The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1010 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Our tractor ride didn’t go far, we were stopped by police perhaps two miles down the road–whereupon we were arrested by two young coppers who weren’t interested in our stories. At least Simon was given a drink of water at the station–personally, I’d have held out for a cup of tea.

So having found Simon, I was separated from him by being locked in the adjacent cell. I’m beginning to think I won’t give much to the Police Benevolent Society this year.

Simon had been relatively quiet, it was me who did all the mouthing–so I was put in the cell first. I assumed he was in the next one.

Eventually, I extracted for questioning–“You realise you can make a call to your solicitor?”

“I’d prefer to phone my father in law, who will bring a brief with him.”

“I see, who’s your father in law, Mrs Camero–um, are you the Cathy Cameron?”

I smiled and nodded.

“Oops–someone has messed up...”

“Big time! Can someone get my husband out of the cells and bring down a senior officer to speak with him?”

“You were carrying an illegal firearm–that’s a five year sentence.”

“I am quite happy to explain how it came to be in my possession.”

“Do you have Lord Henry’s number handy?”

“He’s at their hotel in Southsea.”

“I’ll get you a phone.”

“Any chance of a cuppa, I’m parched.”

Of course Henry got us bailed–or me, I had the gun, Simon was let go. It was difficult trying to explain why I’d been kidnapped by the bandits, without giving my other activities away. I let them think I was negotiating a ransom for Simon and I managed to prise a gun from one of them and they skedaddled.

They seemed to accept that–the lies bit, it was the truth, my search for Simon which they looked surprised at. I then had to explain that I thought they intended to kill both of us. That they accepted. I gave a description of the woman and what I could remember of the man. Seeing, or not seeing, because I had my eyes shut much of the time, made it difficult.

I was able to describe her clothing very accurately, and also the type of car she had, a black Jeep Cherokee. By now that’s probably been ditched and another bought or stolen.

Talking of cars, Simon was pleased to discover the police had his pride and joy in their pound, and it was only going to cost him–he got cross at that and they agreed to return it to him free of charge. I offered to bring him in the next day to collect it, assuming I wasn’t a jailbird by then.

Henry, who collected us after springing us from the nick, took us back to the house where we had a quick shower and changed clothes, then he took us to the hotel to see the children. They of course were pleased to see us again, once we could get them out of the swimming pool.

Meems did actually hug her Daddy while she was still dripping wet, and I don’t think he cared one bit about her being like a fresh caught haddock. The others I promised a hug once they were dry–my thin dress would not look very presentable sticking to my underwear.

Needless to say, we had a celebratory meal at which Henry toasted me for saving his son–yet again. The other adults cheered and I had another chorus of, For she’s a jolly good fellow, while sitting and blushing like an infrared lamp.

Maybe I should retire to the countryside and breed dormice–I’m quite good at that–and give up all the heroics. Maybe not, I’d be widowed in about three weeks and someone has to keep an eye on Simon and his ability to attract psychopaths. I wonder if I fit into that category?

I wondered where the two escapees were–I mean, they’d be hardly likely to send me a postcard, would they.

We stayed overnight in Southsea–we were all too frazzled to drive home, and Tom had brought Kiki with him. Simon went to bed early after kissing me and telling me that the only thing which kept him alive during his ordeal was seeing the children again and kissing me.

I let him kiss me until he fell asleep, which sadly he did quite quickly, and he slept until ten the next morning. I’d actually cadged a lift to collect my car, came back, collected all the children in the Mondeo and took them home to change for school. They were all a bit miffed at that, but it was a normal school day–or as normal as we get.

Later I collected Simon, who looked one hundred per cent better, and we went off to get his car from the police. While at the police HQ, I was asked to speak with Wheatland.

“Your descriptions were very good. Your adversaries were two ex government agents–no wonder they eluded us. Katya and Gregor Romanov.” He showed me a photo of each of them, although her hairstyle had changed, it was her all right.

“No wonder she managed to kidnap me from my own bedroom–she was good–especially as two police officers were downstairs at the time.”

“You were lucky, she’s a trained assassin.”

“Now you tell me.”

“And now you can tell me something, why did she kidnap you?”

“It’s all in my statement.”

“He was wounded, wasn’t he?”

“So? I’m no doctor.”

“So–you’re the mysterious healer, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. Katya received three direct hits, we have it on video, any two of which would have killed her. Yet she rose from the dead and escaped us.”

“If I was this mystery character, how come I couldn’t save your colleagues?”

“The most obvious answer is, you didn’t try to. However, I know what a compassionate women you are, and I know as well that they found you trying to keep young Winston alive, despite his massive blood loss. So the answer is, I don’t know–perhaps we all have a time to die, and that was theirs.”

“You know as much as I do then.”

“I know more than you think I know. I know Gregor was injured because we found his blood on some bales of straw. We also found some on the gun you handed over. But, Lady Cameron, next time you pinch something, don’t use a tractor–they’re far too easily spotted.

“Who was the woman who tried to shoot us?”

“Oh yes, Miss Branston.”

“Is she as mad as she seems?”

“According to the statement she made, you threatened her and then stole her tractor.”

“She did the threatening, and fired a gun at us–isn’t that an offence?”

“We only have your word for that, she categorically denies it.”

“The lying old bat–I’ve got a good mind to see if we hold her overdraft.”

“Please don’t do any such thing–her fiancé hanged himself in her barn about twenty years ago.”

“Why? Did she threaten him with her pop gun too?”

“The conclusion of the coroner’s enquiry was a bit fudged, he even managed to suggest it was misadventure, rather than suicide, so she got the insurance payout, but it was a reduced one–they settled out of court, after she sued them.”

“So what d’you think happened?”

“I have no idea, but it’s unlikely he could have done it on his own.”

“Why, it only takes a rope, somewhere to hang it and something to jump off?”

“He had an artificial leg, so how do you reckon he got up on the stool he was supposed to have stepped off?”

“How do I know? Maybe he hopped up?”

“No, it was a bar type stool, and was four feet high.”

“Someone helped him or he was cleverer or more determined than you think?”

“That’s what the coroner decided, so that’s all that counts. I’m a policeman, I uphold the law–I don’t make it.”

We shook hands and I followed Simon back to the house. I decided I’d never tell him Katya was a known killer. He was finding it difficult enough now. I did wonder if we’d ever meet again–if so, one of us might not be so lucky next time.