Why was he born at all?
He’s no bloody use to anyone,
He’s no bloody use at all!"
Nightingale is not your favourite person at the moment.
Some retired DI rings to call in a favour and suddenly you’re jammed into a rented people carrier; travelling west to god-knows where. Having left the motorway, you find yourselves navigating a series of ever-narrowing roads in the middle of the countryside, trying hard not the scrape the car against thick gloomy hedgerows every time you meet an oncoming vehicle. Thankfully the autumnal weather is dull enough to make headlights necessary, giving you plenty of warning of their approach.
The testy voice of the satnav seems impatient for the journey to be over as you drive past old cottages and expensive new-builds that, strung out along a narrow B-road, make up the Herefordshire village of Nennington.
"Your destination is two hundred yards on the left," the satnav announces.
Partially obscured by the bend in the road ahead of you, coloured lights - an attempt to dispel the midday gloom perhaps - mark the site of the pub where your contact has arranged to meet you.
"Whatever he wants shouldn't be too challenging," you remember Nightingale saying. "DI Butterfield isn't the kind of man who possesses much of an imagination - at best it'll be a restless spirit and you're more than capable of handling those. However some country air will do you all the world of good."
OOC: Welcome friends to your next case file! I hope you enjoy "Why Was He Born So Beautiful?" |