Bodies By Design: The 2nd Jasmine Frame Novel (Jasmine Frame Detective)

by P R Ellis

  As she approached, Jasmine noticed that two of them were very young, probably still in their teens. Both had long blonde hair. The other was visibly older, late thirties at least, with bleached hair. All three wore short, tight skirts, breast-hugging tops and high heeled sandals.

  ‘What do you want?’ The oldest woman said threateningly.

  ‘I wonder if you can help me,’ Jasmine replied, trying to sound as mild and unthreatening as possible.

  ‘Not a cop are you?’ the woman asked. The younger women backed away, getting ready to make a run for it if necessary.

  ‘No,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘Well, don’t think you can muscle in. This is our pitch.’

  The two girls glared as if daring Jasmine to contradict their companion. Was she offended by being taken as a possible rival? She found she wasn’t.

  ‘It’s OK, I’m not looking for business. I’m trying to find out about someone. She may have come here looking for pick-ups.’

  ‘Soliciting, you mean?’ the woman sneered.

  ‘Yes. Do you recognise her?’ Jasmine held up her phone displaying the picture of Xristal and Honey.

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The smaller one with dark hair.’

  The woman leaned in to look closely. The two girls also peered at the photo.

  ‘No. Don’t know her. The other one though. I’ve seen him around here a few times.’

  The girls nodded but said nothing

  ‘Him?’

  ‘Yeah. Did himself up like a woman, but I knew he had a cock between his legs.’

  ‘What was she, he, doing here?’

  ‘Looking for punters. What else do you think he was doing?’

  ‘Did she have any success?’

  ‘He got in a couple of cars. Most of the time though, the drivers just pulled away as soon as he took a step towards them.’

  ‘She wasn’t popular with you girls?’

  ‘Complete shit, wasn’t he? Told him to get lost, but he kept coming back until we said we’d put a pimp onto him.’

  ‘You threatened him?’

  ‘You bet. The stupid bugger was bad for business.’

  ‘Did you get the pimp?’

  ‘Nah. Try to avoid them if I can help it. They nose around here, but I wouldn’t trust them an inch myself.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘A month or so back.’

  ‘So, did Honey stop coming after that?’ Jasmine continued.

  ‘Called himself Honey did he? Can’t say he looked that sweet. Well, he didn’t appear again.’

  That wasn’t long before Honey left her flat, Jasmine calculated.

  ‘Did you know any of the men she, uh he, went with?’

  ‘Nah. If they were prepared to go off with a bloke in a skirt then they weren’t looking for a real girl. So no, this Honey tosser didn’t pick up any of our regulars.’

  ‘You can’t tell me anything about them?’

  ‘No. I couldn’t care less about them - wankers. Why are you so interested then? You after the same guys?’

  Jasmine’s heart thudded in her chest. Had she been read? Did this prostitute think she was like Honey? She was aware of the three women encircling her, but she needed to press on.

  ‘So you do get kerb crawlers looking for she-males?’

  ‘She-males!’ The woman spat a gobbet of phlegm onto the pavement. ‘Of course we do. Fucking pricks looking for every sort of excitement – girls, boys, boys who look like girls.’ She leaned forward to peer at Jasmine. ‘You are one aren’t you? You got balls in your knickers?’

  She reached forward between Jasmine’s knees. Jasmine recoiled backwards but found the two girls behind her. They grabbed Jasmine’s shoulders and held her tight. The older woman’s hand groped between her thighs.

  ‘No, I’m not! I’m not like them,’ Jasmine shouted, unwilling to use her police training to free herself.

  ‘Yeah. You fucking trannies. Think you look like women but you want to fuck like any bloke don’t you?’

  ‘No!’

  The hooker’s fingers reached up her thighs, touched the taut Lycra, failed to find her testicles dangling. They were tucked away, constrained in Jasmine’s tight knickers. Jasmine twisted out of the arms of the younger girls, turned and ran back up Railway Terrace. Tears blurred her eyes as she repeated to herself: I’m not like them, I am a woman.

  4

  FRIDAY

  Jasmine hurried out of the flat, throwing her bag and camera over her shoulder. It was eight a.m. and she felt as if she’d been awake all night. Actually, she probably had. She tried to put the agonies of tossing and turning in bed out of her mind as she got into the Fiesta. Xristal Newman and Honey Potts were to be banished from her thoughts. She was just going to get on with the surveillance of Parfitt and with any luck get the evidence the Fraud Investigation Service wanted.

  She turned the key in the ignition. The starter motor churned but the engine didn’t start. The phone in her bag began to ring. Jasmine released the ignition key and groped for the phone.

  ‘Good morning, is that Jasmine Frame?’ Jasmine recognised the voice of her FIS contact.

  ‘Yes. Hi.’ She tried to sound bright and cheerful.

  ‘We are still waiting for your report on the Parfitt case.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I haven’t completed my observation yet.’

  ‘Why is it taking so long?’

  ‘He’s been very careful. He hasn’t shown he can walk unaided.’

  ‘Well, we can’t hang around any longer. I need that report on my desk tomorrow or we will have to terminate the contract.’

  ‘I’m on it. One more day.’

  ‘Please email your report to me by four pm tomorrow afternoon. Goodbye.’

  The phone went silent.

  Damn. Jasmine glared at the display. It was just as well she was giving up on Xristal. She would have all day to get the evidence on Parfitt. One day to save her reputation, such as it was. She turned the key in the ignition again. Thankfully, the engine coughed into something resembling life and she joined the traffic crawling along the Bristol Road.

  Her thoughts turned to the previous evening. How could she have been such a fool as to talk to those women last night? She shuddered in disgust and embarrassment at not only being so easily read as being transgender, but at being thought to be a she-male like Honey. It was that accusation that disgusted her most. How could the women have thought that she still wanted her male bits? She should have been easily able to handle the situation with the three women without having to resort to her self-defence training, especially as they were probably drugged up and teetering on high heels. Thankfully, she had got away easily enough, but hardly with her dignity intact. Still, at least she had found out that although Xristal hadn’t been seen on the street, Honey actively solicited. Not surprising if Xristal specialised in the more sophisticated art of bondage - she would have made contact with selected clients much more carefully. Well, it was down to Tom Shepherd and the rest of DCI Sloane’s team to trawl the internet for any leads on Xristal’s clients.

  Pulling into Bredon Road, Jasmine was pleased to find a parking space close to Parfitt’s house. She was just about to get out of the car, when the front door of his house opened and Parfitt appeared on his crutches. He limped out to the road and got into his four-by-four. Jasmine hurriedly turned the key in her ignition, praying the hot engine would re-start. It did, reluctantly, and she performed a quick three pointer to follow Parfitt. Turning on to St Benedicts, two cars got between her and Parfitt and she was terrified that she might be caught by a traffic light and lose sight of him. She trailed him through the town centre and then he joined the dual carriageway heading north. Jasmine took a deep breath and relaxed a little.

  Parfitt accelerated beyond the speed limit. Jasmine floored her accelerator. With the Fiesta’s ancient engine screaming, she just managed to keep pace. The temperature gauge rose slowly but inexorably as the miles passed by. She prayed t
hat Parfitt wasn’t heading for Birmingham or even further north. Her poor old car couldn’t keep up this pace for long and she didn’t have enough petrol for a long journey.

  They reached the outskirts of Oxford. Parfitt signalled and turned onto a slip road. Jasmine sighed with relief; perhaps they weren’t going much further. They followed the ring road for a few miles then turned into a housing estate. Jasmine held back, hoping that Parfitt had not noticed her in his mirrors. He pulled up outside a three-bed semi. Jasmine shoved her foot hard on the brake and stopped fifty metres away. She grabbed her camera from the passenger seat. This could be her only chance to get a good shot of her target. Luckily there were no vehicles in the way. She had a clear sight through the viewfinder. She watched the car door open. Parfitt stepped out on to the road - without crutches.

  Jasmine held the shutter down taking shot after shot as Parfitt walked easily and without any trace of a limp around the car and up the path to the front door. Moments later, he disappeared inside. At last she had her evidence, but it wouldn’t hurt to get more. She’d wait to catch Parfitt again as he came out. First she would move the car and get into a better position.

  Jasmine yawned. It had been three hours without any sign of Parfitt. She had left the Fiesta a short way down a side road just out of sight of where he had parked. The estate was pretty deserted. Most people must be at work or out shopping or watching daytime TV. Just a few cars had driven past and there had been even fewer pedestrians. At last the door of the house opened. Jasmine crouched behind the wall of the neighbouring house. She peered through the viewfinder and clicked off a series of shots as Parfitt sauntered back to his car turning to wave to whoever he had visited.

  Jasmine hurried back to the Fiesta, sliding the memory card out of the camera as she did so. It was almost full and she was convinced that the FIS would be very happy with the evidence she had. She dropped the card into her bag and dug out her keys. As she put her car into gear, she caught a glimpse of Parfitt’s car turning at the end of the road so she accelerated after him. As she followed at a discreet distance she was relieved to see him apparently heading back to Kintbridge. He wasn’t taking his time though and she had to strain her poor little car to keep up. The return journey was uneventful and Jasmine was able to keep Parfitt in sight while staying far enough back so as not to arouse his suspicions. When she pulled into Bredon Road she was annoyed to find Parfitt occupying the final convenient parking space when she pulled into Bredon Road. She drove past him as he was getting out of his car with his crutches and watched in her rearview mirror as he limped across the road towards his house. Turning into a side road she saw a space just big enough for the Fiesta which she was able to manoeuvre into It was still only lunchtime, so a bit more waiting around wouldn’t hurt if she could get even more evidence of Parfitt’s fraud. She clicked a new memory card into the camera, cradled it in her arm and opened the car door.

  The door was abruptly wrenched from her hand and an arm reached in and grabbed the front of her T-shirt. It was Parfitt, his crutches discarded. Jasmine allowed him to pull her out of the car to avoid her T-shirt being torn from her breasts. Off balance, she leaned against the roof of the Fiesta, her feet in the gutter with her toes squashed against the kerb.

  ‘You’ve been following me, haven’t you?’ he growled. Jasmine pulled his hand off her chest, pushed his arm away from her, straightened her skirt and smoothed the creases out of her T-shirt. ‘I know who you are - you’re that detective that was in all the papers!’

  Jasmine raised a hand to her head and felt her own hair. Shit, she had forgotten to put a wig on. There wasn’t any point in denying anything. She had to find a way out of this. Parfitt’s anger was mounting.

  ‘You’ve been following me you perv. I’ve seen your wreck around here for days. You followed me all the way to Oxford, didn’t you?’ His eyes dropped from her face to the camera still held in the crook of her arm. ‘And taking photographs, you fucking scumbag. Give me that camera.’

  He made a grab for it and pulled it from her.

  ‘Give that back,’ Jasmine shouted, ‘or I’ll have you done for theft as well as benefit fraud!’ She reached for the camera. The back of Parfitt’s hand slammed into her face. She fell sideways, grabbing the roof of the car to stop herself falling to the ground.

  ‘Think you’ve got evidence do you?’

  She looked over her shoulder and, through tears, saw him pull the memory card from its slot. He thrust the camera back at her. Jasmine twisted around and grabbed it from him.

  ‘Here, cunt, you can have it.’ He stepped back and looked at her again.

  ‘You were at that fire in Xristal’s place on Wednesday, weren’t you? You had a stupid wig on then, but it was definitely you.’

  ‘Xristal’s place?’ Jasmine felt her sore chin..

  ‘The girl who died. It was you that broke in to her flat, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I found the body.’

  ‘How was she?’ Parfitt became almost conversational.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Was she, uh, tied up?’

  A light went on in Jasmine’s brain.

  ‘Why? Did you tie her up? Did you kill her?’ She straightened up and stepped towards Parfitt. She was taller than him. He backed away, realising that he’d said too much. His bravado ebbed away.

  ‘No, no. It was nothing to do with me. I’ve not been near her.’

  He turned and hurried away, picking up his crutches as he went.

  ‘You’ll be hearing from the police!’ Jasmine shouted at his receding back.

  She got back into the car and checked the camera for damage. The thought of Parfitt thinking he’d got her memory card with the incriminating photos brought a smile to her face. Pain shot through her jaw. Damn, she’d have a bruise. She got her phone out of her bag and thumbed Tom’s number. He answered quickly.

  ‘Hi, Jas. I was wondering when you’d get round to calling. You just got up? We’ve got work to do.’

  ‘Actually, I have been working, and guess what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It looks like Parfitt knew about Xristal.’

  ‘Parfitt?’

  ‘My benefit cheat. The reason why I was outside Xristal’s house.’

  ‘Oh, him. Nothing came up in the house to house.’

  ‘Of course not. He’d deny even knowing she existed; but it slipped out when we were having a slight contretemps just now.’

  ‘A contra- what?’

  ‘A fight, or a chat. Both really.’

  ‘I thought you were just supposed to be watching him?’

  ‘Yes, well he noticed.’

  ‘Not so good.’

  ‘Ah, but not before I got my evidence.’

  ‘Oh, that’s OK then. We can haul him in to answer a few questions.’

  ‘Yes. Now what other work have we got?’

  ‘Come round to the station. I’ll meet you in the car park and tell you all about it. We’re getting somewhere with Miss or Mr Newman.’

  ‘OK, I’ll see you in a few minutes.’

  Jasmine dropped the phone into her bag. Tom might be expecting her soon, but before setting off she needed to make herself a little more presentable. She got out a mirror and examined her face. There was an ugly red mark on her chin. She did her best to cover it with some concealer and foundation, put on some lipstick and brushed her hair smooth and straight. The face reflected back at her looked just about acceptable even though she could feel the swelling. She dropped her make up stuff back into her bag and put it on the passenger seat. Now she was ready to meet Tom.

  DS Shepherd was waiting on the steps of the Police HQ. Jasmine gave him a wave and he walked towards her as she pulled into a parking place. He was alongside by the time she had stopped, turned the engine off and grabbed her bag and camera from the passenger seat.

  ‘That was more than a few minutes. The traffic isn’t bad, is it?’ he said as she got out of the car.

  ‘No
. I had to repair my make-up.’

  Tom looked at her face in concern.

  ‘Is that a bruise on your chin?’

  ‘Damn! Is it showing already?’ Jasmine reached into her bag for her mirror and once again examined the damage.

  ‘Parfitt did that? What did he do, punch you?’

  ‘A backhand. He might have had a ring on his finger which has made it worse.’

  ‘Are you going to report the shit?’

  ‘It’s his word against mine, so probably not. But I’ve got my evidence on him, even though he thinks he’s taken it off me.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘And he obviously knows something about Xristal. He certainly knows she got herself tied up from time to time.’

  ‘I told Sloane. He was pretty pleased as we haven’t got anywhere with identifying her clients yet. He’ll get Parfitt dragged in for questioning while we’re gone.’

  ‘Gone? Where are we going?’

  ‘Come and get in my car. I’ll explain while we’re driving.’

  Tom led the way to his Mondeo and Jasmine settled into the passenger seat. After a morning in her old rust-heap Jasmine was envious of the comforts of the larger, modern car. They negotiated the town centre traffic and soon were on the A road heading east. Tom relaxed and spoke.

  ‘The bank has been very helpful.’

  ‘Great, what have they told us about Xristal?’

  ‘Well, they only know him, her - I don’t know which it should be, him I suppose - as Christopher Newman. He’s had the account for years and they have a number of changes of address.’

  ‘That may help us find people who know her.’

  ‘Exactly. But it’s the oldest address that’s most interesting. We think it’s his parents’ home in Reading. The electoral role gives the names of the occupants as Mr William and Mrs Julia Newman. That’s who you and I are going to see now.’