Dirty Money: Simeon Cain Mystery; 2 (Simeon Cain Mysteries) by Brian W. Caves

Author:Brian W. Caves [Caves, Brian W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Dragon Publishing LTD
Published: 2022-09-07T16:00:00+00:00

20

Sun was pouring through my bedroom window when I awoke the next morning; my entire room bleached to a pale-yellow. I looked out of the window and saw dewy mist rising off the fields, but the spaces between the trees in the copse at the back of my garden remained shut off by hard screens of shadow. The sun would need to rise a good deal higher before those screens turned to soft, dappled shade.

We’d had enough grey rainy days of late, so the idea of a full day of sunshine filled me with a new found enthusiasm.

Downstairs I made coffee as Michael stirred, groaning and smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. His eyelids remained tightly closed. He just farted and turned over. Instead of being irritated, I found this highly amusing and thought how different one’s outlook could be when motivated by the prospect of a day infused with sunshine.

I went out on the deck.

Bowl of cereal and coffee finished, I wrote Michael another note, telling him I’d check-in by phone every couple of hours or so.

On my way out I got a call from my friend DI Dean Cabbot and I let it go to voicemail. Not something I would usually do but I had been dreading the call. Someone had reported about the nasty smell coming from number thirty-two Windsor Street, the police had been called, and the rest, as they say, is history.

But it was not.

Dean was inviting me over for dinner. Time we caught up, and he told me to bring a guest. I knew what he meant. I sat in my car for a while. Dean and his wife Caroline. Two of my closest friends. They helped me to get my life back on track. Fed me, watered me, and comforted me after the loss of my wife. Every time we spoke they would ask about my love life, and up until now, even after so many years and several attempts at matchmaking, there hadn’t been anyone I could connect with like I could with Rachel. We had that elusive something, and I was holding on to a memory of her still so vivid like it was yesterday. Deep down I knew that part of the reason why I couldn’t let go was guilt. Guilt for not being there when I needed to be. If I had then I could have protected her from the thug who raped and beat her and turned her into a broken woman. A woman so broken in mind and spirit, so utterly destroyed, there was no way back. When I found her lying in bed, pills and an empty bottle of vodka on the bedside cabinet, I became a changed man. I wanted to destroy everything. I was angry at the world, and it inflamed an almost unstoppable rage which resulted in the destruction of virtually anything I could lay my hands on in the house we’d shared together. At the end I lived in

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