the door, smirking, as Tarquin was put through the same tidying torture as he had just been. He looked up as Rosie came down from the spare room, in a pretty little black dress. Her hair had been twisted up into a smart bun, and she had a little black sparkly barrette perched on the top of her head. She grinned at him, but it was tinged with a little bit of sadness. The deal was that Rosie was to stay with Toby and Tarquin until the funeral, and then, due to a lot of persuasion on Toby's part, was to go and live with one of the other families in the village instead of going to a children's home. Tarquin had said at the time that it was ridiculous, but frankly Toby thought it was better than Rosie going away forever.

"Are you going to cry?" Rosie asked Toby, as the two of them stepped outside, Tarquin and Mrs. Smart behind them.

Toby looked at her strangely.

"Course I'm not."

"It's alright" she smiled, slipping her little hand into his. "You are allowed to cry."

"I don't care." Toby shook his head. "I'm not the sort of person who cries at funerals."

"How many funerals have you been to?" Rosie asked keenly.

"None" Toby replied.

"Then how do you know you won't cry?" Rosie said. Toby rolled his eyes as she skipped along next to him cheerily.

"You can't be cheery" he pointed out firmly.  "It's a funeral. Be somber, Rosie."

Rosie sighed heavily.

"Alright, Toby."

The two of them strolled up the village to the church, and waited for Quinne and Toby's mother at the gate.

"It's strange" Rosie remarked. "How that old woman managed to trick those children into going with her. I wonder how she did it."

"Probably in a variety of ways" Toby mused aloud. "The younger ones, probably with sweets or chocolate, over a long period of time. You know, occasionally see them walking somewhere without their parents, and all she had to do was be a lovely innocent old lady, ask them if they wanted some chocolate and build up a trust..."

"Children my age don't do that" Rosie pointed out.

"Not everyone has as much common sense as you do, Rose" Toby sighed. "And Bridget would have been even easier. I'd already got her curiosity piqued, and it was a simple trap..."

"Don't beat yourself up, Toby" Rosie cut in swiftly. "You weren't to know."

"I still wish I'd looked after her better" Toby admitted sadly, sniffing away the block in his throat and rubbing his eyes.

"Tobias?"

The two of them turned.

"Sir?" Toby asked politely. D.I. Carmen was standing there, hands in pockets, dressed in black for the funeral. 

"Could I have a word?"

Toby smiled at Rosie and left her, walking with Carmen a way out of earshot.

"Is anything the matter, sir?" Toby said worriedly. With a chuckle, Carmen shook his head.

"No, no. Rather a question I'd like to ask" he assured the young boy, "What are you planning to do when you're older?"

Toby reeled at  the unexpectedness of  the question, and shrugged rather lamely.

"I don't really know, sir" he replied vaguely. "I know Quinne wants to go into law, but I find that all a bit stuffy, really..."

"You see" Carmen began. "I've been talking with my sargeant, and we both have agreed to put it to you that perhaps you'd consider policing. Scotland Yard, the like."

"Be a policeman?" Toby echoed. "I've...never really thought about that, sir. Isn't that just riding around on a bike and blowing a whistle a lot?"

"Not that sort of policeman" Carmen corrected. "Although, granted, when you first join, there will be a little bit of that. No, I was thinking more along the lines of a detective."

"Like you, sir?" Toby asked, now completely hooked. "You want me to be a detective?"

"I'd like you to consider it" Carmen corrected firmly. Toby thought a bit.

"I'll consider it, sir" he smiled.

"Good" Carmen smiled, one of the first times Toby had ever seen him smile. "If you go for an interview, drop my name into the conversation. I'll  back up almost anything you say."

"Almost anything, sir?" Toby queried.

"Well" Carmen said wickedly. "I'm not going to say  that you don't make any rash decisions."

"Understandably, sir" Toby laughed, as the two of them turned and made their way back to the churchyard.

Be a detective, Toby was thinking. Hmm. That didn't sound half bad.

That went slightly darker than expected. Ah well. Never mind. For the second of his stories, we will jump forward in Smart's timeline to two weeks after the events on the Thames Bridge, to try and find out exactly what did happen on that day, in the tale titled What Breaks A Detective. (which I have published the first chapter of already!!)

Rachel xxx