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Paul Edmund Norman's Monthly Online Story Magazine June 2005 www.gatewaymonthly.com |
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DEATH OF A PRIME SUSPECT by Paul Edmund Norman February 1997 One It was ten o'clock when he next opened his eyes. Shirley was getting
into bed beside him. He watched her settle against the pillow, finding her
place in the Ruth Rendell novel she was currently reading, then got off the bed
to get himself a drink. To his surprise, Sally
was still downstairs, sitting at the dining table, writing her homework. 'You should be in
bed.' 'I've nearly finished.
Are you all right now?' 'Of course.' 'I was worried. Mum
was, too.' 'I know. I'm sorry. Do
you have much more to do?' Sally looked up sharply. She had already said that she
was nearly finished. It seemed he was not listening to her. 'You were asleep a few
minutes ago, when we came up to have a look at you.' 'Dreaming.' 'Bad dream?' It was the sort of conversation he had had with her a
few times before. Going into her room, after hearing her cry out in the night,
tucking her in, telling her it would be all right if she thought about
something nice. Of the three of them,
she slept the worst, always had. She was sensitive, like her mother, took every
little thing to heart, rarely saw the funny side of. But he could talk to her,
and tonight the roles were reversed. 'Sort of. Do you think
I was mad to go on insisting it was Clitheroe when they said it couldn't be?' 'I don't think I heard
that bit,' she said truthfully. She came to the settee and sat next to him, put
her arm around his neck and pulled his head down onto her shoulder. 'Poor daddy,' she
whispered. He smiled. 'Come on, it's past
bed time.' 'I've got a mock exam
tomorrow.' 'You're not going to
cram any more into your head tonight. Better to get a good night and get up
early, start again in the morning. I'll give you a call, if you like.' 'All right. Are you
coming up?' 'In a minute. I want
to get a drink first. By the way, Mum said Ken Hargreaves left an envelope for
me. Do you know where she put it?' 'On the dresser. Good
night.' She bent down and kissed him on both cheeks, something
she had done right from when she was very young. ''Night.' He found the envelope, poured himself a can of Coke and
sat down. The envelope contained the report, his report on the Clitheroe case
from thirteen years ago, and he recalled Ken's earlier message that he should
read it again. He poured the dark brown liquid down his throat slowly,
relishing its taste, and opened the report. |
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