DEATH OF A PRIME SUSPECT

by Paul Edmund Norman

'Warm me up, my back is frozen.'

He had been awake for a while, though it was still dark. Through the bedroom window Thompson could see stars, and a half moon low in the sky.

            He turned over and put his arm under hers, pulling himself tight against her, cradling the lower part of her right breast in his hand.

            'Have you been awake long,' he asked?'

            'Not long. It was so cold during the night. I don't understand how the weather can change so rapidly. Every time I tried to wake you up you just turned over and ignored me.'

            'Sorry.'

            'Are you feeling better now? I didn't hear you come up to bed.'

            'Sally and I were talking.'

            'She was up late?'

            'She has an exam today. I sent her off to bed about midnight, I think. Then I made myself a drink and read the report Ken brought round.' There had been no reference in the report to the absence, or otherwise, of earrings and make-up. Clitheroe had done it again.

            She was fully awake now. Her own fault, she knew, because she had started to question him about the night before. All the same, it would have been nice to doze off for a little while longer. It was almost an hour before the alarm was due to go off.

            'Your feet are cold,' he observed.

            'So?'

            'It turns me on,' he whispered, and she smiled, feeling him harden against her. Cold feet a turn-on. There was no accounting for some people's tastes.

            His hand was creeping further over her breast. Had she been going back to sleep she would have stopped him. But now that she was awake, she felt herself warming to the idea of......but first they had to settle something.

            'Are you going to carry on with this investigation?'

            'Yes,' he said immediately.

            'I see.'

            'Look, Shirl, it's just something I've got to do. There were already one or two things bothering me when I thought Clitheroe had done it. Now I know he didn't do it, there are more things bothering me. I shan't rest until I've sorted it out.'

            'No late nights?'

            'No late nights. Nine to five. Strictly. I promise.'

            'And you'll let me know where you are? I'm worried about you.'

            'Nothing wrong with me. Look!'

He pulled back the bedclothes.

            'I'm not worried about that!'

            'Oh, good!'

His hand was right over her breast, now, and her nipple was beginning to stiffen in response to his gentle touch.

            He moved his hand, suddenly, and for a moment of intense disappointment she thought he was moving away from her, getting up, but instead he reached down under the bedclothes and started to pull her nightdress up.

            'Suppose the kids wake up early?' she whispered.

            'I'll shut the door. Tell them to go back to bed,' he said.

            'Don't you dare start moaning and groaning!'

            'No,' he promised, and his hand was back at her nipple, gently stirring it back into arousal. They were good for each other in bed, always had been. He had learned very quickly what she wanted from him, and he was himself thoroughly undemanding, seeming to know when she would want to be touched, and where, and how often. She hated it when they rowed, loved it when they made up. She did not relish the idea of him continuing with his private investigations, but he was stubborn, and proud, and seemed to have made a full recovery from the shock of seeing his theory evaporate.

            She lifted her buttocks suddenly and pushed backwards, onto him, then reached behind her to help guide him into her with her hand.