Dirty Sexy Murder

by Cathleen Ross

  The zip gave way and she pulled out her purse, flicked it open looking for the card James had given her. Grabbing it with trembling fingers, she ran to the phone in the hallway and punched in Anthony Ford’s number. The legal firm’s answering machine kicked in. She listened, wiping the tears from her face with the pad of her thumb. “Come on. Come on. There must be some emergency number.” She scanned the business card, which listed the phone number, fax and email address. Ordinary people didn’t need to do business at one thirty in the morning. The answering machine clicked on telling her to leave a message. “Hello. This is Marina Henry. This is an urgent message for Anthony Ford. The police have detained my flatmate, James Worth. We need you. Please call me.” She rattled off her and James’s contact details.

  She sat on the telephone table seat, her fingernails digging into her palms. “What can I do now?” If she could turn herself into an emu and bury her head in the sand, she would. But she couldn’t run, couldn’t hide. Lizzie needed her. An image of her elfin friend with her spiky blond hair came to mind. Lizzie alone with a monster! “Oh God, please help me! I can’t bear this.”

  Marina stood and paced the hallway. It helped her think. Through the panic of her mind she heard Evelyn’s voice. “Your power is through your touch.” Evelyn had called it a gift. If she ever needed a gift it was now.

  She raced into Lizzie’s room. Head turning from side to side, she looked for something that was precious to Lizzie. Anything she could get a reading from. Lizzie’s white painted dressing table was piled with beauty products, all of them necessary but none of them special.

  She whirled around. “Come on Lizzie, there must be something I can use that you love.” She pushed open Lizzie’s wardrobe. She pulled stuff out throwing it to the floor then she spotted the Talisman—the green silk pouch Lizzie had made to attract love for herself. Lizzie’s Talisman sat in a jar on the top shelf. Marina grabbed her own Talisman around her neck. Hers was still safely there.

  Strangely, a certain calm came to her when she touched it. Her mind stopped racing like a rat in a maze. She knew what Lizzie loved. The answer was so simple. Her mobile phone. She stumbled into the hallway to the telephone table and picked up the pink mobile phone. She’d try and get an image off that. Evelyn had told her the Talisman filtered the psychic messages. She yanked it off. This had to work or Lizzie would die. Images assaulted her. She buckled at the knees, crashing to the ground, a prisoner of her vision.

  Chapter 21

  “Lizzie!” Marina didn’t feel the pain of the impact when she dropped to the floor. All her senses were filled with her vision.

  Lizzie lay on her side on bare floorboards, her back against the wall, her hands and feet bound so that she was in a fetal position. Terror spoke from her eyes.

  A crawling sensation of evil invaded Marina like termites intent on destruction, powdering her insides to dust. The killer was in the room. Marina groaned. She was in the killer’s head, forced to stare through his eyes at her best friend, his victim. Pleasure coated his evil as he pondered Lizzie’s death. Time was short. Lizzie would be missed. Pity. He was enjoying this. The rush exhilarated him.

  He flexed the cord, then wound one end around his hand for traction and walked toward his victim. He’d spent so much time preparing this cord. He’d collected the used wax coated with her pink pubic hair and melted it so that when he rolled the cord in the used wax, the hair stuck. It added to the thrill, seeing the terror in the victim’s eyes when she recognized how much effort he had gone to preparing for the kill. This one had flaunted her pink pubic hair. The whore. She deserved to die.

  “Please don’t hurt me.” Lizzie cowered.

  Marina’s eyes clicked open with the shock of her vision. “Damn it. Where are you?” she wailed. She staggered to her feet, her knees burning from the impact of her fall. Desperate to get the image back, she clutched the pink mobile phone but she couldn’t get anything from it. No feelings. Nothing. She threw the mobile phone aside, cracking the casing. “Lizzie,” she wailed. She needed that image back. She needed to know exactly where Lizzie was. “Focus. Think of the image.” There had to be something, some detail that would give away where Lizzie was. Anything!

  * * * *

  James wanted to ram his fist into the smirking face in front of him, but that wouldn’t get him anywhere. In fact, it would only get him arrested and that was what they wanted.

  The police interrogation room contained one table and two chairs. Detective Herbert sat at the table fingering a cigarette. Boredom crossed his features. Occasionally, he took a puff and blew the smoke in James’s direction.

  James twisted on his chair trying not to cough. He glanced at his watch. It was hours until his lawyer started work. He didn’t have hours. Lizzie needed him.

  “Let’s go over this again,” Detective Davis said, leaning against the wall. “Serena Porter was staying at the same hotel.”

  James’s jaw clenched. His hand balled tight. “I told you. I don’t know Serena Porter. I never met her.”

  The same questions again and again. He glared at the Detectives. “Do something useful,” he yelled. “Help me find my sister. At least go round to that steroid-taking, pumped-up dick of a boyfriend and search for her. I’m telling you he’s your murderer.” He knew shouting wouldn’t get him anywhere, but these cops were driving him nuts.

  He saw Detective Herbert glance at Detective Davis. No doubt they hoped to break him by their constant questioning.

  Detective Herbert flicked his lighter open then closed it again. It must have been the hundredth time he’d done it. Click, click. James wanted to take the lighter and crush it under his heel.

  “There’s nothing to link your sister’s boyfriend to any of the murders. We’ve checked.” Detective Herbert’s gaze flicked over him. He opened and closed his lighter. Click, click.

  James’s stomach muscles tightened in agitation. “Look, the guy’s not normal. He’s a pornography addict.”

  Detective Davis’s eyes narrowed. “Child porn?”

  “No. Women.”

  Detective Davis shrugged. “If we arrested guys for jacking off to pictures of naked women, we’d have to take in the whole of the force.”

  Detective Herbert laughed. “This boyfriend sounds like a normal guy.”

  “He’s a creep.” The pulse in James’s temple beat like a drum.

  “We’ve got several guys who work out with him here. They say he’s a dedicated trainer,” Detective Davis added. “A good guy.” He glanced at his watch. “There’s no need to wake him. We’ll call around in the morning. Check up on your sister.”

  “That’s not good enough. You need to check now. Do you hear me? Now!”

  Detective Herbert stood, flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the floor, ground it in to the dirty linoleum and walked around to James’s side of the table. He sat on the edge of the table looking down at him. “You know what I think? I think your sob story regarding your sister is a distraction.”

  “You weren’t complaining she was missing until we showed up,” Detective Davis said. “She’s probably cuddled up in bed with her boyfriend at the moment.”

  “What we’re interested in is you.” Detective Herbert jabbed a pudgy finger into James’s chest. “We can link you to all three murders. I’d say that’s more than a coincidence, wouldn’t you? Now why don’t you start by telling us where you met Serena Porter?”

  The smoke from his cigarette curled around James like a hazy noose. He was so close to thumping the cop he had to look away, fighting for calm.

  Detective Herbert’s mobile phone rang. He reached inside the pocket of his black jacket. “Yeah? Right. That so. You in the salon right now? You’re not.” He looked at Detective Davis and shook his head. “So how do you know Lizzie Worth’s in there? You had a vision. Great. Just fucking great. We’ll check it out. Yeah. Yeah. We’ll get there soon. Don’t go in the salon.”

  “Was that Marina?” James asked.

 
; “What’s going on?” Detective Davis said at the same time.

  Detective Herbert flicked his lighter on and off. “This joker’s got his girlfriend in on the act. The waxer’s having visions that the sister’s in the salon about to be murdered.”

  James stood so quickly, the chair he sat on tipped and clattered onto its side. “Fabio’s taken her to the salon.” His voice was hoarse. “He wouldn’t kill her in his own place. That’s not his pattern. He’s smarter than he seems.” James raced to the door and pulled at the handle. It was locked. He smashed the door with his fist. “Get moving,” James shouted. Beads of sweat formed on his brow.

  Both policemen stared at him. Detective Herbert hadn’t moved.

  “I suppose we’d better check it out,” Detective Herbert said. “I could do with another fag first.”

  Detective Davis nodded.

  James turned, his hands clenched into fists and moved toward the police.

  * * * *

  Marina stared at the telephone in disbelief. Detective Herbert had barely seemed interested. Would he get to the salon in time? She doubted it.

  She knew where Lizzie was. The colour of the walls in her vision had given the location away. Yellow wash. Natalia insisted on the colour throughout the salon. She’d wasted precious time. She threw the cordless phone away from her in despair. It landed with a thud near Lizzie’s broken mobile phone.

  “Lizzie. Don’t die!” The words came out in an agonized cry. She upended her purse searching through the loose change for the salon key Michael had given her. Grabbing it, she rushed out of her bedroom, threw open the door of the apartment and ran down the stairs into the street.

  The salon took five minutes to get to at a run. She knew. The girls had timed it once when they’d slept in and that was with dodging pedestrians. She tripped on the uneven path, got up and kept running unaware that her shin was bleeding. One thing kept her going. Lizzie.

  Her lungs hurt as she raced around the corner onto Darlinghurst Road. It was quiet. Even the smells of car fumes, coffee and people had abated. There was no one about, just the occasional car, but she didn’t have time to think about flagging down help.

  Panting, she reached Salon City and rattled the door but it was locked. She fished in her pocket for the key, jammed it into the lock and turned.

  There were no lights in the salon. Once inside, light from the street gave the salon foyer a shadowy glow. She stopped for a moment. Ears straining, she listened for something that would tell her where Lizzie was. Nothing. No noise except her heart beat. It thudded in her ears making a whooshing rushing sound. A tiny noise, the slide of a foot perhaps, had her racing past reception, toward the stairs at the back of the salon. Every breath she drew sounded like a roar.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, she saw that her cubicle door was closed. Heart in her mouth, she opened it. Nothing. Next she opened Lizzie’s. Nothing.

  Senses wired. She paused. Where are you, Lizzie? Her thoughts rose like a scream.

  “Whore!”

  Marina jumped. This time the voice was not in her head. The man’s voice came from above.

  A sickening gurgle reached her ears.

  She ran toward the attic stairs and skidded, her shoulder hitting the wall. She clutched at the handrail to steady herself then pounded up the stairs.

  In the attic room she saw a man bent over Lizzie, the rope she’d only seen in her visions around her throat. He had pulled her to a sitting position so he could look into her eyes as she died.

  The man turned with the noise Marina made as she entered the attic. Marina froze. Her mouth opened in surprise. “Michael! No!” She hurled herself at him giving him no time to get to his feet. Anything to get him away from Lizzie who was choking, her bound hands clawing at her throat, her fingers desperately trying to release the rope.

  Michael let go of it as Marina launched herself at him, rolling back with the force of her landing on him. Forming her fingers into a V shape she dug them into his eyes as James had taught her.

  Her middle finger made contact gouging his right eye deeply, while her index finger skidded off the bridge of his nose failing to wound.

  But she did damage. A howl of pain rang in her ears much to her satisfaction. Michael pushed her off him. She rolled backward, scrambling to her feet.

  In a lumbering movement he stood and advanced toward her. One eye was closed, the other open. Hatred burned there. Madness too. “Mother,” he said, his voice high like a boy’s.

  “What?” Who was he talking to? The word made her heart miss a beat. This man was not the quiet Michael she’d grown to like. He was the monster!

  In a few strides he closed the distance between them and shoved her against the wall. The impact made her gasp as the back of her head slapped the wall. The edges of her vision darkened. She gasped raw air. Don’t black out. Every muscle in her body tensed. Fight him. It’s your only chance. Lizzie’s too.

  He clamped his hands around her throat. Automatically, she dug her fingernails into his hands to loosen his grip, but his hands were strong. Workman’s hands.

  “Filthy whore.”

  The hatred that burned his eyes churned her stomach. She fought for breath, as his thumbs dug into her larynx, the pressure crushing.

  “You stripped off your pubic hair for every man to see. You thought I wouldn’t find the photos. Filthy whore.”

  “She’s not your mother, you mad man. Let her go,” Lizzie cried, her voice hoarse. Her words made no impact on Michael, but a small shot of relief zinged up Marina’s spine when she realized that Lizzie had freed herself from the bite of the cord.

  “This time, Mother, you’ll stay dead.” Michael tightened his grip around her throat.

  She choked. In the background she could hear Lizzie screaming, but her words made no more sense than Michael calling her mother as she fought for air. Fight him. Your life. Lizzie’s life. Fight him. Desperately, she raised her foot and slammed her heel onto the top of his knee.

  Michael howled in pain. He released her, toppling over clutching his knee. His face was red. His eyes crazed. “I’ll kill you, whore. I’ll do it properly so you don’t come back.” He climbed to his feet, putting weight on his disabled knee, and fell again. “Argh!”

  Marina glanced at Lizzie who was unraveling her bonds. Marina ran from the attic to her cubicle. A weapon. She had to find something, anything to stop him. Throwing open the door of her cubicle, she raced inside. The door hit the wall with a bang and bounced shut. She remembered her bikini trimmer kit included a small sharp pair of scissors. It wasn’t much but it was the only thing she could think of.

  She heard Michael’s footsteps thudding on the attic stairs, his gait unsteady but advancing. He swore in pain. The sound rose above Lizzie’s screams for help. Good, Michael. Leave Lizzie. Come for me. Her heart beat so fast she was sure it would burst. She shoved her massage table aside, flung open the cupboard under her workbench and pulled out her bikini trimming kit. Upending it, she grabbed the scissors, her fingers curled around them.

  “Where are you, whore?” Michael had reached the landing.

  Break glass, James had said. People come to the sound of breaking glass. Picking up the bikini shaver, she raced to her window and broke the pane of glass sending it smashing to the street two stories below.

  Her door crashed open.

  Marina stood frozen.

  Michael’s head turned from side to side trying to find her in the semi-darkness. He flicked the light on. He reached out using the wall for support. “You can’t hide from me, whore. This time you’ll stay dead.”

  The massage bed blocked his way.

  “I’m not your mother, Michael. I’m Marina Henry. I work for your wife, Natalia.”

  At the mention of his wife’s name, Michael’s face gentled. A movement on the landing behind Michael caught her eye. Lizzie. Marina’s heart leapt. She had escaped her bonds. Creep past him, Lizzie. Go get help.

  Marina kept talking to keep
his attention on her. “Don’t do this, Michael. Think of Natalia. Think of the baby. You love that baby. You’re so proud.” Focus on the stuff that keeps him in the present.

  “The baby.” His expression softened.

  “That’s right. Your beautiful child growing inside Natalia.” She kept her voice even, gentle. “Think how lovely it will be to hold him…”

  Smash!

  Michael roared. He turned. Lizzie had hit him over the head with the flimsy salon chair she kept in the corner of her cubicle. The chair broke. Michael didn’t.

  “Shit!” Lizzie cried.

  Michael lunged at her. He grabbed at her flimsy pink top. When she pulled away, it came apart in his hands. This time she ran screaming all the way down the salon stairs. Hobbled by his knee, he didn’t attempt to go after her. Instead he turned, his anger fixated on Marina.

  “All my life you lied to me. There was nothing you wouldn’t do for money. I wanted an ordinary life. You worked as a prostitute.” His face darkened, distorted with the memories. “Why couldn’t you leave it at that? No. You had to do the photos, too. The whole town knew. People humiliated me. I couldn’t hold up my head. I couldn’t go to school. I’ve got a new life now. I won’t let you back in,” he screamed.

  The photo from the eighties. The strange likeness. Could that woman be Michael’s mother?

  He flung the massage table aside and lunged for her.

  Marina’s hand tightened against the small scissors as he came for her, the blunt end butted up hard in her palm, the sharp end pointing outwards. She backed up against the wall. If this didn’t work, he’d crush her throat the way he had done to the others so many times before.

  When his hands closed around her throat she punched upward hoping to drive the scissors home into the flesh of his belly. The scissors hit his belt and fell to the ground.

  She let out a sob of disappointment. In blind panic she kicked out at him, clawed at his face. Anything to release the relentless pressure crushing her throat. His hatred suffocated her. She could feel the power of it through his hands as they tightened on her throat. She was choking. Gasping. No air.