Jasmine at large

This has been the second week of our trek around Scotland and north-east England. We’ve had a lovely time but there have been few occasions to write.

1609-penny-edinburgh

Windblown on Arthur’s Seat, Edinburgh

After the peace of the Morvern peninsula we experienced the crowds of Aberdeen, Edinburgh and Whitby. It was certainly a different feel but we saw some wonderful sights.  Aberdeen and Edinburgh really could have been any big cities, each with its own highlights, but I can’t say I felt the Scottishness.  Whitby was amazing. A narrow, deep valley providing the harbour, with the old town clinging to the valley sides. The ruined abbey and the amazing parish church (stuck in a Victorian timewarp) on the clifftop seemingly just a few yards from our guest house yet separated by 199 steps down, a stretch of water and 199 steps up. We couldn’t get over how busy it was at the end of September. Okay, most of the visitors were oldies like us, but nevertheless the buzz was quite incredible.

 

I had a day out in Edinburgh putting my “new look” to the test.  I think it passed, although I probably didn’t but I’m not sure that matters any more. We’ll see how things turn out  over the next month or two so watch this space for my thoughts on my new non-binary image.

And here is a short episode of Perspective, dashed out on the couple of occasions when I was able to sit with the tablet on my lap. Don’t forget that other tales of Jasmine Frame, transsexual detective are available from me or Amazon: novels -Painted Ladies and Bodies By Design; and novellas – Discovering Jasmine  and Murder In Doubt.  All very cheap as e-books

Perspective: Part 9

Jasmine signed for her keys and turned away from the desk as a uniformed officer ushered in two young men. They both seemed a few years younger than her and were slightly built with short, dark hair. Although they were both wearing jeans with jumpers under their leather jackets Jasmine could tell that their clothes were from top brands. These were two well-off young men but they looked scared and anxious. Another officer followed them in and pushed them towards the custody desk. They were unsure what to do and answered questions from the duty officer in shaky, quiet voices.
‘Come on Jas, I’ll run you home,’ Tom said, taking her arm and pulling her through the doorway.
‘Were they the pair of queens?’ She asked as they crossed the cold, wind-blown car park to Tom’s car.
‘Yes,’ Tom replied zapping the car with the key, ‘that’s why I wanted to get you out of there quick. I didn’t want you getting involved with them.’
‘They didn’t look like rabid racists out to beat up a couple of innocent, mixed-race teenagers,’ Jasmine said. She knew looks were deceptive. Many a confident psychopath became a whimpering child-like figure when faced with a cold, echoey cell and the stern face of a hardened custody sergeant.
‘You know that means nothing,’ Tom replied, ‘worked up after an evening on the booze they could have egged each other on.’
‘And launched their attack from their high-heels and thigh-hugging skirts? I don’t think so.’
‘Just get in, Jas. I’ve got work to do this evening.’ Tom ducked into the driving seat. Jasmine got in beside him. ‘And I’m sure Palmerston will get the story out of them when she interviews them,’ he added.
‘Which story? The one she wants to hear or the truth?’
Tom snorted and started the car moving.
Jasmine wanted more information. ‘After all, what evidence has Palmerston got that those two had anything to do with Wizzer’s death?’
‘There’s Gayle’s statement and the CCTV footage showing them at the scene.’
‘But it doesn’t show them attacking the lads does it?’
‘No, but. . .’
‘What about the knife? It looked like Wizzer’s.’
‘It had his blood on it,’ Tom replied eagerly.
‘So it was the weapon that killed him. What about fingerprints?’
‘Just Gayle’s and Smith’s.’
‘Not either of the alleged attackers?’
‘They were probably wearing gloves. Drag queens usually do, don’t they Jas?’
‘How convenient.’
‘Anything else found at the scene?’
Tom hunched over the wheel. ‘I shouldn’t be talking to you about the case, Jas.’
‘Aw, come on, Tom. It’s not as if I can do any investigating when I’m suspended, can I.’
Tom shrugged and gripped the wheel tighter. ‘Smith had a load of cash on him, some bank cards which weren’t in his name and a few phones, one of the them a top of the range i-phone.’
‘There, you are – Wizzer and Nate are a pair of thieves.’
‘There was a purse too, black cloth with multi-coloured beading.’
‘Hey, that’s mine.’
‘It was empty.’
‘Of course it was, they nicked it from my bag. I keep my cards with my warrant card in a pocket though so the little toe-rags only got my cash.’
‘Which is why you’re off the case, Jas. You’re too closely involved.’  He stopped the car outside the entrance to her flat. ‘Now go and put your feet up and relax. Perhaps Palmerston will forget the charge of interference.’
Jasmine pushed the car door open and stepped out. ‘Some hope.’
‘She’s not vindictive, Jas,’ Tom called out.

‘You think?’ Jasmine slammed the door shut and Tom drove away.
Jasmine mounted the steps to her door and put the key in the lock.  The flat was dark and still cold. She stood for a moment in the unlit room before making a decision, then she grabbed her bag and left the flat again. This time she got into her own car and drove off. She made the same journey that she had done earlier in the day – to the estate where Nate and Wizzer lived. This time it was dark and she parked outside Nate’s home. She knew that even doing this she was giving DS Palmerston more ammunition to use against her and what she was going to do next would end her police career. She didn’t care.

………………. to be continued.

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