Primeval Scream

By Chris J Keelty

A word of warning, what is normal for Peter is not normal for most people. Why? Like most, Peters life had been shaped by his mother. She was no ordinary woman though. Some said that she was a bit of a witch, and that ran in her family. Others called her evil. Without giving too much away, Peters first guide was not a good one. Off the rails, there is one woman that can save him, well, from jail! Employed to defend him, she has never lost a case. This is not going to be the first one, and she is prepared to do anything to win! Win for who is the questionfor what is right, for Peter, herself, or her reputation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jun 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504944649

Chris J Keelty

Chris left school aged sixteen to join the military. He had a short but successful military career. While on active service, he received a commendation and influenced a change in military policy. After the birth of his daughter, he left the services to work in industry for the worlds’ biggest conglomerate. After fifteen years, Chris decided to study history and politics to degree before studying to become a teacher. He loves this role and works designing programs for challenging children.

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2015 Chris J Keelty. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/17/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4465-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4466-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4464-9 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Preface

Note

The Why and Wherefore

Who Monster or Truth

Anything But

The Great Fire

The SS, or The Dedication of the Social Services

New Beginnings

More New Beginnings

The Return

The First Day

Celebrity

Ta-Da

Bless This House

The Ceremony

The Good

It Kept Rolling

The Holidays

At Last School

The Year of Death.

Suspicion

The Alarm

The Inquest

Return to Low Newton

Service Station Starts Separation? SS Steal Sister!

The Power of WWW

The Great Escape

Friends Forever Friends

The Trial

Freedom

The Big Plan

May and Her Team

The New Us

Cheese

News at Ten

The Happiest Days of Your Life

Induction

The Real Class

Just Routine

Day 2, the New Life

Hide It from View and Bury It – You Can

How Not to Bury It

The Big Storm

Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining

Tag! Tag!

Work or Con, Kill or Cure

In the Pink, It Was!

New Plan

Destination

Do You Believe?

The Great Escape

The Bombshell

Recovery

What Was This Rumour?

School’s Back

The Punishment

My New Best Friend

The Great Adventure

The Advocate

My Way or No Way

The Big Meeting

Goodbye, My Friend

Summer

A Strange Day Out

Another Goodbye

The Big 6

My Prison

The Unit, the Home

The Big Talk

Planning

Next Challenge

Opportunities Come Knocking

They Come to Those Who Wait

Upon Pain of Death

About the Author

PREFACE

Saint Francis Xavier gave the motto to the Jesuit Order: ‘Give me a boy until he is seven, and I will show you the man.’ There is a great deal of truth in this statement. An example could be talking to the child in the best private school at seven and asking the question, ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ Not only will the child tell you what his or her dreams are, the child will tell you how he or she will reach that dream. The child will not only be able to state the university they are going to but the college and probably the clubs they will join. Now ask the same question to a child from the poorest side of town, the child who has missed more school than he or she has attended, the child whose parent – usually mother – or parents if he or she is lucky, the child who hasn’t ever really worked. Often bemused by the question, the child will answer, ‘I don’t know.’ A few, the lucky ones, will have a dream – an astronaut, a train driver, or a fireman.

This story is about the relationship one boy has with his family and how this is really his downfall. And well before seven, his parameters are set, and his understanding of right and wrong are questionable, to say the least. It was Plato who informed the world that our most important teachers are our mothers. Peter is no different, and he learnt his trade from his, one of the most evil women ever to walk the earth. Peter had no chance really, and in this story, because it is a story, another woman’s role is to protect and help guide Peter. Or is it her job to protect society? Does she achieve her goal? You can decide on the answer to that yourself this time.

A word of warning: what is normal for Peter is definitely not normal for you or me. What he sees as right and wrong will be different from what you see as right and wrong, and he asks no forgiveness for that. However, because it is different, very different, what you will read will not be nice.

In fact, when you have read this book and you think, I can guarantee you one thing and that is you will have nightmares and they will last. You see Peter is not the only one – is he? You see, you will begin to ask yourself how many Peters you could help. How many Peters have you let fall? Because there are many we close our eyes to.

This book is not a warning, but look around you. Every day, you will talk to or come in to contact with at least one Peter. If you do nothing, who is guilty – Peter or …?

NOTE

This story could be any Peter’s, and as such, the characters and story are fictitious. The author apologises if you can see people in it you know. This is because, although this story is fictitious, it is based on events that are real. This gives the characters a realism that you will recognise. Perhaps one of the characters is a friend, teacher, doctor, or member of your family. The author apologises for this as that was not his intention. He wanted the many Peters to have a voice and a real way to cry for help. So it is your duty, the next time you meet a Peter. Don’t wait for him to use a Primeval Scream. Do it for him.

For a special friend who said, ‘You must tell this tale.’ You know who you are.

THE WHY AND WHEREFORE

‘Mr Scott, Sergeant Trueman said you can have this!’ Constable Smythes’ voice sang as a tray was placed on the shelf on the door to my cell.

I sat up and looked. Ah, that’s what she means; I grinned to myself – a newspaper. Whenever I’m not sure, I grin. I always have, well, almost always. The habit really began when I was ten. Joanne, my mentor, advised me if I wasn’t sure about something that I should take a deep breath and smile. She added this would help me relax and make others feel good. (Indeed, as I soon discovered, it made her feel good and sent a message to me. Well, two messages: the first, she liked my smile, and the second, I was doing what she wanted, and she was in control.) As to the advice, well, I’m not too sure how good this advice was as it seems to have landed me in hot water many times over the years. Then, although I am very good at the smile, bit of an expert really, I’m not quite as good at grinning as she was. I can remember the way she would look at the head, flick her long, jet-black locks and smile – she could get him to agree to almost anything, and he wasn’t the only one.

The smell of bacon, sausage, egg, and chips was too much for me. I grabbed the tray, picked up the paper, sat on the one piece of furniture in the sterile cell – the bed – and gobbled the lot down. Then I swallowed the dessert, an iced doughnut with hundreds of thousands on and washed the lot down with a large mug of very sweet hot chocolate. Putting down the tray, I missed the bed, and it clashed on the red concrete floor. It landed right side up. Lucky day, I thought. Then it usually is, lucky that is. My mother said I was born that way, lucky, and she would know. She could always see the future, unless, well, unless it involved her. I remember her tossing her long black locks, telling us, once, her mother couldn’t see her future and the same was true for her as it was for everyone with the gift.

My attention moved to the paper, which was the real treat. Papers were usually old in here and rarely thrown away. I had four, but this was today’s! This was a police station with a twist. It had a remand centre too. You could see the Crown Court from the car park and the high-security prison. As I unfolded the paper, I lay back on my bed, instinctively turning to the back page. Don’t know why I did that. It’s something I’ve done all my life. Perhaps I did it because, I can remember, one of the few happy memories I have of my dad was him reading the sports reports out to me every week with such expression. He told me that reporters would write stories about me too when I was famous. I’m sure it’s the reason I was always too competitive in sport at school. I always had to be the best and when I wasn’t, well, I wasn’t a good loser, shall we say, and leave it at that. This almost always meant I was overlooked for teams, too much of a risk. Turning to the back of the paper is a habit I can’t get out of even though my dad, well, he’s been dead since I was seven and a half – and that’s nine years ago now. Still, old habits die hard. Silly, really, since football season didn’t start for a few weeks yet, and it was the only sport I really followed, and my team – the Black Cats. Still, there is often transfer news or predictions about the coming season and our enemies, the Magpies!

As I turned the paper over, I screamed! Not any scream, a real primeval scream! Yes, I seem to have always known what a primeval scream was and how to use it to control and to hide. Well, I can remember the training I was given to use it when I was about nine. Funnily enough, I remembered just then, my best ever teacher didn’t agree with it; everyone else did! I think perhaps that he was the one who was correct now. I once overheard him speaking to Mrs Smith (Di, his assistant) about it. I could see he was in tears. My smile worked then. I can remember it now.

‘Hello, Mr K.’ I let the words sing out as I knew the class would be in the hall last session on a Friday for assembly, at least I missed that.

‘Good session, mate?’ He chirped back. We both knew we were now acting a scene out and neither of us would believe a word of it.

‘Yeah, I got rid of a lot of anger today and we talked about the thing you suggested.’

‘Ah what did Andrew say then?’ How could I tell him? Mr K knew me better than anyone, and I can say now with a real degree of certainty the only advice he gave me was good, and it always worked.

‘Andrew said I have to work through my anger even though it hurts.’

Mr K looked at Mrs Smith, and added, ‘Well, he must know the best way forward, don’t you think?’

The room fell silent in disbelief, but we were both saved from continuing the conversation by the class returning. It was a subject that was never far from the surface, though. When I think now, I know that Mr K was the only person who really understood me. I remember hearing Di question him once in the teachers planning room about me. Obviously I was somewhere I should not have been. I can recall her most probing question.

‘Will he ever be ordinary?’

I still remember the way she gasped at Mr K’s response. ‘No way – he will be inside by the time he’s sixteen, at the very latest, and they’ll throw the key away! That is unless …’ Mr K’s voice dulled to a halt, meaning the obvious.

I think what shocked Di was the fact she knew that Mr K really did love me. He just didn’t agree with a lot that was happening to me.

WHO MONSTER OR TRUTH

I looked at the paper again and couldn’t believe the headline – ‘PRIME EVIL MONSTER GRINS AT CHARGES!’ Worse still, my picture, smiling. I dropped the paper and kicked the tray. It skidded, spinning over the iron-red floor, screaming too as it did.

‘Mr Scott, you calm down!’ Smythes’s usually calm voice shrieked. ‘Your brief has called and wants to see you tonight. She’s on her way.’ I had spent a great deal of my life in the public eye, much of it as a celebrity, and I knew the power the press had.

‘M-m-must be serious. She’s never been on a night before, has she?’ I stammered, spluttering the question.

‘Well, the truth will out!’ she added, either kindly or sarcastically; I couldn’t decide.

I thought, Huh, the truth will out, it will, the truth will out! Everyone will know the truth! At last, everyone will know. Mr K always said the truth can never hurt you unless you have done something wrong. I knew when everyone heard the truth, they would know I hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, I was a victim, and I knew it.

I grinned without thinking and looked at Smythes and whispered, still grinning, of course. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’

She shivered as if someone had walked over her grave. ‘It’s my job. That’s all … and you, well, you’re mad. You are twisted, truly twisted! Your brief must have been desperate or appointed by the court.’

Her words taunted me. It isn’t really a taunt. It’s true, I thought as the door to my cell slammed. Her shiver ran up my spine. It was the first time I’d ever felt a response like that. I didn’t know why anyone would react in that way. After all, I thought, I haven’t done anything to warrant that sort of response, or have I? I pondered. Unthinkingly, I decided to count the bricks on the wall at the end of my bed. They were a darker red than the floor.

Still, I stopped and listened to my breath. Then I thought. I knew how newspapers worked. Anything for a sale, I thought, anything, so I lifted the tray, placed it on top of the paper, lay back on my bed, closed my eyes and blanked out the world.

It seemed hours before she arrived. I heard her first. That walk was unmistakable, and she had to pass my cell to reach the interview room. Her walk was even more distinctive than her dyed dusty-grey hair, which everyone knew was supposed to be a trendy platinum white. She was addicted to shiny black bangles which jangled louder than the black, patent-leather, stiletto shoes she always wore. She stepped like a cross between a nodding Geisha and a disco diva, clicking and clanking as she walked.

I pulled out the paper, folded it, and put it under my left arm. I would sue. I would get Mrs Bilkes to sue the paper on my behalf. I’d be rich. They couldn’t do that. It was clear why she was here now – simple. How could I hope for a fair trial? I would now surely get off and win, or there’d be a mistrial. I’d heard of that happening, many times. I placed my fingers on my forehead and pushed them back through my hair, scrunching it to make it look cool.

The door to my cell opened. It was Sergeant Trueman, and I knew what he wanted. He had the hots for her and her for him. ‘Paper!’ he ordered with one word. I looked and thought, should I? Mr Trueman’s ice-blue eyes squinted, ordering me.

So I grinned and gasped, ‘But Mrs Bilkes will want it – evidence!’

‘Mad, you are. Evidence? Evidence!’ he ordered me with a look and then ordered me with that same look. Wordlessly, he marched me down the cold, clammy corridor. Windowless, it seemed like twilight. Then he opened the door to the interview room. There was one florescent light which seemed to give off a poisonous white light. It made her grey hair look silver, which aged her too. Mrs Bilkes seemed preoccupied, putting papers in order at the one table. Remaining focused on her papers, she signalled for me to join her. I sat at the other chair opposite her. Sgt Trueman stood behind me. I could feel the warmth from Mrs Bilkes as she silently looked at him. The world seemed to stop momentarily. I gave a sideways glance at the sergeant who seemed more than a little flush at her look.

Then, without pause for thought, she began. ‘Well, we will have an uphill battle here. The medical officer has proved you are not insane and can face trial. Do you understand what you are facing trial for?’

Staring at me not wanting an answer, she began to tap the table, her gaze shifting from looking through me to gazing into the air so as not to let our eyes meet thus, commanding everyone to be silent and underlining who was actually in charge.

‘Well, do you know how serious it is?’ The iced-pink glaze on her lips glistened. It seemed to make the false eyelashes flicker like a cartoon character’s against her panda-painted eyes. It was then I thought, Ah, yes, Dusty! You modelled yourself on Dusty. Me gran really liked her.

Then I answered indignantly, ‘I don’t know what you mean. Serious!’ I grinned, but tears rolled down my face. ‘I didn’t think that I was doing anything wrong – I didn’t realise.’ Gasping for air as I spoke, I added, ‘You see it was – it was love.’

‘Love, love? I don’t know how you can call this love.’ She flashed her eyes at Trueman as she sang the whole arpeggio, letting him know that he had a chance, or had he had a chance already?

The room fell silent. Mrs Bilkes began tapping her fingers again, with nails that matched her lips, and treble blinking, flashing her false cartoon eyelashes even more at Sgt Trueman. ‘I’ve never lost a case, never!’ She cried angrily.

I’ve never lost anything either, I thought. My smile and the do-gooders have always helped me get what I wanted. In fact, from I was about eight, I can’t ever remember not getting my own way. Well, almost. There was only one who ever stopped me, yep, and that was Mr K. He always used to point out, not only to me, when something was wrong. Even then, in his class, I had to toe the line or woe be! He stopped me from playing football for the school for a wrongdoing. It was the worst punishment of all; the team lost the semis and blamed me. He seemed to be the only person who was strong enough not to give in to me.

I can remember him saying once, ‘I know your past. It’s not an excuse, mate, and if you are in my class, then you are the same as everyone in here.’ I loved that rule. He was the only person that had ever really treated me ‘the same’!

The silence was shattered by Sgt Trueman. ‘You have one hour!’

‘One hour? Sergeant, we have all night if we need it!’ Her eyes squinted like an Abyssinian cat. Then she gleefully added, ‘We will start at the beginning. Mr Scott, I’m sure I can prove madness even if the doctors can’t!’

What does she mean? I thought, grinning to myself. All night, yes – all night – I love all night. I always have, forever. Will this take all night? I do hope so. It will save me from sleeping – the thing I hate most.

Sgt Trueman looked again. He seemed anything but happy, and although he stood unsmiling, he somehow didn’t seem angry.

‘Madness? What do you mean?’ I asked petulantly.

‘Simple that one, you’d think! Madness, like King George, you know?’ Sgt Trueman’s voice echoed round the room. Then he added, ‘All night, I’d better change this set up, Bilkes!’

She didn’t like the tone of his voice and only answered with a steely look, the ice shining on her lips as she licked them.

Trueman turned and lifted the white handset from the wall. ‘Answer, answer,’ he ordered in a deep whisper, which seemed to work. ‘Looks like a long one here – and this room isn’t set up for that. So I’m moving us to Interview Three.’

I thought, Why is he telling them that? Even I’d noticed the sign on the door which read ‘Interview in progress, no entry.’

After a pause he then went on. ‘Interview rooms two, five, and seven have recording stations in them, but if they’re all in use, you will have to take a portable into the other rooms.’

Surely everyone would know that, I thought.

Mrs Bilkes raised her head, looked directly at the sergeant, and asked, ‘What’s wrong with this room? I’ve all my paperwork ready.’

‘This room is not set up for three, and the advice is someone must be present at all times. We assumed you were just going to brief Mr Scott about appropriate behaviour in court.’

Mrs Bilkes pursed her lips. With her best cat-like squint, she hissed, ‘Assumed? Assumed? You assumed wrong then! Court! Court – as if I can let him go to court. I’d be as mad as him.’

Sgt Trueman retorted, ‘The trial hasn’t started yet. It will take weeks! Why all night? Is there any reason? Let’s face it. The jury aren’t even sworn in yet!’

‘Oh, I assure you there is every need! I need to be prepared and want this trial over as soon as I can have it over. Before it starts would be best.’ I’ll never forget the way she shrugged her head knowingly, like a child would say easy-peasy. As she shrugged her shoulders, she looked at me, smiling. I could imagine what was running through her head – headlines: ‘GLORY BILKES BATTLES TO TRIUMPH.’

Silently, Sgt Trueman opened the door. He gave Bilkes a knowing smile and then shouted, ‘Smythes, hand here now!’ He directed the flustered constable with his eyes. She dashed over to Bilkes, who placed a pile of files on her open arms. It was only when the two of them were together that I realised how demure Smythes was. Although she was built like a rugby-playing police officer – I mean in height and breadth – she was demure.

Bilkes stood up and began to totter towards the door.

‘Prisoner first. Mr Scott!’ Sgt Trueman directed me behind Smythes, he stood behind me, and Bilkes tripped behind. ‘Room three, Smythes, it’s closest to the toilets. We don’t want to waste any time now, do we!’

Why did he have to say that? I needed the toilet now. ‘Sergeant!’ I felt an arm in my back and a push as if to say, Shut it. ‘Sergeant, Sergeant!’

‘Aren’t you going to answer him?’ my brief asked.

The impatient tone of Trueman’s voice was quite scary. ‘What now?’

I knew that I had to be clever, so I grinned. ‘To save time, can I go to the toilet now?’ I couldn’t believe the response.

Trueman smiled, a really wide smile. It felt good. ‘Toilet, go lad, go – before I get really angry and do something we all might regret!’

I couldn’t understand why he reacted that way. It would save time. ‘Good idea, I’ll go too,’ Bilkes sang. ‘Can we have coffee brought along? Not the cheap stuff either, real coffee!’

‘Smythes, make a pot of coffee, a full one. Better still, bring the machine and plug it in here … it’s going to be a long night.’

‘Yes, Sergeant!’ The response seemed so official it made me want to salute on behalf of Smythes.

Sgt Trueman looked at me. ‘Toilet!’ He nodded, directing me in the door behind me. The door had no sign on and had recently been painted gloss black. I could see my reflection. Still a hunk of a guy, I thought. The smell of disinfectant almost made my nose bleed. It’s a smell I can’t stand, reminds me of the dentist and pain. I gulped and stepped into the bright room.

What made it so white was the fact the walls were clad with a white plastic sheet. They were clearly new and pristine. The urinal was a long stainless-steel trough which had obviously just been doused with bleach. I quickly used it and stood at the sink. The soap was a relief from the smell of disinfectant it smelt as pink as the colour it was. I held my hands under the dryer and thought, Mad, mad, I’m not mad. Why would my brief want to say mad? Then I remembered, truth would out, which made me feel much better. The warm air of the hand dryer seemed to push the smell of disinfectant away, and I began to feel much better.

‘Peter! Are you going to be all night?’ Trueman yelled.

I calmly replied. ‘Coming, Sergeant – just drying my hands.’

‘A little shrimp like you should be out now!’

Shrimp indeed! I’m not the tallest guy, but I am a hunk, I thought, and anyone I’ve wanted to have, I have. Stepping outside, I was directed to a much larger room. In fact, fair to say, it was more like an office. Against one wall there was a small desk, which had the controls to a recording system on. On the wall above it, there was a video camera mounted, which I’m certain could record the whole room. In the centre of the room, there was a large black desk. It had no drawers, so it would be fair to call it a table really. However, it didn’t look like a table, especially with Mrs Bilkes and all her files.

In front of the desk was a large mirror. I looked at my image and thought, I do look handsome and much older than sixteen. Although I was quite a short person, I always looked older than my years. I’d been able to drink in pubs since I was thirteen, when I had a chance, and was rarely asked for proof of age. I’d been shaving since I was twelve, and I couldn’t remember a time that sex of all types –gay, straight, group, incest – wasn’t part of my life, so I had grown up quickly. I thought, Trueman doesn’t know his own station. This room has a recording system.

The smell of coffee began to permeate the room, ‘Coffee’s ready, Sergeant. I’ll just leave the machine on.’ Constable Smythes left the room, pleased with herself. I could see that she had left three cups beside the coffee machine. I loved the smell of coffee. It always reminded me of Mr K. He had special coffee bags at school which he left in his mug for ages. He always had a cup on his desk in the class. It smelt wonderful.

‘Coffee?’ asked Sgt Trueman.

‘Please, black, one sugar,’ Mrs Bilkes replied.

I added, ‘Please, black, no sugar.’ Sgt Trueman took a huge intake of breath shaking his head; he moved to the machine silently, which was easy as the rubberised floor muffled the sound of any feet. He then filled the required order. I noticed he had milk and three sugars in his coffee. Gross, I thought.

He handed us both our coffees and then sat at the table at the side of the room. He pulled open a drawer and took out a laptop. He looked directly at Bilkes and asked, ‘I’ll get a lot of paperwork done tonight then?’

Unsmiling, she replied, ‘No doubt, no doubt.’ She blew on her coffee and closed her eyes and sat silently, deep in thought. I sighed and placed my hands on the desk and began to ponder my future prospects. As I looked about the room, I thought that I’d seemed to have spent much of my life in other people’s offices and never really understood why. The truth would out. The truth would out, I thought. Perhaps the truth would out for me too. Perhaps life could have real meaning for me too. This could be my time, I thought, my moment to shine. I’m pretty sure that everyone has one moment, don’t they? Aren’t we all due fifteen minutes of fame? Andy Warhol said that, I’m sure. Would this be mine, or had I already spent mine?

ANYTHING BUT

‘Mrs Bilkes, do you think I’m mad?’ I asked, knowing she didn’t.

She snapped back, ‘It doesn’t matter what I think, now does it? How on earth you could plead not guilty beats me. No wonder your last brief had a heart attack! Now I’ve got to think of a way of getting you off. Getting you off may not be proving that you are not guilty. You hear what I’m saying?’

I snapped right back, ‘Off, I’m not guilty of anything apart from being in love!’

‘I wish you wouldn’t say in love.’ Bilkes almost sobbed as she spoke but fought back the tears, ‘You can’t really know the meaning of the word love if this is what you call love!’ Shaking her head, she wafted her hand over one of the files, flicking back the cover. I could see a picture of a dark-locked girl, a real beauty, by the looks. I put my chin on my chest and swung both my legs.

The room fell silent, silent apart from the occasional click or beep coming from Sgt Trueman at his computer, which only underlined his poor IT skills. It didn’t seem to bother him, though. He just plodded on. The hands on the clock seemed to freeze. I tried to catch Mrs Bilkes’ eye with a pleasant smile but to no avail. Then the hands of the clock swept up to eight. We’d been in conference an hour and no work done!

Sgt Trueman slammed the lid on the laptop. ‘That’s your hour!’

‘Hour, what do you mean? I said should it take all night, we’d take it!’ Mrs Bilkes spat. ‘No problems, but I’m going to record the next hour. You do as much work, you are out!

‘Hey, sometimes you have to think, you have to get your mind in order! Isn’t that right, Mr Peter? We have just been putting our minds in order ready to work?’

At that Mrs Bilkes gave Sgt Trueman the biggest come-on look. Her tongue played carelessly with her lips, glossing the ice, and then she flashed her eyes, her eyelashes almost signalling I want you! ‘I’m sure you know when silence works, don’t you?’

Sgt Trueman blushed and turned to his laptop. Lifting the lid, he asked, ‘Do you want the recorder on?’

‘Ignore him, just ignore him, he’s going to turn it on anyway! And to think this room too has a recorder!’ This was really her way of saying yes, I thought.

‘Where to start, where to start, where to …’ she repeated over and over as she flicked through a vast array of files. ‘Mr Peter, I have files on you from you were four. You must be better documented than Winston Churchill!’

I grinned at that, knowing how famous he was.

‘Where to start, where to start … I’ve never not known where to start – never – or even how to express myself!’

Sgt Trueman let out a huge roar of laughter and added, with his laughter, ‘You’ve never lost a case before either, have you?’

‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to lose this one either! Am I?’

She flashed her eyes at me, so I grinned, looked at Sgt Trueman, and answered, ‘No way, no way!’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that, lad. She doesn’t even know where to start, does she?’ Sgt Trueman raised his eyes towards Mrs Bilkes as he spoke and shook his head.

She just squeezed her cat-like eyes at him and then sang, ‘She knows exactly where to start! The beginning that’s where! At the beginning and end, simple at the end!’ The three of us sat, each one grinning. It was like a scene from Alice in Wonderland, but then there were never three