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Men diddling their secretaries was common as muck, and John got to meet plenty of them in this job. Usually when they'd had something nicked. The secretary was always young and busty and often blonde, and if the boss wasn't knocking her off yet it couldn't be long before he started 'working late'.
Mrs Eileen Connolly was neither young nor blonde, though she did have a formidable bust. And if her boss was to be believed, she was what he'd been doing all last night.
"D'you really believe him? That they were at it all night so she couldn't have done it? He doesn't look like he's got the stamina." John leaned back in his chair and fiddled with a pen, trying to imagine it.
"That's their story and they're sticking to it. They're a pretty unlikely couple, if so. She must be old enough to be his mother." Gently had his back to John as he flicked through some papers on his own desk.
"Well, he's her boss, inn'ee? There's a lot of it about. He just tells her there's something that wasn't in the job description. She doesn't want to make a fuss or get sacked with a bad reference."
"Yeah, but she's not a silly young secretary and he's not Romeo. She's twice his age, and we know she has the money to tell him to go to hell. It's got to be something more than the chain of command. If I said to you, Sergeant, suck me off, you wouldn't do it. It wouldn't matter if I was the chief constable himself."
"Too right," John muttered. "Don't go getting any ideas." His fashionably long hair hid that his ears were going red. He hoped.
The inspector turned round, eyebrows raised sardonically, mouth open as if to speak -
"Sir, got a woman wanting to speak with you about the case, a Mrs Connolly?"
God bless Taylor.
Eileen Connolly was as formidably Irish as her name, and dealing with her took care of the horrible lurching in John's stomach. He started off the interview furiously silent, then laid into her when he saw an opening.
"It seems to me," said Gently, "that this job demands a certain amount of loyalty from you."
She saw what he was getting at immediately.
"I've got my husband's army pension to live on. I stay in this job to look after Gerry."
"'Looking after' is one of putting it." John put his elbows on the table and gave Mrs Connolly the smarmiest look he could summon.
She looked at him like he was an insect.
"Don't be grubby." Her voice was frosty. "I'm a widow and he's a bachelor. Our relationship is our own business."
It was terribly tempting to say Does he call you Mam in bed, then? But Gently gave him a look like he was thinking about hauling John out into the corridor to tell him off, like he knew exactly what John was thinking. So he contented himself with:
"Well, it's a bit odd, innit? Aren't you old enough to be his mother?"
"I don't suppose you say that when it's married men having it with nineteen year olds too young to know better!"
"Why would I? They don't care. They think it makes 'em look big in front of their mates. Man's only as old as the woman he feels."
Mrs Connolly pulled a fantastically sour expression at this piece of sophistry that was in fact quoted verbatim from a witness in a case last year. But John simmered down, and they got what they needed out of Mrs Connolly: a watertight alibi.
Back in the cramped smoky office, John threw himself into a chair and sighed. She'd been such a promising suspect, too - the overlooked, unappreciated secretary. Who it turned out was being very much appreciated in the bedroom. John gloomily contemplated that a fifty-four year old woman was getting more sex than him.
"Here," said Gently, pushing over the plate of biscuits Taylor had provided along with the tea. "Might sweeten you up a bit."
Too much to hope that his fit of temper might go unremarked. Like being told off by his dad, it was.
John went home to his little flat, one step up from a bedsitter by virtue of having its own bathroom. It did him fine. What did he need with more room, more crap? He kept expecting to miss the little house he'd shared with Lisa, but he didn't. The nursery, sometimes. But the family dinners, the warmth and stability, the marital bed - he kept trying to summon up feelings about them, but his sense-memory remained anaemic. Most divorced men said they missed being married, even if they didn't miss their wives. John had been married and now he wasn't.
He didn't go out on the pull much these days. He'd tried it, after the divorce (to say nothing of during his marriage). The sex hadn't been worth it. It was the promise of sex, the thrill of the chase - the culmination in bed was never as satisfying as the promise.
He still thought about sex, though, thought about it all the time. Always had. Gently grumbled that he was oversexed when he caught him looking at women. Well, it wasn't any of his business, was it? It was normal for widowers Gently's age not to pant after attractive women, but not for a man John's age.
But Gently must surely have some sex feeling. He didn't leer at women or so much as crack a joke about WPC Richards's tits, but he must notice. Maybe even that Connolly woman, who clearly had some sexual power. The hanky-panky she got up to with her thirty year old boss must be mind-blowing. John did like women with a bit of experience.
Nah, he couldn't wank to Eileen Connolly. He rolled onto his side on the double bed that needed its sheets changed. He closed his eyes and thought about WPC Richards's tits. Women's uniforms were more flattering to the leg than the chest, but her breasts were fighting valiantly to be noticed anyway. Lovely handful, they'd be.
She'd suck him off nicely. The simulacrum of Richards in his imagination was eager for it, taking charge, making him lie on the bed while she bent over his crotch. Alone in his flat he pushed down his trousers to get his cock out. Warm, wet, steady suction.
Suck me off, sergeant. Not words the governor would ever say to him, but now John knew how he'd say it if he did.
John wouldn't do it if Gently ordered him, obviously. He'd laugh derisively, get angry about it, maybe leave the room (even in his imagination he couldn't envision himself hitting Gently). It was unthinkable.
He pressed his face harder into his pillow. Get on your knees, said the Gently of his imagination. And John would have to do it. Maybe Gently could be blackmailing him. Maybe he could say he was teaching John a lesson. It's for your own good, sergeant.
The floor of their shared cramped office would be hard on his knees as he crawled over to Gently, sitting in his usual chair. Gently would have his prick out already. John could imagine it perfectly. He'd made sure to get a good look at the urinals. Every man checked out the man next to him at the trough, though it was polite to be discreet so he didn't get the wrong idea. He hadn't got a proper look the first time, so he'd kept looking each time afterwards, to be sure. He didn't think Gently had noticed - he'd have made a crack about if he had.
John would burn with humiliation and anger at being forced, but he'd have no choice but to lean forward and let his boss push the head of his cock into his mouth. It would be - John could imagine the salty taste of skin mixed with bleachy semen. Curled up in his own bed, he swallowed.
He'd suck the thick, hot organ that had been pushed into his mouth. He wouldn't have a choice. No-one could blame him. The fat head would force down his tongue and push against his soft palate.
It invaded his mouth and all his senses, stretching his jaw wide. Gently didn't tell him off for being bad at it. He forced John's head down onto his cock and directed him just as he liked. All John had to do was stay still and get his mouth fucked. Gently's hand was tight in his hair, You should get this cut, you know, the other feeding more of his cock into John's mouth so he was completely full of it.
And Gently liked it, he liked John sucking him off. He was pleased with John for doing a good job, even though he wasn't doing anything but being still and open and wet. He pulled John's hair, he made short bitten-off noises under his breath, and his cock pulsed in John's mouth like a living thing. His rough weathered hand was heavy as it cupped the back of John's neck.
John put the telly on once he'd washed his hands. He watched the individual colours of the cathode rays and tried not to think about anything in particular.