by Ted Tayler
In the morning, there were showers taken, coffees drunk, and a shared slice of buttered toast; all eaten in silence. Zara knew that comments would be made if people saw them arrive at work together. If a team of detectives couldn’t spot the clothes she wore were the same as yesterday, then they had a problem. She hoped that they might avoid Phil Hounsell for a big part of the morning at least. Maybe she could find time to pop home at lunchtime to change.
“Penny for them, Zara,” said Angela.
“We both have secrets, Angela; No one will hear a word about yours, I promise. I hope you find someone soon and if you come out, then fine, that’s your choice. I have a secret too that I don’t want to become public knowledge. So you have to swear you won’t breathe a word to a soul.”
Angela walked around the table and held Zara close.
“Get it off your chest girl, it will do you good if it’s eating you up; my lips are sealed I swear.”
“When I met Phil Hounsell in Durham early last year, I was a virgin. In all those weeks we worked together, nothing happened. Toby Drysdale was my first.”
“Okay, so what’s the big secret?”
“I want to be with Phil Hounsell. I want him so much it hurts.”
“Oh! Is that it? Everyone knows you two are hot for one another. We thought you’d been at it like rabbits across the country. The thrill of the chase for that killer making you both horny.”
“What do you mean ‘hot for one another’? Phil’s married with children. Erica is a friend. I live in her Mum’s house. I babysit Shaun and Tracey. He doesn’t fancy me; he mustn’t.”
“Well, it’s plain he does, it’s just the opportunity that’s missing. If the right opportunity presents itself, then he’ll go for it. Come on, we’ve got to get to work.”
They left the flat and made their way towards HQ; then strode into the building without a care in the world. Sod what anyone thought. They knew full well what was what; that was what mattered.
“Morning ladies,” called Phil Hounsell, “will Portishead ever recover from the hammering you gave it last night?”
“You should have stayed,” said Zara, more brazenly than she ever thought possible, “you might have learned something; we both did.”
CHAPTER 10
Phil Hounsell decided that discretion was the better part of valour. He didn’t want to get involved. Two young unattached female officers out for a night on the town, even the quiet seaside town of Portishead had become alien territory to him these days.
Erica had collared him as soon as he walked through the door last night. In the euphoria surrounding the news of the capture of the Kelly gang, at last, his idea of a quick trip to the pub to celebrate backfired. It had meant getting home too late to go to a meeting at the junior school where Shaun started later in the year.
Phil groaned as he recalled Erica letting him know the score.
“I can tell where you’ve been; I can smell it on your breath. Here I am rushing around after finishing work at the building society, picking the kids up from playschool, bringing them home and getting their tea. Then I get everyone showered and dressed ready to leave. We sat there in the front room, like lemons, waiting for Daddy to arrive home; and where did you go? Down the pub! Just where on your list of priorities does this family come these days Phil?”
His contrite apology had not been too welcome. He trotted upstairs to Tracey’s room and quietly opened her door. She was fast asleep. When he checked, Shaun was too, across the landing. Phil had made his way downstairs, feeling the temperature drop with every step.
Erica sat engrossed in one of her TV soaps.
Phil had wandered into the kitchen. His dinner was in the microwave. He heated it up and sorted out a lap tray and cutlery. When he sat down, she muted her programme. He thought that with luck the ice maiden was melting. A glance at the screen showed a commercial break. He wasn’t out of the woods yet.
“Did everyone on the team go to the pub or just the two of you?” she asked.
“As many as could make it,” he replied, ignoring the implication and tucking into his steak pie, “we had a good result today. We rounded up the Kelly gang at Cheddar Gorge yesterday morning.”
“Couldn’t you have called?” she asked.
Phil had been going to answer when the programme restarted and the mute button was depressed. He realised the conversation had ended and carried on eating his dinner.
Sometimes being a copper meant long hours; Erica understood that. She appreciated the situation only too well after the years they had been together. It wasn’t easy with a young family. Phil wanted to spend time with Erica and the kids, but work took up most of the time children of five and three were awake. He always arrived home well after they went to bed. They tried to make it up on the weekends. They did as many family things as possible to compensate. But the strains and stresses of the week meant that as often as not he was knackered.
Phil Hounsell felt each of his forty-five years, as he looked across the office at Zara Wheeler and Angela Chambers. He couldn’t keep up with these young ones anymore. What happened to that little ‘Mouse’ he met less than twelve months ago? These days she was a party girl and no mistake. He watched as she worked at her desk. Zara looked up, sensing that someone watching her. He smiled at her self-consciously. She blushed and smiled back. Then she moved her chair, so her head was hidden behind her computer monitor.
Phil puffed out his cheeks; what was the matter with him? He had work that needed to get done. It was important for him to tidy up a few things from his backlog and get off early today. Fences had to be mended at home.
The days got longer and the clocks, at last, sprang forward. Police work can be humdrum and predictable in a county that is, for the most part, rural. There were major incidents from time to time in Bristol, Bath, Yeovil, and Taunton. But Phil Hounsell and his team kept busy without the excitement that murder or an armed robbery brought.
Not that they welcomed that level of crime when it landed on their doorstep. Even so, endless cases of road rage, domestic violence, petty theft and drugs offences were frustrating and predictable. Burglaries, criminal damage, and computer fraud filled his officers’ time well enough, but without the buzz of a serious crime.
As for the annoying little twats who tied up hours of police resources with anti-social behaviour, well Phil thought they should get conscripted into the army at sixteen. “Not just for eighteen months like in the old days of National Service,” he told his closest friends. The ones he trusted not to run to his superiors to complain about him being ‘so beastly’. “No, they should stay in for twenty-two years. They’d come out with a trade and respect for authority that turned them into model citizens.”
In early March, his ACC had called him into her office. He imagined another bollocking for not singing from the same hymn sheet as the rest of her clones. In fact, it turned out to be another sparkling initiative from the architects of the modern police service.
The force was launching an online crime tracker to give the public access to information extracted from its systems. The website aimed to help cut the time people spend waiting for police officers to call them back to deal with their enquiries as they will receive an automatic update by email or text. Victims of crime could now send messages back to the investigation team and catch up with progress.
“There’s a gap in the market for the bookies here, Ma’am. The victims could view the odds against them ever seeing their stolen property again?”
“That’s a very cynical view Superintendent. No one wants to be the victim of a crime. If you are, then you want it to impact on your life as little as possible. This site provides people with more choice on how they are updated and with a better service.”
“Sorry, Ma’am but the limited resources we have available would be better spent on officers on the beat to deter the burglars in the first place; and when we catch them at it, locking the offenders away for longer, so reducing their capacity for
nicking stuff for a great length of time.
“This is a more positive approach, DS Hounsell,” the ACC twittered on, “a more enlightened, streamlined and efficient method of combining policing with modern technology.”
“I’m sure it will be well received in certain areas of the community Ma’am,” said Phil.
As he left the ACC’s office he knew she believed that this brand of initiative proved popular with the public. But then, she only had connections with a small section of the public. The upper classes and upper-middle-class Daily Mail reader who held a somewhat extreme view of today’s criminal. Phil was still close enough to the real world to recognise the criminals in the region laughed their heads off at such initiatives. It didn’t affect their activities one iota.
Finally, in June, the Kelly gang were due to appear Bristol Crown Court. Phil Hounsell and Zara Wheeler made arrangements to attend as often as possible. They wanted to see them face up to the enormity of the crimes they committed. Bring justice to the dozens of men they treated worse than dogs.
DS Nick Frobisher was to be there every day. He had worked tirelessly on the case, checking and double-checking through the evidence, making sure that every loophole was closed up tight; nobody wanted the Kelly gang to escape punishment because of a technicality. Nick didn’t want a slippery defence counsel ruining the hours of work he and his colleagues invested.
The first couple of days went well. Nick’s efforts looked to be paying dividends. He hoped that in the face of the evidence piled up against them, the accused: - Seamus Kelly Senior, his wife Siobhan, and their sons Patrick and George would plead guilty. Obstinate to the last, their defence was that they merely hired these men for casual labour. They couldn’t have known what standards of personal health or housekeeping to which they were accustomed.
Seamus and the boys claimed they only saw these men at work and were satisfied with their efforts. Siobhan Kelly said that she kept passports and papers for the workers as they claimed they didn’t have total security in their homes; she owned a safe, so it was natural to offer to lock their valuables away for safe-keeping.
When questioned on the large amounts of cash, the four became evasive. Seamus Kelly said, “We’re travellers; we don’t trust banks. Over the years, it must have mounted up.”
Nick Frobisher rang into the office each morning and kept the team at Portishead up to date with proceedings.
“It should be wrapped up by tomorrow,” he told Phi. “If you’re coming over to see the fun, you’d better hurry.”
Phil called Zara into his office, “We’re off the Crown Court in the morning. I’ll pick you up first thing; pack a bag; we’ll stay over and help Nick and the others celebrate. I can’t wait to see the faces of the Kelly family in the dock when their sentences are given.”
“Nick thinks it will be wrapped up tomorrow, then? That was quick.”
“Tomorrow, or Friday,” said Phil, rubbing his hands.
Angela Chambers caught Zara as she left for home, later that afternoon.
“Off to watch the final stages of the Kelly case then?” she said and gave Zara a nudge.
“Yes,” replied Zara, “it will be a real boost for us to see them go to prison; we get so few headline wins these days.”
“Remember what I said, Zara if the opportunity arises, go for it.”
Zara hadn’t given that a thought. Phil had said ‘pack a bag’ just in case they stayed over, but you would hardly call the trip from Bristol back to their homes in Bath a trek. Her head was in a spin as she drove home. After a restless night, she got up, showered and dressed. She packed a bag with a change of clothes and her nightdress and toiletries. The doorbell rang.
“Ready Zara,” asked Phil, casually wandering into his mother-in-law’s house, “where’s your bag? I’ll carry it out to the car.”
They drove into Bristol and parked in a multi-storey car park. As they walked the short distance to the courts, Phil said, “We’ll leave our bags in the boot. We can book a B&B for tonight if necessary. I don’t think I can keep up with you younger ones these days and no way am I driving after a few beers celebrating with Nick Frobisher.”
The defence counsel tried everything possible to muddy the waters and convince the jury of the Kelly family’s innocence. They were fighting a losing battle; the prosecution evidence proved overwhelming. The jury was sent out and returned in just over an hour. Guilty verdicts were recorded on each indictment.
The judge in his infinite wisdom delayed sentencing until the next morning. He asked for any mitigating circumstances to be brought before him so he might come to his decision.
“Well, that’s a pity,” said Phil, “I hoped to see that Kelly family banged up today.”
“Guilty on every count though, Sir,” said DS Frobisher, “we couldn’t have hoped for better. The jury didn’t waste time; they saw our compelling evidence, despite the defence counsel’s shenanigans.”
“The gang is going for a meal and a drink in that great Italian place in Corn Street,” said Nick Frobisher. “Why not stay over and celebrate?”
Nick dragged Zara along with the rest of his team while Phil went back to the car. He retrieved their bags from the boot and booked them into two single rooms at a guest house in St. Nicholas Street. He joined them in Corn Street after his colleagues had already demolished one round of drinks. Four hours later after a terrific meal and more wine than was good for them, plus a few liqueurs, they tottered out onto the cobbled pavements.
Nick and the other young policemen headed unsteadily towards their digs. Zara and Phil reached their B&B in minutes. Phil collected the two keys, and they stumbled into the lift. Zara waved her key in front of Phil’s face.
“Wasting police funds, Superintendent?” she slurred.
Phil looked at Zara. If only she’d stop swaying in front of him; was it, her swaying; or was he drunk? The lift doors opened, announcing their arrival on ‘Level Two’.
“Level Two.” Zara mimicked the recorded voice and giggled. She grabbed Phil’s arm and moved towards her door. As she tried to slide the key card in, Phil’s face brushed her cheek. She turned toward him and they kissed. They got the door unlocked and fell into the room.
Zara led him to the bed and gently pushed him backwards. He brought a hand up and cupped her tiny breast through her top and bra. He slid his hands up and slipped her top off, letting it fall to the floor. She kissed him again deeply, her tongue invading his mouth; and Phil knew he was lost. He slid his hands over her back and unhooked her bra, sliding the straps down her arms and casting the bra aside. She pulled him close and removed his shirt so he could feel her tiny bare breasts against his chest. He began caressing her, planting soft kisses on her neck, and moved to her left nipple. A gasp escaped her lips.
Phil’s other hand stroked her through her panties; her wetness told him she was as lost as he was. He continued to kiss her as she squirmed beneath him. He knew it was wrong but didn’t he always known that this would happen? Hadn’t he wanted this? Zara pushed him off and, at first, he feared she was coming to her senses. She straddled him and smiled at him. Her hands unbuttoned his trousers. She removed everything and his shoes and socks. She kissed her way along his stomach.
Her tongue licked the tip of his erection and then her lips wrapped around him and he moaned as she took him in fully. He reached down, grabbed her by her arms, and pulled her up kissing her. He flipped her onto her back and removed the rest of her clothes. Zara groaned as Phil slid inside her and he began to move slowly in and out. She wrapped her legs around his body and her hips met him thrust for thrust. For them, time stopped; they were wrapped up in their frantic lovemaking.
Later, as they lay together, and their breathing returned to normal, Zara cuddled up to her boss; totally satisfied. After over a year aching for him, she had got what she dreamed of almost every night. Zara was falling asleep in Phil’s strong arms.
Phil lay wide-awake, staring at the ceiling.
Fina
lly, he said, “That was wonderful, but it should never have happened. It can never happen again, Zara.”
“It was fantastic, even though we were both drunk,” she giggled and slid on top of him kissing his nose.
“I’m married,” he said pushing himself up on his elbows. “I love my wife and children. We’ve always had this sexual tension between us, knowing the other one of us wanted something to happen. Getting drunk just encouraged us to let those feelings get the better of us. It happened, it was great, but madness.”
Zara stayed where she was and tormented him, moving against him.; well aware his body was going where his mind told him not to go. She enjoyed this new power she held over a man. She had enjoyed the way Phil made her feel, and she wanted that pleasure again; right now, if possible. She wasn’t Mouse any longer.
Phil eased her body away from him and climbed off the bed. He dressed and found the door key to his own room.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Zara,” he said and left her alone and empty. Not for the first time, she cried herself to sleep.
CHAPTER 11
Phil Hounsell woke early. He hadn’t slept well. He felt terrible. As he stood in the shower he prayed that the hot water washed away the memories of last night. He had let Erica down; let himself down.
As he towelled himself dry, he thought of Zara Wheeler. She didn’t deserve to be treated that way either. They both knew that last night was inevitable, ever since they met. It had been great for him, and he knew how much she had enjoyed it. People in the next rooms must have known too.
Why did he have to be such a heel and burst her bubble? It happened. What difference would it have made if they spent the night together? It was the old chestnut about being pregnant, you can’t be a ‘little pregnant’, you are, or you’re not. He became an adulterer as soon as he entered that bedroom whether he left after an hour or eight hours.