Stephen saw Monk from a distance as he returned to the hotel. Recognising the figure sitting on the terrace, he injected a spring into his weary step and ran a handkerchief over a mouth still smarting from Miriam's ardent kisses. He was fucked out and he was sure he looked it too. On the other hand, his scars had been won in the heat of battle and he had important information to impart.
There was an empty glass by Monk's elbow and, for a moment, Stephen thought he caught a whiff of alcohol. Surely not. Monk was the only teetotal Scotsman on the force, it was well known.
'I've had a result, sir,' he announced as he took a seat.
Monk did not acknowledge his presence.
Stephen tried again. 'I think we've got her, sir.'
Monk slowly turned his head. 'Got who?' he asked.
'Bra-less Brenda, sir. That is, Julia Jarvis.'
'Julia,' muttered Monk. 'The bonny Julia.'
'Precisely, sir. I found—'
'Do you like poetry, Stephen?'
'Not much, sir. But my mum used to be a Pam Ayres fan.'
'Don't be stupid, lad. I mean real poetry.'
'My love is like a red red rose that's...'
'Stephen, what's the date today?'
'June the twenty-fourth, sir.'
'Precisely! "A red red rose that's newly sprung in June!" Amazing!' He gazed over Stephen's shoulder, his mind engaged elsewhere.
Stephen tried again, shock tactics this time. 'I went into her bedroom, sir.'
That got his attention. 'Julia's?'
'She's got a dark brown wig, sir, and a drawer full of transfers. Lepidoptera extasis.' There was a long silence so Stephen added, 'You know, the butterfly.'
'Of course I bloody well know, Fantail.'
'Sorry, sir.' Funnily enough, this display of irritation made Stephen feel better. He didn't know where he was with an inspector who spouted poetry. His relief did not last long.
'Between you and me, Stephen, I shall probably be resigning in twenty-two hours' time.'
'What?'
'I've got a gun to my head. Only twenty-two hours left in which to catch Brenda.'
'But surely it's Julia Jarvis? How did your interview go?'
'She's got no alibis for any of the robberies.'
'Did she confess?'
'Not in so many words.'
'Well, now you know about the wig and the transfers why don't you arrest her?'
Monk picked up his empty glass and sniffed the dregs. 'Stephen, a man has a dreadful thirst after fifteen years.'
'Would you like another, sir?'
'Indeed I would. But before you get it, tell me why a woman would want to stick butterflies all over her chest.'
'It is a puzzle, sir. I can't help thinking it's to cover up an identifying blemish. Like a mole.'
'Take it from me, Stephen, Julia Jarvis has perfect breasts. Quite, quite flawless.'
'I see, sir.'
'"How sweet unto that breast to cling and round that neck entwine!"'
Stephen stood and picked up Monk's glass. He couldn't stand any more of this poetry business.
'Get me a very large Glenmorangie, Stephen, and leave me to ponder this knotty problem. You look exhausted, I suggest you go to bed.'
And Stephen did just that. But even in his dreams he could not escape. The women of Blisswood came back to haunt him all over again: Fliss with her hot warm mouth on his cock; Miriam with her broad white bottom thrust high in the air; and, spilling out of skintight scarlet bodysuits, two pairs of beautiful strawberry-tipped breasts. Beautiful but not flawless. Their loveliness marred only by two round moles, like chocolate buttons, nestling in the undercurves of their near-perfection.
Julia sat in her office waiting for Melanie and Mercy - which gave her plenty of time to rue her conduct. She shouldn't have thrown herself at the policeman like that. After all, it wouldn't prevent him arresting her, he could deny it ever happened. Her allegations would be construed as a crude smokescreen to get herself off the hook.
So why had she done it? She asked herself the question over and over, even though she knew the answer. It was the way she always reacted when a man had a hold on her. It was why Rodney abused her so freely. She must be a masochist. Besides, she had seen the hunger in Monk's slate-grey eyes. It had been irresistible.
The phone rang. It was the man she least wished to hear from at that moment.
'Hello, darling,' said Rodney. 'Fancy an early-evening stroll to a certain five-barred gate?'
'No!'
'Oh dear, I sense insubordination. I shall have to take you in hand once more, I can tell.'
'Rodney, please!'
'That's better, a pathetic plea for mercy. I can picture you on your knees already.'
'Sod off, Rodney. You've taken advantage of me for the last time.'
'Oh yes? May I remind you that I have an offer of fifty thousand on that land.'
'I don't believe you. It's not worth ten. No one will lend me the money on it - I've tried.'
'Poor Julia. I don't see the problem. Your mother's asses are perfectly safe provided I have access to your pretty posterior. Shall we meet at six by the path through the orchard?'
'You bastard,' she whispered, all resistance gone.
'Don't forget to leave your knickers off. You won't be needing them.'
Julia replaced the receiver in despair. Perhaps she should throw herself on Monk's mercy right away. If she were in jail at least Rodney would have no hold on her. But then the swine would be sure to sell the land and her mother's donkey refuge would cease to exist!
'What am I going to do?' she wailed as her sisters entered the room.
She had intended to shout at them, to vent her fury at their duplicity and selfishness. But her anger had gone. All she felt was fear.
'It's your fault,' she said through her tears. 'I'm going to jail and mummy's going to lose her donkey sanctuary and you two are waltzing around in my car stealing money.'
'Your car?' said Melanie.
'It was seen at the robbery yesterday and you borrowed it. Just like you borrowed it all those other times.'
'We're sorry, Jules,' said Mercy.
'That policeman handed me a list of dates and, when I looked in my diary, I saw that one of you had borrowed the car every time.'
'What did you tell him?'
'I didn't tell him about you two, if that's what you mean. You're in the clear - and I'll end up in jail!' She began to sob in agonising, gut-wrenching heaves.
'Don't be silly,' said Mercy, her arm around her sister's shoulders. 'There are thousands of cars like yours in the country and you must have an alibi for some of those days.'
Julia dabbed her eyes with a bundle of paper tissues. 'I was with Rodney Holmdale at least three times but he'll deny it, I know he will.'
'Don't panic, Julia,' said Melanie. 'We can fix Rodney Holmdale, can't we, Mercy? In fact, that's what this whole lark is all about.'
Julia looked at her sisters in amazement. Could there really be a way out of this?
'When's your next little rendezvous with Hot Rod?'
'This evening at six.'
'Perfect. We'll sort him out so everyone will be happy.'
'Oh, Melanie, could you?'
'You bet. It'll be a nice little warm-up for tonight.'
Julia looked puzzled and the twins began to giggle.
'Julia,' said Mercy, 'it's Midsummer's Eve. Surely you haven't forgotten the orgy?'