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The Fall Guy Ch. 01

By: The Wanderer



A story told in six chapters. All other things being equal, the chapters will be posted on consecutive days

 I thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement they always give me. As I've been known to fiddle with stories, after they've seen it. I take full responsibility for the content and any cock-ups in this story. 

While I'm at it, I think from now on I'm going to thank all my friends out there, who write to me and encourage me to continue writing and posting these demented ravings of mine. Your emails are greatly appreciated.

Whilst, there some sex in a couple of the chapters, this is not a stroke story. So if you were looking for one of those kind-of tales, I would suggest you'd be better served looking elsewhere.

Clarification: Wicket-gate, a small door or gate built into a much larger door or gate, for pedestrian access. Not quite as common as they used to be, they are the traditional way that prisoners are released from jail in the UK. The Joint and Slammer are pseudonyms for prison. The Scrubs is Wormwood Scrubs prison in West London. Stitch-up = frame-up. 

*

Chapter One: Free Again

The wicket-gate banged closed behind me and there was a loud report as the bolt slammed home. I turned and looked up at the high walls and large wooden gates that I had been incarcerated behind for the last five years. 

'Okay, man, just what are you going to do now?' I thought to myself. Revenge on someone was in the front of my mind. I didn't know exactly on whom, but at the same time I would need to be careful. Seven years at Her Majesty's Pleasure was enough for me. 

Slowly I began to walk down the short approach road to the prison. A small group of people waiting at the bus stop on the other side of the main road were watching me. They were probably on their way to work and I should imagine they had all seen me being let out; I suppose they must watch prisoners getting released most mornings.

As I got to the end of the approach road, I noticed what I took to be a small group of reporters, off to my right, who were just beginning to make their way in my general direction. Damn, the bastards had been pestering me for years whilst I was inside and now they were waiting to ambush me outside the joint. 

Suddenly a car appeared beside me, the door swung open and a familiar face climbed out of it. "Your car, Mr Carpenter," the man said handing me the keys.

"I'd say you could do with getting out of here a bit snappy like," the man said, gesturing in the direction of the approaching reporters with his eyes. "There's £500 cash in the glove box, with a mobile phone and your luggage in the boot. Ronny's waiting at the cottage; he asked if you'd please give him a ring if you decide to spend the night elsewhere."

"Cheers, Ralph!" I said sliding into the driver's seat. 

There was no time to adjust the damn thing. I took off as quickly as I legally could. I wanted away from those damned reporters, but I had no intention of upsetting the local constabulary.

Swinging out onto the main road, I headed west away from the city, varying my speed after I got out onto the motorway to check whether I was being followed. It didn't take me long to spot the car, a little white one with a single occupant.

"Damned reporters," I said to myself out-loud as I turned into a motorway service area. This one I intended to scare the shit out of and tell them where to get off.

I pulled into an empty area of the car park and waited for the trailing car to follow me in; surprisingly it stopped quite close to me. Then I got out and walked over to it. As I got nearer to it, I was even more surprised to discover that there was a woman in the driving seat.

"Now look here, lady, I've got nothing to say to any bleeding reporters. You bleeding bastards tried to hang, draw and quarter me. What gives any of you the idea that I'd want to speak to you now? Just piss-off and leave me well alone."

The woman sat there with a curiously neutral expression on her face all during the little tirade that I'd delivered in just about the angriest sounding tone of voice I could muster. Then I turned and walked -- sorry, stomped - away from her car towards the cafeteria. Look, I was a convicted murderer; I was trying to look the part to frighten her off.

But apparently she didn't frighten that easily. I'd just sat down with my cup of coffee when she slipped into the seat opposite me.

"Mr Carpenter, first I need to tell you that I'm not a reporter. Secondly I think I can help you and I really need you to help me. Will you please listen to what I have to say?"

I looked at her closely. Oh, the look was meant to worry her somewhat. But the look I got back told me she wasn't in the least bit intimidated or afraid of me. 

I'd say she was about thirty-five, with just about everything of the right proportions and in all the right places, if you know what I mean. Come on, I'd been in the bleeding slammer for seven years; I was going to notice that kind of thing.

"Okay, shoot, let's have your spiel and then you can leave me alone, all right?" I said after trying to stare her out, failing miserably.

She nodded as she reached into her handbag and pulled out a little folder, just like some of the coppers keep their ID in. 

'Shit, she isn't a bleeding copper, is she?' I thought to myself.

With a deft flick of the wrist, she opened the little folder. Helen Caffrey, British & International Mutual Insurance it said on the card, alongside an extremely unflattering photograph of her.

"You're wasting your time with me, girl. I've got nothing left to insure. What my missus didn't take in the divorce, she's had in child support and alimony."

"No, Mr Carpenter, I don't sell insurance. Technically I'm a loss adjuster."

"So? I haven't lost anything that I was insured against. You know there aren't many people who think to insure themselves against false accusations of murder."

"You did plead guilty, Mr Carpenter!"

"I didn't have much choice on that one, lady. Those bleeding coppers had me stitched up like a turkey at Christmas. They'd planted so much evidence that, if my mother had been on the bloody jury, she'd have convicted me. No, with the way those arseholes had me stitched-up, if I'd kept pleading innocent, the bastards would have me locked up forever. It's all to do with repenting your sins or some such f-ing crap like that."

"So are you now saying that you were framed and didn't kill Mary Simmons?"

"I'm not saying anything. I'm on parole, you know. Yeah, maybe you do know that. Have you been sent to try and stitch me up as well?"

"Mr Carpenter, look, my name's Helen. May I call you John?"

"Call me what you like. It doesn't change anything."

"John, have you got time to listen to a story?"

"Go on then, young lady, I'm listening. For the moment!"

"John, my father was a loss adjuster and he taught me the business. Do you know what loss adjusters actually do?"

"Yeah, they come to look at the damage when you make a claim and then try to wriggle the insurance company out of paying out on it."

"Well, I suppose it could look that way from some peoples' perspective. But really my job is to make sure that the claim is genuine and people aren't trying to rip off the company."

"That's what I said, didn't I? The companies figure every claim is somebody on the fiddle and it's your job to prove them right."

"I somehow don't think we're going to find any common ground on that," Helen finally said.

"You've got that one right, girl." Helen gave me a frown. I was quite pleased with myself; I'd found her Achille's heel. She didn't like being called "girl"; quite a lot of women don't like that.

"John, some of us are specialists. We investigate claims that look suspicious or inflated. That's what our real job is." 

"So what do you want with me. I ain't made any claims."

"The company my father and I work for carried a life insurance policy on Mary Simmons."

"Hey, what? And you think you can get the money back from me, because I've been convicted of killing her. Well, you're out of luck on that one, baby. My missis made a pretty good job of cleaning me out."

"John, please be serious for a minute and listen to what I've got to say, will you? It's important."

"Okay, shoot, girl. I won't interrupt again."

"William Simmons took out a massive insurance policy on his wife six months before she was murdered. Although he'd taken out a similar policy on himself as well, my dad was still suspicious about it for some reason. The company had to pay out when you were convicted of Mary's murder, but my father wouldn't leave it alone. William Simmons cancelled his own policy just a few months after his wife was murdered and my father didn't like that either."

"Well, Mary Simmons was a rich woman. When he got his hands on her money, I should imagine insurance was the last thing Bill Simmons was worried about."

"You knew the Simmons well?"

"Not really, only through business. We handled some of Mary's company recruitment. Not much, because she was a good boss and the staff turnover was minimal."

"Look, John, my father always suspected that something was not right about what happened to Mary Simmons and you. Even after you changed your plea to guilty, he still wasn't convinced."

"What about you? Did you think I stabbed Mary Simmons in that hotel room?"

"Well, to be honest with you, yes, at the time I did. But...." Helen suddenly stopped talking.

"But what?"

"But my father wouldn't let it go. John, have you ever seen Columbo on television?" 

"Oh, yeah, I've watched a lot of Columbo over the last few years in the nick, nothing but repeats on the telly nowadays and there wasn't much else to do. They don't like to let us dangerous murderers get bored."

Helen ignored or wasn't the slightest bit phased by my hint that she was sitting there with a convicted murderer. 

"Well, my dad, once he'd got the bit between his teeth, was a little like Columbo. He wouldn't leave it alone. Everywhere that Bill Simmons went my dad would try to be around. Just letting Simmons know that he wasn't convinced." 

"You're speaking of your father in the past tense," I commented.

"Yes, my father died in a road accident some time back. A hit-and-run accident involving a stolen car, which the police put down to joy riders. They found the car burnt-out later the same evening.

"At first that's what I thought it was as well. That is, until I was clearing out my father's flat. I discovered a massive file in his desk, about you, William Simmons and Mary Simmons' murder. I hadn't known that my father was keeping an eye on Simmons. Well, why should he still have been on the case? The claim had been settled right after you confessed.

"Anyway it was apparent from that file that my father had been keeping an extremely close eye on what Simmons had been up to in the years following his wife's death and your conviction. You know, Bill Simmons gradually liquefied all of Mary assets and the cash all seemed to disappear. Well, my dad couldn't find out what he did with it; he thought Simmons moved it out of the country, but he didn't know where.

"Dad had a lot of Simmons movements listed, like where he'd go and whom he'd met. But there was a lot of time when dad couldn't find out where Simmons had been. You've got to remember my dad was apparently doing all this in his spare time.

"My father watching Simmons got me curious and I thought I'd just have a little nose around. The only trouble was I couldn't find Simmons. He'd disappeared off the face of the earth. For two years now I've been trying to track him down. Now whether I liked it or not, that is really suspicious, and I really want to know what the hell has been going on; but I'd run out of options. 

"So I thought I'd better go right back and start at the beginning, with Mary's death and your conviction. You wouldn't speak to my father when he tried to see you in prison, and you wouldn't speak to me whilst you were inside either. Will you tell me about it now?"

I sat back in my seat and looked at Helen, then I looked around the almost empty cafeteria. "Well, young lady, I could be willing to talk about it. But this is neither the time nor the place. I've just got out of jail and to be honest I've not got my mind sorted out yet. Give me a couple of days and I might decide to meet you again. Then maybe we can talk properly."

"I've waited two years already. If that's what you want, I can wait a few days. Give me a number where I can get in touch with you."

"Sorry, girl, I haven't got a telephone yet," I lied. I knew there was a mobile phone in the glove box of the car. "You give me a number where I can get hold of you and I'll call you."

She gave me a card with her telephone numbers on it and then after thanking me for talking to her, she got up and left. I watched her walk away, appreciating the way she filled her clothes.

Once I'd given Helen time to get out of the car park, I went back out to my own car. Helen's car was nowhere to be seen. Then it was back on the motorway to check whether anyone else was tailing me. I travelled nearly sixty miles before I was convinced that there was no one back there. Then I left the motorway and began the journey back by the old roads.

It was nearing three o'clock when I arrived at the cottage. Ronny Macintosh, my sometimes legal representative and best friend, had purchased the cottage on my - or should I say a Bahamian company's - behalf, some months prior to my release. In theory I was renting the place. It was Ronny who had also laid on the car and everything else outside the prison. With his help, I'd managed to keep my off-shore investments secret from Angela's grabbing hands.

"Where the fuck did you get to?" Ronny demanded as I walked in the door.

"I got tailed from the prison. I don't want every bugger in the world to know where I'm living. It's bad enough I have to tell the parole people."

"Keep your nose clean and they shouldn't bother you. Anyway who followed you?"

"Some bird. Something to do with the insurance company who got stitched up for a big pay-out on Mary Simmons' death. Helen Cafrey; do you know her?"

"Cafrey, Cafrey. Yeah, that name rings a bell," Ronny said as he opened his briefcase.

He took from it a file with my name prominently printed on the front and looked through it.

"Ah, here we are. But it isn't a Helen Cafrey, it's a George Cafrey. When they first sent you down, he asked me a few times to set up an interview with you. You told me to tell him to take a hike, in your usual terms. And then his daughter turned up a few months back. I told her to forget it, as well." Ronny read from the document.

"Yeah, well, I think she reckons that the grieving widower might have murdered Mary and her father," I said.

"No, that was well checked out at the time. Bill Simmons had a cast iron alibi. The police gave him a very good look over, before they even thought about you."

"And then made a very nice job of framing me."

"Look, John, you keep on saying that it was the police who framed you. Just suppose for the minute that it wasn't them but someone else. Maybe even Bill Simmons."

"No, there was no way he could have done it. He'd have needed access to my house and my office. There was no way in hell that he could have planted all of that evidence, even if he did break into the house. No, those bleeding coppers planted it all when they did their so called searches."

"John, I know you've always thought that the police fitted you up, but I can't see why they would have any reason to...." 

"To get a nice easy conviction, Ronny. An heiress is murdered in a luxury hotel. Three days later her lover and local businessman is charged. Very efficient policing! I'm going to bet that there was more than one promotion came out of that little stitch-up. Anyway let's forget all that for the minute. What about my kids? When am I going to get to see them?" 

Ronny didn't answer for I moment or two. 

"Look, Johnny, we've got a bit of a problem there." He finally replied with a concerned look on his face.

"I don't want to know about your problems. I want know when I'm gonna be able to see my children. In a way I can understand Angela divorcing me after that load of bullshit that was banded around in court. But she could have brought the children to see me now and again."

"Well, the point is, John, we don't know where to find Angela or the children at the moment."

"What?"

"She sold the house last year; she's been living in a rented flat for some years now, you know." 

"No, I didn't know! What the hell would she want sell the house for? It was all paid for and everything." 

"I don't know, Johnny. She wasn't very communicative with me, you know that. Anyway that isn't the worst of it. John, I sent Ralph round last week to arrange a visit for you with the kids and she'd gone. The flat was empty and there was no forwarding address."

"Why the hell would she do that?"

"Its speculation, John, but you know she's got a court order banning you from contacting her directly or going within a mile of her residence. Perhaps she's frightened of you. You know you were a little vocal the last time you spoke to her."

"Well, didn't I have a right to be? She'd just told me she was going to divorce me because of my so-called affair with Mary Simmons. I'd expected my wife to believe me and stand by me.

"Fuck it, Ronny! Get the hell out of here and leave me to think about this, will you? I'll call you in a day or so, when I've got my head straight, and we'll talk then. In the meantime, find out where my bloody kids are."

Before he left, Ronny ordered me a Chinese take-away to be delivered and told me all about the cottage, what days the housekeeper came, et cetera. When the meal finally arrived, I settled down to enjoy my first night of freedom with it and a bottle of Scotch.

End of chapter one 

The Fall Guy Ch. 02



Chapter Two: Dawn Surprises

I woke the following morning with the granddaddy of all hangovers. It didn't take me long to realise that I had been woken by the sound of a woman singing somewhere in the cottage. No amount of hiding under the duvet would dull the sound. 

Then quite suddenly she burst into my bedroom carrying a breakfast tray, which she placed on the table by the bed and then she went over and drew back the curtains.

I deduced all this from the sounds and the sudden brightness in the room that was clearly visible through the duvet that I was still trying to hide under.

"Good morning, Mr Carpenter. Now you get this down you," the woman said as she unceremoniously pulled the cover from over my head. "The best thing in the world for a head like you must have this morning."

"Who the hell are you?" I managed to ask at the same time as I tried to make sure the lower half of my body was still covered. Before I went to prison I'd not been one for wearing anything in bed and I'd returned to the habit on my first night of freedom.

"I'm Jenny, your housekeeper. Now get this down you!" she said, almost pouring the very questionable looking mixture in the glass she was holding down my throat.

"My god, what the hell was in that? It tasted awful!" I said, after almost choking on the vile mixture.

"A family secret, but you'll be feeling as right as rain in no time," she assured me.

"Or dead!" I retorted.

"It didn't kill my father and he often drank more than one bottle of Scotch a night, so it shouldn't do you any harm. Now sit up. You'd better get this down you as well. You've got to keep your strength up," she said in a very strange tone of voice.

Then she picked the tray up and placed it on my lap as I did so.

"Oh, my, got a little problem there, have we? Eat your breakfast, then give me a call and we'll see what we can do about that, before you have your bath." Jenny grinned at me.

Now look, I'd been without female company for seven years at least. And Jenny, now that I had time to have a good look at her, was all woman, in every sense of the word. Maybe a little old and on the buxom side for my liking, but beggars can't be choosers. And from the way she was talking I got the impression that she was raring to go.

Whilst I was eating, Jenny left the room. She returned after I'd called out to her; I've got to admit, I was gobsmacked to discover that she was stark naked when she entered the room.

"What do you think? Do I pass inspection?" she asked, as she did a little pirouette before me.

"Bloody hell, Jenny, that's one hell of a body you've got there!" I replied.

"Not bad for forty-five, is it? Pity my old man didn't appreciate what he had. I caught the bastard shagging the little tart of a barmaid from down the pub. So now he gets none of it and you can have all you want. Well, within reason; I won't sleepover. I keep that bugger of a husband of mine on a tight leash nowadays."

"Jenny, I'm beginning to suspect that you're a very wicked housekeeper." 

"Well, I don't know how many little tarts he's been shagging over the years. So it's payback time and when Mr Macintosh said you'd been away from women for a while, I jumped at this job," she replied, still with that naughty grin on her face. 

"Oh, so Ronny put you up to this, did he?" I asked.

"Oh, my god, no! Mr Macintosh was a perfect gentleman. I just thought a man who's been away from women for as long as you have would like a bit of female company on the side."

"Jenny, Ronny Macintosh is a bleeding solicitor. The last thing I'd describe any member of that profession as is a gentleman."

"Alright, if you say so, but he doesn't know about any of the extras I'm prepared to throw in on this job and I'd prefer it if you didn't make it common knowledge as well."

"You have my word as a gentleman and an ex-con. But aren't you in the least bit worried that you are offering to climb into bed with a man who's been convicted of murdering his last lover."

"Pigs might fly first, John. You were never Mary Simmons' lover and I very much doubt you murdered her. I'd stake my life on that. Hey! Maybe I am staking my life on it."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Well, now let's see why I believe that. Mary Simmons just happens to have been a member of the tennis club, where I happened to have a job as a cleaner at the time. Now, almost every guy in the club had eyes for Mary as I remember. No disrespect to you, John, but there were some pretty fit guys there; you're not bad looking, but you never were Robert Redford."

"No offence taken, Jenny. But how do you know what I looked like back then."

"Newspapers and the telly, silly. Your face was plastered all over them. Anyway I happen to know that Mary Simmons had a penchant for the young men. The younger the better, if you understand me, and normally two or three at a time. Oh, she was very discrete about it, but you can't hide that sort of thing from the staff. I'm sorry, John, but at the time I thought you were just too old for her liking."

"You're definitely kidding me?"

"On my children's life, John. We ... well, a couple of the other girls who worked at the club and myself ... told the police when they came around asking questions. But I don't think they believed us. Who was going to believe that an upright citizen like Mary Simmons was gang-banging teenagers? And of curse, the boys weren't going to say anything to the police. They were trying to hang her murder on just about anyone they could think of at the time. The youngsters just kept their heads down.

"Anyway, it's time we got your little problem sorted out. How many times can you get it up by the way?" Jenny asked, ripping the duvet completely off the bed. "Oh, my god, that's a nice big one, much bigger than my old man's. I hope I can handle it all right," she said just before my cock disappeared into her mouth. 

It didn't take Jenny very long to achieve the desired result. She gave me possibly the best blow-job I'd ever had in my life. But then it had been so long since I had experienced a blow-job, I expect anything would have felt good that day.

After she'd finished and swallowed the lot - a first for me as blow-jobs hadn't been Angela's favourite pastime - Angela would only stay down there long enough to get me ready for what she termed "the main attraction." Then Jenny dragged me into the bathroom where I discovered that I was the proud owner of a Jacuzzi that Jenny had obviously filled whilst I'd been sleeping.

"I've always wanted to play in one of these things," Jenny said as we climbed in. 

And play we bloody did for the rest of the morning. I'm going to admit that it was the first time I'd ever shagged underwater. Not that I can say I'd go out of my way to repeat the experience if there was a decent bed near by, but it was different.

It turned out that Jenny wasn't far off: insatiable. After we'd had lunch we shagged most of the afternoon away, before Jenny decided it was time for her to go home to her loving husband. Jesus, that was one dumb fucker she was married to! As I said, I thought that Jenny was a little on the old side for me to have a proper relationship with, but she was one bloody good sex machine.

During the day she had told me we could fuck anytime I wanted. She claimed she didn't expect anything in return, except total discretion and I promised her that.

That evening I went out to the village pub for a pint and a steak; Jenny had told me they served up reasonable ones there and she hadn't been lying. Whilst I was there I looked over the barmaid that Jenny had caught her husband rogering. I was even more convinced that he was a bloody fool; she looked and sounded like the village bike. I wouldn't have gone near her pussy with a ten-foot pole.

The next morning I awoke from an interesting dream to discover it wasn't a dream; Jenny was doing her Hoovering act again. After breakfast we went through a similar routine to the previous day, but performed in the shower instead of the Jacuzzi. I think Jenny wasn't too enthralled with shagging in the Jacuzzi experience either. But we did get in it for a while and messed about some.

After we'd had lunch, Jenny was standing at the sink washing up when I realised she was shaking her arse at me.

"Not now woman, I've got some things to do today."

"Are you sure?" she asked, one hand flicking the back of her short skirt up to show me that she wasn't wearing any knickers.

"Damn you, woman," I said as, getting out of my seat, I grabbed her by the waist, swung her around and then bent her over the kitchen table, where I took her from behind. "You know, you're bloody insatiable."

"Yeah, well, this is fun whilst it lasts, but you're soon going to find a beautiful woman of your own age to play with, and that's going to cut me off."

"Oh, yeah? Like who?"

"Well, the woman who's sitting up the road in her car, for one. I'd say she's waiting for you to make an appearance."

"What woman's this?"

"Oh, I don't know. Brunette, drives a little white car."

"Shit, Helen Cafrey. How did she know where to find me?"

"Dunno, but she was snooping around the village last week, before you got out."

"Oh, she was, was she? Well, let's finish this and then I'll have a little word with Miss Cafrey."

"Mrs Cafrey, you mean."

"No, that can't be right. Her father's name was Cafrey."

"Divorced, I should imagine and she's returned to using her maiden name then. She's definitely been married and has at least two kids."

"How do you work that one out?"

"Wedding ring or rather the shadow of one on her finger, and the two child seats in the back of her car. She was in the village-shop the other day when I was in there."

"Quite the little detective, aren't you?"

"Well, how do you think I caught my old man with that bloody tramp of a barmaid? It opened my eyes and taught me to be a lot more observant, I can tell you. Anyway stop talking and concentrate on what you're doing. I'm nearly there."

We finished our exercise and then I went to call Helen Cafrey on her mobile. But Jenny told me not to; she'd go and take her by surprise, whilst I tided myself up. "It would put her off her guard," Jenny suggested.

I came back down stairs as Jenny was showing Helen into the lounge. I followed them in and Jenny went off to make some tea.

"Still following me around, are you?" I asked as we sat down.

"John, I'm sorry but I knew where you were going to live when I saw you the other day. I was just being handy for when you got around to calling me. I told you, I need you to tell me exactly what happened, before you were arrested."

"All right, if you insist, but I should imagine most of it was in the papers." 

"Reporters take a slanted view on things, John. You said that yourself the other day."

Jenny came back into the room with the tea; placing it on the coffee table, she made herself comfy in one of the other chairs. Helen gave her a quizzical look then looked across at me. I looked at Jenny, who gave me a big smile in return.

"Look on me as an independent observer and a chaperone. You never know; I might have some words of wisdom to throw in as well," Jenny said.

Actually the chaperone part made sense. After all I was a convicted murderer. Helen could say that anything had happened. Who was going to believe a convicted murderer? 

"Okay, Helen, as you no doubt know, I ran an employment agency in the town at the time. Angela, my wife, was a stay-at-home mum looking after our two little ones. I knew Bill and Mary Simmons as clients. Mary's company would sometimes ask me to find both temporary and full time staff for them.

"Angela and I had been to dinner with the Simmons on a couple of occasions and we'd returned the invitations, but I wouldn't have called either of them good friends. On the contrary, they weren't really my type; a little on the stuck-up side for my liking."

"How did Angela get on with them?" Helen asked.

"About the same as I did, I think. She did say a few times that she didn't like the way Bill Simmons looked at her. In the end she told me she felt like he was undressing her with his eyes. Well, once Angela had told me that, I found reason to decline any further invitations from them.

"That was about it and then one morning I heard on the TV news that Mary had been found dead in a hotel bedroom somewhere. It surprised me because there was a hint of something-dodgy going on with Mary. Honestly I wouldn't have thought Mary was the type to... you know. Well, the hotel wasn't that far from her house. 

"The Simmons weren't big customers of mine, so beside the normal curiosity that everybody had as to what had happened, I wasn't really interested. Angela and I discussed it a little, as everyone would do when someone they know had been murdered and that was it really.

"Then early in the morning a few days later, the police kicked my front door in and arrested me for murdering Mary. They had a search warrant for my house and office, where they claimed that they found all kinds of stuff that connected me with Mary Simmons. You know, receipts for hotel rooms, book matches from the same hotel and they even claimed that they found my fingerprints on a glass and a Champagne bottle in the room that Mary was killed in.

"The next thing I know some little shit who worked at the hotel swore blind that he delivered the bottle of Champagne to Mary's room and that he had seen me in there with her. Oh, and the chit for that bottle of Champagne - the police claimed that they found it in the suit jacket pocket I'd been wearing on the day she was murdered. And my car's registration number was on the car park attendant's list, only he couldn't describe the car; he'd just written the number down.

"Well, that's about it. When we got into court, even I thought I sounded bloody guilty."

"Didn't you have an alibi or anything?"

"Nope, I was in the office alone that night doing the wages for the month. Of course the girls on my staff said that I was still doing them as they left and that they were completed in the morning. But that didn't prove that I didn't slip out and murder Mary, then go back and finish the job." 

"You've no idea how those receipts and things got into your pockets?" Helen asked.

"Yeah, the bloody police planted them, that's the only answer." I replied angrily. I always get angry when I thought about those receipts and the fingerprints on that bottle of Champagne.

"Somehow I can't believe that the police planted that evidence." Helen said.

"They must have. Who else would have the opportunity or the reason?"

"Well, I suppose in your position I would have thought the same thing. And I should imagine that once you accused the police of planting it, you wouldn't have been flavour of the month with them," Helen commented.

"Or the Judge. When I realised how well they'd stitched me up, I changed my plea to guilty," I added.

"But there was someone else who could have planted the evidence, someone who would have known you were in the office on your own that night as well."

"Who?"

"You're not going to like this, but have you ever thought about your wife, Angela," Helen offered.

"Don't talk nonsense. Why would she want to plant all that evidence? Why would she want to frame me for murder?"

"John, do you know where your wife and children are now?"

"No, from what I've heard she's gone into hiding. I was pretty upset when she divorced me and said a few things I regretted when I'd had the time to reflect on them. She probably thinks I'd do her some harm. Well, in the end she did come to believe that I had an affair with Mary Simmons and murdered her."

"Let's just go back a little bit, John. Tell me why were you doing the wages late that evening. Was that your normal habit?"

"No, I normally did them during the day. But Angela had managed to swing an interview for us at the best school in town. We wanted the children to be on their list and they interview the parents before they will accept the children."

"And if I told you that interview had been booked months in advance!"

"Never! Angela happened to run into the headmistress in the hair-dressers or something."

"John, that interview was booked over two months previous, of that I can assure you. She's retired now, but I've spoken to the head-mistress," Helen said at the same time as she picked up the briefcase she'd brought in with her and removed a file from it. 

She sorted-out a piece of paper from the file and handed it to me. It was a statement about the school interview signed by the headmistress and confirming what Helen had just said.

Then Helen threw a photograph on the table.

"Who's that?" she asked.

"Bill Simmons," I replied.

"And who are these?" Helen asked throwing several more pictures on the table, obviously stills from shop security cameras and of not very good quality.

"I'd say they are Bill Simmons as well." 

"Yeah, I'd agree," Helen said, "these are from shops near to the flat where Angela and the children were living. I'd say, in that one, the child who's holding Bill Simmons's hand is your eldest daughter and the woman just visible standing outside the shop-door is Angela."

"No! It can't be."

"I'm sorry, John, but it is. I'm damned sure that Bill Simmons was a regular visitor to that flat. There aren't any security cameras in the building, but the doorman recognised Bill Simmons' picture straight away when I showed it to him and the doorman said that he often stayed overnight." Helen sat back and waited for me to take it all in.

"But Helen didn't like Bill Simmons. She told me so on more than one occasion."

"John!" Jenny joined the conversation, "I would think that Angela told you that so that you wouldn't invite the Simmons to dinner anymore. That way she and Bill Simmons couldn't slip-up and say the wrong thing when the four of you were together."

"The most likely explanation," Helen offered.

"Oh, shit! Are you trying to tell me that my wife framed me for murder?"

"No, I'd say that Bill Simmons was the brains behind it. It was him who gained the most financially; he probably murdered his wife as well. Angela just placed all the evidence and made sure you couldn't account for your whereabouts at the same time. You were just the fall guy, John."

I looked at Helen. "How long have you known this?" I demanded angrily.

"Now don't go shooting the messenger, John!" Jenny said, trying to calm me down.

"About a month." Helen replied, "I've had my father's papers since just after he died, but it was only when I started looking for Angela and discovered that she'd disappeared with the children, that I began to realise what could have really happened. Bill Simmons had vanished into thin air sometime back and with Angela going missing I just got to wondering. Anyway I showed Simmons' picture around the flats where Angela had lived and I wasn't really surprised that just about everybody had seen him around." 

I got up and paced the room. Angela, the woman I'd loved, had betrayed me and actually helped to frame me for Mary's murder. I had serious problems believing she'd do such a thing to me. 

Then I suddenly remembered our wedding anniversary and that bloody Champagne Angela had brought for us to celebrate it with. I never have been one for Champagne - too fizzy for my liking. But about four months before Mary's murder Angela had a bottle of Champagne that she'd asked me to open on our wedding anniversary. Damn it, the bitch had to have been planning the fit-up for months. I'd never seen the connection between that anniversary Champagne and the bottle the police found in Mary's hotel room before.

"Damn it, you're right, it all makes sense now." I told the girls, going on to tell them about the Champagne.




The Fall Guy Ch. 02



"Damn it, the one person I trusted unconditionally turns out to be the person who put me away for seven years," I shouted angrily.

"Please sit down and calm yourself down, John," Helen said, "Now we've got to find out how to prove it and exactly who did murder Mary."

"Well, Bill did, I should imagine," I said.

"And what about his alibi? He had half a dozen people who told the police he was with them all that evening," Helen retorted.

"Well, if not him, who? A hired killer? Where the hell would Bill Simmons find one of them?"

"Look, there's only one person that we know who definitely did lie to the police. That waiter who said he saw you in Mary's hotel room. If you weren't there, then we know he lied to the police and in court. That's perjury, if we can find him and get him to tell the truth. Well, then, he must have seen who really killed Mary Simmons," Helen suggested.

"That's if he ever went near the hotel room that night," I observed.

"He must have, to have given the killer the chit that they put in your pocket," she replied.

"How will we find him anyway? I doubt he still works at the hotel," I asked.

"No, he doesn't. He drives a hire car for a living nowadays. Strange, that one, hotel waiters don't earn much. But he brought a brand new Mercedes about three months after you were convicted." Helen said with a smile on her face. "Oh, and he paid for it in cash!" 

"You think that was his pay-off money? Seems a lot for lying in court. Hey, maybe he killed Mary?" I suggested, but immediately changed my mind. "No, I remember the little bugger in court. He was a bloody weakling!"

"How old was he?" Jenny suddenly asked.

"Buggered if I know. Seventeen, eighteen maybe; he was only a kid," I replied.

"He was twenty, but he looked a lot younger. He still looks like a teenager, now." Helen informed us.

"Just how Mary liked them then; maybe he was the bait that got Mary to the hotel room in the first place. He could have arranged all those hotel bookings as well if he was on the inside," Jenny suggested.

"What do you mean, just how Mary liked them?" Helen asked looking at Jenny.

Jenny - after looking at me to get the go ahead - told Helen about Mary's preference for younger men or really boys. For a few moments Helen thought, apparently digesting what Jenny had told her.

"No, I agree with John," Helen said, "he was and still is a bloody little weakling. Now the guy who used to be the night manager, he was a very questionable character. And it was strange that if he was on reception as he was supposed to have been that night. He never claimed to have seen you enter or leave the hotel. It could be that he murdered Mary and wanted to stay right out of the public eye."

"This is all speculation. I've been thinking for some time I needed a private talk with that Curtis guy who claimed to have delivered that Champagne," I said.

"I don't think that's a good idea, John. If you lose your temper with him, you could finish up back inside serving the full twelve years," Helen said. "Leave the little sod to me. I've got a couple of friends who are very interested in all this. But you're going to have to hold your temper and be civil to them." 

"And just who are these friends of yours?" I asked. Helen had never mentioned anyone else interested in the case before.

"Now don't get mad, John, but one of them is Inspector Harris," she said with a contrite expression on her face.

"Harris!" I shouted angrily. "He's one of the buggers who got me sent down in the first place." 

"John, take it easy. He was just doing his job," Helen said in an attempt to calm me down. "All the evidence pointed to you; you said that yourself. But Gary and Frank don't like the idea that someone took them for a ride. When I told them of my suspicions they got just as angry as you just did."

"But if he believed you why didn't he do something," I demanded.

"Oh, yeah, and who refused to see Inspector Harris in prison a few weeks back? Frank and Gary wanted to tell you what I've told you, but how did you put it? 'Tell the f-ing B's to f-off!' That's what the warden said your reply was and you wouldn't see me either."

"Whoops, yeah, I did say something similar," I admitted. "Maybe a bit more colourful. And I thought you were another damned reporter." 

"So I gathered the other day. Anyway it was my idea that I try to approach you once you were released. Inspector Harris and Frank, his sergeant, have been looking into things and are trying to reopen the case. The trouble is they don't think they have anything to get your conviction quashed unless they can find the real murderer. They want your co-operation, but they don't need you going off and knocking anyone around."

"Well, I couldn't do anything if I wanted too, yet. I'd have to track that little shit, Curtis, down first."

"Inspector Harris would like to talk to you, before they talk to Curtis. Will you see them?" Helen asked.

"Do I have a choice?" I replied.

"No, not really. To be fair you shouldn't have spent so much energy on calling Gary all those names. He was doing his job and he held no malice against you," Helen pointed out. 

I was beginning to think Helen was sweet on inspector Gary Harris. A shame she was a really nice looking woman. But surely Harris was a little on the old side for her. 

Come on, Jenny was just a bit of fun for both of us, it wasn't going to be anything long term, and we both knew it.

I'm not sure how it happened then but, after Helen asked me if I'd meet with the police inspector, the subject of conversation change completely, to a discussion about the cottage. Which culminated in Jenny giving both of us a tour of the house and garden. You know I'd been there two days and hadn't even looked at the massive gardens.

Leading down the left side of the garden was a long rose arbour type tunnel covered in climbing roses. At the end of this tunnel was a little secret garden surrounded with box hedges, in the centre of which stood a wooden table and chairs.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Helen said, "my girls would love this."

"There's a swing on the other side of that tree over by the pond," Jenny informed us.

"God, you're lucky to have found a place like this, John," Helen said, as she ran over and sat on the swing.

"Well, don't just stand there," Jenny whispered to me, "go be a gentleman and give her a push on the swing."

"Jenny, are you trying to play matchmaker?" I asked as quietly as possible.

"Blimey, John, you've been staring at her like a cat who's spotted a mouse in the undergrowth all afternoon. Go on get your arse in gear," Jenny said, giving me a firm push in Helen's direction.

"How many children have you got?" I casually asked Helen as I gently pushed her on the swing.

"Two girls, six and eight," she replied.

"Who's looking after them? Hubby?" I asked still trying to sound like I was making casual conversation.

"No, my mother is; my husband and I are divorced, but my in-laws are a great help to me and the children."

I believe that all I could think of to say was, "Oh."

"My husband and my interests' sort-of separated. He took a little too much interest in his assistant and he didn't take too kindly to my interest in boxing."

"That doesn't sound very ladylike."

"Oh, it wasn't. I knocked him out cold and she ran naked from the hotel room. But I did enjoy the moment."

"Were there any unpleasant ramifications ... you know, with the police?"

"No, he'd have looked a real wimp standing in court and accusing his little woman of laying him out with one punch. I don't think the idiot ever took it seriously when I told him that my father had taught me to box and had insisted that I was proficient in Judo before he let me get into this business. You know some folks can turn very aggressive when they have their insurance claims rejected."

"So your father made sure you could defend yourself," I said smiling down at her. Somehow I couldn't picture Helen landing one on anybody who crossed her.

"When I need to," Helen said, turning in the swing so that I could see the smile on her face.

"Johnny, I think its time I made a move," Jenny called out, "My husband will be home from work before long. Goodnight. Hey, why don't you and Helen go out for a meal together?"

We both called out good night to Jenny as she walked back towards the cottage.

"I'm sorry about that. I think Jenny's a little on the pushy side," I said to Helen once Jenny was out of earshot.

"Well, I haven't eaten since breakfast," Helen said.

"But what about your children?" 

"I told you my mother is at my house; she'll feed them and put them to bed. She does that quite often for me. You know, I work some very weird hours in this job. A quick meal in the local pub before I go home will save me having to pick up a take away." 

Helen and I went to the local pub in her car, where I had another steak and she ate lasagne or something. After she left to go home to her family, I sat in a corner of the bar for the rest of the evening. Out of interest, I'm sure the little nymphomaniac behind the bar was trying to add me to the notches on her belt, but I ignored her. 

End of Chapter two 



The Fall Guy Ch. 03



 I thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement they always give me. As I've been known to fiddle with stories, after they've seen it. I take full responsibility for the content and any cock-ups in this story. 

While I'm at it, I think from now on I'm going to thank all my friends out there, who write to me and encourage me to continue writing and posting these demented ravings of mine. Your emails are greatly appreciated.

Whilst, there some sex in a couple of the chapters, this is not a stroke story. So if you were looking for one of those kind-of tales, I would suggest you'd be better served looking elsewhere.

Clarification: TWOCing (pronounced twock-ing): The act of Taking a car Without the Owner's Consent, usually in order to engage in joyriding. The pavement in the UK is a sidewalk to some folks. 

Chapter Three

Unwelcome, Welcome Guests. 

Jenny didn't wake me in her usual fashion the following morning. I was suddenly aware of her shaking me.

"John, wake up. You've got visitors," I heard her say through the fog in my brain.

"Wow, I don't need any of that shit this morning," I said to her, when I noticed she had another glass of that concoction of hers in her hand. "Who's here anyway?"

"The police! I think one of them is that inspector that Helen mentioned yesterday."

"At this time of day! Um, what time is it anyway?" I asked, still trying to clear the fog in my brain.

"Eight-thirty!" Jenny replied.

"In a bleeding hurry, aren't they? Okay, tell them I'll be down in a minute."

Jenny, after giving me a nice smile, left the room and I climbed out of bed. As I stood up, the sudden pain in my head told me that maybe I had hit the juice a little on the hard side the previous evening; I could just about remember staggering home. I made a mental note to cut down on alcohol. 

Then having had second thoughts, I gulped down Jenny's weird concoction, making another mental note to get the recipe for it from her as well. The stuff tasted like shit, but it definitely did the trick. 

++++++++++++

"Where are they?" I asked Jenny when I came down the stairs that led off of the lounge.

"Outside waiting, of course. John, unless they have a warrant or just-cause, the police can't enter a house unless the owner invites them in. This is your house so I made them wait until you are ready to receive them. It never hurts to show them who's running things, you know."

"I'm beginning to worry about you, Jenny. You haven't had some run-ins with the police, have you?" I asked her, smiling.

"Let's just say my father wasn't flavour of the month with them, shall we? I learnt all about what the police can and can't do at a very young age." Jenny grinned back at me as she went to open the front door.

The familiar face of Inspector Gary Harris entered the room followed by an officer whom I vaguely recognised and I assumed was the sergeant that Helen had mentioned.

"Mr Carpenter, thank you for agreeing to see us," Harris said as he entered the lounge.

"Sit down, Inspector. I'm afraid I don't remember your oppo here's name."

"Frank Stevens," the other man said, offering his hand for me to shake. "Sergeant Stevens now; I was a PC when we met last."

Once I'd shaken the Sergeant's hand, Gary Harris shoved his hand in my direction. For a moment I detected the mason's grip, but when I didn't return it, it rapidly disappeared. "So, inspector," I thought to myself, "a brother, are we? I wonder if you knew I was before I went down or whether you're trying to tell me you are?" 

"Well, John," the inspector began, but then corrected himself. "Sorry, may I address you as John, Mr Carpenter?"

"You did the last time we met and never asked my permission, Gary," I replied sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, John. The situation was very different then. Look, that was then and this is now. Helen ... er, Ms Cafrey has informed me of the investigations that she and her late father have been making. What I believed all those years ago is not necessarily what I believe now. Ms Cafrey is convinced that Bill Simmons killed his wife and that your wife was instrumental in planting the evidence against you. I've come to believe that there is a possibility that she could be correct."

"A possibility? Is that so?" I said sarcastically.

"John, I don't put people behind bars because I like the idea. I have to act on the evidence that is before me at the time. Now my trouble is that Helen has come up with certain information that leaves me to believe that someone could have fooled me, and the courts. I don't like to think that someone pulled the wool over my eyes, and if they did I intend to see that they go to prison for a long time."

"So you're not convinced I'm innocent then?" I asked.

"John, to be honest with you, what Ms Cafrey and her late father turned up has put your guilt in question, forgetting the trial for the moment, if we may. In my mind you are just a suspect in the murder of Mary Simmons. Can you understand what I'm saying?"

"Oh, so if you can't pin it on Bill Simmons, you're quite happy that I've just spent seven years in the slammer," I replied.

"John, I can only act on the evidence. But there is something much more important than your guilt or innocence at stake here," Gary Harris said, with a very serious look on his face

"Inspector Harris, what in the world do you think is more important to me than my conviction."

"What about the safety of your ex-wife and children?" Harris asked.

That statement by Harris really knocked the wind out of my sails. 

"John," Frank Stevens carried on, "If what Helen believes did happen and Bill Simmons did kill his wife, it stands to reason Angela must have helped him plant all that evidence implicating you. Now suddenly just before you come out, your wife and children have vanished into thin air. The inspector and I are concerned that Bill Simmons might get worried that you would put pressure on Angela to tell what she knows. John, what we've got to take into account is that, if Simmons did kill his wife for her money, what's to stop him killing again to keep the secret?" 

I looked from one officer to the other, as what Sergeant Stevens had just said to me sunk into my brain. This was a completely different ball game, and something I hadn't in my wildest dreams contemplated. A sudden feeling of panic began to rise within me.

"Well, what the hell are you doing to find them?" I demanded.

"Everything we can, John, I can assure you. Checks have been made at all airports and ports; we're pretty sure they haven't left the country," Gary Harris said, in an attempt - I think - to reassure me.

"What use is that? He's hardly likely to take them abroad before he kills them, is he?" I replied, my anger still rising.

"Calm down please, John. We don't know that he is going to harm them. It's just something we have to take into account. We - or rather Helen - believes they are in hiding in the country somewhere. We'll track them down in the end, you can be sure of that," Harris said.

"John, Hel ... Ms Cafrey thinks they can't be too far away. Bill Simmons must have been living somewhere fairly close by when he was visiting Angela at the flat. We very much suspect that Angela and the children are staying at his place," Frank Stevens added.

I had noted that, whilst trying to sound formal where Helen was concerned, both officers would refer to her by her Christian name when they let their guard down. There had been some undertone in Helen's voice that I'd picked up when she had mentioned Frank Stevens the previous evening. It wasn't a conscious thought at the time, but I was beginning to wonder whether there was something going on between them. Frank Stevens was a handsome guy and more Helen's age than Harris was.

"I can't see how you guys expect me to help. You know everything I know from those interviews we had years ago and I've been the slammer ever since."

"Well, John," Harris said with an unusual tone to his voice, "actually our hands are pretty well tied. But what Frank and I were thinking was that if we could put some pressure on Curtis, you never know; he might get scared enough to do some talking."

"And how do you intend to do that?" I asked.

"As police officers, we can't really. But we could hint to Curtis that you have been going on about him lying in court and appear to be after him," Frank Stevens suggested.

"Well, shouldn't I be pissed with him?"

"Generally convicted felons don't go after the witnesses who gave evidence against them, if they told the truth in court. They might be fairly pissed off with them, but they don't generally go looking for them. The idea is we let Curtis know you're after his blood and then you make a couple of appearances," Frank said

"And that's supposed to scare him into telling you the truth?" I asked.

"Well, not exactly, John," Harris said. "What we expect Curtis to do is try to kill you!"

"Do fucking what? Where the hell would that little wimp get the guts to kill me?"

"We're pretty sure he's killed before," Harris announced.

"Who? That little wimp couldn't have stabbed Mary Stevens." 

"No, that's not his style. Curtis likes to use cars. We're damned sure it was him who ran down Helen's father," Frank said. "And do you know that Sheila Thomas was also killed in a hit and run accident? A stolen Ford again, the same as Helen's father; as a teenager Curtis had a habit of TWOCing Fords. It appears he finds them easy to nick."

"Holy shit! Sheila's dead? But that makes some sense; she was supposed to have been with Angela the night of Mary's murder. What do you think? Sheila looked after the children whilst Angela went to the hotel to get that bleeding chit for the Champagne that you found in my pocket?" 

"Something along those lines. Look, John, we didn't just assume anything. I know you think we railroaded you but we checked out everyone. Sheila Thomas assured us that Angela didn't leave the house until you got there."

"That's right; she was leaving when I arrived home that night."

"Well, it's more than a slight possibility that Sheila died because she knew that Angela had left the house," Harris added.

"And you think that Curtis drove the car that killed her."

"It's a possibility. Or more likely, we think he could have stolen the car and someone else drove it. Bill Simmons, for instance. Look, John, modern cars aren't all that easy to steal, although actually they aren't too difficult either, if you know what you're doing. The odds on Bill Simmons knowing how to break into a car and being able to drive the thing away are pretty long. But to Curtis, a Ford is a piece of cake.

"The plan is we put the wind-up on Curtis. Then you show up and make sure he sees you. We thought it would be best if you book into a hotel near where he lives. We can clear that with your probation officer. There's no point in leading Curtis back here if it doesn't work. Then we sit on you and Curtis, and wait to see what the bugger does."

"This all sounds a little dangerous to me," Jenny's voice came from the doorway. 

I'd almost forgotten she was still in the house. Jenny entered the room carrying a tray of teas. When she had put the tray on the table, she sat herself in one of the spare chairs.

"I'm not sure I like what you are planning," Jenny began. "John, I understand that you're pissed off with Curtis, but are you sure it's a good idea to put yourself in the firing line like that?"

"To be honest, Jen, I'm not too keen on the idea myself. But the only other option is for me to kick the shit out of the little Pratt and I can't see Gary or Frank here letting me get away with that in a hurry," I replied

"Now, that would put you back inside," Gary said. "But, Jenny, I don't think John's going to be in any real danger. He knows what the score is and will be expecting trouble. Look, John, if Curtis doesn't take the bait quite quickly, we'll have to think of something else anyway. We only have enough manpower to watch him around the clock for a few days." 

"Well, if you're going to do something silly like this, I want to help," Jenny announced. "You can book me into that damned hotel as well and I'll watch John's back. I can smell a policeman half a mile away. What's to say Curtis can't do the same?"

All three of us looked at Jenny, and from her facial expression we knew what was going to happen. There's some women who, when they've made their mind up, nothing is going to dissuade them from their choice of action. 

+++++++++++++++++++++

Two days later Jenny and I moved into separate adjacent rooms in a hotel about a mile from Curtis's place. Personally Jenny and I thought the police officers that were there to watch my back, stuck out like sore thumbs, but we were expecting them to be there and actively looking for them.

That evening a couple booked Curtis and his Mercedes to take them to the hotel's restaurant for dinner. As Curtis pulled up outside the hotel, I was standing on the steps at the main entrance smoking a cigar.

I pretended not to notice Curtis, but Jenny - who was watching from the hotel's lounge - told me later that he certainly not only noticed me but recognised me as well. Jenny said he stared at my back and if looks could kill I'd be on my way to the morgue.

When Curtis turned up to collect his customers later in the evening, I followed them out. This time I stared at Curtis as he opened the car door for them to get in; he did try to pretend that he wasn't aware that I was watching him.

The plan had been that he would assume it was just chance I was outside when he arrived. But I had seen him and had been waiting for him to return. The customer was going to innocently tell him that I had been asking questions about their chauffeur that evening and had told them I wished to hire a limousine.

Just after I got to my room the connecting door opened and Jenny came in with one of the officers on the stakeout. He was just about to knock off for the evening but agreed that Curtis had definitely seen that I was there. When he left - via Jenny's room - Jenny stayed.

"I thought you said no all-nighters, Jenny?" I said as she began to divest herself of her clothes.

"Well, that was when I could get home to watch what that bugger was up to. You can bet your bottom dollar that he's giving that little slut one right now. So why shouldn't I have some fun? Oh, Helen's coming in the morning so we'll have to get up early so she doesn't catch me in here."

"Why worry? I think I've worked out that she's sweet on Frank. They might even have a thing going already," I replied.

"Could be but somehow I doubt it. Frank Stevens has three children and is devoted to his wife," Jenny said.

"How'd you know that?" 

"Bert told me earlier whilst you were outside waiting for Curtis to turn up. I told you to go after that one; I reckon she's a good catch."

"Jenny, it's not about who's a good catch, it's about falling in love with someone."

"Oh yeah and what good did falling in love do to the likes of us. My old man's shagging that slut from the Rose and Crown every chance he gets and your so-called loving wife is shacked up with a guy who framed you for his wife's murder. You know, when you think about it Angela must be bloody nuts to get hooked up with Bill Simmons. What's he liable to do when he gets bored with her?"

"That's an interesting point. I wonder if Angela's ever thought that one out?" I replied. 

++++++++++++++++++

Jenny must by habit be an early riser. She must have started her wake-up-John routine about five AM. How her old man ever found the energy to lay that bleeding barmaid, I'll never understand. In the back of my mind I think I was possibly glad that our ages were so far apart and there wasn't any real chemistry between Jenny and me. I'm damned sure that she would have sent me to an early grave.

"Jenny, how well did you know Bill Simmons?" I asked as we were getting out of the shower.

"Hardly at all. I'd seen him around the tennis club a few times. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering if he'd employed you to kill me, that's all!" I said smiling at her.

"Just for that we won't do it again until after breakfast." She laughed back at me.

Helen arrived as I was finishing my coffee in the restaurant.

"Do you want any breakfast, Helen?" I asked as she slid into the seat opposite me.

"No, thanks, just a coffee. I've already eaten. I'm surprised that Jenny isn't sitting with you." She replied.

"No, she's over there with her admirer, Bert. He's my bodyguard so having him and his mate hanging around Jenny is good cover for them."

"You think he fancies Jenny then?"

"Either that or he's a damned good actor. You don't see a smile like that on a copper's face very often."

"Does he know that you're sleeping with her? Oh, don't look so surprised, John. I wasn't born yesterday!" 

"Um, well..." I spluttered.

"Don't worry about it, John. I'm cool with it. You've been locked away from women for some time. In a way it's a relief. From what I've been told some guys turn a little, um, ambidextrous after they've been inside for a few years."

"Well, I'm not one of them!"

"Calm down, John, I never said you were. I just said that's it's nice to be reassured that you weren't, that's all. Anyway down to business. Frank says that you should show up near Curtis' office around nine-thirty. Apparently he does a regular morning run, then stops for breakfast in a café and returns to his house, office or whatever you call that dump he lives in around nine-forty. Once you are sure he's seen you, come back here."

+++++++++++++++++

I was leaning under the bonnet of my car, pretending to be doing something to the engine when Curtis turned up. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he kept taking quick glances in my direction. Once he was inside the office he kept looking out through the blinds. I decided not to leave right away, but hang it out for a while to make him sweat. It was about a quarter past ten when I left to return to the hotel.

"Someone, we assume it was Curtis, rang reception and asked whether you were staying here," Bert said when he joined Helen and me in my room just after I got back. He entered from Jenny's room so I assumed he had a key, because Jenny was still downstairs in the lounge.

"Did they tell him?"

"Yes, the guy working on reception with the girl is my partner. We need Curtis to think he knows everything." 

Suddenly Bert's mobile rang, and he went into Jenny's room to take the call. He was back within a coupe of minutes.

"Curtis's gone mobile, heading out of town. The boss," I assumed he was referring to Gary Harris, "said he left his place like he had a bullet up his arse right after you did. He tailed you for a while, probably to make sure you were coming back here, then made off up the London road. The boss is hoping he's heading for wherever Simmons is living."

For the next two hours we heard nothing. Bert had returned downstairs and Helen and I sat and talked, mainly about her and my own children. She told me more about how she'd discovered that her husband was having an affair with his PA and how it must have been going on for sometime before she caught on.

Then Helen and I went down to have some lunch. It was whilst we were eating that I noticed Bert take a call on his mobile. Straight away, from his body language I could see that it wasn't good news.

As we finished the meal, Jenny, who was also giving out bad vibes, caught my eye and then looked up. I gathered a parlay was required in my room. Helen and I left the restaurant first and we were in the room when Jenny arrived on her own.

"They lost the bugger, in that bloody one way system in Richmond. Frank told Bert that they were positive he was heading for wherever Simmons and Angela are staying," she told us.




The Fall Guy Ch. 03



"Are they sure he didn't spot them?" I asked her.

"Yeah, from what Frank told Bert, they just got hung up in the traffic. Richmond can be a real pain in the backside sometimes."

"Well, in that case, Curtis might have just been going on a job."

"No, he has nothing in his diary for today and no one called him this morning," Jenny replied.

"How the hell would they know that?" I asked.

"Gary and Frank have been flying pretty close to the wind on this one, John." Helen said "They've bent the rules a bit, so please don't ask how they come by the information they have. They could both be for the high jump if they get caught."

"Wow, the oh-so-correct Inspector Harris bending the rules." I commented

"Don't sound so sarcastic, John. I told you Gary and Frank really want to get Simmons!" Helen scolded me.

"No, they want to be sure they put the right man away the first time. They might be bleeding pissed off, that they could have been hoodwinked. But I'm damned sure they would both prefer it if it turned out that they were right when they put me away. Damned shame they are going to be disappointed."

"You know you're a cynic, John. Has anyone ever told you that?" Helen said sounded slightly annoyed.

"What do you expect? I've just spent seven years cooling my heels in prison because those buggers didn't do their bleeding job properly."

"Well, believe it or not they are sticking their necks out for you now. So please try to be a little appreciative," Helen said and then we both dropped into silence.

I'm pretty sure Helen was angry with me over how I felt about Gary and Frank. But for seven years I had thought they railroaded me into prison. You don't lose that kind of hate in a hurry.

I must admit it was a boring afternoon, ever if I was sitting in my bedroom with - in my opinion - a beautiful woman. Pity we weren't in bed, but I thought Helen's affections were directed elsewhere. We watched the TV and drank endless cups of coffee, until about seven o'clock when we started talking about going down for dinner. 

Helen had just gone into Jenny's room so that I could have a shower and change when she came back with Jenny and Bert, my so-called bodyguard. It appeared to me that he was Jenny's bodyguard. Actually that was unfair of me, since the plan was for me to look like I was alone except when Helen was around. Jenny was good cover for Bert! Probably I was getting jealous. 

"The boss thinks something is going on," Bert said as he entered the room. "They found Curtis's Mercedes parked in a side street near Twickenham Station. But there's no sign of him there."

"So what does that prove?" I asked.

"Well, someone stole a Mondeo Gia from a car park in Richmond two hours ago. That's two stops on the train from Twickenham. And guess what? That Mondeo is parked in the station car park just down the road at this minute. One of the local guys just spotted it."

"So what happens now?"

"There's no one in the car so Inspector Harris thinks that the driver is watching the hotel waiting until you go out somewhere on foot. Then he thinks the driver will retrieve the car and try to knock you down. Both the other hit and runs were pretty late in the evening, so our man's quite patient. But there's nothing to worry about; we've got men watching the car. When the driver turns up we nick him!"

"I can't see what good that's going to do. If it's Curtis and he was intending to run me down, you can't prove he was intending to kill me. You'd better tell Harris to let him have a go at me..."

"Are you mad, John? He could kill you!" Jenny shouted.

"Jenny's right, John, it's too dangerous," Helen joined in.

"I don't think the boss would go for it anyway, John," Bert added.

"Then I can't see the point in this whole charade! Ring Harris and tell him I said he's to get his boys to stay back until the attempt is made; it's not like I don't know what's coming. Harris can call me on my mobile and tell me when the car moves. I'll be waiting for the little bugger."

Bert called Harris and at first he wouldn't go for it. But then I took the phone off Bert and, after a lot of argument, he agreed that my idea was the best but extremely dangerous. After I made a dig about spending the last seven years with a load of psychopaths Harris relented. But he said if I got injured it would be down to me.

I didn't eat dinner with Helen at the hotel. Instead I walked to The White Heart, a public house about a quarter of a mile away and had a meal there alone. There was no sense in putting anyone else in danger. The plan was for Bert and his oppo to drive to the pub so that they could watch what was going on. But when they arrived, they had Jenny with them. 

We didn't acknowledge each other and sat on opposite sides of the bar. The place was pretty crowded, and a couple of times during the evening people had to share my table. One guy actually struck up a conversation with me. But nothing out of the ordinary happened. 

By eleven o'clock they wanted to close up the pub, but Harris hadn't rung to say the car had been moved. So I went into the gents and called him."

"It looks like a no show, John. You might as well give up and go back to the hotel," Gary suggested.

As I came out of the gents I could see Bert talking on his mobile, so I guessed he was talking to Gary or Frank. Bert and my eyes met for just a second and that told me he knew I was about to walk home. We couldn't communicate just in case someone was watching me.

They actually finished their drinks and left the bar before I did. When I got outside I could see the three of them standing by the car talking. To my mind no one watching would have suspected they were police.

I began the walk home along the deserted pavement (sidewalk). I suppose I'd gone about fifty yards when I heard what I assumed was Bert's car start-up. But I don't know why I knew that something wasn't quite right. Then it struck me that the vehicle - which I was only hearing, remember, as it was behind me - began to move but it didn't reverse. Bert would have had to reverse his car to get it out of the car park.

By now the sound of the car was getting louder, too loud. "That thing's moving," I thought to myself. Then a car horn sounded in the distance and I realised that Bert had seen the car that I could hear. I turned on my heel just in time to see the car that had no lights on, mount the kerb. It was maybe fifteen or twenty yards away and coming straight at me. As I turned, I realised there was nowhere for me to go, a blank wall beside me with no doorways or anything to dive into. Any second now that car was going to hit me and there was nothing I could do about it.

End of part three.



The Fall Guy Ch. 04



 I thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement they always give me. As I've been known to fiddle with stories, after they've seen it. I take full responsibility for the content and any cock-ups in this story. 

While I'm at it, I think from now on I'm going to thank all my friends out there, who write to me and encourage me to continue writing and posting these demented ravings of mine. Your emails are greatly appreciated.

Whilst, there some sex in a couple of the chapters, this is not a stroke story. So if you were looking for one of those kind-of tales, I would suggest you'd be better served looking elsewhere.

Clarification: Casualty = the emergency room. Special constables = Part-time police officers. A car's boot = its trunk. Bristol's = Bristol City's, which is of course rhyming slang for a ladies breasts. 

Chapter Four

I got friends in low places

The car was maybe fifteen or twenty yards away and coming straight at me. As I turned, I'd realised that there was nowhere for me to go, a blank wall beside me with no doorways or anything to dive into. Any second now that car was going to hit me and there was nothing I could do about it.

I'm not sure whether it's the sudden burst of adrenaline hitting your brain that causes it, but in situations of danger like I'd suddenly found myself in, everything appears to go into slow-motion. I could see the car coming straight at me, I can even remember thinking that I couldn't see who was behind the wheel because it was so dark.

Just for a millisecond the thought that I could dive to the side, just before the car struck me, entered my head. But at the same time I realised that this wasn't an accident; the driver could just turn the wheel slightly and run over me whilst I lay on the ground, or even stop and reverse the car over me. 

Where the hell I got the idea of jumping over the damned car from, I really don't know. But as the car got close, I took a step or two towards it and then launched myself into the air. Then things get a bit hazy in my memory. I'm pretty sure I landed one foot on the bonnet with the intention of pushing myself higher, but the car was travelling so fast that I was thrown into somewhat of a spin. I can remember striking the car's roof with my shoulder and rolling onto my side; then slipping off the rear end of the roof and bouncing off the boot lid as I did so. 

The next thing I was aware of was laying on the ground looking up at Jenny crouching over me.

"John, how badly are you hurt?" Jenny asked, with a very concerned look on her face.

I can remember lying there wiggling my toes and fingers. Everything appeared to work, as it should do, but I knew I'd given my shoulder one hell of a bang somewhere along the way, most likely when I first hit the car's roof. I was aware of nothing that appeared to be broken. Carefully I lifted myself to the sitting position, with Jenny trying to persuade me to stay lying down.

"Christ, Jen, I think I got away with it," I said to her, in astonishment. "You know, for a minute there, I thought I was about to meet my maker. Where's Bert?"

"They went after the car that hit you. Ah, here's the ambulance now."

"I don't need an ambulance. I'm fine; just a couple of bruises, that's all."

"John, you were unconscious for about five minutes and you've got a nasty looking bump on the back of your head. You're going to casualty whether you like it or not."

Jenny was definitely in mothering mode and I really wasn't in any condition to argue with her. There is also the possibility that I passed out again, as the ambulance ride is a very hazy memory. 

The next thing I remember I was in casualty. I expected Harris or some other police officer to turn up in casualty, but for a long time the only people I saw were a couple of part-time Specials and Helen. Jenny of course had come in the ambulance with me. Poor Helen had trouble getting past the Specials until Jenny had intervened. So I gathered the Specials were supposed to be my bodyguard.

Christ, the hospital staff went through the book on me. X-rays and just about everything you could think of. After much pulling and pushing me around they treated the few minor grazes I had and diagnosed concussion, to be precise, mild concussion they said.

"What the hell happened?" I asked Jenny when I finally began to get my head together. "I thought Harris said that car didn't move."

"Apparently it didn't," Jenny replied. "It was a different car completely. From what the Special Constable says, just about every available policeman in the county is out looking for it now."

"What! They lost the bleeding thing?" 

"Well, we assume so; it was out of sight before Bert got his car out of the pub car park," Jenny replied.

Helen, who had said nothing, was sitting on the other side of the bed and I suddenly became aware that she was holding my hand. Actually it was only when I went to scratch my nose that I realised that I didn't have a free hand to do it with, Jenny was holding my other hand.

That was a big problem for me; which hand did I release to scratch my nose? After thinking about it for a couple of moments, I decided to let my nose itch. It was taking my mind off of the other aches and pains and the dammed headache I had; I wouldn't want to upset either woman. Thoughtful bugger, ain't I?

Then a doctor and nurse came in. I think the doctor was the guy who'd been in-charge of my treatment earlier.

"Sorry, ladies, I'm gong to have to ask you to leave the patient alone. The best treatment for concussion is rest and sleep. So we're going to administer a sedative now."

"Great!" I thought to myself "I'm the bleeding patient and he's telling the girls what he's going to do before he even asks me whether I want a sedative." I discovered later that I'd been more out of it than I thought and had been what that medical staff kindly refers to as a "difficult patient." Apparently I'd assured everybody that I was fine and that I was going home. 

I'm not too sure that the sedative worked that well at first. Perhaps there was a lot of adrenaline still in my system and interfered with the result the doc was expecting. During the night, I woke up several times when the nurses came in to check on me. And that damned beep, beep, beep of those machines that they'd apparently hooked me up to got really up my nose.

At one time I thought I heard raised voices. I believe they were Helen's and Jenny's and I got the distinct impression they were putting Gary Harris through the mill. But then I heard a female voice tell them to be quiet, and after that there was silence and I must have fallen into a deeper sleep.

I had strange dreams about that car coming at me, during which I tried again to see the driver's face, but it was just too dark. Then I had the strangest dream that I was moving; I mean, my bed was moving and I could hear people talking, but nothing of what they said made any sense to me. There were bright lights and strange humming noises, things that I could hear and I was aware of through my eyelids, but I couldn't open my eyes to see.

-----------------------------

When I finally awoke, I was immediately aware that I was in a completely different room. Just to make life more interesting, hovering in front of my face were the biggest pair of tits that I'd seen in years, all nicely wrapped up in a nurse's uniform. That's possibly a lie - Jenny carries one impressive pair of Bristols. 

Anyway you don't wake up to that kind of view every morning ... well, not when you've just spent seven years in the pokey, you don't. The nurse was fiddling with something above my head on the bed's headboard.

I'm not sure why I did it, maybe devilment or it could have been that I wasn't thinking straight from whatever drugs they'd put in my. That's my excuse anyway! I lifted my head just slightly and it brought my mouth close enough to just give one of those beauties a little nip.

"Ouch!" The nurse shouted and jumped back from the bed.

"Ah, he's awake," Jenny's voice came from somewhere in the room at the same time as the retreating body of the nurse allowed me to see Helen sitting in a chair by the bed. "Oops, very bad timing, John. There's only two women in the world who give a damn about you at the moment and they are both here in the room when you take a nip at another woman's tits," I thought to myself. 

"Mr Smith!" The nurse said, with what I took to be a chastising, but at the same time laughing tone to her voice.

"That's our John! What did he do ... bite you?" Jenny said.

"Saucy bugger sure did," the nurse replied with humour in her voice.

"That'll teach you to put temptation in John's way. With a figure like you've got, I'll bet a lot of the patients appreciate them," Helen said to the nurse. 

That struck me as an out-of-character sort of thing for Helen to say, somehow.

"They normally try to grab them, not eat the bloody things," the nurse replied still laughing.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else," I said, trying to placate everyone. 

"If you think we're going to believe that, you're very much mistaken, you randy little bugger!" Jenny replied to me. "You'd better warn the other nurses to watch themselves around this one," she directed at the nurse.

"How are you feeling, John?" Helen was by now standing over me.

"Like shit! What in the hell happened?"

"Your brain swelled up because of that bump you took on the head. You've been unconscious for over a week," a very concerned looking Helen informed me.

I looked over at Jenny who was by now standing close to the bed as well. I had the greatest difficulty in understanding what Jenny was trying to tell me with her eyes and eyebrows. She seemed to be looking in Helen's direction and raising her eyebrows at the same time as her mouth went into silly contorted little smiles. There was a message there somewhere, I knew it. But I was buggered if could understand it.

The nurse had left the room, but she very soon returned accompanied by a doctor, who chased Helen and Jenny out before he and the nurse put me through the ringer. Both mentally and physically!

"Okay, Mr Smith, I should think you better spend another day or so in bed, just to make sure things have settled down alright and then you can go home. But take things quietly for a while please," the doctor said before he and the nurse left the room.

Almost immediately Helen and Jenny returned, accompanied by Ronny. Ronny was the first to speak. 

"What the hell did you think you were playing at, John, letting yourself get set up like that? You know, I'm sure; we've got a pretty good claim against the police for conning you into a stupid arraignment like that. Should be worth half a mil at least, more if you play the injured soldier bit long enough." Ronny's solicitor's mind had been at work.

"No, Ronny, no one is getting sued over this! It was partly my idea to try to draw whoever it was out anyway. Just bad luck that they lost the damned car, that's all. What's the story on the car anyway?"

"The thing turned up burnt out just like the others," Helen replied. "John, it looks like someone was preparing to do you an injury anyway. Gary thinks the Ford Mondeo that was stolen in Richmond was a blind to keep the police occupied. The car that ran you down had been stolen several weeks ago, before you got out of jail. You're not going to believe this but it was clocked by a speed camera on the A40 the morning you were released from prison."

"That's interesting. Does Gary think they were intending to have a go at me outside the Scrubs?" I asked.

"He hasn't actually said, but it would be a bloody stupid thing for anyone to try, what with all those reporters who were hanging around outside there," Helen suggested.

"Maybe that's why they didn't try that day," I observed.

"Anyway Gary arranged to have you moved into this private wing and there's two armed policemen on duty outside all the time," Helen informed me.

"Would that have anything to do with why everybody is calling me Mr Smith?"

"Yeah, sorry, it was the first name that jumped into my mind that night of the accident," Jenny said. "I was trying to think ahead, I'll admit I was thinking about reporters to start with, but Gary said it's probably best to keep you incognito. You know, just in case Simmons tries to find you."

Between Jenny and Helen, who apparently between them had been doing the bedside vigil bit whilst I'd been sedated, told me that Curtis had been under police observation at the time the attempt on my life had been made, although the police were convinced that he stole the Mondeo Gia that they had been watching that evening. So the police, in the form of Gary Harris and his sidekick Frank, thought Curtis was aware that the attempt to kill me was planned for that evening.

Harris had questioned Curtis about his movements that day, but they had no evidence against him at all; it was just speculation and suspicion. The guy hadn't been fazed in the slightest when they pulled him in. Curtis also claimed that he hadn't seen me outside his office.

I don't know why it hadn't occurred to Harris that Curtis must have been in contact with Simmons somehow. I thought it was most likely by mobile phone. I know that Harris had arranged for Curtis's registered mobile to be tracked. Whenever he made or received a call on it, records of whatever cell he was in were being kept. But back at that time it was quite easy to lay your hands on an untraceable mobile; come to think of it, it still is if you know how. So there was the distinct possibility that Curtis had a second one

Harris and Frank came in the following morning and confirmed the tracking. They still hadn't been able to locate where Bill Simmons, Angela and my children were. They didn't think it was a good idea for them to go public with missing persons' appeal on Angela and the children because we still didn't know how Simmons would react.

"I think we better have him have another go at me," I suggested.

"Not a chance in hell. Christ, you only survived by the skin of your teeth last time," Harris said.

"Well, the bugger was one step ahead of us last time; this time I'll be better prepared. Anyway if the car that ran me down was stolen before I got out of the Nick that suggests to me that he was going to have a go at me anyway. I'm buggered if I'm spending the rest of my life looking over my bleeding shoulder."

"You have a point," Harris said. "I can only keep these guys on you for a finite period of time. Someone will start asking questions about the amount of overtime before long. What have you got in mind, John?"

"The same as the first time but under my rules. I'll lean on Curtis but without you lot looking over my shoulder." 

"What do you mean when you say lean?"

"Inspector, you put me inside with some right dodgy buggers. Well, I made myself a few friends amongst them whilst I was there and I did some of them a few of favours. Now I'm thinking I might collect, but I'll need to know you guys will not be looking over my shoulder."

The two officers looked at each other, but didn't actually speak for some time. Then Gary Harris asked Frank if he would prefer to leave the room. Frank said he'd stay, but he needed my assurance that Curtis would walk away from any interview I had with him. I told him that I'm not a killer, but whilst I'd been inside I'd come to understand what fear could do if it was applied correctly.

"If I can help it, Curtis might piss himself, but I don't intend for him to get injured," I told them. "Well, not seriously anyway; that's all the little shit would need to get sympathy from a jury. I'd much rather see him rotting in a jail cell for a good few years than have him get off because he was busted up too much."

"I can't give you carte blanche to do anything you feel like, John," Harris warned me.

"Gary, you wouldn't be giving me carte blanche; you'd just be keeping out of the way. If the guys I'm hoping will help me smell a policeman, they'll disappear. I'll call you before the shit hits the fan."

There was certain reluctance on both Gary and Frank's part, but they eventually agreed to call the hounds off, although they insisted that the police guards stayed on me whilst I was in the hospital. They also insisted that panic buttons were installed at the cottage. I didn't bother to inform them that I wasn't going back there for a while.

After Gary and Frank left, Jenny came back into the room. I realised I'd been thinking of myself a lot and neglecting her a bit.

"Jenny, have you been here at the hospital ever since I got knocked down?"

"Most of the time, yes. I had to make sure they were looking after my boy properly," she replied.

"What about your husband? Surely he must be pretty pissed off that you've spent so much time here?"

"Fuck him! He's history. I caught him with that little slut in my bloody bed. I hope you don't mind; I moved into one of the spare rooms of the cottage for the time being, Helen and... um, Helen helped me. Mr Macintosh said it would be alright."

"Of course it's alright. Sounds to me that you're well shot of the bugger anyway. Now, give us a kiss then call Ronny and tell him to get his arse up here. I've got some things for that bugger to do before I get out of here."

Helen popped in later but she couldn't stay long because she had work to do. Ronny turned up about three. I asked him to drum up five thousand in cash and another car. Then I asked him to write me a will. Well, not exactly a will; remember on paper I was virtually a bankrupt. But I let him know that should I not make it, he was to split my money three ways, one third each to Jenny, Helen and my kids. After he'd taken his commission of course, and the children weren't to see a penny until after there was no chance Angela could get her hands on it.

I also asked Ronny to make a few calls for me, suggesting they should be made on a secure line. Ronny got my meaning so I knew that the calls would be made on a phone that couldn't be traced back to either of us.

------------------------------------------

It was another three days before the doctors finally deigned to let me out of the hospital. I left in the comfort of a laundry van. Although the police were convinced that there was no one watching the hospital, I didn't think it was worth taking any chances. Helen and Jenny picked me up at a prearranged place on the road. Then they dropped me at a different and rather grand hotel.

Later that evening after I had insisted that both women leave, I had visitors. Three rather large guys joined me in my suite. After discussing my problem for a while over a few drinks, the guys came up with a simple plan to get Curtis alone. They'd simply hire him to drive them somewhere and then grab him when they were somewhere quiet. After a phone call or two, they even came up with a good place for us to have our little chat. A warehouse in east London down by the river.

"There's a doorway right over the river," one of the guys said. "All you got to do is talk about tide times and bodies getting washed out into the channel and the buggers shit themselves."

"You've done this sort of thing before?" I casually asked, more out of making conversation that anything.

"Yeah, not clever dropping bodies in the Thames though. The damned things hang around too bloody long. They keep washing backwards and forwards with the tide. Anyway the idea is to clean the Thames up nowadays, not drop shit-heads in it. You know they found a salmon in the river the other year, and the boffins are hoping they'll breed in the river again one day."

Rather a surreal conversation to be having, I thought - the disadvantages of polluting the River Thames by dropping dead bodies into it. But it turned out the guy was a keen fisherman. I did wonder, though, just where these guys did dispose of dead bodies; they certainly appeared to know the ins and outs of doing so.




The Fall Guy Ch. 04



The rest of the evening was spent discussing old times and how the guys were getting on, on the outside. It was gone four in the morning when they finally left. I think they only left then because the booze ran out.

Needless to say I needed another of Jenny's mixtures when I finally woke the following day. Jenny had come into the room early and spotted all the empty Scotch bottles, then promptly headed off to find the required ingredients.

After insisting I eat a late breakfast in my room, Jenny decided it was time I had a shower and we played a bit. The woman nearly killed me that afternoon; she claimed she'd gotten used to plenty of sex and had been missing me. Well, I don't think she was missing me so much as a certain part of my anatomy. Anyway she damned well nearly wore it out; I couldn't get it up again no matter how much she tried.

"I don't want you getting all excited around Helen tonight, and scaring the poor girl away," Jenny said.

Then she informed me that Helen was joining me for dinner that evening.

"Johnny, that woman's got the hots for you, you know. She's a bloody good catch and you should go after her."

"Damn it, Jenny, I'm pretty sure Helen's got her eyes on Frank." 

"What is it with you? First you say she's after Harris and then his bloody sidekick. Johnny, she's sweet on you. I know - I'm a woman."

"What makes you so convinced?" I asked, curious whether Jenny would say 'woman's intuition.'

"Well, she's bringing her children tonight and she wouldn't do that if she wasn't after you. She's letting you and her children look each other over, to see how you take to each other. And secondly she told me when you were sedated. You can't have better than the horse's mouth. Oh, don't tell her I told you; I promised not to tell."

"You told me after you promised her you wouldn't?"

"Yes, of course, why do you think she told me she was falling in love with you? I'm supposed to tell you," Jenny said with a satisfied smile on her face.

"You are?"

"Of course and, as I know you fancy her, we're saving a lot of time here. You be a good boy in front of the children and before you know it, you'll be bedding Helen on a permanent basis. Look, she's not a tart. I think you'll have to ask her to marry you." 

"Women!"

"What?" Jenny asked.

"'Women,' I said; I'll never understand them," I replied.

Actually Jenny was quite right. I was really taken with Helen. I think I had been from the moment she first approached, or should I say the moment she proved to me that I couldn't frighten her in that motorway services.

Helen arrived about half six. Dinner would have to be early because of the children. But before the meal all five of us went for a little walk in the hotel grounds. Then we went into the restaurant to eat. 

Helen's two girls were on their best behaviour. I doubt that they had been in a place that grand very often. Come to that neither had I. I don't really stand on too much ceremony. I had some fun with them by taking the Mickey out of the oh-so-correct waiter. The girls giggled and Helen gave me that look that I could remember getting from Angela when I messed about with my children in public.

I really believe that with Auntie Jenny's help, I hit it off quite well with the girls. Auntie Jenny had supplied me with the correct little gifts to give them. "First impressions are important with children ands!" she'd said.

As I gave the children their little presents, I discovered there was an extra little box in the bag that Jenny had given me. That proved to be a broach for Helen; it was nothing special or very expensive. Apparently Helen had told Jenny she liked it when they'd been going around the shops together, whilst I'd been asleep, as my time in hospital was explained to the children. 

Officially that was the purpose of the dinner; I was thanking the children for letting their mother spend so much time away from them, whilst she'd been at my bedside.

Helen and the children didn't stay very late. After they'd left, Jenny declared the evening a success and demanded that we go into the bar for a while to celebrate. 

"Just how do you know the children liked me?" I asked Jenny.

"What, not like superman, who jumped over a car in one bound? They were awe-struck. How could they not like you? Christ, if you get your own children back off of Angela, you and Helen will have a bloody house full. You'll need a governess; do you want my application in writing now?" Jenny said with a triumphant tone to her voice. 

"Give over, Jenny, I hardly know Helen, and anyway I didn't exactly jump over that car in one bound. I bounced a bit!" 

It was only when it got late that I realised that Jenny obviously wasn't going home that night, so we retired to bed. It was a long night punctuated by bouts of exertion.

-------------------------

I got the cryptic phone call about ten the following morning. Jenny wanted to come with me but I refused to let her get involved.

It took me nearly two hours to get to the warehouse. As I approached, a large door was opened so that I could drive inside so my vehicle was out of sight. One of my friends met me and led me through several other warehouses until we got to one that must have been right by the river. Parked in the middle of the warehouse was Curtis' car.

I was led over to a small office built against the wall on the riverside of the warehouse.

"Alright, mate," the guy who had planned all this said as I entered the office. He had two gorillas with him who would have scared the shit out of anyone who met them on a dark night.

"He's been stewing in the boot since just after midnight. The boys have been standing by the car talking about how we are going to dispose of his body. I reckon he'll be ready to tell us anything for the chance to get out of here alive.

"Now we've checked that he won't be able to see you in here, but you should be able to hear him. We'll check with you in case there's anything we don't cover. Right, Marko, let's get the ball rolling."

The two gorillas and my friend left the office. They went over to the Merc, opened the boot and dragged a terrified looking Curtis out of it.

End of part four.



The Fall Guy Ch. 05



 I thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement they always give me. As I've been known to fiddle with stories, after they've seen it. I take full responsibility for the content and any cock-ups in this story. 

While I'm at it, I think from now on I'm going to thank all my friends out there, who write to me and encourage me to continue writing and posting these demented ravings of mine. Your emails are greatly appreciated.

Whilst, there some sex in a couple of the chapters, this is not a stroke story. So if you were looking for one of those kind-of tales, I would suggest you'd be better served looking elsewhere. 

Chapter five

The beginning of the end.

The two gorillas and my friend left the office. They went over to the Merc, opened the cars boot and dragged a terrified looking Curtis out of it.

My friends had come up with what I thought was a pretty strange plan on how to get the information we wanted out of Curtis. But I should imagine that the experts at the Met, at one time or another during their lives, had questioned them all; so those experts had effectively trained them. Only normally they'd have been on the receiving end of the questions.

"Okay, arsehole, where is he?" Gorilla one demanded.

"Who? I don't know who you're looking for," Curtis blurted out.

I could see that the guy was shaking with fear. He didn't know who these guys were, but one look at them told him they were in a different league to any criminals he'd mixed with in the past.

My friend, who had had his back to Curtis, turned now and looked him in the eye.

"Where is Johnny Carpenter?" my friend said with real venom in his voice.

Curtis was physically taken aback by the question. He'd obviously expected that he was going to be asked about Simmons. But these guys were asking him about me. A look of complete confusion came over his face.

"John Carpenter? I haven't seen him since his trial!" Curtis eventually lied.

I don't think Curtis even knew where the blow came from. I only just caught sight of gorilla two's quick movement. Curtis doubled up on the floor, the breath knocked out of him by the punch to his stomach.

"Don't you fucking lie to the boss!" Gorilla one said, "Carpenter was at your office the other day. What did he want?"

Curtis, who had been staring at the size nine boots that were only a couple of inches from his face, looked up at the Gorilla.

"I dun'no what he wanted. I didn't speak to him."

"Then why was he there?" the boss asked.

"I dun'no, I told you. He's probably after me because I grassed him up in court."

"No fucking chance," gorilla one said, dragging Curtis from the floor by his lapels. "You'd be floating in that bleedin' river by now, if Johnny Carpenter was after your blood. Now tell us what did Carpenter want with a little shit like you?" 

The plan here was for Curtis to get the idea that these guys weren't looking for Simmons at all. If he thought that they were looking for me, Curtis might be more likely to let slip where Simmons could be found and get himself out of the obvious jam he found himself in. 

"I don't know! I told you, I just gave evidence against him in court a few years ago. I figured the guy was gonna work me over. I got out of there as quickly as I could. I ain't seen the bugger since."

"Bollocks. If Johnny Carpenter were really after you, you wouldn't be alive for us to talk to. Johnny Carpenter doesn't play games. So what did he want you to do for him and where has he gone now?" the boss asked the now quivering Curtis.

"I told you, I never spoke to him. I fink 'e was trying to put the fright-ners on me."

"Why would he want to do that?" the boss asked.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps he's looking for his missis. She ran off on him, you know!"

"Tell me more. If he's looking for her, then that's probably where we'll find him. But why would he think you knew where his missis was anyway?"

"I dun'no where she is. I fink she's shacked up with the husband of the woman Carpenter knocked off. That's all I know," Curtis gasped out. 

Curtis was sounding even more desperate now. As gorilla two had produced a jemmy from somewhere and was taping it against the palm of his hand. Curtis was eyeing the thing thoughtfully.

"I think he knows a lot more than he's telling us, boss," gorilla number two said. "Let me teach him a little respect." 

"What? Like the last time? That little shit was too busted up to say much at all once you'd finished with him," gorilla one commented.

"Ah, I got carried away. I'll only break a few bones 'ere and there. E'll still be able to talk. Bring 'im over 'ere where I got some room."

"No, look, I don't know nothing, I promise." Curtis almost screamed, he was in panic by then.

"Don't fucking lie to me, kid!" the boss said in a very calm but firm voice. "You obviously know about Carpenter's wife and who she's shacked up with. Now that ain't exactly common knowledge so tell me how the hell you know about it, or you and that fucking car of yours is gonna rot away in the bottom of that dock out there. No cunt will ever find you down there."

I really thought Curtis's eyes were going to pop out of his head as he looked at each of the three men in turn and then he just fainted.

They let him fall to the floor but quite gently. Then whilst two gorillas stood over him, the boss came and joined me in the office.

"Every time the little shit opens his mouth, he tells us a little bit more," the boss said to me. "By the time we get out of here tonight we're going to know everything he does. I think it's best we try to find out where Simmons is holed up first and then we'll see what he says about your frame up. Sound good to you?"

"I'm surprised you've only hit him once!" I commented.

"Ah, kicking the shit out of them is quite satisfying, but fear is a far more useful tool. Once you start knocking them about, there's a chance that you do the buggers a serious injury then they go unconscious on you and you're fucked. Bernie only gave him one little tap and the rest is down to the little shit's imagination."

The boss picked up a chair that was in the office and carried it back out to where Curtis was laying. The two gorillas picked up Curtis and sat him in the chair; then one of them slapped him around the face a couple of times. Curtis opened his eyes and looked around as if he didn't know where he was, then suddenly it dawned on him he was still in his worst nightmare. Just for a moment I thought he was going to try to make a run for it, then he seemed to change his mind. 

"Right, you were telling me about this guy that Carpenter's old lady is shacked up with. Where can I find him?" the Boss demanded menacingly.

"Honest, I don't know. Down near Southampton somewhere, I think."

"And what makes you say that?" the boss asked in a much more gentle tone of voice.

I got the idea of what he was up too, when Curtis was answering his questions the boss sounded quite amicable. If Curtis didn't come up with the answers the Boss and the two gorillas sounded quite terrifying.

Curtis didn't answer for a few seconds; I believe he was thinking whether he dared lie to this man. Then after looking at the two gorillas again he explained.

"Every so often Simmons calls me and asks me to steal a car for him. I don't think he's got the guts to nick one for himself. I nick one from in town somewhere and then leave it in a car park down in Southampton for him to collect."

"What does he want stolen cars for?"

"Dun'no, don't ask. He pays up front; that's all I worry about. But he's gotta live down that way somewhere to pick the cars up. And normally my cash turns up in the mail, with a Southampton post-mark."

"He pays you in cash through the post?"

"Yeah, the money's normally in a cassette case or something, stuffed into one of those padded envelopes."

"How come he's got you nicking cars for him?"

"I done a job for him sometime back and since then he's been getting me to nick the odd car now and again for 'im."

"What job did you do for him?"

Curtis again looked at the three big men standing around him.

"Look, you don't like Carpenter so it can't hurt telling you. Simmons fitted Carpenter up for his wife's murder. I swiped a bottle of Champagne and a couple of glasses from the hotel and gave them to Simmons. Then somehow he got Carpenter's fingerprints on them and put them back in his wife's room the night she was murdered."

"She always had Champagne when she met her boyfriends in the hotel. So Simmons knew she would order a bottle. I delivered the Champagne when she called down for it and told the police I'd seen Carpenter in the room with her." 

"Who was in the room with her?"

"No one when I delivered the Champagne. There never was, when she ordered the Champagne." Curtis stopped talking as if thinking about something. "Only, I suppose there could have been someone hiding in the bathroom. She never invited me to stay that night. Normally she would make some suggestion."

"You'd never taken her up on her suggestion then?"

"Only once, when I don't think her fella turned up. Look, I was working; I couldn't disappear into her room all bleeding night. Just one night her bloke never showed and she waited until I was off duty. Christ, the woman was a sex machine."

"What about these boyfriends of hers? Did you ever see them?"

"No chance. I think that's why she used the place. There are no security cameras ... well, not back then. I think her dates came up the fire escape; it was right outside the window of that room she always used. I don't think anyone in the hotel ever saw them."

The boss surreptitiously looked over in my direction. I think he had run out of questions and he was wondering if I had anymore. To tell you the truth I couldn't think of any at that moment; my mind was elsewhere.

I'd been racking my brain some, and I'd remembered that about a year before Mary Simmons was murdered, Angela's auntie - her only living relative, as far as I knew - had gotten so old and frail she'd moved into a Care home. The old girl had a house somewhere down near Dibden, right on the edge of the New Forest; I'd only been there once, but I had a vague memory of where the place was located.

I had begun to wonder whether the old lady had died and Angela had inherited the house. As I remembered it, the house was pretty isolated, just the kind of place to hide out in. No neighbours living close by or anything, to see who came and went. And from there, it was only a stone's throw to Southampton.

Suddenly I realised my friend the boss was in the office with me.

"Anything else you can think of?" he asked.

"No, but I've got an idea where I might find Angela and my kids. Can you sit on the little shit for a few hours whilst I go down to the New Forest to check it out? If he gets to a telephone, Curtis might get in contact with Simmons. Simmons ain't as daft as this little bugger; he might put two and two together!"

"Aren't you going to call the cops in?"

"No, I don't think so ... well, not yet anyway. It's only a hunch, and if they send the local cops nosing around, god knows what Simmons would do. He's killed before; he might panic and use my kids as hostages or something. I wanna go down and get my kids out of there before the shit hits the fan."

"But I thought you said he had a cast iron alibi for his wife's murder."

"Well, he paid that little shit Curtis off; what's to say he didn't pay off the people who gave him that alibi? Then there's my friend's father, and Simmons had a go at me the other night, remember. Sit on this little bugger for a few hours until after I've checked out the place I'm thinking of, at least." Then I noticed that I couldn't see Curtis in the warehouse. "Where is he anyway?"

"The boys stuck him back in the boot of his car; he's safe enough in there for a while. I should think he's getting used to it by now; he's been in there most of the night. But you aren't going down there on your own. Bernie and me are coming along, just in case you get into trouble. Marko can baby-sit laughing boy here."

Ten minutes later we were on the road. I called up Gary after we'd got past Winchester and told him I was heading for the house where I thought Angela and my kids were staying. Gary was not a happy policeman and told me not to do anything stupid. He and Frank were in their car chasing after me, before I'd finished my conversation with him. But I had a good hour or so head start on him and he didn't know what car I was driving, so he couldn't put the local cops onto me.

We parked up about a mile from the house and waited until dark. I'd taken the precaution of turning my mobile off because I didn't want Gary tracing my general location from its signal.

Bernie and the boss sat there taking swigs from a hip flask. They were extraordinarily relaxed about it. They told me that you soon learnt to remain calm after you'd waited for the right time to pull a job (heist) a few times.

Once it was dark we drove the car closer to the house and parked down a track where it couldn't be seen from the road.

I hunted around in the boot for a wheel brace or something to use for protection, since Simmons was a bigger guy than I was. Bernie gave me his jemmy. It was short and heavy, just the thing I was looking for. The boss and Bernie came with me until we got close to the house.

There were lights on, but the drapes were drawn on all the downstairs rooms except the kitchen. There was no one in the kitchen, so I tried the back door. Surprisingly it was unlocked, but then again a lot of people who live in the country don't lock their doors when they are in the house.

I told the boys to wait outside whilst I went in and had a snoop around. Then I crept inside; the house was almost completely silent. The passage that led off the kitchen was in darkness, but I could make out the low drone of a TV or radio coming from a room at the other end of it, that I assumed was the lounge. The door to the lounge was not fully closed, so I quietly crept along the passage and looked through the crack between the door and the jam.

The room appeared to be empty at first sight. So I pushed the door very gently to open the gap a little and enlarge my field of vision. I just got to the point where I could see a man's foot on the floor, when then everything went black.

End of part five. 



The Fall Guy Ch. 06



 I thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement they always give me. As I've been known to fiddle with stories, after they've seen it. I take full responsibility for the content and any cock-ups in this story. 

While I'm at it, I think from now on I'm going to thank all my friends out there, who write to me and encourage me to continue writing and posting these demented ravings of mine. Your emails are greatly appreciated. 

Chapter Six

The Last Dance

The room appeared to be empty at first sight. So I very gently pushed the door to open the gap a little and enlarge my field of vision. I'd just got to the point where I could see a man's foot on the floor, when everything went black.

As I slowly regained my senses, I discovered that I was lying on the floor of the room I'd been trying to peer into. I had a pain in my head that informed me I'd been struck on the back of it. How long I'd been unconscious I had no idea. Slowly my eyes focused on the inert body lying before me. As my mind and vision cleared, I realised that it was Bill Simmons who lying there not a couple of feet from me.

I think I lifted myself onto one elbow, to get a better look and convince myself that I was correct in the impression I'd had that he was dead.

"Yes, John, he is dead!" Angela's voice came from behind me somewhere.

Stunned, I looked around to see her sitting on the other side of the room, holding an automatic pistol in her hand.

"What happened?" I asked, not really knowing if I was asking about Simmons, or what had hit me. 

"I - or rather as far as the police will be concerned - you shot him!" Angela replied. "Yeah, I think that it shouldn't be too difficult to convince them that you came here looking for revenge on Bill for stealing your once loving wife away from you. You had a gun and were intent on killing both of us. You shot Bill first, but unfortunately for you he had a gun in the desk here. I managed to get to it whilst you had an altercation with Bill, and in panic I shot you in self-defence. It wasn't quite the way I'd planned things originally, but it serves the same purpose. You'll both be dead and it'll save me organising an accident for Bill later."

I know, that what Angela had said did register in my befuddled brain, but I had other things I was worried about.

"Where are the children, Angela?" I demanded.

"Don't worry about them, John. They're in a nice boarding school in Kent, quite safely out of the way."

"You won't get away with killing Bill or me that easily, Angela!"

"Oh, I think I will. I've had time to think this out. This gun is an automatic and as far as the police know, I never fired a gun in my life before. I intend to spray bullets all over the room in a very random fashion. I've thought about this carefully. It will be one of those random shots that will kill you. It'll be an accident of course, just a poor frightened, defenceless, panicking housewife defending herself from a very jealous, vicious, murderer of a husband, who's already been convicted of killing Mary Simmons. I think I can convince a jury of that, even if I can't convince the police."

"But why? What's the point in all this? Why was it necessary to kill Mary and frame me for it in the first place? You and Bill Simmons could have just run off together."

"Oh, Johnny, you never did understand me, did you? I didn't give a shit for Bill Simmons. Christ, he was never very good in bed, I can assure you of that. Hey, maybe that's why Mary was always running around on him. You see Johnny; it was the money I always wanted. With all of Mary's money as well as yours, I can enjoy the nice life I've always dreamed of, down in the south of France."

"Is that what all this was about - money? You and Simmons framed me and sent me to prison for seven years, just so that you could get your hands on Mary's money!"

"I'm sorry, darling, but that's about it. I was bored and I wanted to live the high life. There wasn't much sense in having you bumped off. I couldn't have lived the life I've always wanted on what you had."

Suddenly it struck me, that if I hadn't safely squirreled all that money away abroad; I could have been the one who got killed in the first place. Angela had always been a spendthrift so I'd siphoned off as much as I could get away with, to avoid arguments over her excesses.

"You know at one time I did think about taking out a big life insurance policy on you, John." Angela continued, "But I'm pretty sure that would have made the police suspicious if you'd suddenly turned up dead. And then poor old dumb Bill there, started making passes at me. You know he had nothing. It was all Mary's money, so it wasn't too difficult to talk him into it."

"So you planned it all?"

"Yes, you didn't think Bill there, had the brains or the nerve to murder Mary, did you?"

"Christ, Angela, you stabbed Mary Simmons? Holy shit, you killed Sheila Thomas and George Cafrey as well. And it was you who tried to run me down the other day. That's why I couldn't see who was driving the car that night; you were so low down in the seat."

"Yeah, the girls at school always did call me short-arse!"

"You know you're not going to get away with this, Angela, not this time."

I was stalling for time by then. I reckoned the boss and Bernie couldn't be far away. I don't know why actually, but I had the distinct impression that they were outside the door in the passage. The problem was Angela was sitting on the other side of the room, away from the door and she had a gun pointing at me.

"Oh, I think I will. John Carpenter, the convicted murderer, gets let out of jail and hunts down his ex-wife and her new love. I can see the headlines in the Sunday papers now. I should imagine that I'll lay my hands on whatever money you had left after the divorce as well. After all, the children are your next of kin. That, and all Mary's money that dumbo Bill here, put in numbered Swiss bank accounts. I've got all the numbers and pass words, by the way." Angela waved a piece of paper she was holding in her other hand at me. "Bill was hopeless at paperwork. I should be set-up very nicely for the rest of my life, thank you."

"There's one thing I don't understand, Angela. Why did you wait until I got out of jail? Why didn't you and Simmons just run off and disappear whilst I was in prison?"

"Darling, Bill was a dumb idiot. That's one thing that I knew you never were...."

"Except when I married you!" I cut in.

"Whoa, that wasn't a very nice thing for a loving husband to say, John," Angela said with a weird smile on her face, "Anyway I knew that you'd track me down one day. You're no fool, although it was a bit stupid of you to come sneaking around here on your own. Anyway I had no intention of spending the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for you to be standing there, one day."

I knew that if I attempted to move or stand up, Angela would probably shoot me straight away. I had to distract her somehow and keep her talking long enough for the boss and Bernie to realise what was going to happen and, I hoped, do something about it. I put my hand to the back of my head and felt the large bump there where I assumed Angela had hit me and knocked me out.

"Jesus Christ, girl, what the hell did you hit me with?" I asked as I did so.

"A wooden rolling pin, the normal 'little woman's' weapon. Remember I'm just a scared little housewife who married a crazed killer. What was that?" Angela asked, as there was a distinct noise outside the window.

That was my cue to be ready to move, I figured that the boss or Bernie was trying to divert Angela's attention. Then suddenly the whole damned window burst inwards. I was to find out later that Bernie and the boss had thrown a garden bench seat through it.

As best I could, I tried to dive behind the couch, but at almost the same instant Angela fired the gun in my direction. The damned bullet must have come through the arm of the sofa and hit me a glancing blow on the side of my head, although I never felt the impact. I just had vague memories of someone, who I later discovered was Gary shouting. 

"Armed police! Put your weapon down or I'll shoot." 

Then all hell broke loose and there were a multitude of gunshots that appeared to be coming from all around me; then silence! I'm not sure if I was unconscious or not, but I lost track of things after that for a little while.

Then I was suddenly aware of the boss asking, "Johnny, are you okay?"

I opened my eyes and looked up at him bending over me.

"Don't move. You been shot in the head," he said as he studied my head for a couple of moments. "Oh don't panic, it looks like nothing more than a graze. The ambulance is on its way."

"Angela?" I asked.

"She's dead, John. I'm afraid I had to shoot her," Gary's voice came from somewhere.

"I'm sorry, Gary," I said, knowing that killing people isn't what a man like him joined the police to do.

"I did my firearms training, John. I'm certified to carry a gun and I've always known there was an outside chance that I'd have to shoot someone one day. I never thought it would be a woman though! Christ, this is going to be a bloody mess; I had to use your friend here's gun.

"Look, you two had better make yourselves scarce before the local boys turn up," Gary said, turning his attention to the boss and Bernie. "We'll have to come up with some story about me finding this gun in the house here. Damn, I should be nicking you for carrying the blooding thing. You know that's a five year stretch, don't you?"

The boss and Bernie looked at Gary and nodded. 

"Oh, and if this fucking gun turns up with a forensic match for any other crimes, I'll be after you like fucking greased lightening."

"No chance! It's clean, that I can assure you of that," the boss replied. "Picked it up myself, brand new in the States last year." Then after taking my car keys, they were out of the house in an instant. 

"What a fucking mess!" Gary said turning his attention back to me. He studied my head wound and agreed with the boss that it only looked like a graze.

The ambulance and the local police seemed to take forever to arrive. Luckily in a way because it gave Gary, Frank and myself time to get our story sounding convincing. 

Gary had heard all of what Angela had said; it had been him whose presence I'd sensed outside the door. Apparently Curtis had somehow escaped; Marko, the guy who was supposed to be guarding him, had called the boss and warned him that Curtis might ring Simmons. So the boss, thinking things could be getting out of hand, had used my mobile that I'd left in the car to call Gary and Frank.

It turned out that Gary had a damned good memory. When he learnt I'd been heading for Southampton area to find Angela, he'd reached back into his mind and vaguely remembered Angela saying her only living relative lived in the New Forest, from when he interviewed her during the investigation into Mary Simmons' murder. Apparently when I'd been arrested he'd suggested that Angela call a relative to be with her and Angela had mentioned that the only relative she had living was in an old folks care home down there.

Anyway that had been enough for Gary and Frank to head for the general area of the Forest. By chance when the boss had called them, they hadn't been that far away. The boss and Bernie had been in the house and had spotted Angela sitting there pointing a gun at my inert body before Gary and Frank arrived. Apparently Gary was all for going in unarmed but the boss - placing himself in danger of arrest for even possessing a hand gun - had offered Gary his.

I don't know whether Gary or I will ever get our heads around what the boss did that day. The boss is a well-known career criminal - well known in certain parts of London, that is. For him to pull out an illegal weapon and give it to a police officer for his own and my protection was probably inviting a stretch at Her Majesty's Pleasure. However Gary for his own reasons decided not to pursue the boss for his action.

Luckily several other guns were found in the house when the police search it. All of them were clearly related to Angela in one way or another; they were hidden amongst her clothes and things. So apparently no one asked too many questions about the one that Gary had supposedly found in the kitchen.

I was dragged off to the hospital where I was kept overnight and had several stitches put into the wound in my head. Helen and Jenny turned up to see me there, and they both tore me off a strip for going after Angela and Simmons on my own.

We managed to dodge the press when we left hospital; so it was sometime and things had cooled down a bit before they discovered where the cottage was. They turned up again around the time of the inquests, but seemed to lose interest pretty quickly.

Mind you, they were a bloody nuisance when the hardest job I had to undertake became due. I had to get my girls from that boarding school and tell them that their mother was dead. This was made even harder by the fact that Angela and Simmons had told them that I was dead. The children hating that damned school made things slightly easier. But even so I don't know if I could have done it without Helen and Jenny's help. And the help of the local police who kept the press and sightseers away from the cottage as much as they could.

The boss laid on - what he liked to call - some security as well, and that also proved handy around the local school when the children started going there. Jenny - who was living at my house by then remember - played governess to the children. And to Helen's children as well, when she brought them with her on her regular visits.

The appeals court threw out my conviction for murder surprisingly quickly; well, they had to do that before I could get custody of my children back. Gary's testimony of what Angela had said that day saw to that. 

Curtis vanished into thin air, but Gary reckons that he'll show up sometime. If nothing else the little shit faces charges for perverting the course of justice and perjury. Gary's not sure he can get "accessory to murder" charges to stick for stealing the cars that Angela used.

The sex between Jenny and I had cooled down considerably by then, but there were occasions when she sneaked into my room during the night while the children were asleep.

However as time went on, it became apparent to Helen and me that there was someone else interested in Jenny's charms and it soon became obvious that the interest wasn't completely one sided. Bert, one of the police officer's who'd been on bodyguard duty at the hotel, took to showing up in his patrol car and having coffee with Jenny.

Jenny tells me that until all the children are "old enough" she doesn't intend to accept Bert offer of marriage. Hell, she refused to actually go out with Bert until her divorce was final. Oh, she hasn't stipulate how old "old enough" is either.

Helen and me - well, we are getting on just fine. She moved in with her children a few months after everything had cooled down and we have talked about tying the knot. I think that both having been severely bitten once, we're quite happy to take our time about things.

One last point: Mary Simmons money and where the hell it went to. Angela had waved that piece of paper under my nose that she claimed had the numbers of those Swiss bank accounts on. Somehow it had disappeared from the house that night. It was nearly a year later when the boss paid me an unexpected visit one morning. He suggested a walk in the garden and when we got down near the pond he produced that piece of paper.

"Now I didn't give this to you earlier because we needed to let things calm down a bit. All there needed to be was another one of these lists in the house somewhere and the law would have been all over you when you tried to access the accounts. I'd leave it a bit longer before you move the money about and don't move too much at once. Good luck my boy and thanks for what you did for me on the inside."

I never have discovered what I was supposed to have done for the boss whilst I was in the nick.

Life goes on.

 I'm sorry if it upset some readers that I broke chapter five off where I did. But that was too good a cliff-hanger to pass up on.

I'd like to thank all of you wrote who to me about this one. Your encouragement (and criticism) is most welcome and greatly appreciated.

Life goes on DC