White Lies. Rachel Green
It’s Meinwen again.”
“I know. It comes up with your name on the screen.”
“Do you have the autopsy report on John Fenstone to hand? There’s something I wanted to check.” In the background were the sounds of policemen doing what policemen do when they’re at the station–talk about football and breasts.
“Not really. It’s with uniform branch. The case not being a murder, see.”
“I need to know if John had any tattoos.”
“Okay. I’ll ask. Anything specific?”
“Yes. One on the back of his neck. You know the one I mean.”
“I do?”
Meinwen heard the intake of breath as the penny dropped.
“Oh. What makes you think that?”
“I’m looking at his personal effects. He had a ring with that symbol engraved on the inside.”
“I see. They don’t have a lot of luck, those fellows, do they? I’ll check and let you know.”
“Okay then. Thanks.” Meinwen put the phone down. “He’ll call me back later.”
“Good.” Jimmy passed her a cup. “Here’s your tea. I made you Invigorating Elderflower this time.”
“Thanks. It can’t be worse than Berry Nice.”
“Sorry. They all look like muck to me.” Jimmy sat again. “So you think John’s girlfriend was one of these Pollyannas then?”
“Not exactly.” Meinwen waited until Jimmy put his mug down. “But I think his boyfriend was.”
Jimmy laughed. “Don’t be daft. John wasn’t a poof. He used to go to the gym and have posters of bodybuilders up in his room. He was in the school rugby team and the university one.” He was about to say something else but stopped, letting the breath back out in a long, tired sigh. “You’re right. He was gay as the Duke of Queensland, wasn’t he? No wonder he never told me his girlfriend’s name.”
“Yes. I think he was a submissive preparing to join The Larches household. I’ll have to go and talk to Richard Godwin about it.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. I think I’d be better off talking to Richard alone. He’ll be more inclined to speak to me. I cleared his name a few years ago.”
“Cleared his name from what?”
“The murder I told you about. He was quite innocent, and it’s nothing to do with your brother. Now, lets have a look around here before we lose the light.”
“I suppose.” Jimmy stood, transferring his mug to the draining board. “This is pretty much as it was when I arrived. There’s fresh stuff in the fridge, of course, and in the cupboards but that’s all.”
“Okay.” Meinwen glanced at the floor but any trace evidence there would have been obliterated by Jimmy, the police and whoever found the body. “Who had keys to the house? John, obviously, and you. Who else?”
“I don’t know. Actually, I didn’t have a key. I did once but I’ve moved a dozen times since we were kids. It’ll be at the back of a kitchen drawer somewhere or else is quietly making its way to the planet of lost keys.” He grinned. “I got in using the spare from the shed.”
“In the garden? Who else knew it was there?”
“I dunno. Anybody who knew us, I suppose. Or knew John, anyway. Our mam used to keep a key there when we were nippers in case we got sent home from school but I can’t see anybody from them days meaning John any harm. A lover?”
Meinwen shook her head. “No offense, but this doesn’t look like a house I’d bring a lover to. If I was an attractive gay man with more style than Carnaby Street?” She shook her head. “Definitely not. This is a bit squalid.” She reached out to touch Jimmy’s arm. “Not that it isn’t a nice house, but it’s suffering from neglect.”
“I can’t argue with you. It needs a bit of modernization.” Jimmy shook his head. “I’ve not the money for it, though.”
“You may well have, soon. Your brother was quite well off by all accounts. You could find yourself with a lump sum and quite a tidy income.”
“You reckon?” Jimmy held out his hand, indicating she should precede him into the hall. “I can’t say I wouldn’t be grateful. I can’t see me surviving long on the dole.”
“I think you’ll be surprised.” Meinwen went into the hall. Weak, gray light filtered through the semicircle of glass above the front door. “What about the front door? Does anyone have a key to it?”
“The lock’s been painted over for as long as I can remember. You can’t open it from the outside unless all three bolts and the deadlock have been disengaged. I’ve only seen that door open four times in my life. Three funerals and the day mam bought a new carpet for the bedroom upstairs.”
“Front doors were for best.” Meinwen patted his shoulder. “It was the same in our street. Front doors were for weddings and funerals and if the Queen was visiting.”
“You said that right.” Jimmy leaned in toward her.
Meinwen half smiled but seized the moment, pushing herself forward and up to meet his lips with her own. He tasted of tea and tobacco, soap and a tang of aftershave. His lips were far softer than they appeared, a contrast to his afternoon stubble rasping across her skin like the ribs of a vibrator. She reached up to pull his head further, forcing his lips open with her tongue to taste the warm interior of his mouth. How many cocks had he sucked in prison? His kissing technique was far superior to the few men she’d been out with in the time since she’d moved here.
She felt a familiar dampness in her cunt and guided his hand there to feel it for himself then ground against his palm in the semidarkness. The smell of damp and wood polish took her back to her teenage years, flinging away her virginity in the kitchen passage of the Methodist Hall to a boy who played the trumpet in the marching band. She pressed her free hand to Jimmy’s groin, feeling his cock strain against the fabric and with a deftness she would have sworn she was incapable of, had unbuttoned and unzipped the denim in a moment, fishing inside the boxers to free the tumescent cock.
Running her palm across the tip assured her Jimmy was more than ready, the sweet scent of precum overpowering the damp as she spread it over her palm and around the shaft of his cock. A practiced wiggle allowed her to hitch up her skirt without having to let go of Jimmy’s penis and she hooked down her knickers with her little finger, widening her stance for easy access as she guided him inside.
“Oh fuck...” Jimmy’s voice was the voice of the trumpet player, hot and ready.
Meinwen, her hand free once more, used it to cup his testicles, the scrotum hardening under her soft squeezes. “I’m going to come.”
Jimmy’s declaration was interspersed with gasps as he fought for breath. Meinwen ground herself against him, releasing his balls and his head grab hold of both buttocks. She could feel him ejaculating inside her, could feel his cock pumping from the base to the tip, where it mixed with her own juices and forced itself downward from the pressure.
She wouldn’t let him go. She was so near to orgasm herself she clamped her hands on his arse and ground her clitoris against him, until she felt the crest of the orgasm and rode it, the only outside indication of it a slight tremor in her hands. Satisfied, she released him, a trail of semen following his cock as it slid out. She caught it in her hand before it had a chance to stain her skirt.
She looked up at him, unable to hold back the grin. “A tissue?”
He smiled back. “Bless you.”
Meinwen laughed. “No. I need a tissue.” She held up her hand. “Unless you want to lick it off.”