The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2659 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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I did some paperwork and was disturbed by a knock on my door, “Professor, you have a visitor.”

I looked up from my desk, I could have done without the disruption, “Who is it?”

“The police.”

“What?” First thought has anything happened to a loved one, second thought, have I done anything wrong? “You’d best show them in.”

I stood up and in strolled Andy Bond and a younger woman. “Lady Cameron,” he said nodding.

“PC Bond,” I said returning his greeting.

“This is WPC Molly Terry.”

“Good morning,” I said to the young woman. She looked about fifteen.

“Ma’am,” she said back.

“It’s about the incident the other morning—the chap who took a poke at you.”

“Ah yes, poor Quentin with the sore puddy.”

“He actually fractured three bones in his hand.”

“Teach him to go round punching vans then, won’t it.”

“The film was fairly clear that he attempted to hit you and you ducked out of the way, but the next bit tended to suggest you pushed him against the van.”

“If I remember he was sick and collapsed against the van I just tried to slow down his descent so he didn’t hurt anything else.”

“Can we do a statement to say that; his lawyers are suggesting you hurt him when he was already injured.”

“Does he know who I am?”

“I suspect he does now, or his lawyers do.”

“Well you can tell them I shall defend myself and come after them for damages advising him to sue.”

“I’m sure your legal team will make them see sense, however, we’ve been told to investigate in case you actually assaulted him.”

“I didn’t harm him one bit, I was trying to save him not hurt him. If I’d wanted to hurt him I would have done so when he tried to hit me. That would have been self defence. I chose not to retaliate so I’m not sure what this is all about.”

“A chief inspector saw the film and asked us to get a statement, it will go off to the CPS with the film and they decide.”

“You are joking?”

“Sorry, Cathy, I’m just following orders.”

“This is ridiculous, I try to stop someone from hurting themselves and I could be prosecuted.”

Andy shrugged.

I sat at the computer and typed out a report of how I remembered the incident and printed it for them. He thanked me and they left.

“Cuppa?” asked Delia and went off to make one.

I sat sipping it, “I can’t believe it, I helped the guy who tried to hit me avoid falling and hurting himself and he’s asking for a prosecution for injuring him, or his lawyers are.”

“But he was trying to hurt you, wasn’t he?”

“Exactly.” Then I had an idea, “Call the porter’s lodge will you and see if they have a record of the incident.”

“What like a log?”

“No, they have a camcorder on top of their building.” She dashed out and returned a few moments later.

“They’re having a look.”

I wasn’t too hopeful as these things don’t work half the time, but I knew they had used it for parking violations and it was good enough to read number plates.

I tried to get back to my work but my concentration had gone. Delia popped over to the refectory and got me a tuna and cucumber roll, I wasn’t really hungry but ate it so as not to seem ungrateful for her efforts. I drank a cup of tea to wash it down and tried to do some more work. I was reading some data Dan had sent from the visitor centre and trying to put it into a report for the bank—well for Henry. He wanted to have something to share with some group of bankers he met with regularly. He said he was trying to encourage environmental awareness amongst his peers. I thought he more likely wanted to show off—it was an area where High St was leading—so a bit of one up-manship could look good for five minutes: having said that, Henry had been pretty good in supporting me, the university and the environment. Simon had told me what their sponsorship had cost but I suspect Natwest spent more on Cricket and RBS probably spent just as much on Rugby with the Six Nations, Barclays probably had a bigger bill from soccer but they all spent on pet projects.

I liked to think that although the sports stuff was obviously good, supporting the environment was better and actually brought back less financial return—leastways in the short run—in the long run, saving the planet might be a bit more useful than sport, but then I was biased.
At two o’clock Delia came in holding a DVD disc. We played it in my laptop and it clearly showed Quentin falling back against the van and me trying to stop his head hitting the ground. It also showed him vomiting into his car. Later it showed me closing the window and locking his car and handing the keys to one of the admin staff who placed a notice on the car windscreen to stop it being clamped or towed away.

“We need a copy to send to the police and to Jason, he’s got the other one.”

“Okay, I’ll go and do those for you now.”

“Delia,” I called her back. “Thank you.”

“’S okay,” she smiled back.

“I appreciate everything you do for me although I don’t always have time to say so.”

“I dunno,” she replied, “getting me a sponsored place to study under one of the best zoologists in England probably says quite a lot.”

“Sadly he’s still acting dean, so you’ll have to make do with me.”

She pulled a face and left.

I emailed Jason the clip but also sent him the disc by recorded delivery. I had an acknowledgement from his office to say they’d got the email and attachment. I also emailed Andy Bond and told him the disc was on its way. I got a reply thanking me.

I’d just about finished my report for Henry which Delia would tidy up and email to him. As he sponsored several things with us, I felt it was legitimate use of my time doing the report and I knew it would keep him sweet if I needed help in the future.

All too quickly it was time to go home and see what the girls had been up to. The weather hadn’t been very good with some hefty showers and strong breezes exactly as the Met office had predicted. This was quite alarming as normally when they said rain, we all went out in shirt sleeves, and for sun, we all took umbrellas and rain coats. What is the world coming to? Reliable weather forecasts—is nothing sacred anymore?