I matched his rhythm with my own, my legs wrapped around that hard muscular back, meeting each thrust, my desire matching his. This was no slow easy lovemaking. This was hard rampant lust, a desperate wanton need that demanded satisfaction.
When he finally ejaculated, slamming hard into me with one final thrust, open-mouthed and roaring, my own release was not far behind. As he pulled himself free, I wrapped a fist around my shaft and, in a few quick strokes, brought myself off, pumping a thick stream of ejaculate onto my chest.
He leaned back on his haunches, reached down and smeared the semen down my chest. I groaned. Every nerve in my body was on fire and his hand burned my flesh. Slowly, the fire subsided, and I rolled over onto my side. He laid himself down beside me, his body, warm and damp with sweat, pressed against mine.
We stayed there without moving or speaking for several minutes, with just the sound of our breathing and the beat of his heart against my back, his arms wrapped around me.
Finally, I turned over, and folded an arm around his chest. “See what you’ve been missing?”
He pressed his lips to my forehead. “It was well worth the wait.”
I hesitated, and then, “We are okay aren’t we?”
A long audible sigh. “Why do you need to ask that?”
“I don’t know. After all that happened - you know - I suppose I’m still feeling insecure.”
“I told you we needed to find a way to make this work. I haven’t changed my mind.”
“I hear you. I just need to convince myself.”
“Well try harder.” There was warmth in his voice.
Why did I still doubt him? Why couldn’t I believe him?
“It’s just that you’ve been so preoccupied since I got back and I wasn’t sure why.”
He drew in a deep breath, paused before answering, and then, “There really is nothing for you to worry about, okay? It’s all good.”
Before he could say any more, he was cut off by the harsh insistent jangle of his mobile. He groaned, rolled over, and stretched down to pick up his jeans from where he discarded them at the side of the bed. He retrieved his mobile from the pocket, sat up, and said, “Sorry, I have to take this. It’s from the station.”
There was a long silence punctuated by his occasional grunt down the phone and then, “I was in the neighbourhood anyway. I… I had some business in town.” He looked down at me and winked, a wide grin on his face. “I should be with you in about fifteen minutes.”
Grumbling, I said, “I thought this was supposed to be your day off.”
He finished his call, leaned down and brushed his lips against mine. “Policemen don’t get days off.”
He reached down and picked up his briefs from the floor. “And neither do you,” he said, “so get dressed. Jenna’s flatmate’s on her way to the station. And she’s pointing the finger at Marcus Farrow for Jenna’s murder. We need to be on our way.”
I rolled out of bed and gathered my clothes from the floor. “Just as well you had some business in town then, wasn’t it?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“I don’t get it. Why did she say nothing before?”
We were on our way to the station in Nathan’s Astra, and I was trying to understand why new information implicating Marcus Farrow in Jenna’s murder had only just come to light.
Nathan took the turn from Woodside into the High Street and headed towards the station at the far end. “Jenna’s flatmate was out of town. We weren’t able to track her down until now - her name’s Umaru Yaradua, by the way. She’s a Nurse at Charwell General - so it’s the earliest chance we’ve had to interview her.”
“And what does Marcus Farrow have to do with this?” I was bewildered. I’d formed my own theory about what was happening and Marcus Farrow’s involvement didn’t fit well with my ideas.
“Farrow called on Jenna the day before she was killed. They had a violent argument. Umaru heard it from the next room.”
“What was that all about?”
Nathan turned into the station car park and pulled over into his bay. “That’s what we’re going to find out.” He was out of the car and heading towards the station door before I could interrogate him further. I hurried after him and followed him through to Lowe’s office.
Greetings out of the way, we settled down in front of the monitor.
Miles Barber was already in place facing a nervous-looking woman on the other side of the desk. Umaru Yaradua was slender, probably in her mid-thirties, dressed in a plain sandy-coloured shift which accentuated her dark skin. The muted tones of her outfit were in sharp contrast to the brightly coloured curtain of beads woven into her black tightly braided hair.
Miles Barber was an experienced interviewer but, despite his best efforts to put her at ease, she sat stiffly upright in her chair, clutching a grey leather shoulder bag in her lap, and answering all his attempts at small-talk with tight-lipped monosyllabic responses.
Once the interview was underway, he switched on the recorder that sat between them on the desk, explained the procedure to her and guided her around to her statement. “You told me earlier,” he said, “that you witnessed an altercation between Jenna and Marcus Farrow. For the record, would you state where and when that took place, and how you were personally involved.”
Umaru clutched her bag even more tightly and shuffled uneasily in her seat. “I don’t want to get into trouble. That man isn’t the sort to get on the wrong side of.”
“As long as you give a full and accurate description of what happened, you have nothing to worry about.”
Umaru appeared to consider this for a moment and said, “They were having an affair.” She blurted out the words in a sudden rush and relaxed back into her chair as though a heavy load had been lifted from her mind. “I was the only other one who knew.”
Constable Barber acknowledged this disclosure and said, “So if you could go through the events of…” He ran a finger down the open file in front of him and looked up again. “…the evening of the 15th. That would be two days ago.”
Umaru placed her bag on the floor at her side and ran a smoothing hand down her lap. “He came round after dinner. I was in my bedroom packing a case. I was staying with friends overnight and getting ready to leave. Jenna let him in.”
“You’re referring here to Marcus Farrow?”
Umaru nodded. “He was in a bad mood.” She explained how, on hearing raised voices, she had eavesdropped on the exchange between Farrow and her flatmate. Farrow had warned Jenna not to say anything about them. “He threatened her. Said it would be the worse for her if she told anyone.”
“How long had they been in this relationship?”
She snorted. “I wouldn’t have called it a relationship exactly. To him, she was just a convenience. Someone to use for his own gratification when it suited him.” Umaru was becoming increasingly more confident, more willing to pass comment on her friend’s affair. “It was already over though. She kept hoping he’d leave his wife for her. But any fool could see that was never going to happen. She finally got wise to him and finished it.”
“Is that what the row was about? Because she brought the relationship to an end?”
Umaru shook her head. “No. I didn’t really understand what he was saying. Something about losing his home if it got out about them.” She related how the argument had finally ended when Farrow stormed out the flat, leaving Jenna in tears.
Brady questioned her some more about specific points of interest such as when the relationship had ended, how Farrow had taken it, and if they were in the habit of arguing, before bringing the interview to a close.
Lowe reached over his desk and turned off the monitor. Leaning back, he said, “I can understand Farrow wanting to keep his affair private. But murder? It doesn’t make sense.”
I said, “There’s a very good reason. One that’s especially pertinent at the present time.”
Nathan and Lowe waited in silence for an explanation. I continued,
“It was something Carol Farrow said to Karen the other day. She’d managed to persuade her father-in-law to give Marcus a second chance. Otherwise, if John Farrow kicked his son out, and cut him off without a penny, she would suffer too.
“Always presuming she intended to stay with her husband,” Lowe said.
Nathan responded. “For all his faults, she seems to be sticking by him. God knows why.” He nodded towards me. “I see where you’re going with this.”
I continued. “If Carol Farrow found out about the affair, it may well have been the final straw, the end of their marriage.”
Nathan interrupted. “And John Farrow would no longer have a reason to support his son in order to protect his daughter-in-law.”
Lowe said, “And that would be a good enough reason to kill Jenna.” That seemed to clinch it for him; Marcus Farrow was a murderer. “And we already know he threatened Candy Bayliss. Seems pretty conclusive to me.” He leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head, a look of grim satisfaction on his face. “We’ll bring him in for questioning.”
Sometimes, the obvious answer prevents us from seeking other solutions. And Lowe had a habit of going for the obvious to the exclusion of anything else.
“I’m still not so sure he’s your man,” I said. “Yes, he’s belligerent and aggressive, but he’s also weak and spineless. Everything I’ve seen about this guy, tells me he’s all mouth, not capable of this kind of act.”
Nathan took my reservations on board but said, “Even so, we’ll have to bring him in again. He has some explaining to do.”
I couldn’t argue with that but I still held to my own theory about the murders. Before I said anything, though, I needed to check out some of the details.
Later, Nathan drove me back to Woodside Cottage. He must have sensed my mind was elsewhere. “You’re very quiet?” he said, “Something wrong?”
“I was just mulling over some possibilities. Other motives for the murders.
“Let’s hear it then.”
By now we’d reached the cottage. He pulled over to the kerb and switched off the engine.
As I unclipped my seatbelt, I said, “Marcus Farrow isn’t the only one connected to both victims. So is Rusty. And it occurs to me that someone else has a good reason to kill anyone connected to him.”
“Go on, I’m listening.”
“The shooting at the convenience store. The victim would probably have had close friends or family. Suppose one of them is taking their revenge.”
“How would that work?”
“An eye for an eye. If the killer had lost someone close, he may be targeting anyone close to Rusty.”
Nathan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he thought this over.
“And besides,” I continued, “the very first murder, Tammy Page, seems to have been mistaken identity. Which means it would be someone who didn’t know Candy Bayliss. So that would put Farrow in the clear.”
He accepted the point and made a note to check the details of the store robbery and make some enquiries of the victim of the shooting. “I’ll let you know how it goes,” he said.
“And I’d like to check through the files on the current investigation again. See if there’s anything I’m missing.”
Nathan reminded me that Marcus Farrow was being brought in for questioning again and suggested I come down to the station the next day to sit in on the interview and check through the files at the same time. We said our goodbyes, agreeing to meet up the following day.
I opened the car door and was about to step out when Nathan clasped a restraining hand on my arm. “I’m going to step up the patrols here, just to be on the safe side.”
“I’m sure Rusty can look after himself,” I said.
“It’s not him I’m worried about.” He sounded concerned. “Candy and Jenna weren’t the only ones close to Rusty. If your theory is correct - and I’m hoping it isn’t - you’re a target too.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I kept a wary eye on Rusty the following morning, trying to judge his mood.
If I was to pursue my theory about the murders, I would need details about the robbery shooting; more specifically about the victim and his background and relationships. And one of the best sources might well be Rusty. But I didn’t want to burden him while he was still feeling raw about Jenna’s murder.
Rusty had an appetite to match Nathan’s, so I cooked us both a hearty fried breakfast of bacon, eggs and sausages with all the usual trimmings of beans, mushrooms and fried bread. How those two could put away the mountains of food they did and stay in shape was one of those eternal mysteries of the universe.
I slid an overburdened plate before him on the table and was pleased to see him attack it with gusto. One thing was for sure, he hadn’t lost his appetite.
From my seat at the other side of the table, I asked about the previous day’s tour of the town and how they had fared.
He swallowed a piece of bacon, shrugged, and said, “We didn’t have any luck. Never thought we would. I was just glad of something to do so I didn’t feel useless.”
That was a good sign. It encouraged me to ask for his help. While I toyed with the food in front of me, I talked him through my suppositions about the murders and asked him for details about the victim.
He chewed thoughtfully for a few moments, and said, “I wasn’t part of it, remember? Not directly. I was outside in the getaway car when it happened.”
“Sure, but details must have come out during the investigation.”
Rusty put down his knife and fork and stared at his plate in silence. He looked up again and said, “To be honest, I tried not to think about it. About the guy, I mean. It’s like the more I thought about it, the more real it seemed.”
I nodded. “I get that. You were trying to depersonalise him, distance yourself from what happened.”
“He was getting on a bit. I know that. A widower, I think. But that’s all I know for sure. The papers were full of it, so you shouldn’t have a problem getting what you want.”
He picked up his cutlery again and was about to carve up a sausage when a small gasp escaped his lips. He stared up at me, wide eyed and said, “If you’re right, won’t that make you a target?”
“The Chief has already pointed out that depressing fact to me.”
He dropped the cutlery onto his plate where it fell with a clatter and swung his chair away from the table. “This is not good, Mikey.”
His breathing was heavy and laboured. “It didn’t seem so bad when I thought I was the only target. But not this.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I think it might be best if I moved out.”
“That’s just dumb. We’re both well protected here. We just have to be careful.”
“I’m not sure we should risk it, Mikey. I don’t want any more deaths on my conscience.”
I set out to persuade him that moving out wouldn’t solve anything. But only after a protracted heated exchange did I get him to accept my arguments, albeit begrudgingly. He still had his misgivings but, for the moment, he was prepared to go along with the status quo.
Although I did my best to downplay his concerns, I wasn’t totally blasé about the possible consequences of being Rusty’s friend. I’d taken to being extra vigilant when out and about, keeping watch for any suspicious activity. And so, when later I left for my meeting with Nathan, I scanned the neighbourhood from the doorstep.
Facing the cottage was a low stone wall bordering a sharp drop on the other side to an old abandoned railway siding. So there was little likelihood of a threat from that direction. And the road in both directions was long and straight with clear views into the distance.
As I crossed over to the Elan, a police patrol car cruised slowly past, and I waved to the constable at the wheel, grateful for the added protection.
At the station, I had to stand up to pressure from Nathan to move out of Woodside Cottage. He had the same concerns as Rusty and must have been fretting about it overnight.
I protested that it was unnecessary, but he was insistent. “It would make more sense to move into my place. It’s much too isolated where you are now.”
“It makes no sense at all. You spend most of your days here at the moment and at least I have protection where I am.”
“Why do you have to be so difficult?”
“Look, the only viable threat at the cottage is from the woods behind the house. And it’s protected by a high wall and an alarm system. It’s much safer. Stop worrying, will you?”
“Of course I’m going to worry.” He muttered something unintelligible under his breath as we entered Lowe’s office.
“Your resources are stretched enough as it is. So long as Rusty and I are in the same place, you can keep surveillance on both of us at the same time.” I shot him a sideways glance. “Unless you’d like Rusty to move into your place too?”
His expression told me all I needed to know. “Thought as much.”
He dropped the subject and turned his attention to Lowe. “Let me know when Farrow gets here.” He left without another word.
Lowe watched him go and, once he’d closed the door behind him and was out of earshot, said, “So what’s with you two? Lovers’ tiff?” He grinned.
I snorted and told him about our disagreement.
Lowe said, “Maybe he has a point.”
Exasperated, I exhaled loudly.
He took the hint, changed the subject, and pointed to the other desk, still grinning. “The files you wanted are over there,” he said and turned back to the report he’d been writing before Nathan and I had interrupted him.
I settled myself at the desk and we both worked in silence. I was soon absorbed in my task, reading through the various reports and statements. But I was having a hard time accepting some of the findings. They didn’t ring true. At least, not to me.
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