Fugitive Santa

Copyright oggbashan November 2021

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

+++

I had just parked my car near my local convenience store. I was about to switch off the dashcam when I saw, in front of me, three men wearing balaclavas getting out of a battered white van. Two were carrying baseball bats and the third a shotgun. I left the dashcam running and had a thought.

I took out my mobile phone before repeatedly sounding my horn. As I hoped, all three men turned their faces towards me. They had covid masks around their necks but hadn't pulled them up. I had a beautiful high-resolution picture of all three faces. They turned towards the shop, but the door was locked shut. The man with the shotgun blasted it. The glass cracked but they couldn't get in. They rushed back to their van and drove off quickly, not before my dashcam clearly showed the number plate.

+++

I sat in my car until the police arrived. They went into to the shop to speak to the manager. I followed them.

"I heard a horn sounding, looked at the CCTV, and saw three men approaching," the manager said. "I hit the emergency locking button and the door was secure. One shot at the door, but as you can see, they didn't break it."

"I sounded my horn..." I started to say. A Police sergeant turned towards me.

"You were a witness, Sir?" He asked.

"More than that. I recorded everything on my dashcam and look..."

I held out my phone to show him the men's faces. I enlarged it for each of the three. The manager was looking over the sergeant's shoulder.

"That's brilliant, Raymond," the manager said. Clear and obvious."

"It is," the sergeant agreed. "Could you come to the police station with your phone and dashcam, sir?

"Yes," I said. "But could I buy the one item I came for first?"

"Yes," the sergeant said.

"And what did you want to buy?" The manager asked.

"A bottle of Chianti," I replied.

The manager pulled a bottle from the shelves behind the till.

"There you are, Raymond. With the management's compliments."

"You're sure? It's expensive," I said.

"Not as expensive as having an armed robbery. You gave me warning in time. Thank you, Raymond. Anyway, I can't use the tills for the next five minutes. When I hit the emergency button, they lock with a ten-minute time delay."

"Thank you, James." I replied.

"You know each other?" The sergeant asked.

"Yes," James replied. Raymond Dart is a regular customer, and we are both members of the Chamber of Commerce."

+++

Half an hour later I was in the police station. We were viewing my dashcam footage. My still photo had been printed, as one picture and as enlargements of all three men's faces.

"They are all nominals," the sergeant said.

"Nominals?" I queried.

"That means well known to the police as frequent offenders. We think they are responsible for at least six recent armed robberies of small shops. This was the first one in daylight and they usually cover their number plate with mud. As you can see, there is still some mud on their number plate, but most had dried and dropped off so your dashcam shows the number clearly."

"Can you trace the owner?"

"No. Not insured, not taxed, not registered. The last known owner sold it as scrap two years ago, but it was stolen from the scrapyard a month later. We assumed it had been taken for parts -- obviously not. Now its number is on our system it will be flagged up every time it passes a CCTV camera. We should get it soon. The three men? We know who they are, and their likely location. Thanks to you, I hope we arrest them within 24 hours."

I signed my typed statement and was able to leave the police station. I was pleased to be on my way home. I had invited my new girlfriend, Angela, to my house for a meal. It would be the first time she had come to my house, and I wanted everything to be just right. I would be preparing a basic Italian pasta meal and the Chianti should go well with that. She was due to arrive in an hour's time.

Angela arrived exactly when she said she would. That is one thing we like about each other. We are punctual. I don't mind if there are real reasons why people are late and if they use their mobile phones to tell me, but just turning up late with no warning I think is just rude. Angela is a supply teacher working at most of our local primary schools. She has applied for and hopes to get a permanent job at one of them next term, or if not then, next school year. But her supply duties mean she is working almost full time anyway.

We had met recently at a school governors' meeting which I was attending as a council-appointed financial expert. Angela and I had known each other as part of a group of friends since we started school. She was also a member, as was I, of the local Karate club. But I had been married and was now a widower, and Angela had divorced two years ago. We were both now single.

Angela gave me a full hug and kiss before saying:

"What have you been up to, Raymond? One of my neighbours saw you in earnest conversation with the police and you drove off following a police car."

"I'll tell you later. The meal is ready to serve now."

"OK. Later."

+++

We discussed other things while we ate and made inroads into the bottle of Chianti. After the meal we took our glasses and the Chianti into the living room. We sat on the settee facing the open fire I rarely lit. I started up my laptop.

"OK, Raymond, why the Police?" Angela asked.

" I'll tell you and show you when the laptop is loaded."

I did.

"That's Basher-Barry!" Angela exclaimed.

"It is? I wouldn't have recognised him. I last saw him what? Over thirty years ago, when he was in your class at primary school."

"And he was an arsehole even then. He and his cousins -- the other two are the same cousins -- used to threaten kids and demand their school lunch money until your cousin Adrian and his friends confronted them."

"I remember. Adrian was banned from school for a week for fighting."

"Basher-Barry and his cousins were banned for the rest of the term. You had to defend Adrian."

"So, I did. Some of Basher-Barry's slightly older relations confronted Adrian when we were leaving the clubhouse."

"Stupid arseholes. Leaving the KARATE club. Adrian, you and some of the other karate club members really beat them up."

"What mattered is they left Adrian alone after that."

"But they are much worse now. They use knives, baseball bats and even shotguns."

"But now my video and still photo means they are on the run from the police. At least they don't know who I am. I was in my car until after they had left."

"Will the police publish your video or still, Raymond/"

"I shouldn't think so. They know exactly who the three were. They will be used in court, I suppose, but not otherwise. Why?

"Because each one shows your car's bonnet and hood ornament, Raymond. They are distinctive. How many 1940s Austin Sheerlines are there locally?

"Only mine."

"Exactly. And how many in the county?"

"Three."

"And how many of those three are silver?"

"Only mine. The other two are black."

"So, anyone seeing those pictures only has to find the owner of a silver Austin Sheerline and they'll find you. Where is it now?"

"In the garage. I only used it because I had been servicing it and seemed easier to use it than put it away and use one of my other cars. If I leave it there, and the police don't publicise the video or still I should be OK."

"I hope so. Basher-Barry's relations can be violent."

+++

We left it there. I was slightly disappointed that Angela didn't stay the night, but we are still early in our relationship. It was probably too soon.

+++

A week later I had a phone call from the police. They had arrested all three, who had made a fleeting appearance in court and had been remanded in jail until their crown court appearance in early January. I would be needed as a witness, just to confirm I had taken the dashcam footage and still photos. Could I keep that date clear, please?

I made a note in my next year's diary. I would get a formal summons sometime before Christmas.

I put it at the back of my mind and concentrated on clearing my company's workload before Christmas. I am the owner of a small carpentry business, and we had many orders for woodwork for new build houses. Until we completed the framework for each roof, the house couldn't be made waterproof. I could have relaxed. Earlier this year I had taken on a deputy manger who was proving a real asset. I could take my hands off and let him do everything,

Three weeks before Christmas I had another phone call from the Police. Could I call in and speak to Inspector Jones, who was responsible for preparing the case for the Crown Prosecution Service? There was an unspecified problem. I made an appointment for when Inspector Jones was available.

When I arrived, it was obvious that Inspector Jones was embarrassed.

"Just say it." I prompted. "What's wrong?"

"Some idiotic clerk in the Crown Prosecution Service had to send documents to the Defence team..." He started to say.

"And?"

"He sent the dashcam footage and your still photo, but what he shouldn't have sent was your unedited statement."

So?"

"He sent the full thing including your name and address..."

"And the family now know?"

"Yes, and they have been known to intimidate witnesses in previous cases. We could offer the witness protection scheme..."

"And if I remember rightly, the police were criticised in a recent court case because the scheme didn't protect the witness?"

"Yes. The case had to be stopped and a retrial ordered. The main witness wouldn't testify. Those involved in intimidating him have been prosecuted but all they got was fines. Three officers have been discharged and two more disciplined."

"That doesn't give me much confidence in the scheme."

"Nor me. It's not my department, but..."

"Basher-Barry's family are likely to try to find me?"

"Yes, and with the information they have -- your address, your company address, your land line, your mobile..."

"I get the picture. I'll vanish."

I wrote down my girlfriend's mobile on the back of one of my business cards.

I'll keep in touch with Angela, but no one else."

"How?"

"You don't need to know. I'll have a burner mobile, and only she will know it. But now I'll move fast. I'll be gone in a couple of hours."

+++

I hoped that I would have a couple of hours before Basher-Barry's family started looking for me. I made a couple of quick phone calls as soon as I had left the police station. I put my modern car in my garage and loaded it with my camping equipment, food and clothing. When I left, the load was concealed under a blanket or in the boot. I drove to another member of the Chamber of Commerce who runs a car leasing business as well as a garage servicing cars.

I booked my car in for a service and asked for an anonymous vehicle for a month's lease. It would be registered as owned by his company, but my name wouldn't be on the lease. I could drive it legally on my own car insurance as one not owned by me. Technically if leased to me, it wouldn't be covered, but a quick call to my insurance company and they arranged temporary full comprehensive insurance.

The vehicle was a small van that had just come to the end of a three-year lease to a local agricultural company and was signposted with their name. But the company had merged with another and now had a different name. They hadn't bothered to change the signs because the van had only a couple of months to run on the lease when the merger took place. Behind the front seats were two more seats with seat belts for more workers.

So, I had a vehicle that apparently no connection to me that would not be out of place anywhere in the countryside.

While the vehicle was being prepared for me, I walked to the High Street. I went into a charity shop and bought two flat caps, unlike anything I'd normally wear, and two winter weight short coats. I acquired two burner phones from a shop that specialises in trade-ins. I had two Pay-as-you-go contract with large credits in an anonymous name. I rang Angela on my usual mobile, explained to her that I had to disappear for a month and gave her the number of my burner phone. I would ring her every evening or she could send me a text. With the other phone I rang my business manager, explained that I was on a sort of witness protection scheme, but he could contact me on this phone, preferably by text as I would only turn it on in the evenings, but he could use my email because my laptop has a VPN.

I had loaded all my camping equipment etc. in the old van. I left my main mobile, switched off, in my car's glove compartment. I drove about five miles away from the town and turned into a farmyard. With the agricultural company's signs all over it, it wouldn't look out of place.

That farm is owned by John Harris and his wife. Basher-Barry and his family wouldn't know that John's wife, Mavis, had been a bridesmaid for my deceased wife when we married thirty-five years ago. We had remained friends but in very infrequent contact because we moved in different circles. I knew that John and Mavis had some unused farm buildings since they had acquired two neighbouring farms when John's grandfather had died two years ago, leaving his property to John. John and Mavis were prepared to let me use one of those buildings. I would be less obvious than camping in a tent and they thought at least one of the buildings could conceal me effectively.

One of the buildings they had inherited had a long history. It was a barn, originally built as tile-roofed and open-sided for storing hay at the end of the 18th century.

Just before WW1 the sides had been filled in with stone and inside had been divided into stables for the working horses, but most had ben requisitioned for the Western Front, so the barn became a home for Land Girls.

In 1939 it had been improved to become a dormitory for the WW2 land girls. At one end a kitchen, large bathroom, dining room and a living room had been inserted and the former stable units had been made into two-person bedrooms, each with a washbasin and a flush toilet. It had been updated again in the 1950s and 60s for hop-picking families. By the 1990s it was no longer needed for accommodation but there had been a spate of arson attacks on hay barns. Although the culprit had eventually been caught, the barn had been used as a secure place for hay. The large wooden doors had been replaced by sliding metal doors on runners, and all the windows, except the kitchen, dining room etc, had been covered with steel plates. The remaining windows had steel shutters, locked by a bar on the inside, and the only door at that end was also steel.

John and Mavis had let one of the local Scout Troops use it for camping weekends. It had been last used in August.

John and Mavis no longer had livestock that needed hay, but they had hay meadows that flooded in winter and were useless to grow other crops, so they sold hay to local farmers who reared cattle. The end nearest the roller doors was piled with hay bales to the roof. They offered me the barn. I could use the small door into the kitchen, and inside I had electricity, running water, flush toilets, a bathroom -- luxury. If I left no evidence of my comings and goings, I would be invisible. Even if Basher-Barry's' family found me, once the door was shut and bolted there was no way they could get in before the police arrived.

I drove the van to the back of the barn and unloaded everything including the tent I wouldn't need. John turned the power on and checked the electrics. Before he became a farmer, he had been a qualified electrician. He turned the water on, and we ran all the taps until they were running clear. I and Mavis cleaned everything up. The scouts had left it neat and tidy, but dust had settled during the unused months.

With my flat cap pulled low and wearing a covid mask I drove the van to the nearest supermarket, one I never used, to buy more cleaning materials and a basic microwave. When I returned and had unloaded, I put the van into a locked garage out of sight. John showed me the ethernet point. His farmhouse Wi-Fi wouldn't extend that far.

When John and Mavis left, I went around the outside of the barn in the dark. There was no light showing behind all the shuttered windows. I made myself a basic microwaved meal and lit the woodburning stove. If I had to hide, this would be comfortable.

I had an email from my manager. Some of Barry's relations had turned up at my woodworking company that afternoon. They had wanted me but when confronted by most of the employees wielding woodworking tools, they had accepted that I wasn't there. Their attempt had been reported to the police but since no violence occurred on either side, they had just noted it. One of my neighbours had rung my company to pass on a message that Basher-Barry's relations had tried my house but left when there was obviously no one in. The neighbour had rung the police, but they didn't arrive until too late. The warning had meant that my staff were ready when the relations arrived.

About 8 pm I rang Angela, gave her the number of my basic mobile and told her I was safe and hidden.

"Raymond! I've just remembered. You can't stay out of sight all the time until the trial. You are booked to be Father Christmas on the last day of term for the Chamber of Commerce."

"Oh shit! And I can't get a substitute. I was the Chamber's last hope."

"Perhaps Barry's family won't recognise you as Father Christmas?"

"They don't need to. Everyone knows I have been Father Christmas for the last four years. I'll ring Inspector Jones in the morning. Perhaps the police can provide protection for the couple of hours. But getting there and back? I can't drive myself."

"I could collect you, Raymond."

"Thanks, but no thanks, Angela. No one yet knows that you are my girlfriend. I'd like to keep it that way otherwise you too would be at risk."

"But I'm not much of a girlfriend yet. We have had one evening together. That's it."

"It could have been more except that I had to go into hiding. But? When do you stop working?"

"Immediately after you have been Father Christmas. The parents are collecting the children from the church hall. After that? I don't start work again until next term."

"OK. Then I could have a plan. The Karate club usually provide helpers for the event. They dress, males and females, as elves and help to marshal the children and keep them amused while they wait. If they collected me, say at the supermarket car park, I would be surrounded with protectors, could change on their minibus, and you too could come back with them. Then both of us could come back to my hiding place and stay there until term starts or the trial, whichever is first."

"A fortnight? Or longer? Alone with you in hiding? Are we that committed yet?"

I laughed.

"Angela, how far we go depends on what you are comfortable with. My hiding place has at least twenty bedrooms. You can sleep alone if you want to."

"Twenty bedrooms? Are you hiding in a disused stately home?"

"Nothing that grand. Think Youth Hostel rather than mansion."

"OK. Provisionally I'll think about it. I'll let you know tomorrow night. We've got a week until you have to be Father Christmas. See what Inspector Jones has to say tomorrow. Bye."

+++

It would be great if Angela shared with me, whether or not anything serious happened between us. Although we had known each other almost all our lives we hadn't seen each other except as a group of friends.