Sweet Oblivion

by Rhiana Ramsey

  Ben hadn’t elaborated upon the pay cut issue. She wondered what this would mean for her and those she didn’t recommend for the chop. She’d be alright she knew; she lived well within her means and so could take a small pay cut. But what about Abbey, the single mum of two who worked in the human resources department? What about Harry, the son who looked after his ailing mother and paid a small fortune for a private nurse? Everyone had their burdens and obligations and now she had to decide whose lives would be turned upside down.

  Wincing against the pain behind her eyes, which was rapidly spreading across her skull, Louise spun her chair back around and grabbed the sheets she’d been reviewing from her desk. Time to give the ok and get this month’s edition off to the publisher. Then, she could focus on who to sack.

  ***********************************************‘Fucking hell.’ said Detective Inspector Scott. ‘Fucking, fucking hell. What the fuck happened here?’

  He surveyed the hotel room, his experienced eye taking it all in from the threshold. The scenes of crime officers had arrived a few minutes before him and had set about looking for any forensic opportunities that could ultimately finger a culprit. As they busied themselves with the scene, their white suits a stark contrast to the scarlet blood that drenched the double bed in the centre of the room, DI Robert Scott listened as he was briefed by one of his detectives, DC Peter Jackman.

  ‘The body was found just after two o’ clock by one of the cleaners, Greta Poletta. She’d been tasked by the hotel manager, Mr Thomas to get the room ready. They thought the guest had left. Ms Poletta came in, drew the curtains, saw this,’ he nodded towards the bed, ‘and then ran out the room. She told the manger what she’d seen and then he came up here for a look, although he only got as far as the foot of the bed. The vomit in the corner near the bathroom door is his.’

  Robert grimaced, ‘Great, so the scene has only been contaminated by two people. Makes a change. Usually the world and his wife have walked through the scene.’

  ‘Well, not quite guv. Ms Poletta’s screaming attracted quite a few of the neighbouring guests. At least three others came into the room after she had fled, leaving the door open. The vomit at the foot of the bed is the stomach content of a wealthy Russian businessman called Sergiev Rabinovich. The other two were a young Spanish couple on a romantic city break. The scenes of crime officers have been made aware of this and they’ll be obtaining voluntary DNA samples and fingerprints from all five individuals so they can be used for comparison and elimination purposes.’

  It was common practice to take fingerprints and DNA from people who had entered a crime scene prior to police arrival because if any samples were recovered by the SOCOs, they would need to be checked against those provided by the witnesses so they could be eliminated from the investigation; if samples weren’t attributable to those who had passed through the scene, there was a chance they may have been left behind by the killer.

  ‘Fabulous,’ grumbled DI Scott. ‘Where are these people now?’

  ‘They’re all in one of the conference suites - the Windsor suite. There are some uniformed officers with them. They’re being made to sit apart to try and minimize further cross-contamination, but to be honest I think that damage has already been done.’

  Cross-contamination was a forensic term which referred to the transferral of potential trace evidence from surface to surface or from person to person when they made contact with each other. It was borne from Locard’s Exchange Principle, a theory that was drummed into all new recruits during their police training. Put simply it was the notion that every suspect left some form of trace evidence at a crime scene and took something away from the scene with them. Every contact leaves a trace. The difficulty was finding it.

  ‘Hmmm. Let’s seize all their clothing anyway; you never know what they may have picked up from the crime scene and dragged out with them on their clothes. I want statements taken from all of them before any of them are released. Start with the maid, then the manager. Then get someone looking into this guest’s booking. The voluntary samples can be done by uniform, we don’t need the SOCOs to do that. I’ll get some more uniformed officers on the way shortly. What do we know about the victim so far?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s a Mr David Saunders - at least that’s the name on the bank cards in his wallet and on his driver’s license. We don’t know much else at the moment other than he is probably married with kids. He’s wearing a wedding ring and there are photos of kids in his wallet, along with five-hundred pounds cash. His mobile was still in his jacket pocket as well. ‘

  ‘So he wasn’t robbed.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like it sir.’

  ‘And that is quite a bit of cash. Fucking hell,’ Robert said again. ‘I presume this hotel has CCTV?’

  ‘Yes down in the security office,’ answered Peter.

  ‘Ok good. Let’s get cracking on getting that secured and viewed.’

  ‘Yes sir.’ Peter hurried away to find the rest of his team of detectives, only too happy to be away from the grisly scene.

  Robert beckoned to one of the SOCOs. One of the white suits padded over to him, camera slung around her neck. Robert could only see her eyes, but he knew immediately who it was, her striking blue eyes giving her identity away.

  ‘Becca, what can you tell me?’ he asked.

  ‘Robert, it’s grim. One of the worst I’ve seen.’ her eyes crinkled at the corners as her expression gave way to disgust.

  ‘This guy has been well and truly fucked. His left eye is hanging out of its socket, looks like a sharp implement of some sort was used, and his penis has been hacked away. It’s grim.’ she repeated, clearly affected by the macabre tableau.

  ‘Christ,’ murmured Robert, ‘What else strikes you about the scene? What do you see?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, the body is tied to the bed by rope, looks like Japanese love rope, and don’t ask me how I know that,’ Becca said.

  ‘What you do in your own time…’ grinned Robert.

  To an outsider the banter may have seemed distasteful, but it was how they coped, how they dealt with the depravities of human nature that they witnessed in their work. They had to joke about the dead or they would go quietly insane. It wasn’t that they didn’t care or that they were being disrespectful, but humour took the edge off, allowed them to distance themselves, at least for the moment, from the fact that what they were looking at was a fellow human being. It was a survival mechanism.

  Becca grinned back.

  ‘It’s a soft rope, used by practitioners of bondage. Doesn’t hurt so much. He is naked, prone and as I already said his genitals have been hacked off. Penis and balls. It’s disgusting Rob. There is also a bottle of champagne by the bed, two glasses but it’s untouched. The shower appears to have been used, as it’s wet, but whether that was by our man here or by our killer, who knows? The coroner reckons that the cause of death was the punctured eyeball, so we can only hope that the wounds to his genitals were caused post mortem, although of course this will all have to be verified at his autopsy. Poor sod. Time of death hasn’t been officially established, but from the colour of the blood and the general colour and appearance of the body we reckon it could be anywhere between midnight and 05:00hrs. That’s just us speculating though. Could be way off the mark.’ Becca shook her head in disbelief and glanced back at the room behind her. ‘Never seen anything like it. Who does that? Who hacks off a bloke’s genitals?’

  ‘Somebody seriously fucked up Becca, that’s who. Is his penis still here?’

  ‘We haven’t found it yet.’

  They stared into the room in silence for a few moments then Robert felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He looked at the caller ID and groaned.

  ‘Fuck it. Now that’s a record even for him. He doesn’t usually start pestering me until the body’s been taken away to the morgue at least. Must be a slow day in the office.’

  Becca shook her head quizzically wondering who Robert was talking about.


  ‘It’s the boss.’

  ‘Ah, I’ll leave you to it then.’ Becca padded back into the room to continue her examination of the scene.

  Robert grimaced as he connected to Superintendent Tim Meadows, mentally preparing himself for the barrage of questions he knew would ensue.

  ‘Guv, it’s not a pretty sight…’

  Chapter VI

  ‘Right here will do fine thanks.’ Louise motioned to the left-hand kerb with her hand. The cab driver pulled over and Louise jumped out, shoving the fare through the cabbie’s open window.

  ‘Ta love, have a good night.’

  ‘You too,’ she smiled at the driver, and mentally kicked herself for being so silly.

  She’d preferred to take a fifteen pound cab ride to the restaurant instead of paying a few quid to take the tube because she was spooked at the thought of public transport and more strange people talking to her in seemingly cryptic code. The truth was the old man with the crooked teeth at the bus stop and the handsome stranger on the platform had plagued her all day. She couldn’t explain the vision at the bus stop and she certainly didn’t understand what the handsome stranger had meant. ‘Your secret’s safe’ he had said. What the hell did that mean? Was she supposed to know him or something? Had they met somewhere? And if yes, why couldn’t she remember him?

  She walked briskly up the street towards the restaurant, the tall, proud sign gleaming in the street lights, her name so big and visible for all to see. She was overcome by a feeling of warmth, knowing that Steve had named this place after her. He was such a good man. She reminded herself again that she needed to pay him more attention, maybe just a weekend in Paris or Brussels? There were lots of Eurostar deals they could take advantage of and which wouldn’t require her to take time off work.

  She smiled and pulled her collar up high against the wind and drizzle, and stood looking in the restaurant window. The place was almost full - not bad for a Wednesday, she mused. Through the window she could see Melissa, that bitch, playing hostess, like she owned the place.

  Melissa had worked for Steve for just under a year and over that time her attitude and arrogance had grown exponentially. To say that Louise disliked her was an understatement. The feeling was, however, mutual.

  Louise pushed open the heavy glass door and walked in, pleased to see the smug, prima donna smile scurry off of Melissa’s face.

  ‘Evening,’ said Louise, the attempt at civility contorting her face, making her look like she was sucking a lemon.

  ‘Louise, how are you?’ Melissa asked in a manner that sounded friendly enough to the outside ear but which for Louise was dripping with poison. Melissa had quickly recovered her composure. She cocked her head to one side as she gave Louise a practised smile.

  Don’t get angry, don’t get angry. Oh how I would love to beat the fucking shit out of you…

  Louise heard herself politely answering: ‘I’m great thank you. Not everyone has a restaurant named after them after all. Gave me quite a buzz seeing my name out the front,’ she smiled sweetly back.

  Melissa looked at her, the fake smile still plastered across her face. The atmosphere between them was almost palpable and full of disdain. They looked at each other for a few moments.

  ‘Steve is in the kitchen. Do you want me to tell him you’re here?’ Melissa asked, her tone now bored as if she had much more important things to do than stand there shooting the shit with Louise.

  ‘No thank you, but you can take my coat,’ replied Louise, removing the dripping garment and handing it to Melissa, rain water pattering to the floor.

  Melissa looked like she was going to refuse, but then she smiled again and replied: ‘Of course,’ clearly disgruntled at being reminded of her place.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Louise turned her back on Melissa and strode off in the direction of the bar, mentally applauding herself. Louise Jackson 1; Melissa Vines 0. Petty as the exchange had been, it had cheered Louise up immensely.

  As she approached the bar she saw Steve emerge from the kitchen smiling. He hadn’t noticed her yet and she savoured the sight of him, his face beaming with happiness, his dark blond hair falling into his deep brown eyes, and his jaw contoured by a rugged and very sexy five o’clock shadow. He was wearing his favourite ‘lucky’ jeans with the black Lacoste shirt she had given him a month ago. He looked great and she felt a familiar jump in her stomach at the sight of him.

  His eyes scanned the restaurant before landing on her, then his whole face broke into a smile which stretched from his sexy mouth to his gorgeous eyes. He spread his hands out as if to say: ‘Look at this. It’s a success.’

  Louise smiled back and glided over to him. They kissed, then he held her away from him to look at her.

  ‘Louise, you look beautiful. Have you seen our restaurant? It’s buzzing and I am so proud,’ his eyes twinkled at her.

  ‘Steve, this is amazing. I am so pleased for you. This restaurant is your baby; any success is down to you. I only lent you my name.’

  Steve wrapped his arms around Louise’s waist.

  ‘You are my muse, you sexy woman.’ he lent into her space and gently kissed her neck. Louise inhaled his smell and enjoyed the proximity.

  ‘You will not believe the day I have had.’ Louise said, her hand resting on Steve’s cheek for emphasis.

  ‘Grab a stool at the bar baby and I’ll join you in just a moment. Then you can tell me all about it. I’ve got some news for you too as it happens, a bit of a surprise.’

  ‘Ooooh! Sounds intriguing!’ she teased.

  Steve kissed her nose and wandered off towards the back of the restaurant, his hand extended to one of the patrons. Louise looked towards the front door and saw Melissa staring at her, jealousy and anger written all over her features, her arms folded across her chest. She held Louise’s gaze for a second before turning to attend to a man and woman who had just blustered into the restaurant, shaking moisture from their umbrella and clothes.

  Melissa’s affection for Steve was obvious for all to see except, apparently, for Steve himself. For a moment Louise considered whether it was possible that Melissa’s affections were not entirely one-sided, she was a good-looking woman after all and she was sure that Steve must be at least a little attracted to her, despite what he said. But after the way he had smiled at her tonight, the look of pure love he had given her at seeing her across the restaurant, Louise decided that her feelings of insecurity were unfounded. She turned to the barman, poised behind her expectantly, and ordered a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

  She sat on one of the high stools at the bar and watched Steve meander through the restaurant, chatting to his clientele like some kind of rock star signing autographs. As she sipped the crisp, dry white, she hoped and secretly prayed that he wouldn’t end up breaking her heart.

  ***********************************************

  This was one hell of an unusual case, mused Robert. It wasn’t often you came across such a savage murder. The guy’s penis and testicles had been hacked off for Christ’s sake. That signified a very disturbed individual, but also a very composed and calculating one, who had obviously planned this murder. It didn’t appear to have been frenzied, although Becca had pointed out that the cuts made to remove his appendage had been unpractised and imprecise. So, not frenzied, but certainly not the work of a practised hand either.

  The victim had been tied to the bed, wrists and ankles, with purple rope, soft and pliable and apparently used by practitioners of bondage. A pair of PVC trousers, presumed to have been the victim’s, and seemingly supporting the bondage theory, were found at the foot of the bed. A small hold all, containing a clean shirt and tie was on the chair near the door. A suit was hanging in the wardrobe, probably the clothes the victim had worn that day, the dirty shirt in a bundle on the floor. Also in the bag were a couple of files relating to a PR company simply named PR International Ltd and detailing promotion ideas for a London club. This was the company David Saunders worked for.
Robert had tasked a couple of detectives to visit the company the next morning once the more urgent enquiries had been completed. Besides, it was now late evening and he doubted there would be many staff at PR International at this hour, if any at all.

  All these items had been seized by the scenes of crime officers and were now at the lab to be processed on the hurry up. The SOCOs had also taken the champagne bottle and glasses on the bed side table. Two glasses. The victim either had a guest with him or was expecting company. Was the guest the killer? It seemed likely at this point, but Robert was not one to assume. It was a simple as A, B, C. Assume nothing, believe no one and check everything.

  Champagne suggested Mr Saunders had been trying to impress. He made a mental note to find out when the champagne had been ordered, if indeed it was hotel stock. Had he invited a client back to his room? Perhaps the champagne was to celebrate a successful business deal? The room was certainly large enough to host a client without it seeming strange, but if that had been the case, Robert would have expected the files to have been on the large desk instead of stuffed away in the holdall. It would have been unusual to have a meeting in the room, he mused, but not totally unfeasible.

  Becca had stated that the rope was Japanese love rope, which suggested that the victim was tied up as part of a sex game. Unlikely to have been a business client then, unless it was a woman, or maybe a man, with whom he was having an affaire. Or maybe he had gone out and met this person somewhere, a bar or a club? Had he brought back an unknown person to his room for sex and got more than he bargained for?

  There was a photo of a woman and children in Mr Saunder’s wallet so for all intents and purposes he was heterosexual. Although again, it wasn’t unheard of for married men to engage in homosexual activities, sham marriages were not that uncommon. Robert turned his thoughts to the wife.