I told my secret to the bird. I didn’t realise it was the talking bird.

“Murder! Murder!” the bird shrieked. Everyone stopped. Cutlery poised. Lattes half way to lips. Then the toaster popped, the spell was broken and laughter rolled through the cafe.

“Crazy bird!…Wonder where he learnt that…pretty funny…What else can he say?…Polly want a cracker, Polly want a cracker?”

“Body in the garden. Buried in the garden, murder!”

I threw a tea towel over his cage and smiled apologetically at Beth the next customer in line. But it wasn’t enough: “Mr Greeves, buried in the garden, murder!”

People stopped once again. Mr Greeves, a well loved neighbourhood fixture, had disappeared six days previously. Heads swivelled towards me…