Cold Revenge (Willis/Carter #6)(4)
‘Why did you do it, Jimmy?’ his gran asked him.
‘Just to see what it felt like.’
‘And her?’ Truscott asked.
Nicola had gone before them into one of the bedrooms and had climbed onto the bed, pretending to test it out. She lay back, her skirt rode up and Truscott watched, goggle-eyed.
‘This place has a great feel to it, I can see me fitting right in,’ said Nicola. ‘I’ll have plenty to do, growing my own herbs, making jam. Maybe I can help in your house, Mr Truscott? I can lend a hand too sometimes?’ Nicola was bra-less under her T-shirt.
Douglas smiled. ‘It will be nice to know she has someone to look out for her just a few minutes’ walk away when I’m not here.’
Nicola winked and smiled at Truscott.
‘I apologise, Mr Truscott, my girlfriend is a bit of a flirt.’
‘No need,’ he laughed, over-eager. ‘She’s a lovely girl.’
Nicola rested on her elbows and smiled at him as she parted her legs a fraction more. Truscott nervously looked at Douglas. Douglas smiled back encouragingly.
‘Would you like to kiss my girlfriend, Mr Truscott?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, I mean, she’s a lovely girl, but she’s spoken for.’
‘Go ahead. I’d like you to.’
Nicola slid to the edge of the bed and beckoned him forwards.
‘Come and kneel here and kiss me properly,’ she said.
Truscott approached cautiously and knelt in front of her. She opened her legs and he stared at her black satin knickers and his breath rasped as he reached his callused farmer’s hands to stroke the soft wet satin. He made an odd sound in his throat, like a whimper, as he hooked his finger beneath the crotch and pulled it to one side. Nicola had stopped smiling; her breath was short and passionate and her heels were raised, her legs starting to have the faintest tremble as she rested back on her forearms and watched his watery blue eyes stare up at her gratefully.
Truscott didn’t dare move, he looked so frightened that the dream would end, his cock bulging in his trousers. Nicola arched her back as she held on to his head and didn’t let go. She wrapped her thighs around his head and held him vice-like and he pushed deeper with his mouth. As she orgasmed she released him and pushed him backwards so that he fell on the floor. Douglas stepped forwards to stop Truscott as he tried to scramble onto the bed and onto Nicola with his trousers catching around his knees. Douglas was smiling as he held up his hands and said, ‘Enough for now,’ whilst Nicola lay back laughing. Truscott sat back and began to chuckle.
‘When do you want to move in?’ he had asked.
Now Douglas toyed with the idea of unzipping his flies but he knew the time to make sure they’d have company tonight was fast slipping away.
‘Maybe you should get over there,’ he said, ‘tell them we’re going to go for it tonight.’ He closed his eyes, tipping his head back to rest on the edge of the chair behind him. He felt the cold of the beer bottle against his chest. Life was good.
‘Is Heather in the yard today?’ he asked, taking a drink of cold beer.
‘Yes, she’s been running after the little kids on their ponies all day.’
‘You could offer to give her a bath,’ Douglas smiled.
‘I could, and you could lick her dry.’
‘And take both of you at once, one on my cock, one on my mouth?’
‘Softly, softly, gentle with baby.’ Nicola leaned forwards and whispered in a child’s voice into Douglas’s face.
He grabbed her throat and then relaxed, smiling, laughing as he slipped his hand to nestle between her warm thighs. ‘Patience will be rewarded.’ She smiled.
Chapter 3
Millie Stephens’ body had been removed from the bank of the River Lea and was now laid out on a stainless steel dissecting table in the mortuary of the Whittington Hospital in Archway. It was just a five-minute walk from Fletcher House, the building where Carter and Willis worked, a place that held four of the capital’s Major Investigation Teams. Dr Jo Harding was in charge of the pathology department. She was in her mid-fifties, ultra-slim, blonde-haired, and with a touch of Scandinavian class about her in her cheekbones and her fine, make-up-free features. She was tireless in her approach to professionalism in her work, but she didn’t take it home with her though. When the hours were done she liked to party hard and was well-known in the police department that she worked with for having a voracious sexual appetite that was no respecter of marital status. But recently, she’d found love with another woman, an artist from Dartmoor, and she was more contented than she’d ever been.
She was reading through the GP’s notes on Millie and looked up through her visor as she watched the detectives approach, suited up for helping with the post-mortem. Willis was going to be the one helping physically, if needed; Carter would be there to observe. They would stay for the bulk of it, but not all. There were many hours of painstaking work ahead, tissue analysis and sample collection, and they had their own workload to contend with.
Mark, the diener, worked alongside Dr Harding and did a lot of the hands-on work. It was his job to wash, weigh, document and do most of the cutting open of the corpses. It was also his job to sew them back up and get them looking presentable for their families. He had already prepared Millie’s body and removed her clothes, to send to the laboratory. He had washed her hair and sifted the wash water before sending it for analysis. She lay naked in the quiet of the dissecting room. Her body was close to being emaciated. Her bones were hardly covered by flesh and her ribs were arched high.