The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1442 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The chief inspector was shocked by my outburst–mind you so was I, my language is usually more delicate. “Does your husband know you have such a low opinion of him?”

“I actually have a very high opinion of him.”

“So why were you so rude about him?”

“Why aren’t you out looking for him instead of sitting there drinking tea?”

“Lady Cameron, we had to establish some facts about the case.”

“What facts? There aren’t any other than Simon is apparently missing, are there?”

“Even that needed to be checked out–you seem unmoved by the news, yet you say you love your husband.”

“I’m not going to burst into tears in front of strangers, am I? Now please go and find him and do let me know.”

“There is something you are not telling me, isn’t there?”

“No–I don’t think so–I’m just waiting for you to leave so I can get the Batmobile out and go and look for him.”

“What is this Batmobile?” asked the senior detective and I had that feeling you get when a throwaway line becomes the subject of a discussion.

“It’s from the film, Batman, sir, it’s the rocket car Batman uses.”

“Who is this Batman?” asked the inspector and I began to wonder if he was the right man for the job.

“He’s a comic book crime fighter, sir, that they’ve made films of, you know, like Superman,” rattled on his minion.

“Superman–I’m aware there is a play by George Bernard Shaw about Man and Superman, or something of that name.”

“No sir, this is based on an American comic book character.”

“You learn something every day, I shall take my leave, Lady Batwoman.” He gave a little bow and followed his sergeant back to the car, who was still trying to explain who Superman was, I hope they don’t get on to X-men.

As soon as they were gone I called Jim. He had no further news other than he was sure Simon was somewhere in the Portsmouth area. He admitted it was more of a hunch than based on any information. He had tried calling Simon’s Blackberry and there was no answer.

I called Henry. He too had heard nothing other than they were looking for Simon. I then decided to drop my bombshell, which was pure bluff. “Okay, what was in that safe?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Well, no one has possibly kidnapped Simon for a measly fifty grand.”

“You’d be surprised how little needs to be on offer for criminals to do stupid things.”

“I’d be surprised if there is anyone stupid enough to mix it with Special Branch or MI5, which is who would get called out if a leading banker disappears, and is why no one at the Met seems to know him–he is Special Branch, isn’t he, our Inspector Sing?”

“Yes, alright, he is–what of it?”

“I’ll ask again, what’s in that safe apart from money?”

“Documents.”

“Documents? What sort of documents?”

“I can’t tell you that over an unsecured line.”

“You’d sacrifice your son’s life for a piece of paper?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Cathy, I have a meeting to attend, goodbye.” He rang off.

I wondered what sort of documents people leave with banks–house deeds, wills, stocks and shares, anything I suppose that’s small enough to keep in a safe and sufficiently valuable to pay for its storage because none of it is free.

I was washing up the cups while I cogitated and saw Jim’s Porsche come up the drive. Stephanie came out to the kitchen–“Your kids are such good fun, you know.”

“You haven’t been reading to them all this time, have you?” I’d forgotten she was there.

“No, we’ve been playing Monopoly.”

“Did Trish win?”

“Um–yes–why?”

“She always does, she beats Simon, and he’s like a psycho when games have money in them, even toy money.”

“Well she is quite clever, but she says you beat her last time.”

“Only because I cheated.”

“Cathy, that is dreadful–how did you do it?”

“I learned how to roll the dice so I knew which numbers would come up and I avoided her hotels.”

“You can cheat rolling the dice?”

“Yes, look, can you stay a bit longer and help Jenny and Stella with the kids–I have to go out–it’s rather urgent.”

“There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

“Yes, Simon has disappeared–don’t tell the children.”

“Who’s the stud with the Porsche?”

“He’s gay, Stephanie.”

“Bugger me,” she said.

“He might if you ask him nicely,” I smirked and she gave a look that would kill a fully grown elephant. Fortunately, I’m not an elephant.

I grabbed my bag and jacket and went out to meet Jim by the back door. “Where are we going?” he asked as I walked towards his car.

“The safe contains documents–it’s not the money.”

“The plans for the Olympic stadium, so the rumour goes.”

“Why are those valuable?”

“It includes the data on the security measures–wiring, passwords, number codes–all sorts of things.”

“What are they doing in one of our banks in Hackney of all places?”

“The word is, that one of the project managers is a friend of the branch manager who agreed to take them for safe keeping every night.”

I groaned.

“Well it’s better than having them taken from his home, which would be less well protected.”

“Why couldn’t they leave them in the office?”

“They need to check things like security numbers and codes fairly regularly–they change them every day or week or some such routine, using a plan–probably a list of randomly generated numbers.”

I groaned again.

“Oh it gets better–there’s some memory sticks with the whole lot on, plus financial data and names and addresses of all sorts of people.”

“In that safe?”

“So they say.”

“And it just so happens the riot happened outside–what a coincidence?”

“The word is that it was no coincidence–the people with a need to acquire it–got in rent a mob, who stirred up the local shitheads–and a few hours later the bank mysteriously catches fire.”

“Are you telling me the riot was deliberate to get that safe?”

“Yes.”

“So where does Simon fit into all this?”

“That I’m not sure of, I suspect either he knows the code to open the safe or they’ve got him hostage and want the bank to swap the codes for him.”

“They’d never do that? The government would be involved and they never give in to villains or terrorists. What am I saying? That’s my Simon out there. C’mon, Jim, we’ve got to do something.”

“Like what?”

“Go and see the branch manager from Hackney.”

“I thought of that–he’s in protective custody, as are his family.”

“How big is this safe?” I asked, I had no idea.

“It’s about the size of a large wardrobe, about two metres high by a couple wide and deep. It weighs several tons.”

“Who is supposed to have moved it?”

“Oh the firm who did that have been gone over by the plod, good and proper. One of their senior manager’s family was held hostage while they moved the thing, only to lose it en route to the bank. Simon was in overall control of that.”

“No wonder he and Henry flew over the riots and then went up there with me the next day.”

“He was in charge of its removal.”

“Well, I can’t see a bloke with a sack truck pinching it, so it needs a crane and somewhere with either the codes or a good cutting device to get into it and while they’re doing this, the security people would be changing everything at the stadium. It would cease to be useful to an enemy or terrorist.”

“Sorry, stick to dormice, Cathy. The plans are comprehensive, so anyone with the right sort of engineering background could decide just where to explode a bomb or crash a truck or plane to cause maximum damage and mayhem. They might have to change the Olympic venue.”

“They can’t do that, Cavendish just won the pre-Olympic road race.”

“There’s more to life than bike racing, Cathy.”

“You sound like Maddy Peters.”

“Who the hell is Maddy Peters?”

“A girl in a story whose friend is a passionate bike racer.”

“Duh!”