The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1131 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The probability of Danny’s boots and the death of Reg Edwards being connected was very small. I know people get murdered for less, and not necessarily in exotic places like Haiti, it can happen here too. Most years you hear stories of folk being killed or injured for their mobile phones or their training shoes, so it’s possible but unlikely. I mean, they weren’t his football boots and I can’t see some arch criminal figure building an empire on stolen football boots–hardly Moriarty style is it, more Fagin and Artful Dodger, definitely down market.

I need to establish if the death was accidental or deliberate, which could include suicide but rather an inconclusive way to do it. From what I’d seen of Reg Edwards, he was more driving his car into a motorway bridge type, or even pills and booze–not see how long I can hold my breath in the fishpond, sort.

Despite my run ins with the plod, they were the people best able to decide cause of death and whether it was suspicious or not. I sent Danny a text and told him to listen to any rumours circulating about the death, it would be all over the school by lunch time.

I then had the local radio on most of the day, but they didn’t have any more detail than the bulletin in the morning, they just rehashed it and mentioned the name of the school, which would have reporters waiting outside to talk to people, parents, staff and even pupils.

It was raining when I got there so I managed to hide under my hat and umbrella, escorting Danny back to the car and thence home. He had a fistful of rumours but nothing rang true. Perhaps it was an accident after all.

I got them to call me for the news report on the telly, I was otherwise getting the dinner–some chicken portions, which I was doing in white wine sauce with cream–I spoil these kids, yet they would eat beans on toast with just as much relish. So generally, they’re easy to please most of the time.

I had just checked the chicken when they called me, so I shoved it quickly back in the oven and nearly fell over the dog in my haste to get to the lounge. There was nothing mentioned on the national news–hardly surprising, unless they mention suspicious circumstances. I went back to finish cooking the dinner–new potatoes with baby carrots and peas, and they called me back again.

It was the local news, for Southern England, and it was the third news story, so quite important in the editor’s or producer’s eyes. They suggested foul play hadn’t been ruled out and suggested some sort of head injury as well. The police weren’t saying anything–not an unusual event at this stage of an investigation.

I decided that he could have hit his head as he fell or he could have been hit on the head and then fell and drowned. Still nothing to go on. While I waited for the dinner to finish cooking, I was able to check news sites on the net, and found all sorts of speculation there, some labelled it a tragic accident, others, a possible murder. I tended to expect it to be the former, but they showed his house and the police walking in and out wearing those horrible overall things. For me, the important thing was I thought I recognised the road, so I’d take a drive down there tomorrow–a bit ghoulish, I know, but all in the name of research.

We had dinner, which was actually very good even if I say so myself. Stella did actually comment positively about it, which isn’t that unusual, then when the kids went off to finish homework or play, she added, “So, how’s the case developing, Sherlock Cameron?”

Jenny asked her what she meant, and she continued, “Well this teacher bloke who fell in his fishpond and drowned...”

“Oh yes, I heard about that on the news when I was taking the girls to school,” Jenny interrupted, “Just a nasty accident, isn’t it?”

“If it was, why don’t the police say so? It could be, but I don’t know, I have this funny feeling that it isn’t as straightforward as everyone would like to make it appear,” was my contribution.

“Cathy gets these funny feelings,” said Stella, “I keep telling her it’s irritable bowel or just not eating enough.” They both laughed.

“It’s okay for you to laugh, Stel, but what if I’m right?”

“You get to go on Mastermind and answer questions on it?” she threw back at me.

“Don’t be so silly. I simply hope it’s investigated thoroughly.”

“Why shouldn’t it be?” asked Jenny.

“We’ve all had experience of the Portsmouth plod, and they seem especially inept at times, especially when Cathy gets involved, isn’t that right, Sis?”

“We haven’t always had the most encouraging of experiences with them.” I blushed when I thought about the times I’d crossed swords with police up and down the country, including Scotland.

“Oh do tell,” said Jenny, settling down for a good gossip session.

“You can tell her, Stella, I’ve got things to do?”

“If you start playing your fiddle, I’ll know you’ve got it worked out, just don’t start smoking that awful pipe again.”

“Very funny, Watson, ‘the games afoot,’” I offered as I left probably misquoting Conan Doyle.

“So what are you then, a bloody chiropodist?” laughed Stella as I departed for my kitchen and some space to think.

After clearing up and clearing the kids off to bed, I wanted to deal with some emails and hopefully surf the web for any more titbits. Danny wanted to talk when I went in to tuck him in.

“So d’you think ol’ Reg was murdered?” he asked.

“What, by a ten foot goldfish called, Jaws?”

He laughed, “Hey that would be a good one, I like saw this film at Jack’s about all these piranhas getting into the water system and eating people in their bath.”

“I see, so a ten inch fish manages to swim down a half inch pipe, that would take some special effects, especially when it came to the shower nozzle.”

“I think it might have been a river or lake.”

“Someone dumped one in a lake here, it was caught by an angler.”

“Yuck, I don’t think I want to swim in a river or lake anyway.”

“It’s not always a good idea, partly because the water is rather cold and secondly, if it warms up, it tends to develop strange algae that kill people and dogs.”

“Maybe, it was algae that killed ol’ wossisface?”

“I sincerely doubt it. The ten foot goldfish is more plausible than that.” We both chuckled.

“D’ya want me to listen out for any more gossip?”

“Yes, please do. It will probably be just that, but you never know.”

“Cor, my mum the detective.”

“Don’t be silly, Danny, I’m just interested in what happened to him, and he did get your boots back.”

“Yeah, I s’pose he was alright, really.”

“Goodnight, son,” I pecked him on the cheek.

“Night, Mum–oh, Mum?”

“If you need football kit to be washed for the morning, you can go and whistle for it.”

“No, least I don’t think so.”

“Good, I might let you live until the morning then.”

He laughed, “No, I was gonna say, you’re the best mum in the world, least me an’ the girls think so.”

It was a good job it was dark, I was blushing and my eyes were very moist. “Go to sleep,” I threw back at him before he saw me sniffing.