A Raucous Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) (21 page)

Rhyllann’s bed creaked as he turned over; smacking his nose against the metal frame. He gave an experimental stretch; every muscle in his body felt tender and sore, as though he had ran a marathon. Apart from his left arm, which felt dead from the shoulder down. Groaning, Rhyllann swung his feet to the floor and rubbed his upper arm vigorously hoping the feeling would come back sooner rather than later and it wouldn’t hurt too much as the blood re-circulated. He glanced around trying to get his bearings. The only light came through a half glazed door, but it appeared he was in a small room stacked almost floor to ceiling with A4 sized boxes. A voice crackled from the ground.

‘Rhyllann? You awake?’ Rhyllann hunted for the source of the voice and found a baby monitor on the floor, next to some handcuffs. This just got weirder and weirder. He decided to ignore the voice and still clutching his useless arm heaved himself from the low slung camp bed only to topple back as the door swung open and a familiar figure entered with a tray, leaving the door ajar.

‘Why didn’t you answer me son?’ Crombie laid the tray across Rhyllann's lap as he spoke. The scrambled eggs looked solid rather than fluffy, but the tea looked good and strong. Rhyllann didn’t bother to waste time talking, heaping eggs onto toast, he began savouring the first hot meal he’d eaten in ages. Crombie lowered himself to the end of the bed and watched.

‘What’s wrong with your arm?’ He asked.

‘Dunno – must have slept on it.’ Rhyllann mumbled, still swallowing.

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Having scraped the plate clean, Rhyllann chugged back the last mouthful of tea and looked around the room again trying to orientate himself. He wondered vaguely who had taken the handcuffs off.

‘A stationery cupboard. You shut me in a stationery cupboard!’

‘Think yourself lucky – half the town’s sleeping on the floor over at the civic centre.’ Crombie sounded annoyed at that.

Rhyllann frowned, trying to think back. Was it his fault somehow? Had he done something wrong? What was he doing here anyway? Why was Crombie bringing him breakfast in bed?

His mind refused to provide answers, but he did remember Crombie responded better when addressed in subdued respectful terms.

‘Thank you Detective Crombie. I was starving. Thank you again.’

Crombie nodded acknowledgement still looking grim. Rhyllann felt the first tingle of sensation, signalling life was returning to his arm and winced silently. He measured the steps to the door and tried to stand up again. The floor tilted upward and he would have fallen face first if Crombie hadn’t caught him.

‘Whoa there. Sit down son. You’re not going anywhere. You and I are having a little chat.’ That sounded too familiar. He responded automatically.

‘Why, what have I done? I’m not in any trouble am I?’

A snort sounded from the open door, Rhyllann’s eyes found the disapproving face of WPC Hewes and his déjà vu was complete.

*

WPC Hewes dragged a chair from somewhere to sit in the open doorway as though Rhyllann might try to escape. Crombie sat at the bottom of his bed like a malignant tooth fairy. Rhyllann wondered why they didn’t turn the light on, then why they weren’t using an interview room. The room felt cramped and claustrophobic, Rhyllann edged to the top of the bed, drawing his dirty bare feet up under him. It seemed he had slept in the army gear which smelled embarrassingly musty and determined not to move around too much. Crombie swung himself round so they were facing each other, one foot rested casually across his knee, the other remained on the ground. For all the world as though they were best mates or something.

‘Well? What have I done now?’ Rhyllann asked sharply forgetting to humour Crombie.

Crombie raised an eyebrow, from his looks he hadn’t had a very good night either. Apart from the red rims around them, his eyes had almost disappeared in his face, which showed the beginnings of a beard making him look more like a villain than a copper. He wore a bright red t-shirt and faded mud splattered blue jeans tucked into long green socks.

‘You know – if you had orange trousers on you could stop traffic.’ Rhyllann blurted before he could stop himself. This prompted another snort from the policewoman, but a look of amusement crossed Crombie’s face, and suddenly memories came flooding. Rhyllann leaned across to grab Crombie, kneeling upright to shake him.

‘Where is he? What have you done with him?’ he shouted. He sensed the policewoman dart forward and swivelled to swat her away, but then Crombie caught him, forcing him to sit back. Rhyllann opened his mouth to scream into his face, but Crombie shook him firmly by the shoulders, all the while making soothing talk.

‘It's ok. He’s safe. Hear me now – listen to me. Wren’s safe and well in hospital.’

Rhyllann looked up into Crombie's concerned face and recognised the truth. He slumped forwards as Crombie relaxed his grip, resuming his place at the bottom of the bed.

‘Sorry. I’m sorry.’ He should apologise to the policewoman too, he had practically slapped her face. ‘I’m sorry WPC Hewes.’ Her face was red with anger and she wouldn’t look at him.

‘Don’t mention it.’ She said stiffly. Crombie glanced up at her, and then towards Rhyllann.

‘Christine, do you think you could rustle up some more tea please?’ Without replying she stalked off.

‘We’re both in trouble now. She’ll report you for assault and me for being sexist.’

Rhyllann tried to smile at this, Crombie made some lame arse jokes. At least Rhyllann hoped he was joking. But he had other things on his mind.

‘Detective Crombie? Is Wren gonna be ok?’

Crombie nodded. ‘Bruising to the chest, a couple of cracked ribs, a mild infection to his foot.’

Rhyllann buried his head in his hands, pressing hard against his eyes.

‘He died you know. He was dead. I thought I’d never get him breathing again.’ Once again the terrible emptiness of a future without the Prince of Geek swamped him, dry heaves ran through his body as he tried to push the horrific memories away.

When Rhyllann looked up he found WPC Hewes had returned with a tray of tea and both adults were staring at him. WPC Hewes thrust the tray into Crombie’s hands and bent to embrace him, smelly clothes and all.

‘You poor little sod.’ She said. The floodgates opened and Rhyllann could barely speak through his tears. He told her everything, noting when Crombie slipped away, noticing that she stiffened when he described how they had found the box and almost been discovered by the remaining gang. When he finished, Rhyllann felt strangely light as though a load had been shed.

‘You poor little sod.’ She said again. Then: ‘You misheard the name Crombie. One of that gang must have a similar name. And don’t worry about Wren. He’s in good hands now.’

But he barely heard her, a deep fatigue swept over him and his need to sleep out weighed the need to shower and use the bathroom. He felt covers being drawn around him, WPC Hewes’s voice whispering in his ear, asking him where the box was now. But Rhyllann couldn’t remember.

‘
Wren. Wren holds the key.’ He muttered before falling into a deep sleep.

Opening his eyes to see Rodgers’s moon like face inches from his own, Rhyllann sat up abruptly. He ached all over and still wanted a good hot shower, but felt less disorientated; happier. Until Rodgers slapped handcuffs around his wrists again and started talking. Apparently he, Rhyllann Jones, had ruined a beautiful set up. With armed police in position Crombie had called the raid off with minutes to go, fearing the gang inside Folly’s House held the boys hostage.

Rodgers, delighted not to be the scapegoat for once, gave a blow by blow account while Rhyllann searched desperately for his trainers.

Superintendent Bates of Bodmin accused Crombie of stealing his thunder. “The Guv” insisted on raising the house to enter into lengthy negotiations before allowing the occupants inside to surrender one at a time. The Cornish Police robbed of the chance to show 'them Londoners’ they weren’t all cider swilling plods. The Met had been humiliated in front of the locals. Over the long drawn out process, Stern and four gang members had managed to escape.

‘Course.’ Rodgers told him spitefully. ‘We reckon someone tipped the bast …them off. We never blamed the Guv for one instant.’ Rhyllann bet they had. ‘But old Batesie – threw his toys out the pram.’

Rhyllann couldn’t listen to anymore. His socks and trainers were nowhere to be found; barging Rodgers out of his path, he stalked barefooted down a dim corridor, banging through the swing doors at the end. He had another déjà vu moment, the large office he found himself in resembled the hospital, packed with oddly clothed bodies and clamouring voices. The room quietened slowly, heads turned to swivel in his direction all bearing the same look of disgust. Squaring his shoulders, Rhyllann marched forward as though he knew where he was going, only to find his way bared by a stocky uniformed man with thinning grey hair.

‘Well well well, if it isn’t sleeping ugly.’ He jeered curling his lip, displaying a row of tombstone teeth.

Two or three other policemen rose to their feet, a couple more ambled across the room to form a hostile circle around Rhyllann. He glanced back over his shoulder to see Rodgers approaching, and knew he couldn’t expect any help from him.

‘Excuse me please.’ Rhyllann said taking a step forward.

The man reached out under the pretence of placing a hand on Rhyllann's shoulder, squeezing painfully.

‘Excuse you? Excuse you? Why what have you done?’

He pushed hard, sending Rhyllann lurching backwards against someone who promptly scraped a booted foot against his exposed ankle. He felt hands shoving him forward and resigned himself to being humiliated.

‘Superintendent Bates. Thank you. I’ll take it from here.’

Crombie’s voice and Crombie’s hand reaching over heads to grab Rhyllann and pull him from the throng. The two men squared up to each other, then Bates showed the tombstone teeth again, startling Rhyllann by clapping his hands and shouting.

‘Right. You heard the man! Everyone relax – Detective Inspector Crombie of the Metropolitan Police is here to take care of everything!’

Hoots of derisive laughter followed and one or two rude hand gestures. Crombie stared them down and the menace dispersed with muttered curses and dirty looks. Rhyllann flinched as a hand clamped his shoulder, but Crombie merely muttered.

‘Wait here son, I wanna word with Superintendent Bates.’ With that he strode after Bates into his office. Raised voices could be heard but Rhyllann pretended not to listen. Crombie returned carrying a pair of manky looking trainers. Shoving them towards Rhyllann he said.

‘Right. All squared. Let’s go visit your cousin.’

Pulling the trainers onto his feet Rhyllann hopped after him anxious not to be left behind.

A vague memory of splashing through a main street to a hospital returned. Although gutters ran from water being swirled from shops offices and houses, and the streets were still wet, normality seemed to be returning. Rhyllann hurried to catch up with Crombie, oversized trainers and handcuffs making his movements awkward, wondering if perhaps he had been transferred to a different town while he slept.

‘Detective Crombie Sir, where are we?’

Crombie looked at him with suspicion.

‘You being funny son? Cornwall.’ Then he seemed to relent. ‘Sorry son, I forgot. You’ve been through the mill a bit. We’re in Bodmin, Cornwall.’ Seeing Rhyllann still looked confused he added. ‘You’ve been out of it for almost forty-eight hours. The floods happened on Wednesday. Today’s Friday.’ They had reached the hospital by now. Rhyllann let this information sink in. God, no wonder he needed to pee so badly. Crombie continued talking, ticking points off on his fingers.

‘They’ve managed to clear the main towns, but there’s still no electric, no phones, all the mobile signals are down – no internet of course. Some villagers are still camped out in the town hall and the local school. The local emergency services have been stretched. Tempers have run a bit high.’ Rhyllann guessed that was a back handed apology for Bates and nodded. Crombie seemed almost friendly towards Rhyllann. Maybe Bates had done him a favour. Crombie had come to his rescue and in doing so had tucked Rhyllann firmly under his wing. For the time being at least