A Taste of Honey

by Tom Benson

  “That’s good to know sir,”

  “Obviously it couldn’t have been you,” he said, “because you were here in New York. I have your preliminary reports from a surveillance operation on the East Side. You must remember to sign them.”

  “I will sir,” she said. “I will.” She smiled although a tear threatened.

  “Do we have mutual trust?” Kelly said and held out his right hand.

  “We have a mutual trust sir,” Maria said and shook her boss’s hand.

  They both smiled; and sighed.

  Maria said, “How did you know how I’d respond to reading your file?”

  “I didn’t,” Kelly said. “That was Sherlock’s idea.”

  “It sounds like your PA is good at ideas.”

  “She’s the best Maria,” Kelly said and nodded. “She is simply the best.”

  *

  Indianapolis, Indiana

  Tuesday would continue to be a busy day, and Honey knew that to make everything fall into place she would need outside help. She removed her blouse mini-skirt and heels to get into a more practical outfit; T-shirt, hooded sweater, jeans, and sneakers.

  She sat in a deli a couple of miles from where she’d met Connie. Honey knew that she would have to count on some old favors and contacts. As she ate a late lunch, she called three New York numbers from memory. Until the third number, she was getting nowhere.

  “Is that Kenny?” she said, holding her nostrils closed between finger and thumb.

  “Never mind who this is,” she snapped at the response. “I need a contact in a hurry, and if I don’t get it, I have an Italian friend who wants to cut your fucking balls off.” She paused and hoped Kenny wouldn’t hang up. He didn’t, and Honey got the number she wanted.

  It was a Pittsburgh code and an unfamiliar number, so she wrote it on a napkin.

  She dialed the number and not surprisingly had issues with identity once again. The short conversation took a positive turn when she explained her offer and terms. She hung up, checked the time, and finished her lunch. The napkin was torn to shreds before disposal in different trash cans.

  *

  At 36, Rick Carson was one of the youngest tutors in St. Joseph’s College. He was tall, dark, good-looking, and he knew it. Being married to a woman who also worked in the college didn’t seem to affect his way of looking at, or thinking about the students.

  Rick spent the day lecturing on psychology. As he looked around the class in the afternoon, his mind wandered. He considered how he could entice one or two of the 17-year-old girls to take part in some extra-curricular activity.

  One of the girls was Sandy Mason, a curvaceous redhead who enjoyed teasing the male students and lecturers. When she was bored, Sandy would undo two of her blouse buttons before staring at the front of the lecturer’s pants. She wanted to see if her appearance was having any effect. Carson’s body always responded.

  The lecherous lecturer had dreamt of the day he would get Sandy alone and teach her a few special lessons. When he’d told his wife Gillian about the redhead, she’d come up with some imaginative punishments. His wife had suggested ideas that only a woman could have conjured up.

  Carson and his wife had discussed how they would get Sandy away without causing concern. In the case of Harriet Forest they never had a problem, because her stepfather Tony Morgan was a member of their elite circle of deviants.

  Harriet’s disappearance had been arranged by Morgan and Carson together. When inquiries got underway, who wasn’t going to believe a police officer about his stepdaughter’s sudden urge to leave home? It was pure genius. When questioned at college, Carson invented a story about an older man he’d seen Harriet with on more than one occasion.

  Carson and his wife had discussed the fire in Pinewood and came up with the idea that Tony Morgan had started it himself to erase any evidence. There were after all two girls in the basement, and perhaps they had tried to make a break for freedom.

  It didn’t seem unusual that Morgan had not been in touch since the weekend. Carson decided that he was maintaining a low profile because of the fire. According to news bulletins, Alan Brett had been in the house fire. Tony Morgan would no doubt provide an update later.

  The other teenager on Carson’s sick mind, was a tall girl with long fair hair; Constance Parkinson. She was over in the US, on an exchange visit from Europe.

  Carson had learned that Constance didn’t live with her parents, but with relatives just a couple of miles from college. A couple of miles would be far enough, and capturing her gave him something to plan. He was excited by the planning and chase before the abuse.

  When Carson approached his big black SUV in the car park after lessons, he was surprised and delighted to see one of the two targets of his perverted affections. The fair-haired British girl was standing right beside his car.

  “Is your name Constance?” he said, pretending not to be sure. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve got something on my mind,” Connie said and looked around, her chin lowered almost to her chest. Her arms extended down her front, and her fingers clasped. “I didn’t know if I should approach you or your wife.”

  “Now you’ve got me intrigued,” he said, looking her up and down and seeing for the first time that she was very pretty, and shy. “Would you like to try telling me about it, and then perhaps I can introduce the problem to my wife?”

  “It’s very embarrassing, but I suppose I might as well just come right out and say it.” She looked down at the ground, her hands now fumbling with the strap of her satchel. “I’ve kind of got a crush on you.”

  “Hey Constance,” he said, caution thrown to the wind as his eyes opened wide. “I don’t think we have to bother my wife-,”

  “We do have to bother her though,” she said.

  “I’m sure me and you could-,”

  “You see, I have a crush on her too.” She looked from side to side, as if unable to hold his gaze. Acting coy was easy for Connie because it was closer to her real personality. The hard part for her was acting brazen about her supposed attractions.

  Carson’s jaw dropped. A meeting like this one was an opportunity; like an early Christmas gift. He was controlled by his physical desires, and it tended to cause him to lose sight of complications. Satisfying his fantasies and needs came first, and issues could be dealt with later. He adjusted himself and didn’t think for a minute to hide what he was doing. Connie looked away.

  “Is everything okay Rick?” Gillian Carson called as she approached. She was the college’s senior administrative officer and when out of hours it would have been difficult to judge what she did for a living. She was 36, but dressed like a woman 10 years younger and was able to carry it off with ease. She and her husband were the beautiful people in the college.

  Connie looked at the tall, shapely woman in her short summer dress and high heels. Her brunette hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her make-up wouldn’t have been out of place on a magazine cover. Unfortunately, there was a very different and dark Gillian underneath the attractive veneer.

  Rick said, “This young lady is Constance. She’s told me about a crush she has on one of her lecturers.”

  “Really?” Gillian said, looking the girl up and down appreciatively. “Who’s the lucky man my dear?”

  “Your husband,” Connie said and looked up from under her long lashes at one and then the other.

  “Well,” Gillian said, raising an eyebrow, “perhaps we should go somewhere and have a chat about how to deal with that situation.”

  “That’s not all,” Rick said, unable to hide his excitement. “It sounds like Constance has a soft spot for somebody else too, which is why we waited for you to turn up.” Carson inclined his head towards his wife, wearing a broad grin. His eyebrows raised.

  “Surely not,” Gillian said and her beautiful green eyes narrowed as she looked at the girl. “Is this some joke Constance?”

  “No,” Connie said. Moisture coated her eyes as s
he worried about pulling off the act. “I had to say something because the feelings have been building up inside me.”

  Gillian said, “Have you told any of your friends,” she paused, “or anybody else about these feelings?”

  “No,” Connie said. “I was going to tell my friend Harriet, but she ran off with some guy a couple of weeks ago. Apart from her, I’ve never had any friends since I got here.”

  The girl’s lack of social contact was the clincher for Rick Carson.

  He said, “I wondered if perhaps it might be a good idea to take Constance home with us, just for coffee and a chat. We could discuss how she feels and how best to deal with it.”

  Gillian was the schemer. “What do you think of that idea Constance?”

  “I don’t want to cause any friction between you-,”

  “A little bit of friction isn’t always a bad thing,” Rick said, enjoying the play on words. He caught the slight nod from his wife, but her eyes narrowed. She was the shrewder one of the two.

  “Rick darling,” Gillian said, “give me a moment to check my door.”

  “Just in case it’s stuck again,” he said. “We can wait a minute, can’t we Constance?”

  “Erm, yes,” Connie said, confused as the wife went around to the other side of the car.

  Carson and Connie stood looking at each other in silence and then there was a tap on the glass. Carson looked through to the far side of the vehicle and nodded. For a moment, he looked as if he was checking the time on the college clock tower, but he was checking that nobody was watching. He opened the rear passenger door.

  “Jump in there Constance,” he said. “We’ll give you a ride home and we can chat on the way.”

  Connie said, “I didn’t want to-,”

  “Come on,” Gillian said as she climbed into the rear passenger seat on the other side. She was beginning to acquire a sense of what might lie ahead. She was slower to take the bait than her husband, but when it was such a tasty morsel it was hard to resist. Domination and punishment were Mrs. Carson’s stock in trade, and she was beginning to get excited at the thought of turning this fair-skinned beauty into a submissive.

  Two minutes later, the Carson SUV was leaving the college behind, and Connie was in the back, accompanied by Gillian. The vehicle headed west along a busy road aiming for the suburbs.

  “I live in the other direction,” Connie said. “I said we should take a right at the intersection.”

  Gillian placed a gentle hand on the teenager’s uncovered right thigh and looked into her eyes as she squeezed the firm young flesh. She leaned close as she whispered to her.

  “We’re going to take you to our place, so we can investigate your feelings in a bit more depth. Don’t worry my dear; it won’t be long before you’re in bed.”

  Connie saw Rick glance at them in the rear-view. He took his right hand from the wheel to adjust the bulge in front of his pants. The teenager felt nauseous. For fear of saying the wrong thing, or worse, maybe bursting into tears, Connie sat still in a cold sweat. She realized there were a lot of turns being taken as she tried to memorize the route.

  Connie wondered if she could get out and run when the vehicle stopped at an intersection. She looked at the strong fingers resting on her thigh, and then she glanced at the door handle. At that moment, there was a clunk as the central-locking operated on the doors.

  “Almost forgot to apply those,” Carson said and gave a hoarse laugh. “Safety first, right Constance?” He glanced over his shoulder. “We couldn’t have you leaving us until you’ve opened up to both of us.” He gave a sly wink to his smiling wife.

  She remained silent, but released her grip and moved her long fingers a little further up Connie’s leg. The woman smiled at the girl and slowly licked her lips. Her breathing became deep. She pressed her shapely thighs tight together and inhaled deeply.

  *

  The Carson vehicle pulled into a quiet suburban street, and Connie started to panic inside. She was watching and waiting for the car to pull into one of the large driveways. As soon as it stopped, and the door opened, she was going to run.

  She was feeling light-headed and couldn’t imagine going through with the final part of the plan, which was to go into the house with these two. It was finally dawning on her that the strange woman in the church was right. These people were deviants and had no conscience.

  “There we are just up ahead on the left,” Carson said and looked back at his wife and the trembling passenger. He pressed a small keypad on the dashboard and up ahead to the left a large red garage door started to rise, slowly, silently.

  The wife squeezed Connie’s thigh and then looked into her wide, blinking eyes.

  “Constance, don’t you just love it when something does exactly what you want it to do?” They both looked forward as the car slowed and turned into the driveway. A few seconds later the SUV disappeared inside the garage, and the door closed behind it.

  Neither Carson nor his wife noticed the dark blue Dodge that pulled into the street behind them and then parked up near the trees a few yards along from the house.

  *

  “Now my dear,” Gillian said, lifting a syringe from the door pocket. “We can do this one of two ways.” She removed the cork from the needle. “You scream or make any noise, and I’ll give you something to calm you down. The other way is that you are obedient.”

  “I’ll be obedient,” Connie whimpered. She got out when the locks snapped open.

  “That’s a good girl,” Gillian said. “Now let’s go inside and get more comfortable before we get to know each other a little better.” The syringe was slipped away again.

  Connie walked through the adjoining door into a large hallway which had five doors leading from it. She looked around at the opulent décor, amazed at the size of the house when she considered that these two were known not to have any children. The luxuriously appointed lounge boasted a fitted deep pile rug.

  “Shoes off please,” Gillian said as she lifted one leg and then the other to remove her high heels. She stared at the girl and watched her remove her shoes with a shaking hand.

  Rick said, “Can you guess why we like such a deep rug Constance?” He kicked off his loafers and strolled into the middle of the lounge.

  “No,” she said, but her imagination was already working overtime. She tried to concentrate, to remember her lines. She wondered if ten minutes had passed since reaching the house. “Could I have a glass of water, please?”

  Carson eyed Connie from her head to her feet and licked his lips.

  He said, “You’ll find out about the luxury rug soon enough.” He paused. “Darling would you fetch this lovely creature a glass of water?”

  “Of course,” his wife said. She was standing back watching the girl. “I’m pleased to see that Constance is managing to remain calm. I thought for a moment that she was going to cause a scene.” She stopped at the doorway to the large kitchen and turned. “Maybe you could tell our young guest how our therapy session is going to work.”

  Rick said, “Would you like us undressed before you come back?” He saw Connie’s eyes blinking rapidly, and her lips trembled as she looked from one to the other.

  “Good heavens no,” Mrs. Carson said. “I want to watch that darling girl taking her clothes off.” She turned and went into the kitchen giggling like a schoolgirl.

  Five seconds later she had ceased giggling and was stepping back into the lounge. She stopped near the doorway and looked at Connie, her face pale and impassive as she addressed her.

  “Your water is in the kitchen girl,” she said. “Pick up your shoes … and go in there.” She stared at her husband, eyes wide. She stepped aside to let the girl rush past.

  Carson said, “What the fuck are you doing, she could-,”

  The words dried up in his throat as a person in jeans, and a red hooded sweatshirt stepped into the room, leveling a pistol inches away from his wife’s head. The weapon looked big because a suppressor extended f
rom the barrel. The armed intruder handed a roll of duct tape to Gillian Carson.

  “Put a large piece of that over your husband’s mouth and then bind his wrists behind his back.” Honey pressed the business end of the gun hard against Mrs. Carson’s pretty head. “Now would be good.”

  Rick Carson said, “Hey, I don’t know-,”

  “Shut up,” Honey said, “unless you want me to redecorate with her fucking brains.”

  Carson pressed his trembling lips together and looked on in stunned silence as his wife approached to bind and gag him; her eyes blazing. He then watched as his wife was made to kneel, and was bound and gagged by the woman holding a gun.

  “Now,” Honey said, “both of you get up and go through the inner door to the garage.”

  Five minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Carson were secured in the spacious trunk of their SUV. It was still in the warm garage, but in the darkness of the trunk they both trembled. Tears oozed from Rick Carson’s eyes, and he sniffed. His wife breathed heavily through her nostrils and thrust a knee into his legs.

  *

  In less than 15 minutes after asking for water, Connie was on her way home, crying openly with relief in the front of a dark blue Dodge sedan. She glanced at the driver’s hands. The woman removed the latex gloves she had been wearing inside the house. Connie had noticed but didn’t ask about them.

  On the journey, the driver kept chat to a minimum after reassuring her passenger that the ordeal was over. She also kept her hood up to prevent the student getting a clear look at her face or hair.

  Connie was content to have survived the ordeal, although she was in a state of shock. She tried to rationalize everything by thinking about her dear friend. If all this were going to help find Harriet’s killers, it would be worth it. She wiped her eyes constantly.

  Honey briefed Connie to tell her guardians that she’d witnessed a brutal fight on the way home from college, and it had frightened her. That would explain the tear-stained face and her apparent attack of nerves. As for the Carsons, Connie was to remain steadfast no matter who questioned her. She knew nothing about them and must deny having been in their car or house.