Too Close For Comfort (7 page)

“I respect your
views, Mr Bryant, but how can you
categorically
say that?
You admitted yourself that you very rarely saw or spoke to
Nicole.”

“Yes, but that
doesn't change the facts. Nicole had — has — a sister. None of us
see her anymore — I think she's in London, now. At least that's
where she said she was going. Bethany
was
a prostitute.
Nicole despised that and hated it even more for tearing her family
apart. The truth is, Mr Culverhouse, you're not the first person to
have the honour of being thrown out of my house.”

“You threw
Bethany out?”

“After a
fashion, yes. She got mixed up in the drugs game too and it's not
the sort of world I want infesting my household. Nicole agreed
wholeheartedly and was often even more vehemently opposed to
prostitution than I. That, Inspector, is how I
know
Nicole
wasn't mixed up in that terrible business and it's also why I
reacted in the way I did. My wife and I have lost one daughter
through prostitution and now when our second one is murdered, you
accuse her of being a prostitute, too. That cuts very deeply,
especially as nothing could be further from the truth.”

“I understand,
Mr Bryant. I'm sure you realise that we cannot entirely remove the
possibility from our enquiries, but I can assure you that we will
certainly focus our efforts elsewhere for the time being.”

“Thank you,
Inspector. I would appreciate that.”

DS Wing was
stood behind Culverhouse as he put the phone down.

“Gerry Bryant,
guv?”

“Yes. He rang
to
apologise
.”

“Apologise?
With all due respect, guv, from what I've heard it's you who was
meant to be apologising.”

“Yes, exactly.
I'm not sure what's going on with Mr Bryant, Steve, but something's
not quite right.”

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

“Are you going
to put a dress on under that belt or are you going to wear it as it
is?”

“That 'belt'
is
my dress, thank you very much, Michael.”

“I know. I'm
only joking. I didn't realise they made dresses that short
anymore.”

Wendy felt a
little unnerved by Michael's comment. She carefully caressed her
hair with the brush. “What, do you think it's
too
short? I
mean, it is only a second date, after all.”

“Well, some
might say it's
conveniently
short.”

“Oi!”

Michael managed
to duck just in time as the hairbrush crashed into the wall behind
him.

“Woah, woah!
I'm sure the bel... dress will be fine, Wend. It's kind of cool,
actually...”

“I wouldn't go
that far. It's just some bargain-basement thing I picked up in the
charity shop.”

“Nah, not the
dress. I mean this. Us getting on like we used to. Bit of banter,
and all that.”

“Well, there's
more where that came from if you fancy making another remark about
my dress sense.”

“I think I'll
pass. So, are you keen on this Robert bloke then? Think he might be
the one
?” he said, in a swooning, thespian manner.

“Who knows? I'm
not particularly fussed either way. If it works, it works. If not,
hey.”

“What time's he
coming?”

“Drugs addled
your brain? I must have told you twenty times already. He should be
here about seven-thirty.”

“Really? It's
already seven-thirty-five.”

“Oh my God! It
can't be!” Wendy scrambled across the bed and yanked the alarm
clock towards her.
19:03
. As she read the digits for a
second time, she heard Michael laugh out loud behind her. Had the
clock not been plugged in at the wall it would have nestled nicely
beside the hairbrush.

The doorbell
rang on the stroke of seven-thirty and Wendy moved out into the
hallway, halting at the full-length mirror to examine herself one
last time. She turned to the door, then back to the mirror. She
yanked the dress down two inches. Michael's words popped into her
head:
conveniently short
. With that, Wendy pulled the dress
up four inches and opened the door.

“Wendy! Wow!”
Robert Ludford had a huge grin on his face, his head bobbing like a
slow-motion pigeon as he eyed-up Wendy – a thousand naughty
thoughts racing through his mind. Wendy stepped forward and pulled
him into a hug. Robert hoped she hadn't noticed his rather
unfortunate trouser bulge.

“I'm so glad
you've come.”

Robert yelped
and pulled out of the hug. “Huh? What?”

“To the meal,
Robert. I'm glad you've come.”

“Oh. Right.
Yes. Me too.”

Confused, and
slightly unnerved, Wendy stepped aside and let Robert in.

“I'd like you
to meet someone, actually. Do you remember I was telling you about
my brother, Michael?”

“I do
indeed.”

“Michael, meet
Robert Ludford – my date for the evening.”

Michael and
Robert shook hands and greeted each other.

“Less of this
'date' nonsense, Wend. I don't want to feel like the spare
part!”

“Don't worry
about that. We'll try and keep our hands out of each others' pants
until we've finished dinner.”

Robert laughed
nervously. “So, umm... Michael. How are you?”

“Am I off the
drugs, you mean?”

“Well, no, I
meant 'how are you'. I don't...”

“It's OK,
Robert. I've told Michael that you know about the problems.”

“Ah. OK. Well
yes, how is that going?”

“Fine, thanks.
I'm on a treatment program and my surrogate mother here is doing a
grand job of keeping an overbearing eye on me. Except when she's at
work, of course!”

“Yes, Michael
gets up to all sorts of mischief when I'm at work. Yesterday he
even did the ironing
and
the washing.”

“Well, that's
more than I do so I'd be happy with that if I were you!”

Wendy tried not
to look more than a little bit disappointed. She wondered whether
all women inherently and subconsciously considered marriage with
every potential partner they met or if it was just an over-keen
trait of hers.

Later that
evening, the trio sat down to dinner and the red wine flowed.

“Just the one
glass for me, please, Wendy. I have to drive back home
tonight.”

“Work in the
morning?” Michael asked.

“No, I'm not in
until Monday now.”

“Well, why
don't you stay over then?”

Robert looked
at Wendy.

“We've got
room, haven't we, Wend?” Michael added.

“Well,
yes...”

“I wouldn't
want to impose.”

“No, that's
fine, Robert. Michael's right. I can sleep on the sofa and you can
have my bed.”

“Oh, nonsense.
The sofa's fine for me.”

“I won't hear
of it. Anyway, I prefer the sofa.”

“Well, if
you're sure. That would be very kind, thank you.”

“Good, because
we're nearly at the end of the bottle.” Wendy poured another
generous measure of wine into Robert's glass and smiled at him.

As Wendy opened
the third bottle of wine, the conversation began to flow just as
well.

“So, how's the
big case going?” Robert asked.

“Ah, not too
well if I'm honest. There've been three murders now. We thought we
had a link but it doesn't look like the third one matches.”

“How do you
know it's the same guy?”

“We have our
ways of knowing. We don't even know that it is a guy.”

Robert
stuttered. “W...well, no. But one assumes, doesn't one?”

“Indeed. Police
work is 99% assumption.”

“And the other
1%?”

“Guesswork.”

“Enough to fill
the public with confidence!” Michael added.

“So what
doesn't match?”

“I really
shouldn't be telling you both this. It's confidential stuff.”

“Oh, come on.
You can tell us! We might even be able to help. Three heads are
better than one, and all that.”

“OK, well, the
first two victims were prostitutes. Known to the police, so that's
indisputable.”

“Right...”

“But the third
one wasn't.”

“Really?”

“Yes. The funny
thing is, though, her
sister
is a prostitute.”

Robert
accidentally dropped his fork onto his plate.

“Her
sister
?”

“Yes. But she's
alive and well in London – we've checked with the Met.'

“I see. If
you'll excuse me for a moment, I just need to nip to the loo.”

Michael began
to chew his beef more slowly as he watched Robert walk off towards
the bathroom.

“How... odd,”
Wendy remarked.

“Indeed. Very
odd.”

Once the fourth
bottle of wine had been drained, and as Wendy and Robert sat on the
sofa, Michael declared that it was about time he went to bed. As
the latch on the door snapped shut, Robert put his arm round Wendy
as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I've had a
lovely evening. Thank you.”

“It's been a
pleasure. I'm just glad you could come.”

Robert chuckled
to himself.

“What?”

“No, no. That
just reminded me. You said that when I turned up earlier tonight
and I thought you meant something else.”

“What do you
mean?”

“Well, you
opened the door stood in that sexy little black dress and I must
admit I got a bit... aroused. The next thing I know, you've flung
your arms around me and told me you were glad I'd come.”

Wendy
spluttered with laughter as she tried to stop herself propelling
red wine across the sofa.

“Robert! You
have a dirty mind!”

“Well, you
can't blame me. You look absolutely breathtaking in that
dress.”

“Makes you
aroused
, you say? How do you mean?” Wendy enquired, moving
her hand up the inside of his leg. As she got to the top, she
cupped his crotch in her hand and squeezed gently. “Oh... that's
how you mean...”

Wendy kissed
Robert's neck as he groaned with pleasure. Standing to pull the
bolt across on the living room door, Wendy lifted her dress an
extra inch or two, revealing a distinct lack of underwear. With
that, she straddled Robert on the sofa and they made love.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

The incident
room buzzed with the shrill ringing of umpteen telephones
permeating the very matter inside Wendy's brain. She found she
couldn't even handle simple maths. She was sure there were six
glasses of wine in the average bottle.
Four times six is
twenty-four. Or is it? Let's just say it is. Twenty-four divided by
three is eight. Fuck. No wonder I've got a hangover. Wait, maybe
I've done the maths wrong.

“Thirteen
hundred quid's worth of bloody jewellery!”

Umpteen
shrieking phones or one shrieking Culverhouse? It was a tough
choice.

“Sorry,
guv?”

“That's SOCO's
take on what that Bryant bird was wearing when she kicked the
bucket. That begs two questions, Knight. Number one, why the
sodding hell didn't the daft bugger nick it? Number two, where in
the name of all that is holy did a part-time shop assistant get the
cash to buy thirteen hundred quid's worth of jewellery?”

“I don't know.
They might have been presents.”

“Who from, the
Sultan of sodding Brunei? No, Knight, there's more to this girl
than meets the eye and I'm going to find out what it is.”

***

Wendy shrieked
with delight as the sun rose on Mildenheath the next morning. The
sofa springs heaved underneath her as she thrust her pelvis back
and forth. It felt amazing. Warm and soft – just divine. Robert
grinned at Wendy as he held the two warm, juicy buns in his
hands.

“Hot cross
bun?”

“Ooh, yes
please. I was just thinking how soft and bouncy your sofa is while
you were in the kitchen. I must get a new one myself.”

“It's very
comfortable. In fact, I'll let you in on a little secret. I bought
the most soft and comfortable sofa in the shop because I knew I'd
keep falling asleep in it and could justify buying myself a
dedicated reading chair,” he said, pointing to the reclining
leather armchair in the corner of the room.

“Why did you
need to justify it to yourself?”

“Ah, lack of
willpower, I guess.”

“I noticed you
have a lot of books. You read much?”

“As much as I
can. The pen is mightier than the sword, as they say.”

“Indeed. I
guess we should think ourselves lucky that the serial killer isn't
killing people with pens.”

“He used a
sword?”

“Well, no – a
knife – but you get the point.”

Robert switched
the television on. A short, blonde-haired reporter was stood
outside Mildenheath police station.

“Ooh, fame at
last!” Robert joked.

“This latest
murder,” the blonde-haired reporter explained, “is thought to be
linked with two others in Mildenheath which occurred over the last
few days. Specific information from Mildenheath Police has been
scarce with no word as to how these three young women came to meet
their deaths. Their identities, however, were confirmed earlier
this evening as twenty-one-year-old Ella Barrington,
twenty-nine-year-old Maria Preston and seventeen-year-old Nicole
Bryant. Local sources have confirmed that both Ella Barrington and
Maria Preston were known prostitutes operating in the area but it
is thought that Nicole Bryant was not working as a prostitute at
the time of her death. Nonetheless, it appears that this is a line
of enquiry which Mildenheath Police are following up.”

Before the
reporter could finish her report, Robert switched the TV off.

“Robert? What's
that all about?”

“Well, it's not
very nice is it? Having to hear about those people dying. No, I
suspect you have enough of it at work. Would you like a cup of
tea?”