| Pt II Mickey was running out of oxygen. He felt dizzy. He thought it was the end� �Roke, drop it NOW!� somebody commanded in a broad Herts accent. Mickey felt the vice-like grip on his clothing release and he fell to the ground with a thud, spluttering as he tried to get his breath back and yell at the same time because he had twisted his ankle. He fell silent as he saw half a dozen metal prongs glinting in a line, inches away from his head. �Don�t move or I�ll impale you!� Mickey kept very still. There was a click, a flicker of light, and then the area was illuminated. A tall figure stood in front of him on the sawdust floor, wielding a muck-rake. As they both squinted in the sudden light at each other, they both opened their mouths in amazement. Cullen lowered the rake. Mickey gawped. �What the hell are you doing here?� they both asked at the same time. Cullen looked at the young DC sitting in the middle of the floor, covered in sawdust. �I live here!� Cullen said angrily, still speaking in a broad Herts tongue. �Are you going to inform me as to what you were intending to do, sneaking around here in pitch darkness? Attempted burglary? Or were you trying to dope the horses?� Mickey digested this information and then looked up at the thing that had caught him. Amused brown eyes looked down at him. The horse drew back its lips in a toothy smile. Mickey looked at Cullen and tried to speak. �G�Guv, I can explain, honestly I can!� �I bloody hope so! Why aren�t you at work?� �Rang in sick.� �And you�re not.� Cullen�s voice reverted back to the Londoner�s accent that Mickey was used to. The anger was still there, though. �No, Guv.� �And why are you here?� �I�� The door opened and a woman walked in. She was short, slimly built, and was dressed in casual clothes with Wellingtons on her feet. Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, but strands of fiery red, curly hair escaped from it. �Alex, I�m back, there was someone�� She stopped and looked at the scruffy, bedraggled, blond haired person sitting in the sawdust, then at Cullen, who was still pointing the rake at him. ��asking for you�� �Unclalex, there was a man�� One of the twins Mickey had seen in the village burst through the door, followed by the other, who continued the first girl�s sentence. �We led him�� They both came to a halt behind the woman and studied Mickey. �That�s him!� they chorused. �Awwww, he did get here after all,� one of them said petulantly. �Go on, poke him with the rake!� the other cried, bouncing up and down on both feet. Cullen looked at them sternly. �And what have you two got to do with this?� he asked. The twins looked at each other for a second. Then they both nodded. �Mrs Lapstow said that a Londoner was driving around asking for you. She told us what the car looked like and said his name was Webster.� �Mickey Webster.� The other put in. �Yeah, and nobody ever asks for you, they always ask for Mum, so we thought�� �He might be a detective from thingy�� �And you always said you didn�t want them to know, so�� �I wrote down what he looked like so I could ask you about it later. Then I wrote him all these directions.� �That was fun! We told him how to get halfway to Puckeridge, then from there halfway to Chorley, and�� Cullen stopped them. �I kind of get the picture now. That wasn�t a very nice thing to do, girls, he could have ended up stranded halfway up the A10 on his Larry with no idea where he was and no petrol to go anywhere!� Cullen scolded, reverting back to the Hertfordshire dialect. �He still got here though! We wrote how to get back to Borehamwood at the end of it.� �Who is he, Alex?� the woman asked. �Mickey Webb. One of my DCs. Who should, in fact, have been in London, at work, instead of down here, prowling around in the stables and scaring the life out of the horses! And you still haven�t told me what you�re doing here!� Cullen finally put down the rake and folded his arms, waiting for Mickey�s explanation. �Petrol, guv. There�s none left in the tank.� �That doesn�t explain why you�re all the way down here in the first place! And stop sitting on the floor gaping like a fish! Stand up.� Mickey tried to stand, but winced as his twisted ankle protested. �Oh, Alex, this is worse than the grand inquisition!� The woman protested. �I expect he�s more frightened than the horses, having you jabbing at him with a muck rake and blasting his ears out! And he�s hurt, can�t you see? Come on, we�ll all go inside and talk about this. The horses are fine. You�ve fed them, haven�t you?� Cullen nodded. �I�d switched off the lights and I was just about to leave when the ruckus happened. All right, I�ll stop asking questions for the moment.� He glared at Mickey. �I haven�t finished with you yet, though. Can you walk?� Mickey tested his foot and shook his head. �Right, help me, Ellie.� Cullen and the woman helped Mickey slowly to his feet and assisted him out of the stables towards another, smaller building on the other side of the farm. The girls skipped ahead of them and propped open the door so that they could help Mickey inside. The farmhouse kitchen was warm and cosy. Ellie placed a huge mug of steaming tea in front of him and another in front of Cullen. Then she made Mickey prop his foot up on a chair so she could look at it. �Oooo, nasty!� she said, making sympathetic noises as she examined Mickey�s swollen ankle. �I�ll bind it up, that should bring the swelling down a bit.� Mickey winced as Ellie bandaged his ankle. �You�ve brought all this on yourself, y�know,� Cullen pointed out. �So what are you actually doing down here in the first place?� �Looking for this place!� �You don�t say. But why?� �It�s a long story, guv.� �Tell it. You�re not going anywhere, and if you don�t then I�ll have to ring my mate down at the local station and get him to nick you.� �What?� Mickey looked scared. He could see his career prospects vanishing down the pan. Cullen grinned. �Just a joke on my behalf. You�ve taken enough punishment for one night, I think. And I s�pose it�s partly my fault that you�re down here in the first place, for acting all secretive when people ask me questions that I don�t want to answer. Anyway, explain yourself.� Mickey hesitantly began to explain his reasons for coming in the first place: the curiosity, the theories, and the just wanting to know. As soon as he mentioned Debbie�s part in the whole business, Cullen nodded in understanding and sighed. �I should have known that would happen sometime. She�s the sort that wants to know everything about everybody and then use the knowledge for her own ends. She is a good DS, in spite of herself, but I know how she works, she�ll never do any digging herself, she�ll get everyone else to do it for her, so if they get caught, she can deny having anything to do with it. Sorry, Mickey, you�ve been well and truly had.� �I know that now, Guv, but I was just curious. You never told us anything about yourself, but Deakin told us everything about him. It�s kinda hard to get used to.� Cullen looked stern. �Mickey, everyone is entitled to their privacy. You know that well enough. If you choose to keep something to yourself, then I have no right to dig around to try and find out what it is. If you pulled a stunt like this anywhere else you�d end up back in Uniform at the very least!� Mickey considered this stark information. �It was stupid, Guv. I shouldn�t have listened to her. It was just�after what happened at the raid�we knew you were hiding something�� �Something you wanted to know.� Mickey looked sheepish. �Well�yeah.� Cullen drank the last of his tea and stood up. �Fortunately for you, I won�t take it any further. I won�t say anything if you don�t want people to know�� Mickey knew he had had a lucky escape - and he had a way to repay his DI, even though it was only small. �Guv�I won�t say anything about this to DS MacAllister�I can make something up to stop her asking�� Cullen smiled. �Don�t worry about it. She�ll be doing so much paperwork that she won�t have time to talk to anybody. Now, seeing as you came all the way up here to find out the mystery, I suppose I�ll have to take you on a tour, if you can walk.� Mickey stood carefully. He felt pain in his ankle, but Ellie had bound it well, and though he knew it would hurt now and then, it was stable enough for him to walk on. Cullen walked over to the umbrella stand and returned carrying a stout, polished climbing stick for Mickey to use as a crutch. He escorted Mickey out the door, crunching along the gravel path towards the stables once more, explaining along the way. �I was born around here, grew up round here. I hated having to move away when I joined the Met, but I got used to the idea eventually. Life got busy, and I lost contact with just about everyone I knew here. Then I came back up here for Ellie�s wedding - she�s my sister, in case you were wondering. First time I�d been back since I left, I never seemed to have the time to visit, even though it wasn�t that far - just too many other things that needed doing. Anyway, I realised how much I missed the place so I decided to move back here. Unfortunately there were never any houses for sale that I could afford, so though I visited whenever I could, I wasn�t able to move. Then Ellie and her husband split, and suddenly there was a place for me to stay. So I offered to help with the horses and contribute towards housekeeping in exchange for a room here. I fitted back into the community again, though it was hard at first. It�s a pretty close-knit community here; everybody knows everyone else, and news travels fast. So when you turned up asking for me, they knew you were from my nick. Nobody asks for me when buying horses, they always ask for Ellie, she runs the farm and the breeding side: They knew you were lying when you said you were a buyer. Then of course my nieces decided to play a prank on you. I think there are a few cans of petrol lurking around in the barn; you can have some of that. Anyway, so now this is where I live, I help Ellie with the farm and�� Cullen pushed open the door of the stables and led Mickey to the right. He switched on the light. There was a soft whinny. ��I ride this girl.� Mickey knew nothing about horses, but he did know when he was looking at a good one. The mare was a dappled grey, sleek, not a hair out of place. She looked at Mickey and tilted her head to one side, pricking her ears forward. Cullen rubbed her neck and grinned. �Horse in a million, she is. I can�t show her �cause of the wall-eye, but she adores jumping and she�s good at it!� Mickey noticed the blue pigment in one of the mare�s eyes, which he assumed was what Cullen was referring to as wall-eye, and grinned back and nodded. �What�s her name?� he asked. �Her official name is Pelham�s Pride, but we call her Bluey after the wall-eye. Only got her last year. Spent ages training her and now it�s all paying off. She�s competed in four jumping classes and she�s been placed in every one. I was going to ride her in her first, and it would have been my first, cross-country a few weeks ago, but she got colic.� �Got what?� �Colic. Nightmare illness: hundred times worse than a stomach upset, horses go out of their mind with the pain and keep trying to roll on the ground to get rid of it. You can�t let them do that in case they twist their bowel. If that happens, there�s about a snowball�s chance in hell of them surviving. Ellie and I were up all night walking her around the yard in shifts so she wouldn�t do that. Thought we were going to lose her, but at about half-six her bowels moved and we knew she was going to be okay.� Cullen�s eyes were shining with triumph. Mickey thought back, trying to work out the dates. �Was that why you went home early on the eighteenth?� he asked. Cullen cast his eyes up to the ceiling as if looking for the answer there, still rubbing the horse�s nose, but Mickey knew he was thinking, working out the date as he had done. Cullen nodded a second later, gave the horse one last pat on the neck and lead Mickey through the rest of the stables, introducing him to the dozen or so horses residing in the large, airy, but warm building. �The big black horse with the white mask is Roke; Ellie only bought him last winter. He likes picking things up, as you know, and throwing them around, as you�re lucky not to know. I�m trying to cure him of it, but it�s not working very well so far. He�s good for endurance riding; he�s got lots of muscle. The chestnut with the white star next to him is Magellan; he�s missing a horseshoe at the moment but the farrier is popping in some time tomorrow. He�s got a good turn of speed; he�ll be great in cross-country once I�ve had a bit more experience in training horses for it�� He showed Mickey several more horses then pointed out a larger stall at the end of the stables. �Take a look in there,� he said, smiling. Mickey hobbled over to the stall and looked over the half-door. Standing in one corner was a nice-looking horse with a creamy-white coat and lighter mane. The horse was nuzzling a tiny foal of the same colour, which was trying to get closer to its mother on impossibly long, gangly legs. It squeaked as it sensed Mickey�s presence and the mother moved closer to it, nudging it protectively and completely ignoring the DC looking at it and grinning. �Nice,� Mickey said. �That�s Yana. She�s a palomino, nicest colour you can get, but she broke a leg two years ago, so she can�t compete any more. She�s an ex-racer, was going for dog-meat but we bought her instead. As you saw, we use her for breeding. Gives us a beautiful foal every year in exchange for a little TLC, responsible for a lot of the profits, and they were going to chop her up.� Mickey looked at the horse and her foal again, imagined her in a dog-food tin and winced in sympathy. �That�d be a waste.� �It would have been! Unfortunately, we don�t have the money to save every horse we see at the sales. So many of them end up in the meat-man�s truck, and they have so much potential.� �Can�t save �em all.� �No�� Cullen trailed off, was silent for a few minutes, frowning. Then he spoke again. �Just thought of something. You won�t be able to drive with that ankle, even if it is bound.� Mickey hadn�t thought about that, but he realised that Cullen was right. Cullen looked at his watch, and then turned to Mickey. �It�s half-eight. Canley is forty-five minutes drive from here. I could drive you and your car back to your digs, wherever they are.� �Forty-five minutes? It took me two hours!� Mickey cried. �I don�t get lost.� Mickey opened his mouth to say �Oh�, but then something occurred to him. �How�d you know?� �You�re from London. Anyone coming from London will get lost. It�s one of those unexplained mysteries that everyone knows about.� Mickey thought of something else. �And how�re you gonna get back?� �I�ll get the train.� This statement seemed so simple and blindingly obvious that Mickey felt extremely stupid for asking. �Sorry about all this�� �Never mind. Curiosity makes things happen. Things that might not always be appreciated, but they happen all the same and you just have to manage the best you can. Don�t expect this again, though. Next time I might not be around to stop Roke throwing you across the stables!� �It won�t happen again, guv, I promise!� Mickey said with great certainty, ruefully regarding his bound ankle. * 8th July: morning Debbie parked her car in the nick car park and trotted up the steps to CID humming a jaunty tune. Though she considered Mickey as being a waste of her time, she was looking forward to him arriving at work so that he could divulge all the details of his visit to Borehamwood to her and she could piece together the clues that would, she hoped, reveal the mysterious home life led by DI Cullen. She opened the door, took off her jacket and hung it on the coat-stand, then headed towards her desk. She stopped, stared - and her jaw dropped in horror. Her desk had three cardboard boxes obscuring the desktop and two more piled one on top of the other at the foot of it. They had no lids, and she could clearly see the piles of paperwork inside the boxes. There was a bright yellow Post-It note stuck on one of the boxes. Debbie emerged from her temporary paralysis, walked over to her desk and unstuck the note. She read the words scribbled in red pen in small capitals: �Debbie, no enquires till you�ve finished sorting this lot. It shouldn�t take you too long.� She groaned and glared at Vik Singh, who pretended not to look at her and typed a flurry of words into the computer. She continued glaring at him. He looked up. �Don�t look at me like that, it was all there when I came in at nine!� he protested. Debbie scowled, pulled out her chair to sit on it and found a pile of buff folders and a list of categories that the papers were to be sorted in. She started ploughing through the boxes of paperwork in a thoroughly bad temper, pushing papers roughly into folders and thumping them down on the floor beside her, right in the middle of the floor so that anyone walking past would have to go around the long way to reach their desks on the other side of the room. If she was in a bad mood, then she made sure that others would be as well. Vik could almost see the little black thunderclouds suspended above Debbie�s head. He hated it when Debbie was in a temper, as she snapped everybody�s heads off and was extremely rude to the DCs. It always embarrassed him and he often felt the urge to apologise for her behaviour as if he was responsible for it. Debbie reminded him of a spoilt child at times, with him often acting the despairing parent and trying to make up for her tantrums by being as helpful as possible, which annoyed her even more. He sighed and got on with his paperwork. Mickey arrived late � on crutches. �What happened to you?� Debbie demanded at the same time as Vik said �Are you okay?� Mickey refused to speak to her, but told Vik that he�d twisted his ankle. Vik raised his eyebrows when Mickey still didn�t answer Debbie�s comment, but shrugged and carried on typing. Mickey didn�t even comment on the boxes of paperwork that surrounded Debbie�s desk. In fact, he avoided Debbie altogether, taking a wide detour around the rest of the office to get to his desk so that he didn�t come within talking distance of her. Debbie�s eyes followed Mickey as he crossed the room. Mickey caught her looking at him and gave her a dagger-pointed glare in return, then limped to his desk. �Somebody�s moody today!� she remarked. Vik snorted loudly. Debbie glared at him and he turned it into a cough. Debbie twisted on her chair so she could see Mickey. �Did you go to Borehamwood?� she mouthed, looking in Vik�s direction, but Vik had all his attention on his paperwork now. Mickey nodded. �What did you find?� she mouthed again. �Debbie, if you spent as much time doing paperwork as you did talking; you�d be able to get through the paperwork for the entire nick.� Debbie looked guiltily at Cullen, who was leaning on a filing cabinet next to the doorway with a plastic cupful of tea held in his other hand. She thought about making a comment along the lines of did he get his horse leading rope back? Then she looked at the boxes of paperwork that surrounded her. She didn�t want any more to do, and she had no evidence to substantiate her suspicions�well, she did, but that infuriating little blond haired pest wouldn�t tell her what had happened in Borehamwood. She hoped viciously that his ankle hurt him a lot. She was so close to solving the mystery and the last piece to the puzzle that she wanted to see the picture of was just out of her reach. She dug into the box by her chair for another sheaf of papers and, hidden behind her desk, scowled at her DI. Cullen noticed her scowl just before it vanished as she straightened up, and smiled to himself with satisfaction. She wouldn�t pull a fast one like she did on Mickey again in a hurry. Mickey grinned in his direction. He smiled back. Vik noticed this and wondered if Mickey had anything to do with Debbie�s sudden drowning beneath boxes of paperwork. He knew his DI was hiding something. Vik had been in the office when Danny Glaze had politely persuaded Mickey to tell them about the mysterious phone call that the DI had received from �Ellie�. He also knew that Cullen had caught a loose horse on the day of the raid that had gone wrong. His shrewd brain analysed the information, made connections and came to a conclusion: Mickey had information that could solve the mystery, though Vik had a fair idea that it was something to do with equines. Then he remembered what had happened at his family�s house the day before. He�d meant to talk to the DI about it, but he�d forgotten. He saved the report he was typing and stood. �Mickey, can I talk to you?� he asked politely. Mickey gestured for him to go ahead. Vik nodded meaningfully at Debbie, who had her head bent over her paperwork, but was listening to every word. Mickey grabbed his crutches and clumsily stood, following Vik out into the corridor. Debbie fumed at the loss of potential clues, but knew that she couldn�t listen at the door without receiving a blasting from the DI. She sorted more papers, but strained to hear any voices in the corridor. Vik walked a little way down the corridor and waited for Mickey to catch up. �You said you twisted your ankle,� he said in a low voice, glancing at the empty CID doorway. �Would you mind telling me what really happened?� Mickey looked uneasy. �I promised not to tell.� �Promised who?� �Myself.� �Look, I�ve worked out a lot of it anyway, Mickey. He�s something to do with horses, isn�t he?� �I promised not to tell.� �I�ll interpret that as a yes. I was pretty sure. You know exactly what it is, but I think�well I�m pretty sure�that I know something that you don�t.� �Eh?� �You and Debbie are on the Carnival Sun Hill nick float.� �Yeah, I know that!� �Yes, I know that you know, but�the parade is in the morning.� �I know.� �Well, the DI has the day off, hasn�t he?� �Yeah�� �I went into his office on the day he arrived late. Found him asleep on the desk. There was an open piece of paper that he had his head resting on. It was bright yellow, not the sort of thing you�d expect on a DI�s desk.� �Bright yellow�?� �Think, Mickey. The only bits of fluorescent coloured paper that have been popping up around the nick�� �Carnival flyers!� �Exactly! It wasn�t open so that the inside bit was showing, though. You know, the bit with the list of events and the map of the grounds. The DI was looking at the other side, just like my niece was doing when I was at my sister�s house. It didn�t occur to me what that meant till later, then I forgot about it.� Vik dug in his pocket and produced a bright orange Carnival flyer. He handed it to Mickey. �There are only two things on the side he was looking at: the cover, which I don�t think he�d be interested in, and neither was my niece�� Mickey studied the back of the flyer and realisation dawned. ��and the list of classes in the horse show.� Mickey finished for him. He continued looking at the list of classes. �And there�s only one event that�s happening at the same time as the parade,� he added. �The cross-country!� Vik said, smiling. �I�d bet a box of paperwork that he�s riding in that! And I�d bet another five boxes that it�s the only one that he�s actually riding in, and he doesn�t want anybody from here to be around on the off-chance that they�d spot him! Anyone from CID who isn�t on the float or back here holding the fort will be watching the parade and laughing.� �Nobody will see him, nobody would know!� �Except us.� �Except us. You�ll be on the float.� �What about you, Sarge?� �Me? I�ll be lurking around the showgrounds somewhere. My niece is riding in the gymkhana at half past one, I�ve been ordered by her to watch!� Mickey grinned devilishly. �Well we can�t let the DI ride without anyone there to support him! It�s his first cross-country; he needs people cheering for him!� �Thought you promised not to tell anyone?� �That�s to do with what he showed me. This isn�t. No promise on this!� �Showed you what? You went to his house?� �I said I�d keep shtum about that. You worked this out yourself, Sarge, it�s nothing to do with me. Don�t let DS McAllister know, though.� �Why not Big Mac? You and her seem to be not the best of friends at the moment.� �It�s all her fault that I ended up with this,� Mickey pointed at his injured ankle. �She�s been sniffing around for info for ages. She�s doing a very good impersonation, with all due respect, of the gutter press journalists. She�s better off on the float out of the way.� �You�ll be up there as well!� Vik pointed out. �I�ll work something out.� To be continued�. |
| Carnival - Part Two by Bobbyhelmet |