"I did no such thing," he replied as he sauntered off. "Have a good day doctor."
Chapter Nine
Detective Berger
What a royal jerk. Everyone fawned over him like the sun shone out of his ass. Everytime he made an appearance at a charity gala it was like Jesus himself had appeared. Never saw why all the women got wet over him. Guess money can do that to people.
Back at the station, I sat back at my desk. I was starting to smell that way clothes get when you leave them in the washing machine too long, earthy and damp.
"Urgh... I should probably make my way home soon. Grab a shower. Even eat a hot meal. God forbid."
But I did not such thing and just sat staring straight ahead as the coffee machine percolated in the corner of the room. At times I was sure I was more caffeine than man, had more coffee in my veins than blood.
When I felt my eyes grow heavy, I leaned back in the seat. With a bit of luck, I could get ten minutes of shut eye before I had to get back on the job. If only serial killers knew how selfish they were making guys like me stay awake for days on end. People never think of the cops when they commit a crime. I silently cursed myself for thinking that way.
Resting my head against the wall, my eyes had barely closed when a knock sounded on the door. I ignored it. It came again and I tried to blank it out.
"Detective?" said a squeaky voice and I recognized it right away.
"Dana? Come in."
She slinked her way around the door with a wiggle of her curves and skipped over to me.
"Hey, we never managed to finish what we started."
"Aw, Jesus Dana. Not now."
She pouted in a pretend huff and sat on my lap, crossing her arms like she was about to throw a cute little tantrum.
"You don't wanna let me make you happy," she purred, her eyelashes bouncing up and down.
"I gotta work. There's a killer on the loose."
"You don't look like you're working. Looks more like you were trying to sleep."
I moved to push her off but couldn’t resist her and wound my arms around her waist instead.
"I'm trying to work," I said. "Anyway, if the chief comes in here and catches you like this there'll be hell to pay."
But despite my exhaustion and how I knew we could get into serious trouble, I found myself growing hard. It didn't take her long to notice and she ground her ass up against me until my erection was pressing into her.
"Ah, fuck. Dana, don't do that."
"What? This?"
"Stop it!"
But it was too late. My body was responding to her no matter how much I tried to stop it. I needed to be touched, was desperate to feel the wetness of her mouth once again.
Sliding down in between my legs, she fell to her knees and clenched her teeth around my zipper. Sliding it down, she looked me in the eye and smiled, the pink edge of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth.
"I've been thinking about you," she said as she took me in her hand. "I've been thinking about what you'd feel like inside me."
She kissed the tip and I felt all my blood rush toward her.
"I've been thinking about how good it would feel to have you fuck me hard."
Wrapping her lips around me, she let out a low moan as she sucked me.
"Oh, fuck."
As her tongue worked its magic, she slid her mouth up and down, her fingers coiling around the base.
"Slow down," I grunted and to my surprise, she did as she was told.
"Like this?" she asked, running her hand up and down nice and slow, her fingers gliding over her saliva.
"Yeah, like that."
She darted her tongue over the head and I felt a rush of pleasure, a little thrill of ecstasy as I sensed an orgasm ebb and flow through me.
"I think it's time I got to have some fun," she said.
Standing up, she raised her skirt up over her hips as she lowered herself down onto me. Pulling her panties to the side, she revealed a tidy strip of hair. I reached out and touched its softness as she eased me into her.
"Here do this," she said, pressing my thumb against her clitoris.
She ground against it, throwing her head back and crying out.
"Shhh... Shut the fuck up."
I clapped a hand over her mouth but she only seemed to like it, growing wetter the harder I held her. Still, she wouldn't shut up, screaming the whole time until I pulled at her hair and she reached a hard, shuddering orgasm with her spit foaming up the palm of my hand and her pussy clenching tight around me.
"Oh, god.Oh God!"
I climaxed fast, unable to hold back.
For a moment, I held her softly as she lay on my lap, her wetness seeping into the crotch of my pants and down into the leather upholstery beneath me.
"That was the best," she breathed.
"Yeah, my God it was."
She didn't seem to be in a hurry to climb off me but I wasn't complaining. In my relaxed, post-orgasmic state I didn't care whether we were caught or not.
Tangling my fingers in her hair, I massaged her scalp as she buried herself in my shoulder.
"You've no idea how long I've wanted to do that," she said.
"Really?"
"I've always liked you."
"Since when?"
"Since I first saw."
I tried to cast my mind back to when I first met her. She was always a frequent face around the office but just like the water cooler or the rusty fire extinguisher behind the door, she had just always been around.
"I'm glad you always held out hope," I laughed.
"Me too."
She kissed my cheek and slid up off me.
"I don't wanna go back to spread sheets but I've got to," she sighed.
"Hey... you don't wanna stick around and grab a coffee. Maybe chat a little?"
"I thought there was a killer on the loose?" she asked.
She leaned over my desk and stroked the side of my face as she shook her head, her mane of glossy hair glittering over her shoulders.
"My supervisor will kill me. I told him I was just going to get something photocopied."
"I suppose I have work to do. You'll come back, won't you?"
"Maybe," she winked and closed the door behind her.
As I zipped up my pants I could still smell her on me.
"She'll be back," I said to myself. "After the wayshe screamed, she’ll be back.”
Chapter Ten
Etta
I wanted coffee but she insisted on brandy so we scurried through the rain to a nearby bar I didn't even know existed. A few blocks from the house, I had previously thought it was a boarded up, abandoned building. I was in shock then, when she pushed open the door and the sound of free jazz wafted out into the street.
"I'm Etta by the way."
"Norma," she replied. "Been coming here since I was younger than you," she said as she held up her hand to the barman. I expected him to return with a glass but came back with a bottle instead and two tumblers.
"It's... nice."
"No it's not," she replied. "I know it's not but neither are any of us in here so it suits us well. You know what I'm saying?” she raised her asymmetrical eyebrows.“Brandy?"
I shook my head in protest but she poured me a liberal measure anyway and I took a sip and felt it burn all the way down to my stomach.
"Jesus. What is this stuff? Gasoline?"
"Homemade brandy," she corrected me. “Distilled on site,” she pointed down beneath us to the basement.
"I didn't even know that was possible."
"Anything's possible," she laughed to reveal a row of crunched up teeth.
Taking another gulp, I slid the glass away, disgusted.
"So, you were saying you had children."
"Two," she said. "A boy and a girl. They’re the light of my life."
"That's sweet. You got any pictures?"
"Sure do!"
She delved her hands into her purse and pulled out an assortment o
f things while she searched. A broken comb, a pill box, three lighters and some crimson lipstick now lay across the bar.
"Here," she said and pulled out two photographs.
Holding them within an inch of my face, I felt myself go crosseyed.
"Woah, hang on."
I took them from between her fingers and held them at arms' length so I could focus. Her children were stunning, beautiful angels that stared up at me from the glossy paper.
"Oh, aren't they lovely?" I said.
"That was them when they were younger."
At first I noticed they both had green eyes. As I looked up at her, I saw hers were dark brown. Feeling the peculiar texture of the paper, I flipped it over and saw writing on the back of the pictures. In my hand, I was holding photographs cut out from a magazine.
What the fuck? Who is this crazy woman?
"Norma? These aren't your children, are they?"
Looking into her eyes and seeing the deep wrinkles across her leathery face, I looked over her clothes once more and the faded glamor of her broken jewelry. She was the saddest sight I'd ever seen.
"They damn well are my children," she insisted and snatched the pictures back. "They're angels. Absolute angels!"
Suddenly, I had the overwhelming feeling that I wanted to get away from her but I wanted to help her too. She was crazy all right but she was a person and everyone had the right to be treated nicely, to have a friend.
"So, you used to live with Phaedra," I said, steering the conversation away.
She nodded, her eyes brightening as she became more lucid and alert. There was no mistaking her when she talked about the house. She'd really been in there, had felt the tragedy that lived between the walls. I couldn't help but notice we both shared the same tired expression.
"I lived there, yeah. It was so long ago but I'm not in a hurry to forget about it.”
Her eyes darted wildly. She checked behind her, paranoid that someone was listening then she leaned in so close I could smell the strong fumes of the brandy on her lips.
"You're not wearing one, are you?"
For some reason I thought she meant a wire so I unbuttoned the top of my shirt to show her my bare chest.
"I'm not wearing one," I said.
"Not a fucking wire," she raged. "One of those god damned bracelets."
She grabbed my wrist and pulled it up to her face, yanking back my sleeve and turning my arm over in her hand, inspecting every inch of skin.
"You mean the red bracelets," I said as I pulled back my arm and massaged it. "You mean those things Phaedra's girls wear."
She nodded and licked her lips, forgot about reaching for her glass and picked up the bottle instead, draining its contents like water.
"I had to check you're not one of them."
"I'm definitely not one of them. That's what the problem is."
She narrowed her eyes in thought then fell silent, her eyes glossing over as she remembered something. I waited for her to resume talking but she glanced away instead and stared off into the distance. I gently placed my hand on her shoulder and tried to coax her back into the conversation.
"Back there you talked about how it goes all the way to the top. What do you mean by that?"
She jumped as though I'd shocked her and she turned back, her dark eyes boring into mine.
"Like I said, all the way to the top, lawyers, judges, priests, other cops. That's how they got away with it for so long. That's how they could take our children away and no one would believe a word we said!" she screeched.
Her voice sounded as though it would snap. She took a deep breath and shook my hand off her, turning around as she began to cry.
"You're not saying what I think you're saying, are you?"
Her shoulders trembled as she sobbed.
"Norma?"
She hung her head.
"They took your children away for..."
It was starting to make sense. Her grief riddled delusions, the pretend photographs, her returning to the house to view the crime scene.
"Oh Norma. I'm so sorry!"
I reached an arm around her to hug her and she cried harder.
"We'll find them," I said. "If Phaedra took them from you we'll find them."
"Impossible," she replied, wiping the tears from her papery skin. "She probably killed them."
Chapter Eleven
Phaedra
When the housekeeper opened the door, I thought her eyes were about to fall out.
"Mr. Kennedy's not here," Anya said with a faint hint of her Lithuanian accent still lingering in her voice. "He’s in court today."
"You think I believe that shit," I said and barged past her into the hall.
The place always gave me the creeps. It was so clean, so spotless and opulent and always smelled like bergamot. It was the perfect cleanliness that sickened me because no matter how much you polished the marble floor and mahogany panels, you could never wipe away the evil intent or the memories… or the screams.
"Miss Phaedra!" she chased after me as I stormed down the hall.
I knew the layout of the house off by heart, knew every room and closet. I even knew where his second study was, the one not even his wife knew about. Anya dived in front of me to stop me climbing the stairs then to her surprise, I swerved right and descended the staircase, making my way down into the basement where I knew his other, more special, study lay.
"Miss Phaedra!"
She lunged after me.
"He's not here today!"
"Then why are you so keen on stopping me finding him?"
She went quiet and stood still on the stairs, watching me descend them knowing there was nothing to stop me.
At the bottom, you'd be forgiven for thinking there was nothing in the basement but some old cleaning supplies and a worn out washer and dryer that had lay disused and forgotten about. Beside it, some spill out from the wine cellar rested against the wall with dusty bottles long given up their identity on their faded labels.
Next to the broken wine barrels and rusty gardening tools sat a cupboard door. It looked almost too dirty to touch until you shone a torch over the door knob and saw the brass was polished clean and shiny from years of the same sweaty hand clutching it day after day.
I pulled it open and removed the shelves before stepping inside and pushing the back panel. It opened out into the red carpeted passageway with Tiffany lights lining the walls and the sound of soft classical music drifting down seductively.
I'd never forget the first time I was taken down here. I was twenty-five then. Such a long time ago. I thought I was going to pass out from the fear but Kennedy, a prosecutor at the time, was as kind and gentle with me as he would have been with a kitten. He said I was his favorite, said I was the prettiest. He'd saved me on that day, made me his number one girl and walked me up the same red carpet to his underground study, the one with the golden gramophone and the shackles on the wall.
Gradually, I made my way up the hall, the music growing louder as I approached the dark door at the end of the passageway. I hoped to God he was alone today,couldn’t bear the thought of him having company.
As I reached the door, I lingered for a moment and felt as though I might cry. What had happened to me? What had become of the girl who set out to be charitable, to have a respectable job working with children? What happened to the girl with the pretty eyes and the soft skin that men went crazy for?
Despite the anger I felt for Kennedy, I didn't barge into his room but found myself knocking instead. I had come to realize that after all these years I was still afraid of him.
The record scratched as the music died.
"What the fuck?" I heard him say.
A second later, the door was pulled open to reveal his face, wrinkled up and pink with his bushy eyebrows heavy and gray over his eyes like ominous storm clouds.
"Jesus Christ, Fay, what the hell are you doing here?"
He stepped back and ushered me inside, looking over my sh
oulder to make sure no one was watching.
"Anya didn't follow me," I assured him.
"I should think she knows better than that," he replied.
He pulled me into a hug I held him feeling as though the life was draining out of me.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, angry. "You've never turned up unannounced before, not empty handed anyway."
I dug my hand into my bra and pulled out the notebook.
"The detective knows," I said.
"Come off it!" he blustered, reaching for his scotch.
"I mean it. He told me today."
He froze, his hand lingering over his desk in suspended animation."
"That clown doesn't know shit."
"Sophie was... discovered. She mentioned you by name, told the cops all about your house, even about Anya... about the closet in the hall."
His face turned an unhealthy shade of white. Even though he was aged and stooped over with his hands tight and knotted with arthritis, he stood up and walked over to the fireplace, digging the poker into the flames as though he was trying to beat away his anger.
"Bullshit!" he yelled. "How can this have happened?"
He pulled the white hot poker out from the flames and brandished it at me.
"You let this happen!"
"I didn't! It was Jet. She made a mistake. She lost the little one."
He moved closer until the poker was so close to my face I could feel the heat from the metal, could smell the way it singed the tiny hairs of my cheek. All I could do was beg with my eyes for him not to hurt me.
"It's all going to come out eventually!" I cried. "People are starting to notice. That doctor.That God damn Bosworth!"
“I don’t want to hear about Bosworth!" he bellowed and struck out toward the side of my face.
The pain was blinding and I fell forward onto the floor clutching my face. It smelled like burning meat. Instantly, I felt as though I was going into shock and lay on the carpet whimpering as the pain made me shake, made me convulse in agony.
Jewels and Panties (Book, Four): Twisted Love Page 4
