A Taste of Honey

by Tom Benson

  Kimberley poured a substantial amount of fuel over the unknown girl’s body. It hurt her deeply to do such a thing, even to somebody she didn’t know, but it was necessary. She looked briefly at the selected items she had thrown onto the adjoining bed, poured fuel on them and then went to her sister’s body.

  It was a sad irony that she knew Harriet’s wishes regarding her choice of funeral. She poured most of the remainder of the gas steadily back and forward over the blanket that covered her sister’s corpse. The bedclothes draped over the girl were saturated.

  “Please forgive me Harriet, but now you can rest in peace baby sister. I have to make sure they don’t find you the way I did. I love you, and I’ll avenge your suffering. I’ll deal with every one of them.”

  She had wiped her eyes and her nose before she turned to the deviant on the chair.

  Two paces took her forward, and she splashed the last droplets of the fuel over his head and body, so that it clung to his hair and dripped down over the hairs on his chest. She saw it make rivulets down over his genitals and through the chair, to increase the puddle underneath.

  “Are you sorry now?” she said as she glared at Alan Brett.

  He writhed and squirmed. His head nodded vigorously, and he sobbed within the confines of the tape. The tears poured from his red and staring eyes, and the muffled sounds were those of a frightened animal. In his case, a frightened animal with sufficient intelligence to realize his impending doom. He was about to be burned alive, manacled to a wooden chair.

  Kimberley said: “I bet you’re fucking sorry, you heartless bastard.” She looked around and pulled out the book of matches from her pocket. “I don’t know what Hell is like, but I hope I can create the next best thing.” She walked away and could still hear him.

  From halfway up the wooden staircase, Kimberley looked down at the desperate expression on the pervert’s face as he looked up and struggled to make the chair move. She struck a match and dropped it over the banister onto the floor right in front of him.

  Before she ran up the staircase, Kimberley watched the flames rise under the chair. Brett would not be blessed and overcome by smoke inhalation. His curse was that he would be acutely aware of the fire. The last people he would see on earth would be the two girls he had abused and tortured. He would die in agony looking at their burning corpses.

  Two innocent souls would watch as their earthly bodies burned. Alan Brett would have enough time to experience Hell before his soul made the journey.

  Before dousing the basement, Kimberley had already strategically placed a variety of flammable materials around the house. Using her basic knowledge of explosives; the contents of the kitchen, the garage and basement were like the magazines of an old wooden battleship. Some of the materials would explode while others would burn.

  By the time Kimberley reached the kitchen, the flames were flooding through the house. For good measure, she left the back door open, just as she had done with every window in the house. She had also half-closed the drapes so that they would ignite more quickly, but there would still be plenty of oxygen getting to the blaze.

  As she headed along the path, she was hidden by the high hedgerow. She paused for a few seconds to look back at what had been the family home. It had held so many happy memories, but now, like everything within, it had to be destroyed as completely as possible. Flames licked out of every window, and small explosions started to occur.

  ***

  Chapter 4

  Crossing the Line

  .

  Sunday, June 15th, 2003

  Indianapolis, Indiana

  Kimberley licked her lips and blinked several times when she opened her eyes. As she slowly awakened she moved her head only slightly to look at her surroundings. She then lay still and inhaled the fragrance of cedar, the preferred air-freshener of the motel owners.

  Prior to booking her room the previous night, Kimberley had visited the nearby mini-market and picked up a few items. She placed her late purchases on the dresser and undressed for bed. In less than three minutes after removing her clothing, she had fallen asleep only partially covered by the top sheet and blanket.

  Now having rested, the detective knew that to be effective in carrying out her mission, breakfast had to be high on the agenda. She recalled Maria’s observation and knew that she was correct. A hungry and tired operative equates to an ineffective operative.

  Between catnapping on the bus journey and then a few hours in the extra firm motel bed, Kimberley was recovered but famished. Her plan was still evolving, but she would be able to serve justice; summary justice.

  Kimberley had been so exhausted that she had been unaffected by the dawn chorus. The birds might as well have been in her room, but their singing wouldn’t have awakened her. The unusual alarm that did bring her around was the sound of a passing long-haul trucker honking at a careless motorist, but there was no collision.

  The detective lifted the cheap cell she’d bought and checked the time; 7:05am. She replaced the cell on the bedside cabinet and calculated that she’d managed about six hours sleep. It had been enough. The activities of the previous 24 hours flashed through Kimberley’s mind like the replaying of a movie, as if it had been fiction. Sadly, she knew it had been fact, and she had set herself on a strange and dangerous trajectory.

  Tears threatened as she imagined her little sister’s body and how she had been compelled to deal with her. Okay, Harriet had always said she preferred cremation to terrestrial burial, but it felt so wrong that the circumstances had to be as they were.

  Although Kimberley’s waking thoughts clouded with sadness for her sister, they were tinged with gratitude to somebody else. A faint smile crept briefly onto her lips as she thought of her dear friend Maria and her parting gesture. If it wasn’t for Maria, things might not have ended as they did back in Pinewood. The Italian had intervened at just the right moment; she’d done what was needed and left the scene with no more than a nod. It confirmed that not only did she realize what Kimberley had done; she also approved.

  As Kimberley continued to lie on the bed staring at the ceiling, she recalled how she had ended the previous day in this motel on the outskirts of Indianapolis. Getting off the bus when she did was almost a spontaneous act. She alighted because the place had both a diner, and an all night mini-market nearby. A visit to the diner would happen soon enough.

  *

  After leaving the scene of the house fire on the previous evening, Kimberley had walked a couple of miles south to get clear of Pinewood and the Greensburg area. To cover her tracks, she had hitchhiked further south to Cincinnati, informing the benevolent old truck driver that she had relatives there. On the outskirts of Cincinnati away from any security cameras, she caught a late night bus back north once again, past Greensburg to Indianapolis.

  Before the bus had even arrived near her birthplace, Kimberley spotted the tiny red and green navigation lights of a helicopter. It was high over the woodland that gave Pinewood its name. The aircraft was working a grid pattern, performing a steady sweep back and forward over the area. She knew that an observer would be in the cockpit using thermal imagery in an effort to spot a possible hideaway.

  There were occasional light beams at ground level, which meant there were officers searching with tracker dogs. It wasn’t simply a case of arson after all; it had been a deliberate fire at a senior police detective’s home. The Fire Department would no doubt already have reported finding human remains in the basement, and the case would create a lot of interest.

  Door-to-door inquiries would be ongoing, and there would be extra uniform brought in from surrounding areas. The owner of the torched house wasn’t worthy of such a high profile investigation, but nobody was aware of that; yet.

  As the bus arrived at Pinewood, there was a heavy police presence on the highway intersection near the small community. At a designated stop, a patrolman boarded the bus and walked along the aisle looking every passenger in the eye. Kimberley knew it wa
s a tactic to watch for the possible return of a perpetrator to a crime scene. Occasionally the guilty party might panic in such circumstances and give themselves away. She smiled at the keen young man and then turned to gaze out of the window at the flashlight beams near the woodland.

  Kimberly had foreseen such an issue, so had placed her baseball cap inside her backpack and pulled on a woolen hat. Apart from a different look it proved effective in holding her long dark hair out of sight.

  As the rookie police officer made his way back along the bus, he stopped and turned to look directly at Kimberley and another female passenger. Kimberley looked him in the eye, pulled the sides of her hat down and yawned. She lazily covered her gaping mouth with her right hand before she leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes.

  She looked up just as the other passengers did when there was a commotion at the front of the bus. Two young women who had been traveling together, both with long dark hair and wearing baseball caps were asked to leave the bus to assist with police inquiries.

  When the bus pulled away, Kimberley half-opened one eye and observed the patrolman. He stood at the roadside, clenched fists on hips, shaking his head. No doubt he wished that he’d be the guy that would catch the fire-starter. It was only as the bus pulled away that it struck her; the patrolman had only looked at the women on the bus.

  The two women who’d been asked to leave the bus were escorted to a mobile incident room which was parked a few yards off the road. There were four squad cars parked nearby.

  The professional in Kimberley regretted that no matter how much manpower might be involved in the task, the guys were not going to find the perpetrator. Personally, it gave her some satisfaction to know that Morgan knew she had been responsible, but he wouldn’t be about to make that knowledge public. He had seen her in the house and fled the scene.

  She had known it was a risky tactic to leave town and then travel back through, but it was in her opinion a necessary evil. The day’s activities had been exhausting, so even with interruptions like the road-blocks; the bus journey had given Kimberley a chance to think things through.

  It had been at once worrying and frustrating, but it allowed her to evaluate the reaction to the incident she’d left behind. Kimberly was fully aware that everything she did after torching the house was going to carry a risk. Her life seemed to matter little now; she would focus on bloody vengeance.

  *

  As she climbed out of bed, Kimberley’s thoughts continued to be of the previous day. The motel shower wasn’t the most efficient in the world, but it was mainly hot during use. For a few minutes, the water washed away a sudden bout of tears.

  A tearful reaction came not only from what Kimberley had already seen and done, but also from the decision she had made while still in the house. It was a mix of delayed shock from her discoveries and trepidation regarding her plans. Self-imposed pressure was on her now, and she knew that nothing short of her death would hold her back.

  When she felt sufficiently refreshed and alert, Kimberley left the shower and dressed. It made her feel better as she slipped into the new blue jeans and red hooded sweatshirt she’d bought only hours before at the mini-market. She dried her hair quickly and made no effort to make it look presentable. The new white baseball cap would hold all of it up out of the way.

  It was only about 100 yards to the diner and before going inside, Kimberley stopped at a nearby phone booth. There was a book for the local area. She tore out the single page that she needed, plus three more pages at random, and then went into the diner. Whilst waiting for breakfast, she located a number on a specific page and made a call. She folded the useful page and squeezed it in her pocket with the decoy pages; all for disposal in a distant garbage can later.

  *

  At 9:30am precisely, there was a knock at the door of the motel room. Kimberley had watched as a pink Buick convertible parked about 50 yards away, opposite one of the other rooms. A pretty young woman in her mid-20’s parked the vehicle, and then walked along the covered walkway as if looking for a particular number.

  “Hi,” Kimberley said when she opened the door. She glanced at the embroidered name above the blue comb and scissors logo on the girl’s white blouse. “Come in Kathy.” Kimberley leaned out of the door and looked up and down the deserted parking lot.

  Kathy said: “Are you alone?” and glanced into the room from the doorway.

  “Yes, why do you ask?”

  “As I said on the phone, I do house calls, but I don’t usually take jobs at motels. You sounded alright.” Kathy walked in and looked around the room again. “Would you please open the bathroom door?”

  Kimberley passed the hairdresser and opened the door to a small room. A notion struck her, so she lifted a hardback chair and swung it back and forward in the bathroom.

  “Satisfied?” she asked and smiled.

  “I’m sorry,” Kathy said, “I’m always very cautious.” She closed the front door and stepped forward to rest her small silver case on the dresser.

  Kimberley said: “Is that why you parked so far away, even when you knew which room you were coming to?”

  “Well, yeah,” Kathy said and gave a faint smile, “a short notice appointment, at a motel, and the caller says she is alone.”

  Kimberley remained silent as she waited for the hairdresser to conclude.

  Kathy went on. “I figured if you were alone, you were running away from somebody or something. A car with Kathy’s Kuts emblazoned on the doors is a bit of a giveaway.” She paused and glanced at the floor. “I can be very discreet.”

  “I’ll be up front with you,” Kimberley said. “I am running away from something.”

  “You’ll want a completely new look then,” Kathy said as she turned and undid the catches on her case. She lifted the lid and started to lay out some of her equipment. Almost all of her accessories were chrome-plated or steel and that gave a clinical feel.

  “What would you suggest if I left the styling to you?” Kimberley asked.

  The younger woman reached out both hands and felt the texture of Kimberley’s hair. She looked at her client’s face, smiled and shook her head slowly. Kathy then lifted the hair up clear of Kimberley’s face and looked at her features before allowing the hair to fall again.

  “First of all,” Kathy said, “Your hair is beautiful, and it’s such a waste to change the color. I love the chestnut highlights that run through it, but maybe we can use that. You have a heart-shaped face too, which is lovely.” She glanced at the selection of colorings she had unpacked. “How about blonde, not too short, maybe shoulder length, and I could leave the slight natural wave in place? It would look nice with your blue eyes and your complexion, plus it would be easy to maintain.”

  Kimberley felt upbeat for the first time since leaving New York the previous day.

  “Give it your best shot Kathy.”

  “Before I get started, are you happy with the fee I quoted on the phone?”

  “If you can produce what you’ve just described and then forget we ever met, I’ll pay you double.”

  “Please take a seat anonymous lady,” Kathy said and grinned, “and prepare yourself to be impressed by the most discreet hairdresser you will ever meet.” She lifted a brush and occasionally glanced in the mirror as she teased out her client’s hair to see it in a natural look. She nodded with satisfaction as she imagined the style that she could create.

  *

  For ten minutes, the young visitor worked in silence, lifting and separating with a comb. Her scissors clicked almost non-stop, sometimes cutting and sometimes allowing loose hairs to fall. Occasionally Kathy looked at her client’s impassive expression. As it would be for any hairdresser, it felt unnatural to work in silence, but Kathy wasn’t a normal hairdresser. She had secrets of her own. She tried making small talk and at first each line of conversation dried up. Both women gradually lowered their defenses and the atmosphere became more comfortable than earlier.

  For
her part, Kimberley knew that it might pay dividends to be friendly, rather than be too distant with such an astute girl. There was no need to give out details, but polite conversation might produce results. The pair began to chat and then at times fell silent for a few minutes. Kimberley was not to be disappointed in the snippets picked up from the hairdresser.

  It was about 10:30am, when Kathy stood back and smiled over her client’s head. She looked at the reflection in the large dresser mirror and lifted a hand mirror from her equipment. In a practiced movement, she held the chrome hand mirror to one side and then the other to let Kimberley have a good look at her new style. The smile was faint, but it was there on her lips, even if her beautiful eyes were clouded.

  Kathy said: “I shouldn’t be the one to praise my work, but you look a million dollars.”

  Kimberley had to agree and nodded as she looked at her reflection, turning her head slightly one way and then the other. Tears crept from her eyes. She looked at the blue eyes, shoulder length, slightly wavy blonde hair with the occasional darker strand, and saw her darling sister Harriet looking straight back at her.

  “Kathy,” Kimberley said as she wiped her eyes. “What do you call this shade?”

  “Honey,” the girl said without checking. “It’s Honey-blonde and I think it’s just you.” She came to the side of the chair. “Do you like it?”

  “I don’t think I could explain to you how much this means to me.”

  “Wow!” Kathy said, blushing as she shed a tear herself. “I’ve never had anybody say anything like that before.” She wiped her eyes with a forefinger and then started to tidy up and pack away her equipment. She stopped at one point and looked at Kimberley.

  “Do you know something that annoys me?” she said.