Post image for Theceme Bassa stood at the fence and stared

Theceme Bassa stood at the fence and stared out over the flatlands beyond. “The westerly winds sweeping across the Gora Gora flats had an underestimated effect on the structure of society. The nature of who we are as a people were changed by the mere movement of air.”

Doctor Hollersond tapped Theceme Bassa on the shoulder. “The daffodils have been crushed.”

“I have noticed that,” said Bassa, “but it is of little consequence.”

“Of little conseque—”

Bassa pointed at the body lying twisted in the flower bed.

“Ah, there is that,” said Hollersond.

“How did he die Doctor?”

Hollersond shrugged. “Violently.”

“Ignoring the obvious.”

Hollersond knelt beside the body. “You mean the secateurs stuck in his chest?”

“Beside that.”

“The lawn has been churned up all around here.”

“I noticed that too.”

“Do we know who he was?”

“Nosey Parker Wales.”

“The Nosey Parker—?”


Hollersond stood up and wiped his hands on a powder blue handkerchief. “I met him once, at a conference. He would not have remembered of course. Wales did a talk on pig breeding and was swarmed by enthusiasts afterwards. We bumped into each other then.”

“I did not know you were interested in pig breeding.”

“I’m not.”




“He was strangled before the secateurs were stuck into his chest. After the daffodils were crushed.”

“How do you know—?”

“Around his neck.”

“The polka dotted pair of panties?”

“Yes, did you notice that?”

Bassa turned and stared out at the flatlands again. “Somebody got their knickers twisted into a knot it seems.”

“No,” said Hollersond, “not twisted or knotted, just wrapped around his neck. Twice.”

“When the wind changed,” said Bassa, “the wild bees of the Hambacks went sterile in a foul way. But the collapse of the wild honey market started even a season before when the bees produced the foulest muck ever.”