Episode 3 - Susie Sweet

Saturday September 6

Although Dorothy thought it highly unlikely that Sergeant Loo would want to spend his Saturday afternoon trying to think of leading questions to ask her and Vera, she left Upper Grumpsfield early with Cleo, their main mission being to rescue Vera. They were relieved to find Vera unscathed and in control. She was anxious to get her second interview over as soon as possible.

“Sergeant Loo is obnoxious,” she told Cleo and her sister.

“He was pretty awful at the beachhut,” said Dorothy.

Needless to say, Cleo had a plan. She would introduce herself as Dorothy’s lawyer. That way, she could stay in the room and listen to what the sergeant had to say. She could not imagine what sort of proof the guy was going to offer as a reason for putting the two senior citizens under arrest. She would certainly expose a trumped-up charge. Any accusation would be a figment of the sergeant’s imagination, seeing as the sisters really were completely innocent.

***

By about 2 o’clock on Saturday afternoon Cleo had parked her car in a side-street and was standing at the counter of the little police station together with the two sisters. Sergeant Llewellyn puffed himself up importantly. He had bowed and scraped after Cleo had been introduced as a lawyer, but only in her direction since he had a sneaking respect for anyone legal. He led them into his office, gesturing to Brass to stay outside. He thought Brass might chip in and argue in the presence of this tall, gracious lady. Who knows what Brass might say to this imposing foreign person! Sergeant Llewellyn also wanted to be sure the ladies knew who was in charge.

“So you are Mrs Price’s lawyer, are you?” he said, addressing Cleo. “Name?”

“Jones,” said Cleo

“And it’s MISS Price,” insisted Dorothy.

Sergeant Llewellyn ignored Dorothy and made no secret of his fascination for Cleo, who was at least a head taller than him, forcing him to look up at her. That disconcerted him, however.

“Sit down!” he commanded, anxious to retain some semblance of authority.

“Jones?” he said. “That’s a Welsh name, but you don’t look Welsh, Mrs Jones.”

“I’m married to a Welshman, Sergeant. It doesn’t explain my skin colour, but it does explain my surname,” said Cleo, in quite a broad Chicago drawl. “Anyhow, Jones is a common name in the States, so I didn’t have to come here to become one.”

The sergeant was not sure that he would prefer a lawyer from the USA to an African one, which he had concluded she must be.

“Are you professionally legal?” the Sergeant asked.

“Sure, and we have sharp laws in both the US and here,” Cleo replied.

The look on Cleo’s face was devoid of anything resembling female guile, so her answer seemed to satisfy the sergeant, except that it was not good for him to have to face a sharp-witted American lawyer familiar with the UK laws that he was happy to ignore.

***

Before Sergeant Loo could dig deeper, Constable Brass entered the room and moved to behind the sergeant. The sergeant gestured to Brass to remove himself, but Brass did not look up. In the minutes that followed, Brass scribbled copious notes, but fortunately for the sergeant said nothing. Sergeant Loo stopped trying to eject Brass for fear that Mrs Jones would insist on him staying.

“I hope you are not planning to arrest my client or her sister,” said Cleo, when the sergeant had finished uttering his version of the murder, which was based entirely on guesswork.

“If they are guilty, they must be punished,” said the sergeant.

“What makes you think they are guilty, Sergeant?” queried Cleo. “They happened to pass the beachhuts, heard music coming from inside one of them, gotten closer to take a look, found the glass door of Number 17 unlocked, went inside, discovered the corpse and rang the police immediately. I can’t find anything in there that points to guilt, Sergeant.”

“They were at the scene of the crime, Mrs Jones.”

“But only after it had happened, Mr Llewellyn.”

To everyone’s astonishment, Cleo pronounced the name perfectly.

“They’ll have to prove that,” said the sergeant, trying to follow Cleo’s argument.

“No, they won’t, Sergeant. You will have to prove they were there beforehand, and that is ridiculous for many reasons. Do you want me to explain them to you?”

***

Was the sergeant so hard up for arrests that he had to book two pensioners who had gone for a stroll and found a corpse? Cleo decided to dig a little deeper. Meanwhile Sergeant Loo seemed to be shrinking in the face of this unaccustomed opposition.

***

“Are you trying to affect a cover-up, Sergeant Llewellyn?” Cleo said quite loudly, and the smirk on Brass’s face accompanied by his vigorous nodding assured Cleo that she was on the right track. Up to now, Vera and Dorothy had not been asked a single question.

“If so, I advise you not to. You will be found out eventually. Cops are not immune from the law.”

Sergeant Llewellyn paled.

“Do you have something to hide, Sergeant Llewellyn?” said Cleo, rolling her tongue sensuously around the Welsh name. The sergeant squirmed. Women like Mrs Jones did not usually talk to him like that. Dorothy and Vera were on the point of applauding, but refrained.

“You’d better leave before I charge you with insulting the law,” said the Sergeant, standing up so suddenly that his chair fell backwards. Constable Brass dropped his notebook picking up the chair.

“Watch what you’re doing, Brass!” shouted the sergeant, glad to have something to cover up his general feeling of having made a weak impression on the lawyer woman.

“Does the crime of addressing the law carry a death sentence in this tin-pot town?” taunted Cleo.

“Get them out of here,” Sergeant Llewellyn commanded, and Brass hurried around the sergeant’s oversized desk to usher the ladies out.

“Hit the nail on the head there,” he whispered to Cleo. “See you outside!”

On the sergeant’s instruction, Brass had to run after the ladies to the car to make sure they were off the premises, meaning that they hd left their roadside parking space.. But Brass had anticipated how the sergeant would wriggle out of a situation constructed entirely by his own intransigence. He had scribbled his private telephone number on a page of his notepad and now handed it to Cleo, whispering “I can help you. Sergeant Loo won’t.”

“Loo?” said Cleo.

“I gave him that name, Cleo. I can’t pronounce long Welsh words and I’m absolutely astonished that you can,” said Dorothy.

“Blame Robert,” said Cleo.

“Who’s Robert,” Constable Brass wanted to know. He was sure Cleo had given a false name to hide her true identity.

“My Welsh husband,” said Cleo, and Brass gaped. “Don’t say you didn’t believe me.”

Cleo treated Brass to her flashing eyes. He was bowled over.

Brass was in fact disappointed, although he would not have admitted that even to himself. He had been hoping that Cleo was a foreign exile looking for marriage to a true Brit so that she could stay in the country, except that  Sergeant Loo would take the credit for anything so spectacular as the extradition of an illegal immigrant. It was truly a catch 22 situation. His only hope was that her marriage was on the rocks and he could offer her refuge.

“Phone me at home later,” said Brass, now hoping to regain control of things. “ I might have information for you.”

“You intrigue me,” said Cleo, eyes and teeth flashing.

***

Brass was nothing less than bowled over. If she was married, was her marriage going well? Something exotically erotic had been missing from his life, he realized. That lovely brown skin must be like velvet to the touch. He always turned red in the sun and so far all the females he had known – and that was about three if you counted his crabby mother and his adored primary school teacher – would look peaky alongside this wonder of nature. His wife had been nice, but pallid. He had loved her, but respectfully. Brass thought racy women probably needed less careful handling than ordinary ones, though he had no practical experience to support his theory.

***

Brass’s admiration had not escaped Dorothy.

“You’ve made a conquest,” she told Cleo as they drove away.

“I have?” said Cleo, genuinely astonished. “Good. I’ll use it to my advantage.”

“Don’t do that, Cleo. Some Englishmen cling like leeches,” said Vera. “I was married to one. I had to move to the States to get rid of him.”

“Really,” said Cleo. “Where did you go?”

“New York. I got myself a secretarial job through an agency and my ex did not realize that I had gone for good until he got my divorce papers. My daughter Victoria stayed with her father for a bit because of her schooling, but she soon came to live with me in the States. She came back to Manchester to study and met Bill, her husband, at university.”

“Wow, Vera! What an awesome story!”

“When my divorce was through, I married again. Sadly, my husband died two years ago. I was left alone. I decided to sell up and return to the UK. Victoria still has some contact with her father, but I don’t. After he’d got over clinging on to me, he started clinging on to vodka and other straights. I believe he even has a prison record, but Victoria won’t discuss that.”

“I don’t blame her,” said Cleo. “He sounds pretty awful.”

“He is,” said Vera.

It didn’t take long to get to Vera’s new home, a bed-sit at her daughter’s rather nice address in a row of rather nice, identical houses with shaved front lawns and wrought iron garden gates protecting gravel paths that led to standardized garages built to house standardized cars.

Later, after a scrumptious high tea, Dorothy asked Cleo what she planned to do next.

“That depends on what our friend Constable Brass has to say,” said Cleo. “I could phone him now. He should be at home if he was on duty all morning.”

“He might just have been making himself more interesting, Cleo.”

“I’ll have to risk that, Dorothy. I don’t suppose he’ll ask me for a date.”

“Don’t you believe it,“ said Dorothy. “He looked at you as if you were the answer to his dreams.”

***

“Work is at hand, Dorothy,” Cleo announced a few minutes later.

“Goodness! What sort of juicy information did the constable have to offer?”

“It’s much as you suspected, Dorothy. He was now prepared to reveal that the sergeant is a regular at the King Street brothel.”

“That comes as no surprise. I’m sure that’s why he doesn’t want any questions asked.”

“Brass said that Sergeant Llewellyn is going all out for the girl having committed suicide, despite the throttle marks on her neck and the hole in the back of her head.”

“I think she was half strangled with her scarf, and whoever found her after that thought she would think it was him so he made sure she couldn’t,” said Dorothy.

“In that case we’ll have to find one guy who thought he had killed her and a second guy who did.”

“Did Brass tell you the girl’s ‘professional’ name?” Dorothy asked.

“Sure. It’s Susie Sweet,” said Cleo.

“Sweet is a silly name,” said Vera.

“People very often give themselves aliases that have the same initials as their proper names,” said Dorothy.

“Precisely,” said Cleo. “She wore a fine gold chain with a pendant around her neck. The golden pendant was formed from the letters SRS.”

“I didn’t see it,” said Dorothy.

“You couldn’t have, Dorothy. It was found underneath her body when the ambulance men moved it, and there was a wound on her neck that suggested that the chain had been ripped off.”

“And then forgotten?” Vera said.

“If she screamed, the strangler would have cleared off, I suppose,” said Dorothy.

“He would know she wasn’t dead if she could still scream,” said Vera.

“Let’s put it this way: The strangler did not do a good job,” said Cleo. “That gold chain was probably the least of our assassin’s worries. He probably didn’t even notice it. Let’s assume that someone, perhaps a client, saw Miss Sweet later, panicked, and finished the job.”

“That’s what I’ve just said,” said Dorothy. “Except that I can’t think of a reason for going to those beach huts after dark, unless…”

“Exactly. It might have been her workshop,” said Cleo.

 “You don’t think it could have been Sergeant Loo, do you, Cleo?” said Vera. “Trying to interpret the murder as a suicide is unusual for a cop, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps he has something else to hide,” said Dorothy.

“Young women working as hookers are not to be envied, having to associate with such awful men,” said Dorothy, glad to adopt the American term, since it did not grate as much as the English one.

“The problem is that we are judging by appearances,” said Cleo. “We need evidence. I think I’d better start with HQ police records.”

 “Gary won’t be pleased, Cleo.”

“Right now, I’m not interested in what Gary thinks. He’s at least a hundred miles away from here, but he does have access to the police database. There’s a sporting chance that he can discover the woman’s real name, assuming it isn’t Susie Sweet.”

“She might be a missing person,” Dorothy suggested. “Quite a lot of girls leave home and end up in prostitution. Their frantic parents look for them for years.”

“It’s definitely worth a try. The brothel is hardly likely to give her a decent send-off,” said Cleo.

“I think I need to put my feet up after all the excitement,” said Vera. “Help yourselves to anything you need.”

“Thanks, Vera.”

***

Dorothy seemed electrically charged from the excitement of getting involved in another murder case, and Cleo had to admit that it was worth getting their teeth into. Vera would go to sleep and forget all about the fat sergeant. He could not possibly pin anything on her, but she wouldn’t put it past him to try. Cleo had assured her that she had nothing to worry about, but that was not a guarantee.

***

Cleo flopped down on the sofa. “I’ll phone Gary now and tell him a mail is on the way, Dorothy,” she said, kicking off her shoes. “The sooner we get the ball rolling, the better.”

Cleo leaned back and closed her eyes.

“Are you OK?” said Dorothy.

“Sure. Just tired and missing my little girl.”

“When you phone, please switch on the loudspeaker. I’ll enjoy Gary’s gasps of annoyance. I’m sure he’ll tell you he has enough to do without combing the internet to find some cheap hussy or other.”

“We’ll risk it, Dorothy. After all, his catastrophic relationship with Sybil was not so long ago. He should now be more merciful to women who get caught up in prostitution.”

***

The photo of Susie Sweet was duly wired to the Chief Inspector in Middlethumpton.

“Can’t you get the local police to look?” was Gary’s first reaction, when he phoned back.

“Not if one of them is the main suspect, Gary.”

“What?”

“The girl was a hooker and the sergeant in charge here was one of her regulars.”

“More sleaze then,” said Gary. “I’ll get on to it right away. Why would he have killed the girl?”

“Blackmail, maybe. Your guess is as good as mine. I’m still wondering why the girl was in the beachhut.”

“It all sounds like you’re on a busman’s honeymoon, Cleo.”

“A what?”

“I mean that hardly have you taken a couple of days off motherhood when a corpse appears out of the blue.”

Despite himself, Gary was amused. Dorothy wasn’t, not least on Cleo’s behalf. She intervened.

“Gary, the corpse was there before Cleo brought me here. And she only did that because I’m a prime suspect according to that sergeant.”

“Pull the other one, Dorothy.”

“I wish I could, but we have a nasty character of a cop on our hands and a nasty murder to solve, probably without the cooperation of anyone here apart from a sad-looking constable.”

“Would he make a good assistant, Dorothy? Nigel has capitulated and gone off to run the family dry-cleaning business.”

“So you are now without an office-boy, are you?”

“For the moment. He’ll be back soon, I’m sure. I could take tomorrow off , leave Greg in charge of anything that comes in, and take a look at your sad constable.”

“I don’t think he’s looking for a job, Gary.”

“They all are, Cleo. I’ll make him a sergeant.”

“He’d like that, if only to spite Sergeant Llewellyn alias, Loo.”

“Loo?”

“The guy who suspects Vera and me of homicide,” said Dorothy.

Gary laughed.

Dorothy was indignant.

“It’s not funny.”

“It is. What’s the constable’s name again?”

 “Brass, like door-knobs.”

“Needs polishing, then,” hooted Gary.

Cleo intervened. She did not like it when Gary took the mickey.

“Can you be serious for a moment, Gary? We are not amused.”

 “Sorry, I’m sure. And in your own words ‘Wow!’ There’s a likeness to your photo coming up on the screen,” said Gary, getting interested despite himself. “What was the girl’s name?”

“Brass said she was calling herself Susie Sweet.”

“There’s an image on my screen showing a girl of about sixteen named Susan Rose Smart; went missing four years ago. She escaped from boarding school via a knotted sheet hung out of her bedroom window and has not been seen since. Her parents are still looking for her.”

“A Grimm’s fairy tale,” commented Dorothy.

“Where did all that happen, Gary?” Cleo asked.

“You won’t believe this,” said Gary.

“Try us,” said Cleo and Dorothy, looking at one another. “Huddlecourt Manor School?”

“Got it in one,” Gary confirmed, a little annoyed that the two sleuths could deduce that in a matter of seconds. “Huddlecourt Manor School, that great and now obsolete seat of learning for wayward girls. But how did she get to Frint-on-Sea?”

“Whoever encouraged her to abscond probably brought her here,” said Cleo.

“Are you thinking of Joe Coppins, Cleo?” said Gary.

“It sounds like his kind of game, doesn’t it?” said Cleo.

“He’s doing time for other misdeeds, but I’m sceptical about him being at the seaside with that schoolgirl. When would he have the time with the barmaid already on his hands?”

 “Perhaps Susie Sweet was head-hunted to the brothel by someone looking for young flesh ,” said Dorothy.

“Head-hunted? In that trade? Are we still on this planet, Ladies? And where did you get that terminology, Dorothy?”

“Here and there, and If you didn’t believe in coincidences before, Gary, you’d better start believing in them now,” said Dorothy.

“It also means that you have a legitimate reason for being interested in the case,” said Cleo.

“I always have a legitimate interest, Cleo. I’m a cop, remember?”

“You’ll enjoy meeting Sergeant Loo without his knowing who you are,” said Dorothy. “He’s rude and disrespectful and needs a dressing down.”

“He’s Welsh, isn’t he? That language is just as alien as Arabic to me. I hope his English is decipherable.”

“Of course it is, Gary,” said Dorothy. “A bit of a jingle, but Frint-on-Sea is not really Welsh. It’s just seaside. A poor man’s Miami.”

“You’ve persuaded me that the general fascination of this exploit is something not to be missed. I’ll be with you in three hours if you tell me where you are.”

“8, Beach Avenue,” said Dorothy. “Turn right from the main road and drive towards the beach. Follow the road and it’s about the 3rd avenue on your left with the sea on your right.”

“I’ll try not to fall in, Dorothy!”

“You wouldn’t be the first, Gary. I remember…”

“Tell me later. I must move my derrière now.”

“Yes. Move your arse, Gary! We’re waiting for you,” said Dorothy, imagining the smirk on Gary’s face.

***

Gary thought older women were on the whole genteel and he never knew when Dorothy was having him on. That combination did nothing for his self-esteem. No wonder he indulged in a little banter with her. She was also the only person he had told about his love for Cleo, and she had told him to stay out of her life for a while but not forever. Cleo would have been astonished to know how much Gary really liked and trusted Dorothy, and even more astonished to know that Gary’s brusqueness was really a cover-up for his frustration at not being able to manage more than a sporadic affair with her.

Gary had disguised their one-night stands as physical desire and she had gone along with that idea. She saw her rather seedy betrayal of Robert as a psychological necessity if she were to carry on with the marriage. Cleo insisted to herself that love did not come into her trysts with Gary, only the fulfilment of her physical need for him. Having a baby had interrupted the affair and Cleo was determined not to carry on as before. He had not even see PeggySue. Cleo knew instinctively that he would claim her as his, and probably had a right to do so, but her marriage still took first priority.

***

Vera was dismayed that the famous Chief Detective Gary Hurley would be arriving shortly.

“Where’s he going to sleep?” she asked. “We’re all booked out.”

“This sofa’s a bed, isn’t it, Vera?” said Dorothy.

“Yes, but it isn’t very comfortable.”

“That doesn’t matter. He’ll probably be grateful not to have to sleep in his car.”

“Why isn’t he coming tomorrow, Cleo?” Dorothy wanted to know. “Perhaps we should have even stopped him coming before Monday.”

“You can’t stop Gary when he’s decided on something,” said Cleo. ”He’s probably in a hurry to get here and offer Brass a job.”

***

Cleo’s heart was missing beats. Despite herself, she was overjoyed that she would see Gary after weeks bridged mainly by shop talk over the phone. She had tried to keep her contact with Gary on a strictly business level, think that it would convince her as well as Robert, who did not want the baby, that they could be a happy family after all. Gary had claimed that it was a large ditch attempt of Cleo’s to save a marriage that should never have taken place. He was waiting for Cleo to come to her senses. It was proving to be a long wait.

***

Cleo had only resumed the responsibility for her agency a couple of months ago. Dorothy had looked after things and solved some tricky cases thanks to help from Cleo at home and Greg, a colleague of Gary’s who could be guaranteed not to spill any beans. Gary had taken over cases that the Hartley Agency could not deal with. The arrangement had worked well, but had left both Cleo and Gary emotionally at sea with Gary phoning Cleo regularly to ask her to meet him, and Cleo telling him it was no-go now she had a child, and then arranging a tryst with him when she could stand her life with Robert no longer.

“It’s a good thing Gary will have all of Sunday to view the scene of the crime,” said Vera. “Let’s hope he can force that stupid sergeant to stop suspecting us.”

“Sergeant Llewellyn is only anxious to save his own skin,” said Cleo. “I’m sure he’ll make himself scarce.”

“If Sergeant Loo wants to save his skin, it’ll be at our expense,” said Vera. “I’d better make some more coffee. We’ll have to be wide awake for your detective friend, and the family should be back from their Saturday outing soon.”

“Colleague, Vera,” Cleo corrected.

“Friend,” insisted Dorothy.

“I’d like Gary to find out more about Frank Wetherby, that local detective of alleged disrepute,” said Dorothy.

Cleo wondered why the idea of Gary being a friend was disconcerting.

“That’s only what Llewellyn claims,” said Cleo. “If Brass agreed, it was to keep the peace. Wetherby may be on to something. That would be enough to make him disreputable in the sergeant’s eyes.”

“But he wasn’t around when we called the police, and we didn’t see anyone else hanging around, either,” said Dorothy. “I’m sure Sergeant Loo would have noticed and made a scene.”

“I expect that the guy takes good care to stay out of the sergeant’s sight, but he might have been somewhere near,” said Cleo. “We can ask Brass about him.”

***

At last the doorbell rang.

It was Gary.

“Ah, it’s Mr Hurley,” said Vera as she let him in.

“Just call me Gary.”

“And I’m Vera. My sister and Cleo are in the kitchen drinking coffee. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.”

“And something to eat?”

“That would be great, Vera.”

“Eggs?”

“Anything!”

Vera got busy making Gary scrambled eggs on toast while Gary greeted his old friends with warm kisses on both cheeks – a custom Cleo found extraordinary coming from Gary, except that he kissed Dorothy first and embraced Cleo as if he would never let go. Cleo was knocked sideways again by the physical warmth of his body and that dizzy feeling of having come home. Eventually he broke off his embrace, exchanged looks with Cleo that electrified the room, Dorothy told Cleo later, and opened his laptop on the kitchen table. He was obviously in no mood for hanging around.

Dorothy thought rightly that Gary had kissed her in order to have an excuse to embrace Cleo, but kept that idea to herself. How could Cleo possibly resist the man, Dorothy asked herself.

“There’s no hurry,” said Cleo, resting a hand on Gary’s shoulder. “The police station is closed at weekends.”

“We’ll soon change that,” said Gary, apparently not noticing the gesture.

“I’m looking forward to your confrontation with Sergeant Loo,” said Dorothy, who had noticed.

“Is he only a sergeant?” scoffed Gary. “Does that mean they have no higher functionary in this town?”

“It seems so. The guy gives the impression of being in charge,” said Cleo, removing her hand and biting her lip. She did not look at Dorothy.

***

Gary wished she had not taken her hand away. Even that small gesture was a sign. Despite the awkwardness of the situation concerning the absurd sergeant, he felt happy and relaxed. Did it really only take one embrace and the touch of a hand to achieve that? Dare he hope that Cleo weakening?

***

“Well, I’m his senior,” he said, “and if I decide to take over this case, he’ll be the first to notice that he’s a subordinate.”

“Does that mean you want to stay?” Vera asked, looking rather horrified at the idea.

“Not here, Vera. I’ll find a hotel tomorrow, but if…”

“Don’t they need you in Middlethumpton, Gary?” Dorothy asked, worried that close contact with Gary would undo all Cleo’s good resolutions.

***

Dorothy knew that Cleo did not love Robert Jones and was trying to make a go of the marriage for the sake of the child, but seeing Gary now, she wondered if she had not been too interfering. Dorothy liked Robert and wanted him to be happy, but she was torn between him and Gary. What a dilemma for an old woman, she thought. She should not be deciding which of the two men was suitable for Cleo. She would definitely stop giving Cleo advice that was not useful judging from the way the lovers had looked at one another. Dorothy could sense the electricity going through them. They were, she thought, highly charged.

***

“Need me? Does anyone need me, Dorothy?” was Gary’s plaintive reaction.

“We do, Gary, so stop the melodrama!” said Cleo, meaning herself, of course, but touched by Gary’s act.

“Well…I don’t have to get back to HQ for a day or two. I’ve talked it through with Roger. I suspect that this case is not confined to Frint-on-Sea.”

“You’ll have to explain that,” said Dorothy.

“I plan to, Ladies. It’s a serious matter.”

“Of course you’ll stay here tonight, Gary, won’t you?” said Vera. “It’s too late to look for digs now.”

“What are digs?” Cleo asked.

“Lodgings,” explained Dorothy.

“I thought digs were little offensive remarks.”

“That, too. We British make good use of our vocabulary!” said Dorothy. We like theatricals, too,” she added, giving Gary a sharp look.

“As I said, I don’t think this case belongs just to a seaside resort,” said Gary, getting back to normal officiousness. “I’ll show you why I think it’s even similar to Sybil’s murder.”

“But she was found in a cupboard,” Dorothy protested. “And you caught that serial murderer.”

“I meant that there are parallels.”

“Oh.”

“You mean Susie Sweet isn’t the first such victim?”

“No. There have been others, Cleo.”

Gary opened up a database on his laptop as he spoke.

“Here’s a list of girls who have met their death in a comparable way and were found in the same sort of place.”

“Hookers?”

“Yes.”

“And the killer is still on the run, I assume,” said Cleo.

Gary nodded. He had not reacted to the touch of Cleo’s hand, but he could still feel its warmth long after she had removed it. He tried not to read anything into the gesture.

Cleo felt weak at the knees whenever Gary looked at her. She was confused about the emotions he awakened in her. The truth was that she had never stopped loving Gary.

Vera served Gary with his supper, which he ate as though he had not eaten for a week.

“More toast to come, Gary,” said Vera. “Cheese or Jam?”

“Both,” said Gary, then realizing that he had been rather rude he corrected himself. “Either, I meant and thanks, Vera. The eggs were delicious.”

“More coffee to wash it down?” said Dorothy, who was accustomed to Gary’s table manners after he had lodged in her guestroom a couple of times. He always ate as if food was going out of fashion.

“I was desperately hungry,” said Gary, gratuitously. “I never get regular meals these days.”

“You’ll have to find a woman to look after you, Gary,” said Vera.

“I have, but she’s still making up her mind,” replied Gary, looking at Cleo. Vera thought she had been tactless. Something was in the air, but she could not decide if anyone else could sense it. Dorothy knew what was happened.

“If you are still pondering on Sybil’s fate, it’s time you stopped,” said Dorothy rather crossly and immediately regretted the comment. Had she not just promised herself not to interfere?

“Who’s Sybil?” Vera wanted to know.

“A friend of Gary’s who was murdered,” Dorothy replied.

“Oh, I am sorry.”

“So am I, Vera, but not the way you might think,” said Gary. “ It’s just that the past is creeping up again with this new murder case. Another prostitute has fallen victim to a serial killer.”

“Another?” said Vera with raised eyebrows.

“Sybil was a reformed one, or so I thought,” said Gary. “I’ll do better in future.”

“Anything in mind, Gary?“ said Dorothy. “If so you have my blessing. I’d like to see you happy.”

“I’d like to be happy, Dorothy,” said Gary,  his eyes firmly fixed on Cleo. “But while I’m waiting, I have a theory about those hooker homicides.”

“Don’t keep us in suspence,” said Cleo.

“It could have been a serial killer with a grudge against hookers,” said Gary.

“That sounds likely,” said Cleo.

Vera shuddered. “Jack the Ripper again. They never foudd out who it was or why he was so cruel,” she said.

“It might be just like that, Vera,” said Gary.

“Let’s get some sleep and stop being morbid.” she said. “I’ll make you a bed on the sofa, Gary. I hope that’s OK.”

“Thanks, Vera. That’s great!”

***

There was as yet no sign of the Bill, Victoria and Lucy. Vera was starting to get worried. What if there had been an accident?

The phone rang, startling them all. Vera rushed into the hall to answer it.

“Victoria. Thank goodness for that,” they heard her say.

When she came back into the kitchen she looked happier. “The bridge over the Dee has been closed,” she explained.” Some truck or other has turned over and spilled its contents everywhere.”

“Surely the local police could get that sorted out,” said Gary.

“Not if they are sheep, Gary,” said Vera. “They had to close the road completely so that they could catch them.”

“That sounds like fun,” said Dorothy.

“Bill decided he would help the police, so Victoria and Lucy are still sitting in the car while Bill runs after the silly animals. No point in waiting up for them.”

“I just hope they were heading for the Welsh hills and not the slaughterhouse,” commented Vera.

“And I hope your family does not mind a stranger sleeping in the sitting-room,” said Gary.

“I’ll leave a note on the blackboard,” Vera said.

“Blackboard?”

“A little one left over from Lucy playing at being a teacher like her dad, Gary. We always use it for important messages.”

***

Dorothy was sharing with Vera downstairs in her bed sit. Cleo went upstairs to bed in one of Lucy’s bunks (the lower one, as Vera had kindly decided). Cleo was very glad she didn’t have to climb the ladder. She was lithe and fit, but not that fit, she admitted.

Gary took a quick shower and was sitting on the couch in his bathrobe reading reports when the family finally came home. Cleo heard the family come in, greet Vera and Dorothy briefly, say hello and good night to Gary and go upstairs. Lucy ran into her room and gave Cleo a quick hug before getting into her pyjamas.

“Just one story, Cleo,” said Lucy when she was in her bunk, and Cleo obliged with a story about green elves in Chicago until Lucy fell asleep laughing. There was activity in the house for half an hour, then all was quiet.

***

Clad in her genuine Japanese Kimono, Cleo crept down the carpeted stairs to get a drink, or so she told herself. On the way back she noticed that Gary’s door was ajar. She opened it and went into where he was still sitting.

“I’ve been waiting. I knew you’d come,” Gary whispered.

“I knew I would, too,” Cleo whispered back. “The drink was just an excuse.”

Gary closed the door very quietly..

“So what now?” said Gary. “I thought you wanted a more or less platonic relationship to save your wonderful marriage.”

Gary was miserable.

“To hell with my rotten marriage. Why don’t you shut up and make love to me,” said Cleo dropping her kimono to reveal – well everything.

“Is that what you want?”

“Don’t you, Gary?”

“Of course I do.”

Gary dropped his bathrobe to the ground.

“Brownie points for thoughtfulness,” said Cleo. “Does the sofa creak?”

“A little,” said Gary.

“I came with the right dress code and the hearthrug is guaranteed silent.”

“It’s still warm from the  fire,” he said. “Not that we need any external heating.”

Nobody interrupted the tryst.

Gary could not quite believe what had happened.

“Have you changed your mind, Cleo?”

“Yes Gary, I have. I just have to find a way out of the mess I’m in with my marriage.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Can you wait a while longer if we meet more often?”

“I’ll try.”

“But we don’t have to wait now,” she said.

“You can be quite precocious, Cleo. I’m almost dumbfounded,” said Gary. “You used to need a little persuasion.”

“I am still a learner,” Cleo replied.

“You could have fooled me,” said Gary.

“I’d better go back to my bunk before someone catches us.”

“Not yet,” said Gary.

“Well soon,” replied Cleo.

“Je t’aime.”

“Moi aussi.”

“What about Robert, Cleo? What if he kicks up a fuss?”

“Hang Robert!”