The I-Spy Murders by David W Robinson

Author:David W Robinson [Robinson, David W]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction & Literature
Publisher: Crooked Cat Books
Published: 2012-06-23T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

After fighting through the rush hour traffic on Grosvenor Road, the taxi circled a roundabout and turned onto the final leg of its journey, along a narrow road, lined either side with terraced houses.

Contrary to her usual, garrulous self, Brenda had been silent throughout the 25-minute journey from Gibraltar Hall. Joe had wittered, telling her how the café and the Sanford 3rd Age Club had missed her for the past week, and how they were looking forward to having her back in the fold for a celebratory dinner in just a few hours.

Small talk, he thought to himself. Neither of them wanted to broach the subject of Ursula Kenney.

They had confronted death, even murder, a number of times in the past, and Brenda had personal experience. She lost her husband, Colin to cancer some years back. It was a subject that touched her, worried her, even frightened her sometimes, and in Joe’s opinion, it helped explain her free and easy approach to life and love. She, more than any of them, was acutely aware of her own mortality, and there was a burning need to bury that fear under a life in pursuit of mild hedonism.

This time, however, she had been implicated in a death, no matter how slightly. The grilling she had undergone from Chief Inspector Hoad and Sergeant Rahman had unnerved her.

On the way into Chester, they had been surrounded by the sights, sounds and smells of an English city in full summer flow. An August sun blazed onto the crowded pavements, T-shirts and shorts, lots of bared, often burned flesh, the call of the bars and shops, the chatter of the shoppers, the glare of the sun from the flat calm river, all conspired and called to the sense of freedom which went with a summer’s afternoon. Yet Brenda sat locked in a nightmare of murder (despite Chief Inspector Hoad’s hesitancy, Joe remained convinced that Ursula had been deliberately killed) where she was a possible suspect.

Now the shops and restaurants had thinned out, becoming this faceless row of terraced houses, and the cacophony of summer faded to the muted peace of suburbia.

Joe felt a sudden urge to take Brenda’s hand. The two women had worked for him for over five years and all three had been friends since childhood, but he was careful to maintain a discreet distance. A kiss at Christmas, friendly lips touching at birthday parties; they were the sum total of intimacy between them. Joe wanted nothing more of either Sheila or Brenda, but he felt she needed support and if holding her hand would lend it then...

As his gnarled hand wrapped around hers, she smiled wanly. “Thank you, Joe.”

The moment did not last. The driver turned into the Victoria Hotel’s forecourt, skirted the fountain and its surrounding rockery and pulled up to the entrance.

While Brenda climbed out of the car, Joe paid the driver and retrieved her suitcase from the boot.

“You’ll have to register,” he told her as the car pulled away again.

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