TRANSCRIPT OF PRESS CONFERENCE, SATURDAY 30TH AUGUST

DCI Barnaby: Well, thank you all for coming. We know that you are all keen to get a bit more information on the Don Hall case, and we hope that you also may be able to be of help in getting a message out to the general public. 

Firstly, there have been a lot of media reports about the knicker elastic found in a flowerbed during our fingertip search. We'd just like to say at this stage that a sock voluntarily came down to the station yesterday to give a statement, and as a result we've been able to completely clear her from the enquiry. So this does seem to have been a bit of a red herring. 

Secondly, there has been a lot of comment about the blood at the murder scene. Yes, we did find some blood at the murder scene, although as early reports suggested, Brother Buckland was strangled. In fact it now seems likely that there was an element of sado-masochistic torture before the victim died and that we are looking for a really cold-blooded killer. 

Thirdly, we have one particular detail of the case where we think the public can help. As some of you may know several days before the murder the Vicar received an anonymous letter quoting Habbakuk, and when it came to an examination of Brother Buckland's body it seems that he was wearing underpants, which, not to put too fine a point on it, were not his own. Further research by the forensic lab suggests that these pants were used to strangle him before he was redressed. [gasps of shock] Some research by our own Sergeant Mouffetard tracked down the makers on the internet and I attach an image of them here. 

As you can all see there is obviously some sort of connection between the two clues, but we have yet to work it out. But if anybody knows who the real owner of those underpants are, I think we'd be a lot closer to solving this terrible tragic crime. Any questions before we have to go? Yes, one from the rather dark bruised-looking fingernail at the back.

Bruised Fingernail: Inspector Barnaby, this knicker elastic lead was so patently a red herring that I can't help feeling it may have been a fit-up. Have you got any comment?

DCI Barnaby: Yes well Mr Nail, we are looking at that possibility. I assure you that perversion of the course of justice is a crime we take very seriously indeed, and if someone is responsible we will do our utmost to bring them to book. Another question? Yes, the gentleman in the South American sun hat with the tassels.

Man in Hat: Inspector Barnaby, I can't help noticing your wife is considerably better at finding her way into criminal lairs than you are. Have you ever considered stepping aside and letting her take over?

DCI Barnaby: (Chuckles) Yes I have. But then who would make dinner? Next question. 

Anonymous: I feel strongly that all the attention in this case is going on Brother Buckland, but what about Tibbles? Just because a living being is of a different genus, it doesn't mean their death shouldn't be treated just as seriously! I think you are sweeping Tibbles under the carpet! 

DCI Barnaby: Oh dear that seems to be all we've got time for. We'll convene again on Wednesday. 

HOMEMADE GARDENERS LEGLESS WORLD, FRI 29TH AUG

Sometimes you have to take a break from fighting crime. Inspector Barnaby a.k.a Jim Berjerac told me that. Sorry I didn't do SHGW last week but I honestly had been led to believe we were expecting the Darce onscreen and that therefore there was no need for me. Anyway I notice that this week on Gardeners World Proper we are getting an hour of Sarah Raven, so I felt compelled to provide some light entertainment for those who find Dr Raven's all-encompassing skills just, well, slightly frightening. 

Here at Baklava we take a rather more Girls Aloud approach to horticulture. This is not to say that when we find something as cool as a slowworm at the allotment we start shrieking. Well, okay, we start shrieking. But really, really quietly. We don't want to scare it!

And then we run and get the phone to take pics. Anyway, well done the Beloved for spotting it, in twilight conditions, whilst being made to toil on the soil in a way he probably wasn't expecting when he graduated from St Martins. I love slowworms and hadn't seen one in Ealing for ten years so it was a big Augusty thrill. Did you know the latin name is Anguis fragilis? Sounds like me after a stressful week. 

However this week would not qualify - I have had a really nice time, especially doing lots of neatening up at my allotment, trimming paths and squaring up beds, which I find deeply satisfying in some anal way I can't quite explain. Basically Alys is my idol and as far as the allotment goes, I just ask myself, WWAD? 

I have also been this week to Jekka's Herb Farm with Veg Plotting (more later) and have started making a cake for Victoria's Open Garden; and I went to the best village show ever (only in real life, obviously) and was waylaid from the tombola by none other than Lila das Gupta (it was a very top class type of show). But first, my supernatural meeting on Monday with William Lobb. Pretty surprising given that he's been dead since 1864. 

MONKEY PUZZLE SOLVED

We didn't actually go to Wisley to look for William Lobb. I quite fancied going because I hadn't looked at the Piet Oudolf or Tom Stuart-Smith stuff round the glasshouse when I was there the other day for FuchsiaFest. I also quite wanted to have a look at the orchards now the apples are nearly done.

But when we arrived, guess where we had to park? Car park 3 row N! Have you ever, ever had to park that far away? You'd think it might be depressing, but actually it was brilliant. There was a whole special camaraderie amongst us "far-awayers" as we became known. We sang songs and had lots of in-jokes to pass away the long days of trekking it took us to get to the entrance. That's the spirit!

When after 38 days on the route we finally made it in the gate, we first of all had a walk up the pinetum, where we slightly unexpectedly met William Lobb. Now normally I would run away from a man in heritage costume but he was hilarious. William Lobb was a nineteenth century Cornish plant hunter who worked for Veitchs, and he brought back the first seed of the Giant Redwood. As well as the Monkey Puzzle. 

Anyway Lobb was really interesting about the Wellingtonia (now Sequoia) that he discovered, and all about the history of how he did it. The whole experience changed my snotty attitude towards people dressed up as historical types and I would definitely wander up and chat to a plant hunter now if I ever meet one again. Interpretation of gardens is something I find very interesting, especially since working at Kew, and I thought this really, really worked. 

Then we looked round the buddleia trial. This is the kind of thing my loved one finds it important to do properly. In fact, I'd be pretty surprised if the actual judging committee is stricter about how to do than he is. At least they are actually allowed to talk to each other. Anyway we duly filed our results without consultation and were then allowed to pose for photos with our choices.

Mine is pink, predictably.

Just NB the note of refined professionalism he is giving off, as opposed to the air of the slightly trivial emanating from me. We did eventually make it to the apples; I ate quite a lot of windfalls off the ground and went home feeling a bit cidery. Medlars looked amazing, as did PO and TSS's bits. 

HERB PLOTTING

I finally got to meet Veg Plotting today in very happy circumstances at Jekka's Herb Farm. There were plenty of cats in evidence: in fact we were told to check our cars before leaving for Borage, a large and adventurous grey, as he "has already gone to Chelsea and Hampton Court."

Jekka's talk about how to look after your herbs in winter was great, and it's repeated at 11am and 2pm tomorrow and Sunday, if you can get there. It wasn't very long, maybe 25 minutes, but you just got such a nice sense of her, how the nursery works, and her sense of plants. It was really really intimate and you could see everything - despite the fact that she was saying "this is the most people we've ever had!" in slightly amazed tones. VP and I particularly fascinated by her amazing range of tools - I can't believe her espousal of Bekko secateurs will not eventually lead to the Felco backlash, and the tiny Snips she uses ("John Lewis Haberdashery Department") made me water at the mouth. 

She did a nice thing about how it is time to get on with propagating strawberry runners - she said some called them Irishman's Cuttings ("because they already have roots on") but anyway I felt inspired to get on with that job on the four little wild strawberry plants I bought. 

The other thing I was stocking up on was weird mints, as all mine have somehow gone, and she gave the interesting piece of advice that you shouldn't mix mints in a tub ("Unlike BBC Gardeners' World,") she said, wrily. Apparently if you do the tastes will eventually intermingle. I feel I want someone to explain this odd process to me, but in the meantime, the new pineapple, Atlas Mountain and chocolate mints are going in separate containers, Jekka. 

We finished up snacking on garlic chive petals, and I, like many other suckers, immediately bought plants. I've put chive flowers in salads before but this is another one to add to the mental menu. Jekka announced she's writing a herb cookbook for 2010 so we fans have that to look forward to now. A great morning out, made especially good by the hour-long gossip in the car parking field by the comfrey. 

Lovely VP demonstrates her vintage potato fork as I check out people's carboots and interview them about their plant trolleys and thermos flasks (such a journalist. Or is that such a nosey?)

A BETTER CLASS OF SHOW

So far in my life, I would say that Kew Horticultural Society is the only gardening show I've ever been to to have its own clairvoyant. In this, as in so many other ways, it really is a cut above. 

For a start the clientele are well classy. I met my friends Arnold and Iolanthe (Arnold had just taken a prize certificate in the Jelly class) and then I was waylaid by the fragrant Lila das Gupta while I nosed through the second-hand books. 

Secondly, the produce is just unbelievable, attaining almost Stepford levels of perfection. In fact, walking from my house and crossing from the north bank of the river on foot I realised there is possibly some sort of vortex of superiority you walk through at round about Kew Bridge Station which transports you to a higher state of being from what you were when you left mere W5 some 17oo metres previously.

Even the stuff being sold on the veg stand has a ridiculously posh pedigree - all grown on the allotments given to Diploma students on the Kew course.

Lila explained to me that overall winners of the Kew show are awarded the "Banksian Medal" - you are then entitled to continue competing in individual categories, but may never again be awarded overall prize. (See, even their political systems are fairer over there!)

 

Look at them dahlias. In fact the only imperfection I saw the entire way round was that absolutely no one's roses had escaped water damage. 

A highly competitive lady mentally calculating how she could ever grow veg that good.

What that lady wants.

EXTRA! EXTRA! NEW TOP NOB AT DON HALL FOUND DONE IN

From the Midsomer Inquirer, Evening Edition, 28th August

The sense of fear and unease which has hung over Midsomer for the last week came to a terrible close this evening when the body of a man in his forties was discovered at the old manor house, until recently the home of Colonel Don. Tongues are wagging in Midsomer Montague tonight as police closed off the Don Hall area to search for a possible murderer, after suggestions were made informally that the dead body is none other than Brother Buckland, Colonel Don's heir. 

Workers installing an organic swimming pool at the million-pound manor dialled emergency services just after 4.30pm today when they became alarmed at the lateness of tea. After venturing upstairs, Carmela Richards, 48, a neighbour, said, "They came running downstairs shrieking about blood. I went to their aid, ran up and entered the bathroom. I saw him just lying there, and at first I thought that Brother Buckland had probably just been trying out a bit of this fashionable new 'gloveless pruning'. Sadly, that wasn't the case. He'd been murdered in cold blood, strangled around the neck until the life was sucked from his body."

It appears that yet again the curse of the Dons has struck. Don Hall has long been said to suffer under a curse placed on the family by a beetle-loving entomologist in the nineteenth century, who fell out with the victim's ancestor William Buckland after he ate a particularly valuable specimen from the top beetle prof's collection. Brother Toby Buckland, a divine belonging to the United Ethical Church of Devon, had only been in residence at the Hall since last night, after being unexpectedly favoured last month in the Colonel's Will and Testament, and it seems as if the curse has acted on the Hall's new occupant quicker than ever before.

Police are said to be "flummoxed" by the crime scene: "It's almost the perfect crime," said a police insider this evening, "This person definitely knew exactly what they were doing." The only evidence as to the murderer was a slightly used-looking piece of knicker elastic with some paper strands attached, found in a nearby flowerbed, although the search for clues goes on tonight as darkness falls.

If that weren't enough bad news for one day, "Tibbles", a mixed-race cat who had been a favourite of the late Colonel Don, has been found drowned in a lavish garden pond adjoining the house. Medics tried to revive the cat but unfortunately the emergency services were called to the scene just too late. A spokeswoman for the Anonymous Cat Defence League said "It's completely indefensible. It's one thing to murder a person, but to drown a cat, who's never done any harm to anybody? I don't know what the world is coming to when this kind of thing goes on right under your noses." A press conference on both cases will be called first thing tomorrow. 

A STRANGE ABSENCE IN MIDSOMER BERRYFIELD

Well my dears, it has been a few days since I last spoke to you and yet so very much has happened here in quiet Midsomer Berryfield. 

As you know, I heard an odd argument taking place at the vegetable patch a few days ago, and I had the strangest sensation that I recognised the two voices involved. However I don't like anyone to think of me as a nosy old woman, and so I tried very hard indeed to think no more about it. 

On Saturday morning, though, I happened to be passing the vicarage on my way to the church. I could see Rachella, the lovely young girl who married our vicar, standing amongst her beautiful cottage garden in one of those brightly-coloured raincoats she does seem to like. And yet she seemed to be very upset. 

"Hello, my dear," I called to her. 

"Oh, why, hello, Miss Maple," she said, sniffing. "How silly of me to be so upset." 

"But what's this? Are you crying, Rachella?" I asked. "Have your roses got mildew again?"

"No, Miss Maple, it's worse than that," she sobbed into her hankie. 

Worse than mildew? For Rachella, I knew it must be something very serious indeed. 

"Come, come, dear," I said, reassuringly, "Let's make a nice cup of tea and you can tell me all about it."

We went into the house and she began to tell me a very strange story indeed. She said that she had been over to the Manor that afternoon to bring some flowers as a house-warming welcome for the new occupier. 

"You'll remember, of course, Miss Maple," she said to me, "that everyone in these parts had assumed that Colonel Don's estate would go, after his sad demise, to Joseph Swift, the plucky young working-class chap from London who has so charmed his way into the Colonel's heart over the last few years. Well, all of our hearts, really." She smiled wistfully.

It was not to be, though. Rachella explained that when the final will and testament was read out (in Mr Brinkley's office in Midsomer Mackerell) there were audible gasps of shock. A huge surprise: the whole estate was to be left to Brother Toby Buckland, some very vague religious relative of the Colonel's.

I thought about what Rachella was saying. Here in Midsomer Berryfield, we all knew very little about Brother Buckland. In fact, we still know very little. But he is due in the village any moment, and we will soon make the acquaintance of our new neighbour, and in many cases, our new landlord. 

"But Rachella," I asked, "Why are you so particularly upset today? We've known all about Brother Buckland's coming for days."

"It's not Brother Buckland," she sobbed. "It's that I went into the library, to wait for Beaches, the housekeeper, you know. I happened to be looking at the family photographs. How lovely I always find them, everyone smiling, and Colonel Don in his corduroys, digging over the vegetable patch."  

"It was then that I noticed," she said, with a note of dread in her voice. "Somebody was missing. Some one has been through all the family photos and removed one face. I looked everywhere! But there was literally no sign of young Master Matthew!" 

Our eyes met. What could this mean? I didn't doubt Rachella for a moment: Master Matthew was always a striking young man and it's not difficult to pick him out in a photo. Somebody had, quite purposely, removed every photo of him from the family collection. How very, very strange. In fact, it reminds me of nothing so much as when Agnes Dentelle moved into the village, and there was that terrible business about her pet rabbit. 

I know this is just a sleepy little village, and yet I do so very much hope that something very bad isn't about to happen in Midsomer Berryfield...