Tempting Fate

Carl Forester, a not so successful private investigator, lounged on the decking of his caravan, nibbled at his toast, and admired the picturesque view of Lake Windermere. Several colourful yachts drifted on the calm, pond like surface of the lake, and Forester was envious of the owners. One day, he promised himself, he would own such a wondrous craft, but with business less than thriving, that day may be just a pipedream.

He sipped his tepid coffee and heard the approaching sound of a motor, which heralded the return of his wife, Gemma. She carried the groceries towards the caravan, and Forester noticed that several of the male occupants of other caravans paid her too much attention. His jealousy by now was curtailed, as he was accustomed to her admirers ogling his redheaded wife with the hourglass figure and the ample bosom.

After putting away the groceries, Gemma joined her husband. She placed the newspapers before him, before she settled back on her lounger, with her long slender legs resting on the veranda. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and pestered her husband once more. "Darling, how about we go abroad next year? I mean, the Lake District is beautiful, but we’ve been coming here for seven years now. I’m sure we could save…”

“Not again,” moaned Forester, abandoning the story of President Obama visiting the Queen. “We have this same bloody conversation every year. When business picks up, then perhaps I’ll consider a holiday abroad. Besides, you said yourself you like it here. You have beautiful scenery, serenity, and sunshine. What more could you possibly want?”

“An exotic beach with palm trees, clear blue waters, constant sunshine, and a permanent tan. Anything appeals more than this inconsistent weather.”

Forester scowled. “Such holidays cost money; money we don’t have.”

“And whose fault is that? I mean, you were earning more money as a plod… You and your romantic, absurd dreams. We live in York and not Los Angeles, Carl. Insurance scams and spying on cheating spouses hardly compares with Sam Spade.”

Forester ignored the moans of his wife and returned to his newspaper. A yacht passed close to the shore and the two young sailors wolf whistled at Gemma. She smiled, welcoming the boisterous attention.

Forester peered over his newspaper and gave the youths his middle finger. “If you didn’t dress like a bloody teenager on heat, then you wouldn’t attract all of this undue attention. You’re thirty-two, Gemma, so act your age, eh?”

He read on, until he came across an article that interested him greatly. “No. This cannot be… He’s only gone and done it, hasn’t he?”

Gemma removed her sunglasses and squinted, her large blue eyes registering disinterest. “Who’s done what, Carl?”

“Gregory Lonsdale’s wife, Sally and his business partner, Peter Fancourt were drowned in the Indian Ocean.”

“Who?” shrugged Gemma.

“Lonsdale was the barrister who hired me in April to investigate his wife. He believed she was having an affair with Fancourt.”

“So.”

Forester prodded his newspaper. “He hired me to follow his wife, and I discovered she was secretly meeting with Fancourt. I was unable to gain access to Fancourt’s flat, as it is a security-based establishment. So, I report my findings to Lonsdale and suggest that with more time, I could find sufficient evidence. He disagreed; paid me handsomely before he dismissed me.”

Gemma lit up a cigarette. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

Forester rolled his eyes. “Don’t you find it strange that Lonsdale’s wife and her lover are drowned, just two months after he discovered about their affair?”

Gemma frowned. “So who’s this Fancroft?”

“Fancourt? He was an associate of Lonsdale’s, and according to this report, they were very close friends… Funny, but Lonsdale never mentioned to me he knew Fancourt. Anyway, they were aboard Lonsdale’s yacht in Mauritius, and Sally and Fancourt went for a dip. They apparently drifted away from the yacht and ran into difficulties, whilst Lonsdale was taking a nap… How bloody convenient.”

Gemma pondered. “Don’t you think you’re being overdramatic? Yes, he had a motive, but murder seems a bit excessive… What will you do?”

“Do? I’ll go to the police. What choice do I have?”

The yacht passed once more and the wolf whistles resumed. Forester this time ignored them. “Lonsdale seemed so possessive and I could see the anger in his eyes.”

Gemma ground out her cigarette. “And you really think he planned this murder?”

“Yes, I do. I have no choice but to tell the police. Wait here for me. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“Wait!” insisted Gemma. She licked her lips, her eyes unblinking. “Sit down, Carl and let us think… For seven shitty years you’ve been doing this job, and for what? Twenty pounds per hour plus expenses. It hardly pays the rent for the office. Certainly not enough for us to be able to afford that yacht you always craved for.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is leading, Gemma.”

She grinned and caressed his hands. “Blackmail. He’s a wealthy barrister, who owns a yacht and takes exotic holidays. He must be worth a bob or two.”

******

For the remainder of the day, the impoverished private investigator considered his options. As he lay in bed that night, his mind was made up.

Forester strode towards the impressive office block in Essex Court. His heart beat double time and his mouth was dry. The receptionist glanced up at the northerner and offered a false smile. “Good morning. Can I help you?”

“I’d like to see Mr Lonsdale, please.”

“Do you have an appointment, sir?”

“No, I don’t, but I’m sure he’ll want to see me.”

The secretary removed her spectacles. “Without an appointment, I’m afraid you…”

Forester strode intently towards the office that displayed the nameplate of Gregory J Lonsdale. He entered the office to confront the bearded barrister, who was reading through a list of documents.

The flustering secretary interrupted. “I’m sorry, Mr Lonsdale, but he…”

“Okay, Joan. You can leave us alone.”

Lonsdale studied the face of his visitor, and his face showed no emotion. “You only had to ring for an appointment. I do hope that this intrusion is necessary. As you may or may not know, I am grieving for my wife and friend.”

Forester uninvitingly sat opposite the barrister, his confidence growing. “Your grief is not so great, eh? After all, your wife died only four days ago, yet you've returned to work.”

The barrister cleared his throat. “I resent your implication. Some people find solace in their work when dealing with grief. Now kindly state your business and then leave.”

Forester took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll get straight to the point. I want £250,000 or I’ll tell the police everything.”

Lonsdale raised an eyebrow before grinning. “Tell the police what?” The barrister fumbled beneath the table and wittingly activated a recording machine. “Who exactly are you?”

Forester narrowed his eyes. “What? You know exactly who I am.”

Lonsdale seemed smugly satisfied. “I’ve never set eyes on you before in my life. You dare to barge into my office and demand £250,000. For what exactly?”

“What game are you playing, Lonsdale? You hired me to follow your wife and lover, and now they’re both dead... Let me offer you this scenario. Your wife and lover went for a dip, and you sailed away, leaving them to the perils of the ocean. Am I getting warm?”

The barrister chuckled. “Let me get this right. You’re insinuating that my wife was having an affair with Peter Fancourt?”

“You know they were.”

The smirk on Lonsdale’s face was now more prominent. “That would be impossible, if not immoral. You see, Peter was homosexual, but not only that…he was the brother of my wife.”

The blood visibly drained from the face of Forester. “You sick bastard! That’s it. You leave me no choice but to go to the police.”

“And I can guarantee, whoever you are, that you will be arrested before you reach the police station.”

Forester smiled. Aren’t you forgetting something? I’ve logged the details of our meetings, and also have taped telephone conversations. Such incompetence from a renowned barrister.”

The barrister shrugged. “I hardly think so. Anyway; if you did hire me as you claim, then produce the monetary transactions.”

Forester mused. “You paid me in cash… Just what’s going on here?”

“Close the door on the way out, will you.”

******

Gemma sat waiting in the visitor’s room in Brixton prison. The appearance of her husband, Carl shocked her. Even though he was only four weeks into his three years prison sentence for blackmail, his face appeared gaunt and he was unshaven. He sat opposite his wife and smiled half-heartedly.

“How are you, Gemma? How is my appeal coming along?”

Gemma grinned. “You fool. You bloody sanctimonious fool. There will be no appeal.”

Forester frowned. “Just what the fuck are you talking about? What’s going on?”

“I want a divorce.”

“What!”

“I’ve met someone else… Actually, he’s a successful barrister who owns his own yacht. In fact, I’ve been having an affair with him now for three months.”

Forester smiled. “This is not funny. I’m locked up in this shithole of a prison and you can joke?”

“But, I’m not joking, Carl… Come on. Use that modicum of detective skills you claim to possess and work it out.”

Forester pondered. Gemma’s face was stern and displayed no signs of mirth. “Barrister? Not…”

“Gregory Lonsdale,” interrupted Gemma. “You see, we hatched this plot to rid ourselves of Gregory’s wife, and of course you darling. Fancourt, I’m afraid is merely an innocent pawn in this elaborate game, but his death was necessary, to lure you into believing that Gregory murdered them both.”

Forester was now utterly confused. “But, Lonsdale did kill them both, right?”

Gemma ensured they were not overheard before she continued. “Of course he did… Okay, enough teasing. Gregory reported the death of his wife and friend to the police. When the press initially interviewed him, he omitted the fact that Fancourt and Sally were brother and sister. You see, if you read that detail, then this could not have worked.”

“But, how did you know I would blackmail Lonsdale?”

Gemma’s eyes brightened. “I was the one who suggested it, if you recall.”

The realism of the situation hit Forester. “You cow! You conniving cow. It was you who tore the entries from my appointment book, wasn’t it?”

“Of course, darling. I also erased the telephone conversations. With no proof of your business with Greg, he’s in the clear. He taped your later conversation, pretending of course not to know you. You get done for blackmail, Sally is eliminated, and we get each other.”

Forester snarled. “So what’s to stop me from going to the police with this information?”

“And tell them what? Yes, they may find it suspicious that I fell into the arms of my husband’s rival, but there’s absolutely no proof… Isn’t the British justice system wonderful?”

Forester grimaced. “Well, there’s no way I’m going to grant you a divorce.”

Gemma rose from her seat and winked. “Really? I can seek a divorce on immoral grounds; and oh, I know a rather brilliant barrister… Carl, darling; if you wish to contact me, I’ll be in the Bahamas. Bye, bye.”