Disclaimer: Characters from The Professionals are © Mark-1 Productions Ltd and are used without permission but with no intent to defraud. I promise to put them back unharmed when I have finished playing.
This is my very first story, and I would like to thank Brenda for all her help and encouragement.

Finders Keepers


“Get hold of four-five and three-seven, and get them round there on the double,” Cowley finished briefing Betty on the latest unpleasant incident to fall under his brief.

Betty sighed at her boss's usual brusque manner, and swept out of the room to comply.

****

Four-five and three-seven, alias Doyle and Bodie, were hoping for a quiet lunch in the pub for once. Bodie had lost the toss and headed to the bar, his disappointment at having to pay waning when he caught sight of the shapely new barmaid – a distinct improvement on the previous model. A few minutes and exchanged phone numbers later, a very pleased Bodie headed over to the table with two pints, the bar meal to follow.

Doyle eyed his partner suspiciously. “What are you looking so happy about?”

“Who me?” Bodie was in a playful mood, and managed to keep it going, winding his partner up until the barmaid arrived with their food. Then, of course, the reason for his self-satisfaction became evident.

“Eyes off, sunshine,” he told a disgruntled Doyle airily. “Finders keepers.”

Not so much as the first fork full had reached the mouth of either agent, when a familiar bleeping alerted them, and they exchanged resigned looks. It was Doyle who gave in, with a roll of the eyes, quickly heading out of the door as he pulled the RT from his pocket, while behind his back Bodie started hastily shovelling food into his mouth before following.

“Four-five.”

“Four-five, location please.”

“'Allo Betty!” As usual, he managed to sound pleased to hear from her, despite having his lunch disturbed. “Having lunch at the pub – fancy joining us?”

“Sorry four-five, duty calls,” Betty's response brought Doyle's mind back to work.
“A murder. Mr Cowley wants you and three-seven to investigate at once.”

****

“What the … ”

“What?” Doyle looked up from his careful inspection of the room to see what on earth his partner was finding so puzzling.

“That,” Bodie pointed. “Think I found the weapon – bags me not having to pull it out of there though!”

Doyle sighed, crossed the room – and quickly realised what Bodie was on about. An elderly, near bed-ridden ex-spy had been found stabbed to death – and there indeed was the murder weapon: a blood stained letter opener flung down by the side of the bed – and it had landed in a half-full chamber pot!

Bodie was chuckling now. “Better go find yourself some rubber gloves, sunshine. 'M sure there'll be some in the kitchen.”

“Oh no, not me,” Doyle replied like a shot. “That's what forensics are there for.”

“Chicken,” was Bodie's instant response.

“You do it then!” Doyle countered.

“Why me?” Bodie protested, with his most innocent look.

Unlike far too many others, Doyle was never fooled by the choirboy look. “You found it,” he insisted. “Finders keepers.”


 
© Jo – August 2002

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