The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2439 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I’d barely had time to shower and change when the police chief arrived, and it was the same man as before. Fortunately he spoke very good English, my Spanish being restricted to ‘Olà.’

“Lady Cameron, it seems we were unable to sweep up the whole of Cortez’s gang of bandits, but now with your help and that Senor Cervantes and his dog. He said his dog came home all cut and torn as if he’d been caught up in wire last week. He didn’t think the dog had escaped by itself so someone must have assisted. It was you, wasn’t it?”

“The dog was stuck and becoming more so with each attempt to escape. I managed to cut some of it free and he got away.”

“It looks like he recognized you.”

“Or perhaps he just came to rescue a damsel in distress?”

“A knight in armour, eh?”

“Quite. I presume it was his owner who called the police?”

“Yes, he saw you in trouble and ran back to get his shotgun, though if they’d tried anything with him they’d have discovered he had no ammunition.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Senor Cervantes told me he once went to Malta for a holiday and saw how the people there shoot songbirds. It disgusted him and he has never since had any cartridges for his gun. He, like you, enjoys seeing the birds.”

“Cathy is an acting professor of biology back at home,” Simon casually dropped into the conversation.”

“The dormouse lady, now I remember where I saw you,” beamed the copper.

“Yes, she made a film about them.”

“Yes, on Youtube, where it jumps down her blouse.”

It wasn’t the film Simon had in mind, I’m pretty sure of that, why have they always seen that clip?

“Have you got all of Cortez’s gang, now?”

“We think so.”

I hope so. “Is it safe for me to wander round the nature reserve?”

“I think so, Senor Cervantes has offered to show around the best places.”

“With Bruno, I hope.”

“I would think so.”

“What does he do—for a living?” I asked.

“He writes.”

“Cervantes—writer, it figures,” I said thinking out loud.

“He claims he is a descendant of Miguel de Cervantes. Who knows, he could be.”

“You know him, obviously.”

“Lady Cameron, he was a headmaster of my daughter’s school until he had—how d’you say—a breakdown nervous?”

“Teaching is very stressful.”

“Especially when you have two mistresses and a wife.”

“Oh,” I blushed and Simon roared. “Perhaps I won’t go bird watching with him after all.”

“But you must,” insisted the copper.

“It’ll be alright, babes, Bruno will keep an eye on you.” Actually, I believed he probably would, not that I’m sure I want a practice run.

So it was decided that the day after tomorrow, I would go out with Senor Cervantes and Simon would take the others to a theme park place down on the coast. Before that, Danni and I had a fifty K ride while the others played in the pool with their dad. The girls love him to bits and I have to admit I’m quite fond of him too.

The bird watching trip was brilliant, and we saw another pine marten, not to mention a dozen or more species of feathered critters I’d have missed by myself. One of those was a hawfinch, something I hadn’t seen for ages. We had clear views of that elusive woodchat shrike, hoopoes, marsh harriers and a merlin. There were a pair of peregrines, a pair of red kite and some of black kite.

We watched a pair of the dormice together and saw several tortoise plus a hedgehog. I lost count of everything he could have shown me and at the end of the morning I walked back to the pickup point Simon had suggested. Of course he was late—half an hour late. I gave him what-for when I caught up with him

Of course he had more excuses than a politician seeking re-election—heavy traffic, more heavy traffic and the traffic was heavy. There was also an accident on the main road which caused more heavy traffic. I tried to argue that traffic was the same weight wherever you went except great depths or heights. He just gave me a blank stare but Trish tried to explain the physics of atmospheres and air pressures and why it’s different in Quantum Mechanics which made it a very long drive home, oh that and the fact that Simon gave Senor Cervantes a case of good wine for helping me out of a tight spot, and the girls presented Bruno with a bone which looked like it had come from an elephant’s leg. Needless to say both recipients were pleased with their prezzies but only one wagged his tail.

“D’you think we’ve seen the last of Cortez?” asked Simon that evening as we got into bed.

“I don’t know, he seems very good at escaping from the forces of law and order.”

“Still he’s under lock and key for the moment and hopefully the Hampshire Constabulary will get their extradition under way and then he’ll be locked up in a British clink, which we know will be safe.”

“I doubt it, I’ll only feel safe when I know for certain he’s dead.”

“Want me to arrange it?”

“No I don’t.”

“You want to do it yourself?”

“No, I don’t wish to see anyone killed or injured, but he seems such a dyed in the wool nasty piece of work, it’s the only way I’d feel safe.”

“Well he won’t come near here again, will he?”

“I hope not, Simon.”

“He won’t, because next time you might decide to make things safe, if you get my meaning.”

“I understand perfectly, however, I have no desire to spend umpteen years in a Spanish prison, though I suppose it would be one way to learn the language.”

“Yeah, good point.”

I kissed him goodnight and turned over to sleep on my side. I heard his breathing ease into slow tempo which showed he was fast asleep. I however, tossed and turned thinking about Cortez and why I had this uncomfortable feeling in my solar plexus when I did so. I had a horrible feeling he’d escape before or during extradition. Hopefully, because these things take forever, we’ll be back at home before it happens and that might make me feel more secure.

I finally fell asleep reassured by Simon’s arm draped around my waist and his snoring emulating the approach of an attack helicopter. There is a certain comfort in the familiar.