by Sam Skyborne
Once inside the communal lobby her senses started to tingle. Something felt wrong. She closed the door behind her and advanced into the building. As she turned the corner she saw her own flat door standing open.
It was moments like these that she wished she still had a licence to carry a firearm.
She advanced slowly.
At the front door she paused and took a deep breath. Unlike in the movies, she was not stupid enough to call out. She could never understand why anyone in their right mind would alert a burglar or trespasser to their presence. Did they really want the burglar to get away or be warned? It seemed like the right thing to do if you wanted to get injured or worse.
The sun had set a while ago. The inside of her flat was pitch dark. She took two quiet strides into the flat and reached into the corner behind the door for the familiar feel of Hillary—her hockey stick.
With Hillary poised above her head like a baseball bat she advanced further.
Once her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and were more sensitive to the little light emanating from the distant streetlights she could see something was very wrong.
She reached for the main light and flipped the switch.
At first she could not make sense of the scene in front of her. Her entire flat had been turned upside down. Her books were strewn all over the floor. The few items of furniture she possessed had been needlessly upended. Her clothes, including her underwear lay in large untidy heaps under a toppled wardrobe. The photo-frames housing the few precious photos of her mum and late dad lay cracked on the floor.
That is when she saw it.
Above her bed on the white wall, in big red painted letters, was written the word: ‘DYKE’.
A cold clammy chill ran down her spine. Who could have done this?
Oh my god! Lizbeth!
She reached into her pocket for her phone hit her number one speed dial. When it rang and eventually went onto answering machine she hung up and hit the next speed dial.
“Lawrence, my flat has been ransacked.” There was no time for niceties. “Yes, I'm fine. I think it's someone that saw us at the club. Is Lizbeth still in her office?”
“I’ll go check now. Hold on,” came his reply.
Toni did not need to explain her concern. That was one of the nice things about him. He did not need pleasantries and seemed to understand her shorthand. That really helped their working relationship a lot!
“No, she’s gone. What about her home?”
“I’ll go over there now,” Toni said.
“Shall I try and reach her on her phone?”
“It’s okay. I’m on it. I'll keep trying.”
“It might not be related to the club,” he said. “Could it be one of the many weirdos you have crossed and possibly unrelated to the Erika case?”
Toni glanced up at the big red letters on the wall. “Oh, I’m pretty sure it is related to our visit to the club. My guess is it is either something to do with that protest group we saw outside, who has it in for gay people or…” Toni trailed off not really sure if her suggestion was even making sense.
“Or what?”
“Or we somehow rattled someone in the club with our questions and they don’t want us to keep digging around Erika’s case.”
“But I listened to the recordings from the club and you and Lizbeth hardly said anything that could lead anyone to draw conclusions.”
“Even so, I am looking at a very large red ‘DYKE’ written across my wall. Someone is upset with me.”
“Oh nasty!”
“Yes, ok, Lawrence, I’ve got to go check on Lizbeth. You let me know if you get any news. Oh, and can I ask you—“
“To call it in? Yes, of course.”
With that Toni rang off and redialled Lizbeth’s number as she rushed out the door.
It was nearing 7.30pm and Lizbeth was stuck in traffic caused by huge roadworks that lined the roads on her way home. It was raining and dark. She was staring absentmindedly at the way the raindrops distorted the shape of the temporary traffic-lights on her windscreen.
Lizbeth had heard nothing from Toni since the stakeout, despite ringing her and leaving her a number of voicemails. She had hoped that, after agreeing to help her out at The Vox, Toni would, at least, resume her usual communications, even if they were a little more frosty than normal. Clearly she was wrong. Toni seemed to insist on sending Lawrence to be the intermediary, which was mostly to do with updates on a separate case that Lizbeth had commissioned them to work on, before the Erika case arose.
Although this standoff between them had not been in place for very long, it had been long enough for Lizbeth to have built up a good head of fury. So, when she heard her phone buzz on the seat next to her and she saw that the caller ID was Toni, there was no way she was going to answer.
How dare Toni think she could treat her like this, giving her the cold shoulder and then just expecting her to be okay to talk when she finally came around to needing to communicate?
When the light changed yet again from red to green and back to red without a single car moving forward, she made a decision. She flicked her indicator on and slipped out of the queue to turn right down a side street a few yards ahead of her.
When Toni got to Lizbeth’s apartment she was relieved to see that it still seemed secure. The lights were turned off and Lizbeth was clearly not home.
Toni tried ringing Lizbeth once more, but still there was no answer. It was not like Lizbeth not to answer her calls. However, in light of their recent frosty standoff she would not put it past her. She had hoped that by ringing repeatedly Lizbeth would realise it was more than a social call. Seemingly not.
What if Lizbeth was not answering her calls because she was already in trouble? Toni could not bear the thought. She was on the verge of cracking and calling the cops but, she knew if she did that she would have to answer some pretty awkward questions and Lizbeth would also be drawn into a situation which would not be very good for her professionally.
She took a deep breath and reasoned that whoever was responsible for ransacking her flat, seemed to be most interested in sending a message, or in scare tactics, not in actually doing anyone any harm. And, for the moment, that was the reasoning she was going to stick with.
Toni decided to use her spare key to let herself into Lizbeth’s flat.
“Liz, you here?” Toni called, just in case.
There was no answer.
Normally she would not have thought twice about making herself at home. However, considering their current frosty friendship, she felt she needed to justify her presence. She worried that whoever ransacked her flat might still have plans to do the same to Lizbeth’s place. She would not forgive herself if she left and Lizbeth came home to interrupt the intruders and then something horrendous happened to her.
Once inside, Toni turned on a very small lamp at the front door but decided to keep the rest of the lights off. She could rely on the rather bright streetlight that was streaming into the flat through the large floor to ceiling windows to navigate her way.
Toni checked her watch. It was just after 8pm. Lizbeth would probably be home in the next hour or two. She put down Hillary, which she was still carrying. She took off her jacket, folded it and laid it down on the back of the couch.
She went over to the fridge and scanned the contents. Not a lot of her kind of instant food there, as usual, but she was pleased to see Lizbeth still had a six pack of her favourite beer, chilling in the bottom. She grabbed a bottle, opened it, and then returned to the lounge where she intended to make herself comfortable on the couch for the wait.
She decided to give Lizbeth another call.
There was still no answer. She placed her phone down on the coffee table where she could see it easily in case Lizbeth decided to make contact.
She grabbed the remote control and switched on the TV.
Officer Dwight Forelly and Officer Kevin McCarthy were parked up in a McDonald’s car park when the call came
in. They had just come on duty and so far the shift had been very quiet.
“General broadcast. Any units available for a suspected burglary at seven four London Road N8… Over.”
Kevin stowed his McFlurry and answered the call. He recognised the address. It was two blocks from where they were.
“Yankee Romeo One, Yankee Romeo One Zero Five we are two blocks away we can cover.”
“Copy that Yankee Romeo One Zero Five. Sending the details onto you now. Please report on arrival.”
“On the way, thank you. Over and out.”
Dwight threw the car in gear and headed over to the address they were given.
On the way to the entrance of the club, Lizbeth’s phone rang again. She saw the caller ID, muted the ringtone and chucked the handset into the bottom of her bag.
As Lizbeth reached the door, she nodded at the bouncer who greeted her with a big toothy smile and held the door open for her. She took a deep breath and entered.
She felt a bit nervous, with no idea why. Could it be because she had not been to a club on her own in a while? That never used to be a problem. She had realised a long time ago that for a woman like her: professional, single and independent, not to mention a little unconventional, going to venues on her own was going to be par for the course if she ever wanted to go out anywhere that was not an official business or work engagement.
The club was quite full for a week night. Lizbeth realised it was ‘Little Friday’—clearly a dance night. One side of the large central space had been cleared to form a bigger dance-floor and on it there were about twenty people moving to the rhythm of a raunchy tune, which Lizbeth recognised but could not name, that throbbed through the venue.
Lizbeth made her way over to the bar. There were two bartenders. She recognised one as Victor and another younger woman. They were quite busy so she turned to watch the action on the dance-floor while she waited.
Two women caught her attention. They were clearly quite good dancers and a little space had formed around them where the rest of the clientele had given them room to move. A few of the other dancers had all but stopped dancing themselves, in order to watch them.
From where she was standing, she could see that one woman was white and the other was dark-skinned. Their faces were obscured but their fit, toned bodies moved together in a slow sensual rhythm. Hands slid over smooth flesh, legs and arms twined, twirled, caressed, in practiced, measured, deliberate movements.
Lizbeth could not help staring, mesmerised. They were completely entrancing. It was akin to watching private, deeply intimate and sensuous love-making.
Then the white woman turned around, facing towards Lizbeth, keeping her head dipped, her fringe obscuring her face, half looking back and down as she moved back into her partner and allowed her to caress her body.
Lizbeth noticed her blouse was unbuttoned to mid chest, exposing a strong lean collarbone and beautiful neckline. She bit her lower-lip as she watched the dance partner running her fingers along her midline from her jugular notch along her sternum towards her breasts. Lizbeth wondered if the white woman would let her dance partner touch her breasts in public.
Just then the white woman lifted her head, smiling, and flicked her long fringe back revealing her face.
Panic shot up Lizbeth’s spine.
It was Maxine Bennett!
She considered running.
She searched for the exits, realising that her only escape was the door on the other side of the room and that would mean making her way almost directly past the dance-floor and risking Maxine Bennett seeing her.
Too late!
When she looked back, Maxine Bennett’s eyes were trained directly on her, trapping her with a cool stare.
Not taking her eyes off Lizbeth, Maxine reached behind her and swung her dance partner out and back in so that her dance partner was now in front and she behind, both still facing Lizbeth.
The dark-skinned woman was beautiful and had a lean muscular body to die for. She had a bold shaved head and perfect androgynous features.
With eyes still on Lizbeth, Maxine bent and kissed her dance partner’s neck and shoulder. Lizbeth could almost feel the caresses herself. She saw Maxine ran one hand languidly up her partner’s side until she circled her breast through the fabric of her tight top. Her other hand snaked down her partner’s body, over her exposed belly under the short top, hesitating only briefly before it slipped below her belt and dipped down into the white jeans towards her crotch. This elicited a moan, not only from her dance partner—but echoed in Lizbeth.
Lizbeth caught herself and swiftly turned away towards the bar.
Victor was behind her and caught her eye. “Hello again,” he said with a wink.
Lizbeth nodded. “A shot of Tequila, please,” she said. “Actually, make that a double.”
Victor grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Rough day, huh?”
“Something like that.” Lizbeth could feel her face glowing. She hoped Victor did not notice.
He disappeared to pour the drink.
She refused to turn back towards the dance-floor for fear of what she might see. She tried to pretend everything was fine but casually glanced up and down the bar wondering who might have noticed her indiscretion.
Deep in her bag her phone lit up and silently flashed a picture of Toni on the screen.
Once at the premises, Kevin took the lead. He entered the small ground floor flat, followed by Dwight. The lights were off and the place in darkness. Once they had secured the location and was sure there was no-one still there Dwight flipped the main light switch.
In front of them the small flat was a shambles, stuff everywhere.
“Ah man!” Dwight said. “Someone had it in for this person.”
That is when Kevin saw the writing on the wall. “I can see why.” He pointed at the wall. He then picked up a photo frame.
“Go figure!” He chuckled. “Don’t believe it. Check this out.” He handed Dwight the frame.
In the frame was a picture of Toni and a brown labrador.
“Guess someone found out her little secret,” Dwight joked.
Kevin started digging around in the stuff on the floor, picking up books and reading their blurb.
Dwight suddenly noticed. “Hey, man what are you doing? Hands off.”
“Ah, sorry man! I forgot myself. I was just curious. You know to see if she had any… You know… Good porn, man.”
“I bet she does,” Dwight laughed, liking the idea himself, “but that can wait till after the SOCOs have been!”
Victor returned with the bottle of Tequila and a large shot-glass. He poured her a double.
Lizbeth skipped the salt and just threw back the spirits, biting into the slice of lemon Victor had placed in a small plate on the bar counter.
“Good?” he asked, smiling.
Lizbeth nodded and before he could disappear she added, “Oh, and a glass of dry white too, please.”
Victor poured her a large glass of white wine while she fished around in her bag for her purse.
“It’s on the house,” he said, placing the glass in front of her.
“Won’t you get into trouble?” Lizbeth asked.
“No,” Victor said with a wink. “I can hardly fire myself.”
“Thank you!”
Victor’s attention was drawn away by another customer a little further along the bar who was leaning in to study the contents of the fridges below the counter. Lizbeth was left on her own once more.
She could feel the Tequila hitting the spot and she realised she was beginning to feel a little calmer. Finally, she risked turning back and searched the crowds on the dance-floor. Sadly, by then, a sea of writhing bodies had replaced the spectacular couple. She felt both relieved and a little disappointed as she turned back to the bar and sipped her wine.
“Hello,” someone said close to her ear.
Lizbeth instantly recognised the soothing huskiness of Maxine’s voice.
She
turned to find Maxine standing behind her smiling that crooked gorgeous smile she remembered from the first time they met in Toni’s office.
“Oh. Hi.”
“Nice to see you here,” Maxine said.
“Nice show.” Lizbeth flushed as she instantly regretted bringing up the intimate display on the dance-floor.
“That was my old friend, Mo. She loves to dance.”
“I could see that.”
Maxine seemed to delight in Lizbeth’s awkwardness. “Really?” she teased. “So you were watching?”
Maxine stepped closer making Lizbeth more uncomfortable.
Lizbeth tried to deflect. “Would you like a drink?”
“Would you like to dance?”
“I can’t dance,” Lizbeth admitted feeling shy, “not like that, anyway.”
“Sure you can,” Maxine said in a soothing tone like she was coaxing a little bird. She offered Lizbeth her hand.
Lizbeth had to admit Maxine’s confidence was intoxicating. She obviously did not take no for an answer.
Lizbeth put down her glass and caught Victor’s eye. He reached out and took her bag to stow it securely behind the bar, giving her an encouraging wink. After a deep bracing breath, she took the offered hand and allowed herself to be led to the dance-floor.
Lizbeth felt exceedingly awkward, like a jellyfish on land, unable to do much more than sway or quiver with nerves. At first Maxine merely held her hand, giving her enough space to hang herself, she thought.
Then she felt Maxine slowly pull her closer.
“Just follow the rhythm,” Maxine said close to her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, “and do what feels right.”
Maxine gently guided her swaying, by resting her hand on the small of Lizbeth’s back and pulling her closer to her body.
Lizbeth started to relax, feeling a little more confident in her own swaying ability. In fact, she felt so relaxed, perhaps due to the double shot of Tequila and the sips of white wine on an empty stomach, that she rested her hand on Maxine’s upper chest, inadvertently brushing Maxine’s nipple with her wrist.