The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1683 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Drowns the bastard,” said our walking tape recorder. Stella looked at me and frowned, I shrugged. Jacquie and Julie were in fits of laughter which only made Puddin’ worse, “Shit, shit, drowns the bastard,” she said with glee and waited for the reaction from the two young women. They caught sight of my displeased expression and left the room stifling smirks and chuckles.

Puddin’ repeated her new catch phrase in front of Trish who'd done something on her computer which she needed help with. Trish took one look at her young cousin and said, “Oh shut up, you stupid child.” Puddin’ immediately burst into tears and Trish dragged me out to her computer.

“Daddy was tryin’ to locate a signal from Jim’s mobile–I’ve hacked into the network and it’s comin’ from this location.” In astonishment, I copied down the co-ordinates and she then did a few things with the keyboard and it showed the place on a map. I yelled for Simon, he strolled in a couple of minutes later. I showed him the map.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Where Kite made the call from.”

“That’s down by Fratton Park, where those old warehouses are.”

“Look after the kids,” I said picking up my bag and car keys.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” he asked me standing in the doorway.

“To check it out.”

“On your own?”

“Why not?”

“If they got James, who is twice as big as you, and three times as strong, what chance have you got?”

“I won’t know till I get there will I?”

“Stella, watch the kids will you? If we’re not back within the hour or have contacted you, with a code word Easter Egg, call the police and send them down there, tell them someone has been seen with a gun.”

“You’re not taking a gun are you?” she asked in amazement.

“No, but they get the helicopter up if they think someone’s got a shooter.”

“One hour–okay.” She went to supervise the children.

“Trish, see what you can hack into about Jeremy Kite, I want anything about bank accounts or property.”

“I can hack someone?” she beamed.

“Be careful and don’t get caught.”

“Okay, I’ll set up a false website in Russia or China and go from there.”

Simon looked at me, “How old was she last month?”

“Eight, why?”

“Sure you didn’t miscount by ten years?”

“No, she’s just very clever with computers.” Trish practically purred at my comment.

“Ya don’t say,” offered Simon shaking his head. He grabbed his jacket and we ran out to the Mondeo and drove out to the location the map had shown us. “This couldn’t be a setup, could it?”

“How would I know, I’m a zoologist not a clairvoyant.”

“Pity,” he sighed and parked the car outside an old semi-derelict building which used to be a fruit and veg distribution centre for a now-defunct supermarket chain. The building was surrounded by those temporary fences they use for this sort of thing and building sites; the sort which fits into concrete blocks to hold it upright.

Using a pair of pliers he cut the wires holding two of the panels together and then lifted the panel to allow me entry. I was busy stuffing the wheel brace into my jacket.

“What’s that for?” he asked me although the reason was obvious.

“You never know when you might meet someone who needs a wheel loosened.”

“You’re mad.”

“No, I’m Cathy, crazy maybe, but not mad–yet. If they’ve hurt Jim, then I’ll be mad.”

“Okay, so long as I know when to get the strait-jacket.”

“What’s wrong with this jacket?” I asked zipping up the front and pulling on my gloves.

He tapped the plaster of Paris splint on his arm, “I hope this holds,” he smiled and tapped it again.

For the next several minutes we crept around the outside of the site until I spotted a BMW parked behind a small outbuilding. “I think that’s been parked to hide it, wouldn’t you say?”

“Could be, why, d’you recognise it?”

“I reckon it’s Kite’s.”

“Is it now, pass me the wheel brace.”

“But it’ll have locking wheel nuts, won’t it?”

“Only on one nut,” he smiled. Ten minutes later he had loosed all but the four locking nuts.

“Isn’t that going to be dangerous to drive.”

“I hope so,” he smirked.

We continued prowling quietly about the site, gaining access through a broken window which required Simon to help me climb into the hole. I then managed to unlock a nearby door and he entered beside me.

The biggest difficulty was trying to avoid making too much noise walking on broken glass and asbestos panels from the roof. It was also rather wet underfoot and occasionally slippery. Progress was slow but after a good fifteen minutes, we had eliminated most of the building from our search.

I thought I heard voices and pulled Si behind an ancient vending machine. Kite was walking with Ditchley and another man–the latter bearing an uncanny resemblance to one of the thugs who had attacked me at the chip shop. I decided it was possibly his father.

“How bad d’you want me to beat him?” Ditchley was asking Kite.

“I don’t care as long as you get everything he knows out of him. Just don’t incriminate me when you dump the body.” I risked a photo of the three of them on my camera phone. Thankfully, the dripping of water from the broken roof hid the noise it made. Simon looked at me. I showed him the photo, it had the three of them clearly together.

Kite left and the other two went up a flight of stairs. We heard the engine of his car start and Simon looked at me and winced.

“I just hope he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

I’d scribbled down his car number JK173, which I suppose could be construed as spelling his name, at least to a blind man in the dark it might. I quietly called Stella and asked her to phone the police and say they suspected he’d been drink driving and to quote the number. I also told her to call the cavalry if we weren’t in touch within half an hour.

It took a further five minutes for us to quietly creep across to the stairs. There was no way we’d be able to climb them without giving ourselves away. Simon told me to hide behind the staircase, which was a concrete construction. Then he began walking away from me. For a moment I wondered what he was up to, then he picked up an empty wine bottle and started stamping about the place and singing rugby songs in a drunken manner.

I stayed hidden and before long footsteps came partway down the stairs, Simon continued his antics, dropping the bottle and smashing it, then producing another one he must have picked up. His singing became more raucous and the footsteps came back down the stairs this time all the way down.

“Hey, mate piss off, this is private property.” The parent of the chip shop thug addressed my far from drunken hubby.

“Why don’t you come an’ ’ave a drink, and we can both pish off?” He laughed at his own joke. I saw the knife glinting in the hand the thug kept behind his back.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll ’ave a drink wiv ya.”

He stepped away from the stairs and I whacked his hand with the wheel brace. He squealed and turned in time for me to kick him first in the knee then in the chest. He flew backwards into Simon’s arms who smacked him on the head with his POP splint and the thug groaned and lay still.

“Everythin’ alwight?” called Ditchley.

“Yeah, just moppin’ up,” called Simon in a passable imitation of the disabled thug.

“Yeah, well ’urry up if you wanna watch this.”

“’Kay,” Si called back.

Using his belt we tied the thug's hands behind his back and I pulled his trousers down to his ankles which would stop him running away, he was gagged with his own disgusting hankie. He was coming round when we left him lying there. He looked at me swinging the wheel brace and wet himself.

“C’mon, Nelson, ’urry up, I’m gonna cut his dick off,” was called from upstairs. Simon looked at me and we both nodded. He grabbed a piece of scaffolding pole and I followed him up the stairs.