The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1737 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Another day, another dollar–hopefully they pay me a little better than that. More invigilating–it’s so bloody boring–acting like a prison camp guard patrolling lines of would be escapers. Today, I had the company of someone from the marine biology department. Theirs was a much bigger outfit until the dormouse phenomenon took off and half the young women students in England decided they could make better films than I could. I’ve got news for them, it’s harder work than they think.

Marianne, the other prison guard, was stuck on a marine environment after seeing a dolphin when she was crewing for her dad who was a sailing nut. She was fifteen at the time. I explained that I was into wildlife from a little kid and discovered dormice while I was at Sussex. It was love at first sight. However, much I’d like to swim with dolphins or whatever, I went off large marine mammals after hearing about that captive orca who killed his woman trainer–he apparently dragged her into the water and drowned her. Can’t see a dormouse doing that to me somehow.

At lunchtime, I got a call from Andy Bond–it was all very hush hush. “I’m not telling you this, but the powers that be are pooing themselves.”

“Why?”

“Well, the sample you gave the officer on duty turns out to have traces of dynamite on it as well.”

I wanted to smirk, but it was far too serious. Instead I nodded–equally useless on a phone.

“You still there?” he asked.

“Yes I am, Andy. So what happens next?”

“They’ve launched a murder enquiry.”

“So my sample did something then?”

“They’d have had to anyway–he was dead before the explosion.”

“What? You mean he was gassed?”

“No, he died from a blow to the back of his head, some little while before the boiler went up.”

“Oh shit.”

“The post mortem showed he was dead before the burns and things. They presumably hoped for the explosion to destroy the evidence, but they’ve checked out the kitchen where the boiler was and found lots of residue. It’s a clear case of murder.”

“So the pathologist is certain that he was killed by a blow to the head?”

“That’s what his report says, and that was ante-mortem by up to half an hour.”

“Thanks, Andy.”

“Now they’ve got off their rumps, let them do their job. We’ve got a good record when it comes to catching killers.”

That wasn’t my experience, but I’ve been wrong before, so I’ll accept him at his word. However, just in case, I’d keep James working on the case until something happened or someone was charged. In the case of the latter, we’d share information with the police to ensure a conviction. Poor Gareth, I wonder if he knew his killer(s). I suspect there were more than one.

If he’d stayed with us would he still be alive or would they have killed several of us as well? That was the most frightening thing, the possibility that they could have killed Stella and the girls without any conscience. It’s either a professional job or one of a very ruthless, score settler.

Just after speaking to Andy, James rang. “He was killed by a...”

“Blow to the back of his head.”

“How d’ya know that?”

“Just had a call from a copper I know.”

“Oh, I’ve taken all day to get that tit-bit, and you get a call and the sodding police have just done a press conference. I coulda stayed in bed and still have got the same information.”

“Yeah, life’s a bitch–so anything on our suspects?”

“I’ve seen him, he’s acting like he hasn’t a care in the world.”

“A sure sign of guilt.”

“Cathy, you sound just a trifle biased.”

“Trifle? I’m up to full blown Black Forest gateau.”

He chuckled at that.

“Right then, back to work, I suppose,” he said pretending to be fed up.

“I tell you what, you play mother to my kids and I’ll play gumshoe,” I challenged him, albeit tongue in cheek.

“Nah, I think you look better in a dress than I would.”

“Oh, I don’t know, you might surprise yourself.”

“No I wouldn’t, believe me, you look better in a dress than I do.”

“I think I’d like to hear that story sometime.”

“Gotta go, Cathy, my boss is a right bitch.” He rang off before I could tear him off a strip. I’ll get my own back before too long.

I watched the press conference on my laptop as it was shown on the next news bulletin. One of their officers noticed the piece of metal from the boiler and its residue which caused him to have suspicions of an explosion not caused by gas. Huh, the guy was so thick, I was surprised he could manage his own boot laces. I admit I might have missed it as well, except eagle-eyed Trish spotted it, almost as if she was looking for it. I must speak to her about that.

I did some work on the survey then went home, collecting the girls en route. Then it was a question of relieving Jacquie who was doing a great job of looking after the three babies. Puddin’ had been going to nursery but we simply didn’t have enough hands to take her and collect her until Stella could function again. Sammi could drive but alas, Jacquie couldn’t and she couldn’t learn while she was stuck watching three children.

I told her to organise a lesson for the weekend–a double one and somehow we’d manage without her for a couple of hours. After dinner, and Julie could help look after the young uns, I got Sammi to drive me in the Mondeo to a supermarket. She drove quite well and I decided I’d speak to Simon about getting her a car–just a runabout for her to use to get to work and back–then I remembered Julie’s scooter thing. It was in the garage and it started first time. I called the garage and left a message for them to come and get it and MOT it as well as do any necessary servicing. I know I can trust them not to rip me off–they’d lose a lot of business if they did.

Sammi was quite enthusiastic about using it–she’d had a moped thing earlier on and the pink scooter was both functional and girly enough to meet all her needs. Unlike Julie, who used it because she had to, being too young to drive at the time, Sammi seemed quite content to drive about on it and it would give her independence to get about without relying on me to get her to work.

I asked her about work and she was quite enthusiastic about it–she definitely liked her boss who suggested he might take her to lunch one day next week. He’d touched her bum a couple of times again, but she was sure it was accidental. Simon heard this and rolled his eyes partly because he knew the guy by reputation and partly because he was surprised at Sammi’s naíveté.

“You’ll need to be up early tomorrow, Sam,” he said after hearing her report on the day.

“Oh?” she replied.

“You’re coming up to HQ with me.”

“Have done something wrong, daddy?” she said and I’m sure he winced slightly at the epithet.

“On the contrary, my IT manager wants to have a chat with you–he was intrigued by some of the things we discussed the other night.”

“What about my normal job?”

“I’ve left a message for him.”

“He won’t be angry with me, will he?”

“If he is, I’ll show him what happens after that when I get angry with him.”

“Might be a good idea if you got off to bed a bit early, girl,” I prompted and she took the hint, returning to ask what she should wear. I told her her business suit would be fine and she was quite pleased as she went off to bed.