by George Rufus
"The old boy from the school and the young lad." Rob said trying to refocus her to his train of thought.
"Did you eat something dodgy or are you having a midlife crisis Rob, this is the only bloody death that is cut and dried out of the whole awful mess of bodies we have to sift through and you want to delve deeper, really?" She said exasperated by his questioning.
“You say that, but lately I have got the old Robertson gut feeling back and working like it used to!"
“Give me strength Rob, leave intuition to us women please, it is a straight forward suicide. Who cares why the old guy left the boy the money. Perhaps he fancied him, maybe he was a closet gay? Maybe he was just the son he never had! Who cares, leave it alone. My god there are four murders that need sorting. A potential loony out and about still and we have a mountain of dull and monotonous interview with some lad who had a row with the vicar before he died to get through by teatime, what do you want to go stirring up more bloody work for?"
“Can’t believe you are swearing and getting stressed with your baby listening Kate," Rob said teasingly, trying to move away from the conversation. " C'mon lets go play good cop, bad cop with the ex offender. You never know he might confess to butchering the vicar in the first five minutes and we can all go home on time!"
“Yeah, like that is going to happen, when he has a watertight alibi to where he was all night and a load of reliable witnesses," she sighed and walked slowly from the room.
Rob tried to reason with himself to let his niggles about the suicide go. It looked like the old boy had just lost a reason to get up in the morning. With no family, the young boy leaving and being forced into retirement by a school clearing their staffing in order to make improvements. What niggled Rob was it seemed so drastic and no one had seen it coming. At seventy the old guy was relatively fit and healthy. The search of the house had shown nothing out of the ordinary, except there was so little personal belongings, other than clothes. No photos of family, friends or even a postcard or letter other than bills. It also niggled him that the suicide note had been so to the point and logical. Not that of someone not thinking clearly. It had clearly said he no longer wanted to live. He had no purpose. Just that. How bloody sad. How many people were there out there like Roy, who still found a reason to carry on, so why didn't he. Was there something else?
Later that evening at home, when the boys were asleep, he had hoped to hear a knock on the door and find Tess stood there, as she had done before. It would have been a good night to have company and not to be alone. As he turned off the light and tried to switch off himself, he heard his phone go off.
In the darkness with the screen lit up he could see Tess' name. She had finally been added officially to his contacts list. He reached out and read the text.
' I am away for a week researching my new book in Scotland. Is there any chance we can pick up from where we were interrupted, when I get back?’
He read it several times. Smiled and laid down with something to think about as he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Thirty.
As he boarded the bus Tavistock, destined for Plymouth, carrying one backpack and a large hold-all, he smiled inside and almost felt like waving goodbye. Once he reached Plymouth he would get the coach to Portsmouth, where his search for her would begin. He took his seat and allowed himself to visit the film of his dreams, with his perceived ideas of normality played the self out. He knew that those who had hurt him had all paid what they had owed him. Not everyone, but those who had caused the greatest harm that he could get to. In seeking out his mother, he would be reunited with her and she would be able to make up for leaving him and that would be the start of his new life. He just had to find her and they could start all over again. He hugged his back pack closer and felt clear on his next plan.
Kate looked really well after her return to work, though it wouldn't be long until she went on maternity leave. She had been shocked by how tired and drawn Rob looked. Most of her team and colleagues looked they could do with a month's bed rest. She had made a mental note that while she loved her job, she had to put her baby and her health first. The scare of a potential miscarriage in the early months had made her question the silly hours she had worked in the early stages of her pregnancy. She was committed to the police force but also committed to having children and keeping her marriage happy and thriving. She had watched too many of colleagues go through hard times in their relationships through the demands of the job. She had watched Rob suffer when his wife left him. She did not want the same to happen to her and Jeff. She knew what a struggle it was for Rob to balance the job he was so passionate about, with raising his sons single handedly. She admired him but knew at times it was an impossible juggling act that went horribly wrong. She watched how wracked with guilt he was because he felt he had let his boys down due to work commitments. Her main priority was going to be keeping her family and her job in balance.
Rob had tried again that morning to discuss his angst with the suicide case with her, but she had firmly shut down the conversation. They had a huge amount of work to do back tracking over statements from neighbours in the Agnes murder case, who were oblivious to her agonising death, without going over a case that was clear cut and over. Kate tried to engage Rob' s attention and gut feelings to any discrepancies there, but he still wasn't convinced. So she tried the sympathy vote for the young lad who seemed to have so little in her eyes.
"Poor sod, at least he will have a bit of money behind him now and no debts, the old boy left him everything including the house, " she suggested. " But even then, it is not a replacement for the love of a family and friends, is it?" She sighed, patting her childbearing abdomen.
The End.
Coming soon
If you enjoyed HE, continue reading for the first chapter of the next book in the series ………
SHE
The cards had been inherited. They were reshuffled in a brisk, crisp expert style, perfected over years. They were then placed face down in a neat pile, as always. Unlike a full deck, this had only one suit and one joker. Each of the twelve cards to trigger one random act. The joker played the game. How each card would be executed, would soon be coming to life.
The joker turned over the top card, reflecting on what the card revealed and what would follow.
Chapter One.
The blood had at first appeared to run freely. She watched with more intense interest, as her shock wore off. When she had dared to enter the room long after the loud hysterical noises, she had been unable to stop shaking and staring. She had crouched in the corner of the room looking, not really breathing, fascinated and horrified all at the same time.
Before that she had hidden, under the stairs, wedged behind the old wooden box and the Hoover, for a very long time. She had gone there after being woken by the argument. When she had heard the shrill screams of her mother reach a new and terrifying sound, she had stuffed her fingers into her ears so far, it hurt. She had felt the quiet descend after the front door shut, reverberating down the hall wall. She stayed still, hardly daring to breath, cramped up for a long time.
The room was dark, except for the flickering of the television, on mute. She stared at the scene before her. Taking in every detail, amongst the familiar. The blood was thickening, drying, running out it seemed. Was that all the blood a human carried? She had imagined there was pints of it, but it was definitely drying up. There was every shade of red, like a colour chart of shades. The vivid fresh blood on her mother's bare skin, the darkening thicker maroon, forming sticky oil like pools on the floor. Her mother looked grotesque and uncomfortable but at peace. She was naked from the waist down. Her mouth gaping as if desperate to draw one more breath. She wore a necklace of intense purple bruises. Her make up smudged like a crying clown and tragic. Her top tatty, ripped and artistically ripped where the knife had randomly punctured holes in the frenzied attack. At first the drips of blood had made pitter patter noises on the wooden floor, mostly from her
arms that hung over the sofa. That noise ceased and all the child could hear was her own breathing and the ticking of the mantel piece clock.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
They were alone in the same room without noise for an impossibly long time. It was a heavily laden finale for the child and mother. So ill at ease in life together, now so uncomfortably at peace. The child felt her eyes growing heavier. All she could hear was the tick of the clock.
When she awoke, cold and crumbled on the floor, she forgot why she was there and what had happened. She kept her head on the floor and looked sideways at the scene. She could see her mother's limbs dangling like a marionette whose strings have been dropped and they are an inanimate heap. She heard the tick of the clock and she knew she would never see her mother again. She stayed really still and clasped her arms tight around her arms. She whispered to her mother, all the things she wanted to say when she was alive. At first they were polite, timid requests like could she have her teddy back. The longer her mother laid there, the braver she got and she started to feel a little bit cross.
“I really don't like all the smelly men that come here, mummy, please don't let them be so rude and hurt you so much. I hate the shouting and I can't go to sleep, mummy, can you hear me mummy."
Eventually, talking was drowned out by gasps of breath and sobbing. She cradled herself and rocked her head into her body and cried until she could no more. Then she got up, cold, shaky and stiff all over. Quietly left the room, whispered goodbye and went to get her cardigan from her room. She knew that old Mrs Wiseman next door was in, because she could hear the Hoover going. She opened the door, looked back and went out to ask the neighbour for help.
Look out for SHE arriving at Amazon soon.