Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 802 by Angharad

My need for the loo overshadowed my need for safety, and I jumped out of the car and dashed in through the front door and into the cloakroom. As I washed my hands, it occurred to me, that I could have wandered into a trap and what was worse, my bag was outside in the hallway, so I couldn’t even do a Myrtle Kingston and shoot my way out.

I switched off the light and waited a few moments to let my eyes adjust to the darkness before I flung open the door and somersaulted out into the hallway grabbing my bag, pulling out the gun and shooting all three of my attackers. Um, actually what happened was–I somersaulted out of the loo, completely missed my handbag and the gun in it, and ended up crashing into the telephone table nearly knocking myself out. There were no attackers–mind you, if there had been, they’d have been helpless with laughter. I lay on the hall carpet rubbing my head. I made a decision from then on–I won’t try that again.

Having sorted out myself and my bag, I took the gun and after clicking off what looked like a safety catch, I checked out the rest of the house–I was on my own. I put the gun in the drawer of the telephone table–and I threatened the phone to allow any bogus callers through to me, because I’d shoot it.

I went out and collected the milk and bread from the car, plus the other bits and pieces I’d bought to tide me over. Here I was waiting again, this time for Bill to contact me, or the Russians to make a move.

I wasn’t particularly hungry, but I made myself some toast and boiled a couple of eggs. My simple repast was washed down with a couple of mugs of tea. It was nearly eight–too early to go to bed–and I didn’t want to watch telly. I set up my laptop and began processing some more rodent records.

One caught my eye which would need verifying, someone in Yorkshire was claiming a dormouse sighting. It’s quite a few years since they’ve been seen in Yorkshire or Lancashire, so I was wary of it. I’d ask someone I knew at York Uni to check it out for me. Her bag was squirrels, and I was pretty sure she’d be able to help, so I sent her an email with a copy of the record.

I heard a car pull up into the drive and my heart rose–Simon, I thought–then remembered he was a hostage. So it had to be Bill–the doorbell rang and I opened the door only to get a huge shock.

“Myrtle–what are you doing here?”

“Hoping for a G and T, I hope you have one?”

“I might. Do come in.” I let her in and shut the door, showing her the lounge where she sat in the chair by the fireplace. I looked in the pantry–much to my surprise I found a nearly full bottle of gin and some cans of tonic. I poured a good dollop of gin into a small glass and opened the tonic, she could pour that herself. I decided I’d stick with tea, I might need to use my catlike reflexes later and alcohol would impair them. The nearest I get to catlike reflexes is being in possession of a pussy. I blushed–I hadn’t called a fanny that since I was in school.

“You trying to get me drunk, gel?”

“No, sorry I don’t drink spirits so I’m never sure how much to pour.” I handed her the can of tonic.

“Is this Gordon’s?”

“No, it’s some stuff my parents got in Menorca.”

She poured in some tonic and took a sip, “Hmm, good stuff–of course they make it out there don’t they, loads of juniper bushes.”

“I dunno,” I shrugged, “I was at uni when they went, so didn’t get to see the place.”

“It’s nice, one big nature reserve.”

“So I’ve heard, they have dormice there too.”

“Probably, why are you interested in them?”

“I’m doing a PhD in them–well it’s sort of on hold currently–a little local difficulty.”

“Ah, this is the kidnap of Sidney?”

“Simon.”

“Quite. So, how do we get him back?” I nearly choked on my tea. This woman had to be sixty odd if not older, she’d probably be more of a liability than a help. However, she had saved my bacon earlier and she might be useful, if only to formulate a plan.

“I have no idea, what did you have in mind?”

“What sort of car does he drive?”

“A Jaguar XK, or something, one of the little sports jobs.”

“Does he have a tracker fitted to it?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Cathy, find out–ask someone who might know.”

“I can’t think of anyone who’d know.”

“Where are his insurance docs?”

“In Portsmouth.”

“Let’s go get ‘em.”

“That’s two hours away and what if he didn’t have a tracker fitted?”

“We’ll be four hours older for naught.”

“I’ve got an idea he did the change to his insurance through the internet–he uses one supplier for all his personal stuff, if I can remember his password.” I went through to the dining room and called up Gmail and his address, I tried the password I knew he’d used — cathybabe. Much to my astonishment, it opened and within a few minutes I found the copy of the note he sent his insurance company. The car did indeed have a tracker device run by a company in Norwich. I googled their website and contacted their twenty-four hour service. I took the phone number and rang them on my mobile.

Walking back towards the lounge I was astonished to see Myrtle had my landline phone in pieces. She looked at me and held out her hand–in it was a small electronic device. She dismantled the rest of the phone set and found another device–she threw both down the toilet. “They’re getting devious, not just one microphone but two–they don’t expect you to find both of them.”

I nodded and smiled. “Oh hi, this is Lady Cameron, my husband Lord Simon has one of your devices in his car. The number of the car yes, SI 58 MON, it’s a Jaguar coupe. Yes, we think it’s been stolen because it isn’t where he parked it a couple of days ago.”

They asked a series of private questions, his date of birth, his sister’s name and his pet name for me. Then the guy went off to his computer and told me the car was in Harwich, near the ferry terminal. He gave me a reference I could call up on any of the mapping sites and I’d be sure to find the car there–or at least the tracking device.

“Harwich?” said Myrtle–“They want you to think they’re heading for the ferry or have already done so with poor Sidney.”

“Simon,” I corrected.

“I thought your surname was Cameron not Simon–you’re not Jewish are you?”

“Would it matter if we were?”

“We could possibly plug into Mossad for some extra help.”

“No, we’re Scots, perhaps we could try kiltaid?” I said facetiously.

“Kiltaid? Who are they?” she looked at me for a moment and laughed loudly and I could see her yellowing teeth. “Kilt aid, I like it,” she said and laughed again.

She looked at the reference I’d written down for the car’s position and she texted it to someone on her mobile. “Getting someone to check it out?”

“Well, that would be a long drive to see, wouldn’t it?”

“Just a bit,” I agreed. “Why have you got involved?”

“I bank with High Street, I don’t want a bunch of commie conmen taking it over, it would seriously mess up my ISA.”

“Is that worth getting hurt for?”

“Oh yes, I really enjoyed myself earlier–a touch of the good old days.”

“Well you’ve certainly helped me so far.”

“What happened to the gun? Bill said he’d given you one for me.”

“It’s in a safe place,” I ventured, unwilling to hand over the firearm.

“Well go and get it, then. I can’t use it while it’s in a drawer or safe, can I?”

“Is this wise, Myrtle–I mean, the police take a dim view of people carrying firearms.”

“I have a permit, which as far as I know has never been rescinded, which is why they couldn’t do anything earlier.”

“I’ll get it.” I went off and removed the gun from the drawer and handed it still in the plastic bag to Myrtle.

“Oh yes, same as the one I used earlier.” She held it in her hand as if checking the balance. “Nice feel to it, oh yes, full magazine. Yes, girl, we’ll give those pesky Ruskies a bit of a hard time when we find them. Right off you go to bed, nothing will happen tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“Thirty-five years in the business, one learns a thing or two.”

I went up to my bed, feeling as if I’d been sent to the dorm by the house mistress for being a naughty girl. I was beginning to wonder if Myrtle was good news or not?