Necrophenia by Robert Rankin

reason or other, beyond my understanding, he had got it into his mad head that it was somehow my fault that he’d been locked-up in that loony bin.
    ‘Oh,’ I said to my mother. ‘So where is he now?’
    ‘He’s off on his first case,’ said my mother. ‘Apparently some local pop group had all their instruments and equipment stolen last night, and Andy has vowed to find it. And before the day is over. He sounded very confident.’
    ‘No,’ I said to my mother. Then, ‘No!’ and then, ‘NO!’
    ‘Not so loud, dear,’ said my mum, ‘you’ll have your parsnips going on the turn.’
    ‘Where is Andy now?’ I asked, suddenly having no care for parsnips.
    ‘He’s gone to the crime scene, of course. On the allotments, apparently. He said that any private eye worthy of the name would always check the crime scene first. Criminals always leave clues, no matter how small. They just do.’ And then my mother got that vacant look on her face that she always did when she was having one of her prophetic visions.
    And I pushed my lunch plate aside and departed.
    Hearing only the words ‘CSI Miami’ issuing from my mother’s lips. And the name ‘Horatio Caine’.
     
    With no trench coat or fedora I was hardly going to look the part on my first day on the job. I did have my duffle coat, and as it was still snowing out, I donned this, did up the toggles and raised the special hood.
    Which made me look like a British seaman serving on a wartime submarine. Which was not the look I was hoping for at all.
    And as it was very nippy, I wore my mittens, too – the Fair Isle ones that my mother had knitted. And even though I was now totally impervious to the cold in my upper-body regions, this did nothing at all to raise my spirits as I trudged my way to the allotments.
    And by the time I reached them, there was a definite blizzard going and I was forced to squint through this and tread very warily, too. And when I reached the doorway of The Divine Trinity I suddenly found myself face to face with my brother.
    ‘Andy,’ I said.
    And, ‘Kenneth More,’ he said to me.
    ‘I’m not Kenneth More,’ I said. ‘I’m your brother, Tyler.’
    ‘So,’ said my brother, ‘I suspected something of the kind.’
    He looked rather well, did my brother. Very fit. In looks he looked much like myself, although I was a tiny bit taller. He had the better physique, though, always did have. Lithe, it was, lean, pared down. And he kept himself fit. Did aerobics, even before they’d been invented. And he was a vegetarian. When he wasn’t being a carnivorous animal. And he always looked good in whatever he wore. He looked just great in that trench coat.
    ‘I like the hat,’ I said to him. ‘That is a snap-brimmed fedora.’
    ‘It was Dad’s, apparently.’
    ‘Hmmm,’ I said. ‘So how are you doing? Mum said you were up to some private-eyeing. How’s it going – have you had any luck with anything?’
    ‘What’s it to you?’ Andy asked.
    ‘Nothing,’ I said and I shrugged. And snow fell from my shoulders.
    ‘You’re tainting the crime scene,’ said Andy. ‘Bog off, will you.’
    ‘I just wanted to help,’ I said. ‘I could be your sidekick, if you wanted.’
    ‘My comedy sidekick?’
    ‘If you wanted.’
    Andy made that face that gives the impression to those who see it that the owner of such a face must be giving matters some really serious consideration.
    ‘No,’ said Andy. ‘Bog off.’
    ‘I’ll pay you,’ I said, ‘to let me help. I’d like the training, in case one day I fancy becoming a private eye myself. You can never have too many strings to your bow, I say.’
    ‘Oh, do you now?’ said Andy. ‘Well, bog off all the same.’
    ‘Please,’ I said. ‘You’ve always been my hero.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Positively.’ And I crossed my heart and hoped very much not to die.
    ‘Well, all right,’ said Andy. ‘If you pay me. I’m not getting paid for this job because no one has employed me. I only