Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 786 by Angharad

“Let me get this clear, Miss Watts; you cycled across in front of the traffic – including the car you allege was trying to run you down – and this mysterious truck driver, who brought you home?”

“Yes, I thought I was I was toast anyway, so I went for it.” I watched as he laboriously wrote down what I said.

“What happened next?” he said licking his pencil ready for my subsequent action.

“I made it across the road,” I said as he wrote it down.

“Obviously,” he looked at me ready for my next confession.

“Look, if you don’t believe me why are you bothering to note this?”

“Evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“Wasting police time.”

“I beg your pardon?” I was now close to exploding and he’d be the first casualty.

“Well it’s quite obvious you made up this story to cover up that you fell off your bike.”

“I did no such thing, it happened exactly as I described.” I was closing the release valve so it would be a big bang when I blew.

“You wouldn’t believe the number of calls we get from fantasists every day of the week – worse at weekends.”

“I’m sorry, that I’m wasting your time, constable.” I was so polite he wouldn’t feel my metaphorical dagger slip between his ribs and into his spine – into the heart kills them too quickly.

“Well, I’ll be off, then.”

“When they find my body in some ditch, you’ll believe me, I suppose?”

“They always say that, Miss, we never do.”

Simon sat impassively, except for his darting eyes which were registering fury, he stayed quiet. The officer rose to leave and Simon rose too, I just prayed he wasn’t going to assault the clown – who gave the name ‘plod’ a bad reputation. He didn’t, he escorted him from the room and as they left, I heard him say, “...if I could just have a few minutes of your time.”

I bustled about the kitchen, I’d showered while we waited for Starsky and Hutch, in the end only PC Plod turned up – Noddy must have loaned him his car for the day. I came down minutes before he arrived. My hair was still in a ponytail after washing it, I left it in one while I boiled the kettle – a cuppa might just soothe my ruffled brow and help Simon live with the disappointment of not terminating the moron’s sad existence.

I’d drunk my tea and boiled the kettle again for Simon before he reappeared, when he did the copper was still with him – why? “I think our upholder of the law would like to say something to you, Cathy.”

The policeman blushed, “I’m, er – um, sorry, I misunderstood what you were telling me.”

I suspect I was close to breaking my jaw, as it dropped almost low enough to hit the floor. He must have spotted the look of astonishment on my face. I said nothing, mute from shock as much as anything.

“I’ll um, get straight on I t– processing your statement, I’ve given Lord Cameron the incident number should you need to quote it.” He couldn’t get out fast enough. Simon escorted him to the door and he bolted like a deranged rabbit back to his car and relative safety.

“What did you say to him?” I asked, “I thought you were going to hit him at one point.”

“So did I, what a dickhead.”

“I’m pleased you didn’t – what did you say to change his mind?”

“Yeah, so am I, assaulting a copper is a serious matter.”

“We coulda buried the body under the shed,” I joked.

“Don’t tempt me – nah, they knew he was coming here, someone would have seen his car.”

“We coulda torched his car with him inside, destroyed the evidence.”

“Probably wouldn’t get hot enough, Babes, however tempting and murder does carry a custodial sentence.”

“I’m sure his colleagues would have ignored the evidence to get rid of him.”

“You can never be sure with coppers – unpredictable lot. Anyway, I told him the facts of life and showed him a few press cuttings.”

“Cuttings of what?”

“Your deeds of derring-do.” He smiled to himself, “Yes, I like that, nice bit of alliteration, deeds of derring-do. In the past tense, would they be derring-done?”

“I don’t know and care even less – what exactly did you show him?”

“The rescue of the woman from the river, the rescue of the baby from the burning car, the rescue of Stella and the rescue of his career.”

“His career?”

“Yes, I pointed out I was a personal friend of his chief constable, and that his force banked with us, so his pay cheque could mysteriously go missing for weeks on end – possibly never to return.”

“Isn’t that a veiled threat, Si? If he was recording it, you’d be up a gum tree.”

“I was recording it, hidden camera on the bookshelves.”

“Si, that’s illegal.”

“Tough.”

“How do you reckon, they – whoever they are – knew where I’d be at a particular time?”

“Easy.”

“Stop teasing me, Simon Cameron, and tell me how they could have done it?”

“Easy, they had a camera in the bushes opposite”

“Come on, Si, get real.” I chided him.

“No, they did, I’ve found it since and been cleaning up the old pot. I found it hidden in an old can – I’ll bet there’s one at the school or nearby.”

“I can’t see Brown-Cow setting up that sort of sophistication, can you?”

“Not really, but she knows a man who could.”

“How do you know that?”

“The garden centre her hubby runs, they have cameras everywhere.”

“Don’t shops and things have those rather obvious ones to stop people filching their pots and plants.”

“Yes, but they also have tiny ones in more confined places.”

“Keep talking, Si, I’m enjoying this.”

“I’ve arranged for us to have a few of our own.”

“What d’you mean?”

“The one opposite would record us setting up one ourselves, so I’ve got a friend coming over to set them up covertly.”

“Oh?”

“Yep, they’ll be here this afternoon, to re-point the gate posts. Their van will obscure what they’re actually doing and ours will have infra-red recording too, so we can film any changes to theirs.”

“I like it, Si, I really like it.”

“Yeah, I like it when a plan comes together.”