The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2517 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

“Oh hi, Daddy.”

“Ye’ve got a face like fiddle, why?”

“Jim has been unable to find anything I can use to embarrass Dominic Gasgoine.”

“Whit f’ are ye trying tae embarrass him?”

“To take the initiative against him.”

“Sae ye need tae embarrass him, dae ye.”

“I thought it...”

“That’s blackmail, Cathy. If ye hae tae stoop tae his levels, ye’re no thae woman I thocht ye were.”

“Did you know he was married to Monica?”

“Aye, sae does mean ye’d embarrass yer ma-in-law tae get at him?”

“Not really, I’m sorry, Daddy, I seem to be a disappointment all round.”

“Ye’re not, yer motivation is guid but yer actions ’re wrang. I telt ye, yer very stranng, jest stand up tae him, dinna let him browbeat ye. Ye’re an academic, an’ a guid teacher, ye’re cleverer than him, oot think him, dance roond him, tie him up in knots, but dinna threaten tae resign because then he has ye. He’ll accept it and ye’ll be oot on yer ear or eatin’ humble pie tae get yer job back.”

“I don’t know if I can do this Daddy, I really don’t.”

“This man is threatening a’ ye hold dear, ye have to talk tae him an’ not let him win.”

“I wish you were still my head of department and I was just a little old teacher.”

“Och, Cathy, ye’ve outgrown such things, stop acting like a child and begin tae be thae aristocrat’s wife. Ye’re a titled woman, ye’re a PhD an’ a professor, ye shud eat him alive.”

“The thought of that would make me vegetarian.”

“Aye, me tae; but ye ken whit I mean?”

“I suppose. I’ll chat with Simon and perhaps Henry would have some pointers.”

“I’m no sure speakin’ tae Henry wid be a guid idea.”

“Why?—oh I see what you mean.”

“Also if ye remind him ye’re Henry’s dochter in law, he micht try to get his ain back on Henry through ye.”

“Why is life so complicated?”

He just shrugged. I don’t suppose there are any easy answers let alone a definitive one. I called Jim and told him to cancel his research. He felt it was too soon and he was nearly on to something. Going on Tom’s advice it didn’t matter, I had to show the traditional stiff upper lip and fireproof knickers of the British aristocracy, even though I was an imposter—a grammar school girl who got promoted above her station. Perhaps I’d just use the old trick of pretending he was only wearing his underwear when we met, which tends to help stop one being over awed.

I knew very little about Gasgoine except he was a bully. That state of affairs was about to change very suddenly. My phone rang and Jim just said, “Eureka.”

“What have you found?”

“Our Mr Gasgoine wasn’t always called that.”

“Okay, I’ll buy it, what was he called?”

“Darius Glinker.”

“Goodness, nearly as dramatic as my change of name.”

“Ha ha. His father was a Russian Jew who fled the Nazis and Stalin back in about 1940—the dates are a bit hazy. His dad was a tailor and set up a shop in his house in the East End by the end of the war. No one knew where he got his cloth but several of the mob seemed to patronise his shop and it prospered accordingly.

“Young Darius was to be apprenticed as a tailor but preferred the excitement of the organised crime scene and although he was never prosecuted he was thought to be up to his eyeballs in it.”

“You’re implying this guy was a mobster in his early life.”

“Yeah, exactly that, he was a friend of the Kray brothers and mad Frankie wotsit.”

“Perhaps he’s a reformed character.”

“Not according to my source, he’s still profiting from rackets, people smuggling and so forth.”

“And they’re thinking of giving him a knighthood?”

“He puts pennies, lots of them into the Tory election machine.”

“All of it tainted or blood money.”

“Could be and Cyril Smith still got his knighthood as did that creep Savile, so it’s no guarantee of decency.”

“Can you get me proof positive that he’s still a mobster?”

“As in presented in court proof?”

“Yes.”

“That could be difficult or expensive, loads of the Met are on the take.”

“See what you can do, Jim.”

“Usual terms?”

“Go and get digging.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I went and told Tom what had been hinted. “Whit wid that say aboot Monica?”

“Being a hoodlum’s wife?”

He gave me a long stare.

“But if we could demonstrate he was unsuitable for office.”

“They’ll appoint someone who’s even worse.”

“What if you stood against whoever that was?”

“Cathy, are ye mad? I’m no a politician.”

“I wonder if Henry would?”

“Ye’ve got tae get rid o’ Gasgoine first and I’m no sae sure ye’ll be able tae.”

“We can but try.”

“An’ if ye fail, will ye go?”

“I might.”

“Sae he wins.”

“At least I’m beginning to understand what I’m up against.”

“Dae ye, hen, I’m no sae sure.” He walked away before I could say anything in reply. Once again I was back to feeling less than happy with myself and my ability to deal with this toerag who’d doubtless connived to get this position and who it would be a good thing to remove. Just how we did it was another matter, a whole new ball game as the folk across the pond would say. Maybe I should count my blessings and leave to become a full time mum and wife? It certainly has its attractions—then I think of Spike and others like her. They need people like me to protect them and monitor their numbers and habitats.

I had a month to collect my intelligence and make my decision before I met this unspeakable man. Surely, if he thought I was gunning for him, he’d come for me first. I shall have to be very very careful, and tell Jim to be extra discreet.