I, Partridge - Alan Partridge [73]
Does he say the unsayable? You better believe it! He’s like Norfolk’s very own Jeremy Clarkson, but one who actually believes the stuff he comes out with. He’s whip smart.
He had his share of enemies, sure, but that comes with the territory when you’re hoovering up the lion’s share of corporate production and post-production contracts in the North Norfolk region. People were forever trying to topple him off his perch, something I found especially callous when he revealed he was suffering from a serious illness, the little-known ‘tall poppy syndrome’.
All healthy competition you might think. Until I tell you that Pete died in a car ‘accident’ on 1 April 2005. Look to your right and you’ll see I’ve put inverted commas around the word accident. There are many of us who suspect foul play. I’m no conspiracy theorist – although I often regale dinner parties blow-by-blow with the arguments advanced by Capricorn One and JFK172 – but I am convinced that Pete was murdered.
It was around 11.30pm when his wife’s silver Peugeot 306 cabriolet with red interior careered off the road and into a primary school. Yes, he was way over the drink-drive limit – and ordinarily I’d agree that the alcohol could have been a factor. But knowing Pete as I do/did, I can assure you he’s a better driver when drunk. So much so that he’s often given me a lift home when he’s been drunk and I’ve been sober.
That night, he’d had six pints of lager and half a bottle of wine – pretty much the sweet spot for his driving capability. To the untrained eye, he looked very, very drunk. To the trained eye, my eye, I know that he was fine to drive.
So, having ruled out alcohol as a contributing factor in the crash, you have to ask who wanted Pete dead and how did they do it? I’m in the process of making a YouTube video about the case under the banner of ‘Alan Partridge scrutinises …’ (hopefully the first of many).
Funnily enough, it’s the kind of case that would be perfect for a regional detective like Swallow.173 Pete was a massive fan of Swallow, perhaps seeing a little of himself in the rule-breaking cynic.
I’ll give you the quick pitch now: Swallow is a cool 50. He’s works in Norfolk CID. Whereas most regional detectives drive a classic or unusual car, Swallow has saved up to buy a brand new five-door Audi A3 turbo diesel in metallic graphite grey with black fabric interior. He’s not interested in satnav, leather seats, or CD stacker systems. That, to Swallow, is just so much bullshit.
His vice? Well, booze has been done, so I thought it would be quite nice if he was bulimic. (I got the idea from seeing John Prescott cleaning himself up in the toilets of the Savoy.)
Fastidious but austere, Swallow always carries a checklist of items: a comb, two biros, Fisherman’s Friends (the mint, rather than people), and a faint smell of vomit. Plus an evidence bag which he never uses for evidence, but keeps folded in the right-hand pocket of his donkey jacket in case he has a big meal. Yes, Swallow’s always very well turned out, with pressed slacks, black leather tie, buffed-up shoes and a rich brown leather jacket.
His is a restless mind – even in his downtime he has to occupy himself. But rather than immerse himself in chess (been done), Swallow solves Dingbats and other word-related puzzles, including word searches. He likes nothing more than sitting down with a copy of The Puzzler in a wicker chair that looks out over the fens and immersing himself in puzzles.
He also has a weakness for doing 10,000-piece jigsaws. In case you hadn’t noticed, this is a metaphor for solving a case. And in the last episode, we’d see him put in the final piece and suddenly seeing that it depicts the face of the local conman. Quite how or why this would work isn’t yet scoped out. He’s also a keen cook, gardener and birder. He has no middle fingers on one hand,