Dead Sweet: A D.I. Turnbull mystery

by Sally O'Brien

  Todd knew Jasmine would be holding the phone to her ear, her tongue firmly planted in her cheek in her delightful shy way and he got an urge to drop everything, drive to her immediately and give her the uncle snuggles which she enjoyed so much.

  "What are you doing?" Jasmine asked him.

  "Working my darling, what are you doing?"

  "Playing."

  "Oh lovely, where is your mummy?"

  "She's making breakfast, I haven't got school today."

  "Oh ok then, now Jasmine."

  "Yes?"

  "What do you want baby, why are you ringing me?" Todd sang at her down the phone.

  "Nothing," came the coy reply. "Oh actually,"

  "Yes?"

  "When are you coming to see me?"

  "I'm coming on your birthday baby."

  "Do you promise?"

  "Yes."

  "Ok, bye." The phone was put down before Todd could respond further, he made a mental note to himself to buy Jasmine a present and make sure he didn't miss her birthday in a few days' time. Reaching the front door of Tony Walton's flat, Todd took a deep breath and shook the image of Jasmine from his mind. He knocked on the door and reached for his tissues as he saw the still snivelling Tony approach through the glass. At least any suspicion of involvement could now be removed from Todd's mind; even the best of actors couldn't cry for that long. Todd said, "Hi," as Tony answered the door and followed him into the flat which was more of a bedsit. An open living area with space saving furniture, all white and black with the laminate flooring Todd just couldn't stand. Who wants their home to feel so clinical? Carpet felt much more homely in his opinion. He had a good look around as he entered, noticing a digital picture frame which flashed photos of Tony, then Mandy, then Tony with Mandy. A constant reminder to Tony of the loss he had just suffered.

  "I still can't help you with anything." Tony broke into Todd's visual investigations.

  "Ok, that's fine," Todd said; he knew his next words wouldn't be received well. "Actually I am here to ask you to provide a sample for DNA analysis."

  "What?" Tony was incredulous, "So you do think I killed her. Oh my God, this is unbelievable," he lamented before breaking down in tears once again.

  "No, no I accept what you have told me," Todd appeased him, "I'm sorry to tell you we found what we believe to be traces of semen in Mandy's body."

  "So she was raped?"

  "It's hard to tell with the injuries she had."

  Tony took a choked breath, "Oh my poor Mandy," he cried.

  "Yes it is a terrible thing that has happened to her and I want to catch this guy as soon as I can before he can do it to somebody else. Now we can analyse the semen for DNA but that would only be helpful to us if the person who's DNA it is has been arrested previously and his DNA profile is in our database. If he hasn't then the sample is no good to us at all."

  "Well surely there's some way of checking?" Tony asked.

  "Would be great if there was but we can't obtain DNA from people unless they commit a recordable offence so it still makes it very difficult in cases such as these."

  "That is shit."

  "It's not perfect," Todd agreed.

  "Well what do you want me for?" Tony asked.

  "We need a sample from you so we can eliminate you as being the person who put the semen there; it could be there from sexual activity you may have had in the days leading up to Mandy's death."

  "Oh, I understand." Tony sat down on his black leather sofa. "Well what do you want me to do?" Tony asked; "Wank into a cup or what?"

  "No, no, we can get DNA from a sample of cheek cells." Todd said as he took a pencil like plastic tube from his coat pocket. He gave Tony a form to sign which agreed to his DNA being taken for testing and then Todd removed a long thin cotton bud from the tube, gave it to Tony and asked him to scrape it along the inside of his cheeks. Tony did so and handed the now cell infested swab to Todd.

  "Thanks Tony, this really helps." Todd said as he replaced the swab in its casing.

  "So what happens now?"

  "Now we wait; hopefully there is a match on the database and we can catch whoever it was that did this to Mandy."

  "Ok," Tony sat back on the sofa and began to softly cry once again. Todd let himself out of the flat and left Tony to his misery. He couldn't dwell on the pain which murder caused those left behind; he had a job to do and there was no time for sympathy. Emotion clouded judgement and Todd needed to be the one who was objective if he was to make a successful case against anyone. He got to his car and drove the twenty minutes back to Olinsbury police station in silence, allowing himself a short moment of calm. No thought other than the drive back entered his mind; he focused completely on the twists and turns of the journey, losing himself in the mental map of Olinsbury which he knew so well.

  -x-

  Arriving back at the station Todd felt a sensation of butterflies in his stomach in anticipation Tessa may be in the front office. He got out of his car and rather than go through the side gate to the rear entrance as was customary for officers, Todd picked his way through the human detritus which lingered in the waiting room of the station reception area. He knew he was leaving himself open to being stopped by a member of the public or a local scrote who may know him, but he was inexplicably drawn to the area, like a child who just has to knock over the tower their sibling has taken an hour to build; he knew he shouldn't do it, but he just couldn't help himself.

  Todd successfully negotiated the area without incident, mainly because he refused to make eye contact with the people therein. He chanced a look at the reception desk and saw Tessa smiling in his direction. Todd's heart gave a slight lurch at the sight of her and he nodded a greeting as she buzzed him through to the front office.

  "Hi Todd," Tessa smiled walking up to him, "How are you, did you come to get some Tessa loving?"

  "Of course Tessa, you know how much I love to see you." Todd replied. "Listen Tessa, there's a bowling tournament tomorrow, you coming along to cheer us on?"

  "Bowling?" Tessa asked, "Like a green, men with pipes and white trousers?"

  "No, ten pin bowling, on wooden floors, men and women in normal clothes, having a drink and enjoying the moment. We're quite good you know."

  "How good?"

  "It's the semi-final so good enough. Come on, I'll teach you how to play. You never know, you might like it." Todd sensed Tessa was uneasy about the invitation.

  "Candace will be there, it's not just men," he reassured her.

  "I'll check my shift pattern and let you know." Tessa relented, "What day is it?"

  "Sunday - tomorrow," Todd replied.

  "Ok darling, let me get back to you." Tessa began to walk away from Todd as a new customer arrived at the counter. Todd watched her well rounded buttocks jostle with each other as they sashayed to the counter. He felt a stirring in his loins mixed with a strong apprehension about taking things further. Todd's experience amongst the lads in the police service meant he knew if he was to pursue a relationship of any kind with Tessa he would be mercilessly ribbed about her size. He had already heard her being called Fatness and other such derisory words and just didn't feel up to being in a position where he should have to jump to Tessa's rescue. He needed to put all his energy into finding Mandy Thomas's killer; maybe after that he would give his own life a chance.

  Chapter Five

  Tracy Green grew up with her alcoholic mother on the Fern Bridge Estate. Born on Valentine's Day, she was dearly loved by her mother, Karen. Unfortunately for Tracy, however, love was not enough to keep her clothed and fed. Karen was a slave to alcohol and crack; so much so that at least two thirds of her benefit money was squandered on Big Value beer and three rocks before it ever made its way into Karen's purse. Tracy's dinners consisted of Big Value French fries, along with the cardboard like fish fingers which came in packs of fifty at the Big Value store. Her only beverage was water and clothes were stolen from the black bags which were often found lying where people w
ould leave their castoffs meant for the poor and needy in third world countries.

  Although Tracy's mum could not lift herself out of the lifestyle she had fallen into, she never shirked on the one thing she could give Tracy for free - love. Tracy had always been clean, her teeth were perfect as free dental care was made good use of and her clothes, although sometimes threadbare; were washed if not ironed. Tracy grew up in a world where people lived for Benefits Day and wanted nothing more from their lives than a roof over their head and a good drink when they could afford it. Karen's ambitions rubbed off on Tracy and when she left school, sans qualifications, at sixteen, Tracy settled into a routine of sleep, Jeremy Kyle, cheap lager and weekly raids on the clothes bank.

  After about a year and on a rare night out to the local pub with her mother; the now seventeen year old Tracy Green met the love of her life; Paul Anderson. Paul was the complete antithesis of Tracy, full of ambition to rule the world, make a fortune and become somebody; Paul had already successfully inveigled his way into the world of glamour modelling as a talent scout. On the night he met big busted, green eyed, pouting Tracy, pound signs flashed before his very eyes.

  Paul Anderson swept Tracy off her feet, taking her to her very first restaurant that same night and telling her tales of wild parties, designer clothes, luxury goods and hotels. He told Tracy she had a look which would get her far in his world and if she stuck with him, he could make her famous and rich; very, very rich.

  And so Vixen was born; Vixen worked tirelessly for Paul, travelling long distances to photo shoots and PR events where she would dress in barely there clothes and use her full pouting lips and volcanic breasts to their full advantage. Fluttering long fake lashes at the punters and stunning them into a stupor with the emerald green eyes which promised them more than they could ever imagine possible.

  Vixen soon learnt that men were driven by sex. Sex was a physical act which gave humans pleasure for a short time but the promise of sex and the imagining of sex was a much more powerful tool. It lasted longer and cost more. Vixen didn't need to sell her body, just the idea of it. She soon began to make a lot of money as her image became more and more in demand. A short stint on a reality television show called Celebrity Nurses, where Vixen got to show her caring nature whilst giving bed baths and make overs to patients in a London hospital and Vixen's rise to fame was enhanced tenfold. She was now a woman in demand; advertising everything from dishwasher tablets to couture clothing. Endorsing products, writing books, designing for her own swimwear collection; Vixen left behind the seedy world of sex and became a household name, even picking up an award for her contributions to charity and her tireless efforts to help people still languishing in the doldrums of cement housing estates all over England.

  Her new television show, 'Vixen's Victories,' would highlight tales of woe from various members of society and show Vixen helping them escape the turmoil of their lives, if only for the length of time the programme aired for.

  Vixen's millions did not take her far from home, however; her mother Karen point blank refused to leave the haven of Fern Bridge. No longer on benefits as Vixen supplied Karen with ample money, but still a slave to the drugs and alcohol which had been her life; Karen could not envision herself in a house of larger proportions than her two bedroomed flat and would not entertain even the notion of being too far away from the ersatz safety net her dealers offered her.

  Loving her mother and wanting to be around for her when the time would surely come when she was willing to join mainstream society, Vixen chose to live in nearby Twockford. She had invested in a Victorian town house which boasted high ceilings, three floors and a large family of mice which had lived behind the skirting boards for generations. Vixen spent a small fortune ripping the house to pieces and installing all the modern trappings of living in the twenty first century. The house was now home to en suite bathrooms with walk through four man showers, Jacuzzi bath tubs and flat screen televisions ensconced in the high gloss tiles. Her kitchen had a walk-in refrigerator, three ovens and drawers which would never slam shut. Leather and chenille sofas graced the expensively carpeted reception rooms and crystal chandeliers sparkled from every ceiling. Vixen loved her new home and hoped one day she would be able to fill it with the sound of baby's laughing. For now though she remained the property of Paul Anderson, answering his every need both in business and in the bedroom. She knew in reality she had outgrown Paul, but as a stray dog will follow the person who feeds it, Vixen remained loyal to the man who had rescued her from the life she had been living.

  Paul insisted that Vixen keep her looks up to date; she was never to be without make up or the pout which had made her fortune. He would encourage her to use Botox and fillers, even though she was now only twenty one. A seemingly casual comment from Paul on how her boobs appeared to be a little saggy would immediately prompt a visit to the plastic surgeon to have the barely visible flaw corrected. Vixen spent hours naked in front of the mirror checking ankles, calves, thighs, cellulite, stomach, tits, arms, neck and face; ensuring that she never looked anything less than perfect. To ensure her public agreed with the way she looked, Vixen would constantly post selfies on public forums, inviting comments and chatting to her fans. When Paul had complained that she spent too much time speaking with the 'common folk', she would hit back with the argument that it was good PR and without the commoners they'd have nothing. This would cause Paul to grudgingly leave Vixen alone, for a short while at least; and she would enjoy hours of fawning adulation from men and woman alike that spent their hard earned money on Vixen's products and revelled in telling their friends how they were friends with her on Facebook.

  Recently Vixen had been having some not so desirable contact with a man who's name online was 'Malcolm'. Their chats at first were only fleeting and Malcolm would flatter Vixen in the same way as the rest of her fans. Malcolm had become so regular a conversationalist with Vixen that when he asked her if he could privately message her, she happily gave him her pin number for private messaging.

  Since then Malcolm had become far too personal and intimidating for Vixen's liking. He seemed to always know where she had been on any occasion; which at first Vixen had reasoned wasn't too difficult as she was in the public eye and constantly being followed by a barrage of paparazzi waiting for the money shot. Over time, however, Malcolm seemed to know much more personal things about her; times she went to bed or had a bath; what she had had delivered from the supermarket that day; all things which could only have been known if the person had been there. Vixen realised that Malcolm was not only following her online but also in the flesh. Being media savvy and not wanting to be the subject of pity or ridicule, Vixen had told no one other than Paul about her stalker. Paul had advised her to keep Malcolm happy as he was a fan and she had to keep her fans happy. Vixen had attempted to be polite whilst keeping Malcolm at arm's length, but he had taken her politeness as an invitation to become more intimate and had begun to message Vixen constantly; telling her how he wanted to look after her and how she needed to be fed something as her frame was far too skinny. The tone of his conversation became even darker when Malcolm confessed his sexual desires to Vixen; telling her how he dreamt of eating Vixen and violating her with food items.

  Vixen was contemplating Malcolm's desires as she watched a documentary on the television about obese women and their feeders. She heard Paul come through her vintage black wood and glass door and called out to him.

  "Paul, is that you?" she turned toward the open plan kitchen area. Paul walked in looking very business-like in his Paul Smith suit, hair expertly quaffed and held in place with some substance or other. He threw the keys to his Bentley on the granite work surface and turned his chocolate brown eyes in Vixen's direction.

  "Well who else would it be?" he sneered at her. "I'd like to know who else could possibly be turning up at your house at two o'clock on a Saturday afternoon."

  "Well obviously no one," Vixen shot back at him. "You don't let me see anybo
dy unless it's for business." Vixen was very aware that it suited Paul to have total control over her life. He was very frightened that she may meet another agent or fall in love with another man, thereby losing his meal ticket in life. Vixen wished he would believe her when she told him that she would always remain loyal to the man who had catapulted her into stardom.

  "I've been thinking Paul," she said.

  "Cor fuck me, don't do that," Paul chuckled "I don't think the world is ready for you thinking Vix."

  "Ha, ha, very funny; no, seriously Paul, this guy is getting more and more creepy you know."

  "Oh not this again," Paul turned to the kitchen unit and put the kettle on. "What has he done now?"

  Vixen hauled her heavy chest off the sofa, stretching her back as she walked towards Paul.

  "He hasn't actually done anything, but he keeps saying really weird things to me." She walked up to Paul and he pulled her into an embrace, resting his chin on her auburn hair.

  "He keeps talking about feeding me, saying I'm too thin and he dreams of covering me in chocolate."

  Paul laughed, "There's plenty of geezers who dream of that darling."

  "Yeah I know that," Vixen agreed, "But this is different somehow, it's just creepy. And I'm sure he's following me."

  "Well you should be used to that with all the paps around Vix. It's all part of the job."

  "So you don't think it's weird?" she asked him.

  "Look, you are Vixen. The big boobed, green eyed love machine." He pushed her away from him and held her at his arms' length. "Look at yourself Vix, you ooze sex appeal. You are every teenage boy and red blooded male's wet dream. You could turn gay men straight for fucks sake."

  Vixen blushed at Paul's compliment.

  "Of course he's obsessed by you," Paul reassured her. "And you've spent your whole career courting this kind of attention. It's how you got all this." He gestured around the grand kitchen. "All of this," he rubbed his hands over Vixen's breasts. "Got all of this." He said, stroking the kitchen work surface which sparkled under the chandelier.