"Josie, you must do this, you're an eyewitness to what happened," Rachel insisted as she followed me," please promise me you'll phone." I picked up my shoulder bag and then turned to face my beautiful girlfriend. "Of course I will my sweet," I said, as I pulled her towards me kissing her tenderly, at first, and then with more passion. Eventually I broke away. "I'm sorry I'll have to dash, I'll phone you later," I said.... Eyewitness Part 2 by Alys

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Part 2
     

"Could you pass the gravy, please Mrs Hollins?" I asked Rachel's mother after we had settled down for our evening meal.

"Here it is, Josie," she said as she held up the small china container," but I thought I'd told you to call me Christine? Mrs Hollins sounds so formal."

"Sorry Mrs Hollins..um Christine," I replied, a little unsure about being too casual, even though Christine could easily pass as my girlfriend's older sister instead of her mother.

"And Josie," said Rachel innocently.

"Yes?" I struggled to say, with a mouthful of delicious lamb chop in my mouth.

"You don't have to call me Miss Hollins either," she said with a wide grin on her face," Rachel is fine."

I finished chewing and swallowing and then poked my tongue out at her. She laughed and returned the favour.

Christine smiled indulgently and then mildly admonished us," now girls, manners at the table."

We resumed eating our sumptuous tea.

As I savoured the delicious meat and various vegetables I thought over the events of the day so far. Being a witness to the murder in the morning had shaken me to the core. It was one thing to see it in the media, on TV programmes and films, but altogether a much harsher event in real life.

We had watched for quite a while hoping to see if the person in the burning, sinking car would be rescued alive. Within a few seconds the two men in wetsuits, we had seen wind-surfing earlier, had plunged into the still steaming water but were unable to locate anyone in the tangled, hot mess of metal and plastic that had sunk to the bottom of the shallow bay.

Eventually, after the police had arrived, some men with proper diving equipment had brought out the charred remains of the poor unfortunate. At which stage both Rachel and myself had run to the toilets to be violently sick.

I paused in eating my meal as I remembered the unpleasant experience.

"Anything wrong?" asked Christine.

"Sorry I was just thinking about what happened on the beach this morning," I explained.

"It's a shocking thing really," reassured Rachel's mum," but there's nothing you can do about it. Come on and finish your food, I've got your favourite dessert for afters."

"Oh Mum, not strawberry cheese cake?!" exclaimed Rachel with enthusiasm.

"The very same," replied Christine, smiling at the both of us.

Sometimes I had to pinch myself as a reminder that this easy acceptance of me in the Hollins' family home hadn't always been the case. There had initially been significant hostility to my relationship with Rachel. However, over time, her parents had come to the conclusion their daughter's happiness was more important than any other considerations. The support from Mary, Rachel's elder sister away with her father playing in a badminton tournament, had also been very helpful.

▲▲▲▲▲▲
     
The closing music from the final programme in the latest series of Doctor Who* slowly faded on the TV screen.

"Wow I would never have worked that one out," I said to Rachel, cuddling next to me on the sofa, where we had been enjoying each others' company while Christine had gone to the railway station to collect her husband and her daughter.

"Yep, me neither," she replied," that Russell T. Davies is such a sneaky writer, fancy using the hand like that"

"Shame about Catherine Tate though," I said," I'll miss her, she was such a breath of fresh air to the series."

The advert for the next Doctor Who programme was suddenly interrupted to be replaced by the anchorwoman of the local news programme.

"This is Spotlight and we break into this evening's programmes on BBC1 to go live to a press conference being held at Plymouth Police Headquarters." she announced, before her image was replaced by that of a tubby, middle aged police inspector sitting at a table in an anonymous looking room.

On one side of him sat a young policewoman who was clearly trying to comfort a distraught woman, in her thirties, who sat at the end of the table.

".....we can confirm that the body found this morning in Wembury this morning has been positively identified as being that of Stuart Donning who worked at Rodericks Home Furnishing in Plymstock." said the policeman before pausing to look at the two women. He exchanged a glance with the other police officer who nodded in response before she moved the microphone across the table.

The crying woman looked up and then after wiping away some tears and then put out her hand to pull the mike a little towards her.

"Please...please if anyone knows what happened to my husband....to Stuart...please contact the police..please someone help me to find out.....what will Jenny and Philip say when they find out, oh god I can't do this anymore.........," she said hesitantly, her voice sounding like it was about to fail at any moment. Finally she stood up, in mid-sentence, and walked away in distress, the policewoman following.

The Inspector regained use of the microphone," Plymouth Police are now treating this death as a murder enquiry and let me reiterate Mrs Donning's appeal. This dreadful deed was committed in broad daylight, if anyone has any information please contact us, anonymously if you need to, on the number you should see on the screen now...."

Rachel quickly grabbed a pen to write down the digits that were flashing on the bottom of the screen. Then she turned the TV off with the remote control and handed me the piece of paper.

"Josie, you have to phone them and tell them what you saw," she said as she wiped away the tears in her eyes.

I sat there, similarly affected, before standing up and moving towards the entrance hall.

"I've got to go or I'll be late for work, Rachel," I said," I'll try and call later."

"Josie, you must do this, you're an eyewitness to what happened," Rachel insisted as she followed me," please promise me you'll phone."

I picked up my shoulder bag and then turned to face my beautiful girlfriend.

"Of course I will my sweet," I said, as I pulled her towards me kissing her tenderly, at first, and then with more passion. Eventually I broke away.

"I'm sorry I'll have to dash, I'll phone you later," I said and then turned to open the door.

"Josie," said Rachel softly.

"Yes?"

"I love you so much," she responded with the emotion shining in her eyes.

"I love you too, my darling Rachel," I said before stepping back to give her a last quick kiss. Then I was rushing down the pathway, while waving frantically to my sweetheart, before turning and running down the street to the bus-stop, making it with seconds to spare.

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Some twenty minutes later the bus pulled up at my stop near the naval base in the city which, despite the recent renovation projects in the area, still looked somewhat dilapidated. There were very few pedestrians at that time of night, since there was little residential accommodation nearby.

I had always found the almost empty streets a little frightening, although less so in the summer, so I walked quickly towards my destination and my evening of washing drink glasses and hopefully something more interesting too.

Five minutes later I was about to turn the corner into the street where the Jolly Sailor was located when I saw one of those strange sights in cities, a working payphone.

Remembering my promise to Rachel I opened the door into the all glass box and, after taking out the piece of paper crumpled in my shorts' pocket, dialled the number.

Within a few seconds I heard a bored sounding female telephone operator.

"Hello, Plymouth Police Crime Line, how can you help us?"

I hesitated before replying, not sure how to phrase my comments.

The woman at the other end was clearly annoyed by my silence.

"If you are making a nuisance call you have five seconds to hang up before I direct a duty officer to your phone box," she said angrily.

"Please wait, I know something," I blurted out.

"About what exactly?" interrogated the operator.

"I know about the murder in Wembury, I saw it," I said quickly, intimidated by the tone of the woman.

"Can I take your name, please?" she asked in a slightly more friendly way.

"I'm sorry but I can't tell you," I responded, not wanting to make my life even more complicated," but I also have the number of the car of the men who did it."

"OK, please tell me that and then I'd like you to stay on the phone for a few seconds while I put you in touch with one of the investigation team," said the operator, calmly but firmly.

I recited the number from memory, how could I forget, and then there was the sound of a few clicks.

"Hello this is Inspector Lee, the number plate details sounds like a good lead," said a deep male voice, " can you tell me what you saw?"

I gave the policeman a brief account of what I had seen on the beach, he asked me a few questions and I tried to give him as clear a picture as I remembered of the incident.

"This is very interesting, can you come down to the station to make a statement?" he asked.

I almost dropped the phone at the suggestion of exposing myself even more, I quickly thought of an excuse.

"Sorry I'm off to work and I'm late as it is," I lied.

"OK, tell me where your work is and I'll come to you," Inspector Lee countered, clearly not going to give up that easily.

I considered my options and then with a stroke of inspiration I gave the number of the pub before concluding," phone there after nine and ask for Karen, she'll know where I am."

I put the phone down quickly, before the persuasive detective could get me to do anything else that I would regret. I quickly walked towards the end of the street before turning into the lane where Plymouth's most famous gay/lesbian/transgender bar was located.

I was stopped in my tracks by the scene fifty yards in front of me.

Three tall, overweight men were standing in front of the building that was my workplace for the evening. This wasn't an unusual situation given the mainly male clientele of Saturday's events there.

The unusual aspect was the clothes the three men were wearing. Each of them had a leather jacket on with a small white armband with the letters EPP in red letters attached.

I shivered and backed into an empty doorway. The EPP (or English Popular Party - although it was not very popular and not very English having a mostly expatriate South African leadership) was a small strongly homophobic, racist group full of violent thugs.

They were obviously very drunk and were taking it in turns to harass a slim, effeminate man standing in the entrance to the Jolly Sailor.

"Come on you little queer we want a drink in your batty pub" said the fattest of the EPP armband wearers.

"I'm sorry you can't come in this is a members' only club," responded the security officer.

"And what if we want to come in anyway, girlie?" another of the thugs sniggered.

"I can't let you come in you'll upset our clientele," responded the slim, gay man.

"How you going to stop me you fucking stupid queen?" sneered the third of the drunkards.

"Everything OK there Johnnie love?" came a high pitched voice from inside, "need some help?"

"I wouldn't try anything now. You'll regret it?" warned Johnnie as he bravely faced up to the thug standing nearest him.

"And who's going to stop me then, your bumboy? What's he going to do, hit me with his handbag?" smirked the first thug as he stepped forward and punched Johnnie hard in the stomach who doubled up with the blow, yelled with the pain and fell to the floor.

"Come on boys, let's trash the batties." shouted Johnnie's assailant.

From my vantage point on the street corner I winced when Johnnie was hit even as a smile flickered across my mouth with my knowledge of the surprise in store for the homophobes.

"Actually I wouldn't want to mess my handbag up with your filth' said the high pitched voice as Johnnie's boyfriend stepped forward.

"Fuck!" exclaimed the first thug, as he looked up at probably one of the biggest men he had probably seen in his life, six foot eight and eighteen stone of solid muscle with not an ounce of fat on his magnificently toned body, moving gracefully towards them with a poise that implied great speed allied with vastly superior strength.

     
     
*A reference to the end of the latest series of Doctor Who (www.bbc.co.uk/doctorwho) broadcast first on the BBC on July 5th 2008

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To Be Continued...
 
End of Part 2