Читать книгу White Lies - Rachel Green - Страница 12

Chapter 6

Meinwen stepped out of her house and struggled with her umbrella until it opened. It was still spitting with rain but not as badly as the earlier downpour. She locked the door and headed to Jimmy Fenstone’s house in Ashgate Road, dancing past puddles on the unkempt pavement.

It took half an hour to get to the house. Huddled beneath her nylon rainbow, her huge carpetbag slung over her arm, she felt far older than her years. She detoured past the shop, where she’d had the foresight to leave a sign on the door with the apology Closed for Autumn Equinox, though that hadn’t stopped the postman leaving a stack of damp mail wedged in the letterbox. She went in and moved them to the little office at the back of the shop, taking a moment to sort them into bills, circulars, catalogs and two requests for help. She stuffed the latter into her bag and left again, locking the door behind her.

Ashgate Road was comprised of post-war brick semis, an upper-middle class neighborhood gone to seed as fast as the economy. Once it would have been the pride of the town, full of white-collar workers with modern, middle class families. Now those same families had grown up and lost what jobs they had clawed themselves into, the street falling into the same decline as its population.

Number fifteen was no exception. Twenty-five feet wide with a two-yard alley up the side and the length of a small car separating the house from the front garden wall. She paused at what would once have been the gatepost. A crazy paving front garden, very popular in the seventies, was cracked and uneven, leaving it a nursery for rose bay willow herb, dandelion, daisies and chickweed. A rose struggled to grow in the center, several late buds closed against the persistent rain.

The house could do with a coat of paint. The protection it would afford the wood would likely offset the increased probability of burglary. She looked down the street. A pair of old shoes dangled from the telephone wires outside number eight and number eleven gave the appearance they were collecting old cars.

The paint peeling from the front door gave it the ominous look of a skull. She skirted past it to go up the flagstone path. A buddleia took up most of the width but whether planted or self-seeded she couldn’t say. There were no butterflies on it, the preponderance of lilac flower spikes long since turned to brown seed. The back door, less exposed to the elements, was in better repair, the single pane of glass giving it the air of a cyclops waiting for visitors. She rapped on the wood and stepped back, glancing past the end of the house to the back garden and a small wooden shed green with moss and rot.

The door opened to reveal a spill of warmth and yellow light. Jimmy Fenstone smiled at her. “Come away in. I’ve got the kettle on.”

“Thank you.” Meinwen shook her umbrella and folded it before stepping inside. She turned sideways to squeeze past into the kitchen, pausing just inside the door to get a first impression of the house. “It’s certainly been neglected.”

“Yes, I thought so too. I don’t understand how he could live like this. He was always so neat and fussy as a kid.” Jimmy closed the door and crossed to the kettle. “I’ve got normal tea but I bought a box of herbal infusions. He picked it up and read from the lid “Four varieties of fruit teas to tantalize your taste buds and invigorate the body.” He winked. “I might have one myself. I could do with a bit of invigorating.”

“Thanks. That’d be great.” Meinwen plonked her bag on the kitchen table then stood her umbrella in the sink to allow the water to drain safely away. It was sweet of him to go to the trouble of buying her herbal tea. Was it possible he reciprocated her desire?

“Do you want it now, or would you rather look round the house first?”

“Leave it for now.” Meinwen dropped into a chair. “Sit down a minute, Jimmy. I’ve been poking about, finding out what I could about your brother. I don’t think you’re going to like some of it.”

Jimmy’s smile faded. “That doesn’t sound good. Best you tell me and have done with it.” He pulled a chair out and turned it around, facing the spindles to rest his arms on the back. He looked as though he was behind bars.

Meinwen took a deep breath. “Before I start, did you manage to get his effects from the police?”

“Aye.” He nodded toward the counter next to the sink. “They’re in a bag there.”

“May I?” She waited for his nod before rising to retrieve them. Clearing a space on the table and setting her own bag on the floor next to her feet, she spread the contents out, setting aside the soiled clothes John Fenstone had been found in.

She was left with a Rolex watch which still showed the correct time, a set of keys, a wallet with thirty pounds in cash, bank, credit and store cards, a handful of business cards, a mobile phone and a thick gold ring. Her heart skipped a beat when she recognized the engraving on the inside of the ring. A pair of letter Rs, one reversed so that the ascender was shared between them, making the monogram reminiscent of a lunar landing pod. The symbol of Richard Godwin, a Master in the local BDSM community

She held up the bunch of keys. “Do you know what all these are for?”

Jimmy shrugged. “I hadn’t looked, to be honest. One will be the door here.” An upward nod indicated the entrance she’d used. “I’m guessing the fancy looking one is his car, though I don’t know where it is. He said he had a Prius.” He leaned forward to look at the other three. “The little one looks like a safe box and I’d guess the other three are his office? I should return those.” Behind him, the kettle clicked off.

“One will be the office, yes.” Meinwen separated the keys as best she could, spreading them flat on the table. She isolated the three remaining ones. “One of these will be for his place in Chervil Court.”

“Another house?” Jimmy turned his nose up. “He hasn’t got another house. This is it. This is our mam’s house. This is where he lived. Here.” He stabbed the table with his finger.

Meinwen shook her head. “I don’t think so. You said yourself you don’t understand how he lived like this. I spoke to his office and they said he was always well dressed, well groomed and the best interior decorator they’d ever seen. Jennie, a colleague of his, said he could sell a house based on the curtains alone.” She looked around the kitchen. “This doesn’t look like the abode of a man who knows his curtains.”

“But there was food in the fridge. Beer, too. Milk that hadn’t gone off and recently bought bread. He lived here.”

“He certainly came here. Perhaps he used this as an official address. Or maybe he hadn’t been here for a while but came to tidy the place up for you, knowing you were about to get out.”

“Nah.” Jimmy’s eyes narrowed and darkened. “There are suits in the wardrobe. Full sets of clothes. Some of them are still in dry-cleaning bags.”

“Are they what you’re wearing now?”

“Yeah. So? Johnny don’t need ‘em no more.”

“But they’re your size. Exactly your size. I think your brother left them here to for you.”

“No. If he lived somewhere else there’d be evidence of it. People would know he lived there. They wouldn’t murder him here.”

“Who found him?”

Jimmy shook his head. “I don’t know. They never said.”

“We need to find out. Chances are it was the police when he didn’t turn up for work. Leave that with me. Sergeant Peters is usually pretty obliging. He’ll tell me who found him.” She tapped the table. “There’s a good chance they didn’t want him found. The longer he was here the less likely any evidence of a murder would be viable.”

Jimmy sat back in his chair. “So you’re convinced it’s murder then? I’m a bit relieved, to be honest. I thought I was going mad. I knew Johnny wouldn’t have killed himself. He was too full of life, see.”

“I think he was, yes.” Meinwen reached and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.”

Jimmy stood and crossed to the kettle, pressing the red switch to reboil it. “What did you mean about the curtains? You said John was the sort of man to know his curtains.” He set out two mugs.

“It was something the girl in his office told me. He was the life and soul of the place, she said. Could sell an igloo to an Arab. He had a certain style that didn’t sit well with some people but he had a marvelous patter for the customers.”

“I still don’t follow. He was a good salesman, aye.”

“One of the best.” Meinwen tapped a coffee stained newspaper sporting the headline “Police Abandon Search For Missing Student.”

“Did you see this?”

“No. What about it?” Jimmy picked up the broadsheet and scanned it. “Some kid goes missing from college and there’s a hoo-har about it? I bet that happens all the time.”

“He was a local lad. He’s disappeared completely. There’s been an appeal for witnesses but no one’s come forward. His mam’s even been on the television asking for help.”

“He’ll be on a bender somewhere. He’ll turn up.” He handed her the paper. “Perhaps he went to Thailand.”

“I hope so. He hasn’t been heard of for three months. Not so much as a Facespace status update.”

“He’ll be fine. Probably failed a couple of exams and just said ‘sod it.’”

“No. He was a good student. Not the best, but doing well.”

“Did you know him?”

“No. Kevin was studying engineering. Not the sort to come looking for witchcraft to solve his problems. It’s generally the arty types who come in looking for love charms and cannabis. It still counts though. I hope nothing bad happened to him.”

“Don’t worry so much.” Jimmy smiled. “He’s a boy becoming a man. Odds are he’ll turn up with sunburn and a nasty rash.”

“Let’s hope so.” Meinwen sighed and put the paper down. “It’s been preying on me. I half recognize him but I don’t see how I could. There’s something I’m missing, something nagging.”

“It’ll come to you. Wait.” Jimmy crooked his head. “You sell cannabis?”

“Of course not.” She looked again at the photograph of the missing lad. He was reminiscent of her old friend, Richard Godwin. “But I do sell earrings and necklaces with the leaf on. That sort of thing. Some people assume I sell the herb, too.”

“You should sell t-shirts. Bob Marley pictures and band names in jagged writing. That’ll help pull the students in.”

“And be part of the Madding crowd?” Meinwen shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Jimmy held up the box of herbal tea bags. “What’s your poison then? Berry Blush, Invigorating Elderflower, Fantastic Fennel or Ravishing Raspberry?”

Meinwen felt the blood rush to her cheeks, as well as more intimate areas. Had Jimmy guessed that being ravished was high on her list of goals? “I’ll have the berry, please.” She bit her lip wondering how to broach the next subject. “Talking of ravishing, did John ever tell you the name of his lover?”

“No. I told you. I’ve no idea who she was.” Jimmy dropped a berry bag in the second mug and topped them both with boiling water. He put the kettle down. “Why? Did that girl at the office know?” He turned, his eyebrows raised. “Was it her? I could see that being a problem. You should never shag someone you work with, pardon my French.”

“You’re quite right, and no, it wasn’t her.” Meinwen took a deep breath, her heart sinking like an anchor in the Sea of Dashed Hopes. “No milk for me.”

“I would’ve asked first.” Jimmy set the two mugs down and sat again. “So, have you any idea?” He picked up the ring she’d taken from the personnel effects bag. “Is this something to do with it? It looks like a wedding ring, only I know John wasn’t married. He’d have told me.” He held the ring up to the light, squinting at the mark inscribed within. “What’s this mean? A spaceship? You recognized it when you looked at it. Is it a posh designer or something?”

“I did.” Meinwen took a sip of her Berry Nice. It wasn’t. “It’s the mark of a man I know quite well, who runs a rather unique house here in Laverstone.”

Jimmy shrugged. “John was an estate agent. So?”

“Not that sort of house. This is a place where everybody loves everybody else.”

“Oh bloody hell.” Jimmy put the ring down. “You mean John got religion?”

Meinwen frowned. “Religion? No. Not that I know of, anyway. The people at The Larches are a polyamorous unit based on dominance and submission. A sort of pack of people that function as a family unit. The ring means he was part of that unit, though I’m surprised he didn’t actually live there.”

“Perhaps he did. Perhaps this Larches place is in Chervil Court.”

“No.” Meinwen took the ring back and slipped it over her finger but it was far too big. She put it back on the table. “Trust me, I know the place. I applied to join once. It was the reason I moved to Laverstone from Aberdovey in the first place.”

“So why didn’t you?” Jimmy took a long swallow of tea. “Join this Pollyanna place, I mean.”

“I moved into the cottage instead. I wanted to experience the place before I committed myself.”

“Sounds sensible.” Jimmy grinned. “They do that with prison an’ all. It’s called school.” The smile left his face when Meinwen didn’t laugh. “So what happened? Didn’t you like it?”

“I didn’t get the chance. The head of the household, the alpha male if you like, was murdered shortly after I arrived and I ended up being asked to investigate. By the time you’ve poked into everyone’s business and discovered all the little secrets they’d rather keep hidden the last thing they want to do is take you in as part of the family. Not for want of trying. Richard, his replacement, offered to honor his father’s promise but he was too young for me to take seriously. I couldn’t see myself on my knees to a lad younger by a decade.”

“On your knees? Why?” Jimmy’s mouth widened into an “O” of understanding. “Ah. Never mind.” He coughed. “Sooo...”

“Not fellatio.” Meinwen laughed. “Well, not just fellatio. Dominance and submission. Wanting to be somewhere where you’re loved completely. Where all you want to do is serve someone. To see a genuine smile of appreciation for service. To hear a softly spoken thank-you that isn’t just words but genuine appreciation. And more than that, to do something to the best of your ability, even if the person you do it for never sees or knows about it, because it’s the right thing to do.” She smiled, looking away to hide her blush. “I can’t explain it very well.”

“I think I get the gist of it.” Jimmy leaned back in his chair to flick the kettle switch again. “It’s a bit like being in the nick. Each block has factions with a chief and his two or three lieutenants and often a boy to take care of things around the cell and there’s a strict hierarchy from the chief to the poor bastard who mucks out the bogs. Everybody knows their place and the block ticks along nicely.”

“Yes, I suppose it is a bit like that. The model for it was the post-War leather scene, where ex-soldiers in civilian life reverted to the hierarchy they had in their platoons. Here it expanded to include straight men and women and all the range in between. Last time I was there the people at the Larches had got it sussed very nicely.”

“And everybody has sex with everybody else?”

“Not exactly, but all needs are catered for, you might say.”

“And you think John was into this?”

“I do. It’s funny, though. I don’t remember anyone else wearing rings.” Meinwen bit her lip. “Mind you, I was never party to the mechanics of joining. All the people living there had this design tattooed onto their necks. It was quite sweet, really. It gave everyone a sense of belonging.”

“Like this one?” Jimmy tilted his neck to display an eagle tattoo, its once-black ink faded to blue.

Meinwen grinned. “A little more discrete.” She pulled out her phone to dial Peters again. While she waited for him to answer, Jimmy picked up her mug and held it aloft, his eyebrows raised. “Yes, please. Anything but the berry.” She almost missed Peters answering, so intent was she on watching the muscles shift under Jimmy’s jeans. “Oh, Sergeant. Sorry. It’s Meinwen again.”

“I know. It comes up with your name on the screen.”

“Do you have the autopsy report on John Fenstone to hand? There’s something I wanted to check.” In the background were the sounds of policemen doing what policemen do when they’re at the station–talk about football and breasts.

“Not really. It’s with uniform branch. The case not being a murder, see.”

“I need to know if John had any tattoos.”

“Okay. I’ll ask. Anything specific?”

“Yes. One on the back of his neck. You know the one I mean.”

“I do?”

Meinwen heard the intake of breath as the penny dropped.

“Oh. What makes you think that?”

“I’m looking at his personal effects. He had a ring with that symbol engraved on the inside.”

“I see. They don’t have a lot of luck, those fellows, do they? I’ll check and let you know.”

“Okay then. Thanks.” Meinwen put the phone down. “He’ll call me back later.”

“Good.” Jimmy passed her a cup. “Here’s your tea. I made you Invigorating Elderflower this time.”

“Thanks. It can’t be worse than Berry Nice.”

“Sorry. They all look like muck to me.” Jimmy sat again. “So you think John’s girlfriend was one of these Pollyannas then?”

“Not exactly.” Meinwen waited until Jimmy put his mug down. “But I think his boyfriend was.”

Jimmy laughed. “Don’t be daft. John wasn’t a poof. He used to go to the gym and have posters of bodybuilders up in his room. He was in the school rugby team and the university one.” He was about to say something else but stopped, letting the breath back out in a long, tired sigh. “You’re right. He was gay as the Duke of Queensland, wasn’t he? No wonder he never told me his girlfriend’s name.”

“Yes. I think he was a submissive preparing to join The Larches household. I’ll have to go and talk to Richard Godwin about it.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No. I think I’d be better off talking to Richard alone. He’ll be more inclined to speak to me. I cleared his name a few years ago.”

“Cleared his name from what?”

“The murder I told you about. He was quite innocent, and it’s nothing to do with your brother. Now, lets have a look around here before we lose the light.”

“I suppose.” Jimmy stood, transferring his mug to the draining board. “This is pretty much as it was when I arrived. There’s fresh stuff in the fridge, of course, and in the cupboards but that’s all.”

“Okay.” Meinwen glanced at the floor but any trace evidence there would have been obliterated by Jimmy, the police and whoever found the body. “Who had keys to the house? John, obviously, and you. Who else?”

“I don’t know. Actually, I didn’t have a key. I did once but I’ve moved a dozen times since we were kids. It’ll be at the back of a kitchen drawer somewhere or else is quietly making its way to the planet of lost keys.” He grinned. “I got in using the spare from the shed.”

“In the garden? Who else knew it was there?”

“I dunno. Anybody who knew us, I suppose. Or knew John, anyway. Our mam used to keep a key there when we were nippers in case we got sent home from school but I can’t see anybody from them days meaning John any harm. A lover?”

Meinwen shook her head. “No offense, but this doesn’t look like a house I’d bring a lover to. If I was an attractive gay man with more style than Carnaby Street?” She shook her head. “Definitely not. This is a bit squalid.” She reached out to touch Jimmy’s arm. “Not that it isn’t a nice house, but it’s suffering from neglect.”

“I can’t argue with you. It needs a bit of modernization.” Jimmy shook his head. “I’ve not the money for it, though.”

“You may well have, soon. Your brother was quite well off by all accounts. You could find yourself with a lump sum and quite a tidy income.”

“You reckon?” Jimmy held out his hand, indicating she should precede him into the hall. “I can’t say I wouldn’t be grateful. I can’t see me surviving long on the dole.”

“I think you’ll be surprised.” Meinwen went into the hall. Weak, gray light filtered through the semicircle of glass above the front door. “What about the front door? Does anyone have a key to it?”

“The lock’s been painted over for as long as I can remember. You can’t open it from the outside unless all three bolts and the deadlock have been disengaged. I’ve only seen that door open four times in my life. Three funerals and the day mam bought a new carpet for the bedroom upstairs.”

“Front doors were for best.” Meinwen patted his shoulder. “It was the same in our street. Front doors were for weddings and funerals and if the Queen was visiting.”

“You said that right.” Jimmy leaned in toward her.

Meinwen half smiled but seized the moment, pushing herself forward and up to meet his lips with her own. He tasted of tea and tobacco, soap and a tang of aftershave. His lips were far softer than they appeared, a contrast to his afternoon stubble rasping across her skin like the ribs of a vibrator. She reached up to pull his head further, forcing his lips open with her tongue to taste the warm interior of his mouth. How many cocks had he sucked in prison? His kissing technique was far superior to the few men she’d been out with in the time since she’d moved here.

She felt a familiar dampness in her cunt and guided his hand there to feel it for himself then ground against his palm in the semidarkness. The smell of damp and wood polish took her back to her teenage years, flinging away her virginity in the kitchen passage of the Methodist Hall to a boy who played the trumpet in the marching band. She pressed her free hand to Jimmy’s groin, feeling his cock strain against the fabric and with a deftness she would have sworn she was incapable of, had unbuttoned and unzipped the denim in a moment, fishing inside the boxers to free the tumescent cock.

Running her palm across the tip assured her Jimmy was more than ready, the sweet scent of precum overpowering the damp as she spread it over her palm and around the shaft of his cock. A practiced wiggle allowed her to hitch up her skirt without having to let go of Jimmy’s penis and she hooked down her knickers with her little finger, widening her stance for easy access as she guided him inside.

“Oh fuck...” Jimmy’s voice was the voice of the trumpet player, hot and ready.

Meinwen, her hand free once more, used it to cup his testicles, the scrotum hardening under her soft squeezes. “I’m going to come.”

Jimmy’s declaration was interspersed with gasps as he fought for breath. Meinwen ground herself against him, releasing his balls and his head grab hold of both buttocks. She could feel him ejaculating inside her, could feel his cock pumping from the base to the tip, where it mixed with her own juices and forced itself downward from the pressure.

She wouldn’t let him go. She was so near to orgasm herself she clamped her hands on his arse and ground her clitoris against him, until she felt the crest of the orgasm and rode it, the only outside indication of it a slight tremor in her hands. Satisfied, she released him, a trail of semen following his cock as it slid out. She caught it in her hand before it had a chance to stain her skirt.

She looked up at him, unable to hold back the grin. “A tissue?”

He smiled back. “Bless you.”

Meinwen laughed. “No. I need a tissue.” She held up her hand. “Unless you want to lick it off.”

“Oh, er...” He hesitated for long enough for Meinwen to know he was debating it. If she ordered him he probably would. She allowed herself a small, inward smile. Submissive then. He hadn’t been the Mr. Big of the prison wing. Not politically, anyway. “There’re some kitchen towels...”

Meinwen returned to the kitchen, located the roll, wiped and washed her hands. She had the delicious sensation of heat radiating from her clitoris. She’d only have to touch it for her whole body to become inflamed. It’d hurt, of course. Her clit was always ultrasensitive after an orgasm but wasn’t that the point? A bit of pain could enhance so many pleasures. She returned to the hall and slapped Jimmy on the bum. “You need practice.”

“It’s been ten years. You’ll get no argument from me.” Jimmy grinned, reaching past her again, exactly as he did when she’d kissed him. He switched on the hall light.

“Is that what you were doing last time? Switching on the light?” She felt mortified, having made such a fool of herself. What must he think of her? This was worse than the time Bryn Williams had asked if she was going to the Aberdovey dance hall and she’d said “yes please” only to learn he wanted her to babysit his two year old.

“Yes, of course.”

She thought his smile could guide a ship to harbor. “Oh. I thought you were making a pass.”

“Ah.” Jimmy nodded. “That explains why you lunged at me then. I did wonder, seeing as we’d just discussed not having affairs with people you work with.”

“Yes. Sorry.” Meinwen took a deep breath and looked at the hall while her heart rate returned from “embarrassing old bag” to “platonic friend.” Old floorboards with the varnish mostly rubbed off contrasted the large, flower-papered walls. “Shall we get on? I’d like to get to see the place on Chervil Court before it gets dark.”

“Sure.” Jimmy pointed to the bulb. “That had blown when I arrived yesterday. The whole hall was pitch-black.

“That must have been hairy.” The phrase brought Jimmy’s scrotum to mind and she turned away to hide her blush. “I haven’t seen wallpaper like this since my Aunty Glad died.”

“I don’t think the house has changed since we were kids.” Jimmy led her into the living room and turned on the light. A new television dominated the space. It was probably as big as Meinwen’s whole kitchen.

“New carpet, new telly, new sofa.” Meinwen went further inside. “You can smell the paint, too. He was doing this place up. Where did you put the paint and brushes?”

“Er...nowhere. I haven’t seen them. There were some tins in the shed, I think, or maybe in the glory hole...” He stepped out into the hall and opened the cupboard under the stairs. “Yes. They’re here. A whole decorating kit, I think.”

“That explains all the boxes. Either to get it out of the way for decorating or to get rid of it.”

“I opened one. It was full of gym equipment. Wall bars, skipping ropes, that sort of thing.”

“He was clearing the house then. If it was me I’d have done the living room and bedroom first, then the bathroom and kitchen and finally the rest of the house. My guess is he expected to do the rest together so you had input.”

“Aye. Mebbe.” Jimmy glanced around, his gaze coming to rest on the sideboard. “Would you like a drink? He left me a variety.”

“No thanks. I can’t process alcohol very well. A glass of wine sends me squiffy.” Meinwen returned to the hall, looking up until she could see the loft hatch through the gap between the stairs and the ceiling. “Sergeant Peters said one of John’s shoes was found down here. I haven’t seen the photographs so I don’t know where.”

“Is that unusual?” Jimmy looked up. “It could have dropped through the gap, couldn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” Meinwen glanced down at the floor, hoping to see the chalk outline of a shoe but was disappointed. “Ah, well. Onward and upward.”

The upstairs was dustier than the ground floor and showed a large number of prints in the dust, both the heavy tread of workman’s boots and the flat, oval impressions made by forensic bootees. “We’re not going to get anything here.” She looked up at the loft hatch. “Did you go up?”

Jimmy clenched his jaw. “I didn’t see the point to be honest. Not with the police coming here anyway. They’ll have had a poke around.”

Meinwen nodded to the step ladders leaning against the wall in the smaller bedroom. “He was probably using those to decorate downstairs. The police will have moved them to get the b–your brother out. Go on then.” She aimed an upward nod toward the hatch.

“What?”

“Up you go. Show me what you’re made of.”

“I’m not sure I–”

Meinwen reached out to hold his arm. “We need to know if there’s anything up there that’s not your brother’s. If he really was murdered, the killer was up there. If he left so much as a button it will lead us to him.”

Jimmy took a breath, letting it out in a long sigh, his cheeks ballooning in a fetching, boyish manner. “If you say so. There’s no light up there, though. We’ll need a torch.”

“Do you have one?”

“There should be one in the drawer next to the sink. Mam always kept one in there. I don’t know about batteries though. Check it first.”

Meinwen trotted back downstairs to the kitchen and pulled open the drawer. There was indeed a torch in there, but one so pitted with rust around the bulb she doubted it had worked in years. She was about to go back up and abandon the loft search when she spotted another torch hanging from a hook next to the back door. She snagged it, pleased to see it was a modern one with a large group of LEDs replacing the single bulb. It worked fine. She went back up.

“Here.” She handed the torch to Jimmy. “I’ll hold the ladder.”

“Thanks.” Jimmy climbed the six steps and pushed open the hatch, sliding it to one side out of the way. “It’s funny. We used to be up and down here as kids. Now it makes my heart shake.”

“You’re just afraid of ghosts and spirits.” Meinwen patted his leg, about all she could reach now. “They’re drawn to places of death.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me feel a whole lot better.” Jimmy switched on the torch and shone it inside the loft space. “I can’t see anything. The whole loft is bare.”

Meinwen could see the shadows of beams flicking from side to side as he shone the torch about. It was only her fancy that drew the shapes of ghosts in the shadows, she was sure. “All right. Come on down.”

It was with obvious relief that Jimmy replaced the hatch and came down the ladder. “Sorry. No clues that I can see.”

“I didn’t think there would be, to be honest.” Meinwen took the torch while he put the stepladder away. “But we had to check.”

“I don’t know what I was expecting to see up there.” Jimmy shook his head and swallowed. “A noose maybe.”

“No. The police would have taken it as evidence.” Meinwen sounded more confidant than she felt. She went into the bathroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary. No sex toys or lingerie. She opened the cabinet. A spare toothbrush. Aspirin, hemorrhoid cream, sticky plasters. She lifted out a small tub of white paste.

“What’s that?”

“Magnesium sulfate.” She looked sideways at him. “Used for drawing out infections, often”–she reached out to pinch his nipple–“in piercings.”

“Oh.” It hardened under her touch.

“Just so.” She replaced the pot and went to the next room, where the stepladders had come from. “What’s this room?”

“This used to be ours when we were kids.” Jimmy switched on the light since there wasn’t enough coming through the window. He patted the first box. “John’s comic collection. He has complete sets of all sorts. Probably worth a mint. I’ll have to find out, I suppose.”

“I might know someone who can value them for you.”

“Yeah?”

“A friend of a friend. He’s got a bookshop in Dark Passage.”

“Great. Yes, please. They’re just an insurance risk sitting here doing nothing.”

“I’ll ask him tomorrow.” She patted the wooden frame of the bunk beds, imagining the brothers as boys. “Yours was the bottom bunk?”

“That’s right. How did you guess?”

“Women’s intuition.” She winked at him, reluctant to mention that dominants almost always went on top, though if John had been involved with Richard Godwin at The Larches he was probably a bottom outside of the relationship with his brother. She looked at the walls still covered with blu-tac and the corners of posters. “What were you into then?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were a boy. Your brother liked comics and bodybuilders. What did you like?”

Jimmy shrugged. “The usual. Motorbikes. Girls. Films. I liked reading too. Science fiction mostly.” He looked at the tags on several of the boxes until he came across one that said James’s books. He ran his thumb under the flaps, splitting the tape to open it. “I remember these.” He pulled out a few paperbacks to show her. Alan Dean Foster. John Norman. Star Trek. “I used to love these. You daren’t read this stuff in the nick. Not if you don’t want your head flushed down the toilet.”

“No. The pages would get soggy.” Meinwen laughed at his expression as she walked out of the room. “Master bedroom?”

“Aye.” Jimmy stuffed the books back in the box and hurried after her. “Just to your left, there.”

It was light enough in here without the electric bulb. The bed was pristine, the curtains swagged back and held with ties. She was reminded of Jennie’s comment about John “knowing his curtains.” Perhaps that was a modern idiom for being gay, but in John’s case it was certainly true. She opened one of the wardrobes and was confronted by a whole rail of suits with matching shirts and ties. She lifted one out and held it up against Jimmy’s frame. “He certainly had an eye for style.”

“Did he?” Jimmy shrugged. “Makes sense if he was gay. They’re always well dressed, aren’t they? Gays and toffs.”

“I wouldn’t make that a definitive statement.” Meinwen replaced the suit. “But as a general rule of thumb I’m inclined to agree.” She switched her torch on to look at the floor. “Hullo. What’s this?”

“What?”

She bent to retrieve something and held it up. Five rings connected by a strap, the largest two inches or so in diameter, the rest reducing in size to half an inch.

Jimmy frowned and took them off her. “What are these?”

She smiled. “They’re called ‘The Gates of Hell.’ You put them on while you’re flaccid then as you come erect they constrict the blood flow until the head of the penis is thoroughly engorged. The bottom one goes over the scrotum.” Meinwen smiled. “Fabulous if you’re recepting a cock bound in one of these.” She gave a contented sigh, then mock-coughed. “Ahem. So I’m told, anyway.”

“Recepting?”

She chuckled. “A feminine-positive way of looking at sex. The world would be a kinder place if instead of men fucking, women elected to be receptive of cocks.”

“If you say so.” Jimmy handed it back to her. “Here. You can keep it.”

“For later use?” Meinwen raised her eyebrows. “It tells us one thing, anyway.”

“What’s that?”

“Your brother brought his friends here.”

Meinwen tucked the sex toy in the voluminous pocket of her cardigan. She walked down the hall looking at the framed pictures of relatives Jimmy couldn’t even remember all the names and kept saying “Mam’s side of the family” or “Dad’s brothers, I think.”

“Sergeant Peters told me there were some pictures obviously missing. Do you know where they are?”

Jimmy shook his head. “I haven’t seen them.”

“Very funny. I should spank you for that.” Meinwen gave him a sidelong glance. “Or not spank you. I meant where are they missing from?”

“The bedroom, I expect. There are no pictures in there and you’d expect some really, wouldn’t you? Go to sleep with a loved one watching over you.”

“I generally prefer a mug of cocoa.” Meinwen returned to the bedroom. On the night stand there were two lines in the dust indicating there had indeed been pictures there. “Do you think the killer might have taken them?”

“To avoid incriminating himself? Maybe.” Jimmy shrugged. “That or John took it with him to his other place.”

“In which case there’d be no mark. I don’t think your brother was the type to leave dust on the furniture.”

Jimmy ran his finger across the lines, lifting it to inspect the amount of dust and frowning as if he expected to see angels. “You’re probably right. So...find the pictures find the killer?”

“Maybe.” Meinwen took another glance around the room. “Did you sleep in this bed last night?”

“No. I couldn’t face it. After the coppers left I finished off all the beer in the fridge and went to sleep on the sofa in front of the telly. I nearly drank the champagne, too.”

“Champagne?”

“Yeah. There’s a bottle in the fridge. Pink champagne! I mean, who drinks pink champagne? Girls and–”

“Brothers?”

Jimmy grinned and nodded. “Yeah. Right.” He sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly. “Want to try it?”

Meinwen ran her tongue across her teeth. She’d like nothing better than to get into bed with this muscled ex-con, but where would that lead their relationship? She’d hardly remain the dominant if she acquiesced to every little suggestion. “Not really.”

“It’s quite comfortable.” Jimmy fell backward, his feet still touching the floor, so that he was sprawled perpendicular across the duvet. “Very firm.”

Meinwen looked away from the tent in his trousers. “Some other time. I don’t even want to imagine the stains on the mattress.” She bent to lift the valence. The bed wasn’t a divan as she’d originally thought but a top-range wooden framed model, made with solid pine the thickness of railway-sleepers. Eyelets were screwed all around the edge at two-inch intervals. “Look here.”

“What?” Jimmy did a perfect sit-up, the stomach muscles taut against his shirt as he came upright. “What am I looking at? Eyelets? What are they for?”

“Bondage.” Meinwen resisted the temptation to lick her lips, though she couldn’t help salivating and just hoped he didn’t notice. “All sorts of bondage. You could tie off wrists and ankles to individual eyelets, attach hooks or clips to them or lace the lot with a truck load of rope and bind someone to the bed with corset lacings.” She looked up. “Look! There’s a recently filled hole in the ceiling. I bet there was a winch in the loft when your brother lived here.”

“A winch?” Jimmy held out a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Meinwen stared hard at the walls. “There are plastered-over holes, too. I bet he had fetish gear all over the place.”

“Fetish gear?”

“Whips, restraints, crosses. That sort of thing.”

“The mind boggles.”

“Not just the mind.” Meinwen closed her eyes, imagining the room decked out as a sado-masochist’s wet dream. “I bet his other place is out of this world.”

Jimmy stood up and crossed to the door. “Are we done here then?”

“I suppose.” Meinwen took a last look, her gaze lingering on the bed with its rows of bondage eyelets. She imagined Jimmy naked, tied to the bed with only his cock free. She pushed the thought away and followed Jimmy into the hall. She took a few paces to the small room built over the stairs. “What’s this?”

Jimmy stayed at the other end of the landing, next to the stairs. “That was Faye’s.” His voice died as she opened the door. An old bed and a picture of a girl with a horse. She looked to be about six.

“Your sister?”

“Yes. She died when we were kids. She ran across the road and ended up in a tree forty yards away. They said it was an accident but nobody was ever blamed for it. It happened up by the park.” He pursed his lips. “Funny. People said it was safer in them days but it wasn’t. Not for her.”

“Did you witness it?”

Jimmy shook his head. “John did. He was supposed to be looking after her but was showing off to his mates, doing chin-ups on the bus shelter.” He swallowed and looked away. “She never knew what hit her, they said. Died instantly. Wouldn’t have felt it.”

“I’m sorry.” Meinwen moved around the landing to squeeze his arm. “She looked to be a lovely little girl.” She pressed the picture into his hands. “She deserves more than to be shut away, though. Find somewhere for her downstairs among the living.”

“Yeah.” Jimmy gave her a thin-lipped smile. “You’re right. There’s just me now. No need to worry about John’s guilt any more.” He traced the girl’s face with his fingertip. “You can stay with me now, Faye.”

“Was she cremated or buried?”

“She’s buried in St. Pity’s, next to Mam and Dad.” He looked up, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. “And John soon, I suppose.” He took a deep breath, blinking several times. “Are we finished up here?”

“Yes, I think so. If you ever sell up, give me the option of buying the bed, won’t you?”

“If you like. I don’t know how you’d get it out, mind. I bet it was built in situ.”

“That’s okay. I know someone with a big tool.”

Jimmy laughed, turning off the lights in his old room and the bathroom before following her down. “Another cup of tea, or should we get off?”

“What time is it?” Meinwen pulled out her mobile but Jimmy responded with “ten past three” before she’d even unlocked the keypad.

“Best get off, then. I’ll ring for a taxi. Chervil Court is right over the other side of town. It’ll take an age to walk.”

“With any luck we’ll find John’s car at the other place. I could drive you home.”

“Not without insurance, you won’t. You’re on parole, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. You’re right. Not that insurance ever bothered me before.”

“If you go back inside, there won’t be much I can do for your brother.” Meinwen dialed a number, holding her hand up to stifle another reply from Jimmy. “Hello? I’d like to book a taxi from fifteen Ashgate Road to Chervil Court please. As soon as possible.” She listened to the reply and put the phone away. “It’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Mind if I have a cigarette while we wait?”

Meinwen shrugged. “It’s your house. You can do what you like.” She picked up her bag from the floor next to the table. “I’ll just go outside, though. I don’t care for it.”

“Oh. Right. Of course, sorry.” Jimmy picked up his coat. “I’ll go outside, you stay in the dry. I’ll give you a shout if the taxi comes.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She sat again while he picked up John’s keys and phone, his own phone and his pouch of tobacco and lighter.

“I’ll see you outside in a minute. Just pull the door shut when you come out, will you?”

She waited until the door had closed and opened her phone again. She dialed a number she hadn’t had occasion to use in a couple of years, biting her lip while it rang, remembering the phone on the hall table, polished daily.

“The Godwin Residence.”

“Oh, er...Hello.” Meinwen couldn’t believe how much her heart was pounding over such a simple matter of a telephone call. “May I speak to Master Richard Godwin, please?” She made an emphasis on the word “Master,” thus displaying her knowledge of the underlying management of the household.

“I’m afraid the master is away at present. May I direct you to another member of the house?”

“Oh.” Meinwen felt crushed. She hadn’t anticipated Richard might be away. “When will he be back?”

“He’s expected later this evening. Would you like to leave a message?”

“Actually, I’d like to speak to him about quite a serious matter. Is Nicole Fielding still his personal secretary?”

“I’m afraid not. Nicole left to pursue a different career last year. May I help? I now handle all of Master’s appointments.”

“Oh, yes, please then. I need to see him as a matter of urgency.”

“I can fit you in tomorrow? Eleven o’clock?”

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

“I’ll pencil you in. What name is it?”

“Meinwen Jones. We’re old acquaintances.”

The woman on the other end lost all her aloofness, her voice becoming warm and familiar. “Oh! Manny, darling. It’s Jennifer, from the vicarage?”

“Of course. How lovely.” Meinwen smiled as she recalled the outspoken author of several erotic novels. “How’s the writing going?”

“Rather well, actually. Richard’s quite strict about how much novel writing I do. I’m more productive than I ever was and of course, now I get to do some proper research.”

Meinwen chuckled, imagining just what kind of research Jennifer was doing, since her genre was erotica. “I’m glad it’s going well. We’ll have to meet up for a coffee one of these days.”

“I’d love to. You can tell me all about the witchcraft you’ve been doing and the gossip about the Women’s Guild. I get Thursday afternoons off at the moment.”

“That would be splendid. Look, I have to go. I’ve got a taxi waiting. I’ll try to say hello tomorrow when I come.”

“Spiffing. I’ll let Richard know.”

“Great. Thank you, Jennifer.”

“Okay. Byses.”

Meinwen disconnected the call with the smile still on her face. It was odd to think of her prim and proper friend succumbing to the carnal desires of the flesh. The death of Jennifer’s brother had made the world of difference to her outlook on the concept of morality and sin.

A rap on the door startled her from her reverie. Jimmy. “The taxi’s here.”

Meinwen raised her voice as she stood. “Coming.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and plucked her umbrella from the sink. At the door she turned, went back to the table and slipped John’s gold ring into her pocket.