So, just where is the Guv sneaking off to? If you want to know, you'll have to read on!
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.Chapter 4 – London, 1982
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Alex slumped over her desk, cheek resting on her palm as she attempted to concentrate on the report she was writing. Ten minutes and one whole sentence later, she rubbed a hand wearily across her forehead and sat back with a huff of frustration. Her gaze strayed to the clock on the wall. Four-forty. He'll be heading out in less than twenty minutes.
Surreptitiously, she glanced over towards his office. Gene was hidden behind the Racing Post, feet up on the desk, a glass of whiskey within easy reach. A plan began to form in her mind. Slipping into her jacket, she grabbed her bag and got to her feet.
"Just remembered something I need to do."
Before anyone could respond, she was halfway out of the door. Chris looked at Ray, who shrugged and shook his head.
"Don't ask me. Bloody women …"
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"Is there a pool car free, Viv?"
"I think so, ma'am"
A few seconds later, he handed her a key, one eyebrow raised in enquiry.
"Thanks. Shouldn't be long, no more than an hour or so, I expect."
She flashed him a grateful smile and left before he had the chance to respond. Time was of the essence, after all.
By five o'clock she was parked on the opposite side of the street, glad of the early December gloom. Two minutes later, Gene emerged from the building and she slouched down in her seat until he was safely inside the Quattro. Following at a safe distance, she managed to tail him for the next few minutes, aided somewhat by the heavy rush hour traffic. Nobody went anywhere fast in the capital at that time of day.
Before long, they were driving through a quieter residential area; Alex maintaining a discreet distance. The Quattro slowed before reversing into a gap between two parked cars and she continued on, searching for another space while keeping one eye on him in the rear-view mirror. As she pulled in and cut the lights, Gene crossed the road, his long strides eating up the pavement. Reaching the last house in the row, he pushed the gate open and made his way up the front steps. Light spilled out over the small front garden as the door opened, and then he was gone, swallowed up by the tall, three storied Victorian terrace.
Alex slid out of the car and locked the door, her copper's instincts kicking in as she surveyed the area. What must have once been a pleasant street was now less than salubrious: some of the properties had boarded-up windows and there was broken glass and other rubbish littering the pavement. Where have you brought me to, Guv? Grimacing, she followed in Gene's footsteps, trying to stay incognito, shivering in her pathetic white leather jacket.
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The house appeared better kept than many of the others, but without much to distinguish it. The small front garden consisted of a patchy square of lawn which had seen better days and a flower bed containing a couple of overgrown shrubs: whoever lived here was clearly not much of a gardener. Lights were on in one or two of the rooms, but all the curtains were closed revealing none of its secrets.
Huffing in frustration, she wrapped her arms around her body and made her way along the side of the building, relieved to find that the exterior gave way to an enclosed yard with high walls. A narrow lane separated one row of houses from another, and to her relief the gate swung open silently when she tried the latch. Holding her breath, she stepped tentatively inside.
It was a typical back yard. A small shed stood to one side, the door safely padlocked shut. A couple of steps led up the back door and a wheelie bin sat under what was probably the kitchen window. The curtains had been pulled across without much care, and a sliver of light pierced the gloom. Heart pounding, Alex made her way cautiously forwards, taking a deep breath before peering through the small gap.
The kitchen was spacious and surprisingly modern. In the centre stood a large oak table, and seated at the far end was an attractive blonde, her hair swept back off her face, the odd tendril left loose to soften the look. Her eyes were alive with mirth, her attention focused solely on the man seated to her left. Alex drew in a sharp breath. Gene! His profile was unmistakeable: those long lashes, the lock of hair flopping over his forehead, that familiar pout. As she watched, the woman touched his hand and leaned in to whisper something close to his ear, her breasts almost spilling out of her low cut blouse. Gene's gaze dropped to her impressive cleavage, and Alex felt something twist low in her gut. Who the hell is she?
The intimate moment was interrupted when the kitchen door opened and a pretty brunette entered the room, offering what Alex assumed was a brief apology before making her way to a big fridge in the corner. To Alex's surprise, she was wearing a silk robe, a pair of black fishnets and matching stilettos so high they were almost impossible to walk in. She grabbed a bottle of water and leaned over to whisper something to Gene before heading for the door. He smirked and made some remark in return, and the young woman batted her eyelashes and blew him a kiss before exiting the room once more. Alex unclenched her fists and metaphorically donned her detective's hat once more. Maybe the brunette was getting ready for a date? Was the older woman the mother and the younger one the daughter? It was theoretically possible, she mused, even though the blonde couldn't be more than late thirties. Oh, god. Please tell me Gene isn't the father!
As soon as the thought leapt into her head, she pushed it away. Gene would've been a young copper in Manchester at the time, and the girl bore no resemblance to him or the woman seated next to him. She breathed a sigh of relief. The kitchen door opened once more and this time the woman who entered was petite and oriental-looking, her robe only loosely covering a low-cut basque. She also mouthed an apology before heading to the fridge, and Alex's mouth dropped open. The woman was wearing leather thigh boots, and Gene's gaze followed her all the way to the door.
Suddenly, it hit Alex like a sledgehammer. This is a brothel. The Guv is sitting in a knocking shop making eyes at a prostitute. He must be taking kick-backs, maybe even payment in kind. Sick to her stomach, she staggered to the back door step and sank down, her head in her hands. How could he? According to Sam he'd given all that up years ago. God knows, he was far from perfect, but she really hadn't expected this …
Suddenly desperate to get away, she slipped out of the gate and virtually ran back to the car, sliding into the front seat and slapping the steering wheel hard. I trusted you, Gene. How could you do this to me?
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Peace on earth and goodwill to all men? It's looking doubtful at present …
If you want more, do let me know. Feedback, even if it's just a couple of words, makes such a difference. I'm hoping to post more before Christmas, but with a lousy cold and three chapters still to go it could be an uphill struggle!