Free Schreiber's Secret by Roger Radford Page B

fragrance of Ysatis caused his mood to alter. He placed the duvet delicately around her and pressed his naked form against hers. She did not respond for a full two minutes. It just so happened that she was in the middle of an erotic dream. In the delicious and relaxing glow of half-sleep and sexual arousal, she luxuriated in the dream as if it were reality.
    “Oh, God,” she groaned. She was already wet when she turned to face him. He was beautiful – the bright blue eyes and thick wavy blond hair, the snub nose and square jaw. She smiled, feeling her own lips and face beginning to flush.
    “You don’t have to warm me up,” she moaned. “I’m almost coming already.”
    It would be her third orgasm of the night.
    Edwards needed no further invitation. He allowed her to guide him into her and began to stimulate her and himself, gently at first and then with increasing vigour. They came – she slightly ahead of him, the way she liked it – and lay spent in one another’s arms. Only the intrusive resonance of the telephone spoiled the idyll.
    “Damn!” muttered Edwards. He knew the interruption had to be work related.
    It had happened a few times before. But this time was the cruellest. He had been wining and dining the girl for two months and this was their first night together. The way she made love had matched her looks. She was simply stunning, and he knew he must be the envy of his colleagues. Maybe this was one of them on a spoiling mission. The receiver was by his bed, so he could still cradle her as he spoke.
    “Oh, hello, Bob. What’s up? ... Where? ... I’ll be there in ten minutes.”  Edwards grappled with the phone. He’d have to ring Fred Diamond, the local freelance photographer. He wanted someone at the scene as soon as possible.
    “What’s happened?” she moaned.
    “A murder. Ten minutes up the road. My contact says it’s a biggie. I’ll contact you at the office later.”
    Danielle Green hugged her new lover. He was only her second, but she felt instinctively that the relationship could flourish. Mummy and Daddy might not be too pleased, but the fact that he was a gentile caused her only slight disquiet.
     
     
    Detective Inspector Robert William Webb knew local commuters would not be appreciative, but there was no question of Fairlop station being reopened until the evening rush hour. In fact, he doubted whether he could allow the hordes near the place for at least a couple of days.
    “Smith, Carter,” he called out to two uniformed constables near by, “rope off an area fifty yards either side of the station entrance. The early morning mob’ll be here any moment. They’ll just have to walk to Barkingside.” Webb noted their acknowledgement and then turned his gaze on the station foreman. Poor sod. No fun in opening up in the morning and finding a stiff on your doorstep. And this was no ordinary stiff. This was a humdinger of a stiff. A shock-horror-drama headline-grabbing humdinger of a stiff.
    “Are you all right, mate?” he called over to the man, who was ten yards away, slumped against a wall by the station entrance, the dawn’s early light causing a halo to play around his head.
    “I’ll be all right, mon,” the man called out in thick West Indian brogue. “I just got to compose meself.”
    Looked as white as a sheet, thought Webb, and then quickly turned his ensuing chuckle into a smile of reassurance. “Take as long as you like. We’re arranging for you to get the day off.”
    The policeman knew the foreman would have a whole day of exhaustive questioning to go through. It was odds-on the man was an innocent party, but nothing would be left to chance. Not on this one. Not with the Super breathing down his neck, the Commissioner breathing down the Super’s neck and the politicians huffing and puffing down everyone’s neck. He had premonitions of a disaster if no arrest was quickly forthcoming.
    “Hi, Bob. What’s up?”
    Webb’s gangling six-foot-two frame