Death and the Giddy Goats

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Honest adviser with a London investment bank and then the crash and I'm shown the door. The shock must have curdled my brain, because I now find myself in partnership with a neurotic control freak called Howard in a detective agency in Milton Keynes. Milton Keynes! I ask you! Wistfully gazing out the window with a cup of awful coffee, a sad ineffectual-looking little guy appeared at the door, begging my help. His garden was being eaten by his neighbour's goats and he had reached the end of his tether. Torn between irritation and sympathy, directed him to a nearby solicitor. Then all hell broke loose. That night his neighbours were viciously murdered and poor old Mr 'Sad', real name Tomlinson, had been charged with murder. And now Howard had agreed to my taking on work for a bent solicitor, working for a local crook. Both cases were going belly up and someone's out to kill me. What a way to start a new career!