Bodies By Design: The 2nd Jasmine Frame Novel (Jasmine Frame Detective)

by P R Ellis

  ‘Are you OK, Jasmine?’ Viv’s voice revealed his concern.

  ‘Yes, thanks. I just feel that something has changed.’

  ‘Angela has split up with her new boyfriend?’

  ‘He was a macho, transphobic bully and probably a few other phobes as well, but Angela was getting on OK with him until he met me. I feel that I came between them.’

  ‘It was always going to happen when she realised how bigoted he was and that would have come out sooner or later.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘She’s a lovely lady.’

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll find someone who can also get on with you, then you can all be friends.’

  ‘I think you may be a bit over-optimistic, Viv. There are not many people who would be as accommodating as Angela was.’ It occurred to Jas then that Viv himself was doing a pretty good impression of being accommodating.

  ‘Well, you each have to go your own way. You can’t be responsible for each other.’

  ‘You’re right. But it feels as if I’ve lost a good friend, as well as a wife and lover.’

  ‘No. You’ll still be friends, once you’ve both got over the emotion of today. Come on and eat – the curry is getting cold.’

  10

  TUESDAY

  It had been a disturbed night, probably not helped by the bottle of champagne she had shared with Viv. No position had been totally comfortable and changing positions had also been a little painful. The nagging soreness in her groin was constant and she kept thinking about Angela. Last night’s parting hurt so much. She couldn’t imagine not having any contact with her, even if in the last few months they hadn’t seen much of each other. Obviously she had fallen asleep at some point because now she was being woken by a loud ringing. It was the doorbell.

  Jasmine opened her eyes and realised that the pain had lessened. The doorbell rang again.

  ‘OK, I’m coming,’ she shouted, hoping her voice would carry through the open door of her bedroom across the living room and through the front door. She pushed herself up and found it was easier to move than yesterday, but there was still a tenderness between her legs.

  She had gone to bed in just a T-shirt, so she grabbed her dressing gown from behind the door and struggled to pull it on as she made her bowlegged way to the door. The bell sounded again as she turned the knob and pulled the door open. Standing in the entrance was a woman in a nurse’s uniform carrying a plastic box.

  ‘Jasmine Frame? I’m Nurse Arnold. I’ve come to change your dressing.’

  Jasmine pulled the door further open feeling ashamed that she had not got herself up in time to greet the nurse properly.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I was still asleep. What time is it?’

  Nurse Arnold glanced at her watch. ‘Seven-thirty. I know it’s early, but I have my regulars to see to.’

  ‘Of course, come in.’ Now Jasmine felt guilty that she was adding to the woman’s workload. She ushered Nurse Arnold into the living room.

  ‘Shall we go into your bedroom, Jasmine? It will be easier to check everything if you are lying down.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Jasmine led the nurse into her bedroom and eased herself down onto her bed.

  ‘Can you open your dressing gown, please?’

  Jasmine flushed, realising that the action requested of her would reveal her genitals. But that was what the nurse was here for. Stop being silly, Jasmine told herself. She loosened the belt and pulled the dressing gown open, staring fixedly at the ceiling to avoid seeing what was between her legs and to avoid making eye contact with the nurse. How would she react to her – a woman with a penis?

  Nurse Arnold put her box down, leaned over and began to undo the dressing around her scrotum and groin. As far as Jasmine could tell she had not reacted at all to her transsexualism. There was a feeling of relief at that and pleasure that she didn’t have to offer any explanations.

  There were a few painful tugs as sticking plaster was unstuck that caused Jasmine to yelp, but the nurse was very gentle. She withdrew a wodge of lint and plaster, then peered even more closely. ‘Ah yes, that looks fine.’

  ‘Good,’ Jasmine was relieved to hear it.

  ‘You haven’t had any trouble taking a pee?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. I’ll clean it up a bit down there and put a new dressing on. It won’t need to be so bulky so you’ll be able to move around a bit more easily.’

  She worked quickly and efficiently and soon stood up to admire her handiwork. Jasmine still didn’t look, she didn’t want to be reminded about what she had between her legs.

  ‘There. That should be fine for a couple of days. You can wear loose knickers over the dressing but avoid anything tight.’

  Loose knickers? That was something she didn’t possess. All her pants were designed to hold her penis and testicles firmly out of sight.

  ‘And don’t exert yourself,’ Nurse Arnold added. ‘It’s healing well, but don’t put any strain on the sutures yet.’ She was packing her bag almost before Jasmine had realised she had finished. She wrapped her gown around herself hurriedly, aware that she was still exposed.

  Nurse Arnold stood up straight, grasping her box. ‘Right. I’ll be on my way. Carry on taking the painkillers if you need them, I expect you’re still a bit sore. You’ll have to go to the surgery to have the next dressing done. Give us a ring to book a time.’ She bustled out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Jasmine struggled to her feet and followed her, feeling the odd twinge. Nurse Arnold opened the door, called out ‘Goodbye’ and was gone.

  Jasmine pottered to the bathroom still reeling from Nurse Arnold’s whirlwind visit, but already she could feel that the new dressing was less of an encumbrance and the soreness had retreated to a dull throb. Perhaps it would not be long before she could forget her surgery and also forget that she still had a penis and a scrotum between her legs. She sat on the loo still in a dreamlike state.

  Shaving and washing woke her up a bit more. She slapped a damp flannel over her body taking care not to get the dressing wet. How long before she could have a shower, she wondered. As she towelled herself dry she heard her phone ringing. Running wasn’t possible, but she hurried as much as she could into her bedroom and grabbed the phone from the bedside table. The identity of the caller surprised her.

  ‘Hello, Honey,’ she said

  ‘Hi, Jasmine. I wanted to tell you, I’m on my way.’

  ‘On your way? Here?’

  ‘Yes. I know it’s early for me but I couldn’t sleep after last night’s show. Actually the show itself was a bit of a disaster – I couldn’t get it up.’

  ‘Get what up? Oh, I see.’

  ‘Sunday night, after you left, wasn’t much better either.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Jasmine wondered what Honey was getting at.

  ‘I was thinking about what you said - and about Xristal.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Yes. I realise I let her down. I should have looked out for her even though she was going her own way. I shouldn’t have left her on her own so that one of her clients could harm her.’

  ‘I don’t think her death was your fault,’ Jasmine said, wondering if that was indeed the case. Honey sounded convincing, but was still the one person who had both a possible motive and the opportunity to kill Xristal.

  ‘I just wasn’t there much for the last few weeks. I didn’t know what Xristal was doing. I think she got to know the girl on the ground floor.’

  ‘Tilly?’

  ‘Yes, her.’

  ‘She’s a prostitute,’ Jasmine almost added ‘too’ but stopped herself.

  ‘I know. I’m going to call in and see her before I go to the police.’

  ‘Oh. OK.’ Jasmine wasn’t sure it was a good idea. If there were still police officers hanging around Bredon Road they’d nab Honey before she got to see Tilly.

  ‘How are you?’

  Jasmine was surprised again that Honey was con
cerned about her surgery, but then again perhaps that was something they now had in common.

  ‘Fine thanks. The soreness is easing and I’ve just had a new dressing put on.’

  ‘Well, take it easy. I’ve always found that surgery takes a lot out of you, however minor it seems to be.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll meet when I’m finished with the fuzz.’

  ‘Yes.’ That may not be as soon as you hope, Jasmine thought. Honey could be questioned for a few days before they decided to let her go, and if they discovered sufficient evidence to pin the charge on her she wouldn’t be out at all.

  ‘Well, ‘bye then.’ The call ended.

  Jasmine sat on her bed, the towel draped over her thighs,. So, Honey was on her way, but where were Tom and Sloane? Were they still picking up Xristal’s clients? She thumbed Tom’s contact on her phone but after a few seconds it went straight to voicemail. The feeling of being cut off from the case, immobile in her own home while Tom was off searching for suspects, frustrated her. Meanwhile, the suspect that she had tracked down was handing herself in. There didn’t seem to be anything left for her to do. She was going to have to ‘take it easy’ as everyone, including Honey, had suggested. She didn’t like it.

  Her thoughts turned to what to wear. The top half was easy enough – bra and T-shirt. Dropping her enhancers into the cups stimulated the usual hope that her own breasts would develop soon. At least now with just the oestrogen in her bloodstream there might be more chance of that happening

  With no loose knickers to pull on she decided she would have to go commando. Daring, perhaps - and she would need a long skirt for decency and to hide the bump of her genitals that were usually tucked away. She stared into her rather sparse wardrobe. There was only one ankle-length skirt, a stretchy striped one she’d picked up from Primark on a whim because it was cheap. She pulled it on, stood in front of her mirror and was appalled. The stretchiness was disastrous. The skirt clung to her hips and thighs and revealed the large bulge that looked like a codpiece. She tore it off in moments. What else could she wear that would cover her embarrassment? The only answer was a calf-length summer dress that had been in her wardrobe for a few years. She pulled off the T-shirt and dropped the flowery cotton dress over her head. Even if she achieved all that she wished for in the breast department, she would always have a manly shape – broad(ish) shoulders and narrow hips. The dress fitted her top half well and a real woman’s proportions would have ensured a snug fit lower down but it fell loosely from her ribs.

  She surveyed her image again. It would have to do: no visitors would notice her lack of panties or the protuberance between her legs. Her face needed attention though. She hadn’t cared yesterday, but today she felt that she wanted to look herself even if there was nothing for her to do. She applied foundation and a little colour to her eyes and cheeks, and her favourite red to her lips. Now her appearance in the mirror went someway to satisfying her.

  It was time for breakfast. A brief search in the fridge reminded her that she had given no thought to being housebound for a day or two. There was very little food in the flat. She cut the last remaining slice from a loaf that would surely soon be gaining a fuzz of mould.

  She was munching her toast and sipping hot, black coffee when Viv called in. He was on his way to work and just checking she was OK. He promised to call in again on his return and then he was gone. Jasmine sat on the sofa thinking. How was she going to cope for even one or two days without being able to get out? Even sitting in the Fiesta on surveillance duty was preferable to being stuck in the flat with nothing to do. She checked her emails. That took all of a couple of minutes. At least there was a complimentary message from the Fraud Investigations office. It looked as though Parfitt would soon be in court and she would be getting further work chasing benefit cheats.

  She opened up Xristal’s website again and once more wondered what drove the young she-male to sell her body to clients, even if they were carefully selected. How difficult had it been for Xristal towards the end when she was anticipating giving it all up and becoming fully female? Perhaps that was the reason for her murder? Perhaps she had failed to satisfy one of her trusted clients and he - surely it was a he - had killed her in frustration.

  She must have dozed on the sofa with the laptop on her knee. She certainly had no idea of time passing, but she was jerked awake by her phone ringing by her side. It was Tom.

  ‘Jas. Can’t speak, but thought you’d want to know. There’s been an incident in Bredon Road…’

  ‘Bredon Road?’

  ‘Yes, at the flats. The girl from the ground floor flat…’

  ‘Tilly?’

  ‘Yes. She’s dead. Fell from the outside stairs.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Can’t talk. On my way back now. It may not have been an accident.’ There was silence.

  Surely it couldn’t be a coincidence? Honey had spoken of meeting Tilly - and now she too was dead. Jasmine was perplexed. Why should Tilly die? She looked at her phone. The time was a few minutes after ten. Honey must have arrived in Kintbridge by now and had the time to get from the station to the flat. It was only a short walk.

  As she stared at the screen of the phone it vibrated in her hand. Jasmine clamped it to her ear without looking to see who the caller was. The voice was breathless. ‘Jasmine, it’s me. It’s terrible.’

  ‘Honey, calm down. Where are you? What are you doing?’

  There was the sound of puffing and panting before Honey spoke again. ‘I’ve been running. Getting as far as I can from that place.’

  ‘Right. Where are you now?’

  ‘I’m by the canal, on the towpath.’

  ‘Where? Which way are you going?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m in the countryside. I’ve just gone under a high, wide bridge. I’m at one of those lock things.’

  ‘You’re heading west. You’ve just gone under the bypass.’ Jasmine knew Honey’s location exactly - she often went running out that way. ‘Look, Honey stay put. You’re not going anywhere. There’s open country for miles ahead of you. Stop. Get your breath back. Tell me what happened.’

  The panting slowed. Jasmine realised that Honey had followed her advice and at least stopped her frantic flight from Kintbridge. Perhaps she had sat down on the grass beside the lock.

  ‘I got to the flats,’ Honey said, still gasping for breath. ‘There was no reply at Tilly’s front door so I wandered around to the back. I thought I’d have a look at Xristal’s flat, see for myself what had happened in there. Then I saw her.’

  ‘Tilly?’

  ‘Yes. She was lying at the bottom of the metal steps, all twisted. There was blood, lots of blood. I could see she was dead. I just turned and ran.’

  ‘Did anyone see you?’

  ‘Yes. As I left the backyard one of the people from the flats next door saw me. They recognised me, called out, but I got away as fast as I could.’

  ‘But why, Honey? You weren’t responsible for Tilly’s death.’

  ‘You said the police think I murdered Xristal. They’ll think I killed Tilly too.’

  They certainly will now, Jasmine thought.

  ‘Help me please, Jasmine!’

  ‘Look, Honey, I want to help you. I will help you, but helping you run away won’t do any good. If the police suspect you of being involved in Tilly’s death they’ll be hunting for you and they will find you.’

  ‘They’ll stitch me up if they get me. You know what the pigs think of people like you and me.’

  I’m not like you, Jasmine thought, but perhaps in some people’s eyes they were similar.

  ‘They’re not so bad. Sloane and Tom Shepherd are good cops. They won’t pin anything on you without evidence.’

  ‘I don’t know Jasmine. I’ve had a few “meetings” with the police and transphobic doesn’t even begin to cover it. Can’t you be with me? I’ll give myself up if you’re there too.’

  ‘I’m…’ stuck here,
Jasmine remembered.

  ‘Oh God, I’m so fucking stupid! You’re recovering from your op.’

  Perhaps if she drove carefully, she’d be OK? She couldn’t walk down the towpath though. ‘No, Honey. I’m fine, it’s a lot better today. I’ll come and meet you in my car. But you’ll have to walk back towards town.’

  ‘Jasmine, are you sure?’

  Jasmine closed her eyes visualising her jogs along the towpath. ‘Yes, Honey I’m sure. Look, when you get back to the first houses on the edge of Kintbridge you’ll see an alley that connects the towpath with a cul-de-sac. Wait there. I’ll come and pick you up.’

  ‘Thanks, Jasmine. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘No problem.’ Jasmine hung up. But there were problems. Would she be able to drive? Had she given Honey the correct directions? Was she doing the right thing or should she have just let Honey get hauled in by the Kintbridge police?

  She stood up, found her bag and a pair of pumps to slip on her feet. She opened the door and stepped outside. It was overcast and damp although it felt warm. She took a deep breath and gingerly descended the short flight of steps to the car park. She felt the stitches in her groin stretching and flexing, but it didn’t hurt. She eased herself into the driver’s seat of her Fiesta and turned the engine over. It groaned into life. Pressing her feet on the pedals gave her a twinge between her legs, but it could hardly be described as painful.

  She headed onto the main road. She had to travel in a big U in order to get across the river and canal, through the centre of Kintbridge and onto Salisbury Road that twisted and turned through the housing estates to the edge of the town. The houses changed from Edwardian to pre-war to sixties, and finally to recent new-builds, before she reached the cul-de-sac she was heading for. She pulled up. There was no sign of Honey. She opened her door and swung herself out, then used the door to haul herself up onto her feet. The light drizzle was cool on her head and arms.

  The alley was a narrow gap between high hedges and just a few metres long. It emerged onto the narrow, rough-surfaced towpath. She looked westwards along the towpath and had a shock. A figure was coming towards her. It was Honey Potts - but not the confident diva she had met on Sunday evening. This was a bedraggled, limping, barefoot character, with her beehive wig sodden and drooping over her face. Her massive breasts had apparently burst out of her thin silk top. Her denim mini-skirt had ridden up her thighs and her bare legs were streaked with mud and rainwater. Her toes were red, not because of her bright crimson nail varnish, but from blood oozing from scratches and blisters. In her hands Honey clutched a handbag and a pair of red shoes – stilettoes, of course. She finally reached Jasmine and leaned heavily on her shoulder.