The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1354 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“So what’s this about you breaking all the windows in his greenhouse?” I asked Danny after the fat controller and his female sidekick had gone.

“He wasn’t a sergeant then, just a big-headed copper.”

“Never mind the character reference, what happened?”

“A friend of mine used to live next door to him, PC Plod as we used to call him, his real name is Polder, but it sounds like plod if you say it quick.”

“Okay–so what happened?”

“We were playing football in the garden when the ball went over the fence and hit the greenhouse. I got the job of going to get it even though I didn’t kick it. He caught me and smacked me across the head–he was like a looney.”

“He actually hit you?

“Yeah; he hit me then picked up the ball and threw it at me smashing more of the glass. By the time he’d finished the whole greenhouse was trashed including the plants inside. He called some of his friends and had me arrested. I got sent to the children’s home because he said my mum couldn’t cope.”

“What did your mother think of all this?” I would have fought tooth and nail to prove his relative innocence.

“She let them take me–she moved a month later–ran off with some bloke from a baker’s shop–she sent me a letter.”

“Oh, Danny, I’m so sorry.”

“I dunno where she is now–could be anywhere.”

“Has she never been back in touch?”

“Not since the letter–she told me I was a bad lot, taking after my dad–I never knew him, so I can’t say.”

“Would you like us to try and find her?”

“What for? I don’t ever want to see her again–she let them take me–she didn’t believe me, her son–she believed that pig.”

“I’m sorry, son.” I opened my arms and he almost fell into them sobbing against my shoulder. Trish walked in and was about to say how she’d started World War 3 or something equally irrelevant but about turned when she saw me hugging the sobbing boy. She set up a court of enquiry later, but I’d plead the fifth–Beethoven’s that is–symphony of course–ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha.

“You’ve been much more like a mother to me than she ever was,” he sobbed–“I’m really glad I live with you.”

“I’m glad you do too.”

We hugged and the doorbell rang again. “Go on upstairs, if that’s your friends, I’ll tell them you bumped your nose.”

“Thanks, Mum–mee,” he winked and ran up the stairs.

“It’s the police again,” announced Trish, “Mrs Plod says Mr Plod left his pen here.”

“Well I cleared the table and I didn’t see it.” I announced but invited the lone WPC into my study again.

“He didn’t leave it, I took it, I knew he’d send me to get it back and I wanted to apologise for his attitude.”

“Oh–got time for another cuppa?”

“N–yes, why not–he can wait.”

I made some more coffee and we chatted. Mrs Plod, turned out to be one Jayne–with a Y–Parsons. She’d been a police officer for two years and usually enjoyed her job until she’d had to partner Sergeant Polder. They had loads of complaints but he had friends in high places and always managed to avoid the censure he deserved.

I asked why she hadn’t reported him, she told me she’d lose her job and felt it was more important to do it and help people than it was to make a kamikaze attack on Polder and lose it.

I could see her point. I didn’t push her because I felt she was already taking risks to come and see me again.

“Is there anything I could do to help sort him out?”

“It would be nice if you could–but he seems pretty well fire proof.”

“No one is entirely fire proof, it simply requires adding more accelerant to the blaze.”

Trish came running into the room and I stepped in front of her tipping the tray of coffee all over the policewoman. She hopped about ripping off her stab-proof waistcoat and I saw the wire I thought something was trying to tell me about.

Trish ran off crying and I put the tray down and switched on my MP3 player as I did so I excused myself to go after Trish to calm her down, apologising profusely to the young copper as I went.

I returned with towels five minutes later and after helping her dry off, I produced fresh coffee. We sat and talked.

“So what’s your take on this blue energy stuff and the accident–I’ve never heard anything so preposterous in all my life?” I said stating my own public opinion.

“I like to keep an open mind–who knows what happens–but I did like your spaceship comment–that really annoyed him.”

“Yes, it was quite good–but then brute force and ignorance are rarely comparable to intellect are they?”

“No, ma’am.”

“So he has to use deceit and guile, doesn’t he–involving other people–isn’t that right?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.”

“Yes you do–let me demonstrate.” I switched on my MP3 player and after my voice faded, hers was heard to say–“I think I’ve got under her radar, Sarge, I think she trusts me.”

“I take it you were filming or recording me?” I asked as she blushed.

“I think I’d better go,” she stood up and practically ran out of the room.

What she didn’t know was I’d also videoed the whole thing–not intentionally–I’d switched on the camera because I was going to practice some lines from the Scottish play and I wanted to see how I fared. I had the whole thing on a camera facing her.

I called Jason–he was quite intrigued to hear what I’d done and asked for a copy. I emailed him one and he said he’d get back to me–he had a friend in the Independent Police Complaints Authority.

I was increasingly glad I’d met Jason, even if he was supposed to be a revenue barrister and was exceedingly wealthy.
He called me back a short while later and said he thought we had enough material to seriously embarrass the department which enabled such bigots to operate. I wished him luck.

“What’s luck go to do with it?” he asked irritably and I had to hold my tongue not to sing the Tina Turner hit back down the phone.

After talking with Jason, I briefed Tom and Simon and a bit later also spoke with Jenny, warning them not to talk to any policemen or women about the accident–actually, it wasn’t an accident, other than she hit the van by accident when she was aiming at me.

Simon immediately went off to talk with Henry and invite him to an evening meal where I would do the roast dinner–roast leg of pork–good job it was a big joint of meat or I wouldn’t have had enough. Henry apparently accepted the invitation rather too eagerly for my liking–but he was a better friend than foe, so my criticism was unimportant.