by Karen Botha
“I came to find out what Eric was playing at, telling Lucy where to find Brian.”
“You should just stay out of this now. This has gone way beyond what is right for friends to be getting involved in.”
The words cut, and I feel the stab in my chest. I’m not sure why I’m hurt, “But you brought me in originally.”
“Yes, and it was a mistake. This case is messy and dangerous. I can’t cope with my friends running around like vigilantes. Just back off now Adam, it’s for your own safety.”
“I’m not being a vigilante, I was trying to speak to someone about why he willingly put my girlfriend in danger. It doesn’t add up, Paula, and it’s not something that I thought would concern you.”
“Why didn’t you?” she snaps.
“Erm, because you have your hands full with a murder case?” My tone is that of a petulant teenager, and it’s how I feel.
“A murder case that Eric is well and truly mixed up in.”
“What?”
“Sure Adam, of course he is. He knows Brian, who turned a blind eye when the bodies were stacking up. Didn’t it occur to you that we may need to investigate why that was?”
I don’t speak. I’m not sure how to deal with her when she’s like this. It’s not the Paula I’ve been used to being around, and it’s a shock. Her words are also starting to sink in. The coppers think that Eric has something to do with the murders and that means that he may not have been as innocent as I assumed in placing Lucy in harm’s way.
“Can I ask you something?”
Her chest is working hard to fill her lungs, rising up and down at double speed. “What?” She taps her foot.
“Do you think that Eric had Brian attack Lucy?”
“I don’t know, and I doubt that he’ll tell us. But we at least have Brian alive and kicking now. We just need to wait until the hospital give us permission to interview him and, hopefully, he’ll spill the beans.”
Mitchell
Rachel happily takes Mitchell back to her place.
“Shh, don’t wake Mum.” She giggles as he bumps into an umbrella stand in the high-ceilinged hallway. He steadies it, before grabbing her and pulling her into him. Her head is hazy from the booze, but the proximity of this handsome young ex-soldier would be intoxicating enough without the need for additional catalysts. As their mouths touch and their lips part, releasing intertwining tongues, she knows this is going to be one hell of a night.
He rucks up her skirt with one hand whilst shoving his other between her legs. With her skirt now hitched around her hips, his free hand reaches around the back, peeling her wet panties away from her smooth skin. The cool air in the hall prickles her hot skin as it’s exposed, sending a shiver racing across her skin and tracing inside her.
His fingers are inside her, outside her, parting her butt cheeks and probing, seeing how far he can push before he gets shut down.
For her part, Rachel already has his pants around his ankles and is kneading his balls in her left hand whilst pulling his foreskin down his shaft, revealing his throbbing head. She wipes her finger over his slit, slippery with pre-cum. Rubbing her fingers together she tugs his foreskin back up, circling his head before pushing it down again, in one rapid slice.
He groans and jabs his fingers inside her. Backing up to the staircase, she stumbles against the steps. Collapsing down, she spreads her legs, one to each edge of the stairs, until her crotch is level with his face.
Mitchell continues to massage with his two fingers, grasps her clit between his teeth and sucks, and chews and kneads her mound between his lips. Pressing his tongue firm he drinks down her excitement. He angles his hand so his fingers work inside her with more force and she gasps, covering her mouth with her hand, stifling a cry.
His other hand works his pulsating cock, whilst he crouches, diving into her with his fingers.
Ripping at her blouse, he leaves her scarf in place, drags down her bra exposing her breasts, the tight fabric pushing them up. Her nipples hang over the edge of her lace and, as he reaches to take one full breast in his mouth, he shoves his cock inside her.
He doesn’t have to worry about anything. He won’t be on this earth long enough to have concerns about safe sex and, the way she’s bucking against his thrusts and pressing the tip of his cock far enough inside her that it has nowhere else to go, it seems that’s not her primary concern either. The ache builds as he slams inside, his balls slapping against her wet thighs.
Leaving her breasts, he opens his eyes, and meets hers. That scarf is hiding one breast, her nipple barely visible through the sheer fabric. She watches as he lifts the end, exposing her fully to him, then reaches over for the other side before pulling up, hard, on the sheer fabric.
It tightens, and she bucks higher, groaning now, her hands on his waist.
Her head swims, her eyes roll in her head, and her mouth opens. That beautiful wide ‘O.’ He fills the space with his tongue, the scarf now tight. Her breathing is light but her tongue responds, pushes against his, explores deep into his mouth. She manages to lift her head, pushing further inside his mouth, running the tip of her tongue over the edge of his teeth. She pulls away, bites his bottom lip, he forces the scarf tighter to teach her a lesson. She nips him again before sucking his tender skin.
Her light breath has turned to pants, she’s close. He leaves her mouth, moving his face to nuzzle into her cleavage whilst rubbing her clit with his hand, all the while continuing to plunge into her. She lifts her legs, holds them off the steps as her face crumples, and lets out an almighty scream.
Blood rushes around his head as his ears ring. His tight balls fill his cock before he expels inside her, the natural form of his body taking over from the desperate wails inside his head, giving him one moment of relief from the anxiety and tension of the last few years. Allowing him to escape the hatred and, for the first time since he returned, to feel the joy of closeness and love, of passion and hope.
All too quickly, his thoughts turn to how his life has panned out. Frustration builds that he can’t forget it for just a little longer, but this is different. He has a nagging doubt. He was wrong about Rachel. What if he’s misjudged others who have ended up in his warehouse collection?
“It’s uncomfortable here.” She whispers the words in his ear and kisses his neck, “Let’s go to bed.”
Lucy
This is bad timing and we could give it a miss, but we already have sponsorship. So here we are, in the middle of all the crap that is going on, dressed as baby elephants, doing a 5k fun run. I have no idea whose idea it was. It was one of those things that sounded like a good idea over a bottle and a half of chardonnay.
“I could do without this.” Paula moans as we stand in a crowd at the start line.
“You and me both,” I mutter, kicking the heel of my trainer into the mud.
“It won’t take long, let’s get it done so we can at least do something fun with the rest of our day.” Paula grins at me, and it’s like the old days. Our relationship has been a tad strained since I launched at Brian. I think I may be making her life at work more difficult than it needs to be, and she hasn’t been the same with me.
Neither has Adam, for that matter. He’s grumpy and tense, always asking what I’m doing, like I’m some kind of child. Never mind, I’m sure he’ll get over it. We have a wedding to plan, that will sort him out.
The starter gun goes off and a huddle of people stumble forward. I’d like to say they surged, but honestly, it was nowhere near a surge and we’re left pottering behind an old lady, unable to navigate around her due to the amount of people in our way.
When we finally get going, I’m already hot in the outfit and have shoved the padded head off so it dangles down my back, bobbing around as I run. Actually, jog, but we’re moving faster than some.
“3k down.” Paula points at a sign hidden in the crowds who have gathered to support their loved ones.
“Thank goodness, I’m soaking in this. I’m gla
d I brought a change of clothes for the pub afterwards.”
She laughs. And I laugh. And suddenly, being out on a Sunday morning dressed like a complete idiot is not such a bad thing. Paula and I are back on track.
Or so I thought.
When we get to the pub where we’ve decided to have lunch, she settles a cold bottle of white on the table between us. The fluid glugs into our glasses as she pours. As she passes me my glass, she says, “Let’s have a toast.”
I raise my glass, thinking she’s going to say, ‘To us.’
“To Mo and me not losing our jobs.”
And so it starts.
“What do you mean?”
“That stunt you pulled. That could have gotten my arse, and that of Mo’s, fired. What were you thinking Lucy?”
“I wasn’t. That’s the point.”
“But you were beforehand. You got yourself to a secluded place with a weapon. As if that’s not bad enough, you didn’t tell anyone you were going, other than the criminal who set you up in the first place.”
“Who, Eric?”
“Yes, Eric. He knew what time your break was. He was deliberately on the phone when you came upstairs. It was all a set-up Lucy. Didn’t Adam tell you?”
“No...”
“He’s probably trying to spare you. He’s worried about you. He came to see me, you know?”
“No...” What’s going on with Paula and Adam getting so pally all of a sudden? Why are they having meetings behind my back without anyone bothering to include me?
“I didn’t understand what he was talking about, I haven’t seen enough of you lately what with being busy with this case and everything. But then the other night...? That’s not you, Lucy. Are you OK? I’m worried about you.”
“I’ve never felt stronger, Paula. Why are you and Adam colluding behind my back?”
She rubs her eyes. “We’re not. We both love you and want to make sure you have all the support you need. Adam is right, you’re acting out of character.”
The pub is getting busier and the crowds are getting louder. Paula is forced to raise her voice to be heard over the racket.
“Just because I’m being strong and independent, making my own decisions, you think that I’m not right in the head?”
“Well, honestly, yes. In a way. You’re not behaving how you normally would. But also, if you were mentally incapacitated, it would help our case right now. You’re not in a strong position, Lucy, and there’s not much more that neither Mo nor I can do to help you. Especially if you won’t help yourself.”
“I am helping myself. I’m working out, I’m learning my self-defence. Something I’ve always wanted to do more of, by the way...”
“But self-defence isn’t waiting down a dark alley, alone with no back-up, and clonking a potential murderer over the head with a salvaged chair leg whilst he’s walking away from you. Do you see that Lucy?”
I sigh. “When you put it like that. But that’s you in police mode, twisting what happened.”
She growls. An actual growl leaks out of her mouth. I look at her, scrunch my brow. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m not twisting anything, Lucy. That is what happened. You’re the one manipulating the truth to fit with your version of events. That’s why you need to go and speak to someone, please. It will help your case and I really believe it will aid your mental stability, too.”
“See who?”
Her chest rises as she takes a deep breath, exhaling fully before replying. “A psychiatrist,, or a counsellor, or someone. Anyone more qualified than Adam or I to help you.”
“I don’t need help. I think you’re just spooked because I’m finding my voice for a change.”
“No, Lucy we are not. You are not the person we love right now and that isn’t because you’re growing stronger, it’s because you have issues going on in the background that are causing you to act out. And it’s dangerous. You know you could lose your freedom if this goes south, don’t you?”
“Erm, no?” Jeez, why would I go to prison for protecting myself against a man who has already attacked me once? I thought Paula was good at her job.
“Well, you could.” She sips her drink and stares at me with that look. The one that makes me feel like I’m a naughty child.
I don’t reply straight away. “Why would I?”
“Essentially, because you went looking for trouble and found it, whilst it was leaving you. Get help Lucy. Behaving like that isn’t you.” She reaches in the back of her jeans and pulls out a card. “This is someone who works with us at the police station. If you don’t know anyone through your work, give her a shout, would you? Please? For me? For Adam?”
I pick the card up and finger the corner.
Paula
We’ve let Declan go. We didn’t have to. We could have kept him longer, but we’re hoping to trace his movements and work out some blanks ourselves, seeing as he’s not giving us anymore than he has to.
Jake and Christine are following him.
“Any news yet on that number he sent that text to?” I ask Jim.
“Yeah, it just came in. The number belongs to a Mitchell Swain. I’ve put a trace on his phone as well, but it’s not been switched on yet. The last place it was used was Glasgow.”
“Glasgow...” Mo and I look at each other, sharing a thought, his foul mood forgotten by both of us.
“Put a call into their force and see if anyone has turned up dead,” he says.
“Will do boss.”
“Anything on this Mitchell Swain yet?” I ask.
He clicks his mouse, “Ted was looking into him. He’s not sent anything over to me yet.” He raises his voice, shouts across the office, “Ted, anything on our Mister Swain?”
Ted raises his hand, “Yep, come over, I’m just going through it now.”
The beat in my chest is irregular and strong in anticipation. This is it, we’re getting there. We march over, no time to be wasted, and form an arc around Ted.
He starts speaking before we fully congregate. “He was SAS, did a few tours in Afghan, he and another guy were missing in action for six months after a fall scaling a cliff face. He was left with...” he places his finger on the screen as he reads, “traumatic subarachnoid haemorrhage,(tSAH), the other guy died.” He continues to read the document, skipping details until he finds relevant information. “When he turned up alive, the army diagnosed him, discharged him on medical grounds and...” his scans the screen again. “That’s where the trail runs dry.”
“What’s the name of the other guy?” Mo asks.
“Hang on...”
We wait whilst Ted scours the document.
“Will Brown.”
Mo and I turn and fist punch. “We’re on him.” I shout, “Boom!”
“Send me that document would you please, Ted.” Mo and I are already marching back to my desk. Mo wheels up a spare chair and we sit, prepared for the long haul.
“Right, let’s find out everything we can about Mister Mitchell Swain.”
“Let’s just hang fire a second and work out what it is we need to know. We can piece a lot of this together now,” Mo mutters, staring at the wall.
I nod, fair point. “So, there’s a real strong possibility that Mitchell and Declan know each other, or more. Was Declan in the army?” I write the names on my pad and link them with an arrow, marking the question in the start of a list to the side.
“And with Will Brown, the owner of the barge, being killed in action, it’s fair to assume that Mitchell knew he was safe to use it.” Mo taps the paper where he wants me to write.
“Right.” I chew my pen top. “So, if he’s friends with Declan and he got discharged, what’s he been doing since he left the army?”
Mo shouts to Jim. “Check all the ex-employees of Declan Meredith’s dating site please. ALL ex-employees going back to when Mitchell was given his medical discharge.”
My phone rings. “It’s Christine.”
She doesn’t a
llow me time to answer before she’s speaking. “He’s on the move. He jumped in his car and he’s driving north on the M1. Shall we follow him?”
She’s on hands free so I look at Mo for direction, whilst nodding. “Yep, keep going,” he instructs. “Do not lose him, but put an alert out on his number plate as well.”
“Ooh, it’s all kicking off,” I mutter.
“Don’t get too excited. We need to work out why he’s doing this. We’ve got some connections here, but, just because all these people know each other, it doesn’t mean that anyone, or all of them, are going around murdering people and leaving them naked.”
He’s so practical. Where I’ll run off celebrating, high-fiving anyone in my wake because we’ve made progress, Mo is a realist. He’s well aware that there is still a lot of piecing together to do before we can bring Mitchell in with charges that will stick. “Think about this, Paula. If he’s SAS, he knows what he’s doing. There won’t be any evidence. So, how do we connect him to the murders?”
“We must work out why first. And then track back how we catch him from there.”
“Right. So, let’s have a look at what would make you suddenly switch from risking your life to save others, to becoming a mass murderer.”
“It has to be linked to him being discharged...” I say, as I chew a hole in my pen cap.
“Or the reason he was discharged?” Mo asks.
“Perhaps.” I’m about to add, ‘or a combination’, before realising this direction isn’t getting us anywhere. “How about this? Let’s have a look at what happened to him. The human brain can do odd things when it malfunctions. Maybe this is the cause of his personality change?”
“Perhaps.” Mo shrugs as I type tSAH into my search engine.
“Voila.” My screen fills with technical jargon about brain injuries. “Hmm. It’s a bit complex...”
“Yep. I think we run on the assumption his personality changed as a result of his injury, whilst getting this clarified with a specialist. Do you have any in your attaché of contacts?”