The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1357 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Simon’s an early riser by anybody’s standards, so I wasn’t surprised that by the time I’d got my act together and roused the girls for school, he’d made an appointment for Andy Bond to call round.

Si had also asked Jim Beck to check out both Myers and the Teen Faith camp on the Isle of Wight, or Vectis, as the Romans called it.

“Look, I can’t stop but Andy Bond is calling by and Jim Beck will phone your mobile if he picks up anything.” With that Simon picked up his brief case and after kissing all the girls and getting loads back in return, he pecked me on the cheek and was gone.

Julie came down just after he left, she was yawning and I knew from changing her linen the other day that she was reading when she went to bed. “Must be a good book,” I teased.

“Actually it is, can’t put it down,” she yawned. “Becoming Nancy,” she got out before she yawned again, “Can’t think of the author’s name.”

“What’s it about?” I asked briefly, passing toast to Trish and Livvie.

“Oh it’s a coming of age thing about a teenage boy in London in the nineteen seventies.”

“A teenage boy, and it’s called what?”

“Yeah, okay it’s what caught my eye–he’s chosen to play the part of Nancy in Oliver–they’re doing the musical in his school.”

“A teenage boy playing Nancy? Is he transgender?”

“I think he’s more gay or bi than transgender–you can read it afterwards if you like.”

“Okay, when you finish–better get a move on or you’ll be late.”

She looked at the clock, took the piece of toast I was about to give Danny and walked towards the door. “See ya later,” she called as she went.

I got Jenny to take the girls to school while I waited for Andy Bond to call–she was delighted–I let her take my Cayenne. She was also back before our friendly PC arrived.

Over a cup of decent coffee, I showed the leaflet that Julie had been given. Andy looked at it and called into the station on his mobile–“They’re going to check it out for me–shouldn’t take long at all.”

“I just thought it was odd, some fifty year old bloke dancing with dolly birds like Julie.”

“It does happen, especially if they’re paying for drinks–but a priest–sounds a bit strange, maybe even suspicious. What did he look like?”

“I have no idea, hang on, I’ll ring her–she can tell you over the phone.” I picked up the cordless handset and dialled Julie’s salon. A moment later a voice answered and I said, “Hi, it’s Cathy Cameron, could I speak with Julie a moment?”

“She’s not here, we assumed she must have gone sick–is she alright?”

“Um–I don’t know–she could have a doctor’s appointment–okay thanks.” I rang off before they could ask where she was again. Where the hell was she?

I dialled her mobile number. It was switched off. Wonderful.

“Problems?” asked Andy Bond.

“I don’t know–she’s not in work and she should be. She’s not got her phone switched on which is unusual.”

“You don’t think she went to this thing, do you?” he asked. Just then his phone beeped and he answered it. “Okay, thanks.”

I looked at him his expression was serious, “There is no such parish as St Trinity, and no registered priest named Stanley Myers. There is no Teen Faith festival on the IoW either.”

“Oh shit.” My stomach flipped and I felt sick.

“We don’t know where Julie went–she might have gone off with this guy, she might just as easily broken down and be waiting for the AA or RAC, or played hooky with work. It’s all conjecture so we can’t put out an APB without knowing some more.”

“She’s got a two hour start on us, and we don’t know if she went over on the ferry or what–oh, Andy, why are teenagers so bloody stupid?”

“If they weren’t, they’d have to challenge things when they were older and that would probably be even more catastrophic.”

“But you hear these stories of them being picked up by all sorts of weirdos, and some of them get assaulted or even murdered. I’m really worried.”

“I’ll continue to make enquiries, if she calls or turns up let me know–have you got her car number?”

I had the logbook–what a misnomer that is–it’s a sheet of paper these days–in my filing cabinet, along with the documents for all the other cars. I wrote it down for Andy and he promised to be in touch if he heard anything.

He’d only been gone a few moments when Jim Beck rang. “Hi Cathy, Simon asked me to make some enquiries.”

“Yes, I asked him to call you.”

“Turned up a perfect blank on everything except one.”

“Which one?”

“The faith camp bit–it was used about ten years ago and three teenage girls went missing–they were never found.”

“Julie is missing–or at least she didn’t turn up for work this morning.”

“Okay–I’ll keep digging, any chance you could fax me a copy of the leaflet?”

“I have a photocopy, the police have the original.” I was pleased I’d had the presence of mind to make a copy. “I’ll send you an email attachment.”

“Fine, you have my email addy?”

“Yes, I’ll do it straight away.”

“If she turns up or contacts you, let me know–listen to how she speaks if she does call you–anything unusual or irregular in her manner, let me and the police know immediately.”

“Oh God, Jim, you’re making me feel worse,” I complained now having my worry factor begin to go through the roof–and we live in a three story house, four if you count the cellar. I think I was probably running on adrenalin and stress hormone.

I put the phone down from him and my mobile peeped indicating a text. I rushed to it.

‘Soz Mum, gon 2 IoW. Dont B X wiv me. C U l8r. Ju xx.’

Jenny came in, “Bad news?”

I showed her the text.

“Is there something wrong?” I explained what had happened and she looked as worried as I felt. “Silly cow,” she said and shook her head.

I called the police and told them about the text, dictating it to them and then telling them why I knew she hadn’t sent it.

“How d’you know it wasn’t her?” asked the woman who was taking the message.

“She never signs her name Ju, she always signs it J. Also she always calls me mummy not mum, even by text.”

“Okay, I’ll get this message to Andy Bond–d’you know which network and her mobile number?” I told her this and she rang off. I called Jim and told him the same.

I could hear him on his computer in the background and I hoped he wasn’t playing some computer game while he spoke with me. “Here we go, Vodaphone–yep, as I thought, her phone is on the Isle of Wight, but that doesn’t mean she is. Incidentally, Stanley Myers is the guy who wrote the music for the Deer Hunter.”

“So he claims, I know someone who suggests they wrote it a couple of years before hand.”

“Okay, I suspect you want me to look for Julie rather than prove Myers is a plagiarist?”

“I think so–yes, of course I do.”

“Okay, usual terms–I’ll bill Simon, seeing as he asked me.”

“I don’t care who you bill, Jim, just get her back and safely.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Jenny stood there with a fresh cuppa in her hand, “Here, I think you need this,” she said passing me the mug of tea.