Chapter 4

Ingrid Jameson:

It probably sounds stupid to anyone outside my situation. Olaf had been a true gentleman. He’d given me a place to live, was looking after Tim so I didn’t have to worry about things like getting him to or from school, and he made sure Tim and I were well fed. When I offered to pay rent, he demurred, but I insisted. I was sure he wasn’t wealthy. He did agree eventually. But what I wanted to say was that I’m scared. Not scared of Olaf, exactly, but scared of getting into another relationship. I felt it was only fair to warn him that I wasn’t looking for another relationship. I know – I knew – that he was a good prospect, that I should have been willing to give him a chance, but that just wasn’t something I was comfortable with. Of course, it would have to have been my initiative. I think any woman who set her sights on Olaf would have to take the initiative. My chat with Charles Harrison was helpful. His training, both as a lawyer and as a priest, made him uniquely well equipped regarding my situation. One thing he offered beyond counselling was to obtain a restraining order, ordering Damian to stay away from me; not that I held out great hopes of that being much protection, except that if he broke it he’d end up back inside.

As it happens, Damian followed me, or, rather, followed Mister Harrison’s car as he brought me back to The Mews. Charles watched me open the gate, walk through and close and secure it, before leaving to go to his home.

Olaf:

I don’t know what it was, but something made me take a look outside – I didn’t look at the CCTV. I certainly didn’t hear anything through my well insulated dwelling. F’sure I knew it was time for Ingrid to come home. I did hear Zeke give a ‘yip’, but not his usual racket. I opened the door in my socks and looked down the drive. Zeke shot past me, heading for two figures not far inside the gate. I grabbed that wrench and followed in my socks, just in time to hear Zeke snarl and jump at the man’s arm, the man who had hold of Ingrid’s arm. The man thumped poor Zeke on his head and muzzle, and the dog let go. The man saw me coming, hesitated, but turned and ran back to vault over the gate. I didn’t pursue. It would have been difficult with Ingrid wrapped around me sobbing.

“Let me look at Zeke,” I told her. The dog was laying on his side on the tarmac of the drive.

That got her attention, and she dropped to her knees next to the dog ahead of me, and crooned to him, stroking his head. He whined and stirred as I knelt next to Ingrid.

“Hey, hero,” I told him. He lifted his head, pushing against Ingrid’s hand. “Okay, so you’re pretty well okay, then? Come on. Or do I have to carry you?” He whined some more, and kicked, so I picked him up, not without difficulty, leaving the wrench on the tarmac. “We’d better ring this in, Ingrid, and get Zeke indoors.”

She stood, too, and had her phone out. “Police, please. I’ve been assaulted. The Mews, Temple Whitley. No, the assailant has left. I think we could do with a vet...” When she finished the call, she noticed the wrench out of the corner of her eye and picked it up.

Perhaps the 999 call wasn’t exactly an emergency, but I can hardly blame her. However, she explained the situation, and that her assailant had left, and that a pet dog had been hurt (I was suspecting Zeke’s behaviour was more attention seeking than actual injury). She thought her attacker – yes, it was Damian Clark – was potentially dangerous. Yes, he was on bail for a serious assault. Yes, he was subject of a restraining order. As she hung up, she informed me that an officer would visit to get her statement, and a vet would be called to attend to Zeke. I never had registered either animal with a vet, which was remiss of me.

The vet arrived not more than fifteen minutes later, and checked Zeke over. He was still floppy and on his side, though I’d laid him on the rug in front of the fireplace – his favourite spot. The vet was fascinated and amused that Lizzie was licking Zeke’s face while the dog whined quietly. “I think he was stunned,” she told me. “It’s possible he’s mildly concussed. I’d let him rest. Carry him outside for his comfort if necessary.” She handed me a card. “Bring him to the surgery in a few days for follow up and call if you’re at all worried. Oh, and light meals against the possibility of nausea.” She stroked his head, which he lifted and licked her hand. She laughed. “Yes, I think he’ll be okay.” She stood, shook my hand, and I showed her out.

It didn’t take long to find the incident on the CCTV and to change the memory card. The officers – Wendy and a male colleague – arrived and took statements and the memory card. “Hopefully, this’ll put him back inside and keep him there...”

Unfortunately, it didn’t.

Damian Clark had disappeared into the woodwork.

Meanwhile, I had a very attractive young woman, and a six (nearly seven!) year old boy living with me. The woman clearly having some psychological issues, and having basically told me she was off limits. Happily, young Tim genuinely cared for and about his mother. I think having him share her bed provided the comfort she needed.

Next day, Wendy – off duty – turned up at the door early. She suggested it would be sensible for Ingrid to stay home, and calls to Charles Harrison and the office confirmed that this was acceptable. I left Ingrid with her in the lounge with tea, and went to work in the ‘library’. I’m not sure how long it was before I was pulled out of ‘the zone’ by knocking on the door. I had been thoroughly immersed in a security issue for one of my customers.

“Come in!”

Wendy entered. “Olaf! I’ve had a long chat with Ingrid. I’m surprised. I would have thought she would want to attach herself to you. I half expected problems if you were less enthusiastic...”

“If she’d shown the slightest interest...” I began, but shrugged. “Thinking about it, I suppose it makes sense that she’s unwilling to take another risk in her relationships. I’m very fond of Tim, who is a wonderful little lad, and I’m very happy for both him and his mother to remain here. Ingrid has insisted on paying rent and contributing to the housekeeping. Which I was reluctant to accept. Fair enough, though. She doesn’t want to be obligated.”

Wendy sighed. “I ... I suppose Ingrid must be allowed to know her own mind and make her own decisions.” She hesitated. “Would you mind ... I mean ... May I continue to visit? As a friend, rather than as a Police Officer?”

I looked straight at her, really for the first time. Before, I’d seen the professional police officer, usually in her bulky uniform. One doesn’t look past the uniform, does one? But really, for the first time I looked at her face, and her expression was ... anxious? Tentative? Really? “Wendy, I’d be delighted to see you any time.”

“Thank you.”

I glanced at my watch. “I think I’m due for some coffee. Have you time to join me?” Once more I was taking an unaccustomed action. At least ... was I just being sociable? Polite? Wendy smiled as I was thinking.

“A cup of coffee would be very welcome. Thank you.”

I stood and stretched. “Let’s go sit in the kitchen.” I led the way and, there, busied myself with the coffee grinder, filter papers, mugs and filling the kettle. I find making coffee to be a soothing ritual; there’s no rushing the process. The beans must be ground to just the right coarseness – is it for filter, espresso or cafetiere? – and if for filter it’s going to take as long as it’s going to take to drip through.

We sat at the table and I produced a tin of dark chocolate digestives. She sipped her coffee and sighed. “You make great coffee.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled, looking into my eyes and reached for the biscuit tin, “And you feed me chocolate digestives! Why aren’t you married?”

“Because I’m a nerd, and I just never had the nerve to ask a girl for a date.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Y’know, I think I know what you mean.” I suppose I must have looked surprised, because she went on, “At school, I was always the biggest child in the class. Both height and build. When we got to dating age, I wouldn’t have anything to do with the players, and the nerds – the other nerds – were scared of me. Same at Uni.”

“Uni?” I got myself together enough to ask a reasonable question. “What did you read?”

She shrugged. “Criminology, what else? Psychology as a minor. I wanted to be a police officer for as long as I can remember. Of course the uniform is another obstacle to being asked for a date.” She sipped her coffee, looking at me over her mug. “Great coffee, by the way.”