Betwixt Natasha

by E V Daymuir

  Natasha was about to take the letter when she remembered. ‘He had a look at my hamstring – no, Barrie’s hamstring.’ She clutched at her head, entwined strands of hair in long delicate fingers and pressed it against her cheeks. ‘Oh, no! I’ve done a dreadful thing. Sorry Dudley, I must go. My husband is in terrible trouble.’

  Dudley could not believe she was refusing to take the letter and attempted to thrust it into her hand, but she backed away and sobbed. ‘Leave them in the box. I must go. Sorry – I must go.’

  He wanted to ask if there was anything he could do to help, but she shut the door in his face. He heard her running up the stairs as he dropped the letters and concentrated on his prick, making a fist around the stretched fabric of his trousers, but, even as he began to rub, he knew it wouldn’t work. His erection was subsiding almost as quickly as it had appeared. Bitterly disappointed, he picked up the letters, dropped them into the box and walked back to his van. He thought about driving up to the copse to focus his camera on her bedroom in the hope of capturing some more wanking material, but dismissed the idea. That would not be enough. If she had opened that letter and he had creamed in his pants that might have been, although watching his sperm splash over Nymphie Nita’s pussy had raised the bar. If he couldn’t do that to Natasha Billingsgate, the whole world could have her. They would be able to watch her playing with herself by the bedroom window. Sprawling across the kitchen table, begging to be shagged. The scenes were edited together; he would teach her not to play with his emotions, all he had to do was put them onto the Anita von Beta web site. His wife was away at the last Guides’ camp of the summer. He would see Nymphie later. She understood. She would let him; as long as he did something special for her.

  *****

  Julie Bunford made herself another cup of coffee, and sipped at it, thinking about Suzy and how she wanted to get back to he; but there were things that had to be done. She had spoken to Becky and told her that her father had been discharged from hospital, but not that that he was being looked after by the woman he rescued from the fire. She glanced at the kitchen clock; it was another ten minutes before the estate agent was due. She would get the valuation, and then tell Peter they were selling. The door bell rang – he was early. She emptied the coffee down the sink, rinsed the mug and was in the process of drying it when the bell rang for the second time. She folded the tea cloth and placed it on the gleaming draining board.

  As she approached the front door, the bell rang for the third time. She opened the door and was surprised to find a slim, dark haired woman waiting in the porch. ‘I thought Mr Barrett was going to give the valuation.’

  The woman shrugged. ‘Sorry about that.’ She flipped open a black wallet and held a police warrant card up for her to read. ‘I’m Detective Constable Leadbetter, are you Mrs Bunford?’

  Julie nodded.

  ‘Mrs Julie Bunford?’

  Julie nodded again. A cold, hollow feeling invaded the pit of her stomach.

  ‘I would like to ask you some questions Mrs Bunford. Shall we talk inside?’

  *****

  Barrie Billingsgate opened his eyes onto a shiny white surface reflecting light onto his face. He was wearing shirt and trousers, but even so, felt cold. He tugged on a rough wool blanket which clung to him as he turned and almost fell off a hard, narrow bed. The shiny white surface revealed itself as tiling which covered the walls of a small room. A strip light provided a harsh white light which bounced off the aluminium surface of a toilet wedged in a corner. Everything was cold and functional. He was in a prison cell. He got up to use the toilet.

  ‘Where are you Mr Billingsgate?’

  ‘I’m using the toilet.’

  ‘Let me see your hand. Wave it in front of the door, please. ’Barrie did as he was told, concentrating on pointing his ‘old boy’ in the right direction.

  ‘When you’ve finished, sit on the bed.’ He did as directed; but what was he doing in here? The last thing he could remember was the dinner party – giving Natasha a good seeing to – and then? It was all a bit confused. He had a strange dream where he was in Natasha’s body, a dream which seemed to go on and on, until the last thing he could remember was…

  ‘Stand-up please Mr Billingsgate.’

  He looked towards the door. A face was peering at him through a small opening. He stood up.

  ‘Now, turn away from the door and put your hands behind your back.

  He turned, heard the door open, then felt handcuffs clamping around his wrists..

  ‘This way Mr Billingsgate, you’re going back to the interrogation room.’ He turned to find a middle aged, rather plump police sergeant, holding the cell door open.

  He had no memory of ever having been in the interview room, but the young guy, who announced himself as Detective Sergeant Kimberley, seemed to know him. He seemed quite friendly.

  ‘We have your statement here Mr Billingsgate, if you would read it through and sign, then we can get things moving.’

  ‘What things?’ Barrie was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

  ‘A hearing; we read you your rights when you came in. You didn’t want a solicitor, but you’ll need one for the hearing.’

  Barrie started to read the statement. ‘I can’t sign this! It’s admitting that I murdered someone!’

  ‘That’s what you told us Mr Billingsgate, and I might add, without any prompting from me.` Detective Sergeant Kimberley leant forward, all pretence of friendship gone, ‘Now, I’m busy, so don’t mess me about! Sign the statement and let’s move on!’

  Barrie felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to prickle. A sure sign that he was about to lose his temper. He would swat this little nerd away with a single swat on the rugby field, but he wasn’t on a rugby field, he was in a police station where this little nerd held sway, or so it seemed. He looked up at the tubby sergeant, standing behind him. Barrie had the feeling he didn’t care much for his young colleague, but even so, there was no support for him there. He took a deep breath and controlled his anger.

  ‘Look, I don’t know what I’m doing in here. I don’t remember making a statement and I’ve definitely not killed anyone. Not by strangulation or any other means, and, if I had, I still wouldn’t be able to sign, not with my hands behind my back.’

  Kimberley gave him the steely look he practised in front of the mirror to convince any criminal that all hope had gone. ‘Don’t get cheeky with me. Just read the statement. Say you agree with it and we’ll take the cuffs off.’ Barrie glared back at him. The plump sergeant coughed and took a nervous step backwards, not wanting to be in the firing line if this big, fit looking bloke should cut loose. He was immensely relieved when the door crashed opened.

  ‘What’s going on Kimberley?’ Detective Inspector Cardhew strode into the room and without ceremony, slumped down in the chair next to Barrie. ‘Why is there no one sitting in this chair? Where’s his legal representation?’

  Kimberley gave a petulant sigh and addressed the recording machine. ‘Detective Inspector Cardhew has entered the room.’ Then he spoke slowly, as if addressing a backward child. ‘He was offered legal representation, but insisted on an interview. During the interview he confessed to the murder of one Lucinda Lovebrace of Laburnham Court, Hamsworth.’

  ‘The Penthouse, Laburnham Court, to be precise Kimberley. Do you have a, signed confession?’

  Kimberley sighed again. ‘The prisoner is reading his statement, prior to signing. That’s why I had him brought back in here.’

  ‘Sir – you address me as sir. You have a habit of forgetting that – and that you work for me Kimberley. Now, you present me with the facts and I decide how we proceed.’

  ‘The Chief Superintendent has instructed me to move things along – sir.’

  ‘Oh, he has, has he? And what does he know about this case?’

  Kimberley lost some of his poise. ‘Well, not this case. I mean – in general. In general, he wants faster clear-up rates.’

  ‘Don’t we a
ll Kimberley – but not at the expense of truth and justice. Have you visited the scene of the crime?’

  Kimberley looked uncomfortable. ‘There didn’t seem much point. Uniform confirmed the death and I had a suspect, guilty by his own admission.’

  Cardhew turned to the man he was sitting next to. ‘Is that so Mr Billingsgate?’

  Barrie looked at the detective inspector. He was quite a bit older than the sergeant and seemed more interested in getting to the truth, but, were they playing the good cop, bad cop routine? He thought carefully before answering and when he did it was in a quiet but emphatic way.

  ‘I haven’t read all of it yet, but, I can tell you, I have not murdered anyone.’

  Kimberley couldn’t help but intervene. ‘For God’s sake man, we’ve got your confession on tape. This is the transcript.’ Flushed with anger, he tapped repeatedly on the document.

  ‘So, what time did Mr Billingsgate say he strangled this woman?’ Cardhew enquired quietly.

  Kimberley pulled the document across the table, scanned it for the relevant paragraph and read it out loud. ‘I arrived at the Penthouse at 8pm; she was dead when I left. I’m not sure of the exact time because I was in a panic. It must have been sometime just after 9pm. I then went to…’

  Kimberley was interrupted by a knock on the door. DC Leadbetter poked her head in. ‘Sorry to interrupt sir, could you spare a minute?’

  Kimberley twisted round and glared at her. ‘Can’t you see we’re busy – Leadbetter!’

  Cardhew leant across the table and spoke quietly to him. ‘No, I’m sir, you are a sergeant.’ He directed his voice towards the recorder. ‘Detective Inspector Cardhew is leaving the room. Interview terminated.’ He switched off the recorder and looked directly at Kimberley. ‘Have you actually charged Mr Billingsgate?’

  Kimberley shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘Well, no, I was waiting for him to sign his statement.’

  ‘Good, at least you’ve saved us from looking like complete incompetents. Release Mr Billingsgate on Police Bail, we‘ll see him again on Monday morning.’ Not waiting for an answer he walked out of into the corridor where DC Leadbetter was waiting.

  ‘Okay Jennie, what’s so important it can’t wait?’

  ‘I found Mrs Bunford at home. She seemed genuinely shocked and upset to hear about the death. Gave me a telephone number for the victim’s sister, also told me that only yesterday she signed papers which made her an equal partner in all the victim’s business interests.

  Cardhew gave the news a few seconds consideration. ‘Thanks Jennie, anything else? ‘

  ‘Yes, the reason I interrupted the interview. Mrs Billingsgate is here. Claims she murdered Lucinda Lovebrace and that her husband is innocent.’

  The post van screeched to a halt with inches to spare. Dudley Wink grabbed the bundle of letters for Laburnham Court and walked past the police car which had blocked his normal route to the entrance. Charlie came out to meet him, he looked pale and drawn. Looking past him, Dudley could see a policeman standing by the penthouse lift.

  ‘What’s going on Charlie?’

  ‘There’s been an accident.’ Charlie took the bundle of letters, looked down and made a show of flipping through them as he muttered, ‘If I was you, I’d steer clear of the penthouse for a while.’ He looked up again. ‘Thanks Dudley, see you on Monday, have a good weekend.’ He turned abruptly and walked away. Dudley took the hint and hurried back to the van.

  As he continued along Laburnham Grove, making the last of his deliveries, Dudley Wink came to the conclusion that one of Nymhpie’s clients must have died on the job. He was looking forward to an afternoon editing some fantastic material for her website. He had her password for the site, so he could put new stuff on without having to contact her. He would wait, as Charlie had suggested. Talk to him when the cops weren’t about. He was definitely going to put Natasha Billingsgate on though. That would teach the snotty cow a lesson.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

  Natasha Billingsgate walked out from the police station less than an hour after she walked in. When she told them she was in Barrie’s body at the time of the murder, the Detective Inspector had simply nodded as if it was an everyday occurrence; there was no hint from him or the female police officer with him in the interview room, that they thought she was raving mad. They listened sympathetically and when she finished her story, the Detective Inspector seemed more interested in why she had gone to visit Lucinda Lovebrace in the first place, rather than the murder itself. When she explained about Lucinda Lovebrace hacking into the Travel Plan database to steal customer information for her own travel company, he raised an eyebrow and asked why she had not involved the police. She told him it was agreed by the Travel Plan Board, that she, that was, Barrie should approach Lucinda Lovebrace to come to some arrangement without letting the matter go public. Other than asking her to confirm that she was also in Barrie’s body at the time of the Board Meeting, he had no other questions and told her that her husband had been released on police bail and she was free to leave.

  Barrie was having a shower. She put her head around the bathroom door, said hi and walked back into the bedroom. She made the bed, noticing that the sex toys, which had been strewn around had been packed away into a pink vanity case. When Barrie came out from the bathroom, she had opened the case and was examining the contents. The towel wrapped around his waist started to lift. She looked at it and gave him a wry smile. ‘Neither of us seems capable of controlling that thing of yours.’ He nodded miserably. Now was not the right time for sex. They had a lot to discuss, there was so much he needed to know. He watched as she took the long pink vibrator from the case and stroked the head with her slender fingers.

  ‘I found this inside me when I woke up this morning, did my body enjoy it?’ His erection was total, pushing hard and horizontal against the towel. Was she angry? He replied with care. ‘Yes, although the rabbit was your – sorry – my favourite.’

  She sighed, put the vibrator back in the case, closed the lid, walked over, put her hands around his neck and pulled herself up to plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘Don’t let’s say sorry anymore, we can tell each other what happened – in bed.’ She let go with her arms and slid down onto her knees, pulling the towel away in the process. Barrie felt her soft kisses, not daring to think she would go any further, then he felt her lips and her luscious mouth and he heard himself groan, knowing it was him and afterwards when he asked her if she did, she giggled and he knew she had and that they were well and truly back in their own bodies.

  By the Tuesday, Barrie and Natasha had caught up with all that had happened. No one, other than the police knew and even Detective Inspector Cardhew, who approached every crime with an open mind, could believe Natasha’s version of events. He and his team were busy seeking other suspects.

  He had visited Travel Plan on Monday morning, questioned all the executive directors and acquired a copy of the minutes from the meeting described by Natasha Billingsgate, which was uncannily similar to her version. Common sense told him that the only way she could have got the information was from her husband, but how?

  On Tuesday, a day earlier than he had anticipated, he received the result of the autopsy. Lucinda Lovebrace had died from asphyxiation. Her brain had been deprived of oxygen, probably for sexual gratification. As he suspected, the flakes on her face was dried semen, which had been inhaled, indicating that who ever had deposited it there was part of the sex game which led to her death. It was, in all likelihood, a regular client she knew and trusted, but chillingly, he was happy to walk away and leave her to die. There was no DNA match in police records, so they were going to have to do it the hard way. He had been under pressure from on high to endorse Kimberley’s suspicions and was relieved to note that the results proved beyond any doubt that it was not Barrie Billingsgate.

  *****

  Desmond Partridge looked at the page layout for the Wednesday edition of the Hamsworth Bugle; he had a choice of two front page stor
ies. One was a denial by Meltcon that they had approached the police with the name of an alleged arsonist. An internal investigation had revealed that the fire was caused through poor practice and a senior manager had been suspended. The other was the identity of the woman whose body had been discovered in, mysterious circumstances in Hamsworth's golden triangle. It was a no brainer; that had to be his lead story. He was, however, confronted with an ethical problem. He called Ed Templeman’s mobile. There was no answer so he left a voice message.

  ‘Hi Ed. The police have released the identity of the body at Laburnham Court together with a photograph. Thing is, we’ve got a far more interesting one of her on the file we downloaded from Dudley Wink’s camera. We need to discuss what we’re going to do about it. Contact me as soon as you get this message. Ciao.’

  Dudley Wink was working on the Anita Van Beta website when his phone rang. He answered quickly, not wanting to disturb his wife who was reading in the bedroom below. His work room in the loft, a well insulated room had drawn him to the property when he moved down from London. It was set up with his computer and photographic equipment by the time he met and married Linda, she set about making changes to the rest of the house, but the room in the loft was his and he couldn’t remember the last time she had bothered to climb up the ladder, whenever she wanted him she would shout from below, which suited Dudley.

  ‘Sorry Ed, say that again.’ He couldn’t believe what Ed Templeman was telling him. It was Lucinda Lovebrace – his Nymphie, who died, not one of her clients as he had assumed. How did that happen? Perhaps she had a heart attack? He had seen how frantic she could become. The police had just released her name, together with a photograph and Des Partridge twigged it was the same woman they had seen in a compromising positions on the file they downloaded from his camera. Shit! All the sadness he felt for the loss of Nymphie was replaced by concern for his own situation. He’d forgotten all about those pictures of her, lying on her enormous bed, looking up at the mirror as she played with herself. Ed told him that he had persuaded his editor not to approach the police until they had a chance to chat. He suggested it would look better for him if he went to the police and told them of his involvement with Lucinda Lovebrace. Dudley thanked him and said he would go to see them right away. Ed said he would tell Des Partridge, and he had some good news for him. He had another story linked to the Meltcon fire and they would probably use another one of his pictures. The one where Peter Bunford is hitting a manager on the nose – might even get syndicated again.