Until the Night by Giles Blunt Read Free Book Online

different from yours. Are you going to finish telling me what happened? Because it’s getting late and I do have to work tomorrow.”
    “You’re joking. You wouldn’t miss this for anything. Because I’ll tell you something, darlin’, you may not be wearing any perfume, and you do a reasonable pretence of being totally unacquainted with sexual desire, but you absolutely reek of ambition. It comes off you like a pheromone.” He raised his chin and closed his eyes as if sampling the nose of a fine Bordeaux, nostrils flaring. “Yes—ambition. Definitely. Lusting to trap the big bad wolf, protect the innocent little virgins of this world. Admit it.”
    “It’s my job. I try to be good at it.”
    “I enjoy my work too.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “The men took their turns. Each one would fuck her for a while, then they’d move around, so she must have been tasting a good deal of herself on those men—that’s a turn-on for a lot of women, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. And then eventually she sat back in a receptive position and they gave her the seminal equivalent of a tickertape parade.”
    Delorme rested her forearm on the table and leaned forward. She spoke quietly, evenly, trying to say only what she intended and nothing more. “This person you’re talking about, Laura Lacroix? She’s missing. There’s good reason to think she has been murdered or soon will be, and I have to ask you to please—please—not dishonour whatever small part of yourself may still be at risk of such a thing by lying about her.”
    Priest’s eyebrows shot up. “Lying? This was a year ago, nigh on—there’s no reason to lie.”
    “I’m just asking you not to exaggerate for effect. You’re obviously enjoying trying to make me uncomfortable.”
    “The subject matter does that all by itself. You can’t blame me.”
    “Were you surprised by her behaviour?”
    “Totally. I had sex with her exactly twice. Plain vanilla. But she started making a pest of herself, phoning me, showing up here—I didn’t like it.
    “As for her performance at the club—maybe she thought she would make me jealous? Or maybe it was just that once she started fucking around on her husband, she couldn’t stop? Or maybe she thought she could pique my interest with a display of virtuosity? You’re a woman, you tell me.”
    “Can you give me the names of the men who had sex with her?”
    “You’re clinically insane, you are. People who come to the Risqué clubs do not expect to have their names bandied about in a cavalier manner. I didn’t recognize any of the men involved, I’ve no idea if they arrived in a group or separately, and I wouldn’t give you their names if I knew them. You think some stranger who fucked her in a club a year ago suddenly decides to come up north and carry her off? You’re not getting any names from me, sunshine. End of story.”
    Delorme held up her hands in a “stop” gesture. “Off-duty, remember? I didn’t ask you to talk to me. You offered.”
    “Because I don’t want junior detectives hanging round my bloody pub, do I? Or did you think I just fancied your gorgeous arse?” Priest dipped his head slightly, flecks of firelight in his eyes. “D’you like it up the arse, by the way?”
    “Did Laura ever mention a guy named Mark Trent?”
    “French-Canadian girls love it, in my observation. Legacy of the Vatican. Nothing like a taboo to get people hot and bothered. And you do have a gorgeous arse, must be said.”
    “Pretty childish, talking dirty all the time.”
    Priest leaned forward and spoke in the urgent whisper of one imparting confidential information. “It won’t be gorgeous forever, will it? So may as well make the best of it while you can. My official diagnosis? ODD. Orgasm Deficit Disorder. Left untreated, it’ll only get worse. You’ll end up a bad-tempered old crone reeking of mothballs and cat’s piss.”
    “Are you going to tell me how you met Laura