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CHAPTER TWENTY - Out Of My Window

Three months have passed since I tracked down Judy Jones.
It was early April when I kissed goodbye to a frail, bald headed girl inside the British Consulate in Barcelona.
It is now the middle of July and I am writing this at my cottage in Lower Clunley close to the Welsh border. I have a brand new PC in front of me, my fingers are poised over the keyboard, and I'm thinking how best to conclude my little story.
Let me start by telling you it's a gorgeous day. This I know because I'm sat at a desk that overlooks my front garden. I'm actually in a bedroom that I've had converted to a study. This is the first thing I had done on my return from Barcelona. I find it most relaxing up here and the views are spectacular from my window.
Everything's not perfect yet, there's still a lot of building work to be done to the old cottage, but one day I hope all will be finished. At present there is scaffolding all around the 'Old Gamekeeper's Cottage', and slates off the roof, but this is a weekend and the builders are not at work today.
Out of my window I can see the cart track to my cottage that leads up past 'The Burrows'. Beyond that, above the trees, I can see the small hillock with the coppice at the top. I mention this because at this very moment I can see Judy Jones walking hand in hand with the young lad who works at 'The Burrows'. Her hair has grown. She's a blonde once more, though it's still quite short. I can just about see them above the trees that line the old cart track. I can also see sheep scattering out of their way. The couple are heading for the coppice across the meadow that links the Jones's farm with the hill.
Now here's a surprise. Two more people have just come into view. It's another young courting couple and they're following the first two up the hill. They too are hand in hand. I recognise the girl now. She's Rachel Joyce, but the young lad with her I've not seen before. But my guess is that he's a local lad and a friend of the young farmhand from 'The Burrows'.
Right now I'm thinking good luck to all four of them, and have a good bonk whilst up in the coppice. It's nice and peaceful up there. I should know. Sandy and myself were up there yesterday.
Oh dear, I think I let something slip out there. I guess the mention of Sandy has probably set you thinking just what sort of relationship has Woody got going with the redhead from Birmingham? You might even be asking, are they married yet?
Well I'll explain everything all in good time, honestly I will, but not just yet. I think perhaps there's a little bit more explanation needed about Judy Jones and Rachel Joyce first. There's not much to tell really, but it's worth a mention just to complete the story:

Within the British Consulate I phoned England and told Ted and Mavis where their daughter could be found. They arrived in Barcelona on the very next flight. When you're millionaires I guess most problems can be resolved quite easily. Anyway, Judy Jones got a temporary passport issued by the Consulate and they were back in England the following day.
As for Rachel Joyce, I don't suppose you'll be surprised to hear that she was being held in captivity a lot like Judy Jones. Madam reckoned she was owed a lot of money by Rachel and was only keeping a roof over her head from the goodness of her heart. Anyway, after I told Judy where Rachel could be found, she immediately set off for London and freed Rachel from all her debts. Having nowhere else to go - Rachel's parents had split up and lost touch - she moved into 'The Burrows' with Judy to recuperate, and that is where she is living now.
I visit the 'The Burrows' occasionally, just to see how things are going, and I'm pleased to report that both girls are off the drugs, and, by the look of it, enjoying life to the full once more.

Speaking of drugs, I think before I tell you about my new found relationship with Sandy, I should clear up the drugs issue as regards Harry Bell and his squad.

On my return to England I paid my old friend Harry Bell a visit and related all that I'd discovered. I also presented him with two extra tape recordings. One between Boris and Hendry over the dinner table in the Paris hotel, and the other made at the stonemasons in Toulouse. I never did get to find out what was on the second tape, but I'm told it was invaluable to the case. Anyway, after that I left Harry to sort it all out. Basically I considered it to be none of my business in the first place.
I met up with Harry again some two months later. He'd invited me to London for the biggest meal of my life. Sandy accompanied me on that trip. I insisted she be there. After all she had done her share of the work and contributed to the eventual outcome. Joe, Bob and Dave were also there, and we had a good evening out all at Harry's expense. I think the only person missing from the party was Bo. She was still recovering in hospital at the time. I sat next to Harry, and over dinner he filled me in with all the details. He was a very happy man I can tell you. The case had been wrapped up successfully and it's a lot like I figured it to be.

I summarise everything as follows:

A European drugs cartel was shipping the stuff in from North Africa. Luxury yachts moored in expensive marinas along the Costa Brava and Costa Blanca were the main means of collection and transport. Packages were left out at sea with marker buoys attached. By various routes and methods the packages found their way ultimately to Toulouse in the south of France. Here they were concealed in the statues and shipped onwards to various destinations throughout Europe. Hendry being only one of several receivers, and Boris being the go-between and the common link to them all.
Hendry is now in jail facing trial on two accounts; one, handling class one drugs, and two, grievous bodily harm. Bo is now fully recovered I'm glad to say. Skin grafts have got rid of most of the scars and she's agreed to press charges. Personally I don't think Hendry stands much of a chance with all the video evidence stacked against him. But that's for the jury to decide.
I was right about the ferry link too. There was someone at the Dover end who was taking a bung and turning a blind eye to any masonry that should pass his way. This man too is currently under arrest in England and awaiting trial. I know no more details other than that.
Next, Denny North.
Well, what can I say about him?
It appears Denny and Boris were lovers, and this went back a long way. In fact way before Denny joined the police. I don't think I mention it in my story, but I always considered Boris to be inclined that way. It was something in his mannerisms and the way he'd never touch a girl. Apparently Denny and Boris met at a Munich beer festival whilst in their teens and the relationship blossomed from there.
Anyway, Denny was tipping Boris off. That's why Harry's men kept losing the trail when pursuing their suspects across Europe. I consider this to be the most nauseating part of the whole sordid episode. Nobody likes a bent copper, and Denny North is now in custody and awaiting trial.
Finally a mention of Boris Von Reidler.
As I write he's being held by the French police along with most of the workers from the Toulouse factory. I don't know what'll become of him. French justice is different from ours. But I guess, like all the others involved, he'll not see the light of day for a very long time to come.

Well, I hope that just about clears up all the missing details. Now back to Sandy and our relationship. I'm sure you're dying to find out.

As I sit here, looking out of my window and considering how best to explain it all to you, Sandy's just come up the stairs to my study and placed a cup of coffee on my desk. She's wearing just a flimsy silk dressing gown. She's completely naked underneath. I know this to be fact because she's just opened out the front to reveal her sumptuous body to me.
I guess on such a hot day as this clothes aren't really necessary, and when you live way out in the country, then what does it matter anyway? There's no neighbours to get in your way, and the only prying eyes belong to the hundreds of sheep in the adjoining meadows.
Sandy's not said so as much, but I think she's expecting me to walk her up to the coppice. I don't want to disappoint her, but with Judy Jones and her friends up there at present, I think it would be unwise to set off right this minute.
I've just thanked her for the coffee, and I'm surprised that Sandy hasn't gone away. She usually sees when I'm busy and leaves me alone to my work. Anyway, she's stood over my shoulder right now and watching me type this very sentence, and it's very disturbing especially now that's she's nibbling at my ear.
She's just whispered something to me. She wants me to switch off my computer. She says I'm forever messing about with the beastly thing and not her, and she doesn't want me to take her a walk either. I'm told instead that my presence is urgently required in the adjoining bedroom.
From where I am sitting I can turn my head and look out of the study door and across the landing to the bedroom beyond. I've just done that and I must say it all looks very tempting.
I can see the bed and I can see someone's feet. If I lean back a little way then I can see who's on the bed. It's Anthea. She's lying naked and handcuffed to the four corner posts, and now she's calling me.
"Come on Woody, I've not shouted stop yet!" I can hear her calling repeatedly.
Now I think you can see my dilemma, and what would you do under such circumstances? Should I answer her call, or should I finish telling you this tale? Well I've just given Sandy my answer and returned to the keyboard, so you're in luck.
I've just told Sandy: "Keep Anthea happy for a bit longer will you? I've not got much more to write and I'll join you both shortly. Why not work her over with the squirmy-rooter for a while? That should keep her satisfied for a while."
And there I think you can see my little problem. I've got both Sandy and Anthea living with me. They both want me every minute of the day, and I don't know what to do about it.
I took Anthea in after Hendry got arrested and his mansion busted. She phoned me. She was sobbing and I hadn't the heart to say no. Then, as soon as Sandy found out, she was over here knocking on my door and complete with suitcase. I guess there's a bit of rivalry going on there and she didn't want Anthea to have all the fun.
Anyway, for the past month we've been living as a threesome, and I must say I'm beginning to feel shagged out. But I mustn't complain. Things could be far worse and I'm not planning to alter things for the time being.
 
Sandy's gone from the study now. She's across the landing in the bedroom with Anthea, and I can hear the vibrator humming. Hopefully that will keep Anthea quiet for a little while longer whilst I finish off my story.

Oh dear, perhaps not! With all these distractions I don't think I'll ever get this story wrapped up. Now I can see another little problem looming. As I look out of my window I can see Mr. Edwards the milk lady walking up my drive. Her Subaru pick-up truck is parked at the bottom of my path and she's about to knock on my door. Sorry, but I'll have to leave you for a while and go and see what she wants.

I've just returned from seeing Mrs. Edwards, and guess what? I've finally got that milk bill. What I propose to do is keep her waiting for as long as she kept me waiting. I'm learning fast. It's the way everyone works around here. Don't do anything today what you can put off until tomorrow, that's the countryside motto, and it suits me just fine.

I'm trying to think of anything else I've not told you before I finally bring this story to and end. Perhaps there are three points worthy of a little mention. One quite sad I'm afraid to say.

One; on our way back to England, we did pass through Andorra as promised. The mountain passes were clear but there was still a lot of snow. We actually stayed overnight in a hotel there, and I think Sandy liked the place. I know I certainly did. We said that we'd go back someday.
Two; do you remember Bruce and Jenny? Well, we bumped into them on the way back. They were touring in a campervan and quite by chance we met in a French lay-by. We stopped to have a cup of tea and a chat. I gave them my address and telephone number and told them to pop in if they were ever in the area. They keep on sending me postcards, and they're in Britain now. Their last postcard was from Stratford-upon-Avon, Shakespear's birthplace, so I'm expecting them any day now. I reckon we can get a good fivesome going here. Jenny, by the way is Australian, she's got a lovely personality, and she wanted to know where I purchased that squirmy-rooter. I told her Soho, and explained where the shop was. I got a card from London, but it didn't say whether she'd managed to buy one, though I suspect she did.
And three: The sad point: Anthea's dogs, Mutt and Jeff were put down. They savaged three policemen during the raid on Hendry's mansion. I'm told one of the policemen will never have children, another will never play the piano again, and the third is undergoing psychiatric treatment.

Well, I think that just about wraps everything up. I'm off to the bedroom now. I can hear Anthea calling me again. In fact she's getting quite frantic. That woman is never satisfied. The squirmy-rooter's gone quiet. I think she's broken it, so now she's calling for the real thing.

So my dear readers, unless there's another case for me in the near future, then it's goodbye from me, and I hope that you enjoyed my little story.

"All right, I coming," I've just shouted across the landing.

I'm told by the girls, it's called 'Submissive Work' in the trade, and neither of them want to get out of practice. So sorry readers, duty calls.

All the best.

Woody.

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End of Story