Broken Machines

By Anthony J. Beck

The story is about duty and evil, responsibility and abuse, along with love and sexual prurience. Two main themes run side by side as the story progresses. One is of murder; the polices attempt to solve it and their endeavours to arrest the perpetrator. The second theme is about Ray, a family man, who has his wife and daughter seduced away from their happy home by an unscrupulous predator. Ray tries to get them back and in doing so places himself in great danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491889848

Anthony J. Beck

I have always been interested in people; why they do the things they do, what motivates them and so on. I look at the way they behave and listen to their words to see if they match their actions. I simply observe. It's all there, one simply writes it down. I have lived quite few years now, and I've probably made every mistake an average man can make. Because I've made mistakes I can see others making the same or similar errors. I don't interfere, it's not my place to, but I do try, sometimes, to hint at a better way. You never know. I say this. It is ok to make mistakes when you're 20. Just don't be making them when you're 50. I am happily married to Diana. I live a a quiet village in Warwickshire. I am retired from the Civil Service. I play the Blues guitar (Electric) and I still enjoy singing. I own 5 really nice guitars. My favourite guitarists are Eric Clapton. Gary Moore and early Peter Green. I enjoy reading and listening to Radio 4. Anything else about me I'd rather keep to myself in case anybody is looking.

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© 2014 by Anthony J. Beck. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/06/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8983-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8984-8 (e)

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CONTENTS

Authors Preface

Broken Machines

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

Part 2

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

Part 3

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

AUTHORS PREFACE

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What am I trying to say to you? Lots of thing really, and there’s plenty to select from within these pages. Maybe it’s best to let you choose what you wish from the story… or not.

I often dwell on the fact that the world has goodness in it… and bad too; more badness than good I believe. It’s easy to be mean and spiteful you see, anyone can do it; it’s like falling off a log, it doesn’t take much practice. On the other hand, being good and kind and generous of spirit takes a little more effort; one has to try a little harder. I’ll grant you that some people are naturally good spirited and kind hearted by nature, but they are balanced out by those who are not. The majority of us though, fall somewhere in the middle; we simply wait for life to push us one way or the other.

This waiting is covered under the heading of ‘self-interest and pragmatism.’ We use phrases like: ‘I want the best for my family.’ Or, ‘I deserve it as much as they do.’ Plus ‘the end justifies the means.’ Worse than this though is apathy; ‘what can I do? It’s nothing to do with me.’

In Broken Machines one of the characters does what he has to do out of love and duty. He tries to do what is honourable because he believes he has to; others don’t and that is what the story is about.

I’m not preaching, I’ve been there, done it all and lived with the regret; I’m no better than anyone else, and that’s because life is hard. It’s hard because mostly, it demands more from us than we able to give. I just think all of us should just try a bit harder and give a little more… is all.

Broken Machines is a story… I made it up, but I heard someone say recently that a fictitious story is just truth that’s been made up; I liked that, it sounded right.

When you read this book you will come across extremes of behaviour. There is explicit sex—some that may shock you—and physical violence. There are also outlandish points of view from the ramblings of the ‘Voice.’ The voice is a device I have started to use in my stories; currently I have it in three books. I use it to make you smile and to make you think. You can ignore it if you wish, it has no bearing on the story.

I’ve only got one person to thank for help with this story and that’s Martin Renshaw; a retired Policeman and friend. He has given me tips and guidance on police procedure in the UK, and has explained specific questions I asked of him. However, any procedural activity or processes are entirely mine; mistakes and all.

At one time or another I have worked in large organisations and I know how they operate; the Police Force will be no different, so I just applied the same yardstick during this story.

I will leave you with this final belief of mine. If any of you can imagine any action or deed, no matter how outrageous or extreme it is; it has already happened in spades.

AJB.

BROKEN MACHINES

Anthony J Beck

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1

Hello again . . . it’s good to be back. He’s said he’s prepared to give me another go, just so long as I behave myself, and because he’s in charge so to speak, well I can’t argue really. Mind you, I don’t know what he’s on about for certain, I can’t think of anything I said before that was in anyway offensive or out of line . . . unless of course you were offended by the truth. I bet I know who has been complaining, it’s the fuc . . . it’s the women; but hey, they’d complain about anything wouldn’t they? I mean . . . it’s in their nature. Oh, and by the way, he said I can’t keep swearing either. Still though, I am glad to be back. I thought it was all over for me when he finished the other story, and do you know . . . I found it quite upsetting, being abandoned like that. But like I’ve said . . . I’ve got this second chance and I’m taking it, so I’ll see you later I suppose . . . when something has happened eh?

2

Nick Bradley pulled to a stop behind the Citroen and switched off. As he was getting out he half turned to the other occupant and smiled a little superciliously. This is all a bit working class don’t you think… Sunday dinner with mom and dad?

Don’t be snooty darling, they mean well, and you’re going to have to meet them sometime, so it might as well be today. She opened her door and swung her legs out in one fluid movement. We’ll spend a couple of hours here, she told him as she turned to lean on the roof, then we’ll go to your place and you can fuck me again; it’ll give me something to look forward to.

Bradley grinned. Who’s got a potty mouth then?

Well if I have, you’re the one that taught me; I was a good little girl till I met you. Polly Balding slammed her door shut. Come on… it won’t be too bad; they’re alright really. She led the way to the front door, pulling a key from her handbag as she went.

Bradley collected a bunch of flowers from the rear seat and locked up; he followed Polly as she led the way and appreciated her delicious arse as he did so.

Mom… dad, this is Nick; Nick, meet my wonderful parents.

The four of them stood in the spacious hallway like actors on a stage; they all had their parts and were about to play.

Nick stepped in closer. Hello Mrs. Balding, you look as lovely as Polly said you were. He offered up the flowers. These are for you; I hope you like them.

Oh, they’re lovely… thank you. Esther Balding offered her hand. Polly has said so much about you. A slight blush touched her cheeks. She didn’t exaggerate… not one bit, she added, her voice fading to a whisper. A strange sensation washed over her, it made her heart flutter and she had a job to look away from his golden irises; they seemed to suck at her. When she did manage to look away, her eyes fell to his groin; the bulge in his snug fitting trousers made her shudder.

And she didn’t exaggerate about you either, Nick said, you’re lovely. He meant it too. He took her hand and held it in his own. She was a quieter, gentler version of her daughter. She looked to have reasonably good breasts on a slender frame, he decided, and noted her nice legs showing below her loose skirt. Her face was finer boned than Polly’s and her hair looked softer. He liked what he saw; she was beautiful in a ripened way. Finally, he let her hand go and turned smartly to her husband. Mr. Balding; I’m very pleased to meet you sir. He offered his hand again.

Ray… call me Ray, we don’t want it all formal do we?

Ray it is then, Nick said, smiling. He quickly looked the man over. He was a couple of inches shorter than his own six foot, with a wiry looking physique and short dark hair over a hawkish face. He appeared pleasant enough.

Polly linked her arm with Nick’s. Well thank god that’s over, let’s all go into the lounge shall we? We can all relax and have a chat before dinner. She pulled Nick down towards the rear of the house. "And maybe dad might give you one off his precious beers…

3

Jasper Fowles pulled the Beretta—an over and under model—firmly into his shoulder and called out, "pull!" He hoped he’d hit one this bloody time. The two clay discs flew away from him irritatingly fast. ‘Bang, bang.’ The clays drifted down to the ground unhindered by Jasper’s efforts. He broke the gun open and ejected the spent cartridges. Damn, fucking damn, he muttered under his breath. This was harder that he thought it would be; the pellets spread quite wide didn’t they? You’d think some of them would get near the target.

Is this your first go? A faint voice asked from behind him.

He turned to see who it was. He saw a tall refined looking man. He was dressed in dark green cords over brown brogues; a multi-pocketed leather coat and flat cap completed his attire; he appeared appropriate. He was handsome in a dated suave way, with his thin moustache making him look a little Errol Flynnish. He had a gun, broken open, under his right arm; he was smiling… waiting.

Jasper removed his ear defenders. My first go you say? Yes, and not very successful either.

Are you alone… or did you come with someone? The man cocked his head and half smiled. Someone should be with you if you’re a novice.

Actually, I did come with someone. He pointed towards a stocky man talking to two others a few yards away; they had just arrived. James, he’s a colleague of mine; I think he helps to run the club here.

Yes, the man confirmed, he does. I know James well. He stepped a little closer and moved his gun under his left arm before reaching out with his right hand. I’m Simon Hersch, I own this land… would you be offended if I gave you a tip or two; just while James is busy?

Jasper accepted the proffered hand and gave it a brief shake. Thanks… that would be good. I’m just wasting cartridges at the moment; I haven’t hit a thing yet. He shook his head as if it was all unbelievable. I’m Jasper, pleased to meet you.

Hersch nodded, as if he’d been told something really interested. Ok. First of all, you’re aiming and then holding still while you shoot; wrong. You should keep your gun moving along the sighted flight path. Secondly, aim slightly ahead of the target, let it fly into the shot… if you understand. Give it another go, he said. I’ll stand behind you… see how close you get.

Jasper pushed two fresh cartridges into the gun, closed it, pulled his defenders back on and took his stance. Here goes, he said over his shoulder, then leaned in. "Pull," he called out again and waited. Once again two clays were launched into the air. ‘Bang . . . bang.’ The gun kicked into his shoulder and one of the clays disintegrated in a puff of fine dust, the other got away. Jasper stepped back and whipped his defenders off. Whooow, he called out as he turned around to look at Hersch, I hit one. He was delighted.

Hold your gun down and break it open, Hersch advised firmly. Don’t wave it around.

Sorry, Jasper said. I forgot.

Not a problem, Hersch told him, but it’s imperative that we follow the rules… always… they protect us. He smiled this time. And well done; you’ve hit your first clay.

They both saw James coming back to join them. Will you be joining us in the ‘Dragon’ later? Hersch asked. Most of us stop for at least one before going home; it’s the closest watering hole.

Yes, that sounds good… and thanks… thanks for your time.

He’s at it again . . . he brings new people in, and you don’t know what they’ve got to do with anything. He did this in the last boo . . .

Stop!! No more. If you can’t keep your mouth shut and refrain from mentioning your other inclusions, then you’re out now; do we understand each other… Do we!?

Sorry author . . . I got a bit carried away, and it’s not easy . . . I mean . . . I only exist in your books, so I get a bit exited when I get a chance to have a say; you’re the only one who gives me a go. Hey! How about you have a word with some other authors . . . you know, lend me out, I could be like a freelance observer, a commentator making some decent input.

Don’t run away with yourself, voice; or overestimate the importance of the input you make. You’re just an experiment, and I’m yet to be convinced of your value; so just keep in mind what I have said.

Ok . . . no need to go on . . . I know you’re in charge . . .

Are you still there author . . . are you? No . . . ok . . . good. I think he’s gone people. I also think he’s a bit of a twat the way he treats me. After all, I am his creation; still though, I am talking to you, so I must exist, experiment or not. And if I exist, then I’m entitled to my own opinion; human rights and all that. Europe, International law. The Geneva Convention . . . Interpol . . .

4

Ester Balding placed the plate of carved Lamb at the centre of the dining table. Just help yourself Nick; we don’t want to stand on ceremony do we?

Esther, it all looks fabulous. Good looks and a good cook; you appear to have everything.

Esther flushed pink as Nicks sharp golden eyes bored into her; a wave of excitement tingled up her spine. I’m sure you’re just joshing me Nick, she dropped her head as she spoke. She found that looking directly at him was difficult to do, he made her feel defenceless… vulnerable.

Do you mind if I say grace before we begin? Nick said, looking around the table. Or do you normally say it Ray? He looked seriously in Ray’s direction.

Oh… Ray Balding said, a little surprised. To tell you the truth Nick, we don’t say grace… we just sort of get on with it… if you understand. I don’t think people say grace anymore; are you religious then?

Nick looked across at Polly and gave the briefest of winks. Well Ray, I’m not a diligent church goer, or a member of some… extremist religious sect; nothing like that. But I do have strong moral views. I think it behoves us all to try and maintain some standards. For instance, I don’t believe in sex before marriage, and I don’t hold with divorce… abortions… things like that. And of course, I do believe in God. He grinned cheekily. But let’s not get too serious. I’ll just say grace so that we can all tuck in to this lovely food. He joined his hands and dropped his head. For the food we are about to receive, and the good company we are about to share, may you Lord, make us truly thankful… amen.

The other three mumbled ‘amen’ and the meal began.

Whilst they dined the conversation was stilted; a one sided affair, with Nick doing most of the talking. It was as if his overtly declared beliefs had put Esther and Ray onto the back foot. Ray was an agnostic, and Esther, although from a Jewish line, had dropped whatever belief she’d had. Her view was: not sure, don’t care.

What… er… do you do for a living Nick? Ray was scratching around for common ground.

Ah, Nick said. You’re trying to ascertain whether or not I could support your daughter if I had long term intentions in that direction.

Well… no I wasn’t Nick; but as you have raised the subject… you are considerably older than Polly…

Dad! That sounds really… rude. Nick is only ten years older than me, and we’re not even engaged or anything… you’re making it sound as if he has to defend himself. Polly was upset by her father’s intimations.

Hey Pol… it’s ok. I know where your dad is coming from, and I don’t blame him. Nick paused and bounced the tip of his knife lightly on the edge of his plate; he looked as if he was gathering his thoughts. He looked across at Ray, then at Ester. I don’t do much, well… I feel I don’t anyway. I’m part of the ‘Bradley Bowerman’ group. My father is Sir George Bradley; you may have heard of him?

The construction firm, Ray said. Motorways and that… your that Bradley?

Nick grinned. Yes, for my sins, and that’s where my employment is centred; I have a degree in engineering. He looked directly at Esther. It’s good to be lucky don’t you think?

Ray was impressed. Aren’t you involved in that new Motorway proposal that being muted in Parliament… the Dartford one?

Not me directly Ray; but the firm is… yes. We would be inclined to be interested in any large development though; it’s in the nature of what we do.

He’s really rich aren’t you Nick? Polly’s eyes glistened. His dad has got a yacht and a Villa in Majorca. She was bubbling.

Now Polly, Nick rebuked her. Boasting is not a Christian thing to do. I am merely lucky, and glad of it.

Well said Nick. It was Esther. It’s good to see that you’re well balanced and unaffected by your good fortune.

Polly kept her head down; it couldn’t be seen that she was smiling.

5

Jasper downed a decent amount of his beer in one go. Mmmm, not bad this Jim, he said, holding his glass up. He was standing in the crowded bar of the ‘Red Dragon.’ His friend James Redwood was drinking white wine.

Real Ales are not my thing. He replied, and lifted his glass own glass up. This’ll do me, and I don’t end up bloated and wanting to piss all the time either. He took an obligatory sip. I saw Hersch giving you the benefit of his experience earlier… what did you make of him? James Redwood was a big stout man. His drink looked small in his meaty hand.

He seemed ok. We didn’t say much… he was a bit terse maybe, but he seemed alright; why?

James pulled a tight lipped face. Nothing really; usually though, he doesn’t speak to many of the club members, is all. Mostly he’s just a bit aloof; bangs off a few clays and keeps to himself. He doesn’t show up very often; lives abroad a lot I believe.

He’s alright with you though, isn’t he? He must be, him letting you have the shoot on his grounds and all.

Redwood nodded. Yes, I suppose. I’ve been acquainted with him for quite a long time; since we started the club. But he doesn’t take to too many people; normally he only really speaks to me. That’s why it surprised me to see him talking to you… he’s loaded you know… old money. Redwood looked around before continuing. I’ve heard odd rumours about him, but he doesn’t charge the club any rent, so as far as I’m concerned… He stopped. Speak of the devil; he’s coming over."

Jasper turned to see the subject of their conversation moving in to join them.

Do you mind? Hersch asked. I’m not interrupting anything I hope James?

No Simon, I was just telling Jasper how you let us use you land rent free.

There was a mutual nodding of heads; a master and servant kind of thing.

Here, let me get you a drink Simon, Redwood said. What do you want?

Oh… the house red will be ok; thanks.

What about you Jasper; another?

Go on then, just one more, then I need to be going; I’m peckish, and I’ve got to get my own dinner today.

Right; one house red and one pint of bitter. With that he pushed his way towards the bar.

No good little wife to prepare lunch for you then… Jasper. Hersch cocked his head in question.

Normally there would be, but her mother’s unwell, so her and the lad have gone to see how she is, he explained. I don’t get on too well with my mother in law, he added. We’ve never hit it off.

Hersch lifted the corner of his mouth; a half smile, a half sneer. I understand well enough about mother in laws; you need say no more.

There was a lull between them; Hersch seeming to have something on his mind. Then out of the blue, he said. Why don’t you have lunch with us? I could call my wife; tell her we have a guest… what do you say?

I couldn’t do that, Jasper said. We hardly know each other, and your wife’s never even met me. It would be unfair to her.

Tosh. She will be delighted. She loves meeting new people; I’ll call her now.

He turned, stepped back a pace and pulled a mobile from his pocket. Within seconds he was talking quietly to someone; his words couldn’t be made out in the noisy atmosphere.

Then he was there again; smiling. There, it’s all settled, and she’s really pleased. She said she couldn’t wait. He smiled. It was an odd distant thing, an enigmatic thing. He glanced toward the bar. If you don’t mind Jasper, I need a quick private word with James; I’ll go and help him with the drinks… we won’t be a moment…

6

Esther and Polly carried the dishes through to the kitchen; lunch was over.

If you don’t mind Nick, Ray said. "I’ve got things to do in the garden and I don’t want to lose the opportunity; not with the weather beginning to turn.

No, you carry on Ray. I’ll use your television if I may though; there’s bound to be some sport showing… it being Sunday.

Carry on Nick… help yourself, and get another beer from the fridge if you want one; take no notice of our Polly; she makes me out to be a bloody miser. He went to the door. I’ll see you before you go, no doubt.

Nick flicked through the channel guide and found some Golf on ‘Sky.’ He played himself, so Golf was something he considered to be satisfactory viewing. He settled into an arm chair and made himself comfortable. As he watched, he reflected on the fun he’d had with the Ray and Esther; he’d had a good time and there could be more to come.

After a while the door opened and Polly stepped into the room a pace; she closed the door behind her. Nick, you’re really naughty, she said quietly, I’m going to have a word with you later.

Nick put a finger to his lips and smiled cheekily. Just a bit of fun, you know that.

I know that, but they don’t. She smiled and shook her head. Look… I need to have a shower and change; I’m a bit… She pointed at her fanny as an unspoken explanation. You’ll be alright for ten minutes won’t you?

Yes, carry on, I’m ok.

She blew him a kiss. I won’t be very long. Then she was gone.

Esther was putting the dishes into the washer. She was thinking about Nick. He was so handsome, so… compelling. She wondered if him and Polly… but no; he had said he was against sex before marriage. If Nick did marry Polly though, she thought, then she would certainly have something to contend with; he seemed to be really big. The idea of Nick and… sex… made her flush again.

Then he was there; in the kitchen… with her.

Ray said to help myself to another beer. He walked over to her and stood close. He’s gone out into the garden, he informed her. Polly’s having a shower.

Esther could almost feel his power… it was like a tangible thing. She smiled weakly, but said nothing.

He moved in very closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. I know things Esther. I know about people. He lowered his face close to hers. Moreover, I know about you; I understand you. He dropped his hand squeezed her upper arm gently. Do you know what I’m talking about Esther… are we on the same wavelength?

She nodded her head slightly. She could feel a tingle where his hand rested.

And I’m right aren’t I Esther… about you? You have… undefined requirements don’t you?

She looked into his strange eyes, and again her head moved the merest bit.

Nick moved his hand to caress her breasts over blouse and cardigan; his other hand went around her waist and onto the small of her back, just above her rump. He pulled her against him and pushed his groin into her; he was hard. Will you be my Persian queen Esther… my Persian delight?

You shouldn’t be doing this… what about Polly? And those things you said earlier.

You haven’t answered my question Esther. He dropped his hand from her breasts, took hers and pressed it against his hard cock. Do you like the feel of it Esther? He let her go and unzipped his flies to free his erection. Hold it Esther… go on… feel it…"

She looked down at his… thing; it was huge in comparison to Ray’s. She knew some men were big… bigger than average. It stood to reason didn’t it? There were always exceptions to the rule; but this thing. She took hold of it with both hands. You wouldn’t be able to get it in me. It was all she could think to say.

You’d like me to try though, wouldn’t you? He lifted her head with the tips of his fingers under her chin; his eyes looked into hers… seeking.

Esther couldn’t look away… she was mesmerised; nailed like a butterfly to a board. His hard, golden pupils seemed to be wheedling their way, like thin tendrils, into her brain. She could feel the power from his cock as she held it in her hands; it was like electricity. Never before had she been so overwhelmed. Once more she nodded her head. Yes, she whispered, in answer to his question.

He grinned at her; the master. Then, with graceful fluidity, he reached down, raised her skirt, gripped the waistband of her tights and knickers and pulled them down to her knees in one seamless movement.

Esther was shocked at his audacity. Polly or Ray could just walk in… anytime. Her eyes danced wildly towards the window, and then the door; she couldn’t speak. It was all so fast. She felt Nick push a finger up into her vagina; she was running wet.

He removed his finger and stepped away from her. Tidy yourself up, he told her. Quickly… do it.

Esther released him and began to do as she was told. She moved as fast as she could, but she felt… odd; it was like she was wading through treacle. She wriggled her things approximately back where they belonged and smoothed her skirt. She would do it better later.

Now me, he said. He held his penetrative finger away from his body as if to protect it.

Esther pushed his cock back inside his trousers. It wasn’t easy; it was still hard. She zipped him up.

Good girl… my good Jewish girl. He put his moist finger into his mouth and sucked at her juices. You’re mine now aren’t you Esther… mine forever?

She didn’t know what she felt, except… she couldn’t say no. You won’t hurt me will you? She looked out of the window and then raised them to look at the ceiling. Ray and Polly… they won’t be hurt will they? Say they won’t… please.

Tell me what you want Esther… what you really really want?

She moved in and leaned against him. You said you know what I want… you said you knew me.

Nick pulled his wallet from his back pocket and removed a small white card. He pulled her blouse away from her breasts and tucked it into her bra. Here, call me sometime tomorrow, let me know when I can come and see you… alone. He put his wallet away and crossed to the fridge. I’m going to have that beer now, he told her.

It’ll help cool the flames… of my desire. He was smirking.

Here, he’s a strange chap ain’t he . . . that Nick? He says one thing, then acts another. And what about the woman . . . Esther? Maybe she’s one of those Milfs; middle aged, tasty and gagging for it. I wonder though . . . how did he know she wouldn’t say anything and call for her husband, or slap his face or summat; Strange that. And he appears to be a big boy as well; know what I mean. Of course I’m like that myself . . . not to put too fine a point on it . . . I’m hung like a horse I am, blessed in the meat and two veg department as me old mum used to say. Add that to a natural talent with the ladies and you can begin to get a picture of what I’m like. Course, I’m a bit curtailed at the minute . . . my ex has moved back in with me. Her fella has fucked off and dumped her, and now she says she loves me again. Well she’s a lying cow, she’s just got nowhere to go is all. Trouble is, she’s bigger than me and as strong as a fucking ox. I tell ya, shagging her is like wrestling with a fat gorilla. I can’t believe it . . . what have I ever done . . . all I want is a quiet life and a few fucks . . .

—

Detective Inspector Donald Donner leaned forward in his chair and held out his arms. Come on, he said kindly. Come to daddy… there’s a good boy. The infant, Donny, was just beginning to walk unaided and was delighted with this new ability.

Come on, Donner urged, show daddy what a clever boy you are.

"Dadda," the tot squealed, and wobbled towards his father’s outstretched arms; a journey of four feet.

Donner grabbed the child as he lurched into his arms. Good boy… good boy. He stood up and raised his son up towards the ceiling, causing the little lad to squirm and laugh with excitement.

Donner was overwhelmed with love for his son. At forty eight, he had become a father for the first time; his second wife producing this boy child for him. He wasn’t known to be a kindly man, Donner wasn’t; tosser would be an oft used description of him. But here, in his home, with his child… nobody would recognise him.

He hugged the child into his arms and kissed him. My boy, he whispered, my lovely boy.

Dadda, the infant said in response. He could only say two words clearly, ‘momma and dadda,’ but it was enough to thrill his parents.

Donner looked across at his wife; she was leaning against the door jam, watching the unfolding scene. She was pregnant; six months pregnant and looking lovely.

He moved across the lounge towards her; little Donny tight to his chest. You’ve done us proud Babs… done me proud. He leaned in and kissed her. I got lucky with you didn’t I? Who would have guessed eh. He freed an arm from holding Donny and caressed her growing bulge. And now you’re growing me another one. He leaned in again and nuzzled her hair. You’re a good girl Babs, and a wonderful fuck… fucking wonderful.

Barbara Donner stroked her husband’s face. As far as compliments went, this was the best she had come to expect. And to be realistic, Donald, her second husband, did make her come like an erupting volcano. And not just now and again; it was every time he did her, and that was almost every day… circumstances allowing. It wasn’t love, but it sufficed as a consolation.

They had a peculiar history. He had met her during a previous investigation they were both involved with. He was the policeman; she… well she lost a husband