by Rachel Green
“What?”
“Up you go. Show me what you’re made of.”
“I’m not sure I–”
Meinwen reached out to hold his arm. “We need to know if there’s anything up there that’s not your brother’s. If he really was murdered, the killer was up there. If he left so much as a button it will lead us to him.”
Jimmy took a breath, letting it out in a long sigh, his cheeks ballooning in a fetching, boyish manner. “If you say so. There’s no light up there, though. We’ll need a torch.”
“Do you have one?”
“There should be one in the drawer next to the sink. Mam always kept one in there. I don’t know about batteries though. Check it first.”
Meinwen trotted back downstairs to the kitchen and pulled open the drawer. There was indeed a torch in there, but one so pitted with rust around the bulb she doubted it had worked in years. She was about to go back up and abandon the loft search when she spotted another torch hanging from a hook next to the back door. She snagged it, pleased to see it was a modern one with a large group of LEDs replacing the single bulb. It worked fine. She went back up.
“Here.” She handed the torch to Jimmy. “I’ll hold the ladder.”
“Thanks.” Jimmy climbed the six steps and pushed open the hatch, sliding it to one side out of the way. “It’s funny. We used to be up and down here as kids. Now it makes my heart shake.”
“You’re just afraid of ghosts and spirits.” Meinwen patted his leg, about all she could reach now. “They’re drawn to places of death.”
“Gee, thanks. That makes me feel a whole lot better.” Jimmy switched on the torch and shone it inside the loft space. “I can’t see anything. The whole loft is bare.”
Meinwen could see the shadows of beams flicking from side to side as he shone the torch about. It was only her fancy that drew the shapes of ghosts in the shadows, she was sure. “All right. Come on down.”
It was with obvious relief that Jimmy replaced the hatch and came down the ladder. “Sorry. No clues that I can see.”
“I didn’t think there would be, to be honest.” Meinwen took the torch while he put the stepladder away. “But we had to check.”
“I don’t know what I was expecting to see up there.” Jimmy shook his head and swallowed. “A noose maybe.”
“No. The police would have taken it as evidence.” Meinwen sounded more confidant than she felt. She went into the bathroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary. No sex toys or lingerie. She opened the cabinet. A spare toothbrush. Aspirin, hemorrhoid cream, sticky plasters. She lifted out a small tub of white paste.
“What’s that?”
“Magnesium sulfate.” She looked sideways at him. “Used for drawing out infections, often”–she reached out to pinch his nipple–“in piercings.”
“Oh.” It hardened under her touch.
“Just so.” She replaced the pot and went to the next room, where the stepladders had come from. “What’s this room?”
“This used to be ours when we were kids.” Jimmy switched on the light since there wasn’t enough coming through the window. He patted the first box. “John’s comic collection. He has complete sets of all sorts. Probably worth a mint. I’ll have to find out, I suppose.”
“I might know someone who can value them for you.”
“Yeah?”
“A friend of a friend. He’s got a bookshop in Dark Passage.”
“Great. Yes, please. They’re just an insurance risk sitting here doing nothing.”
“I’ll ask him tomorrow.” She patted the wooden frame of the bunk beds, imagining the brothers as boys. “Yours was the bottom bunk?”
“That’s right. How did you guess?”
“Women’s intuition.” She winked at him, reluctant to mention that dominants almost always went on top, though if John had been involved with Richard Godwin at The Larches he was probably a bottom outside of the relationship with his brother. She looked at the walls still covered with blu-tac and the corners of posters. “What were you into then?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you were a boy. Your brother liked comics and bodybuilders. What did you like?”
Jimmy shrugged. “The usual. Motorbikes. Girls. Films. I liked reading too. Science fiction mostly.” He looked at the tags on several of the boxes until he came across one that said James’s books. He ran his thumb under the flaps, splitting the tape to open it. “I remember these.” He pulled out a few paperbacks to show her. Alan Dean Foster. John Norman. Star Trek. “I used to love these. You daren’t read this stuff in the nick. Not if you don’t want your head flushed down the toilet.”
“No. The pages would get soggy.” Meinwen laughed at his expression as she walked out of the room. “Master bedroom?”
“Aye.” Jimmy stuffed the books back in the box and hurried after her. “Just to your left, there.”
It was light enough in here without the electric bulb. The bed was pristine, the curtains swagged back and held with ties. She was reminded of Jennie’s comment about John “knowing his curtains.” Perhaps that was a modern idiom for being gay, but in John’s case it was certainly true. She opened one of the wardrobes and was confronted by a whole rail of suits with matching shirts and ties. She lifted one out and held it up against Jimmy’s frame. “He certainly had an eye for style.”
“Did he?” Jimmy shrugged. “Makes sense if he was gay. They’re always well dressed, aren’t they? Gays and toffs.”
“I wouldn’t make that a definitive statement.” Meinwen replaced the suit. “But as a general rule of thumb I’m inclined to agree.” She switched her torch on to look at the floor. “Hullo. What’s this?”
“What?”
She bent to retrieve something and held it up. Five rings connected by a strap, the largest two inches or so in diameter, the rest reducing in size to half an inch.
Jimmy frowned and took them off her. “What are these?”
She smiled. “They’re called ‘The Gates of Hell.’ You put them on while you’re flaccid then as you come erect they constrict the blood flow until the head of the penis is thoroughly engorged. The bottom one goes over the scrotum.” Meinwen smiled. “Fabulous if you’re recepting a cock bound in one of these.” She gave a contented sigh, then mock-coughed. “Ahem. So I’m told, anyway.”
“Recepting?”
She chuckled. “A feminine-positive way of looking at sex. The world would be a kinder place if instead of men fucking, women elected to be receptive of cocks.”
“If you say so.” Jimmy handed it back to her. “Here. You can keep it.”
“For later use?” Meinwen raised her eyebrows. “It tells us one thing, anyway.”
“What’s that?”
“Your brother brought his friends here.”
Meinwen tucked the sex toy in the voluminous pocket of her cardigan. She walked down the hall looking at the framed pictures of relatives Jimmy couldn’t even remember all the names and kept saying “Mam’s side of the family” or “Dad’s brothers, I think.”
“Sergeant Peters told me there were some pictures obviously missing. Do you know where they are?”
Jimmy shook his head. “I haven’t seen them.”
“Very funny. I should spank you for that.” Meinwen gave him a sidelong glance. “Or not spank you. I meant where are they missing from?”
“The bedroom, I expect. There are no pictures in there and you’d expect some really, wouldn’t you? Go to sleep with a loved one watching over you.”
“I generally prefer a mug of cocoa.” Meinwen returned to the bedroom. On the night stand there were two lines in the dust indicating there had indeed been pictures there. “Do you think the killer might have taken them?”
“To avoid incriminating himself? Maybe.” Jimmy shrugged. “That or John took it with him to his other place.”
“In which case there’d be no mark. I don’t think your brother was the type to leave dust on the furniture.”
&nb
sp; Jimmy ran his finger across the lines, lifting it to inspect the amount of dust and frowning as if he expected to see angels. “You’re probably right. So...find the pictures find the killer?”
“Maybe.” Meinwen took another glance around the room. “Did you sleep in this bed last night?”
“No. I couldn’t face it. After the coppers left I finished off all the beer in the fridge and went to sleep on the sofa in front of the telly. I nearly drank the champagne, too.”
“Champagne?”
“Yeah. There’s a bottle in the fridge. Pink champagne! I mean, who drinks pink champagne? Girls and–”
“Brothers?”
Jimmy grinned and nodded. “Yeah. Right.” He sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly. “Want to try it?”
Meinwen ran her tongue across her teeth. She’d like nothing better than to get into bed with this muscled ex-con, but where would that lead their relationship? She’d hardly remain the dominant if she acquiesced to every little suggestion. “Not really.”
“It’s quite comfortable.” Jimmy fell backward, his feet still touching the floor, so that he was sprawled perpendicular across the duvet. “Very firm.”
Meinwen looked away from the tent in his trousers. “Some other time. I don’t even want to imagine the stains on the mattress.” She bent to lift the valence. The bed wasn’t a divan as she’d originally thought but a top-range wooden framed model, made with solid pine the thickness of railway-sleepers. Eyelets were screwed all around the edge at two-inch intervals. “Look here.”
“What?” Jimmy did a perfect sit-up, the stomach muscles taut against his shirt as he came upright. “What am I looking at? Eyelets? What are they for?”
“Bondage.” Meinwen resisted the temptation to lick her lips, though she couldn’t help salivating and just hoped he didn’t notice. “All sorts of bondage. You could tie off wrists and ankles to individual eyelets, attach hooks or clips to them or lace the lot with a truck load of rope and bind someone to the bed with corset lacings.” She looked up. “Look! There’s a recently filled hole in the ceiling. I bet there was a winch in the loft when your brother lived here.”
“A winch?” Jimmy held out a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
Meinwen stared hard at the walls. “There are plastered-over holes, too. I bet he had fetish gear all over the place.”
“Fetish gear?”
“Whips, restraints, crosses. That sort of thing.”
“The mind boggles.”
“Not just the mind.” Meinwen closed her eyes, imagining the room decked out as a sado-masochist’s wet dream. “I bet his other place is out of this world.”
Jimmy stood up and crossed to the door. “Are we done here then?”
“I suppose.” Meinwen took a last look, her gaze lingering on the bed with its rows of bondage eyelets. She imagined Jimmy naked, tied to the bed with only his cock free. She pushed the thought away and followed Jimmy into the hall. She took a few paces to the small room built over the stairs. “What’s this?”
Jimmy stayed at the other end of the landing, next to the stairs. “That was Faye’s.” His voice died as she opened the door. An old bed and a picture of a girl with a horse. She looked to be about six.
“Your sister?”
“Yes. She died when we were kids. She ran across the road and ended up in a tree forty yards away. They said it was an accident but nobody was ever blamed for it. It happened up by the park.” He pursed his lips. “Funny. People said it was safer in them days but it wasn’t. Not for her.”
“Did you witness it?”
Jimmy shook his head. “John did. He was supposed to be looking after her but was showing off to his mates, doing chin-ups on the bus shelter.” He swallowed and looked away. “She never knew what hit her, they said. Died instantly. Wouldn’t have felt it.”
“I’m sorry.” Meinwen moved around the landing to squeeze his arm. “She looked to be a lovely little girl.” She pressed the picture into his hands. “She deserves more than to be shut away, though. Find somewhere for her downstairs among the living.”
“Yeah.” Jimmy gave her a thin-lipped smile. “You’re right. There’s just me now. No need to worry about John’s guilt any more.” He traced the girl’s face with his fingertip. “You can stay with me now, Faye.”
“Was she cremated or buried?”
“She’s buried in St. Pity’s, next to Mam and Dad.” He looked up, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. “And John soon, I suppose.” He took a deep breath, blinking several times. “Are we finished up here?”
“Yes, I think so. If you ever sell up, give me the option of buying the bed, won’t you?”
“If you like. I don’t know how you’d get it out, mind. I bet it was built in situ.”
“That’s okay. I know someone with a big tool.”
Jimmy laughed, turning off the lights in his old room and the bathroom before following her down. “Another cup of tea, or should we get off?”
“What time is it?” Meinwen pulled out her mobile but Jimmy responded with “ten past three” before she’d even unlocked the keypad.
“Best get off, then. I’ll ring for a taxi. Chervil Court is right over the other side of town. It’ll take an age to walk.”
“With any luck we’ll find John’s car at the other place. I could drive you home.”
“Not without insurance, you won’t. You’re on parole, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. You’re right. Not that insurance ever bothered me before.”
“If you go back inside, there won’t be much I can do for your brother.” Meinwen dialed a number, holding her hand up to stifle another reply from Jimmy. “Hello? I’d like to book a taxi from fifteen Ashgate Road to Chervil Court please. As soon as possible.” She listened to the reply and put the phone away. “It’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Mind if I have a cigarette while we wait?”
Meinwen shrugged. “It’s your house. You can do what you like.” She picked up her bag from the floor next to the table. “I’ll just go outside, though. I don’t care for it.”
“Oh. Right. Of course, sorry.” Jimmy picked up his coat. “I’ll go outside, you stay in the dry. I’ll give you a shout if the taxi comes.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She sat again while he picked up John’s keys and phone, his own phone and his pouch of tobacco and lighter.
“I’ll see you outside in a minute. Just pull the door shut when you come out, will you?”
She waited until the door had closed and opened her phone again. She dialed a number she hadn’t had occasion to use in a couple of years, biting her lip while it rang, remembering the phone on the hall table, polished daily.
“The Godwin Residence.”
“Oh, er...Hello.” Meinwen couldn’t believe how much her heart was pounding over such a simple matter of a telephone call. “May I speak to Master Richard Godwin, please?” She made an emphasis on the word “Master,” thus displaying her knowledge of the underlying management of the household.
“I’m afraid the master is away at present. May I direct you to another member of the house?”
“Oh.” Meinwen felt crushed. She hadn’t anticipated Richard might be away. “When will he be back?”
“He’s expected later this evening. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Actually, I’d like to speak to him about quite a serious matter. Is Nicole Fielding still his personal secretary?”
“I’m afraid not. Nicole left to pursue a different career last year. May I help? I now handle all of Master’s appointments.”
“Oh, yes, please then. I need to see him as a matter of urgency.”
“I can fit you in tomorrow? Eleven o’clock?”
“That would be lovely. Thank you.”
“I’ll pencil you in. What name is it?”
“Meinwen Jones. We’re old acquaintances.”
The woman on the other end lost all her aloo
fness, her voice becoming warm and familiar. “Oh! Manny, darling. It’s Jennifer, from the vicarage?”
“Of course. How lovely.” Meinwen smiled as she recalled the outspoken author of several erotic novels. “How’s the writing going?”
“Rather well, actually. Richard’s quite strict about how much novel writing I do. I’m more productive than I ever was and of course, now I get to do some proper research.”
Meinwen chuckled, imagining just what kind of research Jennifer was doing, since her genre was erotica. “I’m glad it’s going well. We’ll have to meet up for a coffee one of these days.”
“I’d love to. You can tell me all about the witchcraft you’ve been doing and the gossip about the Women’s Guild. I get Thursday afternoons off at the moment.”
“That would be splendid. Look, I have to go. I’ve got a taxi waiting. I’ll try to say hello tomorrow when I come.”
“Spiffing. I’ll let Richard know.”
“Great. Thank you, Jennifer.”
“Okay. Byses.”
Meinwen disconnected the call with the smile still on her face. It was odd to think of her prim and proper friend succumbing to the carnal desires of the flesh. The death of Jennifer’s brother had made the world of difference to her outlook on the concept of morality and sin.
A rap on the door startled her from her reverie. Jimmy. “The taxi’s here.”
Meinwen raised her voice as she stood. “Coming.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and plucked her umbrella from the sink. At the door she turned, went back to the table and slipped John’s gold ring into her pocket.
Chapter 7
The taxi took them all the way to Chervil Court in under fifteen minutes. Meinwen felt slightly guilty about her shop as they passed the Shambles. She’d already arranged another appointment tomorrow which entailed leaving the shop closed all morning–even if she went in she’d have to leave again at ten to get to the Larches on time and she could barely remember the last time she had a customer before ten. That was the trouble having a mainly pagan clientele. They generally stayed up with the moon.