Garwood Village by Robert F. Clifton (romantic novels in english TXT) 📕

Sharon laughed. “To you they're spiny lobster tails”.

“Then why in the hell don't they call them that? Bay bugs my ass”.

Sharon continued to laugh. “And you are going to be an Australian”.

“That's right”.

As they talked a trio of musicians began to play.

“Do you remember that song Sharon?”, he asked.

“I recall the tune, but not the name”.

“That's Dahil Sa Iyo or Because of You. We danced to it at the Officers Club on Saturday nights”.

“Oh yes, it is lovely.”

“So are you”.

“It's none of my business, but what do you intend to do here. You mentioned retirement. Do you think you're ready for that?”, she asked.

“I don't really know. I do plan to register in order to practice.”

“You do know that you have to pass an exam, don't you?”

“So? Don't you think I'll pass? It's fifty questions, equal to what a graduating medical student would take”.

“Have you decided on the type of medicine you would like to practice?”

“I'm flirting with the idea of geriatrics. Originally, in medical school that was going to be my chosen field. But, somehow I drifted into pathology, probably because I feared making a mistake with a living patient. It was that or maybe because I'm too lazy”.

“Geriatrics is a good idea dear. We have elderly people in Australia”, Sharon said, teasing him.

“And, if I don't have any patients, I'll work on myself”, he responded.

“You still have the ability to remain in pathology”.

“Yes, but that means working for someone, a lab or hospital. I'm sort of tired of punching a time clock for some administrator. I think it's time I became my own boss”.

“Well, I'll leave those decisions to you. Now, I believe I will have the Tasmanian Salmon”, said Sharon as she closed the menu and placed it in front of her on the table.

Edwards looked at her, then said, “Well since you inquired about my future, how about you allow me to inquire about your past?”

“Such as? Are you looking to investigate me? Are you curious about my sex life? Was there someone else rather than you?”.

“I can see that it is going to be a lot of fun being married to a psychologist wondering that everything I say is being analyzed”.

“ I am very capable in separating my professional life from my personal life”.

“I'm sure you are”.

“Then what do you want to know?”

“You mention your professional life. Let's start there”.

“Fine. I am a Clinical Psychologist. From my practice I earn a very nice living. My specialty is Forensic Psychology. In that field I more or less assist the police or court in determining the mental state of the accused. At other times I concentrate on the origin, development and manifestations of mental or behavioral disorders”.

“Does that include profiling”. Asked Edwards.

“Yes, although I'm seldom asked to do that. Why?”

“A friend of mine is a Police Captain in charge of investigating homicides. When I left, there had been two murders. Both victims were women. Both lived in the same neighborhood. Both had their throats cut. He asked me to ask you if you could profile the killer?”

“Not by what you just told me. I need more information”.

“He put everything he knows about the cases on audio tape”.

“Interesting. Maybe when I'm finished making up for thirty years of lost loving, I'll take time to listen to it. Now, here comes the waiter. I'm famished”.

Sergeant June Campo entered the office of captain Wallace. In her hand she carried a manila file containing reports and photographs of results of recent test she had conducted. Wallace looked up at her from his desk. “Yes? Do you have something?”, he asked.

“Yes sir, a couple of things. I scanned the sheets from the Fisher case looking for semen and found nothing. I did the same with the Alberson case. Still nothing. However, I sent a sample from the Kinshoffer case where I thought we had found semen to the Franklin Laboratory. They confirmed that what we found was semen. At the same time they classified the blood type. Our killer has B negative. That means he is part of one and a half per cent of the population of The United States. It's not much, but it narrows it down for you and, the city owes the lab seventy five dollars”.

“Excellent. This is the first real lead we've had in this case. Thank you”.

Wallace called for Myers and McKenna. When they arrived he gave them their assignments. “Carol, I want you to go to the local blood bank. See if you can come up with anyone listed with them that has type B Negative blood. We're looking for a male with that kind. Tom, you get the hospital. Same thing, look for any possible donor or patient that gave or required that blood type. That will be difficult, due to confidentiality, but try”.

After the two detectives left Captain Wallace looked up to see Howard Stein standing in the doorway. “What do you want?”, asked Wallace.

“Information on the last murder. The word is that the killer is a male”, said Stein.

“When I'm ready to talk to the press. I'll let you know. Right now, no comment”.

“You might as well give me the story Captain. I'd rather say that Captain Wallace in co-operation with the Nautilus Press confirmed confidential information obtained by this reporter. You see, although you and your squad go around closed mouth, I have ways to get to those that don't. For instance, you found semen at the last crime scene. Want to tell me about it?”

Wallace got up from behind his desk and walked to the office doorway where the reporter stood. “Here's what I will do. Seeing you has caused a terrible taste in my mouth. I'm about to spit on that wall directly behind you. Right now I'm advising you that you are in the way. If you don't move and that means get the hell out of here I'll probably spit in your face. Now, what's it going to be?”

Stein, red in the face walked down the hallway.

The Captain closed the door and went back to his desk.

Sharon Marshall sat on her back porch sipping coffee as she listened to the recorded voice of Robert Wallace giving information on two murders that he was investigating. She heard the description of the housing unit, the apartments the victims were found in and the position and wounds to the bodies. She looked up as Manfred Edwards came out on to the porch. “Have you come up with anything?”, he asked.

“Not yet love. I wish he were here. It would be much better if I could question him on certain things.”

“Well, just between you and me, I'm glad he's thousands of miles away”.

“Why?”

“Because I would have to share time with you. I think that a wasted thirty years is enough for anyone, don't you?”

“Yes, thinking back on it we were both foolish. Just imagine what we gave up, what we could have had, careers, a family perhaps”.

“Fortunately we have each other now. Speaking of now what would you like to do today?”, he asked.

“Well we walked about yesterday, went shopping, bought your bathers, had dinner, came home, and made love. I think today could be a day of rest, or we could go to the beach”.

“It's up to you dear. My time is running short here. Soon I have to go back, file for my pension, sell the house, the car, apply for a visa and immigration. I would like to dip in the Indian Ocean one more time”.

“Then, it's off to the beach it is. I'll make some sangers and something to drink and put them in the esky”, she said.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, sorry Yank, I said I'll make a couple of sandwiches and something to drink and put them in the cooler chest”.

“I see, eventually, I'll learn to know what you're talking about”.

“What would you like to drink?”

“What ever the Australian word for Pepsi Cola is”.

“Smart ass”, she said tossing a throw pillow at him. “Here we call it soda”.

“Remember all the Coke's we drank during the war? Coca Cola and beer that's about all there was to drink. Uncle Sam made sure we had enough”.

“You Yanks opened up hot dog and hamburger places. Your military had greater salaries than our boys I remember having to hide the bottles in the trash so my aunt's neighbors wouldn't see them”.

“We couldn't hide the aroma of steaks on the Bar B Q”.

“I told them it was Spam, just with a different sauce that imitated beef', Said Sharon.

“And we danced. We danced in the dark living room and on the back porch”.

“And in the bedroom. That's how you got me in there”, Sharon replied.

“Do you remember the song?”, he asked.

“Yes, Till Then. I still have it”

“Play it”.

“It's a bit scratchy after all of these years. That was 1944”.

“Play it dear”.

Sharon went to the phonograph and turned it on. Next, she carefully removed an old 78 rpm record from its jacket, placed it on the turntable, lifted the arm and needle and placed it on the turning. wax disk. As the words, “Till then, My Darling, Please Wait for Me”, came out of the speakers, She turned and looked at him. He came to her and gently took her in his arms and they danced, just as they had thirty years ago and once again, she had tears of happiness in her eyes.

Manfred held her close and whispered, “There's something I want to say to you”.

“And what's that dear?”

“Thanks for waiting”.

Doc Edwards stepped out on to the thin strip of Rockingham Beach. Behind him were the gray dunes with the remains of crushed, white shells and sparse vegetation. The bright sun shining on the water caused him to squint, even though he was wearing sunglasses. Through half closed eyes he saw the water near the shore. It was as clear as drinking water. He could see the sandy bottom and here and there were submerged rocks with dark green sea moss. Further out where the water was deeper it appeared to be dark blue. As Sharon spread the blanket on the white sand he looked in the distance seeing the grain terminal standing tall on the horizon. “Is that new Sharon?”, he asked pointing to the tall structure across the water.

“Yes, they started construction in nineteen sixty nine and it's still not finished, although they say it is. They built it to handle grain. Seems as though the railroads couldn't keep up with the demand”.

“Interesting. Well, let's see how warm the water is”, he said walking towards the bay.

“It's probably about twenty”, said Sharon.

“I hope you're talking about Celsius and not Fahrenheit”, Doc replied.

“Certainly. You idiot”

“Well, back home the ocean doesn't warm up until late July or early August. Then, it only gets to be seventy-two, seventy-five if you're lucky”.

“You go ahead dear. I'll just sit here and soak up the sun”, said Sharon.

Doc, as was his custom started off with a run towards the water. Entering, his feet splashed then he slowed as the water level reached his knees. Then in one quick move, he dived under a small. Incoming wave. He felt the slight shock of the cold water on his back, as skin warmed by the hot sun was instantly cooled. It was a familiar feeling, one that went back years, years when he as a boy he grew up on the beaches of Nautilus Beach. Each summer he was there everyday weather permitting, swimming, body surfing, riding the waves that crested far from shore. He and others rode them all the way to the beach. There, he would stand again and race out into the deep in order to catch another, hoping that it was larger than the last one he had taken to ride..

As a teenager his daily trips to the beach were for another purpose, girls. Each summer visiting teenage girls flocked to the beach