It was a sobering thought, and as they made their way to the bathroom to clean themselves up then climb into bed, Matt snuggling behind Aaron, he laughed at their position and recalled the ‘how many spoons of sauce?’ question from earlier.
“What’s so funny?” Aaron asked, voice already coated with sleep.
“Just thinking that the will is there but the execution is lacking.”
“What are you on about?”
Matt kissed Aaron’s shoulder. “We only managed one spoon of sauce.”
“If you just give me an hour or so of sleep, you can have the other ones after I wake up,” Aaron said in more of a mumble than clear speech.
“You’re all right. One spoonful is enough these days.”
Aaron’s breathing evened out. Matt synced his with the heavy inhales and exhales, and soon the drag of sleep began to pull him under. His last thought before finally drifting off was how lucky he was. Despite what he did for a living, despite the ghosts of his past, his life was pretty damn good.
Epilogue
Robby sat beside his ma in a classroom. He’d thought it would feel weird, going to college with her, but it didn’t. They’d become friends like they used to be, sharing their thoughts and dreams, talking about everything under the sun. It was inevitable they would—after all, they only knew each other in the new town where they’d been placed. But at last, Robby knew a bit more about the woman who had only ever been ‘Just Ma’.
She’d had dreams of being someone, of excelling in a career and being a go-getter. Then she’d met his dad, and all that had gone flying out of the window. Love had consumed everything about her, squashing her dreams between its finger and thumb until they had been as flat as a pancake and insignificant. A new dream had been born in its place with the arrival of Robby, and she’d concentrated on him and being the best mother and housewife she could be.
It hadn’t been enough. Not for his dad and not for her. Dad had developed that roving eye, while Ma had suffered in silence. Now, though…now she chattered excitedly about meeting their tutor and learning as much as she could. She’d joined him in his dream, to become a plumber. All right, perhaps it would be seen as an unconventional choice for a woman of her age, but she didn’t care. The options lady had tried to steer Ma into learning hairdressing or secretarial work, but Ma had been adamant.
“No,” she’d said. “I want to be a plumber with my son.”
He smiled at her now, full of pride. How far they’d come in just two short weeks. Their new house was a step up from the old. It had a gleaming kitchen with a working microwave supplied by the landlord. Robby had scrubbed it off his present list and replaced it with some earrings, which she’d worn every day since he’d handed them to her. Dolly shoes with butterflies on them covered her feet, and this morning she’d sipped her tea from one of the cups he’d purchased in B & M Bargains.
Such simple gifts, but man, Ma had beamed when she’d opened them.
Life was looking up.
While he waited for the tutor to arrive, he stared at the whiteboard at the front of the classroom and marveled at how he’d thought, when back in the city, that life there had been all they’d ever experience. That nothing would ever get better and they’d just have to make the best of what they had. Who knew that just by moving a couple of hundred miles up north that things would be viewed with such a different perspective? The worry had sloughed off him, and everything had the brightness of sunshine about it.
The door swung open and a young woman entered. He was glad about that. Ma wouldn’t be the only female in a male-dominated class after all. The woman headed for the tutor’s desk, and he wondered if she was about to place that sheaf of papers on it, her studies that needed marking, perhaps? She did place them there, but then she took a seat behind the desk and Robby realized she must be the bloody tutor.
Oh. To have a crush on her wasn’t good, but already the first stirrings of attraction swirled inside him. She glanced up and spotted him and Ma, and her smile had him holding his breath and trying to hide his bandaged hands.
“Ah, Steven and Louise Fellows?” she asked.
Robby nodded. Sodding weird having a new name, but he’d get used to it at some point.
“Lovely to have you here.” She walked over, her heels clicking on the floor. Her blonde hair seemed to glitter beneath the strip lights. In front of their shared desk, she held out her hand to Ma. “Fantastic to see another woman here. You have no idea how much stick I get being a plumbing tutor.”
“I can imagine,” Ma said.
They continued to talk. Robby had no idea what they said. He was too busy staring and dreaming.
Yeah, life was definitely looking up.
The sand was hot on the soles of Matt’s feet as he sat on the end of a sunbed facing the ocean. It was too hot, but if he complained, it would make him sound ungrateful to be here. He’d promised himself not to gripe about anything while they were away. Changing the habit of a lifetime would be a tad difficult, but he’d given it a good go so far, and oddly, it had made a big difference to how he felt. Things seemed better—less angst-laden, less of a weight on his shoulders.
Aaron was asleep on a lounger beside him, his body covered in some sort of cream that made him look as though he’d been oiled up ready for a bodybuilding competition. He’d caught the sun already, after only a week, his skin a deep brown compared to Matt’s just-about-tanned hue. How Aaron managed to snooze all day and also sleep through the night was a mystery. Matt hadn’t been able to get off the city clock yet. Maybe next week he’d power down enough to relax more. Or maybe, as had happened in the past, he’d start to fully relax a couple of days before he was due to return to work.
There’s another negative thought.
He switched it off and concentrated on watching people dashing in and out of the waves. They seemed so carefree, well able to throw off the cape of their usual life as soon as they’d hit foreign shores. He longed to be that type of person, one who could stop caring so much about things going on when he wasn’t around to supervise them or be in the midst of them.
If I gave myself permission, I could be like them if I wanted.
He wasn’t sure how he’d manage it, but if he tried hard enough…
Aaron stirred and turned his head to face Matt. Without being able to see those eyes behind Aaron’s sunglasses, Matt couldn’t gauge what mood Aaron had woken up in.
“All right, sexy?” Aaron said.
Matt laughed. “Still got shit in your eyes, then.”
“Don’t.”
“Sorry.” Another thing Matt had to stop doing. Putting himself down. “Okay, let’s say I am sexy. What do you want to do with this abundance of sexiness?”
That had sounded so stupid. So alien coming out of his mouth. But Aaron didn’t seem to think so, going by the wide smile he produced.
“That’s better.” Aaron sat up and stretched. “I say we should take your sexiness down to the water and have a swim, then go to the bar, get a cocktail—because it’s cocktail time somewhere in the world—then find a nice place to have some lunch.”
It really was that simple. They had nothing pressing happening. They could do whatever they pleased, whenever they wanted. It was difficult for Matt to get his head around that. Living on a tight schedule all the time back in the city meant the switch from full-on work mode to lounging about was taking a bit of time to get used to.
“Right.” Matt got up. “Let’s do this holiday thing.”
Aaron cocked his head. Took off his sunglasses. “You’re seriously ready to let your hair down now?”
Matt nodded. “Come on. I’ll race you to the water.”
Without waiting for a response, he legged it down the beach, dodging sunbathers and hoping he didn’t kick back any sand onto them as he sped past. And somewhere on that short journey from sunbed to the ocean’s edge, every burden that plagued Matt disappeared. He felt a freedom like he hadn’t felt in years and, turning to
look over his shoulder, he spotted Aaron rushing toward him.
Aaron was all he saw.
Aaron was all he needed.
Aaron was his life. Not the cases, not the criminals.
Just Aaron.
Also available from Pride Publishing:
Empathy for a Killer
Sarah Masters
Excerpt
Chapter One
Nine a.m., and Burgess stood at the mouth of the alley, cursing the bloody cold weather and wishing he was anywhere but here. Hands deep in his coat pockets, he contemplated the task ahead, his breath chundering out in staccato gray puffs. It wasn’t every morning he was called out to take a look at a body—dumped during the night, most likely—but it was something he wished he wasn’t doing. Still, the poor woman sprawled out naked a few yards ahead beneath a white forensics tent had been discovered by a refuse collector about an hour ago. It wasn’t her fault the call had come in to Burgess.
I expect Shaw was called, too, and he ignored it like he’s ignored me. Fucker.
He sighed, not wanting to go inside the tent yet, thinking to wait for the on-scene medical examiner to finish her assessment. Marlene was a decent sort, lovely woman, single, so people thought, although he knew better. She was a good friend of his and told him some of her secrets. Like the fact she was shagging the chief.
Large industrial floor-standing torches lit the scene. So early on a winter morning meant piss-poor visibility in a narrow alley like this, and with the storm clouds sluggishly drifting, it was darker than usual. Uneven, rectangular cobblestones glittered with a thick frost that had come during the night, except where footprints marred them and where the heat from the torchlights had burned it away. Two wheelie bins stood against the right-hand wall next to the tent, black refuse sacks bulging out of one of them. A stack of cardboard crates with pictures of fruit on their sides looked about to topple over, undoubtedly put out by the grocer from the row of shops in the street behind Burgess. The scent of washing detergent drifted by—Letty’s Launderette was already open for business, then.
Marlene, her body covered in a white forensics suit, the hood concealing her short blonde hair, hunched over the victim.
While she worked, Burgess waited for someone to bring him a suit so he could join her and find out a little of what was going on. If Burgess had been his normally astute self he’d have put a new stack of protective gear in his car boot, but he’d forgotten to top them up when he’d used the last one the other day. Couldn’t be at the peak of his game all the time, could he, what with all that paperwork sitting on his desk and a cold case continually plaguing his mind. And with Shaw acting a lazy, inconsiderate dick—not his usual character, either—and annoying the hell out of Burgess in the process… Now there was this case to add to everything else, and once again, guilt attacked him for thinking he could really have done without a new murder inquiry on his plate.
If that’s what this is.
Who was he trying to kid? Of course it was murder. Why else would a naked woman be on her back in an alley? Taking a fucking rest? Having a good old nap?
Shit.
He was dying for a cigarette. Scrap that. The urge to smoke hadn’t been present at all since he’d finally given up a year ago. What he was dying for was something to take the edge off his nerves. A good screw would deal with that, but he didn’t have the time. Or he didn’t make the time. He tended to work late, work early, on the job during his days off, too. No life. Typical copper. A sad, walking cliché.
He’d laugh, but it wasn’t funny.
A uniform came over, green and new to the job, if Burgess was any judge, and handed him a suit, booties and gloves with a shaky “There you go, sir.” He scuttled off, just behind Burgess, no doubt to man the street and make sure no one without authority breached the police cordon.
Suit and booties on, latex gloves clutching tightly at his fingers, Burgess took a deep breath then strode toward Marlene. He was tired but he’d plod on, as usual. Nothing else he could do, was there? It wasn’t like he had someone at home he’d rather be with. Or someone permanent in his life. Married to the damn job, not a person.
Another cliché.
He stopped to the left of the victim, beside her upper arm. He always hated thinking of them that way—a victim—but that was what the dead woman was, no point in being gentle about it. In an ideal world, and if he were an ideal person, he’d prefer to see her as a woman who had once been full of life, but that led to emotions, and he didn’t do those too well.
“Morning,” Marlene said, looking up at him. “Not a nice day for it.”
She glanced through the tent opening at the sky, probably thinking, as Burgess had done when he’d arrived on scene, that if they didn’t get a move on it’d piss down in a minute.
“No.” He smiled. Just. “Did you have a late night? Bags under your eyes bigger than a supermarket carrier.”
“Such an eloquent way with words,” she said and moved her head to stare at him. “For your information, my new puppy kept me up. Whining. Needed lots of cuddles. So I ended up staying the night at his place.”
“Don’t tell me, you held his paw until he dozed off.” It wouldn’t surprise him at all. “Soft-hearted bugger, staying with him. Puppies—or as normal people call them, new lovers—are a lot of hard work.”
“They are, but some are worth the trouble.” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a pointed glare. “And whether I held his paw or not is none of your business.” She blushed but smiled. “Anyway, how do you know that’s what I held?”
“I’m a detective.”
“Very funny.”
“I can be.” He winked.
“For your information, I held his co—”
“Um, no more. The visual is too much.” He sighed. “So, what do we have here?”
“And there was me enjoying our chat, thinking you were going to tell me you spent the night with a puppy yourself. Or is Shaw turning up late to morning scenes on purpose lately so it doesn’t look obvious you were together?” She raised her eyebrows farther.
He wasn’t going to answer that one. She knew he’d only fucked Shaw once and didn’t think the experience would be repeated.
“You’re not only a soft-hearted bugger, but a nosy one. Anyway, can’t stand about gossiping too much on work time, can we?” he said. “Chief will have our guts for garters. Or mine, anyway, now that you’re exempt from his wrath. Good move, getting that puppy.”
“He likes garters.” She gave him a conspiratorial grin. “Red frilly ones draped over his face. But that’s gossip for after work. In The Pig later, say, six o’clock?”
“Yeah, providing this case doesn’t…well, you know how it goes.”
She nodded. “I’ll be there anyway, whether you turn up or not, so it’s no biggie. Now”—she pointed at the victim—“this appears as though she’s just asleep, so we have no obvious cause of death unless you look in her mouth.”
He studied the frosty-skinned dead woman. On her back, arms down by her sides, legs straight and together, she could have already been in position on the mortuary slab, waiting for her autopsy. No bruising to indicate an assault and battery. Pristine white skin. Blue tinge around her lips—on most of her skin, actually. Mouth gaping open—something was inside it—brunette hair brushed nicely. Clean. Straight bob, recently styled.
“And it’s unnerving for me,” Marlene went on, “if the cause of death is not immediately apparent. She’s perfect, no marks to give anything away. I’ll have to do a more thorough inspection once we’re at the hospital, but I can tell you she’s been dead a while, so death occurred around about two a.m., poor girl. She’s what, twenty-five-ish, something like that? What do you reckon?”
Burgess shrugged. “I can never tell these days. Some women look older, some younger. Girls look like women…”
“Hmm.” Marlene raised a waving hand and glanced behind him. “Camera, please?”
A suited man appeared and Marlen
e stood then stepped back while he snapped images.
“Can you hang around with me now and take more as I go along?” she asked the photographer. “I’m going to have to turn her over in a bit—easier as she’s stiff with rigor—but first I need to check her eyes and what’s in her mouth.”
Burgess hated this part. Seeing the cloudy sheen over a dead person’s eyes wrenched his stomach every time. Eyes that had once taken in the joys of life. Eyes someone had gazed into with love. And probably hate at some point.
And I don’t do emotions?
Marlene leaned in to take a good gander.
“No sign of asphyxiation,” she said. “But I’m not surprised—her throat is clear of any handprints, rope or whatever else these whackos use. But she wasn’t suffocated, either. Hmm. Anyway, onto the mouth.”
“Um…?” Burgess crouched, dangling his hands between his splayed knees. The click of the camera echoed, the shuffle of the snapper’s feet grating. “Is that a black sock in there? Something fluffy at any rate. Material?”
“I’m not sure.” Marlene jerked a thumb toward her silver medical case. “Get my blunt-ended large tweezers out of there, will you, darling? In the lid. Next to the scalpel. In the elastic holder thingies.”
Burgess rose and did as she’d asked. He handed the tool to Marlene and she took it, glancing up at him, frown firmly in place.
“If this turns out to be what I now suspect,” she whispered, “you might want to turn away. Phobias—they’re a bitch for some people.” She widened her eyes.
Trying to tell him something so that the photographer didn’t have a clue?
Phobias. Shit. Uh… Right.
“So you have a sock phobia, too?” Burgess asked, playing along with her game. He remained standing, not curious at all to see what Marlene would pull out.
She laughed softly. “It’s an insect of some kind, hon. A bloody big one. I can’t tell for sure but, if you want to get closer, you can see what I’m sure is an abdomen.”
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