The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3095 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 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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“Emergency, which service?”

“Police, please.”

“Could you please say why you want to speak to the police?”

“Yes, I have just found a dead body in my garden which I don’t think was there yesterday.” I know these people have to do their job to try and minimise the thousands of nuisance calls they get every day but I tried to sound matter of fact, perhaps I should have said, ‘I’d like them to move it before it begins to smell or my cat eats it.’

“You’ve found a dead human body in your garden?” she repeated.

“Yes, if was any other sort of body, I’d have buried it myself.”

“Um—quite—could I take your name and address, madam?”

“My full name?”

“Yes please.”

“My married or work name?”

“Which one is more appropriate at this moment, madam?”

“My married name.”

“Which is?”

“Lady Catherine Cameron,” I could have sworn I heard the voice mutter to a colleague, ‘You’ll never guess who I’ve got on the line—dormouse woman, herself.’

“Putting you through...”

I then played silly buggers with the police switchboard, which included the following, I kid you not, “How can I help you, Mrs Cameron?”

“I have found a dead body in my garden.”

“I see, how do you know it was dead?”

“I’m a scientist, so I know when things are dead—I have large numbers of dead things in jars in my laboratories.”

“But not humans?”

“Uh no, we’re not a medical school.”

“But this in the garden of your house, not your university?”

I was beginning to wish I called the non-urgent police number, then I could have made some tea and had a nice chat before they came out to clear the corpse from my copse. “It is in the orchard of my garden, yes.”

“And you’re sure it’s dead?”

“I could ask my husband to stick the garden fork through it to make sure if you wish...”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Well I thought it might confuse the pathologist, so I’m glad you agree with me.”

“Quite—now is the body a man or a woman?”

“Yes.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s an adult man or woman, not sure which.”

“There are ways to tell them apart...”

“I’m well aware of that, I’m a biologist, I meant that I didn’t disturb it for the sake of the SOCOs.”

“You’re familiar with police procedures?”

“I hate to say it but if your colleagues want to look at things in daylight, I suggest we stop talking about inanities and you get a car load of them over here PDQ, I’ll go and put the kettle on. Goodbye.”

I heard squeaks from the phone as I switched it off, the rate it was going it would have been teatime before they got round to sending out a team and I haven’t had my breakfast yet.

I turned to see Tom smirking at me. “Don’t you start,” I cautioned him.

“I cannae believe that someone takin’ a call reportin’ a deid body would take sae lang to even consider sendin’ oot a team tae investigate. Are ye sure it’s deid? Heavens above, wit for did they ask that?”

“Because finding someone dossing in a sleeping bag would require a different response and is not an emergency.”

“If they’re deid, is it an emergency, blue lights are no going tae save them.”

“Yes, but if they’d not long been killed by someone, they might still be about and they might just catch them.”

“No thae way they we’re talkin’ tae ye.”

“Perhaps she thought I was a lonely old lady and needed to get out more...”

The conversation was interrupted by sirens and blue lights screaming into our driveway as at least two cars arrived and a third blocked the gateway. ‘Simon’ll be happy when he gets up, he’ll have to walk to get the papers.’ I thought to myself.

Before the doorbell rang a flurry of bodies—live variety—flooded into the kitchen. “Woss going on, Mummy?”

“Yer mither’s foond a deid body in yon orchard and thae keystone cops hae come tae investigate.”

“I thought it was Hampshire Constabulary?” challenged Livvie.

“Aye it is,” offered Tom.

“Well it’s clearly not the keyhole cops or whatever you said it might be, is it?” She sounded like Hermione from the early Harry Potter films.

I left them to deal with it and pulled my coat on before going to show the police where our deceased visitor was hanging out.

“Oh it’s you, I should have recognised the name, shouldn’t I?”

“Hello, Inspector Plod, I mean Plume.”

“Very funny, Lady Cameron, now shall we stop the insults and you show us where this body is supposed to be.”

“This way, Inspector, boys and girls.” In some ways I was relieved the body was still there. It would have been somewhat embarrassing if it had got up and walked off somewhere.

“You haven’t touched anything?”

“Only to ascertain it was dead, otherwise I’d have called an ambulance.”

“Of course. You found it, when?”

I glanced at my watch, “It’s nine o’clock, about half an hour ago.”

“Why did it take so long for you to call?”

“It didn’t, I just got distracted by playing games with the switchboard people, including your own. I began to wonder if we were summoning the forces of law and oppression or starting a relationship.”

“Law and oppression—is that what you think of us?”

“I have had a variable relationship with your colleagues, so try not to interact if I can help it.”

“Why ever not, you have a great reputation amongst the local officers.”

“Yes, I believe they call me the pension cutter or the terminator.”

“Uh there have been hiccups in the past.”

“That’s one way of describing it. I’m going back in the house to make some tea, who’d like a cup? One, two, three—so all seven of you? All with milk? Okay, ten minutes.

I left them all standing over the corpse presumably trying to work out what happened—probably hypothermia. I’d felt nothing for whoever he was. Usually I have some inkling, pick up on something from them about either who they were or how they died. But it was zilch on this one. Oh well, I’ll let the plod do their stuff and one day in the not too distant future, we’ll get an answer—and pigs will fly, but only in the police helicopter.

Of course I had quite a number of volunteers to take the teas out to the police, so I let Julie and Phoebe carry the trays knowing full well that there would be either a screen or a tent thing over our immobile visitor by now and ‘do not cross’ tape half way down the drive.

“Huh, we couldn’t see anything,” they complained, I simply shrugged. “You knew, din’t you?”

“Who me?” I said innocently, thinking that they’d probably seen as many whodunits as I had or news reports where the body is covered for decency and to reduce the ghoul’s view points, including two of our own.