Dark Service

by Linda Coles

  “What made you think that?”

  “Because he wasn’t the usual vanilla in bed. He was,” she paused for a moment, “more adventurous. He wanted me to do things I hadn’t done before. He encouraged me to try stuff, and he liked to dominate. He wanted me to be submissive, stay on the floor on my knees, that sort of thing.”

  “Did you confront him after that night, about the tiny cuts?” Amanda said gently, aware that this was extremely personal territory.

  “I didn’t. Because he sent me a text telling me nobody would listen to me so not to bother telling anyone. I’d gone to his room for sex, and that was that. My own stupid fault.” Stephanie’s bottom lip started to tremble and she fought to keep control of her emotions. “I didn’t consent to that though – my hair being severed,” she wailed, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  Amanda passed her a tissue and looked at Jack sympathetically. “Take a moment,” she said. “There’s no rush. Then can we go back to when you thought you heard another voice in the room.”

  Stephanie nodded and blew her nose. When she’d regained her poise, she rewound back to where Jack wanted her to be.

  “I don’t know what time it would have been. We didn’t get to his place until around one am and I left at around seven am. I remember the sunlight streaming in – that’s what woke me in the morning, I think. It was so bright. He hadn’t closed the curtains. Anyway, all I can remember from earlier was I was in bed. It was dark, but there was a muffled sound, conversation, two deep voices. I assumed one was Sebastian and one was another man, though I’ve no idea who. Like I said, I was pretty out of it.”

  “Was Sebastian out of it too, do you remember? Had he taken anything, and had you?” Stephanie looked a little sheepish and the answer was obvious.

  “He took some coke – I think it was coke. But I never touched it. I’ve never done drugs. He wanted me to have some, but I said I didn’t need it. He took some, like they do in the movies – you know, up his nose. He said it relaxed him.” Turning to Amanda quickly, she asked, “Do you think that’s what he drugged me with – cocaine?” Her voice rose in panic.

  “Probably not, though we’ll never know. If you had been drugged to knock you out, it would more likely have been Rohypnol – ‘roofy’ is the street term for it, and it’s also known as the ‘date rape’ drug.”

  Stephanie sat speechless for a moment. At least she hadn’t been raped; her experience had been consensual, although only marginally so.

  Jack broke the silence. “Can you tell us anything, anything at all about the other voice? Accent maybe, old- or young-sounding, foreign possibly? Anything?”

  “No. It was just a blurry voice, like I was hearing it under water. I wish I could tell you more.”

  “It may throw some light on what happened. As Mr. Stevens was murdered, we can’t ask him about that night. And you seem pretty sure he didn’t have anything to do with your hair being cut. So let’s get to the part about the card, the note you found. Go on from there.”

  “When I got home, I showered, got dressed and sat on the sofa, trying to sort my thoughts out, really. And figure out what had happened, what I was going to do next. I grabbed my bag, looking for something, though I can’t remember what. And then I saw an envelope sticking out. It had my name on the front. It just said ‘Stephanie,’ so I opened it. The single piece of card inside said ‘Tell no one. It wouldn’t be wise.’ And that the debt was settled. Or words to that effect. It spooked me, and I assumed it was to do with my hair being taken. I’d already had the text from Sebastian about being game, so it didn’t make sense for it to be from him. I do remember it looked very elegant though, a swirly handwritten script, not from a computer.”

  “What did you do then? Did you tell anyone about the card?”

  “No, I didn’t tell. I was too spooked all round. I threw the card in the rubbish and that was that. My hair would grow back, and I figured I’d had a bloody lucky or unlucky night, depending on how you looked at it. It taught me a lesson, I can tell you.”

  “Is there anything else?” Jack sensed she had finished, had told all she knew and was ready to wrap it up.

  “No. I’ll let you know if I think of anything. Can you tell me why this is so important now, after all this time and Sebastian being dead?”

  Good question. Jack took it.

  “There may be another case that’s recently come to our attention. Quite by accident. She had a similar card left and thought she’d been drugged.”

  Stephanie’s hand flew to cover her mouth.

  “And her hair?”

  “Sadly, gone.”

  A groan of disbelief and anguish escaped her mouth. Fifteen years later it was happening again. Had it ever stopped?

  “My god. It’s been happening all this time and nobody knew.” It was a fact, not a question.

  “Well, we do now.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  It had been a harrowing hour or so at the police station, regurgitating events from so long ago, events that she’d worked hard to forget. Now they were back swimming around the inside of her head like sharks circling in shallow water. A nuisance, and frightening. While she probably hadn’t been much help – she hadn’t seen anything of use – if it helped to catch whoever was responsible for the latest victim and prevent more women from going through this, then it would have been worth the pain.

  As she walked, a thought nagged at the back of her mind now – the reference on the card to a debt being settled. At the time she’d wracked her brains, wondering what it had meant, but nothing had come of and it had been forgotten with the rest of the nightmare. But now, having told Jack and Amanda about it, she began uneasily to ponder it again. Your debt has been settled. But what debt, and to whom?

  Right now, she needed a drink. There was a place up ahead that would do.

  Stephanie opened the door to the wine bar and found a vacant stool at the bar. She didn’t want to be totally on her own, but she didn’t totally want conversation either. She hoped a glass in the vicinity of others would soothe her nerves. A young man dressed in a denim apron with “Matt” embroidered on his nametag approached her, smiling pleasantly.

  “A glass of white wine, please,” she said. “A large one.”

  “Coming right up.” She watched him pour from a bottle in the fridge, salivating at the thought of the crisp, cold liquid she was about to consume, then silently reprimanded herself.

  You sound like a desperate alcoholic.

  “Thanks,” she said, and greedily took three large mouthfuls.

  Matt raised his eyebrows at her. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Only you’ll be falling off that stool in a minute if you’re not careful.” His concerned look told her he wasn’t being a comedian or an asshole.

  “Rough day, that’s all.” She put her glass back down. It was now only a third full. “And I know it’s still early, but really, it’s been a crappy day already.”

  Matt took the hint and busied himself further down the bar to give her some space, and she nursed the rest of her glass at a more leisurely pace. She’d been sat there thinking for about twenty minutes when the door opened again and three women walked in, chatting earnestly together, and headed to the bar to order. All three women would have been in their thirties, and from the way they were dressed, probably office workers of some kind, and well paid, judging by the shoes they were wearing. Stephanie loved nice shoes. One of the women was telling a story, the other two listening intently as Matt approached, and Stephanie’s ears perked up, not out of nosiness but because the woman was obviously wound up – probably the reason they were in the bar in the first place, much like Stephanie. One of her colleagues took the liberty of ordering them gin and tonics, and Matt began to mix them, shooting a quick glance at Stephanie.

  “Honestly,” the first woman exclaimed. “It’s like Hollywood in that place now, probably worse. What’s his last indiscretion going to do to the company’s reputation now, eh? I’m getting pretty sick o
f fighting his fires because he can’t keep it in his pants, or his hands to himself. He’s a bloody nightmare to have around. I’m seriously thinking of talking to the board. It’s not good for business.” The woman steadied herself with a deep breath before taking a large mouthful of her drink. Her hand shook slightly, and the ice cubes rattled. The other two women sipped slowly; so far, they’d only offered the occasional ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ to confirm they were indeed listening.

  The speaker set her drink on the counter and began talking again, her voice vibrating with anger as she spoke. “It’s Lisa I feel sorry for now. Having put up with his advances all this time, it won’t be him that moves on, but Lisa, and she’s a damn good team member. Not like Mr. Shitty Sleazeman.”

  One of the other women nearly choked on a mouthful of gin, coughing and smiling at the same time. “Sorry, that’s actually quite funny,” she apologized, wiping her mouth. “Cheeseman, Sleazeman. Who made that up?” She giggled and took another sip of gin.

  “I think he earned that name himself don’t you?” said the first woman. If the cap fits and all that.”

  The three women stood in silence for a moment, contemplating what was obviously an embarrassing and awkward situation back at the office. The ringleader carried on. “We’ve got to find a way to stop him. Otherwise, we won’t have a team – or a business, at this rate. Sexual harassment is not to be taken lightly; it’s a serious offence, for both parties. If Lisa leaves because of it, she’ll be marked a troublemaker, and if she presses action and wins, she’ll be labelled a troublemaker too. Meanwhile, Sleazeman gets to have a giggle about the whole thing and life moves on for him. Until the next one. And the next one. And I’m sick of trying to sort it out. Perhaps I should leave and leave him to it.” The other women watched as she slammed her empty glass down on the bar with a thud, catching the attention of Matt.

  The first woman said, “Let’s order some food and another round, and sit down and make a plan. You’re right: the problem won’t go away on its own. We have to do something.” The third woman nodded her agreement and gathered three menus. As the others moved to a table, she called to Matt for three more drinks.

  Stephanie had always believed in chance, in fate, in being offered an opportunity at the oddest of times and places. Listening to the women’s heated conversation had jogged something loose, something from the past that now swam in front of her eyes like it was only yesterday. That shark again, or something else as deadly. Open-mouthed, she ran through what she’d only moments ago realized, a piece of the puzzle from her past now making perfect sense.

  Her debt had been paid.

  She’d been the one being harassed by a director back then. He’d been the one to make her life hell to the point that she’d begun taking antidepressant pills. And then, just when she’d thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, it had stopped. Like someone had severed his hold on her, cut the cord with a knife. Nothing further had happened – no more quick touches as they passed in the corridor, no more lewd looks and sexual innuendos. No more chance meetings in the tearoom when everyone else had left for the evening. She shuddered at the memory, and what she’d done to him that night. He’d left rather suddenly and never said a word about it. At the time, she’d wondered why. And now she knew. Someone or something had intervened. While she’d been thankful it had ended, there was a question to be answered.

  Could she have ended up in someone’s debt?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  How could she have forgotten that important snippet? She slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. He’d left suddenly, with no warning and no explanation, and she had felt relief like never before. It had all come to a head. All the flirty remarks and comments, and suggestions of dinner after working late – all the classic ‘want you in my clutches’ letch talk that she and probably others before her had endured – had finally flicked a switch in her mind.

  Late one night, she’d been finishing off a project. Most of the team had left for the evening and she’d been rinsing her mug in the kitchen. Quietly, he’d entered the room while she had her back to him and had locked the door. When she’d turned and seen him standing there, the look of ‘got you’ written on his face and his lecherous smile, her stomach had nearly emptied itself into the sink. It had been obvious what was to happen next. She remembered how he’d leered at her, taking in her long legs, licking his lips as he’d walked towards her, savouring his prize like she was an ice cream he was about to devour.

  But not tonight. Never again.

  She’d waited patiently for the right moment, for him to get close enough. Kicking him in the nuts wasn’t an option: he was already too close, and there was not enough room to swing her foot up. No, she’d had a better plan, one that could get her the sack, or even worse, a record for assault charges. But that didn’t bother her. He bothered her, and he had to be taught his advances weren’t welcome, ever.

  She’d fixed a ‘come and get me’ smile on her lips and stuck it out. He’d probably been surprised at her smile, and pleased that she was going to submit without a fight, that she had realized she couldn’t stop the inevitable. That bit had pleased her, because he was almost correct on that score. Except it was he that couldn’t stop the inevitable.

  As she’d leaned back into the kitchen counter and he’d made contact, pressing his body into hers, she’d stayed focused on what was to happen next. She’d turned to her right slightly and let him kiss her neck, all the time fighting the repulsion of his damp, hot breath on her skin. She’d tried her best to relax, to let him know he’d won and she was enjoying his touch. How far from the truth that was. Her right hand had clenched stealthily around her weapon of choice and with one strong movement, she’d thrust the fork prongs into his shoulder as hard as she could.

  It took him a fraction of a second to realize what she’d done and release her, but she was well ahead of his thought process. Like a firework, she propelled herself at the door and unlocked it, flying out into the main office and into the midst of the cleaning staff who were working there. Pausing just for a moment to grab her bag, she watched as he stared at her from the doorway, his face crimson with pain and fury. And a fork sticking out of his shoulder. That part had amused her, and she’d smiled mirthlessly as she fled the building, leaving him to it.

  At least she’d won on this occasion, though it wouldn’t be the end of it, she knew. Tomorrow, she’d be lucky if she still had her job, not to mention the police at her door.

  She’d hit 3 on her speed dial as she legged it towards her car. Chris had picked up quickly, his voice chipper, pleased to hear from her as always. They’d once had a serious thing but were now on and off regularly. She knew Chris wanted them to be permanently on.

  “I’ve fucked up,” she blasted out in a rush. “I think I may have gone too far.”

  “Slow down. And tell me what’s happened.”

  “Meet me somewhere?”

  “Anytime – you know that. Where are you now?”

  “Just left work. Headed home.”

  “Then jump in a taxi instead and come straight round. I have wine.” Chris always had wine; they’d drunk a fair bit of it together in the past.

  “On my way. See you in ten.”

  He was waiting at his front door and walked down to the pavement as she pulled up. In the back of the taxi she’d had time to calm herself down a little and wasn’t so frazzled. Chris paid the driver as she got out and he turned to her. His arm slipped across her shoulders in comfort like close friends do. Once inside, she’d told him the whole sordid story. Of how her boss, William Botham, had tried valiantly over the previous months to make her his prize. Of his disgusting habits and ways of speaking. Of how she knew she wasn’t the only one going through this, though no one had dared make a formal complaint. And of how, tonight, she’d finally had enough and decided to beat him at his own game. He’d set her up in the kitchen by locking the door, and she’d set him up by having the fork ready at her fingertips.
The only reason she’d chosen a fork over a knife was because a knife really could have been termed a weapon. A fork? More opportunistic, less premeditated. Though it had probably hurt just as much. She’d certainly hoped so, and his yelp, like a wounded dog’s, had confirmed it.

  Chris had sat quietly taking it all in but couldn’t help himself smiling proudly as she described the scene just before she’d fled. The wine was helping her relax.

  “I felt like Sarah Connor stabbing the Terminator – strong, in control and damn hard,” she’d said, and they’d both laughed. Her tension was easing.

  “Did you wear jeans and a vest covered in sweat? And big boots?”

  She knew when he was taking the piss, but it felt good to laugh at the whole scenario before the inevitable shit set in. He’d held her close as their laughter had died down and they both thought of the possible consequences. It was assault, after all, and she’d no proof of his wrongdoing – and Botham was in a better position to persuade the authorities if he chose. Getting her fired wouldn’t have been a problem in the slightest.

  “Look, stay here tonight,” Chris had said. “I’ll sleep on the sofa and you have my bed. In the morning you’ll feel better and be ready for whatever the day brings.”

  Stephanie had agreed.

  He’d hugged her tight, and she had felt glad of his friendship.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Fifteen years before

  Chris Meeks had never been much of a sleeper. He’d regularly operate on four or five hours per night and often wished he could sleep for longer. His body just didn’t need it, and the many physicians he’d consulted as he was growing up had all come to the same conclusion – he was just wired differently. They’d advised him to just let it be, and as a result he read huge amounts at night or listened to audio books as he lay in bed ‘resting’ his body, with his mind whirling round digesting the words. Late-night radio bored him senseless but podcasts on various topics filled the gap; he’d found they were a good alternative to fiction.