Chapter 9: The Quick and the Dead

0600 hrs. Friday 5^th April. 2019. 27 Castle Road

DAY 5

When the alarm woke me I was in two minds whether to get up for work or ring in sick. I was sick, heartsick. Maddy had a partner. Did that mean she was married or engaged? Whatever, she was in a relationship and sharing her bed and bodily fluids with a man. I assumed Peregrine was a man, surely Maddy wasn’t gay? Although I could face that -- I think.

Duty overcame depression and I got out of bed, put on my training kit, stuffed my work clothes in the holdall and went downstairs. Debs was in the kitchen. “Mum is having a lie-in,” she said. “We won’t stop for coffee, but crack on to the gym.”

I glumly followed her into the car and remained silent for most of the journey. We were approaching Thurston before Debs began a conversation. “You had to know the score about Micky Deverauux, Josh and why the sad face? You have a fiancée who I hope will be able to join us this evening.”

“She won’t,” I said bluntly, hoping my tone of voice would forestall further questions but Debs was undeterred.

“Why not, and when did you call her?”

“Rebecca has gone to London for the weekend to see her parents,” I said, lying in my teeth as her parents lived in Bath.

“Rebecca, that’s a nice name but I expect she gets called Becky?”

I shook my head. “Rebecca doesn’t like her name being shortened. Not long after we got engaged I called her ‘Becks’. She damn near threw the ring back in my face.”

Debbie chuckled. “If you had called her Posh she probably would have. Is she posh?”

“Not particularly,” I said, but again I lied. Her parents were upper-middle-class, her father was a solicitor and her mother was related to the Montagues. Her mother was also a fully paid up member of the Snobby Snooty Rich Bitch Society. One of Rebecca’s uncles was a high court judge and another was an MP. When we first met Rebecca was working as a paralegal with an international firm of Insurers at Canary Wharf and had an annual salary about three times greater than mine. I often wondered why she took up with me. Vince Cowan, a fellow SO 6 constable, reckoned I was just her bit of rough and once she had fully drained me of my working-class spunk would find another horny-handed son of the soil to scratch the itch between her thighs.

There might have been some truth in that other than Rebecca had dumped me for a rich American corporate lawyer nearly twice her age. As for draining me; during the last twelve months sex between Rebecca and me had been sporadic and not particularly exciting. She said that once we were married she would relax and it would be better, although we had not yet set a wedding date. Most men wouldn’t put up with a once a week shag from their fiancée, but I loved her and wanted her to be happy, and I suppose I might be undersexed. Even so, once we were married I hoped Rebecca would do some of the things I had seen in porn movies and had in fact experienced with previous girlfriends.

I realised that Debbie had been talking while I had been thinking. “Sorry Debs, I was miles away.”

“Thinking about Rebecca no doubt?”

I gave a sickly smile, “Yes, I was.”

“I said my mother always calls people by their ‘proper’ name. She has never called me anything other than Deborah; only my friends call me Debbie or Debs.”

“Have you a preference?”

She pondered my question for a moment. “Not really, although I’m called Debbie more often than Debs. You are one of the few who call me Debs.”

“If you want me to...”

“No, Josh, Debs is fine.” She concentrated on her driving as we navigated a large roundabout but resumed talking when on the quiet road leading to Thurston. “You noticed my mum always calls you Joshua?”

“Yes, but so does my mother. It must be a mumsy thing.”

She chuckled, “Don’t let my mother hear you refer to her as ‘mumsy’ else she’ll ‘Sonkal‘ you!” We turned into the drive leading to Thurston Hall. “Rebecca must have a good job if her weekend starts on a Friday?”

“I should have said ‘going to’ London for the weekend. As today is Poets Day she will probably leave Norwich about four this afternoon.”

“We don’t have Poets Day in the Royal Navy...”

“Nor in the Met and I doubt they do in the East Anglian Constabulary but Rebecca works for a civilian firm.”

Debs gave a nod. “OK, so Rebecca is a no-show. What about you?”

I shrugged. “I will be a gooseberry if Ma – Micky turns up with her squeeze.”

“But you will have me, Josh.” Her hand landed on my knee and I flinched in surprise. Debs laughed, “Am I that repulsive? Don’t dare answer that!”

We drew into the car park and she turned off the engine but did not make a move to leave the car. I had undone my seat belt and was reaching for the door handle when Debs laid her hand on my sleeve. “When mum first heard you were coming as a lodger she hoped we would get together. That was before she found out you were engaged. However, although we like and respect each other there is no sexual spark between us, which is just as well as you are engaged to be married and I am off for at least six months of sea-service. Besides, I have a squeeze of my own waiting for me in West Byfleet whose brains I will be shagging out on Saturday night and most of Sunday before I report for duty at Gosport.” She made to move from the car.

“I don’t have a fiancée. Rebecca left me for a rich American lawyer and is currently shagging his brains out in San Francisco,” I said all in one breath. Why I told Debs my shameful secret was beyond me, but the cat was now out of the bag.

Debs turned to face me. “Oh, Josh. I am so sorry,” she said and hugged me to her for a few moments, like a mother comforting a child. “Do you want to talk about it? We can forgo the gym.”

I shook my head. “No, I need to get the anger out of my system by thumping seventeen shades of shite out of a punch bag.”

We exited the car, and as we walked towards Thurston Hall I told Debs more of my humiliation. “Rebecca dumped me two months ago, two days after my transfer to the East Anglian Constabulary was approved. I had put in for the transfer to be nearer her. She had been redeployed by her firm to Norwich six months ago.”

We went down into the basement and I continued with my confession, or whatever it was that drove my babbling tongue. “If I’m honest I think our relationship was on the way out long before then. About a year after I met her I shot a man dead when on duty. I was cleared of any crime but Rebecca was terribly shocked by what I had done. She is a member of Liberty, and a fervent supporter of free speech, human rights, and all that stuff. When she found out it was me who had killed the guy she called me a murderer. She did apologise later, but I suppose the iron had already entered the soul of our relationship.” I stopped before we entered the gym. “Please don’t tell your mum I’ve been dumped. It is so humiliating, and I don’t want Molly to think I’m a wimp or a wuss.

“Your secret is safe with me, Josh,” Debs said and smiled at me. “But I find it interesting you don’t want my mother to think you are a wimp or a wuss but don’t mind me thinking you might be, which I don’t, by the way, and neither would she.” She kissed me on the cheek and we went to our respective changing rooms.

I went around the circuit in record time and spent at least fifteen minutes pummelling the punch bag.

“I’m glad I’m not whomever it is you are thumping,” Carl said. “ Even Tyson Fury would have a hard job standing up to them blows. I think you are now fit enough for the full gymnasium experience of physical torture. Welcome to the club.” He shook my hand and I matched his grip with my own. He grinned. “OK, you can crush my hand but I bet I can piss higher up a wall than you!”

During my circuit training, I had purposefully kept my gaze away from the females at the yoga class. One of them would be Maddy and I don’t know how I would react if we came face to face. As it was I wondered how I would behave when, if, we met up for breakfast. Debs would have told Maddy that I now knew she had a partner and she might not show at breakfast.

But she did. We sat in ‘our’ table and ate our bowls of muesli in silence.

I finally broke the unnatural stillness between us. “You have a partner named Peregrine...”

“And you have a fiancée named – I don’t know the name of your fiancée so you are already one up on me, Adge.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were... ?

“Tell you I was what? That I was engaged, like you are, or available, like Sharon Douglas... ?”

“What has Sharon Douglas got to do with anything?” I confess I was confused by Maddy throwing Sharon’s name at me like a spear.

“Are you saying you didn’t shag her yesterday when she picked you up?”

“Of course I didn’t. She gave me a lift to Bury...”

“Via a lay- by on the A 14... ?”

“No! Who told you all this bollocks? I admit she offered but she was having a laugh. Sharon was on duty, and traffic patrols can’t go swanning off...”

“At least seven people saw you getting into her car. There are more eyes at Thurston Hall than in a hundredweight of seed potatoes – and Sharon has got a reputation...”

“Well, I didn’t add to it.”

Maddy’s face was red with embarrassment or anger. I couldn’t tell which it was, maybe both. “Sharon is known for her sexual appetite. She shagged Peregrine after pulling him over for speeding on the A14. He said he did it to avoid an endorsement on his licence, but he is always ready for a bit of spare and I assumed you were the same.”

“You assumed wrong, Maddy. I’m not like Perithingy -- and what sort of a name is that to saddle a kid with?”

“His name is Peregrine Lindt.”

“Peregrine Lint? Sounds like a piece of fluff on the shoulder of a jacket that needs brushing off,” I said.

Maddy chuckled, I was glad she had moved on from anger. “Lindt, with a D. Like the Swiss chocolatier. In fact, Peregrine is Swiss, but I don’t think he is related. He is the CEO of a research establishment at Silicon Fen,” she said. “I’m sorry I bracketed you with a minge hound like him but I was angry to think Sharon had experienced something --.” Maddy stopped and stared at me, “Believe me Adge, I didn’t intend for this to happen.”

“Didn’t intend for what to happen?”

“We’ve given each other names that only we know. Can’t you guess what ‘this’ is?”

“Are you talking about the L-word, Maddy?”

“Yes I am, and I can’t be doing with that word, Adge. I’m not the sort of person who comes between an engaged couple nor renege on a commitment. You are engaged to be married and I’m shacked up with a man whom I hope will soon be my employer. I will not allow emotion to get in the way of my career.” I wanted to tell her she wouldn’t be breaking up my relationship. That had sunk without trace, but it was her mention of commitment to a man who would soon be her employer that cut through me and made me say what I did.

“Your career depends on the man you’re ‘shacked up’ with? That sounds to me like Eastbourne all over again.” As soon as I uttered those words I wished to call them back.

Maddy’s face paled deadly white and I thought she was going to cry. She got up from her seat. “You certainly know where to hit to inflict maximum damage, Adge. It must be all that punch-bag training you have been doing.”

“Forgive me, Maddy. I’m angry, upset, and stupid. Please forget what I said. I was cruel and spiteful and...”

“No Adge, you are right on the money. I opened my legs to have my thesis paid for and am now opening my legs to get a job I lust after. I have always put my career before everything else.” She placed her hand on my sleeve. “I hope we can be adult about this and remain friends? You make me laugh and that is a balm to me. Peregrine has an alphabet of letters after his name but lacks a sense of humour, or at least a sense of humour compatible with mine. You and I will be bumping into each other here at Thurston Hall until I leave to join his firm in Silicon Fen. I hope we can continue these breakfast meets until then?”

I was still punch drunk from the blow of learning she was leaving Thurston Hall. “How much notice do you have to give the East Anglian Constabulary?” I hoped it would be six months and by then I will have charmed her to stay.

“I’m not employed by the East Anglian Constabulary, Adage, and don’t have to give any notice. I am an agency worker and my position as a Senior Forensic Officer will be filled the day I leave. However, it will be four to six weeks before the team I will be leading at Peregrine’s firm is fully assembled.”

Four to six weeks was better than nothing, and I gave a wry smile. “Half a loaf is better than no bread at all, Maddy.” I held out my hand, “If friendship is all you can give me then I accept it with thanks. And each breakfast shared with you will be a bonus.”

Her hand was like ice, but soon our body heat warmed her hand and my heart. I saw a tear in the corner of her eye and knew she would be mortified if I saw it fall. I gave her a swift pack on the cheek and left.

Bill Clark glanced up from his desk as I entered the office. “The PCSOs,” he began, then stopped and stared at me. “Anything wrong, Sarge? You look well out of sorts.”

“I had a sleepless night; the neighbourhood cats held a jamboree in my back garden,” I lied. “What were you saying about the PCSOs?”

“There are six in a Transit van in the car park ready to go.”

“Have you got the search area sorted?”

“I’m doing that now. I should have it ready in about half an hour.”

“What about the PCSOs? Will they have had breakfast?”

Bill shrugged his shoulders in a ‘who gives a toss’ gesture. “I have no idea, Sarge.” He didn’t seem concerned one way or the other.

There are ‘issues’, to use the in-word, between regular police officers and PCSOs. The former regard the latter as part-time, untrained amateurs and the latter consider the former arrogant and unhelpful.

I glanced at my watch, 8.12 am. “Not much point heading out to Bury until the morning rush has subsided. They may as well take a break in the canteen. When you’ve got the search area sorted you can pick them up and take them to Bury. Meantime I will visit Fowler’s Funeral Home and get more info on Kate Hodge. Have we an address?”

Bill keyed his PC and brought up the relevant information. “Unit Twelve, Western Way Business Park. That’s off Newmarket Road.”

“An industrial estate is an unusual place to have a funeral parlour but I expect it is on a bus route?”

“You can use my car, Sarge. I’ll go in to Bury with the Wooden Tops, I mean the PCSOs, in the Transit van.”

“That’s very generous of you, Bill. Thank you very much.”

“Just don’t ding it, and make a note of the mileage for my fuel allowance.” He handed me his car keys, “It’s a dark blue Audi Q2.”

“Nice,” I said. “Vorsprung durch technik!”

I didn’t know what time funeral parlours opened for business but imagined it wouldn’t be before 9 am so I went down to the car park and introduced myself to the PCSOs in the Transit. “Get yourself some breakfast and use the facilities. DC Clark will be in charge but I hope to catch up with him and you later this morning.”

The faces that had been rather glum when I first met them brightened up, and they trooped off to the canteen chattering away. There were two female PCSOs among the six and one of them was an extremely tasty looking blonde. Bill would be happy to have some eye candy with him on the trawl for cameras.

A well-spoken, pleasant voiced female answered the phone when I rang Fowler’s Funeral Home at 9 am. I explained who I was and that I would like to speak with the owner, Mister Fowler.

“Missus Donizetti, Mister Fowler’s sister, is the manager, sergeant. I will check when she’s free to see you.”

I waited for less than a minute until the pleasant voiced female returned to the phone. “Missus Donizetti, is free all morning, but has a funeral to conduct at two pm.”

“I’ll be there by ten,” I said, not knowing how long it would take me to get to the business park.

While I had been on the phone to the Funeral Home Bill and his team had departed for Bury, and I went to look for his car in the car park.

Unit Twelve of Western Way Business Park was a sturdy, brick-built, two-story building in a grassed and landscaped enclosure. A large signboard with the words, ‘Fowler’s Funeral Home, Est 1885’ written in copperplate script in gold on a dark green background, gave a hint of the ambience inside the building. Walnut wood-panelled walls, light oak wood doors with brass fittings, and mahogany furniture, gave the interior the feel of a mid-Victorian middle-class dwelling.

The pleasantly voiced female on the reception desk wore a dark blue two-piece suit with a white blouse that showed her to be equally pleasantly built. She showed me into Mrs Donizetti’s office. A large mahogany desk dominated the room, or at least it would have had it not been for the presence of Mrs Donizetti, who rose from her chair behind the desk as I entered the room.

She was stunning; as tall as I was, although when she stepped out from behind the desk I saw she wore high heeled FM shoes strapped around her slim ankles. That was a turn-on for a start. The rest of her was equally a turn-on. She had brilliant blue eyes fringed with long dark lashes. Her ruby red, pouting, lips were full and glossy. Her breasts strained the white silk blouse she wore, displaying enough cleavage to indicate their size and firmness. The dark blue two-piece suit she wore was similar to but more stylish and definitely more expensive than that worn by the receptionist, with the mid-thigh length jacket nipped in at her slender waist and the skirt, the hem six inches above her knees, hugging her shapely haunches and pert buttocks. Luxuriant dark brown hair cascading to her shoulders framed a face with well-defined cheekbones, thick eyebrows, straight-edged nose, and a sensual mouth. However, it was her flawless complexion that held my attention; a creamy, unblemished, skin that showed no wrinkles or lines. I judged her age to be somewhere near that of Molly Miller and wondered at the air of Suffolk that middle-aged females here were as attractive and sexy as women half their age.

“Do I pass muster, sergeant?”

Her voice, low and mellow, held a hint of laughter and I blushed at being caught gawping at her like a schoolboy in an Anne Summers’s shop.

“I’m sorry, Missus Donizetti, but I don’t think I have ever seen such a beautiful woman as you before.”

Her smile showed small, white, even teeth. “Thank you for such a lovely compliment, Sergeant Dolihaye. You have a silver tongue, but with a surname like yours it is not surprising, as I suspect you are descended from French Huguenots. Please call me Eloise, and what is your given name as I refuse to call you either by your rank or surname?”

“It is Ajay. A, J, A, Y, an Indian name...”

“Which I know means invincible or undefeated. Perhaps your ancestors were from Pondicherry? My mother’s family, the Lazouches, are reputed to be connected with that former French colony.”

She held out her hand and I took it. As our hands met she somehow managed to caress my palm with her fingers and the erotic shockwave from that tactile contact travelled straight to my groin.

“Shall we make ourselves comfortable?” She indicated two armchairs either side of a fireplace that had the wood and coal, the makings of a fire, in the grate. We sat down in the comfortable chairs and as she did the hem of her skirt slide up her black-stockinged thigh. “What can I do for the East Anglian Constabulary, Ajay?” She said a gleam of amusement in her face as she saw where my eyes had lingered.

“You reported Kate Hodge missing...”

“I gave all the information concerning why I reported Kate missing to one of your colleagues several months ago. Has something happened that you need to revisit those answers?”

Her voice had hardened and I sensed underneath her velvet surface was a core of steel.

“We need to know more about her friends and acqu...”