The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2568 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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It was only when I recounted the story to Tom because Delia had phoned him, did I realise how dangerous things could have been. At the same time I knew she’d never have stabbed me, the knife was to show how great her pain was not to do me any harm. Tom suggested we inform the police, I declined saying I’d told her I wouldn’t.

When I got home with the schoolgirl contingent of the family and had changed into jeans and trainers I called James. He spoke to me from his mobile saying he was checking out some leads but possibly wouldn’t know much for a couple of days. I told of Fellman’s death and he asked similar questions to me. I had no answers and at the moment the police were keeping me in the dark over it.

Tomorrow, I said I’d be going to see Gasgoine, to see if he was really as ill as he made out. Even if he were, he could still be plotting and he had contacts who could do nasty things. Daddy said it might be, ‘a guid idea, hen’.

Simon was talking about bank rates with Julie and Stella when the phone rang. I went to answer it. It was James. “Expect the plod all over you tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Our young accountant was strangled.”

“He was an auditor, Jim, not an accountant.”

“Whatever—he was murdered.”

“Couldn’t the rope he hanged himself with strangled him?”

“No the pathologist suggested he was strangled manually.”

“How else would you do it? By foot?”

“Ha ha, not—no, he was strangled by someone’s hands, they found bruising which the rope wouldn’t have caused and stuff it should have done didn’t show, which means...”

“It was all post mortem.”

“Yeah, how d’ya know that?”

“I’m a biologist, remember?” I’d also read countless whodunits, so knew these things, like you do.

“So you keep reminding me—anyway, before you go all nutty professor on me, remember the police are going to want to plant something as spectacular as a double murder on someone special—who better than than you for that role?”

“So he was lying, then—miserable bar-steward.”

Jim laughed down the phone. “He’s not going to catch yer by being nice to yer, is he?”

“That depends upon whether he fancies me or not.”

“Oh come off it, you’re married to Simon and very singularly so.”

“I can flirt without actually doing anything.”

“You be careful, young lady,” he cautioned.

“He’s not my type, all beer and fags.”

“Sounds like a UKIP MP.”

“I thought I was the politically bias one here.”

“That was more intellectually snobbery than politics; I mean what’s got an IQ of 144?”

“Apart from Trish you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Dunno.”

“A gross of UKIP voters.”

I groaned my reply, partly because it was an old joke and featured in local rivalries such as we said it about Brighton students as I’m sure they said it about Sussex ones, although we were largely Brighton based establishments though our pedigree was longer, Brighton having been a polytechnic before and snobbery is alive and well and living in academia. Ironically, Portsmouth was too but it hasn’t stopped me working there, though part of me would love the chair of biology at a bigger university like Sussex just to say I’d arrived. Relax it ain’t gonna happen.

I told Tom the news about young Fellman’s death, I wondered if his wife knew and what she thought. I decided to leave it to the police to tell her. They must have done because half an hour later she rang me.

“Is that Lady wotsit—I mean Cameron?”

“Yes, who is that?”

“Lisa,Dave Fellman’s wife—I mean ex-wife.”

“I think you mean widow.”

“Yeah, sorry I’m a bit upset.”

“Well it’s early days yet, it’s going to take some time before...”

“No, not that—well yes that as well—but you were right.”

“Right about what?”

“Was he a suicide or was he killed?”

“He didn’t strike me as a suicidal type, why?”

“They killed him.”

“Who did?”

“I dunno, but as soon as I do, I’m gonna kill all of them.”

“Lisa, leave it to the police—you have young children who need you more than ever since Dave died. Don’t do it, leave it to the police.”

“I just wanna kill ’em, Cathy—they’ve destroyed my life...” she burst into tears and was incoherent for several moments. “I want to see them die,” she said after taking a deep breath. “I want to see them dead.”

“Doesn’t that make you as bad as them, Lisa?”

“I don’t care as long as they suffer like my Dave did.”

“What about your children, they’re really going to enjoy having a mother in prison.”

“I don’t care.”

“No but they might.”

“I don’t—I don’t care...” she became incoherent again “...I miss him so much...”

“Have you been drinking?” It suddenly occurred much of this was as much booze as grief.

“So?”

“Where are the children?”

“I miss him, Cathy...” she sounded almost ready to fall asleep.

“Lisa, have you taken anything besides booze?”

“...miss him...”

“Lisa, where are the children. LISA...” I called but she didn’t respond. What could I do? I didn’t have her address besides I couldn’t go bursting in there—but I knew a man who could.

I called Portsmouth plod and asked for DCI Plummer. He had gone home so I asked to speak to one of his team. “They’ve finished for the night can’t you ring in the morning?”

“No I most certainly can’t, now find me the most senior officer on duty.”

“An’ just who are you?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.

Your worst nightmare, went through my mind but instead I simply said, “Lady Cameron.”

There was a brief pause before he replied far less condescending. “Trying to locate someone for you now, Lady Cameron.”

“Thank you,” I said flatly.

“Inspector Billings, who am I talking to?”

“Inspector, this is Lady Catherine Cameron...”

“Oh yeah...”

“Just had a call from Lisa Fellman, the wife of the young chap they found hanged.”

“Yeah, why is this important?”

“She seemed to pass out while she was talking to me...”

“She might just be tired, or taken some pills.”

“It was the latter which worried me.”

“Her doctor’s probably prescribed something.”

“What if she’s taken them all at once?”

“You say she passed out?”

“That was my interpretation.”

“Okay, I’ll get a car to check her out.”

“Thank you, Inspector.”

“If she ain’t unconscious, you’ll be getting a bill.”

“That I will face if and when it happens.”

Half an hour later I got a call from Arthur Street, Lisa’s step-father thanking me for calling the police. It appeared that Lisa had accidentally mixed drinks with her pills and collapsed. The police and paramedics got her to hospital where’s she was quite poorly but comfortable.

“Where are her children?” I asked him.

“Quite safe with her mother, don’t worry about them.”

“Good, if there’s anything I can do to help...”

“Lisa seemed to think you were responsible for Dave killing himself, so how come you’re calling the police to help her?”

“We settled our differences which were a misunderstanding, she phoned me not long ago to tell me Dave was murdered not a suicide.”

“She didn’t say nothin’ to us.”

“I suspect she found it difficult to take on board.”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“I’m not, Dave didn’t strike me as a suicide type so somebody else had to have killed him.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“I won’t be, the police accidentally revealed it when I spoke to them earlier.”

“Just give her some space, all right?”

“I will, she knows where to find me if she needs me.”

I heard him put down the phone none too gently. I’d just clicked off my cordless handset when it rang again I wondered if it was him back already. I wasn’t, it was Jim.

“This should interest you, Cathy.”

“What’s that?” I enquired.

“Your deceased lab technician.”

“What about him?”

“He was an undercover investigator.”

"What? Bernie Black?"

“Investigating you, we suspect.”

“Meee?” I squealed loudly with indignation.

“Yeah, we suspect he was working for a right-wing Christian group who thought you weren’t suitable to educate children’s minds.”

“Well the university did.”

“I’m not arguing, boss lady, just telling it how it is.”

“And just how is that?”

“The latest thinking is that while digging for stuff on you—which he didn’t find because you’re so virtuous—he discovered a web of conspiracy and corruption and it cost him his life.”

“Who are these guys, Jim?”

“Not dead certain yet, but it’s getting clearer. Speak to ya later—uh gotta go, suspect on the move again.”

I yelled, “Be careful, Jim,” but it was too late, he’d switched off his phone. He was well able to handle himself. So why did I have this sense of foreboding? Something wasn’t quite right.