fantastic material for her website. He had her password for the site, so he could put new stuff on without having to contact her. He would wait, as Charlie had suggested. Talk to him when the cops weren’t about. He was definitely going to put Natasha Billingsgate on though. That would teach the snotty cow a lesson.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
Natasha Billingsgate walked out from the police station less than an hour after she walked in. When she told them she was in Barrie’s body at the time of the murder, the Detective Inspector had simply nodded as if it was an everyday occurrence; there was no hint from him or the female police officer with him in the interview room, that they thought she was raving mad. They listened sympathetically and when she finished her story, the Detective Inspector seemed more interested in why she had gone to visit Lucinda Lovebrace in the first place, rather than the murder itself. When she explained about Lucinda Lovebrace hacking into the Travel Plan database to steal customer information for her own travel company, he raised an eyebrow and asked why she had not involved the police. She told him it was agreed by the Travel Plan Board, that she, that was, Barrie should approach Lucinda Lovebrace to come to some arrangement without letting the matter go public. Other than asking her to confirm that she was also in Barrie’s body at the time of the Board Meeting, he had no other questions and told her that her husband had been released on police bail and she was free to leave.
Barrie was having a shower. She put her head around the bathroom door, said hi and walked back into the bedroom. She made the bed, noticing that the sex toys, which had been strewn around had been packed away into a pink vanity case. When Barrie came out from the bathroom, she had opened the case and was examining the contents. The towel wrapped around his waist started to lift. She looked at it and gave him a wry smile. ‘Neither of us seems capable of controlling that thing of yours.’ He nodded miserably. Now was not the right time for sex. They had a lot to discuss, there was so much he needed to know. He watched as she took the long pink vibrator from the case and stroked the head with her slender fingers.
‘I found this inside me when I woke up this morning, did my body enjoy it?’ His erection was total, pushing hard and horizontal against the towel. Was she angry? He replied with care. ‘Yes, although the rabbit was your – sorry – my favourite.’
She sighed, put the vibrator back in the case, closed the lid, walked over, put her hands around his neck and pulled herself up to plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘Don’t let’s say sorry anymore, we can tell each other what happened – in bed.’ She let go with her arms and slid down onto her knees, pulling the towel away in the process. Barrie felt her soft kisses, not daring to think she would go any further, then he felt her lips and her luscious mouth and he heard himself groan, knowing it was him and afterwards when he asked her if she did, she giggled and he knew she had and that they were well and truly back in their own bodies.
By the Tuesday, Barrie and Natasha had caught up with all that had happened. No one, other than the police knew and even Detective Inspector Cardhew, who approached every crime with an open mind, could believe Natasha’s version of events. He and his team were busy seeking other suspects.
He had visited Travel Plan on Monday morning, questioned all the executive directors and acquired a copy of the minutes from the meeting described by Natasha Billingsgate, which was uncannily similar to her version. Common sense told him that the only way she could have got the information was from her husband, but how?
On Tuesday, a day earlier than he had anticipated, he received the result of the autopsy. Lucinda Lovebrace had died from asphyxiation. Her brain had been deprived of oxygen, probably for sexual gratification. As he suspected, the flakes on her face was dried semen, which had been inhaled, indicating that who ever had deposited it there was part of the sex game which led to her death. It was, in all likelihood, a regular client she knew and trusted, but chillingly, he was happy to walk away and leave her to die. There was no DNA match in police records, so they were going to have to do it the hard way. He had been under pressure from on high to endorse Kimberley’s suspicions and was relieved to note that the results proved beyond any doubt that it was not Barrie Billingsgate.
Desmond Partridge looked at the page layout for the Wednesday edition of the Hamsworth Bugle; he had a choice of two front page stories. One was a denial by Meltcon that they had approached the police with the name of an alleged arsonist. An internal investigation had revealed that the fire was caused through poor practice and a senior manager had been suspended. The other was the identity of the woman whose body had been discovered in, mysterious circumstances in Hamsworth's golden triangle. It was a no brainer; that had to be his lead story. He was, however, confronted with an ethical problem. He called Ed Templeman’s mobile. There was no answer so he left a voice message.
‘Hi Ed. The police have released the identity of the body at Laburnham Court together with a photograph. Thing is, we’ve got a far more interesting one of her on the file we downloaded from Dudley Wink’s camera. We need to discuss what we’re going to do about it. Contact me as soon as you get this message. Ciao.’
Dudley Wink was working on the Anita Van Beta website when his phone rang. He answered quickly, not wanting to disturb his wife who was reading in the bedroom below. His work room in the loft, a well insulated room had drawn him to the property when he moved down from London. It was set up with his computer and photographic equipment by the time he met and married Linda, she set about making changes to the rest of the house, but the room in the loft was his and he couldn’t remember the last time she had bothered to climb up the ladder, whenever she wanted him she would shout from below, which suited Dudley.
‘Sorry Ed, say that again.’ He couldn’t believe what Ed Templeman was telling him. It was Lucinda Lovebrace – his Nymphie, who died, not one of her clients as he had assumed. How did that happen? Perhaps she had a heart attack? He had seen how frantic she could become. The police had just released her name, together with a photograph and Des Partridge twigged it was the same woman they had seen in a compromising positions on the file they downloaded from his camera. Shit! All the sadness he felt for the loss of Nymphie was replaced by concern for his own situation. He’d forgotten all about those pictures of her, lying on her enormous bed, looking up at the mirror as she played with herself. Ed told him that he had persuaded his editor not to approach the police until they had a chance to chat. He suggested it would look better for him if he went to the police and told them of his involvement with Lucinda Lovebrace. Dudley thanked him and said he would go to see them right away. Ed said he would tell Des Partridge, and he had some good news for him. He had another story linked to the Meltcon fire and they would probably use another one of his pictures. The one where Peter Bunford is hitting a manager on the nose – might even get syndicated again.
The news should have cheered Dudley, but it could not displace the sadness he felt for the loss of Nymphie Nita. He had not thought for one single minute that it could have been her. Why hadn’t Charlie told him? What was he to do? It was easy for Ed to say he ought to go to the police, but he didn’t know what he was involved in. Sod it, he was proud of what he had done for Lucinda Lovebrace and grateful for what she had done for him. They understood each other perfectly. He had lost a very good friend.
‘Who was that Dudley?’
‘No one dear.’
‘What do you mean no one? I heard the phone and I heard you talking.’
Dudley moved quickly to the top of the ladder. The last thing he wanted was for her to come up when he was completing the edit of Nymphie with Barrie Billingsgate, which he was going to re-title as, ‘Rough Sex’.
‘It was Ed Templeman at the Bugle, they want to use another one of my pictures. He wants me to go over to discuss it.’
‘What? At 10 o’clock at night?’
‘They want to use it in tomorrow’s edition. He reckons there’s a good chance it could get syndicated, same as the last one.’
She was leaning back to look up at him, a stance which revealed more of her tits than she would normally let him see. They were quite happy in their marriage, but she had no idea of what he would really like from her. No
