The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1141 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

With Simon blocking my view of them and hopefully, theirs of me, I dashed back into the kitchen, dumped the washing and after quietly closing the inner door, grabbed my phone and unlocked the door to the garden. I fled down the garden and out of the back gate and into a lane beyond.

I dialled 999 and was challenged and was given another number to ring. I did, good job it wasn’t an emergency.

“Emergency, which service?”

“Police, and hurry.”

“Connecting you.”

“Hello, police, what is your name.”

“I’m Lady Catherine Cameron, I’m calling from outside Inspector Toby Old’s house. Two men wearing ski masks and carrying sawn off shotguns have pushed their way in. My husband and Inspector Old are in there with them, please hurry.”

“A response vehicle is on its way.”

“I hope it’s an armed response vehicle. Get Superintendent Wetherspoon, he knows about this.”

“Lady Cameron, please stay calm and wait for the response vehicle to arrive.”

“Yeah, sure.”

At least there had been no shooting so far–which had to be a good sign. I felt like an awful coward, but someone had to raise the alarm. I wondered who the target was–if it was me, the other two should be okay. If it was Toby–not so good. They could have stabbed them both and be walking away from the scene. I dashed round to the front of the house. No one seemed to be leaving it.

A police car with blue lights flashing pulled up down the road, another blocked the other end and then as I darted back to the rear of the house, I heard the helicopter buzzing towards us like a giant dragonfly. It would alert everyone that something was going down, including the villains inside.

Back in the garden, I found some twine and tied it about a foot above the ground just outside the back door–I hoped Simon and Toby weren’t first out of the door. I presumed the police were evacuating neighbours, just in case. I spotted an open window and along the garden wall a ladder. Some security expert, our Inspector Old.

I just about managed to carry the ladder to the house and push it up to the window, my hands were filthy–I made a note to complain to Toby for future use. Then I started up the ladder when two coppers came rushing into the garden.

“What the hell are you doing?” one of them hissed at me.

“What’s it look like–can’t you see how dirty the windows are?” I hissed back.

“Get down, you silly bitch! you’ll get yourself hurt.”

“Only if I fall off. Be a dear and stand on the bottom will you?”

By this time I was up to the bathroom window and managed to pull it open and began to slither inside, trying not to grunt out loud with the effort. I pulled myself in, and almost doing a handstand on the washbasin, carefully eased my legs down and on to the floor.

I could hear voices from downstairs. They knew the police were outside. I had to be very careful now or we could all get killed. I did wonder about sliding back out the window and down to the garden.

The phone rang, I knew it would be the police trying to get the gunmen to surrender. I heard Toby answer it. He handed it to one of the gunmen.

I heard him speak to the police and they must have told him they were seen entering because that’s what he called to his mate. “The police say we were seen entering, so they were telling the truth, the bitch wasn’t here after all.”

“Pity, I’d like to give her a good seeing to before I killed her.” Ironic or what? A would be murderer fancies me. I’d like a few minutes alone with him, preferably with a small sharp knife and his genitals in my hand.

I looked in the bathroom–nothing much I could use in terms of arming myself. I crept carefully into the bedroom, nothing much except some men’s smellies and a bottle of brandy. I also found a cigarette lighter by some candles. A plan was forming.

The conversation with the gunman had been short and sweet. He’d laughed at the policeman calling him and put the phone down, saying something about hostages.

I could actually see him on the phone, because it was in the hallway underneath me. I needed something to make a hole in the bottle top. In the bedroom, in the drawer of the bedside table I found a penknife, Swiss Army type and within a few moments had made a hole in the bottle, then using a box of plastic drinking straws I made a long tube by forcing the end of one inside another. I then jammed the end into the bottle after unravelling a few yards of thread from a hand knitted sweater which I tied to a piece of paper.

Then after this I speed dialled Toby’s number, to my amazement the phone began to ring and one of the gunmen picked it up. I carefully tipped the brandy and steered the straw tube over his head, if he felt anything he didn’t say anything. I lit the paper and lowered it burning close to him.

Somehow he wasn’t looking, and either didn’t see or smell the brandy, until he became a human flambeau, to which he did react by dropping his gun and racing round in a blind panic, screaming.

His partner seemed equally perplexed, and then began beating him with a cloth, during which time I sneaked down the stairs ran down the hallway and picked up the dropped shotgun. I still hadn’t been seen. The smell of burning material, hair and skin was horrible, and activated the smoke alarm in Toby’s hallway.

At this point the unhurt gunman walked out to the hallway and reached up smash the smoke alarm which was peeping loudly and irritatingly. I whacked him on the head with the other gun and he dropped like a stone.

The burnt gunman must have seen me take out his pal and came rushing at me like a lunatic, brandishing a knife which looked like the one which had stabbed Toby. It was a dagger type. I was holding a gun and he was charging at me, so I pulled the triggers. The blast knocked me backwards and blew him across the room as he took the full force of it in his chest.

I lay on the hallway carpet as the police came charging through the door, presumably after hearing the shot. I was arrested and ambulances were called.

Back at the police station, Superintendent Wetherspoon kept shouting at me until I began to cry. “What the hell were you thinking of? Why did you go in there? You’ve interfered once too often–now you’ve killed someone. I’m going to charge you with manslaughter.”

Why did I go back in there? Because I knew they were going to try and kill Simon or Toby. I also knew they were after me. The concussed baddy was the games teacher, who had spotted the potential for the fishpond when he recognised the gardener at a visit to Edwards house for a staff barbecue. Apparently he’d taught him as a kid and known he was a bad ’un.

They were smuggling diamonds, according to Toby, which they did in items like sportswear, hence the missing boots–put in a false insole and you can glue thousands of pounds of diamonds to the underside of it.

I was spared the charges apparently, because Toby and Simon both testified that the gunmen were going to kill them, and that the one I shot was charging at me with a knife–which was the same one which had killed the gardener and stabbed Toby.

I was let off with a police caution to keep out of their way in future–there’s gratitude for you.