The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1842 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Portsmouth is one of the most densely populated areas in Britain. Sitting in the car following the instructions on the GPS saved us a whole lot of time. I don’t like sat nav, it takes the skill out of finding one’s way around with a map and compass, but in the very congested and developed area of the city, it is so useful. So instead of looking for moss growing on the north side of a building or tree, we programmed the GPS and were there ten minutes after setting out.

The address we wanted was one in a rundown area, a small terraced affair which was probably two up and two down, something like Leon’s mum had, and which in the past had probably housed a family of ten–we really don’t know we’re born do we?

“You want me to knock the door?” offered James, resplendent in his leather jacket and polo neck shirt?

“No, I’m quite capable of knocking a door or even ringing the bell by myself without support. I’m a big girl now,” I added sarcastically.

“So I see,” he retorted looking down the vee of my cashmere jumper. I was wearing it with a pair of stretch jeans and some ankle boots. In the back of the car lay my raincoat–a Burberry. The car was a hire one, a Vauxhall Astra in red. This was Jim’s idea, his Porsche and possibly my Jaguar might be rather conspicuous, especially if we have to follow anyone, although he could do that while I made my way on foot back home.

I got out of the car and made my way across the road. The front garden was just a tiny yard, enough to accommodate a dustbin but not much more. This house also had a single hanging basket of petunias by the front door.

I pressed the doorbell and immediately wished I hadn’t as it started ‘Rule Britannia’, which I suppose was better than ‘Oh Suzanna’, but not much. I heard someone walking towards the double glazed, hermetically sealed door.

“Who’s there?” called a woman’s voice.

“Hello, Mrs Howse. it’s Cathy Cameron, we met in the car park the other day.”

“Go away, I ain’t opening this door for no one.”

“Please open it, I think I have some information which might be helpful to you and avoid the thing in the car park happening again.”

“I don’t know you. Go away or I’ll call the police.”

“I have nothing to fear from the police,” I called through the letterbox. I couldn’t see it but I suspected every house within earshot had net curtains moving, as curious eyes watched me down on my haunches peering through the letterbox.

“Go away,” she repeated.

“Mrs Howse, I rescued you from those two thugs,” I said as quietly as I could.

“How do I know it was you?”

“Did you see my car?”

“Yes.”

“It was a white Jaguar.”

“I don’t see it now.”

“No, this is a friend’s one.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Please, let me speak with you, I think I can help with your financial problems.”

“He sent you, didn’t he?”

“Who did?”

“Cortez.”

“Who’s Cortez?” I asked.

“Julio Cortez, moneylender with violent friends, also into drug money laundering and various other pleasant habits,” James said quietly.

“The man who sent you–I won’t pay him another penny–you can tell ’im that, not another penny.”

“I’m not from him, I promise you.”

“I don’t believe you, once I open this door you’ll trash me ’ouse, like they did before.”

I looked up at James, he shook his head. “You have some really nice people living here don’t you?”

“Yeah, but they’re not all as nice as me,” I smiled back in a forced grin.

“Pity.”

“Who’s the man with you?”

“He’s a private investigator, Mrs Howse.” I then said to Jim, “Give me one of your cards.” He handed me one and I pushed it through the door.

“’Ow do I know this is real?” she called and James looked hurt.

“Mrs Howse would you open this door? My knees are beginning to hurt.” James helped me up and to my astonishment, I heard a bolt being withdrawn and the door opened on the chain.

James showed her his identity card which has a photo of him on it. She looked at me and I felt about in my handbag for my university ID card.

“What’s an ecolist?”

“Ecologist–I’m a scientist, a biologist, only I study types of habitat,” I said through the chink in the door.

“Did you see the film on dormice last year?” asked James.

“Yeah, why?”

“Cathy is the one who made it for the BBC.”

“That was David Attenborough, so now I know you’re lying.”

“It was me actually, Mrs Howse, but I didn’t come here to talk about dormice, I came to try and help you get a bank loan from my husband’s bank, rather than pay this Cortez fellow any more money.”

“Your ’usband has a bank?”

“He’s a senior executive in one and I asked him if he’d be prepared to give you a loan at an affordable rate. He was reluctant, but seeing as you did call the police instead of running away, I pressed him to favour you.”

“’Ow d’you know I called the plod?”

“They told me.”

“What was ’is name?”

“The inspector?”

“Yeah, ’im.”

Miss Marple went through my mind and nearly came out of my mouth. “Marple, John Marple.”

“I don’t trust you, you look shifty to me. Them boobs look too big to be real.”

James nearly fell over and snorted. I felt myself go very red and said almost angrily, “They’re big because I’m still feeding my baby.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said and slammed the door shut.

I was so angry I could have quite happily strangled her. “Come on, let’s go somewhere more salubrious and get a coffee.” James took my arm and we walked back to the car as curtains twitched in several houses. “You can’t help those who won’t be helped and you can’t make blind men see what they don’t want to see.”

We drove into the town centre and had coffee in a little bistro place. James had an espresso while I had a latte. “So that’s it then?” he said, “A total waste of a morning.”

“Not entirely, we get Sammi and Trish to trash Cortez’s computer system.”

“Trish trash?” chuckled James, “I like it, sadly he’ll have a back up system somewhere.”

“I’ll also send whatever they can extract to the fraud squad, who I’m sure will be delighted to see it.”

“The only stuff you’ll see will be bona fide, the real accounts will be well hidden on a separate machine. Sorry,” he looked apologetic, so I believed him.

“So how do we find that?”

“That would be like getting into Fort Knox and a no no.”

“I could get Si to put the word out and crucify him financially.”

“Unless you have proof, he could sue you for millions.”

“Okay, I’ll pay you to shoot him, how about that?”

“That is the most feasible suggestion so far, but a tad illegal.”

“Doesn’t usually worry you,” I felt quite miffed.

“I don’t often deal with such nasty slime-balls these days. I’ve decided I might like to collect my pension after all.”

“So what do I do?”

“My best advice would be, to let it go and walk away. You helped them get two of his thugs–that’s more than most people do.”

“I think we ought to try and speak to her once more.”

“You’re wasting your time and money, Cathy,” he advised reminding me I had to pay him for all this.

“Please, just one more try.”

“Okay, but that’s it, if she gives you any shit, I’m off.”

We ran into heavy traffic and it took ages to get anywhere near the house, which was when we spied the fire engine, blue lights still flashing. I got out of the car and could see it was her house in which the fire had occurred. An ambulance stood just down from the fire tender.

I left James in the car and ran down the street, some woman was telling a copper, “Two men came up and pushed something through her door, minutes later there was smoke and flames everywhere.” I made a discreet retreat and went back to the car.

“What’s happened?”

“Cortez just signed his own death warrant,” I spat, “Take me home please.”