“ Blue Hawaii Sir?”

The voice was that of the bar-man at the Grand Pavilion in Porthcawl Holiday Village.

“ Aloha?...” said the undercover policeman Wolf Blass tapping his head which had become tit-shaped from years of wearing that helmet.

“Am I wearing a grass skirt…a lei garland.. do I look like a Hawaiian?” he said grumpily.

“ Hawaii 5-0…you’re plods…spotted you a mile off!” said Rocker Billy leaning on his beer pumps nonchalantly.

“ How come?” asked Wolf Blass dejectedly.

“ This is Elvis weekend…every September we hold a convention of tribute acts all connected with Elvis Presley….we have fat Elvis’….thin Elvis’….Chinese Elvis’ , Spanish Juans and even one from North Wales….Elvis Preseli…. Everyone here knows you are ‘dibble’..you both stand out like pregnant nuns in a convent!” said Billy.

“ Book him ‘Danno’ ….!” said PC Isaac Haynes.

“ Whatever, I am supposed to have done….I never did it !” said Billy.

“ You must have done something ….remember we have ‘suspicious minds!’ replied Wolf.

“ I am gutted …to refuse a drink but we ARE on duty.. where’s the John Doe?” moaned Mother Superior Haynes.

“ John Doe?” asked Billy confused.

“ The corpse….the stiff …the body….isn’t it just the Police who have names you know?” questioned Haynes.

“ Oh….in the police station ….sorry shithouse out the back where they found him…blood all over his blue suede shoes too!” replied Billy pointing in the direction of the gents toilets.

“ Just follow your nose!” he continued.

The two detectives followed the smell of the dead body which had been concealed largely by the smell from the toilets.

“ Who found him?” asked Haynes.

“ Me …!” said a voice clearly shaken by the discovery.

“ What’s your name son ?” continued the policeman.

“ For this week people call me Elvis Aaron Presley!” said the man in full Teddy Boy regalia.

“ Uhhuhu!” said Wolf Blass suspiciously.

“ But for the rest of the year my name is Christopher ’Kellogs’ Murphy …I’m from Merthyr Tydfil see!” said the discoveree.

“ It was such a shock finding the ‘King’ like that…sat on the throne burger in his mouth …trousers around his ankles….didn’t even have time to finish his paperwork!” Kellogs continued.

“ It must have been a shock…because you rang the Merthyr Police by mistake….why didn’t you ring Bridgend Police….Porthcawl is THEIR jurisdiction!” said Wolfie still a little disgruntled he was called in to do some-one else’s dirty ‘laundry’.

“ Well….the King there…” he said nodding in reverence at the corpse still sat on the toilet head bowed on the ‘Hollywood Bowl’ trousers and pants around his ankles….

“I assumed he must be from Merthyr!” said Kellogs.

“ How come?” questioned Wolfie.

“ A number of reasons….he is aged about 78… has sideburns…hair matted in rose oil and Vaseline….bloated up to about 19 stone…he must be from my obese-city in the Valleys…..oh and the giveaway was that the floor is covered in spilled barbiturates …!” said Kellogs.

“ Good call….you sound more like a detective than him!” said Haynsey flicking his thumb towards his doubles partner.

The look from Wolfie was enough..

“ Haynesy…you go and check on any possible witnesses who may have seen anything….while I check his pockets for id!” barked Wolfie.

Haynsey did as he was told and made his way to the Camp Office.

“ What the Hell is that?” said Wolfie looking down at the cardboard toilet roll covering the dead man’s manhood.

“ I covered him up – I felt that any one of the Memphis Mafia dressed like the King of Rock N Roll in that white star spangled banner cat suit at least deserved some dignity!” said Kellogs.

“ How did you know there was anything wrong in the first place?” asked Wolfie suspiciously.

“ I wouldn’t bother checking his pockets….there is no ID ….no wallet….no jewellery or watch…..I’ve checked first….I’m from Merthyr remember !” said Kellogs.

“ You haven’t answer my question!” said the hung-over detective.

“ Well I am renowned for spending a long time in the kharzi myself..because of my Irritable Bowel Syndrome condition….but after I had been in and finished the crossword and read the paper from cover to cover and smoked my pipe for a bit…it had been over an hour and I heard some ‘crying from the chapel’ next door….the guy must have been trying to lay some cable and died from the strain is my guess….apparently it is a common occurrence in hospitals…!” said Kellogs.

“ Anyway, I figured the guy was in trouble ….constipation can be a real killer…the closest thing a man can suffer akin to childbirth….!” he continued.

“ and some of those burgers you can get know….the triple whopper…they are walking heart attacks…..waiting to happen….!”

“ Well this ‘Burger ‘King’ is definitely dead…I will ring the Bridgend coroner now.!” said Wolfie feeling for any pulse whilst gagging on the stench from the trench.

“ You could say it is a case of ‘Return to Sender’!” said the officer fighting for oxygen.

As he rang on his mobile, he got put through to the Coroners Department of the boss man called Habeas Corpus.

He agreed to run some DNA tests to identify the dead man.

“ I think we have a lead Wolfie!” said the returning Haynesy.

“The site manager reckons his name is Eenis Tupelo and has been on this site in Trecco Bay since 1977….he reckons he has a caravan called Graceland out on Newton Point…..not far from where the old demolished pub ‘the Dirty Duck’ used to be!” said Haynesy.

No sooner than the body had been strapped into a large black body bag…and after Wolfie had paid South Wales Ambulance Service 5p for it….the paramedics wheeled the dead man away on a gurney, the pair of plods looked at each other knowingly.

“ What kind of name is Eenis Tupalo ….sounds like an alias to me…lets check out the caravan!” suggested Haynsey.

As the passed through the caravan site, the dynamic duo could see sand particles swirling around in September eddy’s as the sea breeze dominated the holiday camp and all manner of losers dressed as Elvis looking for companionship and a life.

“ Are you lonesome tonight?” sung Wolfie as he caught up with his partner as they headed towards the dead man’s caravan.

“ Don’t be cruel…!” sung back Haynsey -the singing detective –

“ While these people are here.. the rest of the people in the Valleys can sleep a lot safer !”

The wind whipped in off the sea and in the distance on Trecco Bay beach , the dynamic duo could witness dog walkers and children alike trying to avoid standing on upturned syringes buried in the sand by heroin addicts to catch the barefooted,

the bare pawed and the unwary.

As they reached ‘Graceland’ the caravan was encircled by a golden corona of sunlight as the sun started to go ‘ way down’ into the September late evening.

Wolf Blass put his hand on the metal door and immediately a bolt of blue in the form of a spark jumped from the metal door at the boy in blues -shocking the policeman into removing his hand very quickly.

“ Jesus…no wonder they call it a ‘static’ caravan!” he said as the life returned to his arm.

“He must have wired it up to the mains….if I was called ‘Eenis Tupelo’ I ‘d want to keep prying eyes away from my home too….!” said Haynsey.

“ Perhaps he is a part of one of our Witness Protection programmes?” asked the intrepid detective.

“ Give us your plastic credit card!” Haynsey demanded.

“ Isn’t that illegal….flicking the lock like that….. besides why are you using MY card?” Wolf questioned.

“ We’re the Police …nothing we ever do is illegal ….as far as your little ‘flexible friend’ is concerned I need it for ‘Access’ ….I’m not using mine in case it snaps!” replied Haynesy.

Wolfie glowered at his colleague but smiled as his partner managed to spring the lock and gain entry to the rusting sardine can of a caravan.

“ Jesus…it stinks…!” said Wolfie looking around at the contents.

A Glasgow Prestwick Aiport bumper sticker, bumper packs of colgate toothpaste, dozens of green bottles of Brut aftershave, Pepsi cans strewn everywhere.

Haynsey opened the fridge to find it stocked full of stale meatloaf, tomatoes and mashed potatoes.

There were several ‘black belts’ adorning the walls and a Special Agents badge marked friend of President Nixon ‘Federal Agent at Large’.

Haynsey opened the bedroom door and was shocked to see a huge waterbed in the tiny bedroom.

He proceeded to open the wardrobe door to make sure that there was no one hiding in there- as he had been caught out before that way by that Manchester lot.

He was shocked when a beagle dog flew out from behind the glittering stage costumes and started to worry his ankles.

The policeman went automatically onto protest march -mode and kicked out at the droopy eyed mutt .

As Wolf Blass heard the ongoing commotion, he considered vaguely about going to help his partner but decided instead to help himself to another piece of pink ‘jailhouse (stick-a) rock’ on the front room table.

“ It’s okay Wolfie…it ain’t nothing but a Hound Dog!” Haynsey continued choking the dog into unconsciousness with its diamond studded collar.

Wolfie stuck his head around the door , smiling and continued to lick his sticky fingers.

“ Guess what I have here !” said Wolfie bits of candy cane still stuck to his front teeth.

He produced a white note which was also stuck to his fingers.

“ It is a lifetime prescription for barbiturates….signed by one Dr Conrad Murray!” said Wolfie.

“ So you know who our John Doe ….Eenis Tupelo was!” said Haynsey.

“ I knew I’d make a detective of you one day!”

“ Yep….its Michael Jackson!” said Wolfie seriously.

Haynsey at that same moment got a text message sent to his phone.

“Eenis Doe or possibly Michael Doe here…the coroner has had his DNA and blood tests back….he has 30% Scots Irish blood 60% French Norman blood and 10% Cherokee Indian…!” announced Haynsey.

“So you don’t think it isn’t Michael Jackson …there was no mention of Afro-American…..do you think it is Lord Lucan?” asked Wolfie.

“ Or could be that Elvis the Pelvis had a twin brother?” asked Haynsey expecting the Poirot music to sound behind him.

“ Elvis the Pelvis …and Eenis the…huck of burning love from Porthcawl sounds about right?” thought Wolfie scratching his policeman’s helmet.

“ Funny what people leave behind…look a crossword puzzle ….with one clue left uncompleted….. anagram of Elvis…..five letters….L-V-S…L blank V blank S blank?” said Haynsey.

“ Loves?” guessed Wolfie.

A little blue light came on and Haynesy eyes opened wide .

“ A little less conversation and a little more action please!” said Haynsey.

“ We need to get back to the toilet as soon as possible !” said Haynes flagging down a two seater tandem bicycle cart.

“ Police business…it’s a matter of life and death…we need to commandeer your vehicle!” ordered the detective pushing the little ten year old kid out of the cart and pinching his 99 ice cream in the same movement.

As Wolfie joined him and argued over the flake he questioned his superior.

“ Why is it a matter of life and death…Eenis is already dead?” asked Wolfie.

“ It’s now or never …do you think we can run all that way without us joining him with our own heart attacks….besides I need to get there before the Scenes of Crime Officers finish!” said Haynesy.

“ If that John Doe is who I think it is …we need to get back before a vitally important piece of rock memorabilia gets flushed into Trecco Bay and we lose out on a million dollar finders fee!” said Haynes.

As they reached the toilet they were greeted by the face of PC Kenfig Hill , one of the Porthcawl Rival Constabulary.

“ Seconds too late boys….I’m afraid Elvis has already left the building!”