This weeks prompt is this

Detective Inspector Rodney Plummet stopped by the door and sniffed. ‘What do we have, Waldron?’ He pulled on his latex gloves and peered inside the strange little temple.

‘Pretty clear he was killed, sir. Nasty bump on the head.’

‘Do we know who he is?’

‘Yes, sir. A Hollywood film mogul. Brass Wackamole. He made the Wonder series of superhero films. Every hero is a bird. My fav…’

‘Alright Waldron, I have children, too. Who’s the creepy cove?’ Plummet nodded at the tall skeletal man in tails and a striped waistcoat standing to one side, evidently very uncomfortable. ‘He looks like a butler.’

‘Manservant, sir. Goes by the name of Smyth. St John Smyth.’

‘Of course he does. The point is why’s he here?’

‘He works, worked for the deceased. He says he knows what happened. Would only speak to the top brass, least that’s how he put it.’

‘Alright, we’d better leave the SOCOs to their thing. Let’s see what he has to say.’ Plummet began to move before stopping and squinting into the bright sky. ‘And Waldron, do something about them.’

‘The kites?’

‘No idea what they are but given his schtick was radioactive birdlife I can do without feeling like I’m being watched. Or maybe on something’s menu..’

‘You know it’s make believe sir. His films?’

‘Shut up Waldron.’ Plummet turned back to the witness and forced a professional insincere smile to settle on his lips before offering the anxious looking man his hand. The man seemed unsure what to do, having been wringing his own for a while but reluctantly reciprocated.

Plummet recoiled at the sensation of a recently filleted sea bass wrapping itself around his fingers, but managed to right the smile in time before it capsized. ‘Mr Smyth? I understand you may know something about the recent events.’

‘I fear Mr Wackamole might be dead.’

Plummet glanced back into the temple, the clear evidence of death plain for all to see. ‘I think we can be fairly sure but we have to wait until the doctor confirms…’

Smyth’s expression changed. ‘He might be alive?’

‘I wouldn’t want to create a false hope, sir. What can you tell us?’

‘It’s all my fault.’

‘Perhaps you can find something approximating the beginning and go from there.’

‘What? Oh yes. Mr Wackamole has been rather stressed lately and I’ve been trying to make sure everything runs, ran smoothly.’

Plummet watched the man very nearly crush his own hands but he didn’t interrupt.

‘He’s filming Foul Deeds 2 which requires a large tank of water. Earlier today I misunderstood his instruction. He told me to ‘find that goddammed diva now’ which I misheard as ‘find that goddammed diver’. With the water, there are several health and safety people about. When I turned up with a man in a wet suit rather than Faye Tooblack, the female lead, Mr Wackamole rather lost it and went for me so I hit him. With an oxygen tank.’

Plummet let his shoulders slump. No one would believe his report. ‘That seems a little extreme, Mr Smyth.’

‘Oh no, not at all, officer. Mr Wackamole is Texan after all.’

Plummet turned to his sergeant. ‘Book him, Waldron. And do something about those kites. They definitely look like they are ready for a meal.’