The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2965 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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It was the next morning that I called Andy Bond. “Have you remembered something?” he asked.

“Not quite, but I got a sense of betrayal and anger from the victim.”

“Go on,” he urged.

“It felt as if she’d been killed by people she trusted. She wasn’t pregnant, was she?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Was she in an arranged marriage and didn’t cooperate?”

“That’s one we always look at with Indian or Afghan women, so I expect Avon and Somerset will pursue that one.”

“It’s not an honour killing, is it?”

“Always a possibility with that ethnic group.”

“How can someone kill their own child for refusing to marry someone?”

“I don’t know, Cathy, but they come from a different world...”

“But in living in this country aren’t they supposed to abide by British law not what goes wherever they came from?”

“That’s the theory but there are Sharia and Jewish courts in some towns and cities.”

“But that is unconstitutional verging on downright illegal.”

“I quite agree, but if we don’t know about it we can hardly intervene plus I suppose if it is known about, if it’s nothing too serious it keeps the locals happy.”

“But it’s wrong. We are British citizens and thus subject to British law and that goes for everyone living here without diplomatic immunity.”

“Yes but the powers that be can be rather pragmatic about it.”

“Surely not to the point of excusing murder?”

“I would hope not, but then my job is enforcing the law not making policy decisions.”

“Well I’ve told you what I’ve picked up about this poor woman. Do we know who she is?”

“Ashia Khan, she was sixteen.”

“Oh dear god, she was a child.”

“Yes.”

“I hope your colleagues interview her father and his brother—they did it.”

“How d’you know that?”

“I just saw it happen. Somewhere like a garage, they drugged her and then bashed her on the head with a hammer and stabbed her for good measure. They put plastic sheeting on the floor of the garage and then burned it. If they find the place it was done there will be bloodstains where it splashed behind things. It’s Rhesus positive group A.”

“How d’you know that?”

“It just came to me and I just saw the murder in my head. She ran away to stay with her aunt who agreed with her, she’s been here a long time. But the uncle, her father’s brother took her home promising to protect her, then helped to kill her.”

“How am I going to tell all this to my colleagues in Bristol?”

“Tell them to speak to me. If it helps them find any evidence, they can work backwards and ignore my story.”

“Yes but what evidence?”

“The knife they used is in the kitchen of the father’s house, they just washed it under the tap so forensics might still find traces of her blood on it. They used her mother’s sleeping pills to sedate her. That should show up in the blood tests on the body.”

“Cathy if you tell me anymore they are likely to arrest you as having been there.”

“No it’s gone now. She’s gone now. Nice kid.”

“Cathy you are weird.”

“You say the nicest things.”

“I’ll speak to them in Bristol but I’m not expecting them to believe a word of it.”

“The knife was a Sabatier with a six inch blade, a single stab wound to the heart. Tell them that, if they pooh-pooh it, that’s up to them, if not I’ll speak to them although I know my evidence won’t be admissible in court, what they find might be and also may force a confession. Tell them to speak to the auntie, she’s still very angry about it and might give something away.”

“Thank you, Miss Marple.”

“Bye Andy.”

“Mummy, you know that lady that died in the canal...”

“Trish, I’ve just told everything to Sergeant Bond.”

“How could her daddy kill her?”

“I don’t know, Trish, their culture is very different, but even so, I’d have thought the love for a daughter was more important than loss of face. For some people, obviously not.”

“That is so horrible.”

“I know, sweetie, it would be like Daddy killing Danni or Julie because they wouldn’t marry someone he wanted them to.”

“Yeah, but Daddy wouldn’t do that, would he?”

“No, because it goes against all he believes in.”

“He also knows if he did, you’d kill him.”

“There is that as well.”

I took the girls into school in the people carrier thing and drove on to the university. Listening to the news I discovered that A&E at the QA were in meltdown because of management policies. At least I wasn’t adding to the pressure—well not this week. All I could say was that our experiences had always been good, although we, like others, sometimes had to wait long periods for treatment, but not in the back of an ambulance like some poor souls. Apparently, they were well into resolving the issue which was reassuring, especially as one never knows when one is going to need their services—again.

Apparently, the coming weekend is full of pomp and circumstance because it’s the Queen’s official birthday and she’ll have been on the throne for sixty three years, longer than her namesake in Tudor times and her great, great grandmother, Victoria.

I honestly don’t know if we’re doing anything. The university isn’t too close to exams and I suspect with the economy going to the dogs because of Brexit, there isn’t much to celebrate for banks. I read an interesting article in the Economist which shows nearly all the Brexit stuff is built on lies and improbable assumptions regarding the economy. It will suffer greatly if people vote to leave. I’ll be voting the other way, to remain in the EU, but sadly if we leave, I can’t sue for loss of investment value. I just cannot believe people are so stupid, bloody Sun readers.

By ten o’clock I was up to my eyeballs in paperwork as usual. No one was interested in sponsoring our research until the referendum was over, and some places as good as told me they’d wouldn’t be staying in this country if Brexit won, so they wouldn’t be sponsoring us. We had five contracts nearly in the bag and then this referendum happens. I’d personally like to hang a certain ex mayor of London by his bollocks from a flagpole in Brussels, the amount of grief he and his lying colleagues are causing me.

I hope if Cameron wins, which is looking increasingly difficult, he spares none of his opponents in a purge. They deserve it for all the damage they’ve already done the economy.