Murder Most Fowl

The police had practically taken over the local funny farm.

Morse paced at one end of the music hall while he waited for the suspects to arrive. He could hear children playing in the playground outside, the chatter of parents, and one of the cows mooing. He glanced at his watch; he'd sent Lewis to round up their suspects fifteen minutes ago – what was taking him so long?

He stopped his pacing and glanced up as he heard their first suspect arrive, a woman in a white sheep costume. She was closely followed by a black sheep, a bull, a cow, a chicken and a pig. Lewis was behind them all, looking a little apologetic.

"It was all such short notice, sir, they didn't have the time to get out o' their costumes," he explained, coming to stand next to Morse with a cassette player.

"If nothing else," Morse replied for Lewis' ears only, "I won't have to remember their names."

"What d'you want us 'ere for, anyway?" grumped the pig with her arms folded.

"This is a murder investigation, madam. Bertie 'Rooster' Styles was found with a fatal head wound from a blunt instrument this week. I just want to find out what happened if it's not too much trouble," said Morse.

The woman in the pig costume sighed impatiently but didn't say any more.

Morse and Lewis had managed to narrow the suspects down as far as the work colleagues now gathered in this room; Morse would have bet his favourite record on it. Morse nodded at Lewis, "Play the tape, Lewis."

"Sir," Lewis said, putting the cassette into the player.

"Do, do, do the funky gibbon, (the funky gibbon), ooh, ooh, ooh, the funky gibbon..."

Morse rolled his eyes and gave Lewis a pointed look. He resisted the temptation to shove his fingers into his ears as Lewis fumbled with the player.

"Sorry, sir, wrong side!" Lewis shouted over the song. If it had to be played in Morse's company should be played very, very quietly. The suspects in the room looked confused – or at least Morse assumed they did under those costumes.

"...We slap that gibbon—" At long last the music cut out and Lewis turned the tape over.

The beautiful, melodic notes of Fauré's Requiem In Paradisum started to play through the crackly speakers. My record's much better, Morse thought as the music played, echoing off the walls.

The plan was that the murderer would break down in tears as they listened to such an emotional piece, and thus the case would be solved. While Morse kept an eye on the suspects from the front of the room, Lewis discreetly started to move, notebook in hand, poised to note down anything of importance.

The chicken costume started to tremble a few minutes into the song. If he was honest Morse was holding back his emotions himself. Morse met Lewis' eyes across the room and they silently made a decision. Lewis instantly went to arrest the person in the chicken costume, but Morse stopped him with a twitch of the hand. Wait – we're just getting to the good part.

When the song was over the cassette player clicked, and Lewis restrained the chicken as the other people in animal costumes looked on.

"You're free to go," Morse told them. He waited until they were gone before he pulled the mask off the person's costume, dropping it to the floor. The woman inside the costume was crying.

"I-I didn't m-mean for it to hap-happen," she stammered. "We were just m-messin' about an-and he fell against the-the tractor." At this she started to sob, her bottom lip trembling.

"What's your name?" Morse asked gently.

"S-Susanne Doyle," she replied, before Lewis gave her a moment to blow her nose.

"Take her to the station," Morse instructed the uniformed officer who'd just appeared in the doorway right on cue.

"Sir," the constable nodded, leading the crying woman away.

"What do ya think, sir?" Lewis asked, his voice muffled. Frowning, Morse turned around to see what he was doing. He had the chicken mask on his head and was doing a funny little dance. "I think the kids'll like it," he said.

"Lewis," Morse groused, "put the mask down, for God's sake. And buy yourself some proper music."

Unfortunately, in the car on his way home, Morse found himself singing The Funky Gibbon, much to his annoyance. He would have to play his records extra loud tonight.

The End

Author's Note: First Morse fic – hooray! Normally at this point I'd explain how I had this idea – but it's actually classified, so I can't say anything. No, really. A huge thank you goes to Tumblr's lategoodbye for helping with the song choice – if it was left to me the suspect would have been breaking down in tears to The Funky Gibbon. lategoobye writes some Endeavour fics too that are well worth a look.

Listen to Requiem In Paradisum on YouTube at [/watch?v=zuQXGA_BwY4] and The Funky Gibbon at [/watch?v=pXq8rELhUkw] - listen to the latter at your own peril.

Thanks for reading! :)