by Karen Botha
Naked Souls
Thriller and Suspense Series
Karen Botha
For my husband Charlie without whom none of this would be possible. I adore you.
Contents
Paula
Lucy
Adam
Paula
Adam
Lucy
Paula
Adam
Lucy
Adam
Paula
Lucy
Adam
Lucy
Paula
Lucy
Lucy
Adam
Mitchell
Mitchell
Mitchell
Paula
Lucy
Paula
Mitchell
Adam
Lucy
Adam
Paula
Lucy
Lucy
Paula
Mitchell
Mitchell
Adam
Paula
Lucy
Mitchell
Paula
Paula
Adam
Mitchell
Lucy
Paula
Mitchell
Paula
Paula
Lucy
Adam
Paula
Paula
Paula
Lucy
Adam
Mitchell
Adam
Lucy
Other books by Karen Botha
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Paula
Bodies, categorised by age, sex and race. A vast warehouse floor in the East End of London, full. We’re in the part of East London that isn’t fashionable. Derelict urban storage not yet snatched up for apartment conversion, and as such the building is tucked away down an un-kept private road. With neither lighting nor CCTV to assist us in tracking down how these wretched souls came to be lying naked in this dank abyss. I’ve seen some sights in my time, but nothing like this. And don’t my nostrils know it. No amount of toilet roll can block that stench, and before you ask, no, I won’t be touching vapour rub. I learnt early on in my career how successful that is at clearing blocked airways. Not great when you’re going for the opposite effect.
“What do you see?” Mo, my good friend and partner on the murder squad asks.
I rub my chin. Is it OK to say, ‘I have no blooming clue’ on my first official week back on the squad I mistakenly left to pursue pastures new? I decide Mo and I yield enough history for me to admit how dumbfounded I am. “No idea. You?”
“Nope!”
I shift my weight staring down the silent morgue, hoping for inspiration. If I’m honest, I don’t see it happening soon. So, I set off on a slow stroll down the concrete strip, searching for a clue in the faces of the flesh at varying degrees of bloating, or worse still, rotting. I grit my teeth to form an enamel wall, blocking the putrid particles of their death from invading my body as I struggle to breathe through the horrific sights. Blocking all notions of how these bodies looked as living, breathing, people with lives and stresses, I wonder what would cause them to come into contact with someone who would treat them like this?
“No obvious cause,” I mumble, not really to Mo, but he hears me and nods.
“Perhaps they were suffocated,” he surmises.
“It could be anything at this stage. The forensics will appreciate this one.”
“At least SOCO have a ready-made place to hold the bodies. I don’t suppose we'll be moving this lot with ease.”
“Have the team located the owners' of the premises yet?” I ask.
“No, but I'm keeping everything crossed that by the time we return to the station we'll have at least a small nugget to work with. The team are on it.”
We fall silent again. There’s a hubbub of activity as the teams bring in the equipment they need to start working out what happened and where, but the place also echoes. It's eerie. The space is full, whilst somehow still appearing vacant.
Jim walks past, chatting to Christine, his voice hushed in subconscious respect to the rows of victims.
“Jim, before you take off, can you please categorise how many people fall into each segment and their specifics. That must be meaningful to whoever laid them out, so it should be to us. Break down the physical divisions as the killer had them, but also if you spot other dimensions then pass that on too.”
Jim salutes and walks off, no further questions, or rather too many for one alone to surface and so instead we focus on one piece at a time.
“Have you noticed? Every single one is laid out perfectly, it's so clinical. Each body is spread out the same as the next. They’ve been positioned with such care,” Mo says.
“Hmm, respect even?”
“I wonder...” Mo says, without having a precise direction about what he’s speculating.
“He expected to move more bodies in. The corpses are organised, look! Those to the left of each block are in the worst state of decay. Those to the right are less rotten.” I point my finger towards the lines of lifeless bodies.
“So, he left a gap between them. He prepared them, knowing he was bringing more.”
“Yes.” I chew a slim strip of flesh on the inside of my bottom lip and stop walking.
“But where did they come from?” Mo is talking to himself again now and I don’t need to answer. Instead I observe the sound of the crumbling building, and of how people whisper on instinct when confronted with such catastrophic death. And how the clang of metal outside as car doors slam, rings around the void in the rafters.
“We should ascertain who would be familiar with this place. What was it used for in the past and who would even have the foggiest idea that this property even exists?”
“Hmm...” Mo’s lost in his own thoughts.
“What's bothering you?” I keep my voice soft, not wanting to disturb his thoughts, only to be allowed access.
“Let’s take a trip upstairs,” is all he says.
We head off in the direction of the dilapidated staircase located near the entrance and almost bounce up, two at a time, a renewed vigour driving our steps.
“What are we looking for?” I ask.
“These places are often used by the homeless. Fingers crossed we'll find some signs of life up here. Then we'll have ourselves a witness.”
“You've been around enough rough sleepers Mo, you know what they're like. They’ll lock down in a heartbeat. The homeless community is way more brutal than us. We’ll struggle to compete.”
“I know, but we need to check every avenue. Sometimes, you get lucky.”
We scratch along the ground, scouring for any sign of a hasty exit. We bag up a few discarded cigarettes, any ace investigation duo would be remiss to leave behind, but I'm not confident they'll lead us anywhere. I wave my three measly bags at Mo. “Well, at least we found some sign of life here. And we've discovered not a hint of a fire to keep the vagrants warm, so perhaps, these may be a lead.” I curl the corner of one side of my mouth up. I’m trying to be positive and Mo knows it.
“Yeah, let’s send them to the lab. We have nothing else to work with for now.”
We turn around and pass a bricked up door.
“I wonder what that is?” Mo says, his speech slow as his brain processes whether this is anything that will help us crack this.
“It could be an old fire escape,” I suggest.
We tread down the shaky steps and return outside into the fresh air. Fresh is a tad on the optimistic side as we’re slap, bang in the middle of grey industrialisation, but on the back of what we
were inhaling within the concrete confines of the warehouse, we feel like we’re in the glorious Lake District. I pull the tissue from my nose and take a lungful of air.
Mo does the same. “Welcome back, Paula.” He taps me on the shoulder and I slap my cold fingers over his large, brown hand.
“It’s good to be here, Mo.”
“No, I mean it,” he says. “I wouldn’t want to run this case with anyone else. This will turn messy.”
Lucy
“Knock, knock,” I say as I nudge my head around Adam’s office door.
“Hey gorgeous, have you finished all your massages for the day?” He smiles up at me.
I cross the space between us and plonk myself on the edge of his desk. He pushes his keyboard to one side making way for me whilst running his free hand up the outer edge of my trousered thigh. His hand meets with a rumple of fabric that passes at an angle in the direction of my groin. He smooths the wrinkles out with one finger. As he traces the cloth, my insides alight. The mere hint of physical contact with him and I overheat. The electricity of his touch sends my innards to a tingling mass of wantonness.
“Yeah, I’ve wrapped up. How was the casino today, busy? You look drained.” His skin is dry, and it stretches taut under his eyes, unmasking blue rings. I write a mental note to buy him iron water.
“Ah, not so bad, the same as normal for the moment. It’s difficult running with half-staff and with Todd still settling in. We’ll get there.”
“Paula has texted to ask if we fancy joining her in the pub after we finish here. She’s had a bit of a day by the sounds of it. You up for it?”
“Maybe... in a little while?” He winks and leaves the pleats that were tormenting him around my thighs to trail his touch under my loose top towards my waistband. Our eyes are locked, unblinking as he grazes my bare flesh with the nail of his index finger, fidgeting with the button at the front of my trousers with his thumb. Releasing it, he glides my zipper south - I don’t complain as, tooth by tooth, my pants loosen. My lace panties protrude out of the V he’s created. Adam grabs the top of them with both hands and pulls me to him, nuzzling his face against the delicate fabric as he inhales, then sighs.
“Mmm, you smell so good.” His words are muffled against my flesh, sending vibrations deep inside me and I push against him without a thought to his open office door. I shift so I’m off the desk, straddling his large, wheely chair, his suited trouser legs supporting me. As I reach for his belt, he slides one hand inside my top and frees my breast. It plops free out of the cup of my bra and my nipple snaps pert as it skims the contours of different fabrics. Adam massages it, pushing my t-shirt up and exposing me with his spare hand, burying his head in and nipping, chewing, sucking. Warmth runs around my body with every beat of my pulsing heart. Not only do I love this man with a passion, I desire him too. I can’t get enough of him touching me, whenever he’s near, I crave his skin on some part of mine. Any part of mine.
Liberating my other breast, Adam pushes his face between them. The pressure of his hands at either side of my ribs as he squeezes me together to take me in his mouth, one breast at a time, delivers a hedonistic burst of pleasure.
Material is hanging loose round my crotch and I can feel my wetness, an instinctive acknowledgement to Adam’s touch. I shift my bum to be more comfortable, an invitation for Adam to delve deeper. He accepts.
Cupping inside my panties, he stretches the lace until he approaches my reply to his hunger. I hold my breath, my heart pounding in my ears, waiting for him to touch the place he knows will send me wild.
He stops.
Looks up at me, he has a grin spread wide across his face and his dark eyes twinkle against the fluorescent light of his office.
“Do you want this?” He raises a teasing eyebrow at me.
I nod.
“Tell me, tell me you want me.”
“Oh, I want you Adam.” I pull his tie and force his face upwards until our mouths meet. Our tongues graze in a rough tangle, our breaths hot and heavy, wanton for the other. We explore where we’ve been so many times before, still excited at the rediscovery, still happy to search out new sensations.
I nip at his bottom lip with my teeth.
“Ow, what was that for?”
I giggle, running my fingers through the messy mop which a few moments earlier reflected the dark, groomed hair of a principal executive. “You forgot something. I’m still waiting.”
“Ah, you’re getting needy?” He sighs, his voice gruff, “Well, I’m pleased to oblige.” He says this as he plunges a finger into my private place to which only he is granted access.
My hips buck and as I arch my back so he can graze his thumb over my slippery lips, he whispers, “Anyone could walk past that door now.”
The words enter my head, but they don’t register other than to make me wild with excitement. His fingers move deeper, faster, his thumb still twirling around me at the same time and the thought of a stranger, or better still, someone we know, copping an eyeful sends me over the edge. I yelp, slapping the back of my hand into my mouth as I spasm at the mercy of this remarkable man’s touch.
But I’m not done. That was the warm up.
Catching my breath I ditch my lower clothing. Leaving them in a pile to the side of his chair, I wheel Adam back and grab at his belt, still fastened in my distraction. It takes me all of two seconds to release him, his hardness springing free, and I’m on him. No more foreplay, I need to feel him inside me and as he punctures between my legs I cry out in satisfaction at how he fills me.
“Slow down would you. I’m going to blow if you carry on like that.”
I don’t care, I yearn to have him deep, over and over. I slide up and down, maintaining my rhythm. He screws his eyes up and breathes fast, trying to control his response to my movement. He’s on the brink. I slow.
“Wha...?” He almost cries as his shuttered eyes spring open, flinging an accusatory stare my way.
“Sorry...” I’m the picture of innocence as I speed up, grabbing the rear of the chair and drawing him even deeper within me. I’d planned to tease the life out of him, but in that instant my love overpowers any naughtiness and I let him be.
His head snaps back as the crescendo of delight surges through him in unstoppable waves, eating away at the stresses of a business he’s fighting to rebuild.
Adam
No-one needs to mention which pub we’re meeting Paula and her squad in. It’s invariably the same, a dreary place round the corner from their station. A drinking establishment which is either alive with the vibrancy of a case going well, or a mood of desperation which only a tank load of alcohol can help resolve.
Today, I’m expecting the latter, but it turns out that our delay in arriving has lessened the sombre scene and we stroll into a gaggle of boisterous hilarity.
“Bloody stiffs littering the floor like the aftermath of a festival weekend.” Jim’s remark carries above the tenor of the banter.
Lucy and I steal a swift peek at each other and she raises her eyebrows. We’re not shocked. We’ve mingled with Paula and her police friends more than enough to figure out this is a coping mechanism to ameliorate the truly horrific.
“I’d better buy us a drink,” I say to no-one in particular, partly because no-one can hear me, so absorbed are they in their guffawing.
Rather than raising my voice above the din, I head to the old barman and say, “Another round for that lot please, plus our usuals.” I gesticulate towards Lucy, drawing an intangible line between us. It occurs to me that this thread is a constant in our lives. A twenty-four-hour invisible tethering of two hearts such that we sense whatever the other needs and provide it without hesitation.
I’d like to marry Lucy, but it’s too soon. She headed down that path before and it’s not one she’s keen to re-visit. ‘Why change what is true?’ she asks. She has a point. But I want her to be my wife, for us to make it official. She’s the only one I’ve ever chosen, so out of respect for her,
I’ll back off. That’s the absurd thing about love. When you’re that into someone, your emotional intelligence flies out of the window. The more I care for her, the less I’ll press her.
“Here you go cocker.”
The bar tender lines up half of our order on the bar and I begin my waiter duties. As I pop the full glasses in the heart of the group for them to distribute themselves, Paula looks up for the first time.
“Hey Adam, thanks!” She reaches out and squeezes my elbow before returning to her crowd.
When the round is shared out and all attendees are satiated with their alcoholic preference, I draw a stool up adjacent to Lucy and ask, “So what went on today?”
There’s a collective hiss around the table as a legion of teeth are sucked. I wait, not daring to even glance at Lucy. This is a serious case, I won’t even breathe if it disturbs the focus of whoever will speak first.
It’s Paula. “An anonymous call alerted us to a former warehouse in the East End which was stacked with bodies. It’s like the bloody tsunami again, corpses lined wall to wall hoping for identification then tagging. Except, this isn’t the aftermath of the tsunami and those people are lying dead via no legitimate means.”
