Molly's Boudoir: the 4th Jasmine Frame novel (Jasmine Frame Detective)

by P R Ellis

  ‘Hi Tom. Have you got more news?’ She glanced at the time and was surprised to find that three hours had passed since Tom had left and that it was now gone eleven o’clock.

  His audibly tired voice replied, ‘Yes. Harriet Bunting has turned up. She returned to what is left of her home a short while ago. A couple of the officers that were on duty at the scene are bringing her in for a chat and then we’ll go to see Dr Winslade and formally identify the body.’

  ‘That’s good news. There are plenty of questions she needs to answer.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got a few. Perhaps you’ve got some more.’

  ‘Just a few dozen.’

  ‘Oh! I guess you’ve been thinking about it.’

  ‘And doing some background research.’

  ‘That’s great. I knew you’d be a help.’

  ‘Yes, well, it’s an interesting case.’ Jasmine wondered where the conversation was going. She couldn’t exactly interview the woman herself as she wasn’t a police officer.

  ‘Look, Jas. I wonder if you’d mind coming in and giving us some advice on what questions to ask.’

  ‘Yes, okay, but…’

  ‘I’ll get someone to come and pick you up. It’ll probably be Terry Hopkins. Sloane has assigned him to the case.’

  ‘Oh, he’s still with you, is he?’ They had once been colleagues, she and DC Hopkins, but never buddies. Her opinion of the older detective constable was somewhat soured by his attitude to her transition.

  ‘Yes, he’s still here, the same old Terry. He’s a plodder but he does the business.’

  ‘I suppose so. Okay, I’ll be waiting for him. I hope he’s civil.’

  ‘I’m sure you can handle him if he’s not.’ Jasmine heard a chuckle in Tom’s voice as the call ended.

  Jasmine dropped some essential items into her bag, the first time that she’d had to prepare to go out for anything other than a gentle stroll or a brief evening out with Viv. She put her woollen coat on and stood in the lounge looking out at the road wondering how long it would be before Hopkins arrived.

  She was surprised when after only a few minutes an unmarked Ford Focus drew up outside the house; Tom must have had the car on its way as he rang. The familiar round-shouldered figure of DC Hopkins got out. Jasmine didn’t wait for him to reach the front door. Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she went out of the door and pulled it closed behind her.

  ‘Oh, you’re ready, Frame,’ Hopkins said, glowering at her.

  ‘Nice to see you Terry,’ she said, ‘I didn’t want to keep you waiting.’

  ‘No? Just as well. There’s a lot of work to be getting on with.’

  Jasmine wondered if he resented being used as a chauffeur. ‘Of course. Shall we go?’

  Hopkins nodded and returned to his seat in the car leaving Jasmine to get in to the passenger seat.

  They were already heading towards town when Hopkins spoke.

  ‘Shepherd says you’re not driving.’

  ‘Well, not at the moment. It’s still a bit, um, uncomfortable.’ She wondered whether that was more information than Hopkins wanted. His grip tightened on the wheel and he stared ahead through the windscreen.

  ‘Not sure why he’s dragging you in. Open and shut as I see it. The wife bumped off the weirdo and set the place alight to cover it up.’

  Jasmine shrugged. ‘If that’s what the evidence suggests it’s a reasonable guess.’ That’s all it was, a guess and Hopkins knew it. He was letting his prejudices sway his opinions. ‘Is there evidence?’ she added. Hopkins sniffed and said nothing.

  Jasmine went on in a cheery tone. ‘I gather that DCI Sloane suggested that DI Shepherd give me a call.’

  ‘The guvnor’s on his way to retirement.’ Hopkins commented as if that was an excuse for his unorthodox action.

  ‘Is he?’ Jasmine couldn’t imagine the Violent & Serious Crime Unit without Sloane at its head, but everyone retired one day. Hopkins drove without further conversation.

  They pulled into the police station carpark and both got out. Hopkins lead Jasmine into the building but failed to hold the door open for her. They passed through the outer office without the desk officer raising his head and entered the secure part of the building. Tom Shepherd was standing in the corridor.

  ‘Hi Jas. Thanks Terry. Get on to Winslade. See if she’s ready for Mrs Bunting to come and identify the body yet.’

  The DC grunted and moved on.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ Tom went on. ‘We’ve got Harriet Bunting in the family suite for now. We’re not questioning her directly as yet. She seems pretty upset.’

  Jasmine was interested. ‘What has she said so far? Where was she last night?’

  ‘She says she was away for the night staying at a hotel in the Cotswolds. Left home yesterday afternoon. We’re checking out her story.’ Tom frowned and concentrated his gaze on Jasmine. ‘You said you’d been doing some research. Anything useful.’

  ‘How much time have you got? I’ve got some thoughts on the business and about Evelyn Bunting.’

  ‘You mean this sissy thing?’

  ‘Yes. If I’m right and Evelyn was a sissy – your description of her fits pretty well – and it was Harriet who was her dom, then the relationship between them was intense. Perhaps not what you and I would consider a normal loving partnership but there was a strong bond between them.’

  ‘I’m not sure I get it. You’re saying, she, that is Harriet, made Evelyn wear that chastity thing and the weird clothes but that that was what Evelyn wanted.’

  ‘That’s it. The Master, or rather Mistress/Slave relationship. They depend on each other.’

  ‘But Evelyn ran the business?’

  Jasmine felt a pang of uncertainty. She didn’t really understand the behaviour she was attributing to the Buntings, just going on what she had googled. Nevertheless, she thought she could see how both Evelyn and Harriet could lead visible and hidden lives.

  She tried to explain. ‘The, er, intimate activities of the relationship probably went on in the bedroom. They both lead outwardly normal lives but it seems that Harriet, if it was her, made Evelyn wear and do things to remind her of her power over her.’

  ‘Like the thing around his penis and the maid’s outfit.’ Tom shook his head.

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Well, it must be Harriet who was her, er, dom. It couldn’t be anyone else, could it, with them living together?’

  Jasmine shrugged. ‘Unlikely unless there was a third person who dominated both of them.’

  ‘Oh heck, this is getting ridiculous,’ Tom spluttered. ‘Look, I have a woman in there in tears apparently caused by grief at her husband’s, or wife’s or whatever you call it, murder. Could she have done it?’

  Jasmine shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It’s possible. If for some reason Evelyn wanted to end their arrangement, Harriet may have killed her to stop her escaping from her and now is feeling remorse. These relationships are complicated.’

  Tom sighed and sagged. ’You said it. But if Harriet isn’t the killer, who was it. There aren’t any leads.’

  ‘Not yet, but something will crop up. Harriet may offer some suggestions when she’s calmed down a bit.’

  ‘Mmm, yes.’ Tom straightened up and looked more cheerful. ‘You’re right. Oh, there was one piece of good news.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. We found a lap top in the front shop. It looked pretty well knackered by the fire. The screen was broken and the keyboard melted, but the tech guys think they may get some files out of the hard drive.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Jasmine said. ‘Now what do you want me to do?’

  Tom thought for a moment. ‘Look, I’m not questioning Mrs Bunting formally yet. Why don’t you come into the family suite with me? Have a chat with her and see what we get.’

  ‘Okay if you don’t think it’ll jeopardise your investigation.’

  ‘We’ll keep it unofficial for now. You’re just there to help her cope with the bereaveme
nt.’

  ‘Let’s get started then.’

  7

  WEDNESDAY 16th OCTOBER

  MORNING, LATER

  Jasmine followed Tom into the family room. It was brightly lit and decorated in cheerful colours of yellow and green. There were a pair of comfortable sofas and another pair of easy chairs arranged around a low table. Behind one sofa was a sideboard on which there was a hot drinks machine and supplies of cups, and beverages. Mrs Bunting sat on the edge of one sofa, with her knees squeezed together and a hanky pressed to her nose. She was wearing a smart tweed skirt suit with her legs covered in sheer, flesh-coloured nylon. Jasmine judged her to be in her mid-fifties like her partner but taller and slimmer. She looked up as they entered and dropped her hand from her face revealing tear trails down her made-up cheeks and strands of her shoulder-length hair sticking with the moisture.

  ‘Hello again, Mrs Bunting,’ Tom said in a soothing voice, ‘This is Jasmine Frame. She will help you at this difficult time. Do you feel able to talk about what has happened?’ He sat down on the sofa opposite her. Jasmine lowered herself into the chair alongside her.

  Harriet nodded, but then sobbed. ‘Who did this?’

  Tom set his face in a sympathetic expression. ‘I’m sorry we don’t know at the moment, Mrs Bunting. Perhaps you have some information that could help our investigation.’

  Harriet shook her head, ‘I don’t know who could have killed Evelyn.’

  ‘Someone Evelyn knew? An enemy?’ Tom offered.

  ‘He didn’t know many people,’ Harriet sniffed. ‘He usually stayed at home, looking after the business.’

  ‘Perhaps there was someone to do with the business, a customer, or a supplier …’ Tom ran out of ideas. Harriet shook her head and said nothing.

  Jasmine leaned forward. ‘Did you help with the shop, Harriet?’

  Mrs Bunting looked at her, faintly surprised. ‘Oh no, that was Evelyn’s job. I was a partner but that was just for the paperwork.’

  Jasmine went on, ‘So, you knew how the business was doing, the accounts and so on.’

  Harriet tossed her head, ‘Not really.’

  ‘You had other things to do while Evelyn was doing her chores, then?’ Jasmine wondered if Harriet Bunting would notice her choice of word. It seemed that she had because the woman glared at Jasmine, examining her.

  ‘Of course I had other things to do.’

  Tom spoke, ‘Such as going to a hotel for the night, without your partner.’ Jasmine thought his tone was a bit judgemental. Was it deliberate?

  Harriet turned her head towards Tom. She had lost the tearful, grief-stricken appearance. Now she held her head up. Jasmine saw a proud, dominant woman not used to having her actions questioned.

  ‘Evelyn had work to do while I was away.’

  ‘Was she expecting a visitor, a friend perhaps?’ Tom asked.

  Harriet scowled. ‘There may have been a business caller, but Evelyn didn’t have friends visiting. Are you going to keep asking questions or will you let me see my husband’s body?’

  ‘Yes, we’re arranging that now Mrs Bunting, but if we are to find who killed your husband,’ Tom emphasised the masculine word, ‘and set fire to your home and business, we will need your help, as much as you are able to give us. That’s why we’re asking questions.’

  Harriet still looked irritated. ‘I understand Inspector, but I have no information to give you.’

  Tom looked as though he was going to respond but then stood up. ‘I’ll see if it is possible to view Mr Bunting’s body. Jasmine will keep you company.’ He stepped out of the door. Jasmine noted that Harriet was unmoved by references to Evelyn’s maleness, but surely if Evelyn customarily wore female dress she must have expected his gender to be questioned. Jasmine decided to question her on the topic.

  ‘Did Evelyn consider himself a man?’ she asked.

  Harriet frowned. ‘That is a very personal question.’

  ‘I know,’ Jasmine said with care, ‘but you have referred to him as your husband while he was discovered wearing feminine clothes and we are told he always wore female dress.’ She wondered whether Harriet considered Evelyn to be male or female; both or neither.

  ‘You are referring to matters that are private.’

  Jasmine pressed her, ‘But Evelyn appeared in public as a woman. Was she transgender?’

  Harriet Bunting examined her again for a few moments before speaking. ‘Do you mean did he want to be a woman? No, he didn’t. But he accepted that he wasn’t the sort of man who gives out orders, takes what he wants, grabs any woman that he fancies.’

  ‘Your relationship reflected that,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘Our marriage satisfied us both. I cherished him… and he obeyed me.’ She glared at Jasmine, daring her to question her statement.

  Jasmine pressed on regardless. ‘Cherish? What does that mean exactly?’

  ‘I ensured that his needs were met.’ She blinked, ‘Look, I don’t know what this has got to do with finding my husband’s murderer. I thought you were some sort of bereavement counsellor. Why are you asking these questions?’

  How should she answer? ‘I’m not a trained counsellor, Mrs Bunting, but DI Shepherd thought I might be able to help by having some understanding of Evelyn’s situation. I’m not sure if I do.’

  Harriet was examining her again, looking her up and down. ‘Are you a transvestite then?’

  The “t-word” cut at Jasmine and she felt a momentary anger. ‘No, I am a woman. I was transsexual.’

  ‘Oh, you mean you’ve had the chop. Evelyn would never have that. He liked the feelings he got from his cock.’

  ‘Is that why you kept it locked in a chastity cage?’

  Mrs Bunting’s mouth opened but no words came out. Her face reddened. Finally, she spoke.

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘The pathologist who examined Evelyn’s body discovered it, of course. DI Shepherd informed me because he didn’t know what it was for. But it was a sign of your dominance wasn’t it. You had control over Evelyn’s sex-life.’

  Harriet took a deep breath. ‘He preferred to be subservient. I decided when he could have an erection. You wouldn’t understand, especially as you’ve had yours cut off.’

  ‘Oh, I understand desire, Mrs Bunting, and the urge to achieve what one wants. I have wanted to be a woman for years and now I am one.’

  The woman sneered, ‘Just because you’ve got a cunt instead of a cock, doesn’t make you a woman. You can never feel what a real woman feels during her life: puberty, periods, pregnancy. You may think you’re a woman because a man can stick his cock inside you, but you’re no more a woman than if you were wearing one of the suits Evelyn sells.’

  Jasmine felt hot and tense. This was supposed to be a gentle and soothing talk not a bitter argument. She tried to organise her thoughts so that she could respond calmly. She didn’t have to. The door opened and Tom came in. He looked to one woman then the other. Jasmine thought he could tell that tempers had been raised.

  ‘We can go to view the body now, Mrs Bunting. The mortuary is at the hospital, so I can take you in my car.’

  ‘Good. At last.’ Harriet said rising to her feet. Jasmine thought she looked a formidable woman with an excellent figure.

  ‘Would you like, Miss Frame to accompany us?

  The widow turned and looked down her nose at Jasmine. ‘If she must.’

  Tom frowned and looked at Jasmine who gave him a shrug and a smile.

  ‘Right. We can leave now,’ Tom said, holding the door open for the two ladies to leave the room.

  Tom lead them out of the station to his car and they drove out of the town to the hospital. Harriet and Jasmine, sitting side by side on the back seat each looked out of their windows not speaking to each other.

  They parked outside the pathology department of the hospital and one of Dr Winslade’s assistants let them into the mortuary. Jasmine was pleased that they weren’t guided to the laboratory where the p
athologist carried out her autopsies but instead to a more tastefully decorated small room where the only furnishing was the cloth draped trolley on which lay the body. Only the face was visible with the body covered in a white sheet with a white cloth laid loosely over the head.

  The three of them stood just inside the doorway, not one wanting to take another step closer.

  ‘Ah, you’ve got here,’ Dr Winslade said, striding in from the corridor. ‘Hello Tom, oh, and Jasmine, nice to see you again.’

  ‘This is Mrs Bunting,’ Tom said.

  The doctor held out her hand to shake Harriet’s. ‘I’m sorry to meet you on this sad occasion,’ she said, ‘we just need you to have a quick look and confirm the body is that of who we think it is.’

  Harriet Bunting nodded and with Dr Winslade at her side approached the trolley. The doctor lifted the cloth. The widow took a glance then turned her head and stepped back.

  ‘That is Evelyn,’ she said with just a hint of sob.

  ‘Thank you,’ Tom said. ‘There’s no hurry. You can stay with Mr Bunting if you wish.’

  Harriet shook her head and lifted a hand to her neck. She tugged on a chain and pulled a small key from between her breasts. She undid the clasp on the chain and dropped the key into her hand. She held it out to Dr Winslade.

  ‘I think you may need this. There is no point keeping Evelyn locked up anymore.’

  The pathologist took the key without a comment and Mrs Bunting headed towards the door.

  ‘I don’t want to stay any longer. Take me home please.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Tom replied, ‘But your home is still a crime scene and the fire has left it uninhabitable.’

  ‘I realise that, Inspector, but perhaps I may be permitted to pick up some items before I go to stay with friends.’

  ‘We can do that if the items have been documented and are not required as evidence.’

  ‘Evidence of what?’

  ‘Murder, arson, whatever the motive was for the attack on your husband or home.’

  Harriet sniffed and marched off to the exit and the car.

  ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Tom said to Winslade, ‘I hope we can speak again soon.’