mercenary.’
‘We are.’ Kneeling, she tugged at his overcoat.
‘So you only want me for my body.’
‘It’s been so long, I think I’ve forgotten what to do with it.’
Peeling off his shirt and vest in one easy movement, he unbuttoned his trousers. ‘It’s like riding a bike: once we get started you’ll remember.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I haven’t forgotten my last leave.’
She looked down and saw her ugly nightdress and the even uglier cardigan. Throwing back the bedclothes she stepped out on to the cold linoleum.
‘Where are you going, woman? You’re supposed to be warming the bed for me.’
‘To get this black lace thing I bought. It’s guaranteed to excite you.’
Dropping his trousers to his ankles he sat on the side of the bed and started to laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’ she demanded, annoyed, as his laughter grew louder and tears of mirth started pouring down his cheeks.
‘You!’ he chortled. ‘After three years of living like a monk you think I need black lace to excite me.’
‘William Powell …’
‘Mrs Powell,’ he whispered, forestalling her temper by sliding his hands beneath her nightdress. ‘May I suggest we get under the bedclothes before we both turn to ice, and please,’ he fingered the thick red flannel as he pulled it over her head, ‘can we donate this nun’s penance robe to the Communist relief fund for Russian refugees?’
‘There was a lot of screaming and shouting, Constable Davies. I tried knocking my kitchen wall with the poker because it backs on to Mrs Ronconi’s kitchen and I know she can hear it because I did just that when our Mary scalded herself. Mrs Ronconi came running to help then but this time the shouting didn’t stop. To be honest, I was too afraid to walk in afterwards – well, anyone would be, wouldn’t they, because afterwards the house was that quiet. That’s when I sent Alf – Alf Pickering, who lives the other side of me – to the telephone box on the corner to dial 999. Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered the police, but the screams – well, it sounded like someone was being murdered – and the shouting – if there hadn’t been shouting I would have left well alone. But it did sound like someone was being murdered in there and that nice Mrs Ronconi normally doesn’t make a sound. Quiet as the grave her and the kids are – day to day that is – except on Sundays when her mam and sister-in-laws come round then it’s nothing but women cackling. You can hear them through the wall – but then everyone has a family get together now and again, don’t they? On the whole she’s just the sort of neighbour you want. But I did see a man going in there tonight. Two actually …’
‘It’s all right, Mrs Evans. You did the right thing, leave it to us.’ Huw looked over her head to Hopkins, the novice constable he’d brought with him.
‘The screaming’s stopped now but it was terrible. Like a stuck pig being gelded and I should know. Born and bred on a farm …’
‘Mrs Evans, why don’t you make us all a nice cup of tea while I go in and see if Mrs Ronconi needs help.’ Leaving Mrs Evans to Hopkins, Huw opened the door and called down the passage.
‘Is that someone crying?’ Hopkins asked, after he’d finally shaken Mrs Evans off so he could follow Huw.
‘Don’t know, boy. Shut the door and turn on the lights.’
As soon as he heard the front door click, Huw pushed open the door to the kitchen. White-faced, he gripped the sides of the doorframe and reeled back into the passage.
‘Oh my God!’ Hopkins turned his head and retched.
Sick to the pit of his stomach, but more experienced than Hopkins at concealing his reactions, Huw forced himself to go back into the room. Side-stepping the pools of blood he grabbed a tea towel from the back of a chair and kneeled on the floor beside Ronnie. As soon as he’d done what he could, he looked up at his colleague swaying on his feet in the doorway.
‘No time
‘We are.’ Kneeling, she tugged at his overcoat.
‘So you only want me for my body.’
‘It’s been so long, I think I’ve forgotten what to do with it.’
Peeling off his shirt and vest in one easy movement, he unbuttoned his trousers. ‘It’s like riding a bike: once we get started you’ll remember.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I haven’t forgotten my last leave.’
She looked down and saw her ugly nightdress and the even uglier cardigan. Throwing back the bedclothes she stepped out on to the cold linoleum.
‘Where are you going, woman? You’re supposed to be warming the bed for me.’
‘To get this black lace thing I bought. It’s guaranteed to excite you.’
Dropping his trousers to his ankles he sat on the side of the bed and started to laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’ she demanded, annoyed, as his laughter grew louder and tears of mirth started pouring down his cheeks.
‘You!’ he chortled. ‘After three years of living like a monk you think I need black lace to excite me.’
‘William Powell …’
‘Mrs Powell,’ he whispered, forestalling her temper by sliding his hands beneath her nightdress. ‘May I suggest we get under the bedclothes before we both turn to ice, and please,’ he fingered the thick red flannel as he pulled it over her head, ‘can we donate this nun’s penance robe to the Communist relief fund for Russian refugees?’
‘There was a lot of screaming and shouting, Constable Davies. I tried knocking my kitchen wall with the poker because it backs on to Mrs Ronconi’s kitchen and I know she can hear it because I did just that when our Mary scalded herself. Mrs Ronconi came running to help then but this time the shouting didn’t stop. To be honest, I was too afraid to walk in afterwards – well, anyone would be, wouldn’t they, because afterwards the house was that quiet. That’s when I sent Alf – Alf Pickering, who lives the other side of me – to the telephone box on the corner to dial 999. Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered the police, but the screams – well, it sounded like someone was being murdered – and the shouting – if there hadn’t been shouting I would have left well alone. But it did sound like someone was being murdered in there and that nice Mrs Ronconi normally doesn’t make a sound. Quiet as the grave her and the kids are – day to day that is – except on Sundays when her mam and sister-in-laws come round then it’s nothing but women cackling. You can hear them through the wall – but then everyone has a family get together now and again, don’t they? On the whole she’s just the sort of neighbour you want. But I did see a man going in there tonight. Two actually …’
‘It’s all right, Mrs Evans. You did the right thing, leave it to us.’ Huw looked over her head to Hopkins, the novice constable he’d brought with him.
‘The screaming’s stopped now but it was terrible. Like a stuck pig being gelded and I should know. Born and bred on a farm …’
‘Mrs Evans, why don’t you make us all a nice cup of tea while I go in and see if Mrs Ronconi needs help.’ Leaving Mrs Evans to Hopkins, Huw opened the door and called down the passage.
‘Is that someone crying?’ Hopkins asked, after he’d finally shaken Mrs Evans off so he could follow Huw.
‘Don’t know, boy. Shut the door and turn on the lights.’
As soon as he heard the front door click, Huw pushed open the door to the kitchen. White-faced, he gripped the sides of the doorframe and reeled back into the passage.
‘Oh my God!’ Hopkins turned his head and retched.
Sick to the pit of his stomach, but more experienced than Hopkins at concealing his reactions, Huw forced himself to go back into the room. Side-stepping the pools of blood he grabbed a tea towel from the back of a chair and kneeled on the floor beside Ronnie. As soon as he’d done what he could, he looked up at his colleague swaying on his feet in the doorway.
‘No time
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