[Music treat at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
NARCOSIS – Saturday Afternoon
Nurturing natural nooks enhances our wild Welsh landscape. The sea looks unspoilt, but we fear what lurks unseen. Humanity the criminal.
Crime never sleeps.
Not this weekend. At 4 p.m. there are reports to tackle and the NWP nicks are filling up.
Ensure we are ready for tomorrow. Check everything, While Kama confirms that Wiley is ready to submit the fraud case to CPS.
“It won’t be a late night,” she says, her tone reassuring. “We’ve an early start.”
“Nemesis draws nearer for our criminals – if they show.”
“They will, cariad. They need divers – and we’re qualified.”
What am I overlooking? Unknown nightmare scenarios.
Stifle fear and suppress the nausea. Ignore glances from possibly dangerous colleagues. Kama has zero probable names. Hoax or hazard? Nerves jangling.
My phone rings. Our new desk sergeant – the one who replaced my tad.
“Uniform have a prisoner you need to interview. Ellis Evans. Arrested in Nannau near Dolgellau for dealing drugs.”
A new development. Relax. Prioritise.
In the interview room, seated beside a uniform colleague, I switch on the tape recorder, giving the time and my name.
“Suspect is Ellis Evans. No lawyer has been requested.”
I place eight bags of cannabis on the table. “These yours? For sale?”
He squints. “I never sell narcotics. These are a friend’s for keeping safe.” He shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest.
“And your friend’s name?”
“Vic Vaughn. He’s in hospital, so I keep for him.”
String him along.
“Bangor? When did you see him last?”
“A few days ago. I can’t remember.”
“Amnesia. Narcosis. Ever been treated for those?”
“No. I’ve never been in hospital. I not register with NHS.”
I lean forward. Open his file. Produce a photo of him injured and in a coma. Slide it over.
“Never? Not at Bangor Hospital?”
His face goes ashen and drops. Sick at the sight of his injuries. And more.
“I only remember leaving the building. I had to get outside and breathe. To escape everything.”
“We never knew what is happening. They never told us nothing.”
“Never told you and Stefan Mikaelsson – your friend. His drugs? You ready to tell him that, Ivan Tjäder?”
He shakes his head and cries.
“I sell drugs to escape, to go home back to Sweden. I won’t dive for them. Where is Stefan?”
“Safe. Tell me everything, and you will be safe here to.”
His confession tallies with his friend’s. One less loose end, but the kingpins remain unidentified.
As I walk back upstairs, Ffion waves me into her office. She pushes a file across her desk.
“I fear the incidents have escalated a level. This time it’s not a petty crime but arson. Can you investigate this evening? The fire officer has asked for you specifically.”
Do we have a name?”
Her look fills me with dread. I start tapping my bracer furiously.
D for Drugs and Dread. U for Untimely and Urgent. S for Sailing, Smoke and Sweat.
O for Opportunist and Owen. I for Insensitive and Investigation.
My odious brother. That’s a mutual objection.
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And now for something completely different.
“Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” William Congreve – The Mourning Bride