Having pulled the body to the side, George got out; soaking wet but it didn’t matter.

Max arrived looked, saw, nodded and returned to the chopper calling in the result.

There was the sound of sirens they looked up and saw a patrol car and an ambulance arriving, both vehicles entered the park and stopped only some ten yards from the water.

The paramedic took a look, “Oh dear its my neighbour Rick Masterton, we play bowls together, I am sorry, nothing we can do he is dead, looks like a heart attack, no grimacing he seems at peace.  I suspect he felt a bit rough, got off the horse and just flaked out.”

 He looked up, he saw the two senior policewomen.

“I was saying Maam, he is dead, it looks like a heart attack, would you like us to remove him to Northenden Infirmary?”

“Ah yes please,” said Chief Super Harris, “I will call Chief Constable Quinten Johns and update him, this will make his day”.

“Hilda, this is Mary Harris get the Chiefs` Secretary to call me I need to speak to the Chief ASAP”.

“Will do” came the reply”.

Bob Wright and Joe Masters the paramedics loaded the body, secured it with the straps provided and were gone.

“Chief Constable’s secretary, here, can I help?”

“Oh yes put me through to the Chief, will you?”

“Who is that please?”

“Chief Super Mary Harris”

“Just a minute please Miss Harris”.

“Good day to you Chief Superintendent Harris can I help?”

“Hello Sir, I regret to report that the body of Constable Rick Masterton had just been recovered from Chorlton Lake, he is dead.”

“Do I have a murder or suicide on my hand? Said the Chief.”

“Neither it appears. The paramedic says he thinks it is natural causes, no notes to indicate suicide, no marks of violence or a struggle either on the body or on the ground around".

“Oh I see, well I presume you will put things in hand, Miss Harris, Coroner etc and of course the officers next of kin”.

“Yes sir, I will and update you when all done, the public know of it so the press will be on soon”.

“Thank you Chief Super I will tell my secretary to update the force press officer”.

The scene at Chorlton Lake was getting back to normal, Spike the horse was removed in a trailer by Henrietta from the police stables, poor Spike she thought, a sad duty to follow in a few days.  Dressed up in black with Rick’s boots on the saddle facing to the rear.

In the mortuary at Northenden Infirmary, things were more active as the body of Constable Masterton arrived in the Post Mortem room, Professor Caswell was already geared up so decided he might as well do this one today as tomorrow.

The Coroner’s officer, Miss Faith Hope an ex police officer injured on duty, had been pensioned off but had successfully applied for the civilian post as Coroner’s Officer.

She arrived, put down her bag and folder then confirmed the Coroner had authorised the Post Mortem.

This she thought would be a traumatic operation, seeing one’s colleague being dissected was never pleasant.

She closed the door and the procedure commenced.

In the Cheshire village of Tarporley, it was a fine bright Monday, now late morning Jack the Hat decided to take a walk into the village with Anne as a get to know them voyage.

Anne was a little apprehensive since the glasshouse had been discovered they were bound to be the subject of conversation, referred to in more down to earth places as tittle-tattle.

They arrived at the door of the hub of the village morning entertainment, Tarporley coffee shop. It attracted the better off but of mixed personalities.

Some were women waiting their appointment time in the up market hair salon at the rear of the coffee and cake department.

 They were having morning coffee with, sour cream and strawberry preserve, it was really cream that had gone off over the week-end with jam but one had to keep up appearances so they smiled, ate and said nothing about the sour taste.

Men who arrived alone although doing no harm sat for many hours at the front of the shop by the counter passing a brief conversation with the owner Mrs Delwright who in her youth had been voted a Queen of Ladies Day at Chester races.

She was well spoken and appeared to have the look of the famous actress Kristen Scott-Thomas.

Those male customers or rather clients were coffee connoisseurs due to the number of visits they made and appeared to be divided by Mrs Delwright from their reception by her, into two groups, those who were in and those who were clients.

Those who were clients received a token good morning a smile and a long look if they spoke too long or too loud or knew too much of local history departing the same to the unfortunate victim on the receiving end of the impartation of the useless information.

 Those that were in received a brief kiss on one or other cheek as she passed with coffee pot or tray in hand.

The ladies were of the type whose husbands had found success in business, they had made it in the city and with their newfound wealth had moved house from such common places in the metropolis with its long rows of never ending terraced houses.

 They now relocated to this rural pleasant land providing of course the remaining local non-yuppies such as farmers did not make those ghastly smells.

The other irritants were those who served them, they lived in the nearby council houses they were fine. If, they kept their place.

 The yuppie men folk having moved to this pleasant rural area of Cheshire now joined the massive daily traffic queues at walking pace to and from the cities of Manchester or Chester commuting each morning and evening.

Their wives meanwhile entertained themselves taking out the sports car, a Porsche of course; sporting some form of personalised number plates, those that had made it to the top had a simple one such as ME 1.

 “Others, who had not quite made it, had a make believe one such as their initials WTW M15 amended to read WTW MI 5, believing it would be confused as a James Bond throw away car.

Without exception they all appeared to be well educated and thus by tradition their children were now despatched to private schools.

Old Madge the cleaner and old Bill the gardener arrived daily in the village and once at the yuppie dwellings carried out the donkeywork so the ladies of the houses were at complete liberty.

 They met with diaries in hand consuming daily coffee and arranging various meetings and functions which required them to take up a table or tables from two to three hours, the contents of the one-cup, long since devoured.

Due to they being ladies of importance Mrs Delwright did not seem to mind how much time they took up for such little money spent. On the other hand any unfortunate tourists, who arrived, were soon visited to be asked if they required anything further and if not had their plates cleared immediately, with a quick nudge, nudge, wink, wink, this business is run with bums on seats.

As Jackson and Anne Richards took their seats, they noticed the displays around the walls.

There were paintings, which to the uneducated appeared to have been done by the children in the midst of daily battle in the paint-throwing contest of year one at the local primary school.

 Splodges of paint battered onto thick white wood, depicting some form of figures of which only the children in year one and possibly the yuppies of Cheshire could decipher.

The cost however dispelled the viewer’s initial opinion, for they were priced from £50 upwards.

There were some with sackcloth as a background and upon which were nails with coloured thread wrapped around them all secretly coded as art, modern of course.

“What you would like please?”

Enquired the blonde young lady, tall with a high forehead and square face seemingly from her features and broken English she was of East European origin more than likely working for and being suffered for a pittance.