Love. Lies. Dying.

by Carla Blake

  You’ve killed three women they say to her. Three. They’re dead and it’s all because of you!

  Katherine blinks, absorbs the information and feels nothing inside. She is watching a movie, a thriller where someone other than herself is performing the acts of murder.

  I’ve got away with it, she reminds herself. The police have been nowhere near.

  I could do it again and again and no one would be any the wiser.

  I’m a killer. A murderer. I fuck and I finish.

  She smiles. A staccato grin that twitches feebly at the corners of her mouth before breaking into the full Monty. Grinning she throws her head back and water sprays from her hair and hits the wall. She leans back, holding onto the basin for balance, and laughs and laughs and laughs.

  The next morning its like nothing has happened. Megan, joining Katherine in her kitchen for breakfast, doesn’t mention the bonfire, but she can see Katherine’s bruised and cut lip and wonders how much trouble Katherine got into last night?

  Katherine supplies the answer for her. Her voice is cooler than the inside of the fridge.

  “If you continue to stare.” She says. “I will charge you to look. But if you must know, I stumbled at the restaurant and banged my face on the edge of the door. I now have a free meal with complementary wine waiting for me. Happy now?”

  “I was just concerned.” Megan says, wishing she could escape to her annex. Katherine’s face is wearing that ‘ say one thing wrong and I’ll slaughter you’ expression.

  “I didn’t mean to stare.”

  “Well, you can stop now. Go find a carpet to vacuum or something.”

  Megan keeps an eye on Katherine for the next few days. She is usually at work, or at least that’s where she says she is going, and when Megan rings her office pretending to have some query over dinner arrangements, Alex passes the phone to Katherine without hesitation. So she’s not lying.

  Her evenings and nights are spent fifty, fifty. Sometimes she stays in, watching TV or bashing away at her computer, other evenings she goes out, and it is these that Megan pays special attention to. Although it isn’t easy keeping tabs on someone like Katherine. She doesn’t like being questioned unless she actively wants Megan to know something, and her replies to anything Megan asks are usually clipped and minimalist, giving absolutely nothing away.

  There is no repeat of the bonfire incident.

  Amy’s body has been found. Of course it has. She was a well known model. A ‘face about town.’ Everyone has been wondering where she has got to? Katherine has also been doing her fair sure of wondering, or at least, whilst she is in Alex’s company. The rest of the time she barely gives the dead girl a second thought. The model is dead and it’s her own fault. She shouldn’t have come at her with a knife. Silly bitch.

  The police eventually pitch up three days later. Katherine sends Alex out of the office to make tea whilst one Detective Marsh, a short, slender woman with tight, dark curls and painted nails, makes herself comfy on her sofa before opening up a note pad.

  She doesn’t waste time.

  “How well did Katherine know Amy?”

  Katherine gives a small, delicate shrug. “She was a model, I’ve seen her on the catwalk, of course, and attended fashion shoots Amy has taken part in, but that’s about it really.”

  “Is Katherine aware Amy was at the same restaurant as her on the night she died?”

  “Really? I didn’t see her, but the establishment is very discreet and quite gloomy, as I’m sure you know.”

  “I will need to take copies of your fingerprints.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about. You’re not under suspicion, Miss. Johnson. Because of Amy’s career and the fact she came into contact with so many people, we’re merely trying to identify those prints that should be connected with her from those that obviously shouldn’t.”

  “I see.”

  “So you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not, why would I? Would you like me to gather together those of my staff who have had contact with Amy?”

  Fuck!

  Katherine is at home, holed up in one of the reception rooms she has turned into an office. The TV is on with the sound down and she is waiting for the news. Two hours earlier she had been in the police station having her fingerprints taken like a common criminal. It had been awful, not helped by the fact that during the ordeal, one of the constables had asked for her autograph and although he’d got a right bollocking for doing it, Katherine had felt obliged to sign, half of her a little flattered that he had recognized her at all, the other half terrified that he had. Because if some lowly beat officer had known who she was, then others would recognize her too. Not that it was a total surprise. She was recognized a lot these days, but usually at fashion shows or some other such events associated with work, when flash bulbs would go off left, right and centre. And that was okay because she expected to be recognized there. It was when people started to take note of her outside of the work environment that she got jumpy. Her face might not be as well known as Victoria Beckham or Kate Moss, but it was known, and people remembered.

  Fuck!

  And now the police had her fingerprints.

  What if they linked Amy to Petra to Angela? Her fingerprints were definitely going to be all over Amy’s apartment, although she could say she’d gone over to discuss photo shoots or something. No one would be able to contradict that except for Alex whose diary was an exact copy of her own, but then she could always add something tomorrow and date it months ago. Alex wasn’t likely to remember. As for Petra, well they could definitely link her to being in Devon at the time of her death, but she’d made sure the pub Petra had worked in was miles away from the house and why would she, Katherine Johnson, go to such a place for lunch?

  Angela she felt safe on. There’d still been nothing about her on the news.

  Had the woman really been so lonely that no one had missed her?

  Katherine is still nervous though and she restlessly paces up and down the room, one eye constantly on the silent flickering screen of the TV.

  When Amy’s face flashes up, she dives for the remote and hits the volume.

  ‘.. as yet remains unsolved. Detectives are now examining CCTV footage of the night in question. Anyone who has any information should call...’

  Katherine clutches her chest. The word ‘fuck’ is seriously lodged in her head.

  She is relieved beyond measure that enough time has passed for her mouth to heal and the scratches on her hand to fade to nothing. Her head is still a bit sore, but only if she touches it.

  But the fucking CCTV!

  Ok, the police will see her, but they won’t actually see her! She kept her head well down, both going in and leaving the building, and surely they will be looking for a man? Someone big and strong enough to overwhelm the poor, defenseless Amy. They won’t suspect a woman, will they?

  She isn’t sure but it does leave her with a choice. She either carries on like normal and prays like mad the police don’t’ find anything to link her to Amy or she runs.

  In which case she night as well hang a ‘ it was me!’ sign around her neck.

  Alex saves her, in a way.

  “Nice,” she says, flipping open the diary that Katherine has successfully doctored. They are sitting in the offices of the magazine. The day outside is grey and cold and Katherine is sipping on her first coffee of the day, relived her hands have finally stopped shaking. She was beginning to wonder if she was suffering not from nerves but from some early onset of a degenerative disease.

  “What about it?” She asks now.

  “Well, as you know, there is the ‘ Marco’ fashion show on the 17th, and we have seats in the front row. Should be mega! Secondly my cousin, Michelle, is getting married on the M
onday and I have been invited to attend and thirdly, you haven’t had a proper holiday in months, so I have taken the liberty of booking us into a lovely little hotel for a fortnight. Now before you start, I have organized everything. Geoffrey will cover whilst we’re away, the hotel has full internet access and Skype so you will be able to keep in touch. There is nothing in your diary of any importance for that length of time and Megan will be looking after the house and supervising the decorators you wanted in. Questions?”

  “One. When will we be leaving?”

  Alex is downstairs enjoying the party. Her cousin is holding her reception in the same hotel they are staying in and although Katherine is invited she has decided to give it a miss for fear of upstaging the bride. Alex’s family know who she is.

  She is also trying to keep a low profile.

  Frustrated, she looks at her watch and sighs. Room service is late. No, room service is here, the loud knock on her door preceding a waitress who asks her in perfect English if there will be anything else?

  Katherine tells her no and watches her face fall when she realises there is no tip coming her way. Like she should expect one.

  She eats slowly, staring at a TV showing some drama in French. The steak is excellent, the chips crisp on the outside, fluffy on the inside. The wine she has ordered is light and refreshing and likely to be gone within the hour. Maybe sooner.

  Her thoughts seem to want to unravel the past few days and she does nothing to stop them, although nothing of any note has happened whilst they have been here. The police have not been in contact, Amy’s name has gradually faded from the news and Megan tells her the decorators have finished and the place looks much nicer. Geoffrey is keeping a firm hand on the helm of the magazine. There are no problems he deems fit to share and he tells Katherine she should relax and enjoy her holiday.

  Katherine wishes she could but the twisting storm that churns within her gut won’t let her be. It’s too quiet for one thing. Not that she wants anything to happen, God no, but her eyes stray to the door far too often and she knows she is just waiting for it to burst open and for the French police to burst through and tell her she is under arrest. It is a scary thought and her hands shake, setting her cutlery rattling heavily against her plate.

  She puts down her knife and fork and lifts the wine to her mouth. The glass is nearly full but she drains it in one go, praying the alcohol will hit her system with a vengeance and calm her down. Something needs to.

  She wants sex. And that is not necessarily a good thing any more, but the desire has been circling around for a while now and she’s never been too good at going too long without it, although in France it’s been harder than usual to ascertain. She has little idea where to go for a discreet fuck and she can hardly ask Alex.

  Or can she?

  Well, maybe not Alex.

  It’s the same waitress they sent up earlier although she looks slightly more sullen this time, a condition that the sight of a few Euros soon takes care of as she listens to Katherine’s request with carefully concentration, her face not showing a flicker of emotion. Katherine guesses she has probably heard it all before, but she gives her a few more Euros just to make sure and smiles as she trots out of the door.

  It takes an hour. In that time, Katherine takes a long leisurely bath and slips into a satin, red bathrobe. The material glides smoothly over her naked skin, and Katherine likens it to being wrapped in a kiss. She sprays perfume behind her ears and between her breasts. Her hair falls down her back in soft waves. She knows she looks edible but she hopes she’ll be the one doing the eating.

  The French girl that knocks on her door takes ages to look into her eyes and seems almost scared to look at anything but the floor.

  Katherine doesn’t mind. So much the better if she doesn’t want to study her face too intently, with luck, if it comes to it, she won’t remember her features at all.

  Taking the girl’s hand she leads her to the sofa and offers her a drink. She accepts the glass of wine silently and sits with her knees pressed tightly together. She doesn’t answer Katherine’s query as to her name but merely smiles and nods to the questions put to her.

  Katherine studies her. She is a slight thing with short, dark hair cut in a cropped fashion. She is wearing jeans and a tight fitting pale blue sweater. Her breasts are small but firm and she smells faintly of something fruity.

  Katherine tries talking to her but it soon becomes clear her English is as bad as Katherine’s French and it takes a while to establish why they are both there, but she gets it eventually and finishing their wine, Katherine leads her into the bedroom where she lays on the bed and watches the girl undress in front of her.

  There is not an ounce of fat on her.

  Naked, the girl lays on the bed beside her and looks shyly at the ceiling, she blinks a lot.

  A flash of uncharacteristic guilt washes over Katherine and she worries whether the girl might have been forced to come here under duress? She tries to ask but the girl just frowns, shakes her head and smiles. It lights up her face.

  Their lovemaking is slow and surprisingly tender. Katherine allows herself to be taken and is pleasurably surprised that the girl, who still hasn’t offered up her name, is treating her body as though every touch and every kiss has the potential to hurt her.

  It makes her shudder and she feels herself grow wet long before her French lover has reached her pussy.

  The feel of her tongue playing over her clit turns her insides liquid.

  Her nipples have already been teased into oversensitive bullets and she has to admit that never before have they been so wonderfully sucked and licked. She has come twice already just from that and the feel of that delicate, pink tongue trailing over her stomach and rolling itself into her belly button has had her squirming on the bed in paroxysms of desire.

  Now she is at her cunt.

  In goes her tongue, exploring the swollen, pink folds. It takes its time, moving back and forth with exquisite deliberation and Katherine feels pussy juices begin to stream out of her hole.

  She sighs and the girl leaves her molten centre to plant soft, sticky kisses on the insides of Katherine’s thighs. It is almost more than Katherine can take and she groans with want. Her cunt is throbbing and pulsating, the muscles inside desperate to grab onto anything that will help her reach orgasm. In desperation, she places her hands on the girl’s head, trying to persuade her to resume where she let off.

  But the girl is not to be hurried and she runs her tongue along the length of Katherine’s thigh before pushing it through the soft hairs of her fluff. Again Katherine pushes her pelvis towards her, determined she will put that tongue somewhere it can be of real use and the girl kisses the top of her mound, applying just enough pressure to have Katherine gasping for breath.

  Then her tongue slips in. Over her fluff, across her clit and down to the wetness of her cunt. It laps a while, taking in mouthfuls of runny cream and then pushes its way in.

  Katherine groans, what the girl is doing is amazing but her cunt wants, no needs more! She needs to feel full. To have fingers inside her, working her cunt, massaging her to orgasm.

  Firmly, she grabs the girls hand and guides it between her legs. Obligingly the girls laces her fingers together, moves her mouth out of the way and allows Katherine to feed her hand into her sopping hole. Then she fucks her. Drawing out every thrust for as long as possible before plunging in again. In her fingers go, so, so slowly, then out. Over and over until Katherine is almost out of her mind with desire and balanced right on the edge of coming without actually reaching it. If asked, she would probably give this small, French girl anything she wanted right now. Her bank details, her home address, her last fucking penny!

  God, she wants to come!

  The girl fucks her, her fingers sticky with cream. Bowing her head, she blows gently on Katherine’s clit an
d Katherine almost screams with frustration.

  Please, she implores in her head. Please make me come!

  The tongue returns. To her clit. The fingers are still busy, easing their delicious syrupy way in and out of her hole, but now her tongue joins in and starts to roll around her clit, the tip pushing hard into her before the flat of her tongue laps up the juices that are keeping it moist.

  Katherine feels her orgasm coming. It takes her body a while to recognize it is finally getting what it has been yearning for, and the build up is slower than she would have thought possible, but finally there is no more holding back and the wave of pleasure and of lust and of animal need that suddenly gathers pace and completely overwhelms her, has her grabbing double handfuls of sheet as her back arches and she lets herself fall into a deep screaming orgasm.

  Its’ a wonder the whole hotel doesn’t hear her.

  Screwing the girl in return is another matter and the experience leaves Katherine feeling oddly unsatisfied. It is not that the girl is unwilling, she is happy to lie on her back and cup her breasts suggestively, offering her lean body to Katherine’s administrations, it’s more that, for Katherine, it all feels way too mechanical.

  She sighs when she sucks her nipples but there is no feeling behind it. Her pussy, when she finally reaches it, is wet but not swollen like her own and when she inserts her fingers and starts to thrust into her cunt, the sounds that come from the French girl’s mouth would not be out of place in a cheap, porn movie. It is disappointing and humiliating and once over, Katherine gets rid of her as quickly as possible, finding solace in a glass of wine and a good stare out of the window.

  At three in the morning Alex finally puts in an appearance. She is not staying in the same room as Katherine, and lucky for her Katherine is still not asleep, but for some reason she thinks it imperatively she checks on her employer before turning in herself.

  She is, it is fair to say, out of her mind with drink and the conversation she has with Katherine largely comprises of telling her how wonderful she is, how beautiful her cousin looked in her wedding dress and how she is going to go to bed now.