Angels Bleed (Fallen Angels Book 1) (9 page)

7:30 am

The deep resonating thrum of a yellow Air-Sea Rescue helicopter rose above the background noise of early morning traffic driving past on the A1 trunk road next to the Services that Saul was parked up in.  He was leaning against the boot of his SLK, still in his Tux, drinking a coffee.  He watched the helicopter fly overhead and out towards Holy Island, the Castle on the Island just coming into silhouette as the dawn broke in talons of ruddy orange on the horizon out to sea behind it.  A filthy, scratched and dented grey Volvo, the driver’s wing mirror held in place with gaffer tape, pulled off the main road and parked up beside him.  A few seconds behind it, wailing sirens announcing its arrival before it could be seen, a police car sped by and took a right turn onto the road towards the Island.

Saul stood and picked up another coffee which was sitting on the boot of his car and watched as a burly, broad, blonde haired man stepped out of the Volvo.  He was wearing a Mac that was covered in dog hair.  Barking could be heard as he shut the car door, shouting, ‘Shut yer yappin, Jackson.’ before turning to Saul, looking him up and down. 

‘Do I need some secret passcode to talk to you then?  The pheasants in Lothian are remarkably gamey for a chilly October, or some such nonsense?’ he said as Saul proffered him the coffee.

Saul frowned, ‘No, just a hello will do.  It’s not my usual getup, trust me.  John Saul, DI Bentley I presume?’ he said, offering his hand to shake as Bentley took the coffee.

‘Aye, that’s me, let’s get the jokes over now.  Names Fenny Bentley.  There’s nothing you can say I haven’t heard before, so try your worst.’ he dared Saul, wiping his hand on his raincoat, which covered it in more dog hair, before grabbing Saul’s hand and shaking it vigorously.  ‘What in god’s name is the commotion with the helicopter and blues and two’s all about.  Some kind of raid going on?’ he asked, looking down the road at the receding flashing lights on the police car.

‘I doubt it.  Someone is probably stranded on the causeway to the Island again.  The tide will have come in and caught them.  That’s usually why the helicopter comes out.  There are huge signs up warning people not to cross when the tide is coming in, but it must just be in our DNA to ignore the bloody things.  They have to rescue hundreds of people a year for the same stupid mistake.  It costs a fortune.’ said Saul.

‘Aye, there’s nowt as queer as folk.  Tell them not to do something and bugger me, they will.  So, I hear you Sassenachs have stumbled onto one of our old cases.’ Bentley said, joining Saul in leaning on the boot of the SLK, both of them watching the traffic now as it sped past on the A1, the sun rising behind them.

‘I wouldn’t say stumbled, more setup.  We’ve also just found out that Rebecca Angus has gone missing, either broken out of the Institute or kidnapped.’

‘Jeez, it’s a bad day knowing that loon isn’t locked away safely.  Now if it was me, I would have strung the bitch up straight away.  I’m surprised she never managed to top herself, the amount of times she tried.  Would have done us all a favour.’

‘Did you ever have anyone come and visit her while she was in custody, specifically an Irishman by the name of Hanlon, Ben Hanlon?’ Saul asked.

‘No.  No one at all came to see her.  She had no family.  She was an orphan.  Been in and out of care and foster homes.  Also spent the odd spell in juvenile centres when she was a kid.  She was ‘married’ to another dyke for a while and they had the son, Michael.  Sick if you ask me.  Took the egg out of Rebecca, implanted it into her missus.  Bobs your uncle, fanny’s your aunt, or in this case fanny’s your uncle as well, and you’ve got a bastard baby.  Her missus died in a car crash as they were going to hospital to give birth to Michael.  Justice of a sorts.  She never mentioned anyone of that name.’

‘What about Madame Evangeline.  What did you find out about her?’

Bentley smirked, shaking his head as he did so.  ‘There was no Madame Evangeline.  If you want my opinion, she made her up so we would all think she was a sandwich short of a picnic.  Worked too, kept her out of real prison and on her jollies in a hospital.  We checked out every single sex club that Rebecca told us about, and believe me, there were lots, just about every single one in the Lothian area, a few I didn’t even know about.  No one, not one person ever recalled seeing Rebecca with anyone else. Everyone recognised Rebecca.  There’s a photo-fit in the evidence boxes of how Rebecca described this Evangeline tart.  She’s the spit of Rebecca but with red hair.’

‘Yes, Dr Ennis gave me a copy of that.’

‘We talked to the club owners and showed them the photo-fit.  They said that’s how Rebecca would come in occasionally.  That’s why Dr Ennis thought she was schizo.  Same person, different colour hair, schizo personality.’

‘Did anyone from the clubs have any kind of relationship with her?’

‘You might think that.  I mean, if you are going to a sex club, the least you think you would be getting is a good shag.  She didn’t.  She watched.  She just watched.  Pervert.  No one can even recall a conversation with her beyond a polite hello.  She was a loner. A crazy loon.’

Saul took a sideways look at him, disdain on his face.  ‘Do you want to tone down the bigoted comments a little there?’

Bentley turned too, curling his lip in a sneer as he answered. ‘Look, you arrogant twat, I just speak as I find, if you don’t like it, then fuck off.  I’ve trawled my arse all the way down that excuse of a road for the past hour to help you out.  I’d welcome a little gratitude rather than attitude.’ he said, coffee spilling on his hands and down onto his and Saul’s trousers as he raised the cup animatedly while speaking.  ‘Fuck, now look what you’ve made me do.’ he finished, wiping the spill on his Mac.

‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry.’ Saul began, rubbing the coffee off himself.  ‘We do appreciate the time you’ve spared us assisting in our efforts to stop a potential murderer.  What about her son.  What did you find out about their relationship?’

‘Well now, she definitely did fuck him, and if you try to tell me that’s not sick, then you are one twisted prick too.’ he challenged. 

Saul didn’t bite.  ‘Anything else about their relationship.’ he asked.

Bentley backed down slightly.  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary, other than that.  They were close according to her work colleagues, even after he went to Uni.  He still went home a couple of times a month and would call her regularly.  He had a circle of friends at Uni.  None of them were aware he was having a sexual relationship with his mother.  He had been seeing a few girls but hadn’t been in any long term serious relationships.  He hadn’t tried any kinky stuff with them.  His best friend, a Joe Magnus, had no idea he enjoyed gimping up.  None of the neighbours where she lived knew them that well either.’

‘Did she ever talk about visiting an old, dilapidated country house out in Northumberland, either by herself or with her son?’

‘No, not that I can recall.  She did talk about visiting Madame Evangeline’s place, or what she thought was Madame Evangeline’s place, on the night of Michael’s murder.  That’s where she claimed to have killed him, but she never described it as dilapidated.’

‘Hold on, I thought she killed him in her flat?’

‘She did.  However, during questioning she claimed the three of them had left a New Year’s Eve Masquerade Ball in a taxi and gone back to what she thought was Madame Evangeline’s apartment.  In another story, she has them getting into a limousine.  She couldn’t remember how they got there or even where
there
was.  She could only describe the sick sex they got up during the journey and when they arrived.  We checked out the sex club hosting the ball.  They remember her and a guy all gimped up, presumably her son, but no one else with them.  CCTV has them getting into a taxi, and that taxi took them back to her flat.  All just part of her schizo life.’ said Bentley, finishing off his coffee and throwing the cup on the floor.

‘Apart from the sick sex, was there anything else that stood out about the apartment she described?’ asked Saul.

‘I’ve told you, it was her screwed up mind, it wasn’t real: she wasn’t really there.  She was at her flat ripping the fucking heart out of her son.  Look, I have to get back to a real case, where there are real murderers to catch.  Get the files, and if you’ve got any more stupid fucking questions, look in them.’ he scowled, going to his car and opening the boot.  A black lab covered in mud jumped out and made a beeline for Saul, sniffing his trouser leg before pissing up against him.

Bentley laughed, ‘Good boy Jackson,’ he said, ‘Open your boot up.’ he ordered Saul, who was trying to get out of the dogs way.  Saul blipped it with his key and it popped open.

‘So, she didn’t describe anything like a black fireplace, with gargoyles and cherubs on it.  Or leather chesterfield sofas.  How about a Steinway grand piano?’ Saul asked, frustration evident in his tone as he tried to avoid the dog circling him.

Bentley threw the box into the boot and turned to face him abruptly.  ‘How do you know that?’ he questioned, confusion in his chubby features.   ‘Yes, that’s exactly how she described the apartment.’

‘Then it wasn’t a figment of her imagination,’ Saul answered, shaking his leg as the dog started to chew on the bottom of the trouser,  ‘because that’s where we found her son’s exhumed body this morning.’

7:52 am

‘These clubs don’t have big flashing neon lights outside.  They are a lot more discreet, a lot more private.  I found out about the first one I went to from Destiny, the hostesses at the lap dancing bar.  After frequenting Labia’s for a number of months, I suppose becoming a regular, one evening she slipped a card into my hand as I was going into a booth to watch.  She said to me, ‘If you fancy something a little different, try this.  Take the card and let them know I sent you.  There’s a lot more to watch, and to take part in.’ she continued, smiling, stroking the back of her hand down my cheek as I walked by. ‘You never know, you might see me there.’ she finished.  I flushed red immediately, with embarrassment but also with the sharp thrill of excitement that her touch sent searing through my body.  The place was called ‘Sodom & Gomorrah’s’ with the S&M’s emboldened on the card.  There was an address and a note about the dress code: Leather. It was only a ten minute walk away from Labia’s.’ 

‘For me, visiting a club was a night out, a once a week treat.  I would spend my working hours thinking about it and spend hours after work getting myself ready.  It became a routine, a ritual.  I would have a lovely long bath with scented candles, usually apple wood; I love the smell of apple wood.  I would then do my hair.  I would try out different styles and different colours.  I loved being a redhead, it always made me feel more confident, a lot more risqué.’  She laughed, ‘If what I was doing could ever be more risqué.  I would then wax my legs and my bikini line, the feeling of being bare down there so sensual, as was the waxing.  After that I would do my nails, both my fingers and toes.  Finally I would decide what to wear.  I would try on dozens of outfits, imagining myself as a different person…’

She had been gently stroking her arm as she talked about getting ready, her gaze distant, lost in the recollection.  She stopped talking abruptly, a look of concern crossing her face as she focused on Dr Hanlon. 

‘I don’t want you to think that was part of a Multiple Personality psychosis.’ she anxiously said to him. ‘It was just role playing.  I enjoyed pretending, it added an extra dimension of excitement.’

‘It sounds to me you consciously recognise that behaviour in yourself.  It’s your choice.  It’s not a psychosis.  It’s definitely not DID.  We all imagine ourselves being someone else.  Usually to compensate for, or to escape from, what we perceive to be the failings in our own life.  That’s normal.  It’s the point at which it happens subconsciously where you have to worry.’ he said reassuringly.

The slight rise in tension abated, and Rebecca continued.  ‘That night I was a redhead.  I wore a tight fitting strapless black leather dress which laced up at the back like a corset, pulling my waist in and pushing my boobs together and up.  It was a bugger to get on by yourself.  I spent ten minutes jumping up and down just to get into it, then another half an hour at the mirror to try and get it fastened!  I wore no bra or panties underneath, there wasn’t the room.  Only black lace topped hold ups and black leather high heel ankle boots, with little silver chains dangling from a stud on the front of them.  I liked the way I looked that night.  I felt confident, excited, aroused and utterly terrified.  I didn’t know what to expect at this new club but even the terror was intoxicating.’

‘It was a chilly early autumn evening so I wore a long coat over my outfit and took a taxi to the club.  I arrived at about ten thirty at an inconspicuous door down a side alley off the main street.  There was no sign, just a bell, which I rang.  The door was answered by what you would consider to be a normal bouncer at a night club, big and broad and wearing a black suit, white shirt and shades.  I handed him the card and let him know that Destiny had sent me.  God that sounds so corny.’ She giggled, ‘But trust me, although I was trying to sound confident, I was nervous as hell and probably came across sounding like Larry the Lamb.  He looked me up and down as I smiled encouragingly at him.  He then opened the door wider and allowed me into a narrow dark hallway down which there was another door about five metres further on.  He took my coat and hung it on a rack with many more.  There was a small window in the door in front of me, through which red lights and the occasional bright white strobe flashed.  As I got closer to it, the unmistakable deep bass of dance music started to pervade the corridor.  I reached to door and, being the voyeur that I am, stood and looked into the room beyond for a few minutes, taking in this wholly new experience.’

‘To be brutally honest, my initial reaction was one of utter disappointment.  There was a fair amount of dry ice going around and to my eyes, it just looked like a normal, slightly Goth themed night club. There was a central area, where I could see lots of people dancing: or at least I thought they were dancing.  There was a long bar down one wall where people were chatting, laughing, cuddling and kissing.  Around the dance floor there were deeply recessed booths and from my vantage point, it was hard to see into them as they were very dimly lit.  I could make out the odd movement, but that was about it.  The décor was all black, with subdued red lights, the occasional strobe coming from the front of a set of decks at the far end of the central area.  And the music, my god, it was 70’s disco.  Now I don’t mind 70’s disco, but it’s not the kind of thing that goes with a Goth themed club and leather clad clientele.  I was slightly deflated to say the least at that point: until my eyes started to get accustomed to the light and I started to see through the mist.’

‘Some people were erotic dancing.  Yes, they were.  In amongst others who were touching, feeling, kissing, licking, fingering and not to put too fine a point on it, fucking, right there in the centre of the room!  I think my jaw quite literally did drop at that point.  I had expected something a little more extreme than the lap dancing club, but not as blatant as this.  I did see the odd whip being used, a few slaves being led around and pulled down by reins.  I’ll be honest, I had a slight panic attack at the sight of it all coalescing in front of me and was about to turn and walk away.  Until I saw a few single people, dotted in amongst the couples, threesomes and foursomes, just sitting casually watching and drinking.  There was one woman in particular, sat at the bar on her own.  I watched her for a few moments as she just took in the room, occasionally stroking herself sexually.  A man in a leather G-string, and nothing else, approached and whispered something in her ear.  She smiled politely at him and shook her head.  He just gave her a gentle peck on the cheek and walked away.  As much as it was overwhelming and totally outside of my experience, that one interaction gave me confidence that I could watch and be safe.  Does that make sense?’ she asked.

‘It’s normal when we start pushing the boundaries of our own experiences to get nervous, to get terrified even.  It’s what we all do.  It’s survival instinct.  If you can see something familiar in that alien environment, it becomes a crutch to support you through learning all about the new experience.  In that moment, she was your familiar.  Was that Madame Evangeline?’ he questioned.

‘No, that wasn’t her.  I get where you are coming from.  The lady was the crutch that made me walk through the door.  The overpowering smell of sweat and leather assailed my nostrils immediately, with the pungent musky odour of sex swimming in the eddies of the dry ice circling around me, as I walked through the copulating carnal circus and found an empty seat at the bar.  I ordered a drink and sat for a few minutes just taking in the rest of the room.  I could now see into the circular booths a little more.  They weren’t booths, they were beds, sunk into the floor with cushioned partitions separating them.  I looked from one to the next, sipping on my drink with a look of sheer disbelief on my face as I observed one sexual scenario after another.  In one there was a man handcuffed to metal rings on the wall, a leather cowl over his head, otherwise naked.  There were two women in the booth with him, one lashing his genitals with a whip while the other one was rolling a Wartenberg Wheel all over his skin.  In another, a man was bound hand and foot with manacles, lying on his back with one woman sitting cowboy and riding him while the other was literally sat on his face, forcing her anus and vagina over his nose and mouth.  She was facing the other lady.  They were raking each other with Vampire gloves, which were leather with small spikes in them, drawing blood while kissing each other passionately.  In nearly every case, right across the club, it was the men who were submissive.’

‘It was the first time I saw Dr Ennis.  He and a woman were in a booth with another man who was on his knees, naked.  The other man had a metal collar around his neck with two thick chains attached.  Both chains went down his back.  The first had manacles at the end which were tight on his wrists, pinning his hands and arms into the space between his shoulder blades.  The other went down to his ankles, which were pulled half way up his back.  The woman was on her knees, head down into his crotch performing fellatio on him.  Dr Ennis was sanding astride her and the bound gentleman was doing the same thing to him.’

‘To be honest, so much gratuitous sex being carried out so flagrantly was overwhelming.  I didn’t find it stimulating, I didn’t feel as though I was a voyeur in that environment.  The clandestine thrill just wasn’t there.  I think the barman, a muscle bound slim young man, wearing nothing but a leather apron around his waist, must have sensed this.  ‘First Time at a Munch?’ he asked.  ‘Can you tell?’  I replied.  ‘It’s the shell shocked, jaw dropped expression that gives it away.’ he continued, smiling at me. ‘Down the side there,’ he said, pointing to an entrance at the far end of the bar, ‘are some quiet, private rooms with places you can watch discreetly, if that’s what you like.  It’s not as in your face as this.’  I thanked him and headed for the private rooms, out of ‘Sodom and Gomorrah’ and into a quieter, more subdued corridor, the throbbing disco receding.  The setup was like Labia’s, little viewing areas in front of windowed rooms, curtains concealing them.  I popped my head into a few, which were taken, before coming to one which was empty.  I looked through the window and breathed a sigh of relief as I saw what seemed to be a normal couple.  No three or foursomes, and on initial observation, no overtly masochistic things happening.  These establishments really do love their chaise lounges, and I made myself comfortable on the one in front of the window and started to watch them.’                 

‘I thought she was giving him a gentle massage.  He was lying on his stomach, stretched out full length, just wearing a pair of leather braces which were clipped to a thin belt around his waist.  She was sitting astride him, wearing what looked like half-length chaps on her thighs, nothing on her buxom top and black Vampire Gloves.  She was gently stroking her hands from his neck, right the way down his back to the base of his spine, red weal’s rising on his skin.  As she moved down his back with her hands, her backside also moved down over his behind and onto his legs.  I could see similar striations appear there, and saw little pins all over the inside of her chaps too.  Each time she stroked or moved, he let out a low, guttural growl of pleasure from the pain, his face contorting with the agony, then softening with the ecstasy.’

‘I became engrossed in the genteel intensity of the infliction being carried out in front of me.  I started to touch myself in long lingering strokes, from my knees, down the inside of my thighs, over my stocking tops to the bare white flesh of my mound, occasionally digging my long, painted finger nails into the yielding flesh on the way.  It was all about the skin, and I tried to stroke myself in the same places that she was massaging him, my body tingling with the anticipation of the next touch.’

‘Then, I noticed a reflection appear in the window in front of me as someone popped their head through the curtain behind me.  That isn’t unusual, but once they see someone else is in the viewing area, they generally leave.  This time, she didn’t.  The pale, immaculate complexion of a female head, with gorgeously well-defined cheek bones and full, pouting lips, hovered disjointedly in front of me in the window, luscious long auburn hair setting off her intensely emerald eyes.  Eyes which were devouring what she could see of my reflection, of my dress raised around my waist, nails impressed upon naked flesh, a hand caressing my exposed breast.  My heart started to palpitate uncontrollably, the thrill of watching being overwhelmed by the thrill of being watched.  I didn’t stop touching myself.  I didn’t take my eyes off her reflection watching me.  The couple in the room in front were out of my mind now.  The only thing I could see, could think of, could feel was her voracious gaze ablaze upon me.’

‘She slinked in and slowly walked around the chaise longue.  She was wearing a skin tight leather cat suit and thigh length leather boots.  Our eyes didn’t leave the reflection in the window until she knelt on the floor down by my open thighs, at which point we turned and looked at each other.  She was smiling, a picture of controlled desire with a sparkle of lust twinkling in her eyes.  Whereas I was not.  My body was shaking, my breathing timorous: the smile I returned twitching with anticipation.  Her eyes then strayed down my body, stopping for a second to devour my breasts.  She bit her lip, supressing the urge to lean over and kiss my erect nipples.  Her gaze moved further down, drinking in the rucked up leather around my waist, darting back and forth over the bare flesh of my hips before settling on the delicate, wet, hot and pulsing area between my open thighs.’