Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1245.

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The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1245
by Angharad

Copyright © 2011 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
-Dormouse-001.jpg

A little after I spoke with Jim Beck, I had a call from Chief Inspector Cowan, “Sorry to disturb you Lady Cameron, but I’ve been unable to contact Professor Agnew, I wondered if you might know where I might be able to speak with him.”

“Sorry I don’t. His mobile was broken and he isn’t answering his home phone.” I blushed as I remembered running over his phone.

“Okay, thanks for your time.”

“Oh Inspector, sorry, Chief Inspector, any news on the body found in Diana Dawes garden.”

“I can’t tell you anything about that, Lady Cameron, but the rumours may just have a hint of truth in them.”

“About ethnic minorities and gunshot wounds?”

“I couldn’t have put it more succinctly.”

“One last thing, if you do find Tom, please ask him to give me a ring to know he’s okay.”

“That, I will do. Goodnight, Lady Cameron.” He rang off.

“So where d’you think Tom is?”

“I have no idea.” We were talking in bed, having just sorted out the two wains and were hoping they’d sleep all night.

“With this Diana woman?”

“Could be, or lying dead in a ditch.”

“Don’t say things like that, Cathy, it could be tempting providence.”

“Sometimes you are so superstitious, Stel, it’s frightening.”

“You’re not I suppose.”

“Course not, touch wood.” She laughed at my joke and I switched the light off.

“Have you tried sending him blue light and then following it?”

“No I haven’t.”

“Worth a try?”

“I’ll try it in the morning when I feel a bit less tired.”

“Oh, okay. Are we doing anything with the kids tomorrow?”

“Yeah, you can look after them and Jenny and I will go shopping.”

“Don’t forget to leave me the keys to their cages then and sufficient straight-jackets.”

“Okay,” I replied sleepily, “What?”

“I thought I’d take them to the zoo. Which department will be most likely to adopt them?”

“The lions and tigers, should get one good meal out of them.” I felt myself drifting off.

I was walking then running, as if I was trying to get somewhere in a hurry but where and why, I had no idea. I was following these road signs, blue arrows which seemed to have some relevance to my destination so I went where they directed.

I felt so tired, all this walking and running was really sapping my energy, I wished I had my car or even a bicycle. Where was I going and why? Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew the answer to both of these, but I couldn’t seem to bring it forward.

I met a man as I was walking past a very nice garden, he looked Indian or Pakistani but I could have been wrong. “Vere are you going?” he asked me with a definite Indian accent.

“What’s it to you?”

“I vant to find her.”

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“Her, the same one you’re looking for, she killed me.”

“Who killed you?”

“She did.”

“I’m not searching for her, I’m looking for my father.”

“He’s with her, he doesn’t know she killed me, he doesn’t know he’s in danger.”

“But if she killed you, and he’s with her how come he doesn’t know?”

“She’s wery clewer.”

“Why did she kill you?”

“Because I demanded it back.”

“It–what is it?”

“Look towards the dawn,” he said and when I turned round he was gone.

“Who’s Dawn?” asked Stella nudging me.

“Who?” I yawned.

“You were talking in your sleep, something about Dawn–who is she?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“You said look for Dawn.”

“I don’t know anyone called Dawn.”

“Oh, sorry,” she turned over without any further explanation and went back to sleep, whereas I tossed and turned for an hour trying to work out who Dawn was. I woke up just before seven–I know, I sound like Snow White–suddenly realising what it meant. I sat up and Stella groaned, “It’s alright for you, I haven’t slept a wink all night.”

“Who was that snoring and twitching, then?”

“I don’t snore or twitch.”

“Next time you sleep with Gareth, ask him the next morning–no, better not, he’ll be off like a rocket.”

“Such calumny, you’re a wicked woman, Catherine Cameron.”

“I thought you’d never notice.”

“Me? I miss nothing.”

“Except the point.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“It’s self explanatory.”

“Self inflammatory?”

“If you like. C’mon, I’m starving.”

After breakfast, I set up my laptop and went on to the Ordnance Survey website and called up a map of Portsmouth, I then scrolled due east from where we live–in the direction of the dawn. “Chichester or Bognor Regis?” I said out loud and Trish who was standing nearby asked what I was doing.

“Oh I had a funny dream and was trying to make some sense of it.”

“Have you Googled it, Mummy?” and before I could reply she reeled off this list of Chichesters, from the place to individuals, including the yachtsman, Sir Francis.

“Thank you darling, that’s given me an idea. I got my bag and looked through my address book. I was right, I did know someone called Chichester, now, how to phrase my question to them and try to make it sound normal.

‘Hi, Terry, remember me, I used to be called Charlie–’ nah, I don’t think so, besides I don’t think he ever met Charlie. However, something in me allowed my fingers to operate by themselves and before I knew it, I was dialling a number–his number–oh poo.

“Hello?” said a voice, a very masculine voice.

“Is that Terry Chichester?” I asked, knowing full well it was.

“Yes, who’s that?”

“Cathy Cameron.”

“Who?”

“I was called Cathy Watts.”

“Oh, the dormouse woman.”

“You remembered, I’m impressed.”

“Only because I saw your prof yesterday.”

“Oh where was that?”

“On the M3 services, he was with some old lady, at least I think she was with him.”

“Probably, he mentioned something about giving someone a lift–what time was it?”

“About six, I think. So to what do I ascribe this call?”

“It’s about the mammal survey,” I lied.

“What about it?”

“Have I had your returns?”

“Hardly, I’m an ornithologist, remember?”

“Yes I know, with a particular interest in owls.”

“Yeah, so why are you contacting me?”

“Don’t you do regular analysis of pellets?”

“Yeah, so?”

“If I send you some forms could you record which mammals your birds are eating?”

“I could I suppose.”

“You’re a good man, Terry. I’ll get some sent to you.”

“Is that it?”

“Yeah, just trying to work out how to plug any gaps in my records system.”

“Yeah, send me some and we’ll start recording kills, although the sites will be vague.”

“That’s fine–thanks a lot, regards to Gillian.”

“We divorced a year ago, Cathy.”

“Oops, sorry about that–I’ll send some forms, byee.”

“Who was that, Mummy?”

“Someone I knew from the British Trust for Ornithology, he saw Gramps heading towards London.”

“How did you know to speak with them–quite a long shot?” said Stella when I told her what I’d gleaned, “I mean, out of sixty million individuals in this country you pick on the only one you knew who also knew Tom and who’d seen him yesterday. Some coincidence if you ask me?”

“I’m not asking you, but it looks as if they were headed towards London.”

“Well that’s where the M3 goes, so yeah, it’s a reasonable assumption if you ask me? Wasn’t she going to the Foreign Office?”

“She had an appointment there but I don’t know if she ever got there.”

“D’ya think someone got to her first?”

“I wasn’t actually, I was wondering if she killed the man found in her garden and if so, how safe is Tom in her company?”

“If she’s on the run, she’s not going to meet civil servants is she?”

“I thought that was implicit in what I just said.”

“Yeah so? I was making it explicit.”

Sometimes I wonder about Stella.

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