Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 885.

Wuthering Dormice
(aka Bike)
Part 885
by Angharad

Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
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“I don’t quite understand why I have to make a statement at the police station,” I said as we walked across to the police car.

“Catherine Watts, aka Catherine Cameron, aka Charlie Watts–I am arresting you on suspicion of attempted murder and possession of child pornography. You have already been cautioned.”

“I want a solicitor.”

“Get in the car, mate.”

“There is some serious shit gonna hit the fan for this.” I spat at him wrenching my arm away as he went to push me in the car.

He grabbed my arm and spun me around so my back was against the car. “Look you fuckin’ little nancy-boy, I don’t like perverts like you–but they do down the nick, especially the body search–you’ll like that. Now get in the fuckin’ car or do you want me to cuff you?”

My eyes watering with anger and the pain in my back I got into the car–my little world was falling apart before my eyes. Instead of living happily ever after and giving a home to six needy children–I could actually be sent down for something I haven’t done.

“Look, there’s been some mistake–call my husband.”

“Husband–what for a freak like you, likes girly boys does he? We all know you bloody weirdos are into children.”

“What do you mean, weirdo?”

“Look, under all those expensive clothes, you’re a bloke, so we’re taking you down the nick and if you give us the rest of the names of the ring, and the names of the children you know, we’ll let you pull your little plaything in the cells afterwards.”

“Can you put that in writing?” I said coldly, this guy’s career was history and I just hoped he had a mortgage with our bank.

“For you? Hah, maybe if you tell us what we want to know.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you plenty of things.”

“Nice dress–makes you feel like a woman–does it?” He touched the plunging neckline of my dress and I felt sick. “The implants look pretty good too.”

“Got many years in on your pension, have you?”

“What’s it to you–I can afford a proper woman, not a tranny pervert.”

“I doubt you could afford me, anyway–I only do it for the nobility.”

“Fish, get on to social services–do they know he’s got all those kids there?”

“You leave those children alone,” I said angrily.

“Calm down, Charlie boy, they’ll all be grown up and gone long before you get out of prison. At least we’ll have done one good thing in getting you off the streets.”

“How can anyone be so stupid and still be able to breathe?” I asked and he slapped me across the face–it hurt and caused a small split in my lip–I could taste the blood. Even DC Fish blushed. “That’s right, bigots like you, like to hit women, don’t you?”

He hit me again, this time across the cheek–which would probably give me a black eye–good-oh, it will all feed my case against him. “You’re not a woman, you’re a fuckin’ pervert.”

“Yeah, sorry I forgot.” I said feeling my eye starting to close. He went to hit me again and his colleague stopped him.

“Sir, I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“Scum like that deserve all the shit I can throw at them.” He started the car and screamed out of the hotel car park, just as Simon’s Jaguar pulled in. I hope he didn’t meet this guy–he’d kill him.

“We might have made a mistake, sir.”

“Rubbish–I know a paedo when I see one, and he’s one if ever I saw one.”

“But, sir...”

“Shut it, Fish, let’s go to the station and play.” He laughed and while part of me knew he might hurt me again, he had an awful shock coming and I wanted to be there when he took its full force.

If he queered my pitch with the fostering, I would have him killed–slowly, no matter how much it cost. He was going to suffer, and I would pull every string I could to ensure it went on and on.

I was led into the station and taken to an interview room–my bag had been taken at the entrance and I was given a receipt for it. DC Fish was still with me. I looked at her through my good eye. “Are you having some qualms, about this Constable Fish?”

“I can’t say.”

“I think you are–when the shit hits the fan, his career is over and he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t end up in prison. If you value your own, I’d get the most senior officer you can find to come and speak with me–and I’d be quick about it, if I were you. When my pa-in-law gets here, there will be real trouble.”

“You’re not a transvestite prostitute are you?”

“No, I’m a woman with powerful friends. Get out while you can or you’ll go down with him.”

“Who’s your father-in-law?”

“Viscount Stanebury.”

“That sounds important.”

“He owns the hotel we were in.”

“Wow, like mega-important.”

“He also owns High Street Banks.”

“Oh shit!”

“Trouble?”

“We’ve got a mortgage with them.”

“They’re a good bank–but they can get nasty if you annoy them.”

“I think there might be a chief super on, I’ll go and find out.”

“If you do, I’ll leave you out of the writ and mention your attempt to caution him against violence.”

In walked Inspector Stupid with two men, one of whom was carrying one of those paper boiler suits. “Right strip him down and check all his concealed little crannies, he might have some more evidence secreted there.”

“He looks like a woman, sir.”

“Well he isn’t according to his accomplice, who’s grassed him up.”

“I dunno, sir.”

“Get on and do it.”

I stood my ground–“I wouldn’t if I were you, because I shall accuse you of sexual assault and the charge will hold.”

“He sounds like a woman, too.”

“Perhaps that’s because I am one–and married to a very large man, who is exceedingly strong and aggressive.”

“He don’t frighten me--you fag.” Lane slapped me again and this time I fell over, ripping the dress as it caught on the table.

“Sir, I wouldn’t if I were you,” but he was too late, Inspector Stupid kicked me in the stomach just as the Chief Superintendent walked in.

“LANE, What the hell are you doing?”

“Sorting out a nonce, sir.”

“You’re suspended–now get out.”

“Chief Superintendent,” I groaned, blood dripping from my mouth, “please arrest that man or I’ll sue you for incompetence.”

He walked over to me, “Just who do you think you are?”

“I know who I am–your worst nightmare.”

“Oh yeah, and who is that, when he’s at home.”

“Get my bag from reception, my driving licence is in there as well as my various cards.”

He picked up the receipt and gave it to Fish, who ran off to get it. “You,” he pointed at one of the still shocked looking coppers, “take Lane into custody, then get the police surgeon–better get him checked out.”

“I think she’s a her, sir.”

“What?” I attempted to sit up and my breast came out of the ripped dress and bra, “Oh fuck!” he said very quietly.

Fish came back with my bag and I opened it and showed him my driving licence–one of the new European ones with a photo on it.

“You’re, Lady Catherine Cameron?” I nodded and he scratched his head and muttered, “We are so fucked,” over and over to himself.

I was in total agreement. The settlement would be as large as I could make it and I would donate it to some children’s charity or use it to have Perryman slowly mounted on a sharp stick and put in a museum somewhere.

A young woman constable came in, “Sir, there’s a Viscount Stanebury at the desk insisting he see his daughter in law immediately and to speak with you as well.”

“Oh joy,” he said, “have I got time to kill myself?”

“Ah no, sir, he’s quite annoyed and he has a barrister with him, Sir Michael Innes. I think you know him, don’t you?”

“We are so fu...” he muttered as he walked head bent forward towards the door.

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