by Skye Knizley
Jena had returned to the pictures. "I agree, this was particularly brutal. The ligature marks on her neck indicate she was strangled, but the blood and the cuts on her breasts and genitalia? She was tortured, probably for hours."
"That was the coroner’s early assessment as well," Bishop said.
Locke examined the first crime scene photo. "This looks like an alley downtown, perhaps behind the theater district."
"Exactly, yes. We think−"
"Don't think, it isn't your strong suit. She was dumped, this wasn't where she was killed."
Locke picked up the next photo and turned it at ninety degrees. "She was posed for the camera on the corner. Did you get the footage?"
Bishop leaned forward. "What camera?"
Jena tapped the photo she was holding with one sculpted nail. "The surveillance camera on the corner, it looks like it belongs to the bank across the street."
"I hadn't noticed that at all! It may have seen the whole thing!"
Locke sighed. "No, David. As I said, she was not killed at this location, she was dumped. But there may be some clues. I will need the tape as soon as possible. What about evidence?"
Bishop opened the bag by his feet. "The evidence is why we are here. She was found with this."
He placed a Baker Street uniform, towel and robe on the desk. "We know she was here, how rough was her evening?"
"Not that rough, she was with me," Jena said.
Bishop's eyebrows shot up. "With you, Dr. Watson?"
Jena winked at Locke. "Yes, with me. I sucked her off while she was tied to a cross. One of our Caretakers then took her to get cleaned up and come to her senses. She left an hour later in one of our uniforms."
Locke pressed a button on her desk. "Rhianna, bring me the security tapes from last night, specifically the VIP exit."
"Yes, ma'am," a voice replied.
Locke turned her attention back to Bishop. "Lexi was our playmate to celebrate our engagement. She left here healthy with an invitation to be my guest at a later date. What else do you have?"
Bishop sorted through evidence bags that contained Lexi's personal items, purse and identification, holding each up for Locke to examine. One of the pieces was a playing card, a black bird on a white background. On the back was "The Black Dove".
Locke took the bag for a closer look. The artwork was amazing, with feathers picked out in silver ink so thin it was more a hint of texture than anything brazen.
"Do you know what the Black Dove is? I couldn't find any reference to it," Bishop said.
Locke handed the bag back. "Not specifically, but it is a calling card."
"A calling card?"
Jena rolled her eyes. "Bishop, did you forget all we taught you? A calling card, the reverse of a souvenir. Our killer is leaving his mark."
"And will kill again," Locke finished.
Bishop looked at the card. "The Black Dove…sounds like a chocolate bar."
Bishop left, taking his officers with him, while Locke and Jena adjourned to their apartment. They had dressed in a hurry, neither had showered and the scent of sex still clung to them, a thick odor that was delicious, but distracting. Locke disrobed while Jena filled the tub with vanilla-scented water. When it was full, they both climbed in, savoring the luxurious bubbles.
"What do you think, love?" Jena asked.
Locke smiled. "I think someone needs to cum. Rules on, Kitten."
Jena lowered her eyes and waited, a shiver running through her. Locke squirmed up beside her and kissed her neck.
"Tease me, Kitten."
Jena turned on her side and Locke felt soft fingers slide up her thigh, a warm, feathery touch that ended at her parted sex. She sighed contentedly and nuzzled Jena, knowing this would be amazing.
It began with gentle teasing on the outside of her folds, a teasing sensation that made her body react and her core to warm. She slid deeper into the water and Jena began to rub her clit, circling it with her fingers then dipping a finger into her sex, probing its warmth. Locke moaned softly and rocked her hips, wanting more. Jena giggled and pulled back to retrieve a vibrating toy from the ledge beside the tub. It hummed to life and Locke felt it against her delicate flesh. It was so sudden she arched away, but Jena was relentless. The toy danced and twirled across her clit then slithered inside her sex, not quite filling her, but making up for it with vibrations she could feel deep in her core. Jena moved it slowly in and out, Locke could feel the toy press deep inside her then relax, bringing her body to full attention. Her whimper of desire was stopped by Jena's lips on hers and the feeling of their breasts pushed together, nipple to pierced nipple. Locke probed Jena's mouth and rocked her hips, fucking herself on Jena's toy. It felt so good, she'd never in her life had a lover that cared for her so much, that tended to her needs like Jena.
The kiss ended and she opened her eyes to see Jena's beautiful eyes, so full of love and devotion that Locke felt tears pricking her eyes. Jena must have seen them, because she twitched the toy and turned up the vibrations. The sensation pounded through her body and buzzed into her skull, making her cry out again. She arched back against the tub and thrust with her hips, taking the vibrator so deep she felt Jena's fingers against her. They continued, thrusting and pumping until Locke was nearing her first crescendo and the water was growing cool. Just then, Jena pressed the tiny erection that was Locke's clit. It was a stroke so gentle it almost didn't exist, but it was enough. Locke sighed and shivered through a baby orgasm that left her breathless.
When she could see again, Locke raised her head and kissed Jena, who showed signs of nearing an orgasm of her own. Locke loved that about her. Only a handful of submissives could achieve orgasm simply from pleasuring another. Jena was one of them.
Locke wriggled and pulled Jena into her lap so they were facing. She then whispered, "Rules off, Jena," and reached between Jena's thighs. She was slipper from bubble bath, but that wasn't all. The slipperiness of her own nectar was obvious. Jena parted her legs to allow Locke access to her delicate folds and Locke began to slowly fuck her with two fingers. In and out, in and out, a rhythm that made Jena close her eyes and lean against Locke for support. Locke nibbled Jena's neck and moved her hand faster until Jena began pushing back against her.
"Can I cum, love?" Jena whimpered.
Locke kissed her again. "Do you want to?"
Jena whined and thrust against Locke's hand. "Please?"
Locke nibbled Jena's ear and kept teasing with her fingers. "You may, my heart."
Jena moved faster and faster, her eyes locked on Locke's face. Locke could see the orgasm rising in her lover's eyes and kept pressing with her fingers, keeping them stiff. She felt Jena's sex clasp her tight and a shiver run through her whole body before she cried out loud enough to wake the dead.
Locke kissed her again and held her tight. "I love you, Kitten."
It was another two hours before they were ready to begin their investigation. It wasn't that Locke wasn't in a hurry, she was, but some procedures couldn't be rushed. Dressing was one of them. Jena dressed her in leather pants, a matching corset that pushed her waist in and her breasts up, a red bolero jacket and high, but walkable boots. In contrast, Jena was wearing a white pencil skirt that was tear-away atop a pair of matching leggings and a knit top that showed off her physique while leaving every inch of her skin covered. Her feet were encased in matching white ankle boots and she carried an old-fashioned doctor's bag with her evidence kit and medical supplies.
The first stop was the theater district and the crime scene, which was in a noisome alley behind the Schrad Theater, an off-Broadway facility that showed passable musicals. Its current production was Phantom. Locke had no appreciation for the current cast, but had seen the play more than once.
Both ends of the alley were blocked by police cars. Locke stepped out of the town car she'd hired for the day and approached the officers looking bored and sharing a cigarette in the lee of the theater. One looked her up and down and leered.
"Y
ou a working girl? A little dressed up, aren't you?"
Locke gave him a look and pulled a card out of the wristlet that hung from her left arm.
"Locksley Holmes. My companion and I are here at Detective Bishop's request. I would like to see the crime scene, please."
The cop, whose name was Hammet, took the card. "Holmes, like the TV guy?"
Jena stepped closer. "No, not like him. We're real and have better hair. May we?"
The officer handed the card back. "I'm not sure what you'll find the lab boys didn't, but it’s this way."
Locke followed him down the narrow alley trying to ignore the smell coming from the building beside her. While the theater was well-kept, the brewery across the alley smelled like an outhouse and made her wonder if they didn't so much make beer as recycle it.
The officer stopped near the stage entrance of the Schrad and gestured at the sticky pool of blood. "We found him here."
Jena sighed. "Officer, my partner and I are tired of explaining this. 'He' was a she and you will respect her. Her life was stolen and she deserves to be honored, not belittled. Clear?"
"Touchy, aren't you, lady? Anyway, she was found here. Knock yourselves out."
The officer walked away and Locke turned her attention to the scene. Lexi had been placed on the ground between a dumpster and an old light pole that no longer worked, but couldn't be removed without causing damage no one wanted to pay to repair. There was no chalk outline, that was a thing of fairytales, but she could tell from blood and photographs how she had been placed. She'd been on her back with her arms spread and her legs together. Strangely, her genitals had been exposed signifying a lack of modesty and contempt. Masculine serial killers generally showed reverence for genitalia.
An old dumpster sat next to the blood. It was green and had the name of a local sanitation company painted on the side. Locke looked beneath and noted fresh scratches on both the steel wheels and the pavement. She smiled to herself and tapped the dumpster with one knuckle.
"You found something," Jena said.
Locke straightened. "As my namesake would have said, the game's afoot. Come."
She dusted her hands and moved down the alley at a fast walk.
"Where are we going?" Jena asked, hurrying to keep up.
"The bank. I want to see those surveillance tapes and Bishop is taking too long."
They crossed the street and Locke led the way through the glass doors and into the lobby. The lunchtime rush was either over or never came. There were no customers in the bank and only two bored-looking tellers behind the counter.
The bank had once been upscale, with faux-marble pillars and tile, gilded facings and leather guest chairs. Now, the gilt was peeling and the pillars were chipped from years of neglect. As interest in the theater waned, so did local business.
Locke strode across the lobby and stood in front of the nearest teller. "Good afternoon, I would like to speak with the manager please, or whoever can get me access to the surveillance videos."
The woman behind the counter frowned. "I beg your pardon?"
Locke sighed and produced another card. "Locksley Holmes, I am working with detective Bishop. I presume he hasn't been here?"
The teller took the card. "Holmes…didn't I read about you in the Telegraph? A real life−"
"Yes, that's me. The manager, please?"
Jena smiled. "We're in a bit of a rush, the game's afoot, you see. Could we speak with them?"
The woman turned and approached the small office set beside the counter. She knocked twice and pushed the door open. Locke heard a murmured conversation and the teller closed the door again.
"I'm sorry, he asks not to be disturbed unless the police arrive," she said.
Locke exchanged a glance with Jena. They'd both recognized the voice. Jena moved to the door and peeked inside. "Franklin? Franklin, is that you?"
"No, not at all. My name is Buford, Buford Justice, excuse me I'm taking a meeting."
Franklin was trying to close the door, but Locke was having none of it. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The office was small, barely big enough for a desk and two guest chairs. A portly man in a beige suit and blue-striped shirt sat behind the desk, half an Italian sandwich on the desk in front of him.
"That's the name of the sheriff in the Bandit, Franklin," she said.
She sat in one of the chairs and crossed her legs while Jena closed the door and perched on the desk. Locke liked being able to see Jena while she talked, and it would distract Franklin whose eyes were already on Jena's breasts.
He raised his eyes. "Is it? Apologies, Ms. Holmes, I'm on my lunch break."
Locke made a face. "You should eat healthier, I know Jena explained your cholesterol was up at your last physical. More salad less salami."
Jena smiled sweetly. "That I did, Franklin, right before Ms. Holmes paddled your ass with her crop."
Sweat popped on Franklin's brow. "I really shouldn't discuss those things here, what is it you want?"
Locke steepled her fingers. "Yesterday's surveillance tapes, through this morning. I am working on a case for the police and I assume detective Bishop hasn't been in yet."
Franklin tried to pull himself together. "I can't just show you the tapes, those are private, I need a warrant or something!"
Locke tapped her fingers together. "Technically, you do not. They belong to your bank and I am a licensed private investigator. I am not asking for anything secret, I want the tapes to identify a killer."
Franklin shook his head. "My apologies, Ms. Locke, I just can't do that."
"Jena."
Her tone made it a command. Jena spun and placed her left heel squarely in Franklin's crotch. Locke knew it would be a firm touch, one guaranteed to worsen if the subject didn't cooperate. Franklin was a submissive with a foot fetish. Though he'd never seen Jena as Kitten, he'd seen her around the club and she'd assisted in some of his scenes. Locke knew he fantasized about her feet and heels.
"Now, Franklin, don't you want to help us?" Jena asked in a girlish voice.
Franklin swallowed. "I want to, but it’s my job, I could g-get fired!"
Jena leaned closer to him and Locke did not envy Franklin, she knew what he was seeing, Jena's beautiful eyes, pouting lips and horny, flushed cheeks.
"Please, Franklin? I'll let you play with my feet while we check them out. No one will know, it will be our little secret," Jena purred.
"O-our secret? Are you sure?"
Jena shook her head slowly side to side. "I'm not telling. Ms. Locke, are you telling?"
Locke smiled. "Indeed I'm not, Franklin. Your secret is safe with us."
Franklin swallowed and turned to his computer. When he moved, Locke could see the massive erection in his pants. Were he not a slob who smelled of salami, he would have been an interesting playmate. He tapped his keyboard and pulled away from the desk.
"It's all yours, Ms. Locke."
He moved to the empty chair within reach of Jena's feet and she unzipped her boots for him. Locke heard him groan with pleasure and turned her attention to the video. It wasn't hard to find what she was looking for, two men moving a dumpster in an alley was obvious enough. It started across the alley from the theater exit and appeared to belong to the brewery. At four p.m., however, two men dressed on sanitation uniforms entered the alleyway and moved it into place next to the theater door. Then they exited from the opposite end of the alley without ever showing their faces. At the end of the alley they got into a white limousine and drove away.
Locke pursed her lips and fast-forwarded the tape. No one entered the alley until three in the morning, when a man carrying Lexi exited the theater and began displaying her. The lighting was poor and the dumpster obscured much of what he was doing, but Locke could imagine. In her mind's eye she saw him pose her, then use his hands to force more blood from her many injuries, making the scene as gory as possible.
After several minutes, he stood and started walking toward the mouth
of the alley and the camera. When he stepped into the light, his face was obscured by the shadow of a baseball cap. Only his smile was visible, a wide, terrible thing that showed a maw full of sharp metallic teeth. The figure paused, fished a card from his breast pocket and threw it into view before walking away. Locke paused the image and focused on the playing card. The Black Dove was unmistakable.
To Be Continued…