by Andrew Learmonth
The next few days were incredible.
I was to be a detective for God.
He told me that he had a good eye for detective-ing talent and that I could be one of the best detectives he had ever come across.
It was true that since my boy hood I have been truly fascinated by crime fiction and detective stories.
I devoured the works of Enid Blyton before moving on to the harder liquor of Agatha Christie and the heroin speedball of Ian Rankin.
So fascinated was I with the genre that I had even applied to become a member of the police force. Unfortunately they said no and that maybe I should think really hard about what it is I want to do.
Not getting a job in to the police really frustrated me. I mean I had all the key assets needed for a police officer: I like crime and was filled with pent up homophobia, misogyny and racism. What else could I do. That’s when I discovered stand up comedy.
But it was never enough. I always knew there was a hole that needed filled. It was only God knocked on my door that this hole started to fill.
“You knew didn’t you?” God asked.
“You knew that there was something wrong back there. That that wasn’t a straightforward death with no suspicious circumstances.”
“I had an inkiling” I said, even though I hadn’t.
“Yes. Yes. You’ll do well I think. You are to be a detective for God. I shall record your deeds. I shall be your Watson. You shall be my Shylock.”
With that we left my flat and headed back to the house where I had first seen God earlier that day.
The ambulances, police vans and cordons and stander-bys of earlier had all disappeared. While the rest of the street was lit up with people having their lights on and watching the telly the house was that special type of darkness that only happens in houses with nobody in them.
God walked up the garden path and knocked on the door. He turned round to look at me and smiled.
“Ever been to a crime scene Andrew?” he asked.
Nobody answered the door. God put his head to the door and listened for any noise at all. Then he tried the door and when it wouldn’t shove he kicked it down.
“We can’t just go into someone else’s house” I said.
“I’m God I can go wherever the fuck I like”.
What I was to see beyond that door changed me forever.
End of part two
Once available, Andrew’s other stories will all be available here.