Hope's Vengeance (32 page)

Griffin nodded, still awaiting the handcuffs and caution before being whisked away to a cell, destined never to meet the lovely Eva, never force himself into her vagina, her mouth, her anus, never to bite the bosoms he suspected were ample and firm. His life was over.

The constables rose from the table, their job done, and Griffin perked up suddenly, intense relief with the realisation that he wasn’t about to be arrested. He beamed a wide smile, his hazel eyes crinkling affably. “Thank you both for coming, for letting me know about Dorothy. It’s much appreciated. Good day.” He gestured to the front door, bustling the stunned officers back into the coldness outside.

As soon as they had left his house, Griffin fetched a small suitcase from above the wardrobe, half-filling it with a clean shirt, tie, and jumper, a pair of pants, the least discoloured ones he could find, and a pair of well-darned socks. From the bathroom he collected the toothbrush and paste, a facecloth, and, a man of simple taste, he was satisfied that he’d packed enough for the night away.

Dropping the case into the passenger foot-well, he climbed in the car and began to wind his way closer to the woman of his dreams.

Across the road PC MacIntyre and PC Scott sat in the police car, watching in disbelief at the new widower smiling smugly to himself as he drove by, appearing not to notice the fluorescent patterned car. Tracking the car until it braked, turning at the end of the cul-de-sac, MacIntyre uttered the words his colleague was thinking. “He’s either not all there, or he killed that woman.”

The Detectives

Detective Superintendent Krein was outlining the investigation into Dorothy Hall’s demise to the group of detectives before him, the incident room having been prepared early in the morning after probable murder had first been mentioned. Her autopsy had taken precedence over the other awaiting corpses, and the resulting report stated that she had died of suffocation, he suspected by pressure on the face due to light bruising on the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones, and she had suffered a violent facial attack before death. He estimated she had been dead no more than two days. More horrifically, she had been raped post-mortem, viciously, and possibly repeatedly. The DNA taken from the semen matched none at the DNA database.

The photographs taken on Richard Shearsmith’s mobile phone had been expanded but a preliminary analysis of them revealed neither the face of the person, suspected to be male, who dumped the body, nor a number plate for the car, a dark coloured Vauxhall Vectra saloon.

Krein explained to the group of curious officers the bizarre actions of the deceased’s husband earlier, reinforcing his place as number one suspect. As soon as he’d heard the report of the unusual exchange he’d requested the details of Griffin’s car from the DVLA, who responded immediately, and it didn’t come as a shock to discover it was a Vectra, dark green. He’d immediately sent an officer to bring the man in for questioning, but both the car, and Griffin, were absent. A report had been logged on the Police National Computer requesting a countrywide trace on the Vectra, although, so far, there were no sightings.

Unable to conceal the case from the public for long, a press release had been issued, requesting, as standard practice, for people to report any information they may have, regardless of how insignificant it may seem.

Krein strutted back and forth, hands weighting his trouser pockets, his face sombre. In his late forties, he was a handsome man, but solving the recent case of the Kopycat Killer, the first known serial killer in England since the Ipswich murderer, had been traumatic, shattering his marriage and home life. The success of his detective work had led to his subsequent promotion and transfer, but he was lonely, excruciatingly missing his ex-wife, who he still loved, and daughter. Unfortunately for him, but not for the victims of crime who were fortunate enough to have him leading the investigations, he took every case to heart, and this greyed his hair at the temples, and wrinkled his chiselled face beyond his years.

This case was already personal: Dorothy Hall reminded him uncannily of his late mother, even though she was twenty years younger, and, indefinably, for his mother’s memory, he was determined to bring her murderer to justice. Late nights, no sleep, no food, no private life, it didn’t matter. Dorothy’s death would be avenged.

Hope Arrives

The journey was long and tedious, and the sun setting early, glowing bright orange through the windscreen, had given Hope a headache. Having parked at the hotel, she stomped to the boot for the suitcases, irritable and grumpy, and Rick knew better than to say a word. He took both the cases from her, rushing them into the vast reception area to escape the cold, and waited in the background while she booked them in.

Room one hundred and twenty was delicious, a king-size bed heading one wall, with a brave contrast of crisp white sheets teamed with an inexplicably desirable red and purple striped bedcover. A television, built-in wardrobe, and dressing table stretched along the wall opposite, and the en-suite bathroom was in the corner. Through the highly polished glass of the grand patio doors, a balcony, ornate yet functional railings shielding the drop below, provided a haven with a stunning view for the spring and summer guests.

Rick had never stayed anywhere so luxurious, and he darted around the room like a child, opening drawers, playing with gadgets, checking out the well-stocked mini bar.

As soon as Hope was through the door, her surroundings irrelevant until the immediate problem was sorted, she drew a glass of tap water from the bathroom and swallowed two painkillers, groaning at the bitter taste left on her tongue. Rick stopped playing with the radio and turned his attention to the woman he loved. “Better?”

She shook her head, still scraping her tongue across her teeth to try and remove the lingering sourness. “I will be in a minute, but I need something to take the revolting taste away, they were on my tongue too long.”

Rick smiled, heading for the bar, he opened the door and poured a tiny bottle of whisky into a glass, following with half an equally small bottle of Baileys. He swirled the glass, the whisky top gradually blending in to produce a creamy, yet fierce drink. He passed it to Hope, who took it gratefully, sipping immediately, rinsing it around her mouth until it was the only thing she could taste. She regarded the glass, and a curious smile spread before she took another sip. “That’s nice! I’ve never thought about mixing those two.”

Rick winked, and leapt onto the bed, lounging lazily on one elbow. He patted the sumptuous, stylish covers, with a glint in his eye, beckoning her seductively. Hope knew the expression well, and the thought of going there again sickened her. She knocked back the drink to steel herself, build a solid brick wall around her emotions. “Hey, go easy, babe, you’re carrying my baby, remember. I don’t think you’re supposed to drink, are you?”

Hope laid next to him, on her back, focusing on the ceiling, just as she would when he began to grind into her, and waved a hand, dismissive. “I don’t believe in all that shit, I drank through my other pregnancies and the kids all turned out fine.” Hope knew the lie was justified, she needed to be able to gather some Dutch courage before she set her plans in place, and she wasn’t pregnant anyway. It was crucial she kept Rick on her side for now, she could dispose of him later.

Swallowing hard, the gruesome task about to begin, Hope leaned across and unbuttoned his jeans, lowering the zip, and releasing his penis. Moving her hand rhythmically, he was ready for the main course in no time, and he yanked at her trousers, her knickers, finding her warmth and filling it. Hope counted the cracks in the ceiling.

He’d never been the best lover she’d had, and when he exploded within a minute she was just grateful it was over. Now he would fall into a deep sleep like he always did, and she would have a chance to begin work, but first it was essential he slept for… she glanced at the clock on the radio… at least two hours. “Rick, don’t fall asleep just yet, let’s have a couple of drinks and we can cuddle up together afterwards.”

Rick yawned, sighing, he was awash with tiredness, but he also knew this was their rare special weekend together. He nodded. At the bar Hope replicated her previous drink, then prepared a double dose for Rick, knowing spirits always lulled him to sleep easily. Soon his breathing was calm, deep, and Hope grinned, the revenge she’d waited so long for was about to start.

Biding her time, Hope strolled to the patio door, tugging it wide, instantly hit by the blast of icy cold. She shivered and stepped out, refilled glass in hand, and soaked up the stark scenery that transformed with the heat of summer. The balcony was framed by empty branches, soon to be budding with baby leaves. The River Cam, its rippling soothing and peaceful, trickled by behind the trees, the gentle uplifts reflecting the moonlight to create a haunting scene.

Eventually the cold became too much to bear, and Hope returned to the warmth of the suite. Soon she was in the shower, washing the grime of the road from her body, and Rick’s foul juice from inside her.

Griffin Gets Ready for Eva

He discarded the fluffy towels from his recently steaming body and pulled on the greying Y-fronts. He knew they weren’t the most glamorous pants to wear on a first date, but it was what was inside them that mattered. More to the point, he only had greying Y-fronts anyway. Glancing at the clock radio, ten to eight, he realised he’d better hurry: the lovely Eva would be arriving soon.

He dressed in the brown tweed trousers, donning a beige shirt with a brown tie, and tugged an olive jumper over the top, strutting and parading before the sizeable mirror that reflected the bed behind him. A knock on the door startled him. Running this way and that, with no idea what he was doing, he finally grabbed his comb and raked it through his damp, greying curls. Hearing the second knock, he sprang to the door, straightening his shoulders to offer his full height before opening it.

Griffin gasped. She was a picture. Tiny. Stunning. Helpless yet strong, shy yet forthright.

Sexy.

He moved aside to let Eva through, the crotch of his trousers beginning to bulge, not that he cared, he was proud to show off his manhood, he knew it would make her want him if she saw what was on offer. Eva, covered neck to knee in a leather trench coat, sashayed to the bed, her towering heels indenting the carpet, and she stood at the foot, preening herself in the mirror, fingers teasing her severe bob into place. She dropped the oversized leather shoulder bag she was carrying onto the floor, the heavy thud as it hit the carpet intriguing Griffin. Catching his eye to ensure he was paying attention, she slowly slipped the coat from her shoulders, and he gasped, grasping the straining trousers which now made his restrained erection painful. He needed to release it.

Eva was every man’s dream. A PVC mini skirt, long-sleeved, lacy top, her bosom pushed and squeezed to expose an impressive, albeit small, cleavage. Her perfectly shaped legs were enhanced by fishnet stockings, and the high patent leather boots sealed the role she was playing to perfection.

She settled onto the bed, legs folded to one side, and flicked her glossy hair from her face. Her eyes were taunting him, sexing him, insinuating what pleasures were still to be had. “Nice to meet you finally, Griffin.”

He sat on the bed beside her, soaking up her beauty and surveying the raunchy outfit he couldn’t wait to remove. A wave of tenderness swept over him, he reached forward, gently stroking the raven locks, her cheek, her dainty chin, the outline of her rosebud lips. His hand moved down softly, reaching the peachy softness of her neck, and he felt her body tense. “It’s okay, Eva, I won’t hurt you.”

She pulled back slightly. “It’s too quick, we’ve only just met for the first time. I need to know you a bit better.”

The swiftness of his temper stunned her, his lip curved into a snarl. “Come on! We’ve been corresponding for ages, I thought that was the point of meeting up.”

Eva laid her hand over his, a calming influence, serene and unperturbed, and was grateful when his tension began to ebb away. “It is, and we will, later,” she gestured to the leather bag, “in fact, I’ve brought some,” she smiled with an accompanying wink, “toys.”

Now she’d pacified him, Eva strolled to the mini bar, and her movements flowed as she opened some red wine, emptying the small bottle between two glasses. She presented one to Griffin, who was transfixed with her daintiness, and sipped the other. Sitting back beside him, she curled her legs up tightly, appearing even tinier than before, and she peered at him sweetly from under her fringe, letting a gently tinkling laugh pass her pink stained lips. “Well?”

Griffin raised his glass. “Lovely!”

Chuckling again, she gave him a playful shove. “Not the wine, silly! What’s your views on sex toys, on games and role play?” Glimpsing down, she could see the bulge in his trousers was returning, she’d found his weak spot, and now she was going to have some fun. She leant back on one elbow, her hand trailing wispily along his thigh, and she caught his eye, seductive. “You may be a Reverend, but I can tell you’ve got a naughty streak. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Griffin shuddered involuntarily, the sensations of every nerve in his body intensified with the titillation. He composed himself. “It depends what you call naughty.” He reached across ready to cup her well defined breast, but she pushed his hand away softly.

Slowly she sat up and turned to face him. She pulled one knee to her chest, and he gasped, her naked genitals exposed underneath the skirt. His instinct was to grab, he was desperate to feel inside, but she deflected his hand and climbed off the bed, set her glass on the bedside cabinet, and stepped lightly towards the bag. Unzipping it, she reached in and produced some ankle and hand cuffs, followed by some heavy duty chains and a leather whip, crisp and new. She glanced at Griffin, relieved to see he was fascinated. “Well? Would you call that naughty?”