by Amy Cross
I head back inside and start carefully going through the papers on D'Oyly's writing desk. I try to avoid causing too much of a disturbance, since I aim to get out of here before he comes back and leave no trace of my search. Unfortunately, all I'm able to find is a series of invoices from local merchants. I go through the draws, and finally I check the shelves of the bookcase, but there seems to be no evidence at all. While it was always unlikely that D'Oyly would leave out something damning for me to find, I had hoped to find an item that might at least lead me toward some new avenue of investigation. As it is, I feel as if I'm coming up blank, and I know that I don't have long to search. There has to be some kind of document in here that will show, without a shadow of a doubt, that this conspiracy of murderers is not just a figment of my imagination.
Finally, I go to the cabinet by the bedroom door, and I find a small stash of papers in one of the compartments. At first, it seems as if I have once again found nothing of interest, but after a moment I realize that some of the papers are in fact invoices that were signed by none other than Edward Lockhart. While this is by no means a smoking gun, it at least shows beyond doubt that D'Oyly and Lockhart are in some ways linked. Furthermore, a few of the invoices make mention of none other than Lady Henrietta deHavilland, which means I have finally found proof that these three disreputable individuals are linked to one another. Taking a deep breath, I decide that the best thing to do would be to get out of here and set up some kind of surveillance program, monitoring D'Oyly's actions in the hope of catching him in the act of bringing a girl up here. If I can establish a firm link between him and one of these girls, I can -
"Find anything interesting?" asks a voice from behind me.
Turning quickly, I'm shocked to see D'Oyly standing in the doorway. He has a wry smile on his lips, and his stare tells me that he's not entirely surprised to find me here. I have no idea why he came back so quickly, but it would seem highly likely that someone betrayed my presence.
"I am an officer of the law," I tell him, "and as such, I am -"
"I know, I know," he replies dismissively, setting his cane against the wall before removing his coat and hanging it on the nearby stand. "Relax. I am fully aware of your identity. You are Inspector Matthews of New Scotland Yard. If you'll recall, we met last year at the home of Lady deHavilland, and of course I was also following you for a while. I think we can safely assume that I know who you are, and that you know who I am, and that we both know why you are here". He opens the drinks cabinet and takes out two glasses. "Brandy?"
"No," I reply, walking toward the door.
"Gin? Sherry?"
"I'm not staying," I tell him.
"Is there nothing you want to ask me?" D'Oyly asks. "I can assure you, Inspector Matthews, that I'm a very honest man. I will answer all of your questions with complete candor".
"I find that hard to believe," I reply, placing one hand on the door handle before turning back to him.
"Test me," he says, sipping from his glass of brandy. There is a terrible sense of smugness about this man, as if he feels he is in complete control of the situation. He probably believes his high-powered friends can still swoop in to save him.
"Did you kill Eve Langley?" I ask.
"Probably," he says. "I'm afraid I'm very bad with names, and I've killed so many girls over the past years. Something like ten or eleven, in fact". He pauses for a moment. "Yes. Eve Langley. I remember the name now. A very pretty young woman with curly blonde hair and diamond tits. She died in this very room. Most of them did". He sniffs. "Make of that what you will, Inspector, but at least you can be assured of my honesty".
I stare at him, astonished that he would make such a glaring omission of guilt. "Did you kill Elizabeth Cavendish?" I ask.
"No," he says. "Of that, I'm quite certain. Elizabeth Cavendish was before my time. I believe my predecessor, Mr. Edward Lockhart, was responsible for her death. In fact, I remember the story well, since it was the main reason why he was dropped from the game. Lady Red told me about both Elizabeth Cavendish and Sophia Marchant in great detail. I think it was meant to be a cautionary tale, to let me know how not to behave in my role as Mr. Blue".
"On whose orders were these girls killed?" I ask.
He smiles. "It's not quite as simple as that, Inspector. There are no orders. There are merely rules. One learns the rules, and one adheres to them while one plays the game. I admit it must seem a little strange from the outside, but once you've been inducted, it all makes perfect sense. However, if you're asking who bears the greatest blame for the deaths, I must say that the three of us are more or less equally guilty. Regardless of who actually wields the dagger in each particular case".
"Why did they have to die?" I ask. "Why not just let them go?"
"Because they had proven themselves to be unnecessary," he continues. "They failed. The nature of the game is such that it was impossible to just let them walk out of here, so they had to be silenced permanently. I can assure you that none of us gets any kind of kick out of the whole unpleasant business. Well, not as far as I'm aware, anyway. I can only really speak for myself".
"Where are the bodies?"
"In the river. Where else would one put bodies?"
"In hallowed ground," I reply, disgusted by the casual way in which he is able to discuss such hideous acts.
"Hallowed ground," he replies with a smile. "Such a childish concept. For immature minds, I think. I have to admit, it worries me a little that an officer of the law would believe in such things. Should not a man in your position be more concerned with the material world? With things he can see and feel?"
I stare at him for a moment, filled with an urge to grab this miserable streak of piss and deal him a beating he won't ever forget. I'm not a violent man, not by any means, but true evil makes my blood boil. I certainly don't take kindly to receiving lectures on morality from a man who has just admitted to killing several women.
"You look angry," he says. "You don't hide your contempt for me very well, do you? Or perhaps you just don't care. Perhaps you feel I deserve your hatred".
"I'm not trying to hide anything," I reply. "Any decent man would feel the same way".
"So what are you going to do? Throw me over the balcony?"
"I'm going to arrest you," I tell him, "and I'm going to take you to the Yard, and I'm going to get the full truth out of you. And then I'm going to go and get Lady deHavilland and whoever else is implicated, and I'm going to bang all of your heads together until this whole thing is over. Then I'm going to come back to this penthouse and rip it apart for evidence, and then I'll everything taken and destroyed. And then I'm going to line the three of you up in a row, with nooses around your necks, and I'm going to stare into your faces as the executioner throws the switch, and I'm going to watch as you die"."
He smiles. "Quite a fairy story, Inspector".
"It's going to happen," I reply. "Have you ever seen a man after he's been hanged? His eyes almost pop out of his skull. Most times, his tongue is hanging out of his mouth, like some kind of caricature. It's not a quick way to die, D'Oyly, unless you're lucky enough to break your neck when you fall. Most people suffer for a few minutes. But I guess that'd be kind of appropriate in your case, since you've made so many other people suffer".
He laughs. "Do you really think they'll let you do that?"
"The law's the law," I point out.
"Well, yes, for most people," he says, "but I have far too many friends who'd step in and sort things out".
"It doesn't work like that," I reply.
"Oh, Inspector," he says, smiling, "I'm sure you're smart enough to know that, as a man with good connections, I'm more than capable of pulling some strings. Why, I could make a phone call right now and be put through to Downing Street. I could have you fired within the hour, and probably locked up for harassment as well. Shall I do that? Or shall I let Lady deHavilland call in the troops? Face it, Inspector Matthews, you don't have a chance. Men such as myself a
re a special breed, and we do not take kindly to being opposed by middling little police officers suffering from class envy".
"You're wrong," I reply. "You might think you're above the law, but you're not. Maybe you have a few privileges, but that doesn't mean you can get away with murder. I'm going to drag this whole sorry saga out into the cold light of day, and then we'll see how you fare. Trust me, your political friends will drop you so fast, you won't know what hit you".
"Perhaps," he says. "We shall see, I suppose".
"Jonathan Pope was right about you," I say. "You're insane. You don't even feel any remorse for these girls, do you? You just bring them back to this penthouse, have your way with them, and then... How do you do it? Do you cut their throats? Do you strangle them? Do you put a bullet in their brain? What?"
"Jonathan Pope?" he replies, raising an eyebrow. "I've heard that name before, though I'm not quite sure where. It's certainly a very disagreeable name, though".
"Perhaps he was another of your victims," I say darkly.
"Perhaps. It's so hard to keep track. I'm afraid the bodies do rather pile up". He refills his brandy glass. "I'll tell you something that might shock you, Inspector. When I'm with one of these girls, I immerse myself in her completely. I live and breathe her. I lure her closer and closer, manipulating her and becoming intricately involved in her life. And then she dies, and she's thrown into the water, and as soon as she disappears below the surface, I forget all about her. I mean, I can be reminded of her, but she drifts from my consciousness and I wait for the next girl. It's a marvelous skill".
"There is no room in the world for men such as yourself," I tell him. "Come on, we might as well get this over with. You've got a fairly short walk to the gallows, Mr. D'Oyly, and it starts with you accompanying me to the Yard".
"I suppose so," he replies, finishing his brandy. "I must say, this is certainly not how I expected my evening to turn out". He walks over to the door and gathers his coat and cane. "I was expecting to sit alone for a while and read, and perhaps write some letters. Instead, I find a rather disagreeable oik such as yourself standing in my suite".
"I hope I didn't give you indigestion," I reply, opening the door. "Maybe the journey to the Yard will help you feel better".
"Of course," he says, stepping out into the corridor.
We walk in silence to the elevator, where D'Oyly rings the bell and we wait for the chamber to come up to us. There's something remarkably calm about this gentleman, almost as if he lacks the ability to truly understand the enormity of what has happened. From his demeanor, one would think he is off to a party, or perhaps to a bridge game. Perhaps he still believes he can wriggle out of this situation, and I have no doubt that he will try. Nevertheless, I'm determined to make sure that he hangs for the things he's done, and I'm going to get his co-conspirators' necks in nooses as well. I'm not a man who usually relishes death, but in this case I feel it's the only appropriate punishment.
"After you," D'Oyly says as the elevator doors open to reveal the smiling bellboy.
"No," I say, pushing him inside. "After you. And don't try any tricks. Believe me, I'm itching or any excuse to land a punch on your smug face".
"We're going up," D'Oyly says to the bellboy.
"Up?" I smile. "You're madder than a fish's armpit, D'Oyly. We're at the penthouse, there is no up".
"Going up, Sir," the bellboy says, closing the door and turning the handle. To my surprise, I feel the chamber start to rise.
"Where the -" I start to say, but suddenly D'Oyly grabs me by the neck and slams my face into the wall, almost knocking me out. He hauls me across the chamber and crunches me face-first into the other wall, breaking my nose and several of my teeth, and then he shoves me down onto the ground. With blood flowing into my mouth, I try to get up, but I succeed only in rolling onto my book. Looking up, I see D'Oyly raise his boot over my face.
"Nobody talks to me the way you talked to me tonight," he spits, clearly filled with anger. "You disgusting piece of shit! Don't you know who I am? I'm someone, and you're nobody. How dare you even look at me?"
"Help me," I splutter, looking over at the impassive bellboy.
"Stop begging," D'Oyly says, smashing his foot down into my face. I feel my cheekbones shatter, and the boot is lifted up for a moment before he crunches it down again, this time cracking my eye sockets. With blood pouring into my mouth, I try to call for help, but I can't even breathe. I make one final attempt to get to my feet before D'Oyly kicks me for a third time, and this time everything goes black.
Book 6
One Night
One
Today
Mark gently lays me on the bed, before reaching over and switching on a small lamp. Completely naked, I look up at him and see that he seems to be lost in thought.
"Hey," I say, reaching out and touching his arm. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he replies, standing up and lifting his shirt over his head to go topless. As he turns back to me, I see his firm, toned body. I've been waiting so long for this moment, it's almost a shock to find that it has finally arrived. I've dreamed of Mark, and fantasized about him, and now my naked body is exposed to him. Shifting my position on the bed a little, I turn onto my side and move my knees up a little, making sure to keep my legs together.
As I watch him, Mark unbuttons his trousers and drops them to the floor, and then finally he pulls down his underwear and exposes his big, hard cock. Feeling my chest tighten with anticipation, I sit up face him, with his crotch at eye-level. I reach out and place my hand around the girth of his cock, feeling his hardness. Without waiting for a signal from him, I run my hand gently up to the circumcised tip, feeling the hard, shiny skin of the dome, before moving my hand all the way back down the shaft until I can feel his balls against my wrist. Smiling, I see moisture glistening in the hope at the end of his cock, and I realize he's already starting to produce pre-cum.
I slowly lean forward and open my mouth, extending my tongue and licking the very tip of his cock. Keen not to rush things, I extend my tongue again and run its wetness around the tip, before finally taking the entire dome between my lips and giving him a gentle, teasing suck. I move my hand down the shaft until I'm cupping his balls, using my thumb to caress his scrotum. Eventually, I use my teeth to very gently apply a little pressure to the dome of his cock before I slide the whole thing into my mouth. I feel the tip passing down to the back of my throat until finally my lips are around the base of his shaft. Easing my tongue to one side, I use it to stroke the side of his cock before slipping the whole thing back out of my mouth.
"Is this how you like it?" I whisper, smiling as I look up at him.
He nods silently, and I decide to start blowing him properly, taking his cock in and out of my mouth with a slight slurping sound. Although I've given blow jobs before, I've never been sure whether I'm very good at them, and I've never liked it when the guy cums in my mouth. With Mark, though, I feel like I actually want to feel his semen erupt into my throat, and to feel his cock throb as he ejaculates. For the first time in my life, I'm actually enjoying doing this to a guy and although I'm trying to pace myself, I can't help but speed up a little, buoyed by the sudden feeling that he just got a little bigger and a little harder. As I run my tongue over the tip again, I feel a hint of slime as he produces more pre-cum.
After a few minutes of this, I take his cock out of my mouth and use my hand to gently rub him. I stare at his cock and watch as my hand glides up and down the shaft. Every so often, I lean closer and suck on the dome, and I'm starting to wonder how long it's going to take him to cum. When I was briefly with Rob, he's start squirting within a minute or two, but I feel like I've been doing this to Mark for a while now.
"Lie on your back," he says suddenly.
I look up at him. "You don't want me to continue?" I ask, trying not to sound disappointed.
"I want to return the favor," he replies.
Taking a deep breath, I sit back and watch as he
climbs fully onto the bed. He puts his hands on my knees and smiles as he slowly moves them apart, and finally he looks down at the lips of my vagina.
"Sorry," I say, feeling a little embarrassed.
"Why?"
"I don't know," I mutter. "I didn't think that maybe I should have shaved".
He smiles. "Stop worrying about things like that," he says. "Just lie back and enjoy it". As I watch, he lowers his face to my crotch and I feel his warm breath against the lips of my vagina. He uses a single finger to massage the area around my clitoris, gently getting closer and closer until finally he puts a little pressure around the base. Supporting myself on my elbows, I tilt my head back and stare up at the ceiling as I finally feel the tip of Mark's tongue brush against my labia and then dip down and between the lips. Taking deep, measured breaths, I wait as he slowly makes his way up toward the clitoral head. Sometimes I find it a little too sensitive when pressure is applied directly to the clitoris itself, but Mark seems to understand this as he runs his tongue in gentle, pressured rings around the base rather than over the top itself.
After a moment, I realize I've been accidentally holding my breath. I let out a heavy gasp and look back down my body, seeing the top of Mark's head as he continues to go down on me. He briefly slips his tongue deep inside my vagina, and I feel the tip in my wetness before he goes back to focusing his attention on my clitoris. I open my legs wider, hoping to help him get closer, and I feel him shift his position a little. Taking a series of slow, deep breaths, I realize he's starting to speed up, and I'm edging closer and closer to an orgasm. There's a part of me that wants to tell him to slow down, or to stop altogether, so I can savor this moment, but I can't bring myself to actually say the words. Instead, I let out another low moan as I feel him apply a little more pressure on my clitoris and his tongue flicks around the base. It feels as if he's increasing the pace pretty constantly now, and I start to tense my body in anticipation of cumming any second now. I've crossed the point of no return.