Chapter 2: Andrew's Story

She certainly was a good-looking woman. A bit dumb, but then aren't most women pretty thick when you get down to basics. But then in her favour was the fact that she had one hell of a figure on her and, boy ... was she good in bed! To be honest though, the most important point that Sandra had going for her was that her old man was bloody loaded; I'd kind-a sussed that out before I ever approached her in the first place.

You see, that's how I used to operate at the time. I suppose some people would describe me as a kind of gigolo and con man all rolled into one. My usual MO was to pick up rich women - preferably widows - and make them believe that I loved them, sometimes even marrying the bitches. But beggars - and clever con men - can't always be choosers. So if there was a husband around, then providing he didn't catch on to what I was up to, who gave a shit; I know I didn't. Anyway the way it worked, I'd relieve the ladies of all their ready cash as quickly and efficiently as I could, and then move on to pastures new.

Yeah, all right, one or two of the widows I'd married regrettably had to meet with untimely deaths, much to my good fortune. But — not just by my good fortune, if you understand me - every one of them had to be put down to natural causes or as unfortunate accidents. To be honest, by that time in my life, I was of the opinion that it was far better if they did die, because at least I didn't have the authorities chasing me around looking for a con man when I did my runner bit. Changing my identity all the time was becoming a bit of a pain in the arse by then.

Anyway, I'd just established myself as Andrew Swingfield again, after making a hasty exit from the States, my usual hunting ground. The USA is a big place, and it is pretty easy to disappear over there if you know what you're doing. But it stands to reason that eventually I was going to run out of new places to hide in the country, so I'd returned to England for a while to lie low.

Back in the UK again, I'd become Andrew Swingfield and set about living a respectable life and just maybe looking for my next target. I was actually beginning to think about retiring, you know, settling down and maybe even going straight; well for a few years at least. The Dallas police had nearly caught me after my last wife's accident, so I figured it was time to lay low, for a while.

I found myself a cushy number working in the sales department of a pretty big company. I've always had the gift of the gab and the money wasn't bad; not that I needed the cash, but I needed a good cover story for how I managed to survive.

I'd only been with the firm for a few months when I ran into Sandra Laurence for the first time at a sales seminar. Sandra was lot younger than my usual targets, but she was one good-looking bird. Married yeah, but my first intention was to have nothing more than a little fling with her. Well, yeah I had become aware that cash wasn't a problem to her, so I figured I'd milk her for all I could whilst I was at it; old habits die-hard.

Of course I didn't know at the time that she was married to a quite successful author, who was pretty well rolling in dough, what with all those royalty cheques coming in every couple of months. I found that out after I bedded her for the first time.

Getting Sandra into bed was a walkover next to some of my previous conquests. God, she was as naive as they come. I worked on her — very subtly - for most of the seminar, pretending to be the nice guy and then I only had to slip her something to loosen up her inhibitions a little on the last night; then later in the evening I added a tab of E to really get her turned on. Well, then it was bingo - I had her just where I wanted her.

Of course I was all apologies when we woke up in bed together the following morning; she was more than a little upset that she'd cheated on her old man. But a little more of my magic brew in the coffee I made her, and she quietened down a little. I knew that she'd enjoyed herself in bed that night - no matter how much she claimed otherwise - and I knew that it would be a few months before we got together again. Experience had taught me that by then, the old "I wasn't caught last time" mindset would have cut in.

Sure enough three months later I ran into her at one of the trade shows. We were on the company stand together most of the day and, well ... I made sure that Sandra got all the coffee she could drink during the afternoon. By the time we'd had dinner - and a couple of glasses of wine - with the rest of the group that evening, Sandy was feeling no pain.

When we woke up in bed the next morning her inhibitions were almost completely gone. Although she did say, "We must never let this happen again. I'm a happily married woman."

Well, they all say that, but she didn't stop me from shagging her again before breakfast. Funny how some women react when you go down on them, especially if no one's ever gone down on them before.

For the rest of the trade show we shared the same bed every night. Although Sandra did keep going on about her husband Dave. That's really when I found out about the bugger; I'm not into reading novels so I'd never heard of him before. But once Sandra started talking about him, maybe her conscience was bugging her some, because she kept talking about the bugger. Anyway my ears pricked up when she told me about those bleeding great royalty cheques that came rolling in every month or so.

The months went past and every time I ran into Sandra at a trade show or company seminar etc., we got together. By that time she could hardly wait to get to my room, or hers. Anyway by the time eighteen months had passed, I had the bitch hooked good and proper ... and maybe because she couldn't seem to get enough of me, an idea crept into my head.

I had to admit that Sandra was a bleeding good lay. She was good looking and about the right age. She also — if hubby was no longer around — had the potential of a very good regular income, long into the future from his book royalties.

The plan was simple: dispose of Sandra's old man! Then when a suitable period of time had passed, marry the silly tart. The money she would have coming in from her deceased hubby's books would quite nicely hide the cash I had stashed away from my previous wives, etc.

I was not really envisaging disposing of Sandra in a hurry. I think I was thinking along the lines of really settling down and maybe even having a family. You know, the idea of having a couple of sprogs' kind of tickled my fancy.

I'm not daft though. Before I could do anything I had to research Dave Laurence and his family; I needed to know if anyone was going to ask too many stupid questions or get nosy if he did meet with an untimely end.

Somewhat surprisingly I found that Dave Laurence appeared to have appeared out of thin air about eight years previous. Whether the guy had spent all of his youth abroad or what, I could not find out. As far as I could make out, there seemed to be no record of him living in the UK before he bought the house that he now shared with Sandra. That really should have been a warning to me, for if anyone tried to research my past they would find the same brick wall.

However I'd had a very successful life as a con artist by then, maybe too successful and I must have gotten overconfident. I stupidly assumed that as I couldn't find any of Dave Laurence's family, then there was no one around to ask those questions; I didn't ask myself why.

Hearsay I know, but I picked up that he'd met Sandra soon after moving into the village and after a whirlwind romance they'd got married nine months later. The general opinion around the village they lived in was that they were a devoted couple. But as I said, no one seemed to have any information about Dave Laurence's past.

It didn't take long after I stood next to him in his local pub one night to discover - from the faint trace of an accent he had that he still had - that he originally had to have come from the London area somewhere. London is a big city; I come from there myself. So big in fact, and with a pretty diverse population, that if you've grown up there, you can learn a hell of a lot from the way people speak, the actual words and references they use.

I had to fall into casual conversation with the guy to discover that he most likely came from the Lambeth area. His referring to the Elephant in conversation, instead of the Elephant and Castle, informed that he most likely had grown up in the area. My gentle hints about Canada, Australia and New Zealand didn't draw any reaction from him, so I figured he hadn't been living abroad as I'd first surmised.