The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2874 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 looked at Trish who looked as shocked as I was, then a moment later my legs started to work and I was outside before I’d realised it. Danni was standing looking at something. It also looked like she’d been sick. I rushed over to see what the problem was. Inside the boot of my car, sticking out from a blanket, were a pair of human feet.

I touched them. They felt like stone. My car was now a crime scene. I shut it and putting my arm round her walked her to the house. I’m going to call the police in a moment but before that I’m going to call James.

This time he did answer his mobile or the one he’d acquired from his friends. “Cathy, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Did you leave a body in the boot of my car?”

“When?”

“Now, there is a dead body taking up a large section of the boot of my car.”

“They didn’t look in your car except to sweep it for electronic devices, like explosives.”

“What do I do? Do I call the police?”

“Not for the moment, we’ll come back.” Which he did twenty minutes later. He and his driver examined the corpse and declared it one of the henchmen who’d held him prisoner.

“One of the ones we clobbered?”

“I think so.”

“But they were still alive when we left them.”

“This guy was definitely still alive until the bullet between his eyes changed all that.” Being squeamish when it comes to dead things, I was standing away from the car so didn’t see more than the feet being uncovered. “He’s naked but nothing much to look at, covered in bruises and in need of dental work.”

“So what do I do?” I asked.

“We’ll take him with us if we can borrow some black bin bags.” I dashed inside and grabbed a roll of them. Then rushed back outside again—it was getting cold. Danni and I watched them load the body into the back of the Range Rover. After the lid was shut down he seemed to examining the boot of my car then he walked to the house. “I can’t see any blood in your boot so he was dead before they put him in there. I would suggest cleaning your boot with a steam thing if you have one.”

“Yes, for floors—that any good?”

“Yeah, what it doesn’t remove it will mess up DNA readings, so no one will be able to definitely pin anything on your car even if you are investigated. He pecked me on the cheek and the Range Rover departed for the second time. I, meanwhile, filled my steam floor cleaner and backed the car up to where the lead would stretch. For the next hour I scrubbed and steamed the carpeting and the bulkhead under it, in my boot and spare wheel compartment below that. I then sprayed it liberally with deodorising liquid and left it to air.

I half expected a police car to come screaming into the drive and impound my car and arrest me. But it didn’t happen. While I waited I got Trish to check the cameras at the car park and sure enough we saw two men use some sort of device to open my boot and then put something wrapped in a blanket inside it, then they drove off in the van in which they’d arrived.

The purpose of the action completely passed me by. The corpse hadn’t presumably become one until he was shot. My car was back here no more than two or so hours after we got home, so they must have killed him very soon after I disabled him, possibly with the gun I kicked into the bushes. But why did they kill him? It made no sense to me.

From the second lot of papers, it became obvious that O’Connor was importing people to do courses for which they weren’t registered, but then they never arrived so the rest of us had no idea what was going on. I couldn’t believe the immigration department weren’t on to him.

At ten past nine the next morning Diane showed in two men in suits. “These men are with the security services.”

“What selling burglar alarms?” I asked trying to look innocent of any crime let alone disposal of a human body without a licence or whatever is needed.

“Not quite,” said the slightly older looking one, “unless MI5 begins to do side lines.”

“Oh,” I said, “as far as I know none of my students are militant anythings but the dormice could be sleepers.” I heard Diane try to choke back her laugh as she left.

“Very funny, Professor Watts or do you prefer Lady Cameron?” asked the same man.

“You have the advantage, Mister...”

“Victor Waterhouse and my companion is, Detective Inspector Henry Fielding, from Special Branch of the Metropolitan Police.”

“I’ve read all your books, Inspector.” I gasped seemingly unable to control my mouth which had developed a mind of its own.

“Yes, very good, d’you mind if we become a little more sober as the matter we’d like to talk to you about is quite serious.”

“Might I see some ID, gentlemen?” They both sighed but showed me what looked like official warrant cards. I indicated they should pull up a chair each and asked if they required tea or coffee. We settled for coffee and I asked Diane to organise it. We waited a few moments with Waterhouse looking at the photographs and pictures on the wall. There was one of me with the dormouse as in the bank posters, there was one of Daddy and I, another of Simon and I with all the children—it looked like a Sunday school outing. There was a photo of Spike and another of a group of dormice. Finally, there was one of Billie and her visitor cum field study centre.

Diane brought in the coffees with a plate of biscuits—my Lotus ones—I’ll shoot her later.

“We received these papers from your solicitor, a Mr Jason White.”

“He’s my counsel.”

They gave me a strange look.

“He’s a barrister.”

Waterhouse shrugged. “He appended a note saying he’d got them from you and as they suggested a crime was being committed he was obliged to report it.”

I nodded.

“Why didn’t you report it?”

“Gentlemen, my father, Professor Agnew, Dean of the faculty has disappeared. He collected this data and passed it on to me a day or so ago, he disappeared the same afternoon. I don’t know if he’s in hiding or been captured or even killed by the people he’s trying to expose. I knew nothing of this until I saw the documents you obviously have and sent them on to Jason to do as he felt necessary.”

“You are aware that failure to report a serious crime is an offence, Lady Cameron?”

“I felt that endangering my father was the more serious matter, especially if he was a captive.”

“And is he, a captive, I mean?”

“I just told you I don’t know. But I was thinking how I might collect evidence to help confirm his efforts.”

“And have you?”

“I have someone working on it.”

“Mr Beck, I presume.”

“Yes, you know him?”

“Interfering amateur.” Jim was obviously not on Waterhouse’s Christmas card list.

“You know that’s exactly what he says about you lot,” I said throwing caution to the wind.

“Do you realise how long we’ve been watching O’Connor and his little import scheme?”

“Why wasn’t he put away in Nigeria or South America? Those were far greater crimes than illegal immigrants.”

“While we may have had an empire once upon a time, those countries are outside our jurisdiction.”

“I’m sure you could have helped put O’Connor away, but he has friends in low places, doesn’t he?”

“Actually, they’re very high places.”

“Not to me they’re not, I consider cabinet ministers as serving an apprenticeship to qualify as minor devils when they pop off.”

“And what about university professors?”

“I’m having harp lessons...”