Passion Patrol 2 - a Sexy Police Romance Suspense Novel With a Touch of Humor: Hot Cops. Hot Crime. Hot Romance. (18 page)

For an hour or so they slept. She had no need to start too early. There was the small matter of the dead girl and the case of Mrs Hornet’s corned beef. Her sexy bear stirred beside her. She could smell their sex scent. It was a good sensation. Their bodies made hot fertile perfume.

“You make me want you so much,” he said.

“I like that.”

“I’d never felt that way, it’s marvelous but almost shocking.”

She saw the chance of an opening into a wider conversation. She moved to his side and stroked his hair as he cuddled her to him.

“Before ... you didn’t....”

“No, Saskia was a wonderful woman....”

“Don’t talk about her if you don’t want to. Maybe you want to keep those things private.”

“No, I need to talk about her. I’ve never wanted to. I’ve always felt that if I spoke of her I’d be letting her out and losing the full force of her in me. It’s almost like sex desire in a way. You enjoy the pressure of it and know you will feel released but weaker after. That might just be a man thing. Am I making sense?”

“Yes—yes, you are. It must be hard not to think of her when you are with another woman.”

“Here in this moment, you’re a gentle female voice. I feel such a range of things in you. I won’t in any way diminish her by sharing my thoughts of her with you. I’ve never thought that about anyone before.”

“I feel quite moved.”

“I mean it. I feel I can really open up my life with her and see it now, but see it as an image flowing from its frame. A picture I can love again and see the flaws and details. Grief is a fabulous portrait with its face turned to the wall. You fear that the light of life will fade it. That imposed darkness is the truest loss of that person.

He grew still and quiet. She knew there was a tear on his cheek. For all that her own life had thrown at her, she had never faced his experience of loss. She wasn’t going to trot out any clichés about
moving on
. She sensed he had said all he wanted to for now.

“I’ll never push you or fire questions,” she said.

“No, you’re a wise human, Shannon. You’re deep and kind. You don’t just talk crap about chocolate, handbags, and shopping.”

“Oooh, you say some romantic things my hugga-bear,” she said, steering his mood up and away.

“No, I suppose I don’t do hard-core romance.”

“Shall we talk about disc brakes and engine compression ratios?”

“You, Shannon, are a minx. You are everything all in one and you can flip me up or spin me round. I can touch my feminine side but with slightly oily hands.”

“Then you’d better bring a nail brush to Venice. I’m gonna want a total love hunk, O sole mio man.”

“That’s why I asked you. We fly out Wednesday afternoon.”

Back in her police office, she e-mailed Superintendent Tom Mitchell:

“Important development in case of dead girl. Would be easier for me to talk.”

He replied almost at once.

“Zulu Delta canteen 1230. Sausage toad and chips lunch.”

She smiled. Since her first days in the police, sausage toad with HP brown sauce had been her favorite meal. Without it the Metropolitan Police would not function. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about food for twenty-four hours.

The top detective was a small man of her own height. He would barely have made the minimum limit of five-feet-eight inches when he had joined, probably around the age of eighteen. He looked like a thirty-year service guy. His thinning, slightly ginger hair was elaborately combed over a flaky scalp. He wore an old suit and a 1950s-style tank top He was feared as a ruthless investigator. He drank only tea and dunked criminals as biscuits. He treated her to a piled up feast of canteen cholesterol and a mug of mahogany tea.

“Now, that’s what I call true Force feeding!” he said.

Shannon laughed and treated the delicacy with HP brown sauce. She missed stuff like this in her new life. Her hips were cheering. They sat down by the window looking out onto the urban swirl of cars and Croydon concrete.

“So Shannon, you were saying....” he began, looking at her with greenish eyes from under anarchic eyebrows.

“The girl’s body had traces of animal hair. It came from a dog at Badger’s Knoll, the palatial home of Ron and Sylvie Arrowsmith. The names may be familiar, Guv.”

“You have my total attention.”

“Obviously they’re villains. Sylvie used to be a porn star called Scarlet Cherry. These days she offers oriental girls for filming and wider entertainment purposes. I’ve a hint they may have trafficked servants at the house.”

Tom Mitchell’s mouth made a slight twitch which she guessed was the smile of a predator catching the scent of prey on the wind. She continued.

“They have a teenage son, Ashley. He steals skunk from his parent’s stash at the house. I’ve been tipped off that Ron has given up extortion to run a farming operation.”

“Who else have you told?”

“No one, Guv—just you.”

“Is there any chance Ron and Sylvie are aware of your interest?”

“No, I’m certain not.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“How do you know that’s the dog?”

“I got some hairs and ran a DNA check.”

“How? I guess you didn’t use a magnifying glass and a test tube.”

“I can’t tell you that, Guv. I gave my absolute word.”

“What if I ordered you to?”

“I can’t stop you doing that but it wouldn’t make any difference.”

He gave her a long stare, not in anger but more in appraisal.

“How do you know about the skunk weed?”

“I caught a nose full of it from the son. Another kid gave me a tip on how he got it.”

“And you let it run without diving in?”

“Yes.”

He took a deep breath and spent a few moments looking out of the window.

“If police have obtained evidence improperly or potentially contaminated or confused forensic samples the whole deal could fail. Both of us could be queuing up at the job center or looking at a rest break in prison. Do you know that?”

“I know that.”

“You’ve got some balls. Okay—I trust you.”

“Thanks, Guv. I value that. Anyway the purpose of my visit was to give you this,” she said, pulling an envelope out of her shoulder bag. The superintendent opened it and read a witness statement.

“This says you saw a girl of a very similar description in a car driven by Sylvie Arrowsmith the day before the body was found.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You’ve not said this before.”

“No. After the DNA test on the hairs something clicked in my mind and I had a sudden crystal clear flashback, Guv.”

“The DNA test that didn’t happen?”

“That statement is dated the day the body was found. I expect there’s been thousands of inquiries to follow up. My little contribution just got to the top of the pile I expect.”

“I expect it just did, Shannon. I won’t labor the point but we understand each other, I think. I’ll launch the missile on the basis of this statement. Nothing else!”

“There is nothing else,” she said.

“If this goes well you’re up for a commendation at least. I’m always here to help you any way I can.”

“Thanks, Guv.”

“Just go back to Sleepy Hollow and act the dumb cop. What usually goes on?”

“Big problem with wet cats. Had a bit of corned beef rustling at the village shop yesterday.”

“That’s the stuff. Creatures like Ron Arrowsmith are very aware of anything in the air.”

“I guess you know him?”

He chuckled with an icy mirth.

“Oh, yes. We have a history starting with chainsaws and vans of cash. I was a detective on the Sweeney for quite a while. You know the book in the glass case, with the eternal flame, at Scotland Yard?”

“Yes, cops who died on duty.”

“There’s a name of a brave man in there that means a lot to me. Believe me, young lady, if this job nails that piece of shit Arrowsmith it will be the pinnacle of my service in the police. You will merit the respect of the entire force and I’ll make sure you get it.”

“He was acquitted at court, I believe.”

“Yes. These cases are difficult when witnesses go missing. As soon as the operation is set up I’ll invite you to the briefing.”

He stood up and made for his office like a man on a mission. She finished the sausage toad. She had a mission of her own.

A few minutes later she was sitting in front of Inspector Lilly’s desk.

“Thanks for Sunday,” she said.

“It was such an honor. Did you know his Grace has invited me and my wife to dine with him and ... er ... you at Bloxington Manor?”

“Hey, that’s cool, Guv.”

“Cool? Are you a…?”

“Fixture, mistress, concubine?”

“No, nothing of the kind. I just meant it’s unusual to invite the village constable.”

“It’s worse than that, Guv. He’s taking me to Venice tomorrow.”

“You’re going to Venice with his Grace?”

“Yeah. It’s just a UNESCO conference. You look surprised.”

“He never took PC Flowers to Venice.”

“He never did all sorts of things with PC Flowers. Guv, I’m just a working girl with an earl. How normal can you get?”

“No, it’s perfectly understandable. You’re a very attractive....”

“Now, that’s sexist, Guv. I believe PC Flowers was male and no less attractive than me.”

“Oh no, please. It was a misjudged comment. I didn’t intend any sort of sexist behavior.”

She saw panic in his face as his whole career faced ruin on a sexism and harassment rap.

“ Guv, I was joking. It’s a compliment, OK?”

“One has to be so careful, Shannon. I didn’t mean to suggest you were attractive or that his Grace would want your company because you’re a woman.”

“I forgive you, Guv, but I need some leave authorized outside the normal time frame.”

“Yes, his Grace would look to me to help, I’m sure.”

He turned to his computer screen and brought up her leave file. He tapped a few buttons.

“I go tomorrow and I’ll be back to work Saturday morning,” she said with a warm smile.

“There, you’ve plenty of days on your allocation. I see you’ve got a week booked the week after next. Anyway, it’s fixed.”

“Thanks, Guv. We’ll look forward to seeing you at the Manor.”

He saw her out into the corridor. She could tell he was still worried about the harassment and sexism. She hadn’t meant to but she’d been over-cheeky and he was a good guy. She made sure there were plenty of people in sight. She planted a kiss on his cheek.

“That’s my case ruined. Now who’s sexist, eh?” she said. “I could be busted.”

He looked at her and shook his head.

“They sure broke the mold after making you,” he said.

Driving back she had the time to reflect. For the first time since she’d joined the police, she was dealing with something else in her life. Until now her work had defined her. She thought of Spencer and how folk like Inspector Lilly almost groveled at the mention of his title. Could she ever be comfortable with that? Maybe she’d started to use that power a little? She was becoming a woman on the outside that she still had to find inside herself. Confident, wealthy people faced no dichotomy. This human life was theirs to enjoy and control by right. Could she handle all the contradictions that her position presented? She knew one thing. She wanted him as a lover and for him to be with her.

She needed a friend. Mel answered his mobile.

“Hey, Sugar. You hitting on me?”

“I need a friend.”

“When?”

“Now. That’s why I said need.”

“I’m working....”

“No excuse. How about tonight?”

“Oh Sugar. I gotta date.”

All her own selfish thoughts evaporated.

“Hey, my man, that’s great. Anyone I know?”

“Sure. It’s Tim from the cricket match. We’re meeting up at the Courtauld Gallery. He’s a big fan of the Fauves. I only know Matisse.”

“You’re such a culcha vulcha. Anyway, eat your heart out cos I’m going to Venice with Spencer tomorrow.”

“That’s a bit off your beat.”

“Yeah. It’s just a regular UNESCO thing.”

“You OK with everything?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m in a strange place in my life you know.”

“Let’s meet up on the weekend. Curry and beer?”

“Beer and curry.”

“Did you check out that file on Ben?”

“It’s nearly at the top of my pile.”

“I’ve already got a plastic model gondola by the way.... Love you.”

“Love you.”

She ended the call smiling. Obviously Mel and Tim had really clicked. She pulled out the file on Ben’s arrest. It was written up as a routine stop but there’s no such thing to a cop. There’d been three lads but no record of the others being searched. That could be just an omission on the file. She read through the notes of interview. Ben had completely denied all knowledge of the drugs. The interview didn’t cover the possibility of the lads swapping coats or where they’d been prior to the stop. The job was a bit slapdash. All the boys were from what society would say were good homes. There was something missing and she was unlikely to find it on the file. Only the officer involved knew why he’d made the stop. More than likely one of them stepped out of line, threw down some litter, called out after a girl. Only Ben had been arrested. She had to be careful. Any streetwise cop would resent her interest. She noted the officer’s name. PC Gary Woods.

The house was quiet and lonely. It was a relief to go out. She drew up in front of a rather dilapidated cottage at the end of a narrow and neglected gravel drive. She saw the curtain twitch as she pulled up. The front door opened before she reached it.

“Police. How extraordinary,” said a white haired lady of about eighty.

“Mrs Hornet?”

“No dear. The name is Hor-nette. A hornet is a nasty wasp thing.”

“May I come in?”

“Well, you seem to almost know my name. One must help the police.” Her accent was pure pantomime Margaret Thatcher.

She sat opposite the woman who was clearly trembling. Shannon relaxed her official face.

“It’s nothing too serious Mrs Hor-nette. Don’t worry. I’m Shannon Ag-where-ee. What’s your first name?”

“Shannon—that’s one of those strange modern names.”

“I grew up with it.”

“You would have done I suppose. I’m Isobel Susan Rothersby Hor-nette.

Shannon glanced around the room. There was a smell of damp. Framed amateur landscape paintings and royal family souvenir plates decorated the walls. The ceiling was low with oak beams and smoke yellowed paint. She sensed genteel poverty and the stillness of an ever-awaited echo of music long hushed.

She came to the point.

“I was at the village stores yesterday. You may have left without paying for something. Sanjay realized you’d made a mistake. He was worried about telling you in case you’d think he was accusing you of stealing. I was having a cup of tea with him and he mentioned it to me and asked me what to do. I said I’d pop in, you know, as a neutral person.”

She watched the older woman’s face. Between them sat an unexploded grenade of shame. Tears ran down Mrs Hornet’s face.

“Corned beef,” she said.

“Yes,” said Shannon.

“You’re not going to arrest me.”

“No. I’ve received no allegation of crime.”

Her relief flooded out in tears and sobs. She spoke in gasps.