Devoke Water

He was starving by the time he reached the cabin. It nestled on the shore in a small bay between two becks. Being the only building on the south side, it could hardly be missed, but seeing the lashed jetty was still a comfort. He took in his surroundings. Not a tree to be seen around the lake. But bizarrely, over to his left, there was a small island covered in them. He wondered why they grew in the middle and nowhere else. Across to his right, on the far shore, was an old stone boathouse. It looked abandoned and spooky.

He made himself as comfortable as possible, behind a rock outcrop. It wasn't raining, but the grass was still wet. In fact, it had been wet underfoot for the whole hike. It was close to lunchtime and Roger opened a flask of soup and sat down. OK, he could put up with this for a few hours. Tonight, he would be sleeping in a warm cabin, with the lovely Susan.

He'd just started on his first sandwich when he heard them approach. God, he was only an hour ahead of them! They crossed the last little beck, both sporting backpacks bigger than his; carrying materials for repairing the jetty.

"These sleeves are heavier than I thought." said Greg. "It's a good job you came too!"

"Are we doing it now, or in the morning? I forget."

"We'll go through our usual routine in the cabin first. Then do it today, while we still have daylight."

Susan disliked routines but this one made sense. She went inside and Greg started the generator. Then he took a while to get the wood burning stove going, using the driest logs from the stack by the stone fireplace. Susan went round and opened all the windows to change the air, and turned on all the taps. Then opened a bottle of red wine, and poured it into the decanter. It was one of a box Greg had brought here on their last visit. Then she went back around and closed the windows and taps, and the cabin warmed up.

She fetched their special goblets. They had been issued after the Lord of the Rings movie. Hers featured Legolas, her favourite; his was Aragorn of course.

"When will we have the wine?" she asked.

"When we've finished the jetty."

She looked at the roofie tab, but decided to put it in his goblet at the last moment. She went and made up the bed.

Three hours later the posts were in place.

"Too cold to admire the sunset outside, let's get into the warm. We'll christen the jetty in the morning and take the boat out for an hour."

They snuggled up on the old settee.

"I'll go and pour the wine now." said Susan, and went into the kitchen.

She returned with their goblets.

"Let's drink a toast." suggested Greg. "Stand up."

They stood in front of the fire.

"To the next Clifford." he announced. "I've got a feeling he or she may be conceived tonight!"

Susan smiled and they clinked goblets.

"I have an idea!" said Greg, excitedly. "Get a pen."

She went to the old sideboard and found one. Greg rushed into the kitchen and returned with the cork and the bottle of wine. They sat on the settee again and Greg wrote on the cork: 17/10/2014, followed by GC, and handed it to Susan.

"Now you put a plus sign under my initials, and add your own. It will be a reminder of this visit to our cabin."

'Our last visit.' she thought.

It was still daylight when Roger saw the signal. He knew which window was the bedroom. Its curtains were closed and the light turned on and off three times. He stood and headed towards the cabin.

Around six pm, the small rowboat made its way to the middle of the lake. There, oars were shipped and it rocked alarmingly as something heavy splashed into the freezing Devoke Water; always cold, any time of the year. The something heavy sank slowly to the bottom of the lake, fortyfive feet below. The only witnesses were some large brown trout. But they were not interested. Not yet anyway.

In the Southport house, the phone rang at five past nine on Sunday morning.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Southport Hire Services. May I speak with Mrs Clifford please?"

"Sorry, she isn't in."

"Oh, do you know when she'll be back?"

"No idea."

"Hi Sarge, can you come down to front desk? Someone wants to report a missing person."

"OK, send them to Interview Room 2."

"Would you like a tea or coffee"

"No thanks. I've seen the tv shows; police refreshments are always awful!"

"Correct. Let's start with your name, and who's missing."

"My name is Greg Clifford. I live at Eight Blackpool Road, Southport. My wife Susan is missing."

"When did you last see her?"

"Friday the seventeenth. I left early to go to our cabin in the Lakes, and she stayed home."

Later, Detective Sergeant Fleming studied his notes.

"Let me just recap events in chronological order. As I understand it, on Thursday the ninth, your wife said she would visit her friend Dee Watson, the following evening. But that Friday night she announced she was actually going out with a younger lover, and you would have to learn to live with it. Then she left 'dressed like whore' to use your own phrase. Can you tell me what she was wearing?"

"A see-through blouse with no bra, and a short skirt. Under the skirt she had no panties; only crotchless tights."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. She lifted the skirt and showed me. Her whole pubic area was on display, and she said Roger would be getting that before she came home."

"And what was your rection to this?"

"I didn't want to lose her. I decided to think about it, and see if she would get it out of her system. I thought it might be a last fling before we started a family."

"Then you went to London overnight on the fourteenth."

"Yes. Before I left, I told Susan she had till the weekend to end her affair, or face divorce. Thursday, I asked her if she wanted to come to the cabin with me next day. She loves the solitude at Devoke Water, and I thought the trip might heal things. She said she'd think about it."

"But she didn't go?"

"No."

"You say you went to the lake by yourself, and carried out repairs to the jetty."

"That's right."

"But you did not stay the weekend, you returned that same night. Why was that?"

"I thought she might be using my absence to have sex with this Roger character. but then I got concerned she might run off with him, and thought they might steal things, or empty the bank accounts."

"And you say nothing was amiss at the house, but your wife was not there. Why did you not report her missing there and then?"

"Because I'd given her till the weekend. She didn't seem to have taken anything of value, so I stuck to my word. Yesterday, Sunday, was her last chance to return, if she'd gone off for a final dirty weekend somewhere."

"And the phone call on Sunday?"

"Some car hire place wanting to speak to her. Now I come to think about it, that really was odd. Her Mercedes is in the garage. So, I can't imagine why she would want to hire another car."

"I'm sorry Mr Clifford, but we'll need to check your house. Can we go there now?"

"Of course, no problem. Like I said, I've seen all the tv shows. So I know I'm a 'person of interest' -- the last one to see her."

('... alive' he thought)

"Thank you for being so understanding. I'll go and find a female colleague."

"Can you come to the bedroom a moment Mr Clifford?" called DC Gorton.

"How can I help?"

"DS Fleming mentioned a lilac blouse; I can't see one. I checked your utility room and there are no clothes, washed or soiled, there, or in the laundry basket."

"God, I never thought."

Greg spent time going through the clothes drawers and wardrobe. Then sat on the bed, head in hands.

"This is going to sound weird, but I don't usually pay much attention to what my wife wears; sorry."

"No need to apologise. Most men don't."

DS Fleming joined them.

"She's taken the same outfit she had on when she went out for sex with him. Lilac blouse and short skirt. And when she raised her skirt, I now recall something else she said."

"Go on."

"She said 'I have eighteen pairs of panties Greg, but when I'm with Roger, I don't wear any.' I've just checked; all eighteen are here. Just her crotchless tights are missing. But strangely, her hiking gear and boots have also gone."

"Pretty comprehensive description, sarge." she said.

"One other thing." said Greg, pulling a Netfix T-shirt from another drawer. "Roger probably works here."

Before they left, the police took details of the location of the cabin, and Greg handed them the key. He sat in the lounge reminiscing over recent events.

Despite Susan's precautions with the gizmo, Greg's long shot had paid off. He'd put Elvis in the bathroom and, after she'd scanned the bedroom, she'd put him back in place. So Greg had witnessed the sex; Susan's trick with the condom was most impressive. But his trick - planting the camera and tape recorder in Elvis - had been inspired. He'd heard full details of the murder plan. From then on, it was simple.

The clinking goblets. Rushing to the kitchen for the cork. Throwing his drugged wine down the sink and pouring himself a fresh one. Dropping his own roofie (Thanks Marcus) while Susan was signing the cork. Once she was out, he'd stripped her naked and laid her on the bed with her arse in the air. Then spiked another wine with two tabs and put it on the coffee table, next to a note leaning against a bottle of anal lubricant.

'First drink all this, Roger, then, take off all your clothes. Get your hands good and warm in front of th fire, and come and give my arse a good reaming!'

Greg had sent the signal from the bedroom, then waited in the kitchen. Roger had drunk the wine, which only started to take effect as he finally managed to get his boots off. He'd nodded off by the fire, trying to remove his wet weather trousers. Greg then re-dressed the lovers in their hiking gear, and carried them to the rowboat. It was dark as they took their trip across the lake. The swim back was exhilarating, despite the freezing water. Dry clothes on, goblets thoroughly washed, cabin locked, and back home.

He could guess what would happen next. Hire car in Susan's name parked up near the lake. The boat would drift back to shore to the lake outlet. The cabin would reveal recent occupation, fire remnants, and the slutty clothes. Either the police would drag the lake, or Susan and Roger would oblige by surfacing of their own accord. There would be suspicions of course. Why had the lovers gone there, so soon after he had? Confrontation? Suicide pact? Whatever, a job well done! Just one last detail to take care of.

Greg went to the bedroom and collected the teddy bear. In the back garden, there was a metal drum for burning rubbish. He checked it contained dry paper and leaves, and placed a petrol can next to it. He reached under the high collar and lifted the flap of fur. Thanks again Marcus! He took out the small recording device. He wouldn't need the camera after all. No divorce necessary.

He turned it and looked into the bear's eyes. Who would notice one eye missing? Especially with a tiny camera replacing it.

"She brought you in from the bathroom. Your job was to watch her!"

Greg laughed, threw him into the drum and sloshed petrol over him, then dropped a lighted match. Once the blaze subsided, he went back into the house. He sat on the settee with a large glass of Aberlour. He spoke aloud.

"Elvis has left the building!"