‘Come for a curry! You shouldn’t eat those hotdogs from those carts. They’re disgusting! If they get dropped the seller just picks ‘em up and chucks ‘em back on the grill, usually using the same hand he’s just used to scratch his nuts, or wipe his ass.’
‘How poetic. I know but they’re perfect for soaking up the booze. What time’s your train?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘I’m not going to mine tonight. I’m meeting Natalia once she finishes work,’
‘Oh, she still working in that bar at Canary Wharf? Thought she’d left…’
‘No, she applied for a teaching job, but never heard back.’
‘That’s a shame, she really is too good for bar work.’
‘Yeah, she is. That’s why I want you to come for a curry with me, whilst I wait’ Greg said.
‘Nice try Hampton, but no! I’ve had quite enough of you for one evening!’ Elizabeth laughed.
‘Suit yourself. Text me when you get home, alright? See you Monday,’ Greg gave her a quick squeeze then set off in the direction of the tube, turning round briefly to give Elizabeth a wave.
Elizabeth watched Greg wander off then turned around, heading in the opposite direction. At the corner of the street she noted flumes of smoke emanating from what appeared to be a hotdog seller‘s cart. Marvelling at the coincidence she walked towards the smoke, salivating as the smell of frying onions hit her nasal passages.
The hotdog seller was fat, sweaty and grubby, streaks of carbon blackened his face as he wiped his dripping brow with dirty hands. He’d chosen a good location to ply his trade; a couple of hotels, including the one David Saunders had been murdered in, and three pubs that Elizabeth could see. Lots of drunk punters, like me, and hotel guests to sell his over-priced, unhygienic but yummy hotdogs to.
She walked up to him and ordered her food, noting that despite his fat, wobbly body, he actually had quite an attractive face, despite the baldness, double chin and hair poking out of his nose. She chuckled.
‘You alright love?’ he asked with a grin, his expression clearly indicating that he was used to drunken customers and their drunken antics.
‘Yes, thank you. I was just thinking about beer goggles. You know when alcohol makes people more attractive.’ She smiled back.
‘I know all about that my love. You should see some of the things some of the guys around here take home with them. It’s the stuff of nightmares.’
Cos’ you’re god’s gift Mr hotdog man?
‘I’ve woken up to a few nightmares in my time!’ Elizabeth snickered again, playing along with the banter. ‘You must see some sights of an evening stood out here watching the world go by?’
‘You wouldn‘t believe some of it. People can be very funny when they’re drunk,’ he gave her a wink, and expertly flipped her hotdog sausage.
‘Indeed, although they can also be very annoying when you’re not pissed with them. My mate Greg is a prime example. Love him to pieces normally, but he annoys the hell out of me when he’s pissed and I’m not!’
‘He your fella’?’ asked hotdog man.
‘Greg? No, he’s someone I work with and a really good friend.’
Hotdog man nodded his head.
‘You here most nights then?’ continued Elizabeth.
‘Usually a couple times a week. I move around a lot you know?’
Trying to keep away from police unlicensed, unhygienic hotdog man?
Elizabeth was hit by a flash of inspiration, ‘You weren’t here on Wednesday were you by any chance?’
‘Wednesday? Yeah I was as it goes,’ Hotdog man replied, handing Elizabeth her hotdog. She reached out and took the food then placed it on the edge of the cart, fishing around in her handbag for the photo of David Saunders she had been showing around at the pubs earlier that day.
‘I wonder if you can help me,’ Elizabeth began, flashing her warrant card, ‘I’m a detective…’
‘Oh bloody hell. Haven’t you got anything better to do than harassing innocent traders? I’ve tried to get a license but the council always says no. Don’t report me, come on! That’s entrapment that is, buying off me and then sticking me on. It’s not fair, honestly, nothing better to do, no? Bloody hell!’ hotdog man ranted, already beginning to close down the grill.
‘No, no. Trust me, I couldn’t give a shit that you’re illegally trading. I really just wanted to eat one. What you can help me with is something else.’ Elizabeth raised a placating hand. Hotdog man looked sceptical. He wasn’t a fan of police, they weren’t to be trusted in his opinion.
‘Just have a look at this picture would you? I know this is a real long shot, but have you ever seen him before?’
‘I’m usually pretty good with faces but I do see loads of people everyday.’
Hotdog man took the photograph from Elizabeth, and studied it. Elizabeth was impressed; usually people just gave the image a cursory once over, but not hotdog man. Perhaps he thought that by cooperating he could ensure Elizabeth didn’t report him.
‘Yes. I have seen him before.’
Elizabeth’s heart jumped, her stomach did a somersault.
‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said I’ve seen him. I remember him because he was with this woman and they had a really weird conversation,’ he replied, handing back the photo. ‘What did he do?’
‘It’s not what he did, it’s what was done to him.’ Elizabeth answered, not wanting to give too much away. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Had she just found their first real significant witness?
‘Oh, did he get attacked or something?’ hotdog man asked, curious.
‘Yes he did. Tell me about this conversation you heard,’ Elizabeth suggested, switching into cop mode.
‘He was talking to a woman, I think they were together, like a couple. I didn’t get a really good look at her though ‘cos she stood back from me, or rather she was walking next to him as they went past on the side furthest away from me, so I couldn’t really see her. The guy, what’s his name?’
‘David.’
‘David asked her if she wanted any food. I guess seeing me here made him think about it. I didn’t hear her answer but I heard her voice, if you know what I mean. He then asked if she wanted one of my hotdogs and she told him to shut up, not to speak to her again unless he was spoken to and to keep walking. He said: ‘Sorry mistress. Of course’ and then she had a go at him again, telling him to shut up and not speak. It was weird, you know? The way she spoke to him, like he was a piece of shit on her shoe. Who talks like that?’
A murderer who is into bondage and domination.
‘Do you remember anything else from the conversation?’ Elizabeth asked, ignoring his question.
‘No, that was basically it. He was trying to be polite and buy the lady some food and she told him to shut up and what not. I don’t know if they’d had an argument or something but Christ! My old woman would never talk to me like that and I’d never talk like that to her,’ hotdog man looked genuinely indignant at the prospect.
‘So this was as they were walking past you?’
‘Yeah, they were walking towards The Majeste,’ he pointed towards the hotel where David had been found murdered, ‘and as they passed me they had that conversation. They paused briefly, you know, when he asked her about the hotdog and then carried on.’
‘What can you tell me about the woman?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Well, I didn’t really get a good look at her. I mean this section of the street is not exactly well lit, as you can see, and as I said she was walking on the other side of him, so he blocked my view, basically.’
Think man, think!
‘Can you tell me anything about her at all? Age, height, skin colour, hair colour, anything she was carrying…?’
‘She was tall, maybe around six foot, although she probably had heels on. Most women do these days don’t they?’
He glanced down at Elizabeth’s feet. Flats. How disappointing.
‘She was white, I
couldn’t tell you her age as I didn’t see her face. She was wearing a really long thin black coat and it had a hood. Now I think about it, I’m pretty sure she had the hood up. That’s probably another reason why I remember so little about her,’ he paused, thinking. ‘She was carrying a bag, small rucksack size. It was down by her side. I think he - David – may have had a bag as well.’
‘Anything else about either of them that struck you in any way?’
‘Nah. That was it. Then they just went off towards the hotel. I didn’t even see if they went in cos a customer came over.’
‘Ok, that is great, you’ve been very helpful. This is where I work, call that number and arrange to come in and give a statement. You will give a statement won‘t you?’
Elizabeth handed him her business card, and looked at him. In her experience if you told someone what they were going to do for you before you asked them if that was ok, they usually acquiesced.
‘Your statement is extremely important. The man you saw was murdered that night. You may well have been the last person to see him alive,’ she added, hoping the information would sway his decision.
Hotdog man went pale.
‘Jesus…’ he whistled through his teeth. ‘Murdered? Bloody hell.’
‘So you see it’s important we get your statement as soon as possible.’ Elizabeth added, ‘Call me first thing tomorrow, ok?’ Elizabeth decided that nothing would be lost in delaying the statement by a few hours so that she could take it personally when she was feeling a little less worse for wear.
Elizabeth was desperate to call Greg and tell him what she had just found out, but he was on the tube and wouldn’t have phone reception. She thanked hot dog man once more and made him again promise to call her in the morning.
She was buzzing. This was a lead. She dialed DI Scott’s number and waited impatiently for him to pick up. Instead the phone rang out and then went to voicemail. Elizabeth left a message and hung up, not sure what to do next.
She knew she should go home and try and sleep, but also knew this would be impossible. Still, she couldn’t exactly roll up at the nick now, stinking of booze and fatigued, but nor could she wander around the streets all night waiting for morning. Besides, what could she accomplish tonight? The short answer was nothing.
She wanted to collect her thoughts and process everything hotdog man had told her. The train ride home would provide her with the perfect opportunity to do just that. And then she could call Greg on the way as he would be off the tube by then. She was going to relish telling him he’d lost the bet and now owed her twenty pounds. She smiled to herself. The evening was just getting better and better.
************************************************
Mark Faversham sniffed loudly, snorting the white powder up into his nose. The beat of the music from within the club caused the toilet cubicle doors to throb, accentuated every time the restroom door was opened, removing the physical barrier between him and the music.
He felt good. He felt fucking good.
He’d taken a Viagra moments earlier and had now sniffed two lines of coke. The mix, ‘sextasy’, was guaranteed to get him horny, keep him hard and make him feel on top of the world. Coke on it’s own would keep him horny, but would give him ‘limp dick’, a well known side effect of coke use, hence the requirement to mix it with Viagra if he was to enjoy this as much as he should. Emboldened by the coke, he headed back out into the club.
Strobe lights blinked across the crowd, pulsating bodies, gyrating and dancing, moving with the beat. Everybody in the club was wearing clothing associated with bondage; PVC, leather, rubber, chains, collars, platform shoes, thigh-high boots. Some faces were painted, others were hidden behind masks and facial hoods. Some people wore dog-collars attached to long leads, crawling along the floor behind their masters, others were tied to crosses, spread-eagled and semi-nude, as an overweight dominatrix, sporting a tight PVC catsuit offered people the chance to whip the prostrate subs.
Mark was in Paradise. The coke had kicked in and he could feel the familiar surge of confidence begin to sweep through his body. He looked fit. His hair swept off his face, revealing his sharp jaw line. He was wearing tight leather trousers and a black PVC shirt, buttoned up to the top, his muscular frame rippling beneath the fabric.
He moved through the crowd, head bobbing to the beat, a smile on his handsome face. He took hold of a thin bamboo cane that the fat dominatrix offered him and methodically caned one of the female subs naked arses, feeling himself become hard as she moaned in pain and pleasure.
After a few minutes he moved on, heading to the dance floor, his eyes bouncing across the bodies in front of him, full of sexuality and lust.
Then he saw her.
Dancing alone, her red PVC catsuit like a second skin as it moulded to the contours of her athletic figure. She moved with slow, fluid movements, her hips rotating, arms raised, her hands running through her hair, which was long and black as the night. Mark stood mesmerised.
A small circle had formed around her, men and women alike watching her provocative dance. Mark moved towards her, the coke making him feel strong and confident. As he started towards her, she looked at him and continued her dance with her eyes on his. Ice blue with passion in their centre. She was dancing for him now and this excited him.
She rubbed her hands over her body and slowly pulled down the zip at the front of her cat suit, down between her breasts, almost down to her belly button, her hands all over herself. He could feel himself becoming more aroused.
He stood still again, in a trance; she was hypnotic and now she was moving towards him, zipping the suit back up, lithe body swaying from side to side, her firm breasts outlined through the PVC, her small waist accentuated and her long legs exaggerated by the five-inch red heels she was wearing on her feet. She was tall and sexy and goddess-like. Mark couldn’t move, transfixed like a rabbit caught in the headlights of the car that was about to cause its demise.
She was so close to him now he could smell her musky scent, dark and exotic. She wrapped an arm around his waist and danced around him, using his body as a solid prop around which she swayed and rocked.
‘Mina?’ he asked, hoping she was the woman he was expecting.
‘Yes, Mark,’ she replied, her voice deep and seductive.
She smiled alluringly and slipped a hand under his shirt, scratching his body with her long fingernails. Mark moaned in pleasure and pulled her into his body.
‘No, no, no. You know you don’t control me,’ she derided. ‘You do as I say.’
She leant into his neck, her lips less than an inch from his skin, her breath warm.
Mark closed his eyes, now oblivious to the other people in the club. He was only aware of this seductive, black-haired siren and the way she was making him feel.
‘I think it’s time we left,’ she said to him, her hand rubbing against his swollen penis. ‘Take me somewhere private where we’ll be alone and won’t be disturbed. I’ve got big plans for you.’
She grabbed Mark by the wrist and walked him through the club to the cloak room. Handing over her ticket, the receptionist gave her long, black-hooded coat and a black bag. Mark did the same and was returned a thigh-length black jacket. Simply putting on their coats allowed them to walk out of the club and appear normally dressed, all evidence of bondage and kink craftily hidden beneath the garments.
They emerged from the club into the fresh night air, and Mark was secretly relieved to see that the woman was equally beautiful in the light. Sometimes the darkness of the club could be misleading. He’d made that mistake before.
‘Tell me where we’re going,’ she said to him, turning her face to look at him, her cool blue eyes peering out from under her hood. Mark took the opportunity to admire her face.
‘Richmond, my place. Is that ok for you?’
‘You live alone?’
‘My flat mate is away, so it’ll be just us,’ Mark grinned at her.
Mark raised his h
and as a black cab drove into view, the yellow light on the dash indicating its availability for hire. They clambered in and Mark gave the address of his flat. Mina seductively leant back against the seat of the cab, her long legs set apart, her coat ensuring her catsuit could not be seen by the cab driver.
‘Put your hand between my legs,’ she quietly ordered Mark, ‘under the coat.’
Mark did as he was told, his right hand snaking under her coat and resting against her crotch, awaiting his next order.
‘Undo the zip, and put two fingers inside me.’
The design of the cat suit was such that, whilst the garment fastened with a long zip at the front, there was also a second small zip in the crotch area which allowed easy and quick access to the wearer’s most intimate parts without the suit having to be removed. Mark felt the zip under his fingers and slowly inched it down before pushing his hand inside the garment, his fingers brushing against the smoothness of her shaved sex, the lips silky and soft to his touch.
He was so hard he felt he would burst. He wanted to kiss her, to pull her on top of him, to feel her firm body against his, but he knew he mustn‘t. She was in charge; having to exercise so much restraint was sweet torture.
He slipped his fingers into her and savoured her warmth and softness. She moaned gently as he pushed into her and pushed her hips up to greet his delving fingers. He sighed and felt himself losing control; as if she was aware of this, Mina suddenly pulled his hand away and raised it to her lips.
She looked at him as she opened her mouth and placed his fingers inside, gently sucking at his digits. Mark groaned in pleasure enjoying the sensation combined with the knowledge of where those fingers had just been, his arousal heightened by the fact they were doing this in a taxi, the driver oblivious to their antics.
Mina placed her hand on his crotch and began to rub, the movements in unison with those of her mouth around his fingers. Mark wasn’t sure how much more he could take, he was desperate to feel her around him, to thrust up into her, hard and rhythmically. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on something non-erotic. He was relieved when the taxi pulled up outside his flat, pleased to have a moment to calm down.
Sweet Oblivion Page 11
