Le Claire accepted a glass of sparkly stuff from a passing waiter. He took a small sip. It was champagne and not prosecco. From the way the drinks appeared to be going down, someone was spending serious money on the evening. Why would they do that? He looked around and saw even more money on display. A long trestle table, covered with a crisp white cloth, held plates of canapes and nibbles. In the middle sat a five-tier cake stand, but it wasn’t holding any sponge fancies. Piles of multi-coloured pills jostled for space alongside tiny bags of white powder. Greedy hands were popping the pills and washing them down with champagne. He saw a couple giggling as they crouched over a low coffee table, snorting what was undoubtedly cocaine. Christ, the place was awash with a fortune in drugs.
He must have been paying too much attention to his surroundings because a voice behind him said, “First time?” The voice was cultured and matched the man who stood in front of him in a well-cut tuxedo.
“Yes, it is. I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“You can get whatever you want. I mean, we pay enough for the privilege.”
Blair had said his invitation had been a thank-you; obviously others were willing to pay for whatever was on offer. “Indeed, anything I should know?”
“You’ll have seen the rules, but all you need to remember is that the silver bands, like yours, and these,” he lifted his wrist and pointed to his gold wristband, “denote guests. We are off-limits to each other unless a reciprocal arrangement is made. Green is for the escorts – they’ll do whatever we want, and the red are the waiters and waitresses and the like. The general serving staff don’t wear masks. I assume that’s because they don’t take part in the evening’s events. They are out of bounds. They concentrate on dishing out champagne and tiny canapes, ignoring the drug-taking and the shagging. I would imagine they are paid well for their silence. They leave at midnight; we just help ourselves after that – in more ways than one. Carriages are at 4:00 a.m.”
Le Claire kept a smile firmly in place, but his mind was racing. He knew that sex parties took place in the island, but they were private, suburban affairs, controlled by confidentiality agreements. The worst that usually happened was when a couple attended and one of them got cold feet, jealous and then abusive. The police were called to calm them down, but there was nothing else they could do. It was consenting adults in private homes. They seemed like tame affairs compared to the bacchanalian orgy that was on the cards for tonight. But the people here were apparently paying for their fun this evening, and that made it something else entirely.
His jovial new friend raised a glass in Le Claire’s direction and, exhorting him to enjoy himself, wandered off to talk to a group in the corner of the room. Within moments, Le Claire saw him run his hand, slowly and deliberately, over the silk-covered backside of a tall blonde. Her dress was a slither of metallic silver that dipped low in front and fell to the floor. As she gently moved, a thigh-high slit fell open to reveal long, shapely legs with a glimpse of stocking. She turned and ran a caressing hand down her new friend’s arm. Her bracelet was green. All systems were go.
“You’re new, aren’t you?”
Le Claire wondered if he was wearing a neon sign. The woman who stood facing him wore a black lace mask that covered most of her face apart from her glistening red-lipsticked mouth. Her hair, a black precision-cut bob, was so perfect that he couldn’t tell if it was a wig or not.
Her tight red dress wrapped around her body, showing her curves to full advantage. She held the fabric tie that apparently secured her dress and lightly flicked the material against her fingers, which drew Le Claire’s eyes. No doubt that was exactly what she intended from the slow smile that curved her mouth, that she paint an image of one tug releasing the covering folds and exposing her to his gaze. Le Claire might be a policeman, but he was only human, so he let the image float through his mind, just for a second. The red bracelet on her wrist shimmered in the light.
“Yes, this is my first time. Does it show?”
Her laugh was a slow, throaty gurgle. “Afraid so, you look like a lost lamb. Are you looking for anything particular this evening? Because if you are, and I could help, I would change this to green in a flash.” She shook her wrist and jangled the red staff bracelet. Her tone was flirtatious, her voice husky, and it struck him that it sounded strange, as if she was trying to disguise her natural voice. What he wanted was information, and maybe she’d be the one to give it to him.
He kept his voice a little hesitant, played the flustered newbie. “To be honest, I am pretty overwhelmed. I got my invitation out of the blue.”
“Then you have been rewarded, and we must make sure you have an enjoyable evening.”
“I would like to thank whoever issued the invitation to me. Is that possible?”
“I am afraid not. Our benefactor prefers to remain behind the scenes. Now let me get you a refill, and we can get better acquainted.” She beckoned to a passing waiter, and Le Claire’s half-full glass was topped up. As she turned to him with a smile, he saw a hard look flash into her eyes as her gaze was caught by something behind him. “I am sorry, please excuse me. I must deal with something, but I shall return soon.”
He sipped from his glass as his eyes followed her across the room. She stopped by a man who stood in the far corner; his posture screamed louche boredom. The woman in red bent and whispered in his ear, her cupped hand covering her mouth. She nodded toward the far corner of the room. A group of guests were chatting as a waitress cleared empty glasses. The young woman was carrying a glass-laden tray as she carefully manoeuvred her way through the throng. He could see how her arms strained as she hefted the heavy weight. Like all the other staff, she was dressed in black, and for her this was a simple black dress, lightly flared at the hips. For the first time, Le Claire realised that although the serving staff were dressed in black, they didn’t wear a uniform. Perhaps they didn’t all come from the same catering firm? The girl turned as she bent to pick up some more glasses. His heart stuttered in shock. He knew the waitress. It was Ana Zielinska.
Chapter Nineteen
Ana was tired, nervous and on edge. She had agreed to this job weeks ago. Irena had waitressed for the same catering manager before and had come away with a wad of cash and a request to bring a friend next time; a pretty, trusted friend who could keep her mouth shut. Irena had said she would be fine; she just had to smile, do what she was told and not be shocked by anything she saw. She’d said yes, much against her better judgment. In the end, there had been no choice. Ana didn’t have the catering manager’s telephone number, but the woman had been given Ana’s by Irena, together with her full name and address. She’d had no way of cancelling, and in any event, she liked to stand by her word. She had said she would work at the party, so work she would. Even if Irena was nowhere in sight. She wouldn’t have been doing much else anyway. Ben had dropped her home after their night out, gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and said he’d be in touch early the next week. He had to spend the weekend working in London. She’d been disappointed, but at least he had said he’d call – at some point, that was.
She sighed and looked around. She didn’t like this atmosphere, it was heavy with the smell of alcohol, and she’d been shocked at the open display of drug-taking. Then there was the undercurrent of what felt like a mass of swirling emotions; the rising sense of anticipation that was given away by excited chatter, heightened colour, dilated eyes and lascivious looks. She saw flirtatious eye contact, hands skimming over flesh and open fondling. It was getting outrageous, and she tried to keep her eyes down and just get on with the job. You wouldn’t catch her doing this again; no money was worth being here.
Ever since she had set foot in the place, she’d been itching to leave. Her feet were aching in her high heels; as did her face from all the smiling, but it was more than that. There were bad vibes here. She could see it in their eyes.
#
Le Claire looked at his watch. It was nearly midn
ight, and he recalled this was the witching hour for the servers. He had managed to avoid Ana. He didn’t think she would have recognised him, the masks certainly did their job, but he hadn’t wanted to tempt fate. He’d wait until he knew she was gone, and therefore safe, before he left himself. The events would surely heat up soon, and he wanted to be gone before they did. He assumed that nonparticipation in the night’s entertainments was a no-go, so he had to be gone before it became obvious that he wasn’t joining in with the fun and games.
At least he knew what kind of parties these were, that payment was being made for the services on offer and that whoever the organiser was, they kept a low profile. This wouldn’t be enough for Blair to move forward on, but it was a start, and at least the undercover guy wasn’t seen as an ungrateful no-show. He’d done all he could here. He drained his glass of champagne and pretended to stumble a little. His friend from earlier was by his side in a flash, her eyes filled with sympathy and concern. “Are you all right?”
He carefully slurred his words. “Just had a bit too much to drink. Whoa!” He stumbled and grabbed on to the nearest object to steady himself. It was soft and yielding. Red dress smirked as she held his hand closer to her breast.
“I think I better go before I embarrass myself.”
She quirked her mouth in what he assumed was a regretful smile. “I understand, really I do.” To his shock she ran her hand over the front of his trousers. He resisted the automatic response to pull back and instead gave her a lopsided smile. He hoped he looked drunk and regretfully incapable.
She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. “Next time I promise you’ll be interested in more than alcohol. How will you get home? We usually organise transport for everyone later on, but I can get a car to take you home now. Would you like that?”
No, he wouldn’t like that. At all. He had to think quickly. “I could do with some fresh air. I figure it’s a fifteen-minute walk to the pub. I’ll get there and call a cab.”
“Fine, whatever suits you. Take care, and I know I’ll see you again.”
He walked in a drunken parody, just enough, he hoped, to be convincing. He saw some smirking glances thrown his way, but they were fleeting. People had more to think about than him.
The heavy security had thinned out. He noticed a guy by the front door and figured there might be more of his colleagues outside. He assumed they weren’t so bothered about people leaving before midnight, but he did wonder at their laxness. What cards did they hold that kept the details of where the parties were being held secret? All Le Claire had to do was leave and he could pinpoint where this property was. The island was only forty-five square miles after all.
He saw a shadow out the corner of his eye as someone disappeared around the far end of the corridor, away from the front door. From the stealthy movements, they were creeping around. His gut instinct was to find out who it was and what they were up to. He reached the end of the corridor and carefully looked around the corner.
It was the man who Red Dress had spoken to. He was following Ana. Her gait was slow, hindered by a heavy tray, as she made her way in the direction of what was presumably the kitchen. He felt uneasy. The man had deliberately followed her. Had he been put up to this by the woman in the red dress?
He heard a female voice. “Wash those glasses, and be careful you don’t break any. We’ll wait for you outside. If you’re not out of here in five minutes, the driver will be gone. We must be out by midnight or we don’t get paid.”
He heard a door slam. The man advanced until he was by the side of the kitchen doorway, concealed in the shadows of the dimly lit hall. Le Claire could hear Ana as she cleaned up, water running, hands splashing and the clink of glassware. The sound of haste permeated every move.
The man took a step into the kitchen, and Le Claire crept farther down the corridor until he could see inside. Their footsteps were drowned out by a funky beat coming from the in-room speakers, echoing the sounds that had been playing in the main lounge.
Ana was drying the last of the glasses quickly but carefully. She wiped the water droplets away with paper towels, placing each cleaned glass into waiting cardboard boxes. She did so with care, whether because she was that way by nature or to prevent breakages that would probably come from her pay, Le Claire wasn’t sure.
The man advanced toward her and grabbed her shoulder. She swung around, a look of surprise on her face that turned to shock as the champagne flute in her hand tumbled to the floor. The sound of shattering glass was followed by a panicked exclamation. “Oh no, I must clean that up now.”
A braying laugh made him jump. Someone was coming down the corridor. He moved farther back into the shadows and pressed tight against the wall, the kitchen now concealed from his view. A man and woman came stumbling round the corner. It was the guest he had spoken to earlier in the evening, and he was with the blonde in the slinky dress. He had his arm draped around her shoulders; her top had fallen down and uncovered her breasts. His hand groped her as they staggered along. She didn’t seem to mind, but her bracelet was green, and Le Claire assumed she’d be paid for this evening’s work. The woman laughed as she opened one of the doors that led off the corridor and made to pull the man inside the room, but he was impatient and pushed her against the wall and started kissing her. Le Claire was on alert as he watched them, willing them to disappear. He needed to get back to Ana. He hadn’t liked her follower’s stance and didn’t trust his intentions.
#
Ana recoiled as the man tightened his grip. “Don’t worry about a broken glass, love. I’ve got better things for you to do.”
Her voice was strained, but she tried to keep it even and calm. Don’t show fear. “I must go; the catering manager is waiting for me.”
The man’s laugh was mirthless. “Afraid not. They know the ropes and obey the rules. They have to be gone by midnight. It’s five past now.”
She glanced at the back door. The rest of the waiting staff had been hanging out by the back, smoking and talking whilst they waited for everyone to finish. The door lay slightly ajar, but now she heard nothing, no laughter, no chat – nothing. Her senses hit the alert button. They’d left her here, just like the catering manager had threatened. What a bitch! She had no idea where she was in the island, no transport and this creep had an edge to him that made her nervous. She doubted anyone in this house would help her, not from what she’d seen of their antics this evening. She was going to have to just act like she was in control. “Look, I have to go, so please take your hands off me.”
“We’ll get you home eventually, but first you and I are going to have a little party.”
He pulled her closer, and she could smell the fetid stench of his breath and stale sweat as he pushed her against the wall. Panic rose; this man was serious. His mask was still firmly in place, which emphasised the predatory look in his eyes and the cruel twist to his mouth. He grabbed both her wrists in one hand and pinned her arms above her head. She twisted and turned, trying to free herself. His other hand roughly pulled at the front of her dress, exposing her serviceable black bra. She was shocked, shamed. His voice was mocking. “Not the most enticing of kit, but don’t worry, we’ll have it off you soon.” She opened her mouth and screamed, “Help!”
He pushed her back against the wall, trapping her with his body as his other hand covered her mouth. “Keep quiet, bitch. Anyone who hears you isn’t going to care, and struggling is no good either. You’re going to get royally fucked, and I’ll be taking a few photos as a memento so you can’t cause any trouble later.”
She froze, foul bile rising in her throat as her mind raced. How the hell was she going to get out of this?
He’d released his hand from her mouth, and her voice was a hoarse whisper. She had no option but to beg. “I don’t know what you mean. I won’t say anything. I haven’t seen anything to talk about. Please just let me go.”
“Don’t play me for a fool. The photos will be secur
ity. You keep schtum or you’ll be all over the net, tits and bits on show. Wonder how many hits you’d get?”
He reached down and slid a hand up her thigh. His skin was rough through her tights, and he pinched her flesh as he spoke, his voice lower and huskier. “Nice and firm, that’s what I love about you young ones. Nice and firm. Oh yes.”
She struggled, twisting and turning, but his grip was strong. He moved his head, and his teeth nipped at her neck. Ana twisted away, but he held her tight. His aftershave was strong, musky, and it seemed to seep into her pores. It enveloped her, made her gag. She looked up over her attacker’s shoulder and saw a masked man, dressed in a dinner suit, silently watching them. Not two of them? Ana knew the shock must have been evident on her face.
Her attacker lifted the front of her skirt and pawed at the waistband of her tights. The man’s hands were all over her, but she ignored his touch. She mutely appealed for help; she couldn’t move. The man who was watching her moved, slow and careful, out of the shadows and into the room. His fingers reached for his mask, and he slowly pulled it up, enough that she could clearly see his features. Oh thank God – it was Jack Le Claire.
Chapter Twenty
He caught Ana’s eyes and saw hope rise. He flicked off the light switch, plunging the room into semidarkness, illuminated only by the moonlight shining through the tall windows and the low-lit lampshade in the hall. He stepped inside and shut the kitchen door behind him, extinguishing the light from the hall. Without breaking stride, he charged across the room and grabbed the attacker by the shoulders. The man reacted instinctively, releasing Ana as he spun to face Le Claire, who held on tight, drew back and punched the man directly in the gut. As the man bent over, clutching his stomach, Le Claire caught him on the side of the jaw with a sharp uppercut. Turning to a petrified-looking Ana, he whispered, “Quick, wait for me by the back door.”
Blood Ties: Obsession, secrets, desire and murder (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 13
