Thursday cont.
Gary and Cleo arrived at Frint-on-Sea police station late on Thursday
afternoon. Brass was about to leave. O’Reilly was going to be at the station
for a couple more hours. He said it was so that Brass could stop working round
the clock.
Gary thought O’Reilly might protecting Brass. But why? Was he keeping an
eye on him? Did he suspect him of something? Was he protecting himself by
searching the office for evidence of some kind?
Gary did not think Brass looked the type for criminal activities. But as
Cleo had already said many times, hardly anyone looks like a criminal. We all
know or have met at least one murderer, a thief or two, and probably several
wife-beaters and child-abusers, some of whom will have been family.
“Brass can start in Middlethumpton from next week, O’Reilly,” Gary said.
“That’s fine by me,” said O’Reilly, who thought it possible that Brass might
be shielding Llewellyn in some way, though he would never have accused a
colleague of inappropriate behaviour.
Brass was surprised that O’Reilly had fallen in with Gary’s plans so
meekly, but refrained from asking any questions.
“This station is probably closing down at the weekend except for a
security guard until we get the equipment taken away,” said O’Reilly.
“I didn’t know that. What about Sergeant Llewellyn?” said Brass.
“We’ll deal with him,” said O’Reilly.
"I'll be off then," said the constable, and left, winking at
Cleo as he did so. He was clearly not going to hang around with his move to
Middlethumpton needing organization.
Brass had not known that Gary had already discussed the possibility of a
transfer for Brass with O’Reilly and the timing of his move had up to now been
vague. But closing the station down would be a good way of getting rid of
Llewellyn even if no crime could be pinned on him. Going to Middlethumpton would
be a good move for Brass, who might otherwise have been subject to bullying or
worse by Sergeant Llewellyn.
“Do you know where Llewellyn could be?” Gary asked.
“We’re trailing him,” said O’Reilly.
“In this town?”
“He’s very friendly with the Town Clerk and we think he could have been
camping out in Macpherson’s garden shed,” said O’Reilly.
“And your Town Clerk did nothing about it?” asked Gary.
“He isn’t mine,” said O’Reilly.”
“I did not mean that literally,” said Gary, wondering if being a cop in
Frint-on-Sea entailed being unaware of quite normal repartee.
“We would not have known anything had Mr Macpherson’s wife not reported
the theft of some potatoes and greens from their garden. Then we put two and
two together.”
Amazing detective work, thought Cleo, who had been observing silently up
to then for want of something relevant to say.
“In other words, our fat sergeant has been on a vegetarian diet,” she now
said. They coud all see the funny side of the situation. “Or are you simply
assuming that the guy hid there, Mr O’Reilly?”
“There’s running water in that garden for watering the plants and washing
hands,” said O’Reilly, “and even an outside toilet built into th house.”
“All mod cons, in fact,” said Cleo. “That’s almost like coming home if
you’ve lodged in some scruffy tenement flat.”
“So why didn’t you check the location and pull him in immediately?” Gary
wanted to know.
“We went there but did not find anybody.”
“It all sounds a bit vague,” said Cleo, who was not bound by the
professional niceties between cops.
“We have no conclusive evidence that the sergeant had ever been there,” said O’Reilly.”Anyone can steal
vegetables.”
“What about forensics?”
“That shed is in the queue,” said O’Reilly.
“So maybe he really hasn’t been there,” said Cleo. “A bit of a problem,
isn’t it?”
“Cleo, don’t make things more difficult for O’Reilly. You can see that
he’s quite puzzled about the situation,” said Gary because he thought he should
defend a colleague. Cleo could be very direct when she felt like it, though Gary
had to admit that it was usually justified.
“I admit that it’s puzzling,” said Cleo, “ but the real mystery is that
Mrs Macpherson would report a few missing potatoes at all when it could mean
trouble for her husband. The Town Hall sleaze can’t have completely escaped her
notice.”
“She knew someone must have slept in the shed because some old blankets
and a pumped up air bed were left on the floor, but the Macphersons did not
actually see anyone,” said O’Reilly.
“The Town Clerk must be in the know about the Town Hall sleaze even if
he is innocent, “Cleo said, determined to pursue the line of questioning that Gary was avoiding. “Are you aware of any of
the goings-on?”
O’Reilly looked decidedly uncomfortable. Dorothy would have said he had
guilt written all over his face.
“Let’s recapitulate,” said Gary. “It is possible that the sergeant
camped in the shed with or without the Macphersons’ knowledge.”
“Of course, Macpherson may not have realised that Llewellyn is a wanted
man and the guy would be unlikely to tell on himself,” said Cleo.
“That’s what I mean,” said O’Reilly, glad that Cleo had put that into
words.
“Did you tell Macpherson that Sergeant Llewellyn is a suspect?“ Gary
asked.
“Not in so many words,” replied O’Reilly.
“So it’s possible that he already knew, isn’t it?” said Cleo. “That
changes the situation drastically Mr O’Reilly. It makes the Macphersons accomplices.”
At that moment, Brass came back. He had forgotten his house keys, he
said.
“Here they are,” he mimed, reaching to under a cupboard and ostensibly
retrieving the keys. Cleo surmised that he had returned to check what O’Reilly
was doing and not expected to find them still there.
“Of course, the business about the stolen vegetables could have been a
cry for help from the Town Clerk talking through his wife,” said Cleo. “Maybe
he knew that the game was up.”
“What game, Miss Hartley?” Brass wanted to know.
“The game of Town Hall sleaze, Brass,” said Cleo.
“I didn’t know it was a game,” said Brass. “Some game to have local
politicians cheating tax-payers and feathering their own nests.”
“So you know about it , do you ? said Gary, wondering if Brass should
move to Middlethumpton right now.
“So where could Llewellyn be?” Cleo asked.
“Anywhere, Miss Hartley,” said O’Reilly.
“Is Llewellyn enjoying protection?” Gary asked, and both O’Reilly and
Brass looked guilty.
“I’m trying to think what I would do if I’d been hiding in a garden shed,”
said Cleo. “Let’s see! He probably went home to take a bath. Or had the
Macphersons let him use the bathtub? In that case, would they have complained
about their loss of vegetables?””
“Whatever he’s up to, he’s got a bloody nerve, leading everyone a
dance,” said Brass.
“Macpherson is Scottish,” said O’Reilly out of the blue.
“You’re Irish, Mr O’Reilly,” said Cleo. “What difference does it make? ”
“The UK is well-represented here,” said Gary.
“I’ve never been to Ireland, Miss Hartley. My grandparents came over to
work after the war - from Eire, not Northern Ireland.”
Gary grinned at Cleo. Wasn’t that his explanation of how the guy got to
the UK?
“If you haven’t already done so, you should look into Mr Macpherson’s
extramural activities,” said Gary. “We might find the answers there.”
“We haven’t done that, but we will,” said O’Reilly. “Up to now it has
been a no-go area.”
“I’ll bet it has,” said Gary, wondering if O’Reilly was now trying to
hide his ’turning a blind eye’, assuming he wasn’t actively mixed up in the
sleaze. Of course, he could have been paid to keep off the grass. Sleaze only
functions if no one pokes their nose in.”
“So where could Llewellyn be?” Cleo repeated, hoping that O’Reily would
now say something useful.”
“As you suggested, he’s probably back at his lodgings, Miss Hartley. We
were waiting for Mr Hurley’s instructions,” O’Reilly now improvised. ”There’s a
guard on. He can’t come or go without us knowing.”
“Why am I hearing all this for the first time, O’Reilly?” said Gary.
“He could climb out of a window and escape that way,” suggested Cleo.
“He’d have to scale down two flights, Miss Hartley. He lives on the
second floor in a renovated loft.”
“So he gets out via the roof,” said Cleo.
O’Reilly turned pale.
“I never thought of that,” he said.
“I want Llewellyn arrested and brought in,” said Gary.
He’d heard enough of O’Reilly’s nonsense. Why had he thought the guy was
cooperative?
“I think Miss Hartley and I need a breath of fresh air now after our
long drive,” said Gary. “We’ll be here at nine tomorrow morning and I expect to
be able to question Sergeant Llewellyn, Jake, and Dr Smith her or at
Headquarters. You can tell me where at 8:30 in the morning on my mobile phone.”
“Yes, Sir,” said O’Reilly, his authority now completely quashed.
“Here’s my card, OReilly, and Brass, we’ll discuss your new job again after
I’ve talked to those suspects. Arrange for your children to be looked after
here. We’ll sort out somewhere for you all to live when you move permanently.
Your salary will be paid from the first of this month, by the way.”
“Thank you, Gary,” said Brass.
“Let’s go, Cleo. See you both tomorrow morning,” said Gary.
***
“I’ll just phone Wetherby and postpone our meeting
until tomorrow, Gary.”
“Make it early. We need to get to that BBQ at
Edith’s, Cleo.”
“Is it tomorrow? I thought it was next week. I’d
better ckeck.”
A short phone-call to Edith confirmed the BBQ for
the next two Fridays. Apparently, Edith wanted to make sure of Robert’s
attendance.
“But he’s bound to be there, Edith,” Cleo had said.
“He’s supplying the meat, isn’t he?”
Gary just shook his head when Cleo repeated what
Edith had said.
“She’s gone over the top,” he commented. “Breaking
free of Frederick Parsnip has gone to her head.”
***
Cleo knew where Gary wanted to go next on that Thursday
evening. They stood side by side at the spot where they had embraced on that
beach. Frint-on-Sea was not Miami, but that was immaterial. Standing side by
side at the water’s edge holding hands was like coming home.
“I feel like repeating what you said that Sunday afternoon,”
said Gary. “To remind you of how quickly a woman can make up her mind when she
has to. I could not believe that I’d actually had the courage to say something
I’d been storing up ever since we met.“
“I should have said something. It’s OK for a woman to take
the initiative these days.”
“I had noticed,” said Gary, looking into the distance. Cleo
thought he was blushing.
“I thought you approved,” said Cleo.
“I did and I do, Cleo. I was horrified when you looked like
choosing your marriage to a guy you no longer wanted. Then I realized that you
didn’t really mean it. It might have been that kiss.”
”What kiss?”
“You brushed my cheek before you moved away. Like this.” Gary
repeated the gesture. “That’s when I knew you felt the same.”
“That’s when I knew for sure that I felt the same, Gary.”
Cleo hesitated. She was going through a kind of emotional
striptease yet again. They were now paddling in the shallow water at the edge
of the tide, shoes under their free arms.
“Go on, Cleo. Finish what you want to say. I’m listening.”
“I was shocked at myself for succumbing so easily to my
emotions. I know people can change their attitude suddenly, but I did not think
I was one of them and I didn’t think you had noticed that kiss because you
didn’t respond to it immediately.”
“I was too surprised,” said Gary.
“I was surprised at myself. I thought you might think me
promiscuous.”
“You are if I’m not fast enough,” said Gary.
They walked back to above the tide mark.
“We need to be on dry land, Cleo,” said Gary. “The sandbanks
are notorious here.”
“When I told you Robert was still the man in my life, you
looked devastated. You had told me you were in love with me and I was going on
about the man in my life being Robert. I’m so sorry I said that, and worse
still, it was a lie because I already knew that you are the man in my life and
had been for a long time. I’d been denying that to myself – and to Dorothy
whenever she broached the subject.”
“What has Dorothy got to do with it?”
“She was protecting me. She thought Robert was my best bet.”
“I hope she’s changed her mind.”
“Would it make a difference?” said Cleo.
“Not to me,” said Gary.
“To me neither,” said Cleo.
“I’m glad we’re discussing things,” said Gary. “I want to
write about it in my journal, but I want to be truthful.”
“I didn’t know you kept a journal, Gary.”
“There are so many things we still have to find out about one
another,” he said. “One night stands were definitely not the answer.”
Looking at Gary now, she realized how vulnerable he really
was.
“The psychiatrist at the clinic told me I should give up
doing a job that distressed me, do what I always dreamt of doing, and not least
make more of an effort to be with someone who cared about me. I thought that
was pie in the sky, but it was true. My burnout days are over, Cleo, and I have
you to thank for that.”
“But you are enjoying the battle cries here, aren’t you?”
“Mainly because you are with me.”
“So what did you always want to do?”
“Write. Escape from reality for some of the time. Invent
people. Kill them off if I want to. Make friends with some of them.”
“Wow.”
“Now I know I can do that if I want to, but I don’t want to
escape from the reality we have together.”
“I’ve had to learn to make time for things I want to do. If
you want to write, you must do that now, Gary.”
“I will. That’s a promise.”
“I phoned a lawyer yesterday,” said Cleo. “He’s getting my
divorce papers sorted out. However long it takes, we are in this life
together.”
“On a practical level, if we are going to have more children
we’ll have to move into something bigger,” said Gary.
“I’ve thought of that. This baby bump is yours, after all.”
“Another reason to indulge in a hug, my love,” said Gary.
“I phoned an architect yesterday, too,” said Cleo. “He’ll
inspect the cottage at the weekend, draw up plans and we’ll get planning
permission to add a couple of rooms onto the back and enlarge the front rooms.”
“You did that?”
“A woman of my age has to make that kind of decision pretty
fast, Gary. I want a big family, if you can live with that idea.”
***
“I’m overjoyed. I want to go on talking about us, but we must
talk about tomorrow’s interviews, Cleo. If we get that over with, we can relax
at the hotel and forget business for today, not that there’s much of today left
over.”
“I could use a little supper,” said Cleo.
“There’s always room service,” said Gary.
“Or we could go to that chip shop near the brothel and eat
there. I think I’d like it better than eating with the regular eaters in the
hotel restaurant,” said Cleo. “And who knows? Those chippy guys might have
something to say about the customers from the brothel, or one of the girls
might be there. They have to eat, too.”
“Cleo, you should have been a cop.”
“Being in love with a cop is the next best thing, and you
have a private sleuth at your beck and call.”
“Ouch for that, Cleo. Let’s get moving.”
“Your wish is my command, Sweetheart.”
***
Cleo and Gary went to
the chip shop, ordered fish and chips and learnt a bit about the goings-on at
the brothel. Nothing spectacular happened there any more. The neighbours had
tried to get the place banned and someone –who was never detected – had once
thrown a Molotov cocktail through a window. The chip shop owner thought some of
the clients were local politicians. That would explain why the place was
tolerated. Apart from a small red light that blinked from a downstairs window
when it was dark, there was no indication of what went on in that house.
***
Ivy Frobisher had not been a typical brothel proprietor, but she had made
plenty of money out of her enterprise. She had treated the girls well and they
were all sorry she was dead. They did not want to work for Jake, even if he had
not killed Ivy. They had heard him quarelling with Ivy, but they either didn’t
know why, or were not telling.
There is a limit to loyalty, Gary mused. The girls did not
want the same thing to happen to them as had happened to other women in the sex
trade. They now had the examples of Susie Sweet and Ivy to increase their
anxiety.
The chip-shop guy had introduced salads and wine to his menu
so that wealthier clients could eat what they were used to. The girls were
crazy about his salads, but one or two of the regulars had preferred chips.
When asked if that included Sergeant Llewellyn, the answer was yes. When had
they last seen him at the chip shop? The night before Susie Sweet was found
dead, when Double EL had ordered his usual double chips and cod, while Susie
Sweet had preferred rock salmon and a single portion of chips. That
corresponded to what was in the report. Could the sergeant have killed the
hooker? No. Never. He wasn’t the type.
***
What is the type? Cleo was haunted by the knowledge that
human beings did not look on the outside how they were on the inside. Beauty
could conceal devilment. That had be proven time and time again. Cleo’s thesis
had been written on the theme of identifying perpetrators. Who actually looked like
a murderer, a drug dealer or a paedophile? Her inevitable conclusion was that
barring visual symptoms of drug-addiction etc. there was no special look about
a person who committed a crime. For example, if they were guaranteed not to be
found out, many seemingly respectable people would kill at least one person
they knew.
***
Sergeant Llewellyn remained high on the list of suspects. In
fact, to all intents and purposes he was the only suspect in the Susie Sweet
case. His motive was unknown.
“What if there really were two murderers?” said Cleo over
their chips. “Supposing someone passed that beachhut and saw the door open,
went inside and found Susan Smart injured, and then killed her because he saw
that she had seen him and might accuse him of trying to kill her.”
Gary thought that the involvement of two assassins was
possible.
“After all. she was not dead after being throttled,” he
confirmed. “The postmortem stated quite plainly that the blow on the head had
caused a massive brain haemorrhage soon after and killed the young woman. Let’s
hope we can get a confession from that sergeant.”
“If he left her alive, it would open up a whole spectrum of
possibilities, wouldn’t it?”
“Wine?”
“More water for me. You don’t want to discuss this here, do
you? “ said Cleo.
“Not now and not over wine that tastes like a cross between
vinegar and that rosy cheek blackcurrant stuff you give infants to drink. Let’s
wait and see what Llewellyn has to say, assuming they catch up with him.”
Cleo had to agree that a discussion of the finer points of a
killing was not really a good idea in such ambience. Even fish and chips eaten
in a tacky restaurant and washed down with cheap, sour plonkor chlorinated
water had to be eaten with some degree of enjoyment.
Gary suggested that they go back to the hotel and order a
bottle of something drinkable to wash away the chip shop plonk.
“I’d better not have any alcohol,” said Cleo. “I really
should not have drunk that thimble full, except that it might help neutralize
the chip fat.”
“We’ll make it coffee then, my love, with due respect to your
baby bump.”
“I don’t really have one yet,” said Cleo.
“But I do,” said Gary. “Expectant fathers have to watch their
alcohol levels, too!”
***
Someone must have warned Macpherson that he was in danger of
his business deals being revealed for what they were.
At five he left his office, taking with him a file containing
some quite prickly details about a contract leasing a stretch of promenade to
an Arab consortium. The deal was to be effected with the aid of massive bribes
to various members of the town council, including himself of course. They would
be approached separately to give each of them the impression that they were
working alone. This would be engineered with the administrative shrewdness of
Mr Macpherson, who was extremely adept at cooking the books after years of practice.
***
The only people to know about that particular deal were
supposedly those immediately involved. Macpherson was leading the pack and he
sensed that someone might want to destroy his hard work, so he was especially
wary, though he did not suspect anyone in particular. It wasn’t the first deal
of that kind. Discretion was essential. Everyone involved and likely to benefit
was aware of the danger.
Macpherson planned to quit as soon as his legacy came through
after the death of a very aged relative. But first he would use his official business connections to secure a good private deal
on a house or small farm well away from Frint-on-Sea, and then he would simply
take early retirement on health grounds. It was easy enough to get a doctor to
sign the necessary document.
Filled with foreboding that may have been triggered by
Llewellyn’s behaviour, Macpherson changed his mind about going home when
everyone else did, went back into his office and spent several hours making
precautionary phone calls and transferring non-documented funds to a Swiss bank
account that had been useful in the past. The project in hand between the town
and investors who were new on the scene and extremely generous was now fixed
and his cut was generous to a fault. At about 9 o’clock he was ready to go
home. The Town Hall was unoccupied except for the night porter.
***
Macpherson got into his car, realized he had left his mobile
phone in his office, and went to get it. He did not notice anything out of the
ordinary. He would enjoy a couple of drinks of the excellent whisky he kept in
an office cupboard and, being a law-abiding don’t drink and drive citizen, walk
home. He was more scrupulous about his drink and drive principles than about
the thou-shalt-not-steal concept. He had parked his car as usual where there
was no street lighting. He was not in a hurry. He paused to smoke a cigarette
before going into towards the office block He was also pernickety about
no-smoking signs.
Then there was an explosion. Someone had put a bomb under his
car and possibly detonated it by remote control if. Fortunately for Mr
Macpherson, the person responsible for that bomb had not seen him get out of
his car. Macpherson had escaped purely by chance. Some office windows were
shattered from the blast and neighbouring cars were damaged. Macpherson did not
look back. He would stroll into town without his mobile and get a drink
somewhere before going home. Fire officers were prevented from approaching for
some minutes as Macpherson’s car burnt out. They were also held back by the
fear that there might be a second bomb somewhere waiting to be detonated. When
they finally got to the car, they discovered that there was no one in it.
“I expect they’ll have another bash,” said one fire fighter
to another. “Pity about the nice car, though.”
“There’s briefcase on the front passenger seat. Fireproofed,
I see. We’d better take it with us before someone else does.”
“The driver must have forgotten to take it with him, or did
he have something else in mind when he left it?”
“Ask me another.”
“It’s locked.”
“Then someone will claim it.”
“The car numberplate’s readable.”
“So we could give it back privately. There’ll be a reward.”
“It’s worth a try.”
“That’s dishonest.”
“Pinching a kid’s breakfast box is dishonest. Keep it in
proportion.”
***
So Macpherson’s fears had not been a figment of his
imagination. His first thought was of the phone calls he should make.
Who had known he was working late? Someone must have seen him
leave his office. How else could the timing of the bomb detonation have been
controlled? The police would be forced to investigate, if only because the
tabloids would report the incident in full. Suspicion would first fall on the night
porter. Was he being well-paid for notifying someone that he had left the
building? That would exoplain that he was disconcerted when Macpherson returbed
shortly after leaving. By the time the police checked the town hall building, the
porter had left. The possibility that the bomb was meant only for Macpherson’s
car had to be considered, of course, but why blow up only Macpherson’s car? He
wasn’t the only one mixed up in the sleaze.
Macpherson knew that the explosion had been aimed at him
since it was his car that had been blown to smithereens while the cars of
colleagues were still parked while they persued other activities in town. He
was unlikely to admit that because questions would be asked as to why he should
be a target. He would have to keep a low profile.
***
Macpherson returned to the town hall after all, entered by
way of a rear fire door, and retrieved his mobile phone. There was a message on it, warning him of a
bomb. The police would have to decide if that message was sent before or after
the detonation. Macpherson left the Town
Hall unnoticed because a crowd of anxious onlookers had already formed. He
would skip the pub and go home. The police would discover whose car had been
damaged and phone him. He would feign surprise. He could order an official car
and hire a private bodyguard next morning. The town would pay for the car.
Bribes from the foreign entrepreneurs were generous and regular so paying for a
bodyguard was no problem.
But one thing worried Macpherson more than anything else. He
had left his briefcase in the car and he needed it. Not only that, but outsiders
should get their hands on it.
***
The patch of promenade now being leased was not the first.
Further down the promenade, the same entrepreneurs had built a lucrative casino
thanks to the land provided by Macpherson. Cobblethwaite, the Mayor, had
granted a licence in exchange for a clandestine cut of the profits. He could be
relied on to repeat the favour.
One hand was simply washing the other, he was quoted as
having said. It was in the interests of the town. Rates could be kept down.
Everyone would profit from the deal. Red tape was reserved on principle for
those who could not afford bribes. No one complained out loud because everyone
who had anything to say was sure to benefit from the deal one way or another. Cobblethwaite
did not mention his bribe. received over and above the donation to the town
building programme, of course. He had ideas for a big indoor swimming-pool and
a monument to his mayorship. It would be called ‘Cobblethwaite’s Big Swim’. Tenders
for further chunks of the promenade would include that one for that
swimming-pool. Cobblethwaite congratulated himself on his busness shrewdness.
***
Macpherson did not wait in vain for a phonecall to say his
briefcase was in safe hands. Did he want it back? At a price, he was told. How
much? Fifty thousand. He was given instructions for the exchange. It would go
through and everyone would be happy. Macpherson knew of a cop who would see the
exchange through and he had plenty of cash in his safe. Two firefighters fewer
was the price of his briefcase. Llewellyn could keep the change.
***
Cleo and Gary had not been back in their hotel room for more
than an hour when they heard the explosion. Cleo commented that everyone in the
town seemed to have an axe to grind, but knowing something and proving it is
not the same thing. A bomb was the last thing they expected. On the other hand,
doing deals with crooks is a dangerous game.
“Blast,” said Gary.
“Yes it was,” said Cleo, generating the pun. “Are we going to
investigate or stay here?”
“We won’t go anywhere unless you insist, Cleo. I’m really not
in the mood for police work now. I want to be with you.”
“I thought you’d be curious.”
“I am, but O’Reilly can cope and I can step in tomorrow if
necessary. It might be someone’s gas installation. It doesn’t have to be a
bomb.”
“Something tells me that it was, but we’ll find out soon
enough, no doubt.”
“Meanwhile, let’s carry on where we left off when we were so
rudely interrupted.”
“If you aren’t too tired, Gary.”
“I’m only tired of being a cop. I’m not tired of anything
else.”
“That’s OK then.”
***
But it wasn’t.
The phone rang. It was Brass.
“There’s been a bomb scare,” he reported.
“We heard something. It woke us.”
“Oh I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were in bed.”
“Use your imagination again, Brass.”
Brass scraped his throat.
“Well, Sir, the Town Clerk’s car has been blown up.”
“Was he in it?”
“Fortunately not.”
“Then good night!”
“Don’t you want to view the damage, Gary?”
“No. I think I should leave the bomb to O’Reilly and get on
with life before your phone call.”
“I understand, Sir.”
There was no mistaking the innuendo in Brass’s voice.
“You can report in detail tomorrow morning, Brass. Thanks for
phoning. Good night!”
“Yes Gary. And erm……sleep well.”
***
Brass rang off. You
don’t usually tell your future boss to sleep well, but he expected Gary to know
what he meant.
***
“That blast was a bomb after all,” said Gary.
“I thought so. I expect Brass wants you to go there.”
“He does,” said Gary.
“But you were about to get on with your life, I think I heard
you say.”
“Poor Brass. I think he was embarrassed. He told me to sleep
well.”
“He thinks he disturbed our sex life, Gary.”
“He did – but only for the duration of that phone call.”
“I’ll pick up the phone next time it rings.”
“It won’t. I’m going to pull the plug on it.”
***
The difference between that emotionally charged hotel night a
week or so earlier and this night in the same room at the same hotel was that though
they were more emotionally involved than ever, their relationship also seemed
to have existed forever. Gary could not believe that his waiting for Cleo was
at an end, and Cleo could not believe that she had thrown caution to the wind
and gone where her heart led her.
“Life’s good to us,” she said sometime in the early hours.
“Life’s perfect,” replied Gary. “You will marry me, won’t
you?”
“We’re courting and engaged. What are you nervous about? You
know how I feel about you.”
“I can’t believe it’s all happening.”
“Just come nearer and I’ll reassure you.”
“That’s an offer I can’t refuse,” said Gary.
“I’d be sad and more than a little surprised if you did.”
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