She was wearing a red leather cat-suit that laced up at the front like a reverse corset. Her heels were high enough to make her teeter as she walked, and her hair had been teased out into a big red halo. She somehow managed to look magnificent and hilarious at the same time.
“Why aren’t you dressed up?” She gave Eulalie’s jeans a resentful glance.
“Didn’t you get my text?”
“What? No.” She consulted her phone. “Oh, I missed that. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I’m in investigator mode. I want these women to take me seriously. I want them to stop being vague about what Faberge was into. They talked about how he liked to take things to the brink, but that could mean almost anything. I need clear answers.”
Fleur shuddered. “Horrible man. I don’t like to picture him getting it on with anyone. When I think of the lengths he went to damage my business, I almost wish I was the one who killed him. He deserved it.”
“You don’t want anyone to hear you talking like that, Fleur. You’re still the number-one suspect - if not in Chief Macgregor’s eyes then certainly in the eyes of the detectives he assigned to the case. They’re following up other angles, just like I am, but they’re still very interested in you. The fact that the Hugos broke into your office has only made them more suspicious that something major was going on between you and Marcel Faberge.”
“Then let’s go and find something else for them to focus on.”
They took the Vespa to Trixie’s Bar because Fleur simply couldn’t walk more than a few feet in her heels without falling over.
“Are you sure this place is open?” Fleur said as they arrived to find the door firmly closed.
“It’s open. Trixie just doesn’t welcome casual walk-ins.”
The bouncer seemed to recognize Eulalie because he let them straight in.
“I didn’t think we’d be seeing you in here again.” Trixie looked up as they walked into the darkened, smoky interior of the bar. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Fleur Du Toit. She owns Sweet as Flowers.”
“Nice outfit.” There wasn’t a hint of irony in Trixie’s tone. “Can I interest you ladies in a drink?”
“Just coffee for me, thanks.”
“You might be working, but I’m not.” Fleur turned to Trixie, “Gold tequila, thanks. Make it a double.”
When Trixie presented them with their drinks, Eulalie asked if Victory was in that night.
“Sure, I saw her earlier. You want me to call her for you?”
“Yes, please. Ask her what she’s drinking and put it on my tab. And can we get a table? We need to talk to her privately.”
“Take the corner booth. Nobody will hear you there.”
“Victory might look intimidating,” Eulalie warned as they moved their drinks to the table. “But she’s really perfectly pleasant and easy to deal with.”
Fleur’s cheeks were rosy from the tequila. She had a happy smile on her face. “She said nice outfit, did you hear? She thinks I look awesome.” She signaled Trixie for another double tequila.
“Oh, boy.” Eulalie could see herself having to send Fleur home in a cab.
Victory arrived at their table bearing a glass of chardonnay, which she toasted Eulalie with.
“Thanks for this. More questions about Marcel?”
“If you have the time.”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“Some clarification. What exactly did you mean when you said that Marcel liked to take things too far?”
Victory glanced around the room before answering. “Oh, you know. Just the usual. B&D stuff. He liked to take things further than some of us were comfortable with.”
“But that’s the thing. I don’t know. I don’t know what’s usual in the B&D community. Everyone I’ve spoken to said the same thing – that he liked to take things to the brink. That’s what I’m having trouble understanding. Taking what to the brink?”
Victory shifted in her seat. “It’s not something I can talk about.”
“You mean it’s illegal? I’m not here to make trouble for anyone. I just want to find out what happened.”
“Let me put it this way – have you ever heard of erotic asphyxiation?”
Chapter 17
Fleur finished her second double tequila, and waved her hand for Trixie to bring her another.
“Erotic asphyxiation,” she said. “I’ve heard of that. It was in that movie with what’s-her-name. Don’t you strangle each other, or something?”
“Sometimes,” said Victory.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about it either,” said Eulalie. “It has something to do with the lack of oxygen causing heightened pleasure, doesn’t it?”
“Exactly,” said Victory. “Marcel was all about that. He was like a drug addict chasing an ever more intense high. He experimented with amyl nitrate, but even that wasn’t enough for him.”
“Yes, they found some in his apartment. His wife claimed that they used it together.”
Victory laughed. “Not a chance. She was completely against any kind of experimentation in the bedroom. That’s what he always told us, anyway. I suppose you never really know what goes on behind closed doors.”
“There were sex toys found at the apartment too. Whips, cuffs, a ball gag. Mrs. Faberge also claimed that they were for both of them.”
“I think the poor lady was trying to save face.” Victory sipped her wine. “It must have been embarrassing when the cops came up to her with that stuff and asked her about it. Much easier to pretend she knew about it all along.”
“You think she didn’t know about it?” Fleur shook her head wisely as the third double tequila arrived at their table. “I think the wife always knows, don’t you? I believe she knew.”
“She knew, all right,” said Victory. “She just wanted nothing to do with it. She understood that this was something he needed to do, but she wasn’t thrilled about it. She didn’t want to hear about it or be made aware of it, but she knew it was happening. That’s what he said, anyway. He wouldn’t be the first man to lie about having an open-marriage arrangement with his wife.”
“Bastards,” Fleur slurred. “To hell with all of them!”
Victory’s smile got wider. “I like your friend. She’s funny.”
Eulalie gave Fleur a sustaining pat on the arm. People always did like Fleur – that was what made her such a good wing-woman, even when she was getting quietly blitzed on tequila.
“So, Stella Faberge was cool with Marcel’s sex life as long as he didn’t rub her nose in it? What about the rest of their social circle? Was it an open secret, do you think?”
“Definitely not. Marcel was always worried about being recognized. He used to come in here with a scarf wrapped around his face and a hat pulled down low. Once, a few years ago, a man came in here that Marcel had once done business with. He slipped straight out the back and went home. He didn’t come near us for about three months after that. It definitely wasn’t an open secret. More like top secret. But as long as he didn’t bring it home with him, Stella was okay with it. At least according to Marcel.”
“What if he did bring it home with him?” Eulalie suggested. “What if he fell in love with one of his regular sexual partners and wanted to dump Stella? Would she stick a knife through his heart for that?”
“No time,” mumbled Fleur. Her fourth double tequila gold had just been placed in front of her and she gave it an affectionate smile. Eulalie signaled to Trixie to cut Fleur off, and Trixie nodded.
“You told me y’self there was not ‘nuff time for Stella to kill Marcel. Was at her big chatteree … I mean chatity …”
“Her charity dinner.”
“That’s the one.” Fleur sipped her drink and a long shudder ran through her body.
“I wasn’t thinking so much of Stella doing the deed personally. People like that always have staff to attend to the messier side of life. If Stella wanted him dead, she would have hired someone.”
“That’s assuming you’re right about him having fallen in love and wanting to leave her,” Victory said. She pursed her lips. “I just can’t see it. I think we would know about that if it were true. It would have been one of us. We were all fond of him, but it never went beyond that. His heart belonged to his wife.”
Eulalie lapsed into silence as she thought. The murder of Marcel Faberge had never felt like a professional job to her. The knife through the heart at the end was too strange – too impulsive. The bag over his head was doing its job perfectly well. A pro wouldn’t have lost his nerve and panicked. Eulalie believed that the knife had come from the Faberges’ kitchen, and was therefore a weapon of opportunity, not of planning. No, this was not the work of a professional.
“Tell me more about Faberge’s thrill-seeking. Apart from the amyl nitrate, what else was he into?”
“He liked to be strangled. Manually strangled, you know, with someone’s bare hands. That was his favorite. One time, he asked me to put a rope around his neck and hang him. That’s what I mean when I say he liked to take things to the brink. I went along with the rope thing once, but I was too scared of something going wrong. We all were. And besides, the rope and the bare hands left marks on his neck. Stella wasn’t keen on that, apparently. We moved on to soft scarves instead. But it didn’t give him as much of a thrill.”
“What about doing the strangling himself to others? Did he ever do that?”
“Never. He always took the submissive role. That’s what he liked. In the B&D subculture, most people know what they like and stick with it. Marcel was one of those.”
“One last scenario and then we’ll let you go. Let’s say Marcel had decided to invite someone home that night. His wife was out for a predictable amount of time, so he felt safe. Let’s say the person tied up his hands and taped a bag over his head. No neck bruises to upset the wife. And then, I don’t know …” The scenario fizzled out as Eulalie realized she couldn’t see how it went from then.
“Exactly.” Victory slapped the table. “And then what? That’s the thing. That’s where your theory falls apart. Do you think his partner, whoever she was, suddenly decided to take advantage of his position and plunge a knife into his heart? Or maybe things got out of control and she realized he was dead or almost dead, and decided to finish him off with a knife? Do you have any idea how insulting that is to the B&D community? That’s not how we handle things. If the date had got out of hand, his partner would have removed the bag and started CPR, or at least called an ambulance immediately. Because that’s what a responsible citizen does.”
“I didn’t suggest any of those things,” Eulalie pointed out. “You did. I was just thinking about ways in which his death by asphyxiation could have been related to his addiction to asphyxiation. Then I realized that I couldn’t see how it played out.”
Victory sat back in her chair. The angry color faded from her cheeks. “Okay. Fine. I over-reacted. You didn’t say those things, or even imply them. It’s just that I get defensive, you know? Our community is so misunderstood and misrepresented. We’re just regular folk who like certain things. We’re no more liable to be violent and cruel than the rest of the world. In fact, we have such strict ethical boundaries that we are less likely to walk away from an accident than the average person. Most of us are trained in CPR, and wouldn’t dream of leaving a situation that had gone wrong. The other thing is, I really can’t see Marcel bringing one of his partners back to his apartment. He kept those two parts of his life completely separate. No overlap whatsoever. We all knew that about him.”
They turned to watch Fleur who had left the table to go and join the swaying bodies on the dance floor.
“At least your friend is having a good time.”
“She’s usually more graceful than that.” Eulalie grinned at Fleur’s pumping elbows and unsteady twerking.
“Your friend has the right attitude. I wish more people could be like her. She came in here tonight looking great, not judging anyone, and settled in to have a great time.”
“You’ve been really helpful, Victory.” Eulalie stood up and shook Victory’s hand. “I’ve learnt more about Marcel Faberge from talking to you tonight than I have over the last three days. A lot of people who thought they knew him didn’t really understand him at all. Thank you.”
Victory’s smile was surprisingly sweet. “You’re welcome. Do you want any help getting your friend into a cab?”
“That would be great.”
Eulalie was almost afraid to fall asleep that night. She worried about what dreams would come to haunt her when her mind was at its most vulnerable and unprotected. The dream she’d had about Bibi had colored her whole day, injecting a sense of urgency and unease into everything she did. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, worrying about him. Now that she had done everything she could for him, the worry was just a debilitating distraction. She really needed a few hours of dreamless unconsciousness to recharge herself.
She had followed the cab home to Fleur’s apartment, helped her friend upstairs, and got her undressed and put into bed. Fleur was definitely tipsy, but not at the stage where she couldn’t safely be left alone.
When Eulalie finally got back to her own apartment and crashed into bed, she slept without stirring for seven straight hours and woke up with no memory of dreams. It was a big improvement on the night before.
There were two items on Eulalie’s to-do list for the day. Neither of them could be accomplished in the early morning. The one was to talk to Stella Faberge about the kind of man her husband had been. After thirty years of marriage, she would have known him better than anyone. She could tell Eulalie things about what made him tick that nobody else could. Victory had been helpful, but a part-time lover wouldn’t know his secrets as well as a spouse.
Eulalie was also determined to find the Russian-speaking men who had attacked her. She was sure they were still on the island, lurking somewhere, possibly looking for another opportunity. She intended to give them one.
In the meantime, she would take advantage of the lull to go down to the docks and see whether anything reminded her of her dream. There was no doubt in her mind that Bibi was being held there. She just hoped she would recognize something - some sight or sound, or smell – that would give her a clue. His fear and loneliness haunted her. She wouldn’t know peace until he was back in the village.
Eulalie dressed in the clothes she wore to go into the deep forest. For the kind of reconnaissance she was planning, there was nothing more suitable. They would keep her warm and dry, while freeing her movements and ensuring she had the best grip possible on any surface.
She wanted to get up high, to see the whole of Dockside from a bird’s-eye view. She drove her Vespa down to the docks and parked it outside the Queen’s Town Mutual Building Society. It was one of the tallest buildings in the neighborhood, and very central. Avoiding the numerous glass-door entrances, Eulalie circled around to the back of the building. There were two pull-down fire escapes here. They weren’t supposed to be accessible from the ground. They were too high up for anyone to reach.
Eulalie ran at the side of the building, launched herself off the ground, ran a couple of steps up the wall, and leaped with outstretched arms to catch the bottom of the fire escape. Then she pulled it down almost to ground level.
Once she was on the fire escape, it was a simple matter of climbing all the way up to the top. When she reached the roof, she slung her legs over the low parapet wall, and orientated herself. This was one of her favorite places to be in the city – at the top of a tall building. She felt as though she could breathe up here. She felt as though this was her town and she was looking after it.
From up here, it was possible to see things that weren’t noticeable at ground level. You could see where the basements of buildings were located by taking note of certain color variations that only became apparent when you were high up. At ground level, one part of a street might look the same as another, but from
up here you could see dark streaks in the asphalt that indicated where old tramlines used to run. You could see patterns in the concrete foundations of buildings that indicated an underground basement or storage area. You could tell which manhole covers led to sewer pipes and which led to electrical hubs.
The disheartening part, Eulalie realized, was how many underground areas there were in the Dockside neighborhood. And most of them were connected to loading bays and other busy areas that serviced the transport and storage of freight. The Port of Prince William was a busy, working harbor.
Eulalie remembered the sound of the port bell and the foghorns, and focused her attention closer to the port. She remembered the sound of the water slapping up against a jetty or pier. Yes, she needed to get closer to the water.
It was too much trouble to go back down to ground level again.
Taking another long run-up, she sprinted the length of the rooftop, flung herself off the low parapet, hung suspended in space for a second as the world dropped away at her feet, and landed with her body tucked in for a rolling summersault on the rooftop of a nearby building. There had been only the width of an alleyway separating them, but she was pleased to have made the jump successfully.
This building was better. Its east end took her practically to the water’s edge. Again, she scanned the area for the crucial elements – a port bell nearby, berths big enough to accommodate large ships with a deep foghorn, a busy loading deck, and a basement storage area. This part of the docks had all that, but so did many others.
Eulalie climbed up onto the narrow parapet wall and looked down at the street, eight floors below her. She wished she had brought binoculars, but she hadn’t thought of it.
A sudden cry from the road made her step back onto the safety of the roof top.
“It was a jumper, Stewie!” came an excited woman’s voice. “I saw a jumper up there. I swear I did.”
The man’s response was inaudible. Hopefully they would decide that she had been mistaken and that there was no need to call for an ambulance.
The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries Page 16
