Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1627

The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1627
by Angharad

I went to my computer and printed off the stuff Jim had sent me and went back to the kitchen where Stella was making more tea. I scanned it and then passed it on to Stella.

“How can a five year old kill another child?” asked Julie. “I, like, couldn’t do it now and I’m eighteen.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but I might know someone who does.” I went off to the study taking my tea with me. I called Stephanie, I’d not been in touch with her since her baby had been born.

She answered and we spent a few minutes catching up, I invited her over for dinner one evening, she said she’d prefer to come for lunch, so we agreed that for the day after tomorrow.

“Now tell me why you’ve called, Cathy?”

“I wanted to see how you were and meet up with you again and I also wanted your advice on a little matter.”

“I’m not working, Cathy, so I hope you haven’t got the kids lined up to see me when I come.”

“Of course not, no this is another matter.”

“I expect I shall regret saying this but–what is it this time?”

“Children who kill.”

“One of yours hasn’t done so have they?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Quite.”

“So what’s this with killer kids?”

“D’you remember the Joyce Watkins case?”

“Oh she pushed the baby into the pond and watched him drown, didn’t she?”

“Until I saw the press cuttings, I hadn’t remembered that.”

“I did my forensic report on that case–long after it happened, natch–but I know the details quite well, why?”

“I’ve just interviewed her for the job of nanny housekeeper.”

“You’re joking,” she almost gasped.

“I wouldn’t joke about such things, Steph.”

“No, of course not–are you sure it’s her?”

“Yes, I had someone check her out, she’s not using that name anymore...”

“There’s a surprise–that’s like saying, I’m Jack the Ripper, come to act as chaperone.”

“It was in Southampton rather than here, wasn’t it?” I checked.

“Yes, near Shirley.”

“My question is, do you think she’s safe now?”

“Ask me a difficult one, Cathy. How do I know?”

“You’re the expert.”

“Not with people I haven’t seen, I’m not.”

“I thought you said you knew everything about the case?”

“That was fifteen years ago, she could be completely different now–we all do some awful things as children which we grow out of as we mature. A five year old would have little idea of morality or even basic right and wrong. So her outlook would be very different at age twenty, unless she was retarded in some way and held at a younger emotional age.”

“She sounded quite pleasant although I suspect she could be a bit disorganised and possibly naíve.”

“Wouldn’t you if you’d been stuck in a secure unit for ten years?”

“Possibly or sexually precocious,” I suggested.

“Hoy, I’m the expert here, so no lucky guesses.”

“Is there any way you could get access to the notes on her when they discharged her?”

“No, certainly not.”

“What about if I was able to get hold of them?”

“Don’t you dare. Even if you did, I couldn’t look at them.”

“What if I invited her here could you have a look at her?”

“She’ll run a mile if you try to set that up.”

“Would you leave your baby with her?”

“I don’t know, Cathy, probably not.”

“My intuition is telling me she’s okay, my head is saying don’t touch her with a bargepole.”

“Snap. Okay, I’ll give you an opinion if you invite her to lunch the day after tomorrow, but it’ll be a very brief assessment.”

“I hope you’ll bring Emily with you?”

“No, I thought I’d leave her to play with the dog, of course I’ll bring her–you haven’t got any ponds, have you?”

“Yes, we do actually.”

“Bugger. Okay, I’ll see you what half eleven?”

“That’ll be great, I’ll invite Jacquie for twelve.”

“Okay, I’ll see if I can find that dissertation I did for my forensics course. I’ll email it if I can.”

“That would be brilliant, Steph.”

“It’s very boring.”

“I’ve done dissertations myself, Steph.”

“Not like that you haven’t, it’s medical jurisprudence–very boring, even booklice won’t eat it–too dry.”

“I’m a bit more resourceful than your average psocopteran.”

“What?”

“The book lice, part of the psocoptera.”

“Show off.”

“Um–not really, I did a project on them in my first year.”

“I thought you were into mammals, soft furry things like bunnies and those dormouse thingies you like so much.”

“Nowadays I am, but in those days, we had to do various types of animals including insects. I did a short paper on the ecology of booklice–they eat the glue from old books, and the fungal spores that digest it.”

“Ugh, too much information.”

After speaking to Stephanie, I called Jacquie Morse to ask if she could come for lunch the same day as Stephanie.

“Does this mean I’ve got the job?”

“Not quite, we’d like to speak to you again about one or two things and thought it would be less formal to do so over lunch.”

“Do I still have a chance of this job?”

“I would say a very good one.”

“Can I claim bus fares, I’m a bit short at the moment.”

“I’ll happily refund travel costs for both visits.”

“Thanks, okay, I’ll come. What time do you want me?”

“Twelve noon.”

“I think there’s a bus I can catch to get me there for that.”

“If you have a problem, call me and I’ll arrange to have someone collect you from the bus station.”

“Thanks.” She rang off and I felt quite anxious. I didn’t for one moment think she’d harm any of my children but just the thought of someone who deliberately killed a child made me anxious for my children’s sake.

I’d killed in defence of my children and myself, but those were adults and it was spontaneous, I didn’t think about it too much, I just did it usually as a reaction rather than a premeditated act–except once or twice when I’ve fired arrows at people and the occasion with the bottle of spirits firebomb. I did sort of plan that, but they were going to kill us all if I hadn’t.

I liked to think I’d saved more lives than I’d taken, so I hoped I’d evened things out a bit, but who knows.

I’d not long put the phone down when it rang from a mobile number and not one I recognised. “Hello?”

“Hello, is that, Lady Cameron?”

“Yes, speaking, who’s that?”

“It’s a long story, my name is Keira Wolseley and I found a message from Jenny which my roommate had taken absolutely months ago. I was away and came back last week–and I need a job–are you looking for anyone?”

“I could be, why don’t you pop in tomorrow morning about ten thirty.”

“Thank you, I will.”

I went back to tell Stella about the lunch date with Stephanie and then asked, “You’ll never guess who just phoned?”

“Um–Richard Dawwkins?”

“No, you idiot, try Keira Wolseley.”

“Who’s she when she’s at home?”

“Only the girl Jenny was trying to recruit.”

“Is that a coincidence, or is that a coincidence?”

“Oh well life is never dull, is it?” I asked.

“That’s gotta be the understatement of the century,” said Stella and we both fell about laughing much to Julie’s disgust.

Kudos

Comments

FIgured Cathy

Would dig a little deeper into Jacquie. If she killed someone at 5 years old, she had not idea what she was doing. A 5 year old doesn't understand the reality of death.

I certainly did.

My mother died when I was 4 and both grandparents with whom we lived died the year I was 5. I knew more than I wanted to know about the reality of death. OTOH I doubt if I would have killed anyone deliberately though anything is possible by accident.

Difficult decisions for Cathy (and Angharad, I suppose).

Robi

I |Agree

When I was 2 we lived in the east end of London, and the WW2 began and we were caught up in The Blitz.

There were street shelters set up in the middle of the cul de sacs and when the Air Raid Warning went everyone was told to move out of their houses and into the shelters. I remember, vividly still, one night when at the All Clear coming out of the shelter we saw that the next one to ours had taken a direct hit. I remember the fires, the water bubbling up in the road where water mains had been broken, the gaps where houses had stood, and seeing bits of bodies lying, burning, and the peculier smell of burning human flesh. I was not quite 3 years old, and I had to face death then, and I understood it too damned well already. All this is over 70 years ago now, and over all those years |I have woken up in the night reliving this scene, and the one from a few weeks later when we were buried in the rubble of our house and I was trapped in my cot by a beam in the dark and the dust and had to be dug free by the fireman.

Most kids dont have to get to understand death that early, lucky for them, but a very small child can understand death very well if they have to.

Briar

OXOXOX.

Quite fascinating...

Quite fascinating the twists and turns you take this story in. I'm quite glad I am NOT in Cathy's position - trying to find help and child care. Ho boy...

And now a former friend of Jenny - after Cathy's letter to the current Jenny. Oy.

Thanks,
Anne