Tempting Fate (standard:Suspense, 1909 words)
Author: Hulsey	Added: Jun 16 2011	Views/Reads: 4069/2290	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A complex tale of blackmail.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

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 that 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. “So you really think that 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 that you always craved for.” 

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

She grinned and caressed his hands. “Blackmail, Carl. He's a wealthy
barrister, who owns a yacht and takes exotic holidays. He's got to 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 was beating 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 that 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, you wife died only 
four days ago, yet you have 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, Gemma?” 

“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 that 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 that they were not overheard before continuing. “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 that 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 that 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.” 


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