The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2870 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 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 virtually ran back to my office and there on top of Diane’s desk lay a large envelope, unopened.

“Is this the one from Tom’s office?” I said picking it up. It looked like Pippa’s writing on the front.

“I don’t know, haven’t had a chance to open it yet.”

“I know what’s in it.” I walked towards my office.

“I haven’t date stamped it yet.”

“That won’t matter,” I said walking on.

“It will to me. I stamp everything and record it in this book.” She waved a large ledger type book at me.

“I’ll be sure to tell you what’s in it.”

I slipped into my office, slumped in the chair and grabbed the paper knife. I’d just pulled out some press cuttings when my door was knocked and in walked Diane. I quickly covered them up with the envelope.

Her expression was one of surprise. She quickly recovered her composure saying, “Look, I’m sorry for any offence out there, but I have a system.”

“I know, but I suspect the contents of this envelope shouldn’t be recorded anyway. It’s a personal communication between Tom and me.”

“I see,” she said with anything but conviction. “You mean you don’t trust me.”

Oh boy. Now she might say that if she was genuinely hurt or if she was an agent for the dark side. “Someone tried to kill me last night, I don’t know who I can trust any more.”

“But I’m on your side, Cathy. I can’t say I know what’s going on but it isn’t quite like this in the other two universities I worked in.”

“Okay, I don’t know what’s going on either but O’Connor is up to something which I suspect is either illegal or immoral, probably both. I mean if he was wanting to do something normal, even controversial why try to kill me? Why is Tom Agnew in hiding or dead? This isn’t because he’d got overdue library books is it?”

“Professor Agnew dead?” she gasped.

“I don’t know, he just disappeared yesterday. I hope he’s gone to ground because O’Connor is trying to kill him. Tom has never liked him and knew about some nasty business that involved O’Connor, years ago when he was with some oil companies. Lots of people died on two occasions and O’Connor passed the buck to a lesser being who took the rap or ended up dead with mocked up suicides. The attack on me last night was to recover the file Tom gave me lunch time.”

“What’s in it that’s so dangerous?”

“Nothing much but it gives a place to start for anyone who was investigating him.”

“And that’s worth someone’s life?”

“Apparently so.”

“You really think someone would try to kill you for that?”

“Yes, people have been killed for far less. Diane, you’re welcome to join my side if you wish, but O’Connor is completely ruthless and there will be danger. I might not win.” I suddenly thought about what I’d been told in my dream. “Let me rephrase that, I am going to win—I have to.”

“You think I’m in real physical danger?”

“Only if you see anything you shouldn’t. If you know nothing, you can’t tell them anything can you?”

“No, but it must be obvious even to a blind man that there’s something going on between you and VC and it isn’t friendly.”

“That’s all you need to know, it isn’t your fight.”

“True, but you’re the nicest boss I’ve ever had...”

“Don’t get involved, I might not always be able to protect you.”

“Cathy, I know you have a certain reputation for crime fighting but really...”

As we spoke two men burst into my room. “Where’s the envelope?” demanded the first, the other grabbed Diane.

“What envelope?” I asked trying to pretend I was calm; does having sweaty palms while holding my buttocks clenched constitute multi-tasking?

“The one from Agnew?”

“Have we received that yet, Diane?”

“I haven’t opened one of that sort yet, Professor.”

“Sorry, boys, you must be mistaken.” I glanced around my room for potential weaponry. On the front of his desk was a piece of oak about three feet long around which some honeysuckle had twirled and it was like a spiral of wood.

“I don’t believe you, bitch. Look again or she gets hurt.”

“Just a minute, you oaf. This is a university not a school playground and I happen to be a professor. This is my office so get out of here now before I call security.”

“Security—ha ha, that’s a laugh. Now where’s that file.”

“Get out of my office,” I stood up and walked beyond my desk, the piece of curly oak was now just behind me.

The thug making demands walked towards me. “Pretty aren’t you? Perhaps I’ll show you what a real man’s like before I ruin that pretty face.”

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Yeah, I know, Professor, I’m going to shag that lovely body of yours until you scream for mercy and beyond.”

“I don’t do it with boys.” My fingers grasped the piece of oak and I felt its polished surface like it was a piece of gold.

“Why you?” he lurched towards me but was too slow. I jumped to one side kicked him in the lower abdomen and crashed the my impromptu club into the back of his head. Then I spun round and hit the one holding Diane across the face. Didn’t he yell until I hit him twice more when he fell to the ground. Diane was hysterical. I slapped her and sent her out of the room, then scooped up the envelope and its contents and shoved them under my blotter. Next I grabbed my phone and called for the police and campus security. The latter arrived first, nearly slipping on the pile of vomit that had been Diane’s breakfast.

“Have you killed them?” he said looking at the two bodies lying on the floor and the increasing pool of blood seeping into the carpet.

“No, but that was their intention. How did they get in here?”

“How do I know?”

Sirens sounded in the distance and soon after four policemen burst into the place and groaned when they saw the mess and then me. Slipping on gloves the first copper tested for pulses, they were still alive but only semiconscious. The knife one had dropped was sticking in the carpet.

Diane was taken off to see a doctor, she’d been cut on the arm by thug number two as I whacked him one. I gave a fairly coherent account of what had happened. Two robbers were chancing their luck, possibly knew I had a wealthy husband, then they decided to add indecent assault to the equation and I got a bit frightened and then angry.

The inspector who came to take charge groaned when he saw me. He confiscated my impromptu club as material evidence. Read my statement and groaned again. “D’you have to kill them?” he said exasperated.

“Inspector, I didn’t kill them, though I suspect that might have been their objective once they’d raped us. I took decisive action in self defence, which I believe the law permits when fearing death or serious injury.”

“Go home and calm down, Lady Cameron.”

“You know who I am, then?”

“Lady Cameron, we have whole training programmes about dealing with enraged and homicidal women aristocrats—mainly about how to survive encountering them.”

“I don’t deny hitting them, but it was self defence, as Diane will testify when she collects wits. She was very frightened.”

“As were you, of course.”

“Quite—will we be able to get some cleaners in to get the blood out of my carpet before it starts to smell?”

I picked up my laptop bag, scooped up several files including the stuff from Tom and went off to collect the girls. Once in the car I rang Pippa to check she was okay, she was. Then I phoned Diane’s home and left a message on the ansafone asking her or her husband to let me know she was okay. It wasn’t until I got home that I began to shake—twice in two days, Jeez I was frightened.