His Secrets - Episode 2

by Gl Corbin

  “I thought it had the makings of a good story. I tried to persuade the editor to let me look at it, but he turned me down flat.”

  “So why are you still involved?”

  “I still think it's a good story.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I thought we might be able to help one another. Share our resources – that type of thing.”

  “I work better alone.”

  “What if I said I had some information that might help you?”

  “What kind of information?”

  He shrugged.

  “What do you want?”

  “I get an exclusive if it turns out Jeremies is right.”

  “Okay – if what you have is of any use.”

  “There are others. Other victims.”

  *********

  Her father had hated journalists, and wouldn't give them the time of day. She could hear him now:

  'Wouldn't piss on them if they were on fire.'

  Much to her surprise, Chris found she liked Brian Cassidy. He was a little pushy (which journalist wasn't), but he was also funny and quite charming. He had sounded genuinely interested in the cases, and seemed convinced Mrs Jeremies might be right about the connection. More importantly, the research he had carried out in his own time had uncovered two more cases which fit the same profile. These new cases were further afield – both over a hundred miles away. Chris added their details to her own file. Cassidy wanted to contact Chris regularly to check on progress. She had baulked at that idea, but had promised to let him know if and when she had enough of a case to take it to the police. It wasn't a totally unselfish move on her part – she knew the police would be more likely to take her seriously if they had the press spotlight on them.

  Her phone pinged with a text message.

  I will be back Friday night for ten days!!

  Bradley.

  The text gave Chris a new lease of life. She'd had a number of relationships, none of which had lasted very long. She wasn't sure if she had picked the wrong men or if she simply wasn't good as part of a couple. With Bradley it had been different from the start. It had felt right – is that what people meant when they talked about love at first sight?

  *********

  The next day, Chris took a call from Mr Broomhead. He wanted her to follow his wife that same afternoon when she was supposedly going out for lunch with friends. Chris had hoped to work all day on the Jeremies case, but Broomhead was insistent. She found his tone abrasive, which was at odds with the charming man she had met face to face. Nevertheless, she agreed. The sooner this case was concluded the better, and the final payment would come in handy to get the landlord off her back.

  Chris parked on an adjoining street from where she had a clear view of the Broomhead's driveway. She spotted the target's car pull onto the road just before midday. Mrs Broomhead was a cautious driver who didn't venture above the speed limit. That made Chris's job much easier. According to Mr Broomhead, his wife had said she would be dining with girl friends at the Wellington Hotel. She had been telling the truth about her destination at least. Chris had no option but to follow her into the hotel's underground car park; there was no other parking within walking distance. She watched Mrs Broomhead take the stairs up to the reception; two minutes later she followed. Chris had only been to the Wellington once before – a friend's wedding. The hotel appeared to have been refurbished since her previous visit. Mrs Broomhead was at a table just inside the dining room. Around the table were four other women all of a similar age. More and more it was looking like Mr Broomhead was paranoid. Chris had seen it before in other clients; jealousy could destroy a perfectly good relationship. Still, she had to be absolutely sure before she reported back. Chris picked up one of the courtesy newspapers, and took a seat in reception - just outside of the dining room. Although she couldn't hear their conversation, the women all seemed in high spirits – all except for Mrs Broomhead. While the other women were laughing aloud, the most she could muster was a smile, and even that appeared to be forced. Chris noticed that Mrs Broomhead was checking her watch every few minutes.

  The women ordered food, and bottle after bottle of wine. It was the other four women who did most of the drinking. The more they drank, the louder they became. Mrs Broomhead nursed the same glass of wine taking only a cursory sip every now and then. It was the same with her meal when it arrived; she pushed the food around her plate, taking only the occasional mouthful. When Mrs Broomhead stood up and said something to the other women, Chris assumed she must have decided to call it a day. Chris had one eye on the newspaper, and the other on Mrs Broomhead as she came out of the dining room. Instead of making for the car park, Mrs Broomhead pressed the call button for the lift.

  Game on! Maybe Mr Broomhead was not paranoid after all.

  Chris remained in her seat from where she could see the lift's floor number display. One, two, three – third floor! Chris made straight for the stairs. She walked slowly, so as not to attract the attention of the receptionists. As soon as she was out of their line of vision, she ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She reached the third floor just in time to see Mrs Broomhead entering a room at the far end of the long corridor - room 335.

  *********

  Her father had been big on instinct. Whenever she had been unsure about something, he would always ask what her gut told her.

  “Trust your instincts Christine.”

  It had taken her some time to accept that particular piece of advice. Too many times she had second-guessed herself or gone against her instincts. Often that had proven to be a mistake. Nowadays, she almost always followed her instincts. Today, her gut was telling her that something wasn't right. Chris had followed enough cheating partners to know how it usually played out. Mrs Broomhead's demeanour had been completely wrong. In the dining room, she had appeared almost afraid.

  Chris had found a small alcove half way down the corridor. From there, she had a good view of room 335. She was hoping the cheating couple would leave together, so she could get the photo she needed. If Mrs Broomhead left alone, Chris would be forced to hang around until Mrs Broomhead's lover decided to leave. If someone was to walk passed Chris in the corridor, she would pretend to be doing something on her phone. Smart phones had been a godsend for PIs – no one ever gave you a second look if you spent ages toying around with your phone.

  The door of room 335 opened, taking Chris by surprise. Mrs Broomhead had been in there no more than two or three minutes. Chris angled the phone, so she had the door in the camera's view finder. Mrs Broomhead was the first to appear.

  Come on! Come on!

  Chris was hoping the woman's lover would step out of the room.

  Gotcha!

  The man put a hand on Mrs Broomhead's shoulder. She seemed to wince, but then turned to face him. He looked older than her. Chris took the photo. She hoped they would kiss, but if not at least she had one shot. Mrs Broomhead put her head on the man's shoulder; he put his hand on the back of her head. Even from a distance it was obvious the woman was crying. This just didn't feel right unless... The only thing which made any sense was if Mrs Broomhead had met with him to end the affair. Chris couldn't bring herself to take a photo while the woman was in tears.

  Within a couple of minutes, Mrs Broomhead had composed herself. When she left, Chris stayed put. She was more interested in finding out who the man was. She didn't have to wait long because ten minutes later, he left the room. Chris followed him down to the car park; Mrs Broomhead's car had already gone. Chris tailed the man's BMW out of town. When he pulled onto a small industrial estate, she hung back for a few minutes. There was only one way in and out of the estate, so he wasn't going to get away from her.

  She spotted the BMW parked in front of a large grey building. As she got closer, she saw the sign “Broomhead Print International”.

  Chris headed back to her office. Once there, she checked Broomhead Print's web site. On the 'About Us' page were profiles o
f the company's top executives. At the top of the list was Malcolm Broomhead, CEO. Immediately below him was Craig Arnold, CFO – the man from room 335.

  Just as she was about to leave the office, Bradley called to say he would be back early morning the next day.

  *********

  It was Friday. Chris had given herself the day off, so she could be home when Bradley arrived. She had already committed to working on Saturday and Sunday, so they would need to make the most of today. The buzz she got whenever she knew he was coming over never diminished. She had it all planned out: first she would take him to bed (important to get your priorities right), next they would take a drive out into the countryside – maybe stop at a pub for a snack, and in the evening they would find a nice restaurant. Then back to bed!

  “Wow! What a greeting!” Bradley said.

  He was barely through the door before Chris hurled herself at him. Dropping his bag, he caught her around the waist. Chris didn't speak. Instead, she pulled his head to hers. Their kiss was intense; both of them hungry for the other. They could talk later – Chris wanted him now. She began to tug his shirt from his jeans.

  “Wait! Hold on!” Bradley took a step back.

  Chris pouted like a child who'd had her toy confiscated.

  “I have to shower first. I've been driving for hours.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “I'll only be five minutes.” He was already walking towards the bedroom.

  “Hurry up or I may change my mind.” Chris pretended to sulk.

  “You won't. You can't resist me.” Bradley grinned.

  “Arrogant bastard!” She hated it when he was right.

  By the time Chris walked into the bedroom, Bradley was already in the shower. She sat on the edge of the bed: waiting, anticipating.

  When Bradley emerged from the en-suite he was rubbing his hair with a towel. Chris's gaze moved up and down his now familiar body. His chiselled chest, muscular arms, and six pack. And then there was his cock, his beautiful cock. He wasn't yet erect, but she would soon see to that.

  Only now did Bradley notice her.

  “Enjoying the view?” He grinned, still rubbing his hair.

  “Very much.”

  Chris stood up and began to walk over to him.

  “Stay there,” he said.

  Chris stopped.

  “Undress!” He ordered.

  Chris smiled. She was only too happy to undress for him.

  Her hands moved slowly from one button to the next on her blouse. It flapped open revealing the swell of her breasts in her push-up bra. After discarding the blouse, she stepped slowly out of her skirt. Wearing only matching bra and panties, she did a slow seductive twirl. When she came to face him again, she noticed his cock was now fully erect. It gave her a thrill to know she could have that effect on him – without so much as laying a finger on his body. After undoing her bra, she squeezed her breasts together in a provocative manner. His hand was now on his cock – stroking it slowly. Finally she stepped out of her panties. She took a step towards him.

  “Stop there!” He said, his hand still stroking his erection.

  Why did he insist on teasing her so? She wanted to get her hands on his cock.

  “Sit on the edge of the bed.”

  She did as he said.

  “Lie back!”

  Again, she followed his orders. Her feet were still resting on the floor.

  “Play with yourself!” He said as he came a little closer.

  She was so horny; she didn't argue. Her finger slid between her legs, and began to rub her clit. She rolled her head from side to side – lost in her own pleasure. She was conscious of him standing next to the bed – his hand stroking his cock faster now as he watched her pleasure herself.

  Moments later, she felt his fingers slide into her wet pussy. She groaned as he finger fucked her. Glancing down at him, she could see he was still masturbating. She knew she would come soon – so would he.

  “Fuck me!” It was her turn to give out the orders.

  He ignored her at first, so she shouted even louder, “Fuck me you bastard!”

  She saw his stupid grin, and wanted to tear his face off.

  “Say please,” he said.

  “Fuck off!”

  “That will do.”

  Bradley grabbed her under the legs, as he rammed his cock into her pussy. It took her breath, but the relief was sublime. As he fucked her, she scraped her fingers across his chest. The ride was fast and furious, but didn't last long. Chris came first – her orgasm engulfing her senses. Bradley came moments later – pumping his warm cum into the depths of her pussy. Neither of them spoke for several moments.

  *********

  Chris went into the kitchen to get glasses and a bottle of wine.

  “Chris, can I borrow your phone charger?” Bradley shouted from the bedroom. “I must have left mine in the car.”

  “Sure. It's in my bedside cabinet – top drawer.”

  When she walked into the bedroom, he had the Jeremies file open; its contents were spread over the bed. Chris had put it in the bedside cabinet the previous night.

  “What's this?” He said without looking up.

  “It's none of your business – that's what it is.” Chris slammed the bottle of wine down. “Move!” She nudged him aside before sliding all the papers back into the file.

  “Why the hell are you involved with a serial murder case?” His light hearted manner from moments earlier had dissolved.

  “It's my job.”

  “I thought you followed cheating husbands.”

  “I'm a private investigator. I do whatever work comes through the door.”

  “But this...?”

  “What the fuck has it got to do with you anyway?”

  “I care about you. I don't want you to get hurt. I don't think you should be getting involved with this kind of thing.”

  Was that how he saw her? As some helpless woman who needed to be wrapped in cotton wool? She knew she was about to lose it, so she walked out of the bedroom with the file in her hand. He followed her.

  “I didn't mean to upset you, but this is dangerous shit.”

  “Do I tell you how to do your job?”

  “No, but...”

  “But nothing.” Chris started to get dressed.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To work.”

  “I thought we were going to spend the day together.”

  “Think again.”

  *********

  Her phone rang four times as she drove to the office; she ignored it. She couldn't speak to him yet, she was too angry. She needed time to think, time to regroup.

  When Chris arrived at the office, there was a message on her answer phone. It was from Broomhead who sounded annoyed and desperate for news. This case was still bothering Chris. Normally, she would have had no qualms in handing over evidence, but her instincts were still telling her something wasn't right. Based on what she did know, this could have wider implications than just a divorce. If the 'other man' turned out to be Broomhead's Chief Financial Officer, it could have serious implications for their business too. She had to be two hundred per cent sure of her facts. Chris decided an informal talk with Broomhead was called for. She didn't intend to let on what she had seen just yet. Instead, she wanted to find out more about his suspicions. So far, he had only told her he thought his wife was having an affair; he hadn't given any hint that he knew who the other man was.

  “Mr Broomhead? It's Chris Munroe. I got your message. No, I don't have anything for you just yet. Yesterday? Yes I did – she had lunch with friends. Yes I'm sure. Is it possible for us to meet? I would like to go over a few details which might help me to move things along. Later today if possible. Great. I'll come by at three.”

  Chris had a couple of hours to kill until her meeting with Broomhead, so she decided to go through the Jeremies file again. It now included the two cases which Cassidy had uncovered. One was a veterinary surgeon, the oth
er was another solicitor. What was it about women professionals which made this man (she assumed it was a man) want to kill them? Taking a notepad from her drawer, Chris began to plot a time-line for the murders. By doing so, she hoped to see a pattern, but there was none. They appeared to have taken place on different days of the week – some on weekdays, some on weekends. The time between murders seemed to be random. There had been a six month gap between two, but only a week between others. Next, she plotted the murders on a map. This was no more illuminating. There had to be some kind of pattern, but she just wasn't seeing it. Frustrated by her lack of progress, she put the time-line and map into the file.

  Chris managed to track down phone numbers for another two of the victim's parents. The first refused point blank to see her – Chris had been unable to convince her she wasn't the press. She had more success when she spoke to the mother of the most recent murder victim. Pamela Moore agreed to see Chris the following day.

  *********

  When Chris pulled into Broomhead's car park, she noticed Craig Arnold's BMW was in its parking space. She was ten minutes early, but reported to reception anyway. A pleasant young woman made a call to Broomhead to tell him Chris had arrived.

  “Follow me please.”

  The young woman led Chris up one flight of stairs. As they walked along the corridor, Chris could see Broomhead in a glass fronted meeting room at the far end. In the same room was Craig Arnold. Broomhead saw the two women approaching, and beckoned them to enter.

  “Come in. Take a seat please,” Broomhead said. He didn't offer to introduce Chris to Arnold. She sat at the far end of the table, and waited until the two men had wrapped up their conversation. They were talking finances; the details didn't mean much to Chris.