The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1359 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

My mobile tinkled again, it was Jim, “Can’t find anything on the occupants of that house–they seem to have disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Does that strike you as strange?”

“Unusual rather than strange, people do leave areas for whatever reason. I couldn’t find any family to contact either. Sorry–drawn a blank.”

“Okay, let me know if you hear anything else, won’t you?”

“For you–Cathy–anything.”

“I hope you’re more convincing when you’re lying to suspects and so on?”

“Oh, Cathy, I’m mortally wounded–my heart is broken, never to be repaired...”

“Cut the crap, even if it is romantic crap.”

“Oh, all right–you drive a hard bargain.”

“No that comes later when we negotiate your bill.”

“There’s no answer to that.”

“Good–now get back to work, you scurvy knave.”

“Are you sure you haven’t got a video phone?”

“I hope you’re not sitting there in your underpants, Jim Beck?”

“No, I’m completely naked, working my mouse hands free.”

“A hands free mouse–oh you dirty sod–ugh–too much information.” I put down the phone while he was still roaring with laughter.

“What was all that about?” asked Jenny.

“Don’t ask.”

“I have to now–don’t I? It sounded rude.”

“It was disgusting, Jim Beck was trying to make me believe he was working his mouse with his–um–willie.”

She looked at me for a moment while she presumably visualised it. “That is awful, yuck. It’s also very um–have you got his phone number?”

“Behave yourself, for all you know he’s got his mouse pad, tucked under his legs.”

“Even so, how he does right click could be interesting to watch.” Jenny blushed and sniggered like a school girl.

“That is–a point, I wonder if he does exhibitions?”

“Why, is he an exhibitionist?”

“A bit of an understatement–ego the size of Australia.”

“Wow, nearly as big as yours, Cathy,” she teased stepping back from me.

“Yep, mine’s the size of the Indian sub-continent.”

“Oh,” she said smirking, “I was thinking more in terms of Asia, full stop.”

“Just for that, you can watch the wains while I go somewhere.”

“I thought you were supposed to stay here–in case Julie phones.”

“If she does, and I think it highly unlikely, ask her where she is and send the police round, then call me and send an ambulance.”

“An ambulance?”

“Yes, because whoever has got her will need it.”

“Oh–now don’t do anything daft, Cathy.”

“Daft, it won’t be–criminal it might. If I’m not back by three–go and get the girls will you?”

“Why, where are you going?”

I tapped my nose, “In my horoscope it said–‘travel overseas is in prospect’–see ya later.”

I drove down towards the dockyard area of the town and twenty minutes after leaving home was parking on yellow lines outside the Kemp’s old house. I rang the doorbell unsure if anyone would be there. I rang twice again and no answer came although I thought I saw movement from inside.

I moved to the next door neighbour and rapped on their front door, an old lady came to answer it. “Hello, I’m sorry to disturb you...”

“I’m not votin’ for you.”

“No, that’s okay–I’m not here after votes.”

“I don’t wanna buy nothin’ neither.”

“I’m not selling anything.”

“Waddyawant then?”

If she wasn’t at least a hundred and twenty, I’d smack her in the gob, however, I resisted the temptation and spoke instead. “I’m trying to find the Kemps–they used to live next door.”

“What d’ya want them for?”

“I owe them some money and wanted to pay it back.” I lied but so what.

“I wouldn’t bother–they won half a million on the lottery–pissed off to the Isle of Wight, Shanklin I think–the likes of you an’ me in’t good enough now.”

“The Isle of Wight?”

“Yeah–Shanklin, I think.” It seemed curious how everything seemed to lead back to the IoW. “If they do come back, who should I say called?”

“Tell them my name is Nemesis.”

“Funny name, are you a foreigner?”

“Yes, I’m Scots.”

“That explains it then–bloody foreigners,” she spat retreating back to her front door which was slammed in my face.

Maybe I should have said I was from Bristol? I went to the other side of the Kemp’s house but there was no answer there. A door opened across the street, “You lookin’ for Brad an’ Shirl?”

I walked across to the overweight middle aged man, who was attired in a string vest, trousers held up with an old necktie, and unlaced boots. “Yes, I am–do you have an address for them?” I smiled sweetly at him.

“You said you owed him money–zat right?”

“Yes.”

“’Ow much?”

“I’m afraid that’s between Brad and I.”

“Yer lyin’ tart, you’ve bin sent to collect from ’im, ’aven’t yer?”

“Okay, so you got me sussed–you got his address?”

“I might ’ave–wossit worth?”

“Fifty.”

“’Undred–make it a ’undred.”

“I could just arrest you.” I bluffed.

“You’re no copper–they don’t ride round in Porsche’s and wear designer jeans.”

“Would you like to come and talk down at the station?” I was on rocky ground here–impersonating a police officer is punishable by imprisonment.

I went to reach behind me, “Okay, lady–Beachview Road, Shanklin.”

“Wise decision, Mister–um?”

“Waite, Percy Waite.”

“Thank you, Mr Waite, don’t break the law now will you?”

I walked off pretending to talk into a walkie-talkie as I went to the car. Then it was down to the ferry and the Isle of Wight fast ferry.

The temperature was getting cooler as the stiff westerly breeze intensified and litter and leaves blew about as I approached the ferry. I was half tempted to take the hydrofoil and go as a foot passenger, but then decided some sort of car was going to be useful, especially as my recollection of public transport on the island wasn’t too brilliant.

While I waited, I called up the map service on my Blackberry and sorted a route to Beachview Road. From the ferry terminal at Ryde, it would take me probably twenty minutes. It wasn’t a very long road but it could take me some time to knock on all the doors–but if that’s what it takes–then that’s what I’ll do.

The ferry ride was choppy–I was very glad it wasn’t any longer than it was–I’m usually a good sailor–perhaps I’m just anxious about Julie–and could have something to do with the fact that it’s half past two and I haven’t eaten at all today.

I pulled into a cafe, which surprisingly had a car space outside it with no yellow lines and ordered a coffee and cheese sandwich. The bread was white and the coffee was dreadful–and for a fiver–poor value. However, I didn’t have time to find an Egon Ronay recommended place, so I ate and drank the awful fare–feeling more sick than I had beforehand.

With school traffic, it took me twenty five minutes to find Beachview Road, it was on a slight hill. I parked the car unsure that Julie was even alive, let alone here. Then I felt sick and had to jump out of the car and vomit in the street–wonderful. Thankfully, I didn’t get any on my clothes–bloody cheese sandwich.

I got back into the car and drank some of the bottled water I always carry. I felt like shit warmed up. I locked the car and just sat there for a moment with my window open and my eyes closed.

“Get out of the car–and do it slow, like,” a man’s voice spoke quietly but with menace and I saw the glint of a knife blade.