Flawed Beauty

by Ernesto Lee

  “Be my guest, boss. I take it you’ve had your fill of listening to Tony’s tall tales for tonight?”

  “That and tequila shots,” Erin responds, pulling a face. “If I even smell another one, it’s not going to be pretty.”

  Frowning, she adds, “And there’s no need to call me ‘boss’ or ‘ma’am’ when we’re alone, Terri.”

  Lightly touching her hand, she then asks, “So what were you ladies talking about? It looked serious.”

  “No, not really.” Terri shrugs. “A bit of career and shop talk, but mainly relationship stuff. She’s going through a difficult patch with her boyfriend and wanted some advice.”

  Noting Erin’s wide-eyed expression, Terri grimaces and adds, “Yeah, I know – who would have thought it? I’m not exactly the model of perfection when it comes to relationships, am I? Actually, don’t answer that,” she adds with a laugh.

  “Phew,” Erin says, comically mopping her brow. “I thought for a moment you were expecting an answer.”

  “No chance.” Terri laughs again.

  Making it sound very much like a question, she then adds, “That’s not a can of worms either of us wants to get into.”

  “No, it’s not.” Erin laughs uncomfortably. “I’m done with relationships and happily single for now.”

  “Really?” Terri asks, uncertain if she is joking or not. “No chance of you getting back with Mitch?”

  “Maybe.” Erin slowly nods. “But I’m not overly hopeful. And as far as other relationships go… well, it’s not like I’m saying never again, but for now, I’m in a good place. What about you? Any special someone in your life at the moment?”

  “Nah, nobody special right now,” Terri replies. “I think I might be done with relationships as we—”

  Seemingly distracted, Terri suddenly leans to the side and smiles at something or someone behind Erin. “Or not, as the case may be.”

  Casually turning to check out the reason for her colleague’s distraction, Erin quickly spots the attractive young woman in a brightly colored floral dress taking a seat at the bar. Chuckling, she mutters, “You don’t bloody change, do you? You always were a sucker for a brunette in a pretty dress. I’ll give you this, though – she’s a looker. Are you planning to hit her up with the old Marchetti charm tonight?”

  Straightening herself up, Terri smirks. “That thought had crossed my mind.” Then suddenly serious, she focuses her attention on Erin. “But you didn’t come over here to talk about relationships, did you? What’s on your mind?”

  Tutting, Erin raises her hands in surrender. “You’ve got me there, girl. I actually came over to talk a little bit of shop, if that’s okay?”

  Without waiting for a response, she adds, “I wanted to get your opinion on the video captures from The Taverna.”

  “You mean our mystery woman?” Terri asks.

  Nodding, Erin confirms, “Yes, I wanted to get your opinion on whether it looked like—”

  “Whether it looked like they were a couple?” Terri interrupts, finishing the question. “That would be nicely convenient if they were, wouldn’t it?”

  Dismissing Erin’s confused expression with a frown, Terri asks, “Really? It hadn’t occurred to you if Shreya Singh was in a same-sex relationship that would give us an indisputable link between all three victims? Not to mention an obvious motive for their murders.”

  Nodding, Erin confesses, “Yes, that had crossed my mind. The pictures don’t exactly give us much to go on, though. So, I was hoping that between us we might be able to form an educated opinion on how likely that might be.”

  Smirking, Terri asks sarcastically, “Oh, and why’s that, then? Is it because I’m a lesbian, and you’ve… well, you’ve put your toe in the water, so to speak?”

  Blushing, Erin hesitates to respond, leaving Terri with an open invitation to continue. “What I mean is, I’m guessing you haven’t asked Tony or any of the guys for their opinion?”

  “No. That… that isn’t what I meant,” Erin blusters. “You’re my number two, and I value your opinion. It has nothing to do with your… I mean, our sexuali—”

  “I’m sorry,” a laughing Terri suddenly interrupts. “That was unfair of me.” Touching Erin’s hand, she adds, “The look on your bloody face, though. That was priceless. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Annoyed at being caught out but eager to move on, Erin dismissively shakes her head. “Forget it. It’s my own fault for not seeing it coming. Seriously, though, what do you think?”

  Nodding slowly, Terri says, “Actually, on balance, I think it’s a distinct possibility.”

  “About them being a couple?” Erin asks, hopeful of a confirmation.

  “No, no, not that,” Terri replies, laughing again and arching her neck towards the bar. “I think there is a distinct possibility of that cutie being on the receiving end of the old Marchetti charm tonight.”

  Clearly more inebriated than Erin had first thought her to be, Terri is now staring more than a little creepily at the object of her lust. Realizing that she’s probably wasting her time, Erin laughs to herself and says, “Okay, well, you’ve obviously got more important things on your mind this evening, so why don’t I leave you to it. We can talk again in the morning.”

  She is about to leave when, suddenly alert and lucid once more, Terri tells her to wait. “If you really want my opinion, then, yes, on balance, I think they could be a couple.”

  “You can tell that just from the pictures?” Erin asks. “Because that kiss and the hand-holding looked fairly innocent to me.”

  “Forget the body language,” Terri snaps. “We know already that this woman is not a workmate or a friend of the family. And she’s at least ten years older than Shreya, which makes it improbable that she would be a part of Shreya’s close circle of friends outside of the family.

  “Most important for me, though, is the fact that this woman is a complete unknown to her cousin and supposed best friend, Praneeta. If Praneeta really doesn’t know who she is, then to my mind, that can only mean one thing.”

  “That Shreya was deliberately keeping her a secret to hide the fact that she was in a same-sex relationship,” Erin suggests.

  “It’s the only reasonable explanation. Why else would this woman be a complete unknown to everyone else in Shreya’s life?”

  “You make a good point.” Erin nods. “Thanks, Terri. I really do value your opinion.”

  Noting that her friend’s attention has already been lost again to the girl at the bar, Erin tuts and gets to her feet. “Anyway, as I was saying, let’s talk again in the morning.”

  Affectionately touching her shoulder, she adds, “Be safe, Terri. And make good choices.”

  “I think I already have.” Terri laughs and winks. “That little cutie is going to be my bitch tonight.”

  “Charming,” Erin says with a laugh. “Just be careful, eh?”

  “I will. Thanks, boss. Now, go on. Get back to Tony before he starts getting jealous of all the attention I’m getting.”

  Leaving her colleague to make her move, Erin considers making her good her escape before deciding against it and rejoining the team at the bar for a final drink.

  . . . . . . . .

  By now, the lightweights and amateur party animals have fallen by the wayside, reducing Tony’s entourage to a mere handful of diehards and hard-drinking wannabees.

  Tony himself is now noticeably less vocal than he was earlier in the evening, and concerned for his welfare, Erin asks if he is okay.

  “I’m fine,” he grunts. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Then tipping a nod towards the far end of the bar, he says, “I see your friend gave you the brush-off.”

  “Sorry?” Erin asks.

  “Little Miss Fitness.” Tony grunts again. “It looks like she’s well and truly got her claws into her next victim.”

  Turning, Erin is gobsmacked to find that Terri is already perched on the barstool next to the young brunette. The smiling, laughing and
body language from both women make it patently obvious to anyone watching that Terri’s charm offensive is having the desired effect.

  “Christ, she didn’t waste any time,” Erin mutters to herself.

  Shaking his head in obvious disgust, Tony slurs, “Do you think she knows that Marchetti is a rug muncher?”

  Clearly three sheets to the wind, Tony is, for once, showing his true colors, and Erin quietly asks, “You don’t approve?”

  Shaking his head and seemingly unable to hold his tongue, Tony grumbles, “It’s not a question of approving. It’s not natural, is it? I mean, isn’t that why you ended it with her, boss? You realized it was unnatural?”

  Blushing but remaining calm, Erin quietly suggests to Tony that he should keep his voice down. She then adds, “I think we’ve probably all had enough to drink tonight, and this is really not the time and place for this kind of conversation.”

  “Fuck that!” Tony exclaims, getting unsteadily to his feet. “I’m as sober as a judge.” Then animatedly gesturing towards Terri, he slurs, “What’s she bloody got that I haven’t, anyway?”

  “Charm and a pair of tits, for a start,” Erin jokingly responds, hoping to calm Tony down. In point of fact, her comment only serves to have the opposite effect.

  Getting ever more agitated, Bolton angrily blurts, “Okay, so I haven’t got a pair of tits, but I’ve got bloody charm by the bucket load. I could pull a bit of skirt like that if I wanted to.”

  “Yeah, sure you could,” a slightly tipsy DS Cheeseman jeers from behind. Rather unwisely, DC Potter decides to join the banter. “He’s right, Sarge. That bird is well out of your league.”

  If looks could kill, Mike Potter would be six feet under by now, but resisting the urge to settle the matter with his fists, Tony chooses instead to interpret the affront to his prowess as a challenge to be met head-on.

  Before anyone can stop him, he barges past and noisily drags an empty stool toward the end of the bar. Perplexed, Terri and her companion both turn and wait expectantly for Tony to say something.

  Concerned that things are about to kick off, Erin less than enthusiastically suggests to the team that she ought to bring him back. Thankfully, and to her obvious relief, a firm hand on her shoulder from DS Cheeseman quickly puts paid to that suggestion. “DI Marchetti is more than capable of handling Tony Bolton, ma’am. And if you go over there, it’s just going to piss him off even more. Probably best if we just let this thing play itself out.”

  Relieved to be off the hook, Erin sighs, “Yeah, that’s probably for the best. Thanks, Frank.”

  Straining to eavesdrop on the surprisingly subdued conversation, Erin’s thoughts suddenly turn to something else. Quizzical but unsure of herself, she asks, “Have you see that girl somewhere before, Frank?”

  Blank-faced, Cheeseman shakes his head. “Her face doesn’t ring a bell with me, boss. Why? What are you thinking?”

  Before she can respond, Tony suddenly jumps from his stool. Clearly offended by something, he angrily calls the two young women a pair of ugly bitches before turning to skulk away with their laughter ringing in his ears.

  Seizing on an opportunity not to be missed, Cheeseman teases his colleague all the way back to his seat at the bar. Laughing and slow-clapping, he playfully jeers, “Make way. Make way for the all-conquering hero.”

  Ignoring the sniggers of the team, Tony moodily orders himself another drink before grumbling, “Bloody dykes. They don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

  “What’s up?” Cheeseman asks sarcastically. “Didn’t they succumb to the Bolton patter?”

  Tutting confidently, Tony perks up and replies, “Of course, they didn’t, Frank. My patter only works on real women. It was never gonna work on a pair of bean flickers.”

  Deliberately turning a blind eye to his offensive remarks and tone, Erin is more interested in the young woman talking to Terri. Casually passing Tony some ice for his whisky, she asks, “Do you recognize that young woman? Only, she looks remarkably familiar to me.”

  “What?” Tony grunts. “What are you talking about?”

  “The young woman with Terri,” Erin repeats. “I said she looks remarkably familiar, and I wondered if perhaps you recognized her from anywhere?”

  Taking a large gulp of his whisky, Tony disdainfully shakes his head. “To be honest, I wasn’t paying that much attention to her. I only went over there to piss Marchetti off.”

  Doing her best not to antagonize him further, Erin cautiously asks, “I don’t suppose you got her name, did you?”

  Enough of the bloody Spanish Inquisition,” Tony huffs. “I’m done here.” Knocking back the rest of his drink, he slams the glass onto the bar and gets to his feet. “If you’re that interested, why not bloody go over there and ask her yourself?”

  “You’re going home?” Erin asks. “Because if you are, we can share a cab.”

  Ordinarily sharing a cab with Tony in this state is the last thing she would wish to do. But as his senior officer, leaving him to his own devices is not advisable.

  Mercifully, he declines by telling Erin that there is already a cab outside waiting for him. “I’m meeting up with some of the lads from the rugby club. Those boys really know how to party.”

  Stumbling towards the exit, Tony dismissively waves over his shoulder toward the stragglers still propping up the bar. “Later, losers. Don’t wait up.”

  Erin decides to stay around a while longer with the dual purpose of wanting to catch up with Cheeseman and to keep a watchful eye on the rest of the team. Within thirty minutes, the last of the youngsters finally leaves, and relieved and tired, she takes a last sip from her glass of rosé. Sliding the glass across the bar, she says, “Right, that’s me done as well, Frank. Thanks for keeping me company.”

  “The pleasure was all mine.” Cheeseman nods and finishes his own drink. “Do you want to share a cab, boss? I’m going your way.”

  “That’s okay. You go ahead,” Erin replies. “I want to say goodnight to the young lovers first, then I’ll call a cab for myself. Thanks for the offer, though.”

  Frowning, Cheeseman nods towards the end of the bar. “Sorry, boss. You’ve missed them. They left about twenty minutes ago.”

  Staring blankly at the pair of empty barstools, Erin tuts, “Okay, well, in that case, if the offer of a lift still stands, I’m in.”

  Twenty minutes later, Erin unlocks her front door and the taxicab continues on its way with a completely oblivious Frank Cheeseman dozing on the back seat.

  Thoroughly exhausted herself by the exertions and stress of the previous twelve days, Erin’s head barely has time to hit the pillow before she is also sleeping soundly.

  For others elsewhere on Merseyside, sleep is the furthest thing from their minds.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Soho Lounge has long been a popular spot to keep the party going, and tonight is no exception. The rooftop terrace is buzzing with late-night ravers determined to see in the weekend in style and prepared to ignore the sting of the early morning spring frost to do so.

  High on a heady cocktail of alcohol, music and chemical intoxicants, the carefree young people dance and chat, completely oblivious to the scene about to unfold on the street below.

  . . . . . . . .

  Also innocently oblivious is the tired young woman in search of a taxi after a fun night out. Limping and clearly in some discomfort, she stops below a streetlight and kicks off one of her heels to inspect the damage. Bending slightly for a closer look, she carefully rubs the bloody scab forming on her heel.

  Wincing, she shakes her head and curses herself. “Fuck, I knew I should have put a plaster on before I came out. You never learn, do you, girl?”

  A quiet voice from the shadows behind grumbles menacingly, “None of you fucking queers do. But believe me, you will.”

  Startled, the young woman’s fall is checked by the powerful arm dragging her away from the comparative safety of the light toward the foreboding darkn
ess of a shop doorway.

  A black-gloved hand across her mouth stifles the sound of her shock but also instills in her an urge to resist. She fights desperately, but ultimately in vain, as a clear and confident voice in her ear whispers, “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk. Just keep quiet and I promise to let you go once we’ve finished talking.”

  Trembling and terrified, the calmness of her assailant’s words offer a spark of hope. Wanting desperately to believe the promise, she wills herself to stop struggling and remain calm.

  She remains as still as her fears will allow, and the strong arms holding her, vice-like, slowly relinquish their grip. The young woman can just make out the hypnotic beat of dance music, but otherwise, the stillness of the night is near complete.

  Apart, of course, from the sound of her own heart beating noisily in her chest. She is unsure of what she should do next, and an agonizing few seconds pass before a strong hand spins her around.

  Face to face with her captor, she is shocked by recognition. She is doubly shocked, however, by her attacker’s appearance, and her words are choked by the onset of her tears. “Oh God, I am so very sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. Please don’t hu—”

  A hand around her throat and a clenched fist are more than adequate to serve the purpose of shocking her into premature silence. “Don’t you fucking dare, Heather Baxter. You don’t get to apologize. Do you understand me?”

  Gasping for breath, she frantically nods. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry. Please… I, I can’t breathe.”

  Suddenly released, Heather drops unceremoniously to the floor like a ragdoll. Sobbing uncontrollably, she looks up and pleads, “I thought you wanted to talk? Please, let’s just talk. We can talk about anything you want.”

  Dragged to her feet, she is ordered to remove her remaining shoe. “We’re going for a short walk and you won’t be needing it anyway.”

  Trembling uncontrollably, again she stutters, “Where, where are we going? Why can’t we talk here?”

  “I won’t ask you again,” her tormentor snarls. “Take off that shoe and stop your fucking sniveling.”