Alex Gray - Never Somewhere Else

‘Whoa, you look as if you’ve been having fun!’

Davey smiled dreamily and raised his hand in a peacemaking gesture. Martin shrugged. Maybe he wouldn’t stay long. On the other hand there was a fair chance that whatever he was on would make him crash out and he’d be lumbered with him all night.

‘Drinks?’

‘Yes, please.’

Diane answered for both of them, Davey merely nodding his agreement. When Martin came back, a beer in one hand and a long glass of white wine in the other, Diane was curled on his favourite rug with her long dark hair tossed over one shoulder. Davey sat on the couch with a far away smile fixed to his face. Martin joined his friend, wishing it was the gorgeous gossip columnist sitting cosily next to him.

‘Bin talkin to Diane.’ The photographer’s speech was slurred. ‘She’s bin tellin’ us about this Dr Brightman.’

Martin frowned but Diane gave a careless shrug.

‘Everyone knows he must be in cahoots with the cops,’ she said. ‘Especially after this latest murder.’

‘Yeah. Another one bites the dust, hey, hey!’ Davey sang, and Martin rolled his eyes to heaven. Diane caught his glance, mouthing ‘Sorry’.

‘What about something to eat. You hungry, mate?’

Davey was downing his beer steadily in a way that betokened regular practice.

‘’S’all right. Can’t stay. Just came up to say hello.’

Martin grinned, his antagonism vanishing.

‘We were just talking about that last murder. Davey thinks it’s some weirdo,’ Diane said.

‘A bam. A gen-u-ine bampot.’ Davey belched loudly, then put his fingers to his mouth in an expression of mock horror. ‘Oops. Pardonnez-moi!’ He set down his empty glass as Diane giggled, then rose slowly to his feet. ‘Home time, I think.’

‘C’mon then, let’s see you to the lift.’

Martin tucked his hand below his friend’s elbow and steered him towards the door. Was he mistaken as he glanced back, or had Diane dropped a lascivious wink? And if so, for whom was it intended?

‘Safe home.’

Davey raised both hands in farewell, smiling still as the lift door closed. Martin sighed with relief. At least the guy wasn’t going too far.

He turned back from the landing, light from his doorway and the strains of music beckoning. Now the evening could really begin. Diane was still sitting on the rug but Martin was pleased to see that she had taken off the suede boots. With her long legs curled under her, she reminded him of a sleepy cat settled down in front of a fire.

‘More wine?’

‘Mm. Yes please.’

As she held out the thin-stemmed glass, Martin caught the expression in her green eyes. It was more than sauvignon blanc she seemed to be asking for. The neck of the wine bottle was still cold against his hands as he poured.

‘What about joining me up here?’

For answer, the girl uncurled herself from the floor and sank in close beside him. She raised her wine.

‘Cheers!’

Martin chinked his beer mug lightly against the proffered glass.

‘To us,’ he said softly. ‘To better acquaintance.’

Her eyes sparkled with merriment at his deliberate understatement. He watched her face intently as they sipped their drinks. Suddenly a thought came to his mind. Putting down his glass, he reached for her long hair and twisted it gently into a long cord then folded it around her neck. He kissed her startled mouth.

‘Porphyria’s lover,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘“I found a thing to do, and all her hair in one long yellow string I wound her little throat about.”’

‘Where on earth’s that from?’

‘Browning’s poem. “Porphyria’s Lover.” Didn’t you do that at school?’

‘No as it happens. What did he do?’

‘Strangled her.’

Diane pushed away from him suddenly.

‘I’m not sure I like that. Besides, my hair’s not yellow.’

Martin stroked the long thick hair back into place and looked at her gravely.

‘You’re beautiful.’

He kissed her again, gently at first; then, as she responded, deeper kisses followed and this time she didn’t pull away. A feeling of triumph came over Martin as he probed her mouth with his tongue. She wanted him. His fingers tip-toed under her skirt and he felt her quiver under his touch. He stroked her belly, naked below the tights, guiding his fingers lower and lower until she gasped with pleasure. There was an urgency in yanking down the tights then pulling her body against his. She pressed her body closer in turn and now her fingers explored his crotch, feeling his hardness.

As he groaned softly, she whispered, ‘Let’s go into your bedroom.’

‘No! Don’t go in there!’

His hand shot out from the folds of her clothing as he sat up suddenly. In reply to her look of surprise, he grinned sheepishly.

‘It’s a tip. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.’ Diane put his hand back deliberately on her thigh. ‘What sort of impression do you want me to have?’

Her throaty voice was full of invitation.

For answer, Martin unzipped and shoved off his jeans in one swift movement then pulled her under him. As the jeans landed on the floor Martin ignored the sound of a falling wineglass. In the half-light he saw the swathe of Diane’s dark hair tumbling back against the couch and her eyes looked black with desire. Her knees were bent and he was aware of the sudden thought that here was no virgin for deflowering. His face contorted for a split second then he was pushing into her sweet softness, hearing himself cry out. The torrent inside him suddenly released and the cry torn from him turned to a groan.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I wanted you too much.’

She was making hushing noises now and, taking his face in her hands, she kissed him as if he were a child.

‘It’ll be better next time.’

Her hands were still clasping his back, fixing him against her young slim body. Martin kissed her again, slowly, savouring the moment.

Next time. There was going to be a next time.

‘Come in.’ Lorimer heard the knock and was aware of Annie Irvine hovering in his line of vision. He would finish his conversation first, though.

‘Yes, sir. Certainly. Thank you. I will.’

Lorimer put down the phone as if it was a delicate piece of porcelain. He’d hoped for such a call but it was still a surprise when it finally came. So. He was to be in the running for George Phillips’s job, was he? He mused for a brief moment then looked up as Annie cleared her throat.

‘Right, let’s be having it.’

‘Sir, it’s the boyfriend. I mean Sharon Millen’s boyfriend. He’s in the Royal Infirmary. Attempted suicide.’

Lorimer was already rising to his feet, all thoughts of promotion forgotten.

‘When?’

‘There’s just been a call from the officer there. His mother found him in bed. Couldn’t wake him up. An overdose, it looks like.’

‘Tell the team I want them all in the incident room pronto.’ Lorimer whirled past her and slammed out of the room.

*

‘Right.’ Lorimer faced the officers assembled around him. ‘We have already eliminated James Thomson from our inquiries. However, we cannot ignore the obvious here. You know what I’m talking about. Remorse. We’ve seen it lots of times before. The murder preys on their mind. They can’t face what they’ve done and so they try to top themselves.’

There were nods all round. The officers knew the score, all right.

‘But,’ Lorimer continued, ‘I don’t want anybody jumping to conclusions. Is that clear? There may be other explanations for this incident. Until we know the facts, I want this boy and his family treated with kid gloves.’