Molly's Boudoir: the 4th Jasmine Frame novel (Jasmine Frame Detective)

by P R Ellis

Jasmine went on. ‘We think you drove her to meetings with the men, perhaps to their homes. We’re wondering if you can recall one who might have met Harriet off her train.’

  Nicholls eyes widened in incredulity. ‘You’re expecting me to remember the address of someone who might be living somewhere between Reading and Swansea?’

  ‘We hope so,’ Jasmine said, smiling sweetly.

  ‘Bloody heck.’ Nicholls turned and headed into the lounge. Tom and Jasmine followed. Nicholls went straight to the drinks cabinet ignoring Tracy who was sitting on the sofa.

  ‘Oh. It’s you,’ she said in a not very welcoming tone. ‘What do they want Gary?’

  Nicholls turned to face her with a tumbler containing a large quantity of whisky.

  ‘Go and have a bath or something, darling. I’ll be up shortly.’

  The girl sulked. ‘Is this more about your affair with the Bunting woman?’

  ‘Sort of,’ he admitted, ‘Now go on and leave us. I won’t be long.’ He blew her a kiss with his spare hand. She stood up, swung her head and stalked out of the room.

  ‘You don’t want your girlfriend to know about your relationship with Harriet Bunting?’ Tom said.

  ‘She knows about the relationship,’ Nicholls growled, ‘It’s the other stuff that Harriet did with her blokes that she won’t understand.’ He slumped into one of the large armchairs and sipped his drink. Tom and Jasmine sat on the vacated sofa.

  ‘Do you think you can help?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Shush,’ Nicholls said, ‘I’m thinking.’

  Tom and Jasmine sat quietly allowing him to ponder. He took frequent sips. Within a few minutes the glass was empty.

  ‘There was a guy who lived in a bungalow in Cheltenham,’ he said.

  ‘Edward Wilson, known as Buttercup,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘I don’t know his real name. I don’t remember a Buttercup.’

  ‘That might be a recent name,’ Jasmine said, ‘Since Harriet made him dress as a woman.’

  Nicholls snorted. ‘That was one of her favourite forfeits. She had enough experience with Evelyn, although he liked being a sissy.’

  Tom intervened. ‘Can you describe the man you met, Mr Nicholls?’

  Nicholls considered for a moment. ‘Fifties-ish, medium height, brown hair, receding, slim.’

  ‘Sounds like Wilson,’ Jasmine said, ‘I don’t think she’ll have contacted him. She knows we know of him.’

  Nicholls frowned. ‘I remember a couple of others. One of them lived close to the M4/M5 junction.’

  ‘Near Bristol,’ Tom said.

  ‘That’s right. A village called… Almondsbury. That’s it.’ Nicholls looked delighted.

  ‘No distance from Bristol Parkway,’ Jasmine said. ‘Any others?’

  Nicholls held his head. ‘Yes, we went to a place just south of Swindon once. Wootton Bassett.’

  ‘That’s two possibilities, then,’ Jasmine said, ‘Any more?’

  Nicholls shook his head. ‘I can’t remember any more of them in that direction.’ He stood up and took a few staggering steps to the drinks cabinet. He refilled his glass.

  ‘Do you have any names, or addresses?’ Tom asked, his notebook at the ready.

  ‘I told you, Harriet never said their real names. I only ever knew the nicknames she gave them.’

  ‘OK. What are the two you’ve mentioned called?’ Jasmine asked.

  Nicholls thought for a few moments. ‘The guy near Bristol was Todger and the other one was Dong.’

  ‘Nice,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘We can hardly go around their neighbourhoods asking if anyone knows Todger or Dong,’ Tom said, ‘What about their addresses?’

  Nicholls shook his head.

  ‘You drove Harriet there,’ Jasmine said, ‘Can you pick out your route on a map?’

  Nicholls breathed deeply. ‘Perhaps.’

  Jasmine raised her hands. ‘I haven’t got a phone. Tom, let’s have yours.’

  Tom reached in his pocket and drew out his smart phone. He tapped the screen a few times and handed it to Jasmine. The screen showed a map of their current location. Jasmine searched for Wootton Bassett and handed the phone to Nicholls.

  ‘Can you pick out where Dong lived?’

  Nicholls peered at the map, moving his fingers over it. Finally he stopped.

  ‘There, I think.’

  Tom stood up and leaned over the phone. He scribbled in his notebook. ‘What about the other one. Todger.’

  Nichols returned to fingering the screen. ‘I remember the road. A number of houses all looking pretty much the same. Not sure which one it was,’ he said passing the phone to Tom. Again, Tom wrote down the address.

  ‘Are you sure there are no others you can remember?’ Jasmine said.

  Nicholls shook his head and shrugged. Tom’s phone rang. He stood up and went out of the room with the phone at his ear. Jasmine waited with her heart beating fast in anticipation. Nicholls sipped his whisky and appeared to be getting sleepy

  Only seconds passed before Tom returned, smiling broadly.

  ‘It’s Bristol. CCTV shows her getting off the train and getting into a Ford Focus. Can’t get a number though.’

  ‘It’s Todger then.’ Jasmine said.

  ‘Let’s hope she hasn’t got another slave down there which Mr Nicholls doesn’t know about.’

  ‘Uh?’ Nicholls said.

  Tom said, ‘It’s alright, Mr Nicholls, we’ll leave you and your girlfriend now. Thank you for your help.’

  ‘We’ll see ourselves out,’ Jasmine said.

  They almost ran into the hall and out of the house to the car. Tom was driving away as Jasmine fastened her seatbelt.

  ‘Are we going to Bristol?’ Jasmine asked.

  ‘You bet,’ Tom said as they accelerated along the country road towards the M4 junction. ‘I’m not giving Harriet Bunting any more time than I can help. Let’s see if we can get the local police to nail her.’ He tapped the dashboard to open a phone line.

  It was an over an hour later when Tom drove slowly along the streets of the dormitory village. There were two police cars parked in the road. Tom stopped the car and he and Jasmine got out. They were approached by a uniformed officer. Tom flashed his warrant card.

  ‘DI Shepherd from Kintbridge. We asked you to check out an address here.’

  The officer stood upright, confident. ‘The message we got was to find out which house is occupied by the owner of a Ford Focus.’

  Tom nodded. ‘That’s right. That’s the only information we have other than the house being on this street.’

  The officer grunted. ‘Well, the car wasn’t in sight when we arrived, so we knocked on a couple of doors. One of the neighbours told us the owner of the Focus lives at number ten.’ He pointed down the dark road lit by a couple of dim streetlights. ‘It’s owned by a Mr. Cherry. Lives on his own so we were told.’

  Tom began to walk down the road with Jasmine and the officer following.

  Jasmine asked, ‘Have you called at number ten?’

  The PC replied, ‘No. We were told to wait for you. But we’ve kept it under observation. It doesn’t look as though there’s anyone in.’

  Jasmine’s heart sank. She was hoping that this would be the end of the trail and that Harriet Bunting would soon be in custody.

  They stopped and looked at the front of number ten, a 1970s detached house with large curtained windows and white-painted walls. There was no car in the drive and no lights on inside.

  Jasmine spoke again. ‘Have you asked the neighbours if they saw Mr Cherry this evening?’

  The officer nodded. ‘Yes. The people at number twelve said they saw him drive away soon after eight.’

  Tom looked at Jasmine. ‘That would give Cherry time to get to Bristol Parkway to pick her up. But they didn’t come back?’ The PC shook his head.

  Jasmine was trying to think like Harriet Bunting. ‘Harriet may be on the run but I’m not sure she is prepared to give up her way of life yet
. She’s found a new chauffeur in Todger but would she want to slum it by shacking up with him.’

  ‘What do you mean, Jas?’ Tom said, looking mystified.

  ‘I mean that she likes to stay in nice hotels.’

  ‘You think she’s got Todger, Mr Cherry, to take her somewhere for the night.’

  ‘And probably persuaded him to pay while she allows him a little relief.’

  Tom pondered. ‘But where? There must be dozens of suitable places round here. How do we work out where she is?’

  ‘Perhaps we won’t have to,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She never spent more than a couple of hours with her slaves. They were kicked out pretty soon. She only stays the night with her lovers, Gary Nicholls and Tyler Smith.’

  ‘You mean Cherry won’t be staying with Harriet Bunting and will come home when she’s finished playing with him.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Tom nodded. ‘So, we wait here until he arrives to tell us where Harriet Bunting is staying.’ Tom turned to the PC. ‘We’ll only need one of your cars as back up. You can let the other go. But get your car out of sight. We don’t want Cherry spooked if he arrives back and finds a police car outside his house.’

  The PC nodded and hurried off.

  The autumn cold was beginning to penetrate Jasmine’s anorak. ‘We can get back in your car, Tom, and wait for him to return.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s almost eleven-thirty. They’ve already had three hours in each other’s company. I don’t think Todger will be long if my guess is correct.’

  As they got back to the Mondeo, one police car drove off and the other reversed down the road and around a bend. Jasmine got into the passenger seat and pulled the anorak around her. Tom pulled out his phone and made a call.

  ‘Sasha? Did you interview Smith?’ a pause, ‘Did you get anything from him?’ another pause. ‘That’s the response we expected. We’re just outside Bristol. Yes, Bristol. A possible lead on Bunting. I’ll speak to you again soon.’ He finished the call.

  ‘No joy with Tyler?’ Jasmine asked.

  ‘No comment, as you expected. He’s staying loyal to his lover. For now.’

  The lights of a car appeared behind them. Jasmine and Tom simultaneously lowered their heads. The car, a Ford Focus, drove slowly past.

  ‘It’s him,’ Tom hissed.

  The car turned into the driveway of number ten.

  ‘Come on,’ Tom said and opened his door. Jasmine opened hers and in a moment was almost running in pursuit of Tom’s long-legged strides. They reached the drive as the man was approaching the front door. He turned as they got near to him. His surprised face was illuminated by the streetlight.

  ‘We’re police, Mr Cherry. We’d like to ask you some questions.’

  Cherry froze. ‘Police? Questions?’

  ‘Where have you just come from?’ Tom asked. Cherry was between him and the door. Jasmine moved to his side and she saw the two uniformed police officers coming up the drive.

  Cherry looked at each of them. ‘I… I’ve been out.’

  ‘Where Mr Cherry?’ Tom said in his most authoritative voice.

  ‘For dinner.’

  ‘Where, is what I asked.’

  Jasmine watched the thoughts passing across the face of the middle-aged man. He was thinking whether lying could possibly preserve the secret whereabouts of Harriet Bunting.

  ‘I’m expecting the truth,’ Tom said, ‘Any lies will see you in court.’

  Cherry’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he spoke. ‘The…The Grove Hotel.’

  ‘Where’s that?’ Tom asked.

  ‘A few miles away,’ Cherry said, his voice shaking, ‘the other side of the motorway.’

  ‘Who were you having dinner with?’

  Cherry shook his head. ‘No one. I was on my own.’

  Tom snorted. ‘Really? Don’t give me that. Who was she?’

  The man shook his head violently again.

  Jasmine intercepted Tom’s next question. ‘Was it Madame de la Clef?’

  Cherry looked at her with wide eyes. His mouth opened and his tongue lolled.

  ‘Did she let you have your key?’ Jasmine said in a stage whisper.

  The whole body of the man shook. He nodded.

  ‘I think that’s all we need,’ Tom said. ‘You’re coming with us, Mr Cherry. You can show us the way to this hotel.’ He took the man’s arm and dragged him away from the doorway. He called to the police officers. ‘Follow us. We’re going to The Grove Hotel. That’s where the person we’re after is staying.’

  Tom tugged the man along the road to the Mondeo. Jasmine tagged along by his side prepared at any moment to grab him if he decided to escape. Tom shoved him up against the car, pulled the rear door open and pushed the man inside. Jasmine got in beside him while Tom got in the front. Tom leaned around to face their prisoner.

  ‘Now give me directions.’

  Cherry directed them out of the village and onto an A road. Jasmine examined him. Like Harriet’s other slaves, Cherry or “Todger” was middle-aged but slim and fit. He had short, greying hair and a small moustache which was darker. He sat upright, avoiding Jasmine’s gaze by looking out of the window into the night.

  ‘What time did Harriet contact you?’ Jasmine asked.

  Cherry looked at her and said nothing for a moment. He was deciding whether to answer the questions and reveal his story.

  ‘Answer her,’ Tom ordered. Jasmine saw his eyes in the rear-view mirror looking at them.

  ‘Um, it was half-past five.’

  ‘Were you expecting a call from your mistress?’ Jasmine said.

  Cherry held himself upright. ‘One expects nothing from Madame. One puts oneself at her service.’

  ‘Oh, so you were prepared to drop what you were doing to respond to her wishes?’ Jasmine realised that she was sneering.

  Cherry shrugged. ‘I was not doing anything important. It is a pleasure to serve Madame.’

  ‘Were you surprised to find she was on her way to meet you?’ Jasmine went on.

  ‘You need to take the next right,’ Cherry said. Tom nodded and turned the car. Cherry looked at Jasmine. ‘It was a little unexpected but not unknown for Madame to want to test me at short notice.’

  ‘Keeps you on your toes, does she?’ Jasmine said.

  ‘Madame is thorough in her pursuance of her desires.’

  ‘Did you book the hotel before you picked her up at the station?’

  Chery nodded. ‘Madame asked me to make arrangements.’

  ‘You met her and went straight to the hotel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what did you do when you got there?’

  ‘Madame needed to eat.’

  ‘You bought her dinner?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘And then.’

  ‘We went to her room.’

  ‘Which you paid for?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He had answered all her questions in an even tone, as if proud of his actions. They were travelling along a country road, passing fields and hedgerows.

  ‘Did she tell you why she needed your help tonight?’ Jasmine went on.

  Cherry snorted. ‘Madame does not explain her actions.’

  ‘But you were unhelpful when we met you. You didn’t want to tell us that you’d been with Harriet Bunting.’

  He was quiet.

  ‘Why?’ Jasmine insisted.

  ‘She told me not to say where I had been or that I had been with her.’

  ‘You disobeyed your mistress.’ Jasmine smiled sweetly at him and was pleased by his reaction. He shivered. ‘What did you do in her bedroom?’

  He shook his head and kept his mouth shut.

  ‘What did she make you do?’ Jasmine insisted.

  ‘It’s private,’ he whispered.

  ‘Perhaps, but you are going to tell us,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘Hold on,’ Tom said. The car slowed. ‘There’s
a junction coming up. Which way do we go?’

  ‘Keep to the right,’ Cherry said. ‘It’s not far now. The Grove Hotel is on the right.’

  They speeded up again.

  ‘You can answer Mizz Frame now,’ Tom said.

  Jasmine watched the man swallow and take a breath.

  ‘She made me undress. Then she used the key to release me.’

  ‘She touched your cock and balls?’ Jasmine said.

  ‘She was wearing gloves,’ Cherry said. ‘Then she told me to kneel with my arms behind my back.’

  ‘While she watched your reaction, I presume,’ Jasmine said. Cherry nodded. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘She told me to remove her shoes and stockings and then kiss her feet.’

  ‘Did you enjoy that?’

  ‘It is a great honour to touch any part of Madame.’

  ‘You have a foot fetish.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘She just wanted to test you?’

  ‘She didn’t need to. I will obey her always.’

  ‘You didn’t just now when you told us where she was staying.’ Jasmine saw his face turn pale in the darkness of the car. ‘What else did she ask you to do?’

  ‘That was it.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘She told me to put the device on again.’

  Jasmine chuckled. ‘That must have been difficult for you. Surely you were hard. Didn’t she let you come?’

  He shook his head.

  Tom spoke as he turned the wheel. ‘I think we’re here.’ Jasmine saw the sign with “The Grove Hotel” in large painted letters, as they turned into the car park. Tom halted the car in front of the entrance. The police car drew up beside them.

  Jasmine undid her seat belt, disappointed that she had not completed her questioning and embarrassment of Cherry.

  Tom got out and opened the rear door.

  ‘Come with us, please, Mr Cherry. You can guide us to Mrs Bunting’s room.’ Tom took his arm and led them into the hotel with Jasmine and the two police officers close behind. The young man seated at the reception desk looked up with surprise when he saw them approaching.

  Tom released Cherry’s arm. ‘This gentlemen booked a room this evening which is occupied by a Mrs Harriet Bunting.

  ‘Ah, yes. Mr Cherry, isn’t it,’ the receptionist said. Cherry nodded but looked unhappy.