The bureaucracy of Ideal Village's Parish Council was, on most occasions, a petty hindrance that could complicate even the simplest of matters. Mrs Knight was the council's minute-taker, and a stringent one at that; she also had a penchant for expressing counter arguments to the opinions of others. As for Mr Cobbler, his phobia of confrontation had turned him into what was now known in the village as The Agreer. No matter what options and choices were laid before him, Mr Cobbler would agree with each and every one them. This made it almost impossible for the Parish Council to reach a decision on any issue; and the result of much village business remained inconclusive – which had always rather suited Mr Pankhurst's wish to avoid change.

For the Plan to succeed, for the Ideal Village Police Force to do their job properly, Mr Pankhurst had to officially defer his powers of office to Chief Constable Harold 'Lanky' Smith; and this did not sit well with Mrs Knight.

"It isn't right," she said to Lanky and Mr Cobbler as the group made its way to Mr Pankhurst's house. "Taking away his position is just cruel."

"Quite agree," said Mr Cobbler.

"Don't worry," Lanky assured the councillors. "I'm only taking over the position while this peril hangs over us. The villagers will be safer under police protection."

"A good point well made," Mr Cobbler said.

"But think of what that poor man is going through," Mrs Knight argued. "Charlie is all he has left. And to think his only son came so close to being the victim of a madman's axe!" She shivered. "We can't do this to him, too!"

"Hear, hear," added Mr Cobbler.

Lanky said, "Please understand, Mrs Knight. Charlie is alive, if not well, and he needs looking after. Mr Pankhurst has enough to worry about without trying to lead the community too."

Which Mr Cobbler thought was, "Absolutely spot on!"

When the group reached Mr Pankhurst's house, the village Mayor and Chairman of the Parish Council was sitting in an armchair in his lounge. He was a sorry sight to behold: his eyes were red-ringed, and his face was drawn and ashen. It looked to Mr Cavendish as though Mr Pankhurst had been sitting in the armchair all night, without a wink of sleep, still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Thankfully, he showed no signs of the food poisoning that had afflicted his son.

Mr Pankhurst did not seem very aware of the people in the room with him, and he started when Lanky spoke.

"How's Charlie?" Lanky asked, softly.

When Mr Pankhurst answered, his voice sounded weak and tired. "His stomach has settled down. He's upstairs asleep now."

"And how are you?" Lanky said.

Mr Pankhurst did not answer, his eyes just staring into some unknown distance. "After Charlie's mother died," he said, eventually, "it was so hard bringing up a child on my own."

He paused, and the only sound to be heard was the scratching of Mrs Knight's pencil, hastily scribbling down his words for the council records.

"But I only ever wanted the best for Charlie," Mr Pankhurst continued. "I so dearly hoped he would have discovered what he wanted from life by now. It was my fault he became a policeman. My fault he was at the police station last night. It could've been him—"

At that moment, a blood-curdling scream erupted from upstairs, a sound that chilled the whole house. Mrs Knight broke the nib of her pencil. Mr Cobbler covered his ears. Lanky's expression seemed calculating, and Mr Cavendish wondered for a moment if the axe-murderer had struck again.

Quite calmly, Mr Pankhurst gazed up at the ceiling. "Nightmares," he explained. "Charlie won't forget what he saw last night. Not ever."

A moment of silent understanding passed, as respect was paid to poor Mickey Rope, and the torment now suffered by Charlie Pankhurst.

A suspicious expression came to Mr Pankhurst's face, and he narrowed his eyes at Lanky. "He's innocent, you know," he said. "If you're here to arrest my Charlie, you've got the wrong man."

"I know Charlie's not the axe-murderer," Lanky assured the village mayor. "I'm not here to arrest anyone."

Mr Pankhurst's suspicious gaze turned to his fellow councillors. After a moment, his shoulders slumped and he seemed to sink deeper into the armchair. "I know what you want," he said, miserably. "You want me to defer my Chair to Lanky."

"Yes, that's right," Mr Cobbler said.

"But you don't have to," Mrs Knight said.

To which Mr Cobbler added, "No, you don't."

Lanky rolled his eyes and said, "It's only for a short time, Mr Pankhurst. Just until this mess is sorted out."

"I don't like change," Mr Pankhurst growled.

Mrs Knight began sharpening her pencil, and Mr Cobbler nodded.

"The Plan calls for it," Lanky said.

Mr Pankhurst looked to the floor. "I suppose you've brought the official papers with you?" he said in a more resigned voice.

Mr Cobbler nodded and produced from the folder he carried the documents that would grant Lanky temporary powers of office. Mr Pankhurst took the documents and stared at them as though they were poisonous.

"We brought triplicates," Mrs Knight said, interrupting her minute-taking. "One for the council records, one for the police, and one for you – out of respect, you understand."

"Absolutely," Mr Cobbler added.

"Respect?" whispered Mr Pankhurst. "Does respect kick a man when he's down? I'm not useless, you know. The village needs me."

Mr Cobbler and Mrs Knight were about to agree and disagree simultaneously, but Lanky interrupted them.

"Charlie needs you, more than the village," he said, and he offered Mr Pankhurst his police pen. "Sign the papers, Mr Pankhurst, before the axe-murderer strikes again; before more villagers end up like Mickey Rope and Sally Salinger."

Mr Pankhurst stared at the pen for a long moment before saying, "I still want to know what's going on. Chairman of the Parish Council or not, I want to be kept in the loop. I don't want anything else to change."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Mr Cobbler promised.

Lanky said, "I'll make sure copies of all Mrs Knight's minutes are sent to you as soon as she's written them."

To which not even Mrs Knight disagreed.

More than a little reluctantly, Mr Pankhurst took the pen and signed all three documents. When Lanky had done the same, he and the two councillors prepared to leave.

"Don't forget to send me the police reports too, Lanky," Mr Pankhurst said.

"Naturally," said Lanky, with a sad smile. "The Plan demands it. You take good care of Charlie now."

Mr Cavendish was the first out of the door, and he headed off in the direction of the police station.