11. One Black Eye

A Chapter by Peter Rogerson

Trouble at a cottage in the woods...

Jerry had microwaved a couple of meals for himself and Angela, and fed the twins on fish and chips from the local excellent chip shop, something he was happy to discover they were both fond of, whilst he and Angela seemed to like Italian pasta meals from the supermarket. It was then when his phone rang and he was pleased to noticed that it was Florence’s number, not the police station but her personal mobile, which made him think it might be unofficial.

“I thought you’d like to know,” she said, “we’ve had a report of trouble at old Baz Jupiner’s place, the cottage called Dimwolde.”.

“Trouble?” he asked.

“It seems so. I didn’t catch the name of the woman who reported it and she didn’t repeat it when I asked, but she said she heard quite rowdy shouting and the sounds of things being smashed up coming from inside the place. I’m off there now, with a couple of uniforms just in case there’s something in it. Care to take a peep? It might possibly have something to do with the attack on Angela Smithson.”

“I’ll be with you in a trice,” he replied, “where are you now?”

“On my way there,” she replied, “with the uniforms following in a marked police car.”

“Then I’m out of the door already,” he said, glad that he’d finished his meal in time.

“Off already dad?” asked Jack.

“Something’s cropped up. Look boys, steer clear of the woods until whatever’s up is sorted. That was the detective inspector…”

“Your new girlfriend?” teased Jack.

Jerry looked awkwardly at Angela. “That’s no way to look at the woman helping sort out what happened to Angela,” he said.

“Sorry dad,” murmured Jack, though he sounded far from apologetic.

“I’ll be back when I am,” Jerry told them, and rushed out of the house.

The track to Dimwolde cottage was unmade and yet he put his foot down until he saw the police car in front of him, and slowed down.

At the cottage, there was a young woman waiting as if ready to run off at the sign of any danger to herself. DI Florence Winthorpe climbed out of her car accompanied by DC Beverley Anderson and two uniformed officers climbed out of the marked police car that had screeched to a halt just behind Florence’s, who signalled for them to knock the front door

Jerry watched as the uniformed officers marched up to the door and hammered on it. There was no immediate response, so one of them went round the side of the cottage to where he thought a back entrance might be, and the original officer hammered on the front door again.

Eventually that door was opened and a blood-stained Baz Juniper pushed his head through the narrowest of gaps, concealing anything that may have been behind him.

“What ya want?” he demanded.

“We’ve had a report of fighting and demolition,” replied the officer, “and you need to tell me what’s been going on before we get an ambulance and cart you off to hospital and, if you keep quiet on the subject, a nice warm cell until you remember my question.”

“There ain’t nothing…” began Baz but the second officer came round the corner from the rear of the cottage with a bearded individual struggling in his controlling grip.

“This might answer your question,” he barked, “gentleman reckins there’s a bird’s next in the rafters and wanting to reach it by demolishing the rest of the old place first.”

It was Florence’s turn to face the two men, Baz Juniper and the one struggling in an officer’s grip.

“Why,” she said smiling pleasantly, “if it isn’t Mr Smith!”

“And his fists by the look of it,” added DC Anderson.

“Tell me, Mr Smith, which of our avian friends do you expect to find in the mangled flesh of Mr Juniper here?”

“I’m saying nowt without a solicitor being present,” snarled the bearded Smith.

“Now Mr Smith, you must know that comes later!” smiled Florence, “let us first establish the facts and make sure that Mr Juniper is looked after by medical professionals. Look: he appears to have at least one black eye and I’m not sure about his nose!”

“It weren’t me, then,” snarled Smith, his usually tidy beard almost dishevelled.

“Of course it wasn’t, Mr Smith, smiled Jerry, nudging himself forwards, “if I’m not mistaken it was Mr Woods standing just behind him there. Am I right, Barney? You came here for a good old punch up, did you? And I’ll bet Mr Smith didn’t actually help you, did he? Or the two of you didbn’t happen to make a little plan and come here together with an arsenal of nasty things like that there blood-stained cricket bat he’s holding and might even smash into poor old Mr Juniper’s head the moment our backs are turned?”

The first uniformed officer pushed the door fully open to reveal the man standing in a threatening pose just behind Baz Juniper.

“Well spotted, Jerry,” smiled Florence, “so we’ve got a bleeding old timer, Mr Juniper here, Mr Woods with a bat in his hand and Mr Smith running from the back door as if his life depended on him getting away. I make this a quorum if we’re talking about the local representatives of the Gloopy set. You are an honourable member of it I understand, Mr Juniper?”

“I wouldn’t have owt to do with them swines even if you offered to pay me!” grated Baz, “up to no good, the lot of ‘em! Planning this and that behind your backs.”

“Shurrup, you old fool!” snapped Smith, “you know nothing at all. Not that it would matter if you did, you and your empty head!”

“I don’t give one hoot for your secret little club, probably as gloopy as it sounds” put in Jerry, “but one of you actually entered my home and set about beating up the kindest woman in the world, and that will never do. If there was still capital punishment I’d see the devil hanged, and probably fight to be the hangman myself!”

“We wouldn’t hurt a bird,” protested Barney Woods, “that ain’t our way, not at all. We’re for peaceful revolution, that’s what we’re for, even if it’ll take another civil war to obtain it!”

“A peaceful war, eh?” smiled Florence, “what do you fight with then? Powder puffs?”

At that moment and with a flash of blue lights and an almost deafening siren a third police vehicle, this time a larger one with seating inside it for a dozen at need, pulled up and it was followed within a minute by an ambulance.

“Right,” said Florence, You’re for the ambulance, Juniper and you two can come with me to the station where you can answer quite a lot of questions and,” here she pointed at Mr Smith, “get yourself legal representation if you’ve something to hide…”