3pm

We decided that the best place to hide would be the Elk and Bush, Ian Devine's earlier remark about wood and trees having proved remarkably close to the idea which I had been forming in the back of my mind but which I hadn't yet brought into the public arena. Ian Devine put on the false moustache and thickly rimmed glasses so that anyone looking for Dennis Brent and Ian Devine wouldn't look twice at us. I have never been known as a man who associates with a huge clone of myself so I felt sure no one would twig who we really were.

"Dennis Brent" said the barman the moment we entered the pub. "You're barred."

"Barred?" I gasped. I had been frequenting the Elk and Bush for over twenty years and had never spilled so much as a small glass of sherry on the carpet.

"Barred" he repeated.

"For what?" I demanded.

"It's on the local news - you're wanted for murder and we don't like that sort of thing in here. This is a family pub not a serial killer saloon."

"What if we purchase a large round of drinks, go and sit in the snug and if discovered by the authorities swear blind that we sneaked in through the lavatory window?"

"That would do admirably. Mirabelle? This gentleman, who is not here and who we haven't seen all day, would like to purchase a large round of drinks. Would you see to him?"

"Yes, Mr Tedrogers."

We found a spot that had good views of both the door and the television set. Mr Wetfinger's pie shop was on the rolling news channel. Police had surrounded the place and were peering through the window. As far as we could gather no one had been inside the shop owing to some rather enthusiastic use of crime-scene tape. A group of constables stood around the now sealed entrance and tried to think how they might proceed. An eager reporter was interviewing the only witness – the man who had been ahead of me in the queue during my fateful visit to that wretched shop.

"Intentaba comprar una torta adornada" said the eye witness.

"Um" replied the reporter, Good Afternoon Firkinside host Tim Flimsy’s younger brother Kim Flimsy.

"Un hombre con un bigote estaba parado detrás de mí. No tuve gusto de él."

"Right."

"No conseguí lo que deseé tan I a la izquierda."

"Thank you" said the hapless hack and he passed back to the studio. Luckily I learned a good deal of Spanish while preparing to visit the archives of Spain’s leading broadcaster of imported materials and I was able to translate with a reasonable degree of accuracy. Not that I needed to as all he said was that he tried to buy a decorated pie, there was a man in the shop with a moustache and that he left when he couldn’t buy a decorated pie. I knew all that – I saw it first hand.

"Breaking news" announced the local news anchor man. "Over to Kim Flimsy…"

"Thank you, Marcus. Police have begun to cut through the police tape and will shortly be entering the scene of the massacre" he shouted over the noise of a siren which, upon closer inspection, was flashing silently.

"Have special tools arrived?" asked the host, Marcus Ghent.

"Yes – what appears to be a large pie knife has been forced through the tape from inside the shop."

"Suggesting there may be survivors?"

"It’s a possibility. It might also indicate that the psychopathic killer – now positively identified as local resident Dennis Brent thanks to an anonymous tip off from concerned local who the police simply call ‘Mr Bignell’ – is still inside. Stay tuned viewers – this might yet end with further blood shed."

"We’ll be back with more from Kim Flimsy after today’s Recipe of the Week. This week, black pudding madras."

I turned away from the screen and fumed into my small glass of sherry.

"What are you going to do, Dennis Brent?" asked Ian Devine.

"I’ll tell you one thing – if I go down I’ll make sure Bignell is well and truly fingered too" I said decisively.

"I hope they never do a recipe for pie madras" murmured Ian Devine, "as that would strike at the very heart of everything I hold dear. Sorry Dennis Brent, you were saying something?"

"Never mind, Ian Devine. I think ‘Cookery Corner’ is just about done."

"…and if you’re very lucky we’ll send you a fact pack."

"Thanks Reg" said Marcus Ghent. "Now back over to Kim Flimsy who is standing by the unfolding drama before our very eyes."

"Yes indeed, Marcus, events have unfolded in a quite unexpected dramatic fashion. Instead of the carnage we were hoping for we’ve discovered that the entire Wetfinger family are completely unharmed and had simply fainted en masse. Mr Wetfinger – owner of Mr Wetfinger’s pie shop – has announced he won’t be pressing any charges as he has no wish to offend his most profitable customer or any of that customer’s intimate circle. So there isn’t actually anything happening here at all. Back to you, Marcus."

"Thank you Kim. And you can catch a special two-hour news special tonight at 8pm as we bring you the latest developments in what they are already calling the Bendaton Pie Massacre."

"So I’m not a murderer" I told Ian Devine with a smile.

"And I did not condemn my best friend to death by my breach of confidence" agreed Ian Devine.

"All is well that ends well" I toasted.

"I think I might just pop round and see Mr Wetfinger – just to make sure his return from the grave was not merely a phantasmagoria brought on by the two and a half glasses of sherry I have so recently consumed."

"Good bye, Ian Devine" I said happily. When he had gone I leaned over and poured his remaining sherry into my glass and I sipped my now-large sherry in a silence that was only broken by a familiar voice.

"Dennis Brent" she said. I looked round and saw the person formerly known as Nurse Simian - the woman who extracted personal fluids from me while I lay unconscious in my dentist's chair and used them to produce our baby - standing before me in an agitated state.

"Ak" I said and I fell forwards. It didn't fool her so I got up again and tried to pass the whole thing off as a badly swallowed nut.

"I've got an appointment with my tarot reader in twelve minutes" she said quickly, "and Madam Fjurgen doesn't like children. Or doesn't like our child. One of the two. So would you be kind enough to look after little Dennis Junior for a couple of hours?"

I blenched visibly but she didn't notice.

"Yes" I said.