'Til Death (DI Steven Marr Book 1) - UK Crime Fiction Whodunnit Thriller by SP Edwards Page B
Authors: SP Edwards
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if what was going on had lasted. And then, one too many glasses of wine at a bar after a twelve hour shift, she’d just come out with it. Becky definitely hadn’t asked.
Sam had done it with the air of someone who felt guilty, but the truth was just that she was absolutely bursting to tell someone: it was a real load off.
Why Becky? Well, the obvious answer was that she’d been there. But really, Sam couldn’t think of anyone better to tell. Sensible, reasonable, non-judgmental Becky. Sure, if you were being cynical, you could say that Becky was a rival for promotion. If you were being non-cynical, Marr was friendly with her, and Sam was asking her to pick sides.
So, not Sam’s proudest moment.
But, despite all that, Becky was a friend. Even if she was his friend, too.
And someone, Sam had to admit, who was as close to being a real friend as Sam had, even if she was friends with Marr as well.
‘Are you doing alright?’ Becky asked.
Sam nodded.
‘Well as can be expected, I suppose.’
‘It’s still going on?’
Sam thought of her bedroom the other night, and nodded.
‘Do you think it will carry on, now?’
‘I don’t know’ Sam said, surprised to find that she was being truthful. Marr was married, yes. But that didn’t mean much to a certain type of man: just look at Gregor Stanic. He loved Anna, Marr loved Lizzie. And yet, and yet…
But now there was a baby; a baby . Something that he really would care for unconditionally; something that he really would sacrifice anything for. He’d sacrifice his marriage for the kid if he had to, but he’d sacrifice a bit-on-the-side well before that.
‘I guess babies do change everything.’
‘You and Alex ever consider it?’
Becky shook her head.
‘Not yet. Another five years or so, I think so. When we’ve got enough saved to move somewhere a bit nicer. The last thing we want is a baby in a one bedroom apartment. There’s barely enough room there for our gerbils.’
Sam smiled.
‘You’ll be alright, though?’ Becky asked.
‘Eventually,’ Sam replied, again not entirely sure if she meant it. In the grand scheme of things, she’d be fine; men were men – replaceable enough. For now, though, she couldn’t help but think of Lizzie, and the way her skin glowed, and how some things really, really didn’t seem fair.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Marr was on his way to have another talk with Thomas Coulthard when his mobile rang. It was Alex.
‘Boss, something interesting’s just come through from DI West.’
Rachel West was part of uniform, and had trained alongside Marr.
‘Interesting? I’m going to need more selling than that, Alex.’
‘Alright then boss; bloody interesting. A binman called up 999 this morning, nearly had his finger taken off with a hunting knife that someone had stuffed into their garbage.’
No way, Marr thought. Not a fucking chance.
‘And would you care to guess exactly whose garbage played host to this blade – sorry, this blade with dried blood on it?’
‘You sound like you’re on a quiz show, Alex.’
‘You did say sell it.’
‘Fair point. Caroline Marcus?’
‘Oh, better: Gregor Stanic. He’s already at the station.’
Marr cut the call. This case had already been irritating him, now it had reared up and was treating him to a non-stop round of ‘stop hitting yourself’.
He pulled over into a service station to fill up, and called up Thomas Coulthard to delay their meeting. He did want to speak to him – well as much as you could want to speak to someone like that – but it would have to wait for the moment.
He thought about calling Sam, but – hating himself slightly – he bottled it and decided to call Becky instead. As fate – or a vindictive god – might have it, it was Sam who picked up anyway.
‘Becky’s driving,’ she said.
‘We’ve found the murder weapon – the one used to kill Anna Markham. Probably, anyway: it’s turned up in Greg
Sam had done it with the air of someone who felt guilty, but the truth was just that she was absolutely bursting to tell someone: it was a real load off.
Why Becky? Well, the obvious answer was that she’d been there. But really, Sam couldn’t think of anyone better to tell. Sensible, reasonable, non-judgmental Becky. Sure, if you were being cynical, you could say that Becky was a rival for promotion. If you were being non-cynical, Marr was friendly with her, and Sam was asking her to pick sides.
So, not Sam’s proudest moment.
But, despite all that, Becky was a friend. Even if she was his friend, too.
And someone, Sam had to admit, who was as close to being a real friend as Sam had, even if she was friends with Marr as well.
‘Are you doing alright?’ Becky asked.
Sam nodded.
‘Well as can be expected, I suppose.’
‘It’s still going on?’
Sam thought of her bedroom the other night, and nodded.
‘Do you think it will carry on, now?’
‘I don’t know’ Sam said, surprised to find that she was being truthful. Marr was married, yes. But that didn’t mean much to a certain type of man: just look at Gregor Stanic. He loved Anna, Marr loved Lizzie. And yet, and yet…
But now there was a baby; a baby . Something that he really would care for unconditionally; something that he really would sacrifice anything for. He’d sacrifice his marriage for the kid if he had to, but he’d sacrifice a bit-on-the-side well before that.
‘I guess babies do change everything.’
‘You and Alex ever consider it?’
Becky shook her head.
‘Not yet. Another five years or so, I think so. When we’ve got enough saved to move somewhere a bit nicer. The last thing we want is a baby in a one bedroom apartment. There’s barely enough room there for our gerbils.’
Sam smiled.
‘You’ll be alright, though?’ Becky asked.
‘Eventually,’ Sam replied, again not entirely sure if she meant it. In the grand scheme of things, she’d be fine; men were men – replaceable enough. For now, though, she couldn’t help but think of Lizzie, and the way her skin glowed, and how some things really, really didn’t seem fair.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Marr was on his way to have another talk with Thomas Coulthard when his mobile rang. It was Alex.
‘Boss, something interesting’s just come through from DI West.’
Rachel West was part of uniform, and had trained alongside Marr.
‘Interesting? I’m going to need more selling than that, Alex.’
‘Alright then boss; bloody interesting. A binman called up 999 this morning, nearly had his finger taken off with a hunting knife that someone had stuffed into their garbage.’
No way, Marr thought. Not a fucking chance.
‘And would you care to guess exactly whose garbage played host to this blade – sorry, this blade with dried blood on it?’
‘You sound like you’re on a quiz show, Alex.’
‘You did say sell it.’
‘Fair point. Caroline Marcus?’
‘Oh, better: Gregor Stanic. He’s already at the station.’
Marr cut the call. This case had already been irritating him, now it had reared up and was treating him to a non-stop round of ‘stop hitting yourself’.
He pulled over into a service station to fill up, and called up Thomas Coulthard to delay their meeting. He did want to speak to him – well as much as you could want to speak to someone like that – but it would have to wait for the moment.
He thought about calling Sam, but – hating himself slightly – he bottled it and decided to call Becky instead. As fate – or a vindictive god – might have it, it was Sam who picked up anyway.
‘Becky’s driving,’ she said.
‘We’ve found the murder weapon – the one used to kill Anna Markham. Probably, anyway: it’s turned up in Greg
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