Free Death Sentence by Sheryl Browne

that look before.
    Eyeing him unemotionally, he stepped away from the car. ‘Out,’ he ordered.
    Sullivan blinked, surprised. ‘Yerwhat?’
    ‘Drug search,’ Matthew informed him impassively.
    Sullivan laughed. ‘Drugs?’ He stared at him incredulously.
    ‘Drugs.’ Matthew nodded shortly. ‘I can smell them, Sullivan. Out.’
    ‘Oh, for …’ Sullivan shook his head. ‘You’re scraping the barrel, Adams. And you know it. They’re for personal use.’ He reached wearily for his door. ‘You won’t find anything more. And, if you are planning on finding anything, you might want to have a rethink. Unless you’re not too bothered about getting your partner kicked off the force, that is?’ Sullivan nodded to where Steve loitered uncertainly behind Matthew. ‘Probably better not to take a leaf out of your old man’s book and stitch me up, don’t y’think?’
    Obviously knowing he’d got the upper hand, Sullivan climbed out, giving Matthew a supercilious smirk as he did.
    He was right. Matthew knew it. His stomach churned at the very closeness of the man, as he squeezed past him to the car, no choice but to with Sullivan allowing him little space. He’d wanted an excuse, any excuse to haul him in. He couldn’t involve Steve though. Dammit, he hadn’t been thinking.
    Sullivan waited while they searched, Steve giving Matthew quizzical glances, as they did. There was nothing, of course, as if Sullivan would be likely to have a stash of heroin stuffed in his boot. Matthew sighed, exasperated. He must have left his brains at home this morning.
    ‘Oh, dear, come up empty-handed, have we?’ Smoking a legit cigarette, Sullivan blew a fat cloud of smoke over Matthew, as he emerged from the car. ‘Maybe you should give up being a copper and do something more fruitful with your life, Adams. I’m looking for a chauffeur if you’re interested. Pays well. Nice steady work, much less frustrating.’
    His temper dangerously near spiking, Matthew counted silently. At seven his anger subsided some.
    ‘Inside.’ He nodded towards the house, a sprawling Grade II listed building. Testament to how fruitful this lowlife’s money-making endeavors were.
    ‘If you insist, Detective Inspector.’ Sullivan sauntered back to his car. ‘Just so you know, though,’ he said, as he climbed in, ‘you’re barking up the wrong tree, sunshine. Whatever happened to Brianna was nothing to do with me.’
    Suppressing a sigh of utter contempt, Matthew looked Sullivan over distastefully and headed back to his own car to follow him up the long pebbled drive.
    Minutes later, he sighed inwardly again, as the third Mrs. Sullivan climbed out of the indoor heated pool, blonde, tanned and healthy in a microdot bikini, to fawn all over the man. Bought and paid for, Matthew thought, as she reeled off Sullivan’s alibi for him.
    ‘He was here,’ she said, looking as innocent as a newborn baby, ‘dancin’ wiv Taylor, weren’t you, babe?’ She moved across to where Sullivan was watching Matthew with wry amusement. ‘And then we went to bed. He’s a lovely little mover, aren’t you, hun?’
    Oozing innuendo, the woman fluttered her eyelashes coyly and draped herself around Sullivan’s neck.
    ‘Yeah.’ Sullivan’s amusement turned fast to irritation, as he realised she was dripping water all over him. ‘Watch the coat, sweetheart.’ His smile was now more a grimace, as he eased her away from his cashmere.
    How long before the doting husband routine wore off , Matthew wondered, and Sullivan reverted to form, giving her the odd slap for some imagined misdemeanor.
    ‘And what time would that have been, Mrs Sullivan?’ he asked futilely.
    ‘What, when we went to bed, you mean? Bout two-thirty,’ the woman said. ‘I noticed the time cos I was keeping an ear out for Taylor. You know what kids can be like.’
    ‘No, he doesn’t.’ Sullivan looked at Matthew, his eyes full of calculated malice. ‘Doesn’t have any kids, do you,