by Gl Corbin
Table of Contents
Episode 3
His Secrets
Episode 3
GL Corbin
copyright 2013 GL Corbin
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, dead or alive, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Episode 3
“Chris, are you okay?” Bradley was standing next to her desk.
“What's happened?” Chris was in the doorway; she was still trying to process the scene in front of her. The drawers of the filing cabinet were open; papers and files were strewn across the floor.
“It was like this when I got here,” he said as he took a step towards her.
She took a step back.
“What's wrong?” Bradley said.
“Why are you here?”
“I came to see you.”
“Why?”
“To apologise for being an arse this morning.” He looked around. “Who would do this?”
“I don't know.”
“Could it be connected to the murder case?”
“I said I don't know!” She spat the words.
Bradley held up his hands in surrender.
“Sorry. I didn't mean to shout.”
“Come here.” He held his arms out to her.
“I'm okay.” She walked passed him, and began to pick up the files.
“Shouldn't you leave that?”
“Why?”
“Won't the police want to check for fingerprints and stuff?”
“I'm not calling the police.”
“You have to. Someone broke in. What if you had been here?”
“If I'd been here, I would have kicked their arses.”
“I believe you.” Bradley grinned. “Remind me never to upset you.”
Chris dropped a file into the drawer, and turned to face him.
“Sorry.” She smiled. “It's not your fault.”
“It's okay.”
“You're still an arse hole though.”
“Thanks.”
“You can't stick your nose into my work. This is what I do, and I'm bloody good at it.”
“I know. I just don't want you to get hurt.”
She froze him with a look.
“Sorry.”
“I can look after myself.”
“I believe you.”
“Okay.”
“Friends?” He flashed his killer smile; the one she had never been able to resist.
Chris walked over to him, and they kissed. His body felt so good pressed against hers; she hated that he had that effect on her. Who was she trying to kid? She loved it.
“I'd better tidy this mess up.” Chris pulled away from him.
“I'll help.”
“Why don't you take a look at the door to see if it can be repaired?”
It didn't take Chris long to tidy everything away. It was obvious that whoever had broken in had been looking for something specific; nothing appeared to be missing. The Jeremies file was in her car.
Bradley managed to patch together the door. The lock was still intact, but the door frame had been damaged. The temporary repair wouldn't last long, but would do until Chris could get a locksmith the next day. In all of the years the business had been run out of that office, this was the first break-in.
*********
Pamela Moore looked fifty going on ninety five. Her nose looked sore, her hair hadn't seen a brush in days, and her eyes were dead. Chris thanked her for seeing her. Photos of a young woman were on the wall and mantelpiece. Chris's research had shown Susan Moore to be an only child. Did that make this type of tragedy even worse? Chris wasn't sure it did – the loss of any child was probably equally devastating.
“Would you like a coffee?” Mrs Moore said.
It was obvious that the woman was operating on auto-pilot.
Chris declined.
“Graham, my husband, isn't feeling very well.”
Chris nodded.
“He was the one who found Susan.”
“I'm sorry.”
“We thought she was ill.” The woman appeared to be talking to herself as much as to Chris. “It was my brother's birthday. Nigel was Susan's favourite uncle; he was her god father. She wouldn't have missed his birthday. I tried to ring her, but she didn't answer. That wasn't like Susan. She always took my calls. Graham said he'd go around to see if she was okay. He thought she might have a sickness bug. But then...” Her words trailed off.
“Do the police have any leads?”
“I don't know. They don't tell us anything. That's why I said I'd see you. I thought you might be able to tell us something.”
“I don't have any information for you today, but I promise I will tell you anything I find out.”
Mrs Moore nodded.
“I'm looking at a number of similar cases.”
“Has he done this before?” Mrs Moore was suddenly more animated.
“I don't know that for sure yet. There have been a number of murders where the victim was a young female professional.”
“Susan was an architect.”
“So I understand.”
“She loved it. It was all she'd ever wanted to do. Even as a young child, she would draw buildings, and show them to me. It was her passion.” Tears welled in Mrs Moore's eyes. “I'm sorry.”
“It's okay.” Chris almost said she understood, but then realised she didn't. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Thank you. That would be nice.”
“Coffee?”
“Tea please.” Mrs Moore patted her eyes with a tissue.
There were more photos in the kitchen. The largest of them was of Susan Moore on her graduation day. She was flanked by her mother, barely recognisable as the wreck of a woman next door, and her father, a handsome man with grey hair. All three of them were beaming at the camera.
“Thank you dear.” Mrs Moore cupped the tea in her hands. “I've forgotten your name.”
“Chris. Chris Munroe.”
“Yours is an unusual job for a woman.” Mrs Moore took a sip of tea.
“Is it all right if I ask you some questions?”
Mrs Moore nodded.
“How long had Susan been living in her apartment?”
The woman had to think for a moment.
“Just over a year. After she had finished her degree, she didn't want to move back here. She had grown used to her independence. I understood, but her father thought she should have come home.” She hesitated. “If she had...” Her words hung in the air.
“Did Susan have a boyfriend?”
“No.” For the first time since she'd arrived, Chris thought she saw a hint of a smile on Mrs Moore's face. “Susan didn't like boys.”
Chris hesitated. Did the woman mean what Chris thought she meant? This wasn't the time for Chris to put her foot in it. She decided to tread carefully.
“Didn't like boys?”
“She preferred girls. Susan was gay.”
“I see. Did she have a girl friend?”
“No one special. She had been in a serious relationship at university. That's when she came out to us. Graham was a bit surprised at first, but neither of us minded just as long as she was happy...” The tears began again.
Chris waited until Mrs Moore had composed herself.
“When she left university, her relationship with Alison petered out.”
They talked for another hour. A couple of times, Chris heard footsteps upstairs, but Mr Moore didn't make an appearance. As she left, Chris thanked Mrs Moore, and promised to keep her posted.
As Chris drove back to the office, she realised just how little she had to go on. Sarah Milner may have had an older boyfriend, but it was possible
he was a figment of her imagination. Susan Moore definitely didn't have a boyfriend. Chris had a sinking feeling – maybe the police were right. Maybe there was no connection.
*********
The locksmith was waiting for Chris when she arrived at the office.
“Looks like someone really wanted to get in.”
“How much is it going to cost?” Yet more expense she could do without.
“Depends what you want. Mini or a Rolls Royce?”
“How about a push bike?”
“Did an unhappy customer do this?”
“I don't know. He didn't leave his card.”
“You should have CCTV installed. I could give you a quote.”
“Just the lock will be fine.”
Chris left the locksmith to it. He had given her an idea. Why hadn't she thought of it herself? Wasn't she meant to be a PI?
The road on which her office was located had CCTV cameras along its length. The nearest one was no more than twenty metres from her office. Her father had known one of the security guards who operated the cameras. Chris was trying to remember his name; she had only met him the once. The control room was a couple of streets away. From there, they monitored the CCTV cameras for the whole area.
Jake Denver – the name came back to her as she walked over there. She remembered her father had said 'Denver - like the singer' which had meant nothing to Chris. Jake was an ex-cop. Chris buzzed the intercom.
“Hello?”
“I'm looking for Jake Denver.” She wasn't hopeful and was expecting a 'Who?'.
“Hold on. Who wants him?”
“Chris Munroe.”
Jake didn't look any different from the last time she had met him; maybe a little less hair. He remembered Chris, and gave her his condolences – he apologised for not having been able to make the funeral. Chris knew he shouldn't be doing this, but he didn't have any qualms about going through the CCTV for her.
Jake set the playback on fast forward. Chris had been able to narrow down the time which made life easier.
“There!” Chris pointed to the screen.
Jake paused the tape
“Can you zoom in?”
“Sure.”
Chris put her nose almost to the screen.
“Gotcha!”
*********
Bradley had cooked dinner. This was not good news. Bradley James was many things, but a cook was not one of them. Chris could smell the culinary disaster as soon as she stepped foot in her apartment.
“What's that?” She could barely contain her laughter as she looked at the charcoal remains of what had once been - what exactly? It was anyone's guess. A chicken maybe?
“I think I may have left it in the oven for too long.”
“You think?” Chris's whole body was shaking with laughter now.
Bradley shook his head as he stared at the burnt remains.
“Come here.” Chris slid her arms around his waist. “It was a nice thought.”
Bradley put his hand behind her head, and pressed his lips against hers.
“I'll just have to find some way to make it up to you,” he said – his eyes full of mischief.
“That would be nice. What did you have in mind?”
Without another word, he lifted her off her feet, and placed her on the kitchen worktop. He took her foot in his hand, and slipped off her shoe. Chris let out a squeak when he rubbed his palm under the soul of her foot. After removing her other shoe, he kissed her toes, and then began to plant kisses along her leg. Every few kisses, he would shift his attention to her other leg. He stopped just long enough to hitch up her skirt, exposing her thighs and panties. Chris wrapped her fingers in his hair, pressing his head down onto her.
When he slid his hands under her skirt, she raised her bottom to allow him to take off her panties. The marble worktop was cold to her bare bottom.
“Maybe I should get back to the cooking,” he said.
“Don't you dare.” She knew he was teasing, but she wasn't going to take any chances. She pulled him back to her.
“Are you sure?” His stupid grin drove her crazy.
“You're such a teasing bastard! I hate you!”
Bradley pulled her closer to the edge of the worktop. Her body was primed for his touch; so when his mouth engulfed her pussy, she could not stifle a scream. When he sucked on her clit, she thought she was going to come right there and then. Before she could, his tongue slid down and dipped into her wetness. Both of her hands were on his head now; she wasn't about to let him go anywhere. Bradley knew exactly how to tease and please her. One moment, he was flicking her clit with his tongue until she was within a nanosecond of an orgasm, the next he was pressing his tongue in and out of her wet hole.
“Come for me, Chris.”
He slid two fingers into her pussy, and fixed her with his gaze; he loved to watch her come. Chris rubbed her clit while he finger fucked her.
“Ohhh goddd!”
Her orgasm shot through her whole body, and she struggled to catch her breath. His fingers were still inside her; her pussy muscles squeezed tight around them.
Chris leaned her head back against the cupboard. Bradley was on his feet now; he had the familiar grin plastered across his face.
*********
Chris tucked in two vehicles behind the target's car. It was the evening rush hour, so it was slow progress through roads jammed with commuters on their way home. She almost lost him twice at traffic lights, but each time managed to catch up to him again. It helped that she had a good idea where he was headed.
Sure enough, twenty five minutes later, he pulled up at the address which a Google search had turned up earlier that day. Chris parked on the road, jumped out of the car, and hurried up the drive. He didn't spot her until he had already opened the door to his house.
“Hello?” He had a puzzled expression on his face. “Didn't you come to the offices to see Malcolm?”
“Can I come in?” Chris was in his face now.
“I'm rather busy at...” He stopped mid-sentence when he spotted the black and white photo which Chris was holding up.
“Recognise anyone?” She moved the photo closer, so it was only inches from his nose.
“You had better come in.”
Chris knew from her research that Arnold was divorced, so she'd been fairly sure there wouldn't be anyone else in the house.
He made straight for the drinks cabinet. A half full whisky bottle was already out.
“Drink?”
“No thanks, I'm fine.”
Arnold poured and then sank a half measure in one go.
“Are you going to deny this is you?”
“Would there be any point?” He poured a second half measure.
“Not really. Do you want to tell me about it or would you prefer I call the police?”
Arnold slumped onto the sofa. Chris remained standing.
“I recognised you the other day when you came into the office to see Malcolm.”
Chris looked confused; how could he have known who she was?
“You probably don't remember,” he continued. “Your father did some work for the company some time ago. I wasn't really involved, but I did take some papers to your father's office. You were there that day.”
Chris didn't remember, but then Arnold had a forgettable face.
“When I saw you with Malcolm again, I guessed why you were there.”
“How could you guess something like that?”
“He had mentioned he was thinking of getting a PI to check up on Cynthia.”
“Ironic he should mention it to the very man his wife his having the affair with.”
“Is that what you think?” Arnold stood up, and laughed nervously. “I'm not having an affair with Cynthia.”
Chris was surprised by his reaction. She didn't respond. Instead, she waited for him to continue.
“Cynthia is my friend. Nothing more than that. I care for her.”
“Why the clandest
ine meetings in hotel rooms?”
It was Arnold's turn to look surprised.
“I have photos.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“That's why you broke into my office?”
He nodded.
“But if you aren't having an affair, why would you be worried about a photo?”
He hesitated.
“If you don't answer my questions, I will hand over what I have to Broomhead. Then I'll call the police about the break-in.” This was a blatant lie; Chris had no intention of getting the police involved.
“Malcolm is a bully,” Arnold said.
Chris already knew where this was going, but allowed him to continue.
“He's been abusive to Cynthia for years.”
“Why does she stay with him?”
“I don't know is the simple answer. I've tried to persuade her to leave, but she wouldn't or couldn't. Just lately, it's got worse.”
“How?”
“It used to be verbal, psychological – which is bad enough. But now...”
“He's hitting her?”
Arnold nodded.
“Why doesn't she go to the police?”
“She's too scared. Scared they won't believe her.”
“Where do you fit in?”
“I've known both of them for years. Before my divorce, we used to go out together – the four of us. After my wife left, I kept in touch with Cynthia.”
Arnold saw the look on Chris's face.
“As friends – nothing more. I swear. Cynthia came to me a few months ago and broke down. She said she couldn't take any more, and asked if I'd help her to get out.”
“And are you?”
“Yes. She wants to disappear, but it has to be somewhere that Malcolm won't find her. That's why we have been meeting – making arrangements – everything is more or less in place now. Malcolm must have noticed Cynthia was going out more than usual, and put two and two together and ended up with five. That's when he got you involved.”
“It's a good story, but how do I know any of it is true?”