Chapter 13: A Widow and a Scumbag

0630 hrs Sunday 6^th April

Day 6

I drove to Thurston Hall in a benign and relaxed mood, a rather novel experience for me given the trauma and upset of the past several months. I was still angry with Rebecca for her betrayal and rejection but had grudgingly accepted the reason why she did it. I had not helped the situation by burying my head in the sand, failing to see we were heading towards a similar sterile and destructive relationship that her parents ‘enjoyed’. Ostrich like, I reasoned if I couldn’t see if Rebecca no longer loved me then Rebecca must still love me, right? A childish and futile response and Rebecca did the only thing possible to wake me up and smell the coffee. Brutal but necessary, although her method of saying goodbye still rankled.

I had negated Alice Maitland’s rejection of me between the thighs, lips, breasts, and buttocks of Annie Groves. The obvious choice to assuage Rebecca’s rejection was Sharon Douglas. Shazza was built along the same generous lines as Annie; Shazza was available, Shazza was open all hours, and Shazza drove a patrol car. I looked forward to our next meeting. It had been several years since I last fornicated in a car but I was sure I still had the necessary skill required to achieve a consummation devoutly to be wished. (I have read Hamlet if not Cymbeline!)

I parked the Juke and as I walked towards the entrance of Thurston Hall I noticed a police Transit van parked nearby. The sight brought to mind the two Sapphic PCSOs – Liza with a zed and Gloria – and reminded me that they too were available. I recalled the two badge bunnies in Neasden, Trixie and Dixie, were of the same persuasion as the two PCSOs and would often invite me to join them in their lezzie love-ins. As Trixie and Dixie munched on each other’s minges I was presented with the delectable choice of sticking my cock into the mouth of one of the girls or the arsehole or twat of the other, then filling the chosen receptacle with my spunk. Needless to say I obliged the girls whenever the opportunity arose although it was a strain on my supply of man juice as I had six fleshy receptacles to fill to the brim rather than Wanda’s three.

However, with a reservoir of over six months’ stock of man juice now available I was confident of flooding Liza, Gloria, and Shazza without breaking sweat. Even so, I hit the gym that morning and spent an hour in hard, muscle straining activity. The ‘three 69’, as it is known to aficionados, requires the man to have strength, stamina, and agility, in order to raise smiles of delight on the sperm smeared faces of both girls.

After a hot shower, I had the Full Monty for breakfast. There were a few faces in the canteen that I recognised but no one joined me at my table which was just as well as I was thinking about Maddy. I tortured myself with graphic mental images of Peregrine and her writhing about in sweat-soaked, love- juice-stained sheets in a Zurich hotel bedroom, or sharing tidbits at breakfast after sharing sex in the shower.

‘You should stop thinking like this, Joshua, ‘ my inner angel said. ‘It is detrimental to your mind and soul’. ‘Nah, keep on thinking, Josh,’ my inner devil said. ‘I especially enjoy seeing Maddy use her tongue when -‘ I switched off the image. But unfortunately I couldn’t entirely close down my inner devil. ‘Think on this then, Josh. It won’t take long for the news to spread that you are shagging those two lezzies and Shazza,’ the insistent, devilish voice whispered into my ear. ‘When Maddy sees their beaming satisfied faces she will want what they are getting, and after a couple of weeks of gagging for it she’ll give that Peregrine prat the elbow and will be all over you like Japanese Knot weed’. It was something to think about. ‘I don’t believe Maddy would give up the chance of her dream job merely for a... ‘ my inner angel began but was rudely interrupted by my inner devil. ‘Shut yer gob, Angie! Listen to me, Josh. Maddy was jealous when she thought you and Shazza had been shagging on the A14. Imagine how she will feel when she finds you have three birds sucking you dry, She’ll go into envy orbit and crave what they are having,’ My inner devil sniggered. ‘Stand on me, Josh, by the end of a fortnight you both will be joined at the glands.‘

My inner devil had made a salient point, but once again my inner angel had something to say ‘Maddy might wonder what happened to your fiancée, Joshua. I sighed, that was indeed a thought. ‘Tell her you dumped the bitch coz you caught her hiding the sausage with her boss,’ my inner devil proposed. I heard a deep sigh of despair from my inner angel but no counter-proposal. It could, might, work, and besides, I had nothing to lose.

I popped into Forensics on the way to my ‘office’. Tommy Atkins was off shift but another nerd, Jonathan, a Tommy Atkins look- alike but without the rash/love bites, was.

“We should have all your CCTV sightings in Bury and Ipswich consolidated on one flash drive by this afternoon, sergeant.” He informed me.

“Thanks – err – Johnny.” I saw him wince at my use of the diminutive. “And thank Tommy for me when you next see him.” I purposefully did not mention Doctor Deveraux as it would remind me of where she was and who she was with – Peregrine bloody Lindt.

Entering my office /cubicle I was surprised to see Bill Clark seated at his desk.

“I thought you were off shift until Monday, Bill. Did things not turn out too well with you and Megan?”

He beamed me a huge smile. “Things have turned out fantastically well between me and Megan, Sarge. I dropped her off at the hospital at six this morning after we had spent Saturday together. I need the rest; the woman is unbelievable. She couldn’t have had more than a couple of hours sleep but was up bright as a button at five this morning.” He rummaged around in the drawer of his desk and withdrew a jar of pills. “I came in for these Viagra pills. Sure going to need them to keep up with Meg.” He dropped the bottle into his coat pocket. “What they say about nurses is true...”

“What do they say about nurses?”

“That they shag like rattlesnakes and can stop you cumming by jabbing their thumb on a particular part of your willy.” He grinned, “Meg stopped me three times before allowing me to shoot my load. It was like a Saturn rocket blasting off when I finally came.”

“Why do you keep Viagra pills in your desk? Surely they should be in your bedside cabinet?”

“In late spring and summer, the grounds of Thurston Hall are a shagger’s paradise. There are summer houses, gazebos, and pavilions scattered around the grounds and the staff here takes full advantage. I have had many a dalliance over the years and a supply of the little blue pills is essential when working nights.”

“When do you have to pick Megan up from work?”

“She finishes at two this afternoon. I shall stay here until about one and have my dinner, and a rest, before returning to the fray. I have really taken a shine to her and I think she has to me. It could be a lasting relationship if I can stand the pace.”

“Well, good luck with that, Bill. Glad to see someone is enjoying plenty of nooky.”

“You should have taken the weekend off and gone to Norwich to see your fiancée. Then you too would be having a weekend of unbridled pleasure.”

I made some noncommittal reply. Something was nagging at me but I couldn’t put a finger on what it was, but it had something to do with girls’ names. It wouldn’t surface so I put it aside for later.

“I’m off to see Drab Rampley’s widow this afternoon, Bill. I’m surprised he lived in Felixstowe. It’s a hell of a journey to make every day from there to Thurston Hall.”

“Drab also had a flat in Ipswich and stayed there when on shift. And it is where he kept his underage tart Traci Smethwick.”

“Did his wife know about her?”

Bill shrugged. “I would think so as she is not stupid. But as far as I know Drab and his wife had a happy marriage. Maybe she had something on the side as well.”

“She has a male lodger who sounded quite young on the phone.”

“Well, there you are, Sarge. What’s sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose, whatever that means.”

“I will discover the facts when I visit them this afternoon. Meantime, I’ll let you get some rest and build up your strength for round two with Megan.”

“More like round seven, sarge, but who’s counting! Give my regards to Drab’s wife, whose name I have forgotten.”

“Will do. Give my regards to Megan if you have any breath left!”

I had decided to catch the train to visit Mrs Rampley, the grieving widow, and at 10 a.m I drove the Juke back to 27 Castle Road. Molly might be home before I returned from Felixstowe and would be concerned if her car was missing from the drive.

Back at #27, I opened one of the foil-wrapped meals in the fridge --- chicken chasseur – and popped it into the microwave for the stipulated time. It was like everything else about Molly Miller; well-presented and extremely tasty. I cleaned up the kitchen after my dinner, had a wash and brush up, and then made my way to Bury railway station.

I left a note for Molly saying where I was going and at what time I expected to be back, and made a mental note to get her some flowers. She would be feeling down after seeing Debs off to Portsmouth, although I was certain Molly’s spirits would have been sky high when the donkey dick of her toy boy lover Martin was deep inside her.

It was an hour and a half rail journey to Felixstowe, including a half-hour wait in Ipswich. I caught the 2 pm train from Bury and arrived in Felixstowe on time at 3 28pm. According to Google Earth Rampley’s house at 150 Mill Lane, was 2.38 miles south-west of Felixstowe railway station. I took a cab from the station forecourt and ten minutes later I was outside the late Arnold Rampley’s residence. I was surprised by the size of the house, a three, maybe four bedroomed detached residence probably built in the mid-1950s. The front garden was large and well-tended, with many flowering plants I did not recognise – Barking is not known for its horticulture – but I knew that the variegated hedge fronting the garden was privet. I rang the bell and a moment passed before the door was opened by a man about my age and build. Light brown hair hung to his collar, designer stubble decorated his chin, and his hazel eyes regarded me with suspicion.

I presented my warrant card. “DS Dolihaye. I presume you are –” I scrabbled in my memory for his name, “Henry Wallace? We spoke yesterday.”

He nodded “Yes. Missus Rampley is in the lounge. Please follow me.” Several doors led off the large and airy entrance hall and Wallace ushered me into a room where the door was ajar.

The room overlooked a spacious rear garden accessed by French window. This garden was also well-tended and in good order, much as was Mrs Rampley. She was a large, one might say voluptuous, lady with a prominent bosom and flared hips. Her ash blonde hair was gathered in a loose ponytail, her eyes were blue-grey, and her heart-shaped face had a dimpled chin and a rosebud mouth. In fact, she was surprisingly attractive, and nothing like I expected the wife of someone nicknamed ‘Drab ‘would look like.

She rose from her chair with a hand outstretched.

.”Good afternoon, Sergeant. I’m Maybelline Rampley.” She spoke with a well-modulated Home Counties accent, her handclasp was soft but firm, and I doubt she was much older than Molly Miller. “Hank said you wanted to talk about the pension?”

“I told Mister Wallace what I had to say was confidential but didn’t mention ‘pension’. However, if you are having difficulties with anything related to Arnold’s pension I can look into the matter for you. I am a representative of the Police Federation and any problems you...”

“No, everything is fine with the pension.” She turned to Wallace who had sat in a chair to the side of the French window. “Go and put the kettle on, my love.” He rose from his chair at her command and left the room. “Now, sergeant, what is the real purpose of your visit?”

“There are some anomalies in Arnold’s suicide...”

“Arnold would have never committed suicide. I know he was facing a long term in prison for his – err – relationship with Traci but he would never have taken his own life.”

“You knew about Traci?”

“Of course I did! Arnold and I were married for twenty-two years. I knew of his weakness for young girls when I married him. Strange as it might seem to you, Sergeant, we loved one another. We had a good marriage, based on love, mutual respect and friendship, notwithstanding his under-aged girls and my young studs.”

I don’t think Maybelline Rampley intended to shock me by her admission, she was just telling it how it was, but it was a bit of an eye-opener.

“Arnold and I met soon after I started teaching at a primary school in Felixstowe, my first placement after training at Suffolk Teacher Training College,” Maybelline Rampley continued. “I was born in Henley-on-Thames and came to Suffolk aged eighteen. I love this part of England and decided to stay. Six months into my career Arnold visited the school to talk to the children about road safety. We fell in love, although he was over ten years my senior, and were married six months later. I soon became aware he was attracted to those young girls who had run away from home or care homes and were living a precarious life on the streets, soon to become victims of pimps and drug dealers. I knew Arnold was driven by a desire to help them, save them even, rather than by mere lust --” she paused. “You know what happened to his sister?” I nodded; Maybelline gave a deep sigh, her breasts rising and falling spectacularly, before continuing. “Arnold saw his sister in every one of those young girls, and before you ask, no, he hadn’t been in an incestuous relationship with her. As our marriage progressed it became clear his and my sexual needs were not congruent but we still had a loving relationship. He had his little street girls who he tried to save from prostitution and drug addiction while I had my rough and ready young studs. Hank is the latest but is now much more than just a bed partner. He takes care of the garden, the maintenance of the car and the house, and of course all of my sexual needs.”