She was alone in his bed but she could hear the sound of him moving around the bathroom. Eventually, he emerged, a pair of shorts hugging his waist and thighs, the only thing between him and indecency.
One look at his face told her everything she needed to know about his state of mind. He was grim, disturbed, and she understood at once.
“Becky?”
He sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’m sorry, Sam. Last night, I… I just feel like it shouldn’t have happened.”
“It did, and I’m not complaining, but I think I understand. You feel guilty?”
He nodded. “It’s as if I’m betraying her. Christ, she’s been dead less than a month.”
Sam sat up and the duvet fell from her breasts. With an embarrassed smile, she lifted it up again. “Wes, as long as you remember her, keep her memory in your heart and mind, you will never betray her. Somewhere along the line, you’ll meet someone and settle down but Becky will always be there, and she will always have that tiny corner of you.” She sighed. “What happened last night was a reaction to yesterday.” Another blush came to her cheeks. “It was my first time since… well, since Don. It was good. It was brilliant, but essentially, it was a shag... well, two, really. I’m not placing any great significance on it. I don’t see it as the start of a great love affair, but given time, it could be the ignition key.”
He kissed her again and crossed the room to the wardrobe, from which he took a pair of jeans and a cable stitch jumper. Returning to the bed to begin dressing, he blatantly and deliberately changed the subject.
“When do you leave for Landshaven?”
Sam rolled from the bed, and with her back to him, pulled on her underwear. “Assuming Iris still wants me, I have to be over there by the beginning of April. I officially take up my post on the fifteenth, but I need to find somewhere to live. I’m too old, too independent to be crashing in a police house.”
She put on her bra, hooked it up, and then came around the bed to sit alongside him. She took his hand and played with the powerful fingers, recalling how they had driven her to wild heights the previous night.
“Why don’t you come with me?” She hurried on to modify her question. “I don’t mean as a couple. It would take time for us to get to know each other properly, so it’s not as if I’m talking of a relationship. I’m thinking of you. What is there for you in Howley now? A shed load of bad memories and one horrifying nightmare. You’re good at your job. You’re the best. You can still manage your police work from there, it won’t take you long to build up your client base, and you never know, Landshaven college might have a vacancy for a business motivation specialist.”
In response he gave a humorous grunt. “It’s not that simple, is it? I’ll be selling Moor Heights Lane. I couldn’t bear to live there again. So, yes, I need somewhere else to live. But I have responsibilities to Howley College. Three months’ notice for a start off. That takes me to the end of the academic year. You go there in under a month. How do you know that between now and me turning up, you won’t meet someone else? And the last thing you need when you’re starting out on a new relationship, is some pain in the butt friend from way back when.”
“All right. Promise me you’ll think about it.”
He pecked her on the cheek, and held his hand to his temple. “Scouts’ honour.”
March 30
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Under the name of Bruno Wrigley, the Anagramist was charged with six counts of murder, two counts of attempted murder, and one charge of abduction. Despite his refusal to say anything (usually on the instructions of the duty solicitor) he was charged, and appeared before the local magistrates, where he was remanded in custody to await trial at a future date.
In an abrasive, one-sided telephone call, DCC Iris Mullins ordered Chief Superintendent Lumsden to drop all complaints against West Drake, and despite Drake’s refusal to deal with the media, he was nevertheless lauded as a hero.
The intervening three weeks had seen Drake and Sam relaxed and each other’s company. They spent occasional nights together, and Drake remained as philosophical about their intermittent indulgence as she was.
With his wounds fully healed, he returned to his duties at the college where he was once again given a hero’s welcome, much to his annoyance. On his first day back, he requested an interview with Quentin at which he gave the necessary three months’ notice. Despite the principal’s fierce rearguard argument, he refused to change his mind. At the end of the academic year, mid-July, he would cease to be an employee of Howley College.
Within a week of the confrontation with Wrigley, the estate agent’s boards went up outside 196 Moor Heights Lane. Drake had employed a local contractor to clean up the place, and after taking his personal items, he employed a removal company to get rid of the furniture, all of which he sold for a pittance. The estate agent was only too aware of Becky’s murder, but cautiously neglected to mention it to potential buyers, and as the month drew to its close, there had been several enquiries, and one firm bid, which Drake accepted right away.
The weather showed no sign of improvement when he carried Sam’s luggage out to her car. The skies were still leaden, rain persisted, and in common with most of the country, they were praying for summer to turn up.
At times during the intervening three weeks, Sam had repeated her request for him to join her in Landshaven, but even after he put in his resignation, he refused to commit himself and eventually, she gave up asking.
But he left her with a little hope. “You will see me again. I will make the trip to Landshaven occasionally, and I’ll let you know in advance, and I hope you’ll reserve a table for those visits at your favourite restaurant.”
She agreed, and with the clock reading ten a.m., she walked reluctantly from the threshold of Bradford Hill Farm, opened the door of her Vauxhall saloon, and turned to kiss him one last time.
“Goodbye, Wes.”
He returned the case. “Not goodbye. It’s too final.”
“What then?”
“Au revoir, auf wiedersehen, ciao, adios?” He sighed. “Why is it that other languages have these ways of saying bye for now which is so much better than ours?”
She chuckled. “The British stiff upper lip. The best we can offer is toodle-oo, pip-pip, cheerio, BFN.”
With a final kiss, she climbed into the car, and started the engine. She closed the door, slid the transmission in, knocked off the handbrake and with a wave, drove away.
And Drake could only stand and watch with a heavy heart.
THE END
By the same author:
The STAC Mystery series:
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#2 The I-Spy Murders
#3 A Halloween Homicide
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#6 My Deadly Valentine
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