Sunday then Monday September 14
Sunday was devoted to walking on the beach in glorious
sunshine, revisiting the secret cove, and in the early evening to Cleo trying
her hand at bingo, instructed by Gary.
The search for Llewellyn was left to providence.
“Does a large percentage of the British think this is
entertainment?” Cleo remarked.
“It’s like bullfights to the Spanish,” said Gary. “National
sport.”
That morning, Gary had already cancelled his room at the
Grand Hotel and re-registered himself as Cleo’s partner. It no longer mattered
if Robert tried to find out where Cleo was. She had at last made it crystal clear
to Gary that she was no longer considering upholding a failed marriage. Robert would
have to admit that it was time to move on.
***
But the incident at the brothel had shocked Cleo. She had not
realized just how dangerous the situation could become. Gary had been obliged
to let her find out by experience, though even he was shocked by the speed at
which things had moved. His self-esteem was not helped by the escape of that
sergeant.
“I think we’ll have to ask Dorothy what she thinks about our exploits
beforehand in future,” said Gary, wrily. “I’m so sorry I put you into such a
dangerous situation.”
“The worst that could have happened was that I would be
forced to go upstairs with that revolting little sergeant, Gary. I’m not even
sure if it wouldn’t have been a better idea. I would have rendered him impotent
with one well-chosen blow.”
“The thought of you jumping into bed withat little creep was
enough to make my ilife-saving intervention justified.”
“Come on, Sweetheart. I would have let him undress, pretended
to get ready for the inevitable, then treated his groin to a knee-jerk. He
would never have touched me. I’d have seen to that.”
“Don’t ever do that to me, will you? You’re putting the fear
of God into me,” said Gary.
“I’m unlikely to mutilate the father of my children.”
“That’s a relief.”
***
After a bite to eat disguised as Sunday’s menu of the day,
the lovers sought the refuge of their hotel room and sank thankfully into one
another’s arms.
“You’re quite a bargain, I’d say,” said Gary.
“A what?”
“Fifty quid for a whole night.”
“I agree. Cheap at the price,” said Cleo. “But what about the
cash? Will you get it back?”
“Prepared,” said Gary. “A fake fifty quid
rolled round paper.“
“And that guy, Jake, fell for the ruse,” said Cleo.
“So how much will a whole life cost me?” said Gary.
“With or without freebies?”
“What kind of freebies?”
“Lights on or lights off. That kind of freebie.”
“And socks? Where are they, anyway?”
“Under the bed with the pralines,” said Cleo.
“So the cleaner has them now,” said Gary.
“I’m more sorry about the pralines,” said Cleo.
“Promise you won’t steal my duvet?”
“Not if you don’t steal mine.”
“I’m glad this one is wide enough for two.”
“We don’t need a duvet right now, Gary. I’m not planning to
sleep.”
“Neither am I.”
***
Gary, who had never cared what Robert thought or wanted, did
not want that night to end, and neither did Cleo, who no longer cared what
Robert thought or wanted, either. At some point in the early hours they had finally
fallen asleep entwined in one another arms. A Church bell woke them chiming a
wonky tune announcing that it was going
to be a strange sort of Monday, though how unpredictable a day can be
was not yet clear to Cleo and Gary, whose first thought was of their own mutual
desire for one another and first action was a confirmation of what they like to
call their ‘oneness’.
***
But the night had to end. Gary knew he had to deal with Jake
as soon as possible. Had he been one of Ivy’s lovers? Had she been naïve enough
to give him responsibility for some of the business? Had he killed her to get
at the rest?
Gary was sure that Jake was Ivy’s killer. Who else would have
a motive to beat his? Cleo was not so sure. Ivy had not appeared weak and easy
to fool, but she was a woman past her prime, and such women are very often
flattered by the attentions of younger men, and pay a high price for a taste of
being young again.
***
Breakfast was almost a repeat of the previous day, and
relieved by the amusing patter Cleo and Gary exchanged.
“I’m younger than you, Cleo,” Gary said. “I hope you aren’t
one of those women.”
“I’d hate to think that our love was based on my looking for
a younger man. In that case I’ll have to look further, since you are only slightly
younger than me!”
“I’d hate to be in love with you because you are older and
wiser, Cleo.”
“I’m relieved to hear that, Gary.”
“So you will marry me, despite my youth?”
“Will you marry me despite my age?”
“I think we’ll reach an agreement,” said Gary, “ but let’s get
Ivy’s security guy sorted out first.”
“We should talk to Brass before we do anything else,” said
Cleo.
“Right as usual, GeeGee.”
“Yes, Mister Cop.”
“Don’t you mean Sweetheart?
“Do I?”
***-
At Frint-on-Sea police
station, Gary described the incident at the brothel to Brass. Not surprisingly,
Brass was astonished at Sergeant Llewellyn’s reaction. Surely running away was a sign of
guilt? Brass did not know what his superior was up to, but staying away from
work straight after a murder and running away from a brothel made him appear
guilty even if he wasn’t. On the other hand, when had Sergeant Llewellyn ever
done anything that was not to his advantage? Brass did not believe that the
sergeant was capable of murder, however. He thought he ran for it so as not to
be found in the brothel.
***
Xxxxx get them
back home!!!!!
Jake would probably be charged with involvement in
Ivy’s killing. At his questioning, he declined to say anything, thus making
Gary’s initial questioning a non-event. Once the coroner had issued the
inevitable verdict on Ivy’s death, Jake would appear before a magistrate and be
sent to jail to await trial. There was no denying that he had a strong motive.
***
Although Brass had to admit that Ivy had been more friend
than fiend to Sergeant Llewellyn, he did not know what had been going on and did
not even want to. Brass did not think that the sergeant could have murdered Ivy
Frobisher because he was squeamish and cowardly. Running away was more his
style, as his flight from the brothel confirmed.
***
A senior police inspector of the region, an overworked
officer going by the title of Detective Inspector Patrick O’Reilly, had been
called in from the local HQ and was willing to cooperate with Gary. The
activities of Jake, Dr Smith and Llewellyn would have to be investigated
thoroughly and without delay. O’Reilly was enthusiastic, and relieved that Gary
was the decision-maker, as befitted his higher rank. Gary insisted that hedid
not want to investigate the murder of the young woman at that B & B
establishment, unless expressly invited to join in. He would have to get back
to his job at Middlethumpton HQ as soon as possible and work from there over
the internet or by phone on the cases in which he was already involved.
“That’s OK by me. My team needs the challenge of a lover-boy
killing,” O’Reilly said. “They are usually busy solving slot-machine robberies
and emptying pubs of belligerent drunks. They’ll be quite happy to lay the
lover-boy ghost. After all, some are fathers of teenage girls.”
“Do you suspect anyone, O’Reilly?”
“We’ve been keeping tracks on one or two of those guys,” he
said. “But they are wily. They don’t leave evidence and the girls won’t say
anything because they are under the impression that they are enjoying their
first love affair. Prostituting themselves to help the finances of these
unemployed and certainly work-shy lover-boys is just part of it. They do not
know that the louts are supported by several girls, each one thinking she is
the only one.”
“I hear that the Bed and Breakfast establishment lets rooms
on an hourly basis,” Gary said.
“We haven’t been able to prove that conclusively because no one
says anything.”
“Couldn’t you smuggle in a policewoman as a cleaner or cook?”
“No luck there. It’s a family business and they are as thick
as thieves,” said O’Reilly.
“I suppose hauling in the known lover-boys will be the first
move then,” said Gary.
“At least one has blood on his hands, Gary, I’m sure of that.
But they keep a low profile, cover and lie for one another, and know that we
need concrete evidence before we can pluck them off the streets. Those chits of
girls they send out soliciting are loyal and think they are fostering their affairs
of the heart.”
“I have a daughter who’s nearly a teenager,” said Gary.
“I lost my daughter to a lover-boy or some other disreputable
lout, Gary,” said O’Reilly. “The bastard killed her and left her body on the
beach to be swept away by the tide. But coastal patrol got there first. That
was two years ago. They never caught the killer, so I’m especially interested
in laying the handwork of those pimps and bastards.”
Gary went over to O’Reilly and put his arms round him. He
could feel the deep sobs his colleague was trying to master.
“Let go, O’Reilly. I know some things go too deep for tears,
but if you can shed them, you will feel better. Have a talk with my wife. She
is wonderful at comforting people in distress. I know that. I have good reason
to.”
O’Reilly blew his nose and apologised for being emotional.
“I don’t usually break down,” he said.
“I’m glad you did,” said Gary. “But you are not to blame,
O’Reilly. We cops spend our lives protecting people from the monsters of
society, but we can’t protect them all. Your daughter fell victim to evil. The
only way to redress your grief is to carry on doing a good job.”
“You’re right, of course,” said O’Reilly. “For the sake of my
little girl I’ll carry on.”
After a while, Gary said gently “What can we do about Brass? He’s
out on a limb at that police station and his worried that his children will get
into the wrong company.”
“I’ll send in reinforcements,” O’Reilly promised. “I didn’t
realize how bad the situation still is. You don’t suspect Brass of anything, do
you, Mr Hurley?”
“No, but he won’t be able to continue in that little offshoot
of your station on his own much longer and I don’t know how much influence
Sergeant Llewellyn had on him.”
“How do you suggest we deal with the situation?”
“Send him to me, O’Reilly. He’s out of harm’s way in
Middlethumpton.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“I have to drive back later today. We can discuss that move and
the various cases over the phone,” said Gary.
“Your lady friend…” O’Reilly started.
“Cleo is my wife,” said Gary. “and a first class
psychologist. I hope you did not draw the wrong conclusions, O’Reilly.”
“No, of course not,” replied O’Reilly, embarrassed. “I’m glad
you have such a beautiful wife.”
“So am I,” said Gary.
“Have a good journey home, then. See you soon.”
“Will you talk to Cleo next time we are here, or visit us at
Middlethumton HQ.”
“Yes, I will. Thanks.”
“And drop the formality. I’m Gary to my friends.”
“I’m Pat, Gary. Thanks for your understanding.”
“Thanks for your support, Pat.”
***
Gary wondered about O’Reilly. He was an emotional wreck, he
thought. Burnout or simply delayed shock or trauma? Would treatment in a clinic
be the best solution? Gary had not even asked him about his wife. He had a lot
to learn about dealing with people, but he would learn. He wanted to. He had a
good teacher. He seriously wanted to be worth something and be able to do more
than play the game of cops and robbers.
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