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Chapter 31: S & M

Thursday Evening

Charlie Duff wasn’t an avid devotee of bondage. It was Hazel who’d introduced him to S&M. She had always been keen to try out new experiences and she’d been a real enthusiast. S&M had brought out the dominant side of her character. Since her death three years earlier Charlie had occasionally returned to the club they used to frequent. His particular interest was carefully choreographed submissive experiences. Hazel had once suggested that this counterbalanced his normally violent nature. The next special event was due to take place that evening and Charlie had received numerous invitations by text. Several promised a “uniquely enjoyable experience.” He decided to go. He’d also received a couple of reassuring text messages from his nephew. Things were going well, so he felt he deserved an evening off to enjoy himself.

He felt a bit foolish leaving his flat dressed in black vinyl trousers, so he took his outfit in a bag and changed at the venue. The setting was a large country house outside Bournemouth. He got a drink from the bar and took a stroll around to see what was going on. He wandered through the various rooms sipping his large glass of wine, finally settling to watch a rather portly middle-aged man bent over a chair and being spanked by two attractive brunettes. He felt the familiar sensation — a mix of fear and excitement.

‘You look as though you might enjoy that,’ said a soft voice in his ear.

He turned to find himself looking at a slim, shapely woman. She was dressed in a tight, black, lace-up bodysuit covered by a diaphanous, silk caftan decorated with red butterflies and belted around the waist. Her long legs were encased in fishnet tights and knee boots. She wore black satin gloves that extended to her slim elbows. Her face was obscured by an ornate black and red mask, and he caught sight of wisps of dark hair peeping out from behind it. The most extraordinary thing about her was her eyes. Looking out at him from behind the mask were yellowish green slits, like a cat’s.

‘Not just yet. I need a few more drinks first.’

‘Just find me when you’re ready. I’ll be around.’

She smiled and walked away. Definitely one to follow up. And those eyes. He could still smell her perfume.

After a while, watching was no longer enough. None of the other women he saw came anywhere close to the one who’d whispered in his ear. He started looking for her, but couldn’t see her anywhere. He bought another drink and searched all the rooms. He was beginning to get a little desperate, making a nuisance of himself by peering closely at every woman he saw. He headed back to the bar and bought himself a large gin and tonic. Just his luck. He’d got an offer from the most gorgeous creature in the place, and had been stupid enough to turn her down. Now what? He took another large mouthful.

‘I’ll have one of those.’

There she was, sliding in beside him. Where had she come from?

‘Okay,’ he said. He suddenly felt tongue-tied.

He went to the bar and bought two gin and tonics.

‘Are you feeling a bit more in the mood now?’ she asked. He saw that she was holding a riding crop.

‘Yeah. Absolutely.’

‘Listen, it’s all a bit naff in here. Why don’t we go somewhere else where we’ll be more comfortable? Maybe your place, or mine? Then we can relax and really enjoy ourselves.’

‘Fine.’

‘Well, which one? I’ve got decorators in, so my place smells of paint. What about yours? Where do you live?’

‘I’ve got a flat in Poole.’

‘Well, that sounds just fine. Let’s go in your car, shall we? I’ll leave mine here.’

Duff swallowed his drink. He stood up too quickly and staggered slightly.

‘How many drinks is that you’ve had? Maybe I’d better drive. We wouldn’t want you getting stopped, would we? I don’t want my evening ruined.’

They collected their coats and made their way to the car park. He indicated his car, a large black BMW.

‘I’m fine,’ said Duff. ‘I can drive.’

She stopped dead. ‘Are you contradicting me? Do you want me with you tonight or not?’

He didn’t know what to say.

‘Hand over your keys.’ Her voice was sharp.

He did so. She touched his lips with her gloved finger, then gave him a sharp slap across his cheek. Her perfume was making him dizzy. She unlocked the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. Duff settled in beside her, feeling confused. She drove expertly out of the parking area and into the main road. It took less than fifteen minutes to reach his flat near the seafront, yet she didn’t once exceed the speed limit. She drove the big car like a dream.

‘Whereabouts?’ she asked.

Duff gave her directions, and she was soon pulling into the residents’ parking area.

‘Very nice,’ she said.

‘What do I call you?’ he asked.

‘How about Madame Butterfly?’ she suggested, and giggled.

‘What’s funny?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

They went inside.

‘It’s even nicer inside. What a lovely flat. It shows a woman’s touch . . . But maybe not recently.’

‘My wife died three years ago.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Now, let’s have another drink and you can show me the bedroom. Behave yourself well, and you’ll experience something tonight that will stay with you forever.’

* * *

She tied his arms and legs to the bed frame, using soft cords that she took from her bag. She pushed a small gag into his mouth. She brought her face close to his bulging lips, but then slapped his cheeks several times with her open palm.

She knelt beside him on the bed, took hold of the riding crop and brought it down with a crack across his torso. He jerked forward convulsively, but the cords held.

‘Good knots,’ she said. ‘I learned them in the brownies. I worked hard for my badges, just like I did for everything else in my life. I was such a good girl in those days. Not like now.’

She took a small knife out of her bag. Ignoring the panic in Duff’s eyes, she slit the front and arms of his shirt.

‘Worried, were you? Well, you have every reason to be. I can be really cruel when I want to. I’m not really Madame Butterfly at all. She used the knife on herself, didn’t she, rather than the man who deserved it?’

She pulled his shirt away, and then slit his trousers. She wriggled back slightly, picked up the riding crop and lashed him without stopping for several minutes. He cried out through the gag.

‘More than you bargained for? Well, just you wait. You see, Mr Charlie Duff, I know who you are and what you’ve done. You didn’t expect that, did you? So you have every right to be scared.’

He looked back at her, his eyes wide in terror.

‘Do you think they all felt like you’re feeling now? Your victims? But that’s enough talk. Actions speak louder than words, don’t they?’

She beat his torso until the skin was crisscrossed with bright red weals. Then she sat back on her heels.

‘Well, Charlie, that was starters. Now for the main course.’

She moved the knife back and forth in front of his eyes.

‘Try to relax. I’m not going to kill you, even if it seems like it. Would you like another drink? It’ll help deaden the pain. Nod once for yes.’

He nodded.

‘Now this is the deal. I’ll take the gag out so you can have a drink. But if you make a sound I’ll cut your eye out. Is that clear? Behave yourself and you’ll keep your eyes and survive this. Do you understand?’

He nodded. She removed the gag and held the glass of gin to his lips, supporting his head with one arm. He swallowed greedily. She forced the gag back into his mouth. Holding the knife like a pen, she carefully made a number of small incisions on his forearm. He was gasping for breath, snorting through his nose for air. The lower part of his face was coated with tears and snot.

‘I’ll explain what I’m doing. It reads, “Deut. 32, 35.” You have got a bible, haven’t you? Well, if you look it up, you’ll find that it says: “Vengeance is mine, and recompense, for the time when their foot shall slip; for the day of their calamity is at hand, and their doom comes swiftly.” Quite apt, don’t you think?’

Duff felt something cold and smooth on his skin. She was applying ointment to the cuts.

‘Wouldn’t want you to get an infection, Charlie. I just want the scars there, though they’ll probably fade in time. I thought about a tattoo but it would take too long. I don’t want you to think I’m copying Lisbeth Salander either, even though she is one of my heroines.’

She paused.

‘We’ll both have a short rest now. We need a few minutes to gather our thoughts, don’t we? I need to stretch my legs before dessert. I think I saw a kitchen directly ahead as we came in. Is that right? I’ll need some kitchen towels. And I need another gin and tonic, just a small one. I’ll take the glass away with me if you don’t mind. There’ll be not a trace of me left behind, to paraphrase Mr Paxton.’

She left the room for a few minutes. Duff’s breathing slowed. He began to wonder if his ordeal was nearly over. He tested the strength of his bonds, but they were well secured. He let his arms relax and tried to calm his racing thoughts.

She returned to the room and clambered back onto the bed. Under each of his wrists she placed some folded towels.

‘Now, Mr Duff, you mustn’t wriggle during dessert. Not if you want to stay alive. Keep your hands and arms absolutely still, because I’d rather not sever a major blood vessel. Do you understand?’

He nodded. He watched, terrified, as she reached into her bag. She took out what appeared to be a small, slim case for reading glasses. She opened it and extracted a surgical scalpel.

‘Just a small nick on each wrist, Charlie. It won’t hurt very much, but you must stay very still. I’ll be very thoughtful and smother each cut in antiseptic ointment like I did your arm. That’s kind of me, isn’t it? Then I’ll finish off with some surgical tape. Not like you, Charlie. You dumped the bodies of those dead girls out in a field, for the worms and the bugs to work on their cuts and slashes. For the mould and mildew to infect the injuries you gave them. So you’re really lucky, aren’t you? Are you going to nod for me?’

He nodded as hard as he could.

‘I’m sure the police will be doing their job, Charlie. I’m sure they’re getting closer and closer to you. But I have to make you suffer. It’ll keep me sane, stop me going mad because of what you did to me, my family and friends, and to so many others. But I want to see you brought to justice. I want to see you splashed across the papers, shown up as the monster you are. I want you in prison for the rest of your life, because that’s where you belong, locked up in a stinking cell. I’m just sorry it won’t be a medieval dungeon, stinking of putrid ooze, where you could rot away to a pile of pus . . . Anyway. On with the job.’

Duff felt a sharp cut to his left wrist, followed by a painful twinge, then nothing. This was repeated on the other side. He turned his head and saw that she was covering his wrists with surgical tape.

‘There,’ she said. ‘All over. But I’d better explain what I’ve done, hadn’t I? You probably don’t feel anything? Is that right?’ He nodded. ‘Well, that gives you the clue, I’m sure. I’ve severed the nerves in your wrists. Just think, no arthritic pain in your hands or fingers. What a blessing for you in your old age. The downside is, of course, no movement either. Well, we can’t have everything, can we, Charlie? At least it will be almost impossible for you to pick up a knife or gun again. Your bullets have altered and shattered more lives than you knew. You never had children, did you, Charlie? That’s a good thing. They’d have been like the spawn of the devil.’

He squirmed and grunted into the gag.

‘I really don’t want to hear you, Charlie. It’s too late anyway. I’ve done it. Now, I’ll just take my stuff and get out of your life. I don’t expect we’ll ever meet again, so can I express my pleasure at such a rewarding evening? Oh, and I’ll make sure someone is here to find you in the morning before your cleaner arrives. I don’t want to spoil her day. But I’m afraid it won’t be anyone you can manipulate or blackmail into helping you. Oh no. I’ll choose your rescuer carefully.’

She cleaned his face and lips carefully with an antiseptic wipe.

‘I would give you a farewell kiss, but I can’t afford to leave any DNA traces.’ She walked to the door, and waved a satin-gloved hand. ‘No fingerprints, either. Would the police bother, I wonder, when they’ve got a mass murderer like you all trussed up and waiting for them? So just relax and enjoy the last few hours of your bondage session. I wish you goodnight.’

She closed the door quietly behind her.

Chapter 32: You’re the Boss

Friday Morning

Barry Marsh sniffed the air inside the entrance hall.

‘What do you smell, Barry?’ Sophie said in a low voice.

‘Money. And plenty of it.’

She nodded and looked around her. ‘Yes. Not a place for the plebs, I’d guess.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.

‘It’s a lot more upmarket than the block I live in. We complain about our maintenance charges, but I hate to think what the costs are here.’

The lift door opened.

‘Even the lift doors are quiet. We don’t have a lift in my place, just stairs. But I suppose that’s good for my fitness,’ he went on.

There was no reply. She’s still not her normal self, Marsh thought. Hardly a word out of her during the drive over here, and she’d let him make most of the arrangements with the backup squad. They’d decided to leave the armed unit outside in their van, while the two of them carried out an initial check of the apartment block. What was worrying her? He pressed the button for the third floor.

‘Has anyone found out who sent us the tipoff?’ he asked.

‘No. It came in via a 999 call. All the operator could say was that it was a woman’s voice, describing where we would find Duff. She said the door would be unlocked.’

So it proved. Marsh rang the bell, but there was no response. He turned the handle and peered in. The interior was in semi-darkness, with just a dim light coming from two doors that were ajar.

‘Hello?’ Marsh called. ‘Police! Is anyone in?’

There was no response so they made their way inside. Marsh checked that his radio was still live. He glanced inside the first set of rooms, a lounge and dining room, tastefully furnished. The curtains were drawn. The next door opened into a kitchen, fitted out with units in a pale lemon colour. The morning sun shone in through the windows. Marsh turned to speak to Sophie, but stopped. She was shaking. She was leaning back against the doorjamb with her eyes closed and a slight tremor running through her body. Should he say something? Just then she opened her eyes and looked at him. She moved back out to the hall.

Three more doors, all closed. The first led into a bathroom, fitted with bath, separate shower, toilet and his-and-hers basins. The second opened into an empty double bedroom decorated in pale green. They stood in front of the last door. Sophie glanced at Marsh as he turned the handle and pushed. Marsh heard a groan. The air smelled tired and used. The curtains were drawn and the room gloomy, but the detectives could see a figure lying on the bed. The arms were pulled tight up to the bedhead, and a thin duvet covered the lower part of the torso.

Did he imagine that his boss shuddered? What was wrong with her?

‘Exactly as described. Shall I let some light in, ma’am?’

There was no answer, so he walked over to the window and pulled the curtains apart. He returned to the bedside and stood beside Sophie. She was looking down at the shivering, moaning, barely conscious figure. Marsh couldn’t read the expression on her face. She stood in silence. Her lips were moving but no sound came. He waited for an instruction but there was none.

‘Ma’am? We need to cut him free. Shall I do it?’

He took a knife from his pocket and moved it towards the ropes securing Duff to the bed. He suddenly felt a grip on his wrist and stopped in surprise. He looked round at her. She turned to look into his eyes, and her face was ghost-pale and shining.

‘He killed my father.’

‘What?’

‘Charlie Duff. He’s the man who shot my father in Gloucester.’

‘Christ.’ Marsh’s arm was stretched out, with her hand clamped to his wrist. Neither of them moved.

‘Jesus. That’s why . . .’

He looked into her eyes and saw desolation there. Her gaze, focused on Duff, was empty of all expression, as if the sight of him had ripped her spirit from her body. An eternity seemed to pass, and finally she blinked, shivered and loosened her grip slightly.

He slit the ropes, and Duff’s arms fell onto the pillows. Marsh spoke into his radio. ‘Team up here now. No danger.’

‘I don’t want to touch him, Barry. If I touch him I don’t know what I’ll end up doing to him.’ She spoke in a whispered sob.

Marsh checked again that there were no weapons under the covers and then removed the gag from Duff’s mouth.

‘He needs some water.’

Sophie made no move.

‘I’m not leaving you alone in here with him. Please, get some water for him, ma’am.’

She looked at her sergeant. Her forehead shone with tiny drops of sweat, like miniscule pinpricks of light. Her eyes searched his as if she was lost, and looking for direction.

‘Sophie, this is a time for celebration. Don’t let it become something else.’

She touched his arm again, this time gently.

‘You’re right. Yes.’

She went out and returned with a tumbler of water which she handed to Marsh. He poured some of the liquid into Duff’s mouth. Duff swallowed greedily as the rest of the police team entered the room. Thank God, thought Marsh. He had the feeling that some dreadful catastrophe had just been averted.

‘Is the place secure?’ he asked.

The leading uniformed officer nodded.

‘Call an ambulance.’ Marsh looked at the dried bloodstains that covered Duff’s chest and wrists and spattered the bedclothes.

Charlie Duff was beginning to come round.

‘She slit nerves in my wrists,’ he croaked. ‘Fucking bitch cut me up.’

Marsh looked at Sophie. She shook her head slightly.

‘Get him to hospital,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ll do the other stuff there on Monday. I want him fully conscious, and there’s a queue of people who will want to be there.’

‘Whatever you say, ma’am. You’re the boss.’