(aka Bike, est. 2007)
Copyright© 2017 Angharad
So someone else knows about the blue light. I think I can trust her not to say anything—I’m sure I can, at least in terms of deliberate disclosure, but then there’s that thing that lets so many of us down, unwitting disclosure, when it sort of slips out because one’s brain wasn’t in gear. Sod it, something else to worry about.
As David had collected the girls—did I tell you they were breaking up for the year—well until September, so you watch the weather will turn rotten and they’ll be moping about indoors like lost souls wandering round the underworld: either that or they’ll be up to mischief. In Trish’s case that always worries me, so I’ve got her a temporary job running the particle accelerator at Cern—only joking, Si is taking her up to Cambridge to meet with the professor of physics, he’s also meeting up with his second cousin, who’s about seventy five and a retired mathematician, so Trish should enjoy that. I’d have gone with them but I have to look after the others. I also have this little matter of an attempt upon my life, so want to stay around home where I feel safest and as always I have loads of work to do both in the office and at home. Roll on retirement, but then the government have just raised the retirement age to sixty eight, still younger than the US, but by the time I get to it, you’ll probably need to have been dead for two years to receive it but will invalidate the claim because you’re dead.
Talking of the States, I saw a report of a group of teenagers watching and filming on their phones, a man drowning and they can’t be charged because there is no legal requirement to save someone in dire straits. I suspect it could happen here too, and I recall hearing people taking photos of someone dying after they’d jumped off a roof. Quite what this world is coming to, I hate to think but hope such morally bankrupt kids are in a minority or this world really is going down the pan faster than I thought.
We’ve already killed practically all the major predators, poisoned most of the insects and caught most of the fish in lakes and seas, after clearing most of the forests there isn’t much left for us to destroy is there, except each other. Perhaps our last act before we hand over to some other species the domination of this planet, will be to rename our species, Homo destructivus. We make the Neanderthals seem decidedly benevolent.
I soldiered on through two meetings and dozens of letters to sign before i gave up and went home. I’d let Diane go earlier as she had several things to do for this evening—they’re away for the weekend up to her mother-in-law’s at Clacton, in Essex.
When I got to the Jaguar there was an envelope under one of the windscreen wipers. As I picked it off the screen I had a sudden flashback to a much earlier period when Mary had left all those notes for me and then would have possibly killed me if I hadn’t have been all stuck up inside and a police marksman hadn’t shot her. Tom still gets some discomfort in his shoulder from the wound he got saving me.
Given the recent attempt on my life I wondered if I should have used gloves to protect myself and possibly to avoid leaving prints on it. They can’t miss my car with the plates Si got for me years ago, C4THY. Holding the envelope with a tissue—I was improvising, okay—I slipped the large blade of my penknife under the edge of the flap and slit it open. No obviously noxious substance emerged or was emitted, as far as I could see or smell. Peering inside I could see a single sheet of paper. I rsted the envelope on the bonnet of the car with my bag holding it safe, while I dug about in the boot and recovered a pair of nitrile gloves to do the job properly.
Eventually the letter was in my gloved hands and it surprised me in content.
‘Call off your destroying sprit from Judy and we’ll call a truce.’
This posed some difficulties as I didn’t know how to contact them; a personal advert or announcement in the Times, apart from being exorbitant in cost, doesn’t work quite as well these days as it did for Sherlock Holmes. Then again, I hadn’t actually done anything to Judy, she’d brought it upon herself by attacking me. Then there was the legal element, if the police found some toxic substance in the pot in her car boot, she’d be charged on those grounds alone—possession of a deadly weapon with an intent to harm or kill people, viz., me. So even if I managed to call off the goddess, I doubt I could stop the agents of the law—them with long arms, a bit like gibbons—from doing their thing. Doesn’t life get horribly complicated at times? I can’t complain, I called them, the police, that is, so will have to abide by the consequences.
I looked around, my heart was racing, but apart from normal looking university staff and the odd student, I couldn’t see anyone. I placed the note back inside the envelope and after getting into the car called DI Patchworth on my mobile phone. He asked me to deliver it to him asap, so that was what I did, took it straight round to him.
He must have told the desk sergeant to detain me because they kept me waiting while he came from his office into reception. The envelope was placed in a plastic bag and sealed and someone was sent for to take it to forensics. “Would you mind coming with me, Lady Cameron?” Like I had a choice, I followed him through the security door and up to his office.
“Please take a seat, I ordered some tea.”
“Why, I was supposed to be delivering the letter that was all?”
“I’ve had your statement typed up, perhaps you could read it and sign it if you agree with the content.”
It was a fairly accurate account of what I’d said and apart from some minor spelling mistakes which I corrected, I agreed to sign it. At this point two mugs of tea arrived and although it was stronger than I personally like, i drank it to humour him.
“Okay, Lady Cameron, what is this angel of death thing that’s supposed to be haunting your would be assassin?”
“I have no idea.”
“Haven’t you? I did some research, all sorts of phenomena happen when you’re about, don’t they?”
“It often rains as well but I have no control over the weather. You’re making associations that don’t exist, it’s very poor logic and even worse science.”
“Why do I always get the clever ones?”
“I beg pardon?” I asked feeling almost as if I were under suspicion.
“Look, you do the science and I’ll do the investigating, okay?” I nodded, it was about all I could do. “Now, just what the fuck is going on here? Who are you or what are you, and what is this all about, some bunch of fundamentalists you claim are trying to kill you and one of them appears to think you cursed her and now she’s pursued by some bloody ghost or other—and don’t tell me you don’t know, because you’re sitting there until you tell me.”
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