by P R Ellis
‘Presumably Xristal was happier with her body after the changes she had made to it, like you will be happier when you’ve had your op next week?’
‘I suppose so,’ Jasmine said, not sure where Dr Winslade was leading.
‘So you both need changes to your bodies to achieve what you want.’
‘You mean we’re similar because we both planned to change the design of our bodies?’
‘That’s right, Jasmine.’
Jasmine could see that Winslade was trying to restore her sympathy for Xristal, but she couldn’t accept it.
‘But I can’t get over that she was happy having a penis. I’m not.’
‘I understand, Jasmine, but I think you’ve got a long way to go to find out why Xristal was how she was and how she ended up like this.’ Winslade nodded at the body in front of her.
‘You’re right,’ Jasmine admitted, ‘We need to find out more. Thanks for the encouragement.’
She left Dr Winslade to carry out further examinations on the body, and returned to her car in the hospital car park. Tom was long gone.
Jasmine sat in the driving seat wondering what to do next. She glanced at the time on her phone. It was gone two o’clock; past lunchtime and she felt hungry but had no food with her. What was she to do? She could return to the police station and join Tom and Sloane and the rest of the team, but she couldn’t be involved in the regular police work. What else could she tell them about Xristal? She-males were an unknown quantity to her and she had no knowledge of how they led their lives. Perhaps she had just better go back to Bredon Road and continue with her surveillance of Parfitt until Tom had more for her to do. The black wig was still on the passenger seat where she had dumped it on arrival at the hospital. Decision made, she pulled it back onto her head and started the engine.
3
THURSDAY AFTERNOON
Damn, Parfitt’s car was gone from its parking space. An opportunity to catch him walking without his crutches had been missed. She would just have to wait for him to return. Jasmine found a space to park and pulled the ghastly black wig off. It was just a short walk back to St Benedict’s Street where there was a Tesco Express. She returned to the Fiesta and sat eating a cheese and pickle sandwich. It had turned out a warm day, so she couldn’t bear to put the wig back on. If someone recognised her - tough.
She reflected on what Dr Winslade had said. Were she and Xristal similar? OK, so they were both prepared to have surgery to achieve the bodies they desired. She conceded that point. But the thought of using her male organs to have sex as Xristal must have done, and to earn money for it, disgusted her. What’s more, Xristal apparently allowed herself to be restrained by someone, presumably her clients. What did she let them do to her? Jasmine could not imagine handing over control that way. How much had Xristal worried about entrusting herself to her clients? Was it simply to get money for her body modifications?
An hour had passed, with no sign of Parfitt returning, when her phone rang. It was Tom.
‘Hey, Jas. Where are you? I thought you would follow me back to the station.’
‘I’m doing my job; watching out for Parfitt in Bredon Road.’
‘Is he there?’
‘No.’
‘Well, your other job needs you.’
‘What job?’
‘You’re our transgender special advisor. Remember?’
‘But I don’t know anything about she-males.’
‘You know more than Sloane or me or any of the other guys and gals on the team. Look, Sloane’s very pleased with what you’ve given us already. We’re following up that letter. I’m on my way to call on the landlords, the Taylors. I’d like you with me.’
‘OK, but I’m not sure what I can do.’
‘I’ll pick you up in Bredon Road in five minutes.’
The call ended and Jasmine sat for a few moments just staring at her phone. Tom seemed very keen to see her, but surely he didn’t need her to interview the Taylors about Xristal’s flat. She shrugged and pulled the wig back over her head, then dropped the phone in her bag. She got out, locked the car and walked back along Bredon Road to the main road. It would be easier for Tom to turn around and head wherever they were going.
Jasmine stood on the corner watching the traffic move slowly along the narrow but busy road. It was more than five minutes before she recognised Tom’s Mondeo inching towards her. He reached the junction and did a one eighty, which caused a couple of drivers to hit their horns. Jasmine opened the passenger door and got in. Tom re-joined the slow stream of cars and vans immediately.
‘What’s this all about then, Tom?’ Jasmine asked, pulling the seat belt across her chest.
‘We’re going to visit Taylor, the landlord, out of town, on the Bristol Road.’ Tom glanced at her, ‘You’re not wearing that wig, are you?’
Jasmine plucked at the curls with her fingers. She certainly hadn’t forgotten she was wearing the hideous thing.
‘I prefer not to be recognised when I’m interviewing someone.’
‘Ok.’ Tom shrugged.
‘So why are we visiting Taylor?’
‘We spoke to him briefly last night informing him of what was going on at his property, but this will be more interesting – we want to find out if he knows his flats are being used for prostitution.’
‘We haven’t got any proof, you know, that Xristal and Honey were on the game.’
‘I know, but it looks pretty certain doesn’t it?’
‘Almost. But that’s not the reason why you’ve picked me up, is it?’
‘No. Sloane asked me to have a chat with you to discuss where we go next. We need some suspects.’
‘I told you, I’ve never had anything to do with she-males. I have no idea who’d murder one.’
‘But you will know better than us where to start. Look, the bank statement you picked up will give us some good leads about Xristal very soon. It makes interesting reading. Xristal was making pretty regular, sizeable deposits, hundreds of pounds at a time. That sounds like income from prostitution to me.’
‘If she hasn’t got a legitimate job.’
‘We’ll see. She also made some large transfers to another account recently. It will be interesting to find out what they were for.’
‘Hmm, yes. Perhaps she was planning a holiday or some more cosmetic surgery?’
‘Whatever. Anyway - suspects. Who are they likely to be?’
‘You could do this guessing game as well as I could. People she knew – Tilly, Honey, Taylor, neighbours – and of course clients.’
‘How do we find them?’
‘Look Tom, you’ve dealt with prostitutes before.’
‘Not men with tits and pouting lips.’
‘No, but they work in the same way. Perhaps Xristal solicits on the street, or has cards in telephone boxes?’
‘That’s the old-fashioned way.’
‘Of course, so you also need to trawl the internet – websites, social networks.’
‘I knew you were going to say that – you can help point us in the right direction.’
‘As if I go searching for she-male whores every day!’
‘You know what I mean, Jas.’
‘Hmph.’
Having negotiated the Kintbridge one-way system they had finally reached the main road heading west and were picking up a bit of speed.
‘There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, Jas.’
‘What’s that?’
‘This operation you said you’re having. What is it exactly?’
Jasmine turned to look at Tom as he concentrated on the road ahead. He glanced at her and she saw his face redden.
‘There’s no need to be embarrassed, Tom. It’s pretty straightforward. I am having my testicles removed as a preliminary to having the full sex-change. A, because it means I can reduce the amount of hormones I’m taking which are mucking me about and, B, because I’m nowhere near the top of the queue for the full works, and it could be y
ears before I get there.’
She saw Tom’s thighs tense as she spoke.
‘Back at the path lab you seemed to imply it was a minor op. Sounds pretty major to me. Are you going to be able to carry on working?’
‘I’ll just have to take it easy for a few days. It is minor, a day in hospital, that’s all, but it’s a massive step for me. After I’ve had it there’s no turning back. I’ll be that one very important stage closer to being a woman.’
‘And that’s why you have it in for these she-males? Because they keep their balls?’
‘I don’t understand them, Tom. I want to look like and be a woman. I don’t want a cock jerking to attention every five minutes.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing. No, I’m joking. I think I sort of get it.’
‘Thanks. Look I know it’s hard for blokes. You get squeamish at the thought of losing your nuts. But for transsexuals it’s one of the most important parts of transitioning. For the lucky ones, who can go private, it all happens at once and you come out of the operating theatre with a serviceable vagina instead of a penis and scrotum, but for others, like me, it has to be done step by step.’
‘So where, when?’
‘9 a.m. Monday morning. Charing Cross hospital.’
‘And you come out the same day?’
‘By lunchtime, I expect. Although I may not feel like it - lunch that is.’
‘No. I can’t imagine you will. How are you getting there?’
‘Train, I suppose.’
‘And coming back?’
‘I need a lift. You couldn’t...’
‘Oh, Jas, I’d really like to help, but unless we get this case solved by the weekend I think I’m going to be pretty busy.’
‘I thought you’d say that.’
‘We’re here.’ Tom slowed the car and turned off the road, through a pair of new wrought iron gates and drove up a recently tarmacked driveway. Ahead was a low modern bungalow which seemed to have had a number of recent extensions.
‘Looks as though they’re doing pretty well for themselves. Profits from property or prostitution?’ Tom commented as they drew to a halt behind a shiny new Jaguar outside a porticoed entrance.
They both got out of the car and mounted the two steps to the front door, Jasmine a little behind Tom. He pressed the doorbell. A complex electronic chime sounded in the distance. Over a minute passed before the door opened. Jasmine was struck by the woman who looked at Tom briefly, then transferred her gaze to her. She was taller than Jasmine, slim, with a severe black bob and looked to be in her late forties. Her tan looked dark above a white silk shirt. The puffed sleeves gave her a broad-shouldered appearance. Despite it being a warm day she was wearing tight-fitting, tan leather trousers. Her immaculate red fingernails were as pointed as talons.
‘Yes?’ she said in a bored voice.
‘Police,’ Tom waved his ID. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Tom Shepherd. Are you Mrs Taylor?’
‘Yes, I am.’ She made no move to invite Tom and Jasmine in. ‘And this is?’ She nodded to Jasmine.
‘Jasmine Frame. She is assisting us. I’ve come to speak to Mr Taylor about a property he owns.’
‘We own. I suppose you mean the Bredon Road flat which had the fire yesterday?’
‘Yes. Can we ask you and your husband some questions?’
‘If you must. I suppose you had better come in. Follow me.’ She released the door and turned away. Jasmine followed Tom into a spacious hall opulently decorated with antiques and hurried to keep up with Tom and Mrs Taylor as they entered another room.
‘It’s the police, Kelvin. They say they’ve got some more questions about Bredon Road.’
A middle-aged man rose from a plush, floral sofa. He was bordering on obese.
‘Oh, I thought I told you everything yesterday evening,’ he said with a look of mild irritation. ‘When can we get back into the flat? I imagine it needs some re-decoration after the fire.’
‘It is still a crime scene, Mr Taylor,’ Tom said. ‘We have some questions about the occupants of the three flats.’
‘I gave you their names yesterday. Miss Jones on the ground floor and Miss Newman on the top. The middle flat is empty. I hope we can have access pretty soon. We need to get new tenants in.’
‘I understand that, Mr Taylor, but this is a murder investigation.’
‘Murder? I thought the silly girl set fire to herself. Last night your colleague said she was found dead on the bed when the fire was put out.’
The four of them were standing in a loose circle in the centre of the room. Kelvin Taylor looked up at Tom, red-faced.
‘I think, Mr Taylor, it would be a good idea if we sat down and discussed this calmly.’
‘What? Oh, alright.’ Taylor flapped his hands and sat back down on the sofa. His wife stood quietly behind him. Tom looked around and decided to sit on an armchair alongside the sofa. Jasmine chose a chair on the opposite side where she could watch all three from a slight distance. It would be better to let Tom do the talking while she listened and observed. Tom took his pocket book out of his jacket and flicked it open.
‘Last night all we knew was that a body had been found in the top floor flat of your property and that there had been a small fire.’
‘Yes. That’s what your man said,’ Taylor nodded his head.
‘The victim was identified as your tenant, Xristal Newman. Today, it has been confirmed that Miss Newman was dead before the fire started and that she was probably smothered. We are therefore looking for the person who killed Xristal and started the fire.’
Sweat appeared on Taylor’s forehead. He shook his head vigorously.
‘Well, I don’t know anything about it.’
‘Of course not, Kelvin,’ Mrs Taylor said, ‘the police only want to know a bit more about Xristal.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Taylor,’ Tom said. ‘Did you know Miss Newman by any other name?’
‘Other name? No, she told me her name was Xristal. Funny name, but some kids have strange names these days don’t they. That was the name on her tenancy agreement. ’
‘How did she pay her rent – cheque? Cash?’
‘We don’t accept cheques,’ Mrs Taylor said, ‘They bounce too often. Miss Newman paid by electronic transfer from a bank account.’
‘Her payments were on time?’ Tom asked.
‘Yes. She was one of the better tenants,’ Mrs Taylor answered.
‘Do you know how she got the money to pay the rent?
‘Look, we don’t go digging into our tenants’ affairs, sergeant,’ Mr Taylor said, ‘Xristal Newman paid on time and that was all we cared about.’
‘So you had no contact with her?’
‘Not once she’d moved in.’
Jasmine had been listening patiently, but felt she had to interject.
‘What about the bed?’
Mr and Mrs Taylor both looked at her.
‘What about it?’ Mr Taylor asked.
‘The king sized bed in Xristal’s flat doesn’t look like the usual thing for a furnished flat.’
A flicker of a memory passed over Mr Taylor’s face, while his wife glared at Jasmine.
‘Oh yes, the bed. Miss Newman asked if she could replace the bed we provided. She said she needed a different bed to help her sleep. We agreed and she arranged the removal herself. Actually, I think it went into the ground floor flat to replace one that had seen better days.’
‘So you think the bed was just to help her sleep, Mr Taylor?’ Jasmine said.
‘Well, yes,’ Kelvin Taylor looked confused.
‘You didn’t agree to it because it helped her in her bondage games with her clients?’
‘Bondage? Clients?’
‘You weren’t aware that Xristal Newman was a prostitute specialising in BDSM?’
‘No!’
‘Or that she was a transsexual?’
‘Trans...No!’ Taylor’s face was red and glistening with sweat. His wife gave Jasmine a dark look.
>
‘As my husband told you, Miss Frame, we have had little contact with Miss Newman since she moved in, did not see this bed you mention and certainly had no knowledge that she engaged in sexual activities for money. Nor did we know she was transsexual. My husband dealt with her tenancy agreement and made no mention of anything other than that she was a young woman.’ Mrs Taylor stared fixedly Jasmine, as if daring her to contradict.
‘Thank you, Mrs Taylor,’ Tom intervened. ‘I am sure you are aware of the consequences if it is found that you were benefiting from prostitution at any of your properties.’
‘Of course, Sergeant.’ Mrs Taylor gave Tom a broad but humourless smile.
‘We just provide accommodation for those that need it,’ Kelvin Taylor said, slumped on the sofa.
‘What can you tell us about Honey Potts?’ Tom asked.
‘Ah, now she’s a different case. She owes us money.’ Mr Taylor had become animated again.
‘What for?’
‘She left with no warning. Just disappeared a fortnight ago owing us a couple of months’ rent.’
‘Did she leave a forwarding address?’
‘Of course not, Sergeant,’ Mrs Taylor said. ‘She doesn’t want us pursuing her for what she owes. And before you ask, she’s changed her phone. The number she gave us is no longer operative.’
‘Doesn’t her deposit cover her rent?’ Jasmine asked.
Kelvin Taylor snorted, ‘Barely covers the cost of cleaning the flat and preparing it for the next tenant. She should have given a months’ notice. We’ve lost all that.’
‘Couldn’t Xristal tell you where she’d gone?’ Jasmine asked.
‘I did ring Miss Newman,’ Taylor said, ‘but she either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me where Honey Potts was.’
‘Perhaps you could trace her through her bank?’ Tom asked.
Taylor snorted again. ‘Oh, she was a clever one. Had us there. Paid by cash, monthly. Perhaps I’m too trusting but some tenants prefer to pay that way. It doesn’t usually cause us any bother.’
‘How did she pay the rent?’ Tom asked.
