Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Julia
“Are you in or out?”
“At a quick glance, I’d say I’m in.”
“He’s in - He doesn’t look too busy. – Sure. I tell the officer on duty to let you through. See you.”
Even though Corinne must have put her hand on the phone, I heard every word she and Reto said. – To be admitted to Major Reto Gubser of the Swiss Federal Police just by calling his assistant was no small privilege. – A privilege I had earned the hard way. – Well, sort of. It started as a cupboard love of two teenagers. Both virgo intacta. – Can you say that of a man? – Well, a boy, actually. – After the act, we both looked at each other and burst out laughing. David and I agreed that there was far too much fuss about such a short time of dubious pleasure. It is unlikely for pure beginners to experience ecstasy while doing it, n’est-ce pas? Since that day, I have experienced sheer ecstasy. Although not with David. – Never with him.
“Miss Silvercrest, you can go through now. Major Gubser’s office is…”
“I know. Sorry. I’ve been here before,” I said to the officer. I was about to walk through the door when I felt a hand on my arm.
“He moved recently,” the officer said and kept his hand on my arm. I raised an eyebrow and looked at his hand. Reluctantly, he removed it and said, “First floor. Room 111.”
“Thank you, Mr….” I looked for his nametag, but he had forgotten to put it on his uniform shirt.
“Sergeant Meier, Miss Silvercrest.”
“Julia.” – I don’t like to be addressed formally.
“May I give you my phone number?” Sergeant Meier asked brazenly.
I arched an eyebrow once more and replied, “My boyfriend happens to be a member of the Swiss Handball Team. He once accidentally knocked someone out cold, prompting a quick resuscitation. If you’re fine with him occasionally checking my phone, then by all means, proceed.” I suppressed a smile as I observed Sergeant Meier’s reaction. He briskly walked away, leaving me to continue my search for Major Gubser’s new office.
* Corinne
“Julia? – Julia Winterberg? – Sorry, I mean Vargas?” Reto asked with a glint in his eyes and a quick tongue over his lips. – It took all my strength to keep a straight face. – Men! – All the same! – They lose their minds as soon as they see a pretty face. Admittedly, Julia Vargas (née Winterberg) had much more to offer than a pretty face. – Very much unlike me. I have a pretty face, all right, but I’m fat. Not just overweight but unpleasantly obese. There isn’t a diet, medication, treatment – you name it – that I haven’t tried to get weight down with. Only to find out that they made me even fatter.
There were times when I had a real crush on my boss, Major Reto Gubser. But with every pretty female he drooled after, I felt more and more repulsed by the idea of becoming his wife – or at least his mistress. – No man is reliable, but with Reto, I was pretty certain that he had been faithful to Sandra, his wife of thirty-odd years.
“Is it Julia Vargas?” Reto asked, pulling me out of my dark thoughts.
“No. It’s Julia A. Silvercrest,” I replied, observing his face morph from erotic to sclerotic. This time, I couldn’t keep a poker face. I burst into laughter and struggled to stop. A knock on the door brought us both back to reality.
“Shall I buzz her in?”
“Wait, wait. Do you know what she wants?”
“How should I? I haven’t talked to her since she split up with your son.” – I instantly felt a pang of regret when I saw Reto’s face. David Gubser was not an easy person. Sandra and Reto had lived through many taxing situations with their youngest son.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“No need to apologise. – Let her in.”
“Are you sure?”
“We can’t keep her standing in front of our office door, can we?” he said with a trace of hesitation in his voice.
“Are you ready?” I asked just to keep Julia waiting a bit longer.
“As ready as I ever will be,” Reto said with a sigh.
I pushed the button, and there she was – about ten years younger and at least a hundred pounds lighter than me. – I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and I involuntarily crinkled my nose. – Her age didn’t bother me, but I couldn’t help but envy her slender figure. She glanced around, her gaze first landing on Reto and then shifting to me.
“Hi, Corinne. How are you? – Hi Reto, I don’t have to ask you. I can see you’re fit as a butcher’s dog.”
“What do you want?” Reto asked, his tone moody.
“I must say, you’re not very friendly, Reto. – What have I done to deserve your hostility?”
“Let’s not delve into that. – I’m rather busy. So, I ask you again: what is it you want from me?”
“Mike Winterberg. – I’m interested in his story,” she said, looking defiantly at Reto. This is never a good strategy. But then again, she should know better. She’d been Reto’s son’s girlfriend long enough. I glanced at my smartwatch, trying to guess how long it would take Reto to kick her out.
Reto pressed his lips together, resembling a petulant child asked by one of his parents to do something he adamantly refused to do. I nearly burst out laughing; they looked utterly ridiculous. Julia never took her eyes off Reto, and he certainly didn’t want to be the first to blink. – I began to admire Julia’s figure, but it also saddened me, which prevented me from chuckling at her expense.
Julia eventually relented and broke eye contact. I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take her to realise that she needed something from Reto, not the other way around. She had charmed the son, but there was no love lost between her and the father.
“Reto, please…” Julia pleaded.
“Don’t ‘Reto’ me!” Reto snapped. “I have daughters who are older than you!”
“Fine. – Mr. Gubser? – Major Gubser? – Superintendent Gubser? – What shall I call you?” Julia asked, placing a hand on her hip while giving a mock little wave with her other hand, reminiscent of scenes from 17th-century movies. – She was certainly pushing her luck. And Reto was gargantuanly pissed with her.
“Say: ‘Goodbye, Mr Gubser. I apologise for having the sheer tenacity to turn up after I made a complete fool of you by going public with sensitive information about an ongoing investigation and for being an insufferable pain in the…’”
“No, no, there’s no need to blow your top, dear sweet Mr Gubser,” Julia lilted. – It made me almost puke.
“I’m neither ‘dear’ nor ‘sweet’. Leave. – Please.” He added with forced politeness.
Julia held her ground firmly. “Okay, you’re right. I made a mess, and I apologise. I’ve addressed it in person, in writing, and directly to you and your bosses in Bern. Haven’t I?”
Reto’s lips formed a tight, straight line, his eyes simmering with suppressed anger.
“As you said, I’m younger than your children. So, perhaps you could cut me some slack?”
“Smack seems more probable,” Reto murmured, his voice barely audible.
Julia caught his comment and remarked, “You know me. If I go public with what I know about the Mike Winterberg paedophile case, you’ll be furious when you see my hit-or-miss report and regret not providing more information.”
Reto’s eyes widened, and his chin fell in astonishment. It was the final straw. I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. They both turned to me, neither appreciating my reaction.
Reto closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. Julia and I exchanged glances, sharing a conspiratorial Cheshire cat smile, though we both remained silent. After what felt like an eternity, Reto finally opened his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.
“Oh, all right then. Sit down. I’ll give you something to go on,” he relented. Julia swiftly pulled out a chair from under the small table near the entrance and seated herself with such speed that Reto couldn’t help but smile. Settling back into his swivel chair behind his desk, he placed his hands, palms down, on the desktop, forming a right angle with his lower and upper arms. With a determined expression, he fixed his gaze on Julia, silently conveying the expectation for her to listen without interruption. In response, she instinctively mimicked zipping her lips with her forefinger and thumb joined at their tips.
Reto raised an eyebrow and paused, taking another deep breath before stating, “You can’t address the Mike Winterberg case yet. However, you can delve into the late Marc Du True’s story.”
Julia A. Silvercrest, a youthful and passionate aspiring journalist, struggled to mask her emotions. She frowned, preparing to respond, but Reto interjected, “Just hear me out, please.” Julia reluctantly nodded and tuned in attentively.
I observed them both with fascination. Julia seemed to have achieved her objective – well, almost, anyway. Reto appeared more at ease; I might even venture to say he began to relish Julia’s attention. She leaned forward in her excitement, inadvertently revealing more than she might have intended through the deep-cut neckline of her white silk blouse.
My audible sigh went unnoticed as they were completely absorbed in each other.
“Marc Du True was a paedophile child abuser and notorious porn actor, drug addict and drug dealer and if I consult his file, a lot of other heinous things. We know, because Corinne found a video on the Darknet, that he has been tortured and eventually put to death by a bunch of anti-paedophile vigilantes in Germany. – Rightly or wrongly, my esteemed German colleagues are dragging their feet when it comes to investigating his demise. I wouldn’t put it past them to discover that some of their fellow officers were involved in putting him away for good. Corinne meticulously combed through the Darknet with a virtual dragnet and uncovered a wealth of valuable leads. Naturally, we shared these with our colleagues at Interpol and Europol. They arrested several hundred suspects and shut down hundreds of illegal child porn sites and child porn studios. However, it appears they have allowed many high-profile individuals to evade justice due to political pressure from the European Union, the US government, the French government, and the British government. – You get the gist. – Naturally, the Swiss police lack jurisdiction beyond Switzerland’s borders. We can only urge our colleagues abroad to take their fingers out only to a limited extent. Please excuse my French. – Violation of children is the most egregious crime in my book. Despite all conventions, I cannot feel sorry for Marc Du True, who met his end as he did: with meat hooks and cleavers.
Reto paused for effect, locking eyes with Julia as he spoke, “That’s where you come in – if you must. – As an investigative journalist, you have the freedom to go wherever you please. While your press credentials may not open all doors, they will certainly make some suspects nervous. And nervous people tend to make mistakes. Don’t you want to take notes?” Reto asked, his irritation evident.
“I’ve been taking notes since I stepped into your office, Mr Gubser,” Julia replied confidently.
When Reto looked puzzled, Julia explained, “I’ve got a smartwatch.”
Reto glanced at me, seeking clarification. I nodded and silently mouthed, “I’ll explain later.” Seeing his confusion persist, I repeated the gesture more emphatically, “I’ll explain it to you later.”
I noticed Julia struggling to suppress a smile.
Reto looked embarrassed but said confidently, “Corinne will fill you in on her findings, and if she can spare the time, she’ll give you a boost with your investigations. How does that strike you?” Julia attempted to mask her scepticism with a polite expression, though it slipped through in a subtle frown.
“Sounds like a bit of a drawn-out endeavour to me. I was aiming for some more immediate results,” she remarked.
Reto’s scornful response came swiftly. “Ah, the younger generation! Not exactly built for the long haul.”
Julia couldn’t help but grimace at his comment but chose to hold her tongue.
I found myself wearing a smug expression as I noticed Julia’s discomfort. Quickly, I shifted my focus elsewhere, adopting a poker face to conceal my true feelings toward her.
“Well, Miss Silvercrest, it’s one of those vexing ‘take it or leave it’ propositions you often hear about. What’s your decision?” Reto said and folded his arms across his chest.
Julia pursed her lips, contemplating for a moment, then finally nodded in agreement.
“Very well. I bid you a good day,” Reto said, shifting his focus to the disarray of papers spread across his desk.
“I see you out,” I said to Julia. She looked a bit sad but grateful.
As I moved to shut the door behind us, Reto’s voice cut through: “Half an hour. Not a second longer.”
“Sir! Yes, sir!” I replied crisply, knowing full well he disliked the informality.
---
“Shall we head to the cafeteria? I’m in the mood for a cuppa. How about you, Julia?” I suggested, turning to her.
“Hmm, an extra shot of caffeine sounds good,” she mused. “I’ll take a ristretto.”
I chuckled. “I doubt our cafeteria offers that, but if you’re willing to settle for an espresso, I’m sure they can manage.”
“That works, too—anything to kickstart my system. I had a rather rough night,” she confessed, stifling a yawn.
“Pray, do tell! What’s his name?” I quipped, feigning interest as I linked my arm through Julia’s.
“My neighbour’s cat decided to serenade the neighbourhood all night,” Julia explained, her tone dry. “But to feed your insatiable curiosity, Corinne, my current beau is Peter. He’s a handball player, six feet four inches, and fit as a fiddle.”
“And the juicy details?” I pressed, genuinely intrigued this time. It had been so long since I’d even entertained the thought of being intimate with a man.
“Hmm, chances are you’ll never meet him, so I suppose I can indulge you. Much like his role on the team, he’s a midfielder – nothing extraordinary, but a reliable performer. Do you have any other burning questions?” Julia replied, a hint of amusement in her voice.
“Could you slide me his number when you’re done with him?” I joked, and we both laughed as we entered the deserted cafeteria.
Julia insisted on paying for the beverages. Being a member of Generation Z, she did so with the Swiss payment app TWINT. I still had reservations about using my mobile phone for payments. However, I wasn’t as resistant as Reto, who is twenty years my senior and only deals in cash. In fact, he curses like a sailor when he can’t find a slot in the machine to insert his coins or encounters a vendor who refuses to accept cash.
We sat at a tiny coffee table and sipped our cups for a while. Eventually, Julia asked, “Why can’t I run a story on Mike Winterberg?”
I was lost in thought, holding my tea with both hands, when her question finally registered. I cleared my throat and replied, “It’s too early. You’d have to interview his family. Trust me, they haven’t gotten over their loss yet by a long shot.”
“Was it suicide or an accident?” Julia probed.
“You’re a lovely girl, and you show all the signs of becoming a first-rate journalist one day, Julia, but for now, I suggest focusing on the Marc Du True case,” I advised. “Reto hasn’t completely forgiven you yet, but he didn’t kick you out of his office either. So, give him some time, do a good job on what he’s assigned you, and he’ll be more open to discussing Mike Winterberg.” My voice carried a serious undertone, leaving Julia with no doubt that she would be wise to drop her pet project.
“Okay, shoot. What can you tell me about this Marc Du True? Is he Swiss French, Belgian, Canadian, or from the former French colonies?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know. Marc Du True isn’t, or rather wasn’t his real name. Have you ever heard of Marc Dutroux? The real Marc Dutroux, I mean.”
Julia looked confused. “What do you mean by ‘real Marc Dutroux’?”
“Ah, yes, you’re far too young to remember that nasty piece of work. Am I right to assume that you don’t carry a pen and notebook but rely completely on your smartwatch?”
Julia looked puzzled again and said, somewhat irritated, “So what?”
“Well, there’s a Marc Du True and a Marc Dutroux,” I pointed out. Naturally, Julia was lost. However, she caught on.
“Ah, I see. There’s a difference in spelling in the similar-sounding names. Hang on. I’ll key it into my mobile phone.”
She appeared to conjure her iPhone out of thin air, unlocked the screen, and said, “Ready when you are.” Reluctantly, I spelt both names, and Julia typed them into her phone.
“And while you’re at it, look for a name that sounds like Andrei Chikatilo, Red Ripper, or Rostov Ripper.”
“Who is he?”
“Was, thank goodness. – He was the Ukrainian version of Marc Dutroux. He assaulted and killed more than fifty women and children. – He might also have some admirers out there.”
“Thanks for the tip. I will.
When she had finished, she said, “Well, obviously, Marc Dutroux is the original and Marc Du True is the copy. So, who was, or is, this nasty piece of work?”
“From 1975 to 1995, Marc Dutroux, a Belgian scumbag, abducted, raped, tortured, and killed several girls. Some of his victims were only eight years old. – A loathsome man. – You’ll have to do some desk research on him. – Marc Du True, whatever that filth’s real name was, raped Mike Winterberg’s daughter and got what he deserved from an anti-paedophile vigilante group. – It’s all on tape. I advise you not to watch it after you’ve eaten. Even if you know what he did with the Winterberg girl, which is also on tape, the things they’ve done to him are hard to stomach,” I cautioned her. But knowing Julia, she would do whatever she pleased.
“I see. Well, thank you. Forewarned is forearmed, I guess,” Julia ventured. “I get those tapes – or links, rather – from you?”
“I have both films on my private laptop. Drop by this evening around seven and bring a pen drive. Trust me; you don’t want to watch them online. And while you do, wrap your mobile phone and the keyboard of your laptop in aluminium foil.”
“As bad as that? You start to scare me,” Julia said, concerned.
“It’s beyond your wildest imaginations.”
We sat in complete silence for a while. I’ll give Reto a piece of my mind when I see him. His assignment to Julia brought back memories I could do well without. Julia yanked me out of my thoughts again by asking, “How do I wrap my iPad with aluminium foil?”
I advised, “Just switch off the Wi-Fi connection and hope to go undetected by the omnipresent AI surveillance software.”
“I know what I’ll do; I’ll borrow Peter’s,” Julia chirped.
“If you want to visit him in court or jail, that would be a safe option to get him there,” I cautioned her before remembering that I really didn’t care about her or her beau.
Julia stared at me in disbelief and said, “Is it necessary to see these videos, or can you give me their gist?”
“No human language can describe what you will see,” I assured her.
“And please,” I urged her, “don’t show it around. Format, or even destroy, the pen drive once you have watched them.”
“Okay, I will do that. Thanks, Corinne. But you start to scare the living daylights out of me. How shall we keep in touch? How do I let you know what I came up with?”
“Call me, and I will let you know where we can meet.”
Julia’s phone buzzed. She picked it up and said, “Hello, Peter. Can I call you back? I’m in the middle of an investigation. – Oh, okay. I’ll be back home in about half an hour. Yeah. Love you too.” She hung up and glanced at me, a bit embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”
“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m immune to these interruptions,” I lied through my teeth. I almost lost my cool when I saw Julia holding back a remark, which could have been something mean and nasty. Obviously, she realised just in time that she needed my help, and I certainly could do without her gloating at my predicament of singleness.
I checked my watch and said, “Reto won’t keelhaul me for spending more than half an hour with you, but we should still try to respect his time limit. Men can be so passionate about lack of respect, can’t they?”
“Sure. Sorry, I didn’t mean to delay you.”
“I’ll see you out,” I said, silently adding “good riddance” to myself.
We took our cups and placed them on the used dish rack before departing from the cafeteria. We exchanged perfunctory hugs. – I’ll change my clothes and take a shower as soon as I arrive home. – There was a pang of pain and a rush of toxic envy as I watched Julia catwalk away from the police station. Some girls seem to have all the luck!
---
“You’re late,” Reto said when I entered our office.
“Sorry, I took a quick break and checked in on Roger to see how he’s getting along with his new assistant,” I explained.
Reto made a noise between a grunt and an acknowledgement but didn’t look at me. He was obviously still upset because of Julia’s visit.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” I ventured.
Reto lifted his head from his papers, looked at me, and said, “Of course, I’m bloody well worried! She’s too young for such a job, as you darn well know. She could get killed.”
“She wouldn’t cover the annual flower show on the Island Mainau in Constance, Germany. That one likes to stick her neck out,” I remarked, knowing Reto couldn’t contradict my assessment of Julia A. Silvercrest.
“You can say that again. Sticking her neck out is all she seems to enjoy,” Reto said with feeling. There are other things Julia enjoys even more than sticking her neck out. However, I knew it wouldn’t sit well with him in his current mood.
“Why are you always so grumpy with her when you obviously care a lot about her?” I asked.
“Just my charm,” Reto said dismissively. Then he inquired, “How will she update you on her findings?”
“She’ll call me, and then we’ll arrange a place and time to meet – with our mobile phones wrapped in aluminium foil,” I added hastily.
“That was the brainchild of Pat McKenzie – a weirdo if I’ve ever seen one,” Reto remarked.
“I see Julia this evening. Would you like me to pass on anything else besides the two tapes?” I asked.
“Hmm, nothing comes to mind. Remind me: why do we even bother with her?” Reto asked.
“You must be joking! Your son dated her until she ditched him, and you introduced her to me as one of the best upcoming investigative journalists. If I remember correctly, she was still studying for her master’s in journalism at the LSE when you dragged her in to introduce me,” I reminded him.
“Hold it, hold it right there!” Reto cut in. “First, she didn’t ‘ditch’ my son David. They both agreed amicably to split up. Second, she wasn’t just studying journalism at the London School of Economics and Political Science but was pursuing her PhD. Third, I didn’t drag her in. She asked to see one of the most advanced think tanks of criminal investigations. And I, reluctantly, agreed.”
“Reluctantly, my foot! You beamed and strutted all over this place with her clinging to your arm and hanging on every word you said,” I retorted, feeling jealous, recalling how I felt seeing him flirt with her.
Reto blushed, cleared his throat, and said, “Well, there’s nothing wrong in showing a little pride in one’s achievements, is there?”
“No, of course not. But everyone in the office agreed that you made a proper fool of yourself by behaving like a horny teenager around her. To set the record straight, they didn’t split up amicably. David spent a couple of weeks in a psychiatric clinic. As for the LSE, she did her PhD there, but she and David met at the University of Amsterdam. And their extracurricular activities raised eyebrows, especially when they got caught bathing in the raw in one of the Dutch capital’s canals,” I explained.
“What’s your point, Corinne? What are you getting at?” Reto asked, irritated.
“As I said, I just wanted to set the record straight. Neither your son, David, nor Miss Silvercrest has saintly dispositions,” I replied.
“I must admit, David didn’t take it on the chin. Well, he’s gotten over it now, however. Besides, they might get back together sometime down the road,” Reto remarked.
“I hope they don’t, for David’s sake. What’s he doing these days?” I inquired.
“He will leave St Gallen for Zürich at the end of the year to work for the prestigious NZZ,” Reto replied.
“Congratulations! Did you pull some strings to get him in there?” I asked.
“A rather uncalled-for remark, Corinne. I did not need to. David has excellent credentials,” Reto replied.
“I am sorry. Julia seems to have upset me, although I don’t know how and why,” I confessed.
“Shall we return to our duties and serve the public by finding and arresting criminals?” Reto suggested.
“Sir! Yes, sir!” I replied, happy to distract myself from Julia A. Silvercrest.
* Julia
I couldn’t quite figure out Corinne Zimmermann. She seemed pleasant on the surface, but there were moments when I couldn’t shake the feeling that she hated my guts. I couldn’t understand why. I’ve never said a rude word to her. It’s just one of those inexplicable things.
Now, where did I park my vintage Mini Cooper? Thank goodness for the Union Jack on its roof – a distinctive feature that’s helped me locate it time and again in crowded parking lots at the airport or shopping malls.
Finally, I found my car, exited the parking lot, and drove home. Investigating a paedophile pervert instead of the death of the scion of a wealthy German family wasn’t quite the same. Well, Reto obviously felt strongly about this, and helping him out might pay off later.
Speaking of pay... I’d like to know if I’ll find an editor willing to print a story like this. Nowadays, it’s increasingly challenging to publish controversial subjects that don’t adhere to the prevailing norms of woke and cancel culture.
Well, Dad has to keep doling out my allowances for a little while longer. He and Mum are loaded anyway. Come to think of it, Dad never disclosed his earnings as an investment banker at UBS. Whatever it is, it’s not my field. I followed in Mum’s footsteps by becoming a journalist.
Come to think of it. She didn’t disclose what The Economist pays her either. Why is everyone so secretive about money?! – Well, at least Rita shared her earnings as a paediatrician at the Kantonsstipal in St Gallen with me. I wouldn’t mind pulling in 20k Swiss Francs a month. According to Google, I won’t even make a quarter of that.
You’re a spoiled brat, Julia Silvercrest – big dreams, big mouth, and no talent at all. I got the shallow end of the Rüdisüli and Silvercrest genes. – Oh, for crying out loud! I forgot to turn left! – I wonder who claims that women are able to multitask. If they are, I’m the exception that proves the rule.
At least Dad had the good sense to adopt Mum’s family name. Silvercrest sounds much more sophisticated than Rüdisüli. Didn’t they have to marry in the UK because Switzerland didn’t allow Dad to take on Mum’s name? – I’ll ask Mum.
What motherfucking asshole has taken my parking lot?! – Oh, it’s just one of those days! – Where the heck will I find a space to park my car? – Ah, I know. I put it on George’s. He won’t be home until 6 p.m. – There we go… That’s done. And now I make sure that good-for-nothing piece of crap doesn’t take my parking lot again.
A brief video clip is all it takes to prove he dumped his clunker in my parking spot. Policewoman Sylvia – what’s her last name? – will handle it. So, that’s sorted. I need to get home pronto before I have an accident.
“Hey, Baby!” Peter chirped as he heard the entrance door open and close.
“Don’t you ‘Baby’ me, Peter! I’ve told you a thousand times! We’re neither Yanks nor in a parent-child relationship!” I snapped. – Seriously, I don’t know why I put up with him. He’s as thick as two short planks. I wonder as I send my handbag flying. – Great! The handbag landed on the sofa, spilling at least half its contents. Well, I’ll sort that out later. I have to find that darn thing first.
“Can I help?” Peter asks timidly.
“Yeah, you can. Keep your mouth shut, and let me find that goddamn wheel clamp we bought a couple of weeks ago,” I snap. He turns around, marches into the study, takes his mobile phone and starts to text me. He knows I always rush to see who has sent me a message.
The chimes of Big Ben confirm my suspicion. “You’d make a much better comedian than a handball midfielder, Peter. Why can’t you tell me?” I say, exasperated.
“No need to be rude, Julia. Besides, you told me to shut my mouth, didn’t you?” Peter retorts, further irritating me.
But when he enfolds me in his arms and says, “I fetch it from the cellar and clamp it onto that arsehole’s car, all right?” I almost forgive him.
“You should have done that yesterday,” I say, giving him a quick kiss on the lips before gently pushing him away, feeling the firmness of his well-toned pectoralis major as I do so.
“At least put on your jeans, Peter. I’ve asked the police to tow the vehicle immediately. They might catch you in your oversized boxer shorts. But who knows? You might get lucky; there are some real beauties in the force,” I tease him cheekily.
“Thanks for the tip, Ba… Julia. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Peter replies.
He isn’t even out the door when I sprint to the loo to answer nature’s very urgent call. What a relief! – Damn, it! I’ll have to gather the stuff that spilt out of my handbag. Where the hell is my purse? Ah, where else? On the floor, halfway under the sofa.
Oops. What’s this? A picture of David Gubser. My, my, I should’ve tossed that one away a long time ago. Why do first loves have to end in tragedies? I muse, only to hear Peter’s voice from behind.
“Now, THIS is a nice sight for sore eyes!” Peter exclaims.
I shoot up straight, tightly holding the hem of my pleated skirt to my thighs and turn around with a crimson face. “Sorry, I had to go for a... never mind... I put my panties in the laundry and hadn’t had time to put on fresh ones.”
“No need to apologise at all,” Peter says with scintillating eyes, then adds, “Fancy a knee-trembler?”
“No, not now. The police might be here any minute,” I respond, although I can feel my body respond to his offer.
“After they’ve gone?” he suggests.
“We’ll see,” I reply coyly.
