The Bed Body (Gerald Bunting Book 1) by Adam D. Rice

Author:Adam D. Rice [Rice, Adam D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pitmix Press
Published: 2021-02-09T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The apartment was cramped but spotless. A wardrobe partially blocked the window in the sitting room. Ida Sprecher was dressed in a trendy dress. At first, she’d been unwilling to welcome the two strangers into her home, but Gerald quickly allayed her fears that they were from the tax authority. And so, Bunting and Officer Marrow found themselves, seated in the dim apartment.

“May I get you both a drink?” Ms. Sprecher asked.

Gerald replied, “Yes, I would have a water, please.”

“And him?” Sprecher smiled warmly at Marrow.

“He requires nothing, thank you.”

She disappeared into the kitchen. Marrow whispered, “What did she say about me just now?”

“Your hat, it is the news of all hours. The British style. I shall be requiring one also when we make the return… if I should survive, flying the airline channels.”

Marrow ran his finger along his hat’s felt brim. “Marjorie never seemed to notice,” he thought.

“Here you go, Mr. Bunting,” Sprecher said, placing a glass of water on the table. “You said you’re with the police, but if you’ll excuse the observation, you don’t look like one.”

“I attend to the crimes themselves, madam. I don’t like the politics associated with formal groups. I solve more crimes in a month than most constables solve in three years. They are terrible statistics—very sad, for the taxpayers.” Ms. Sprecher’s eyelid twitched. “I didn’t mean—"

“So, there’s been a crime?”

“Yes, a murder.”

Ms. Sprecher’s eyes widened as she brought a teacup to her lips. “Anyone I know?”

“… You were once in a relationship with an Englishman.”

“There you go again!” Officer Marrow cried. He caught Sprecher’s eye. “We won the war, didn’t we, lady? Yes, alright, so the Americans did the heavy lifting, but how else would they have staged things for Normandy without us, holding out for so long?”

Gerald held up a hand. “Quiet with the anger barking, or you may get the rib bullet shot before our fine dinner feast.” He brushed a bit of the constable’s spittle off his coat.

“Is he alright?” Ms. Sprecher asked. “He looks angry.”

“He’s prone to these outbursts,” Bunting continued. “It’s a shame that I must accompany him everywhere to limit embarrassment.”

“To get back to your question, yes, I knew an…”—she glanced at Marrow—“a man from where you said.”

“Right, and this man from Great Britain—"

Marrow kicked the coffee table. A steely glare from just above Gerald’s scarves kept him silent.

“… Harper, correct?”

“James Harper, yes.”

“How long was your liaison?”

“At least ten years, off and on. He traveled to Berlin on business several times a year.”

“And you were questioned following his death?”

“Yes, a man from… from ‘over there’ came to speak with me.”

Gerald nodded, taking a drink. “But you continue to carry a suspicion, something you remembered months later? I can see it in your eyes, madam. You had the inspector’s information, but the inquest was over. What was the use in involving the police for so slight a clue?”

Ms. Sprecher folded her hands in her lap. “You’re right, Mr. Bunting.”

“Well, what was the clue? It’s probably nothing, of course.

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