Faithfully: Chase & Halshaw #1 (4 page)

“Sensitivity?”

“Yes. Frank and Lorna are both spitting nails about the whole
idea, as you can probably imagine.” Lewis flashed an enigmatic smile. “So why
does Amy think someone’s out to get her?” he asked.

“Did she mention that she’d received a text message,
apparently from the burglar?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“The text arrived while you were in your big meeting
yesterday morning. The wording suggested that the sender was in the meeting and
knew about the break-in at the flat.”

“So?”

“The strange thing is this, though. She hadn’t told anyone
about the break-in. She arrived at work late that morning and went straight
into the meeting.”

“Oh,” said Lewis, thoughtfully. “Poor Amy! I noticed she was
looking a bit frantic at one point. I put it down to nerves at the time, I have
to confess.”

“Nerves?”

“Yes. She was nervous about giving her presentation. Not
that she needed to be, of course.”

“Of course,” Chase replied. “But there’s more, I’m afraid.
She sent a reply almost immediately. Strongly worded, quite understandably. A
few seconds later you received a text. A personal one, from the expression on
your face.”

Lewis spluttered.

“Can you tell me who the text was from, please?”

“I’d rather not, Inspector. But it has nothing whatsoever to
do with the break-in at Amy’s, I assure you.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to be the judge of that,” said Chase,
gently.

Bryn Lewis buried his balding head in his pudgy hands. Chase
drained the last of his coffee and waited expectantly. Eventually Lewis looked
up, his face flushed. “It was from my mistress,” he replied, in little more
than a whisper.

“That’s OK,” sighed the detective, with a faint sense of
disappointment. “I’ve no interest in whether or not you’re faithful to your
wife.”

“But I am faithful to my wife,” Lewis insisted.

“I don’t follow.”

“The woman who sent the text is my Mistress, Inspector. I am
her servant. Her slave. Her plaything...”

“I understand,” Chase interjected quickly. “Do you have a
phone number for her? I need to verify your story.”

“Of course, Inspector. Give me your card. I’ll ask her if
she will deign to contact you.”

Chase handed over a business card. “Oh, one other thing.
What’s her name, your, er, Mistress?”

“My Lady Perdita,” replied Lewis, in an awed whisper.

*

“Yesterday morning went well, I thought,” declared Dave
Kelmarsh, as he tucked into his brimming plate of Chicken Tikka Masala.

Amy toyed with the homemade salad in her Tupperware box.
“Bloody shambles,” she retorted. “Hilton and Usher, fighting their corners as
usual. They don’t give a stuff about the benefits to their own companies, never
mind the Group.”

“You can’t really blame them, though. After the back office
consolidation they don’t have much of an empire left, other than their
operational systems. Now Bryn’s going to take that away from them as well.”

“Business isn’t a charity, Dave!”

He shrugged. “Your presentation went well, though.”

“Yes, I suppose it did,” she sighed.

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Dave, it’s good. But...”

Dave put down his knife and fork and leant forward,
concerned. “What’s wrong, Amy?” he asked.

“You must have heard about my break-in by now, surely.”

“Oh yeah! Sorry. That must have taken the shine off it a
bit.”

“Yeah. I was up most of Monday night with the police. I
could barely keep my eyes open yesterday morning.”

“What happened? The break-in, I mean.”

“They only got into my bedroom, thank God.”

“Did they take much?”

“Some money and jewellery, that’s all.”

“All?”

She shook her head. “No, that’s not all. They smeared dog
shit all over my bed.”

He frowned. “Sorry, Amy. It’s a bit noisy in here. I thought
you said...”

“Yeah!” she shouted. “Some fucking sicko broke into my flat
and smeared dog shit all over my fucking bed!”

Several people at adjacent tables turned and stared, but her
shout was largely drowned in the hubbub of the cafeteria.

“God, I’m sorry, Amy,” Dave said. He reached for her, but
faltered, and picked up his cutlery instead. “So why didn’t you take the day
off yesterday?”

“Didn’t want to miss the meeting,” replied Amy, in a flat
voice. “I’d worked bloody hard on that presentation and I was damned if anyone
else was going to deliver it. No offence, of course...”

“Of course not.” He took a large forkful of curry and chewed
thoughtfully. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Give me something to smile about, Dave. Tell me a dirty
joke. Show me pictures of your kids. Anything.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he grinned, pulling out his
iPhone. “Here you go,” he said, handing it across. “It was Emily’s first day at
school last week, and I took some pictures of her when she came home.”

“Let’s have a look.” The photos showed a pretty, dark haired
little girl, faultlessly turned out in grey gymslip and white blouse, beaming
proudly at the camera.

“Aw!” she smiled. “That was at the end of the day, was it?”

“Yes. Why?”

Amy’s smile softened. “Oh, just that she doesn’t have a hair
out of place. I always looked like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards.
Mum used to despair of me.”

“I was always a wreck by the end of the day too,” Dave
replied, running a hand over his cropped head. “Emily gets that from her Mum.”

“She’s the one with the neat and tidy genes, has she?”

“Among many other things, yeah.”

“You’re a lucky guy, Dave.”

He smiled. “Oh, I dunno. Depends what you want from life,
really.”

“True, I suppose...”

Dave tore off a hunk of naan bread and dunked it in the thick,
aromatic sauce. “What did the police say? About the break-in, I mean. Any
clues?”

“They didn’t say much. They took fingerprints, of course,
and did all that CSI stuff. The detective took a statement, and his boss came
round yesterday afternoon. That was why I didn’t hang around after the
meeting.”

Dave nodded and swallowed. “How did it go?”

“OK, I suppose. He seemed nice enough.” She grinned. “I
think Mum fancied him.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much, really. He said there have been loads of
break-ins just like this, so I’m not holding out much hope.”

“Oh, OK. Are you having to sleep on the sofa or something?”

“No. After we’d finished with the police on Monday night,
Mum took me back to hers and I slept in my old bed. Trouble was, by the time I
finally got into bed I only had an hour’s sleep before I had to get up for
work.”

“Are you back at yours now?”

“No. Mum’s desperate to do something to help, so I’m going
to let her mother me for a few more days.”

“That’s not a problem, is it? I thought you got on well with
your Mum.”

“Oh, it’s not that,” she replied quickly. “We’re both used
to having our own space, that’s all. But at least I won’t have to cook myself
dinner.”

“Is she trying to feed you up again?”

“Course she is. But right now, comfort food is just what I
need.”

“Like what?”

“She’s promised me Toad-in-the-Hole for dinner tonight.”

“Brilliant!” grinned Dave.

“Hello, Nicky,” whispered Chase, closing the door behind
him.

The plump, mousey woman in the chair by the bed looked up at
him. “Hiya,” she replied, trying unsuccessfully to force a warm smile.

Chase pulled up another chair and sat next to her. “How’s he
doing?” he asked.

Nicky Thomas looked back at the wired and bandaged figure in
the bed. “OK, I guess,” she sighed.

“Is he still under the anaesthetic?”

“No, he came round an hour or two ago. So he’s off the
respirator, thank God. But he’s in a lot of pain, so he’s still pretty drugged
up.”

“Can he hear us?”

She shook her head sorrowfully.

“Did he say anything?”

She shook her head again.

Chase looked into her red-rimmed eyes. “How are you doing,
Nicky?”

“Great, yeah. Fine,” she said, blinking back her tears.

“Did you get any sleep at all last night?”

“No. I mean, how could I...?”

“When did you last eat? Properly, I mean.”

“Dinner time yesterday. The kids and I had Spaghetti
Bolognese. I put some of the sauce in the fridge, for Kenny, for when he got
home...” She snuffled, and wiped her nose and eyes on a crumpled tissue.
“Sorry.”

Chase laid a sympathetic hand on her arm. “Why don’t you go
home, Nicky?” he said. “Have a soak in the bath, have a glass of wine, spend
some time with the children.”

Nicky ran her chapped hands through her dishevelled hair.
“But what if he wakes up?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll sit with him for a bit. And I’ll call you
if anything happens.”

“Promise?”

“Of course.”

“You’ve got my mobile number, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And Mum’s, just in case?”

Chase nodded emphatically. “Off you go, Nicky.”

She pulled on her fleece and slung her bag over her
shoulder. “Thanks, Al,” she whispered, as she kissed his cheek.

After she had closed the door behind her, Chase shrugged off
his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair she had occupied. Then he
looked across at his friend, at his bruised and battered face, and listened to
his deep, regular breathing.

“God, Ken,” Chase sighed. “What a bloody mess!”

No reply.

“If only you’d caught that lad. Did you know there was a car
waiting for him, just round the corner? A silver Micra, apparently, with
ladders on the roof?”

Ken’s breathing continued regularly.

“Is that what happens, do you think? Someone has a car
waiting, with ladders? God, Ken, I wish we could talk this over. I know we’d
crack it. We always do, don’t we? Well, almost always...”

The door opened. Startled, Chase spun round, and saw a
uniformed nurse slip inside. She was a slight Indian woman, a clipboard
clutched against her chest like a shield.

“Who are you, sir?” she demanded.

Chase reached for his jacket pocket and produced his warrant
card.

Her demeanour changed immediately. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I
didn’t realise...”

“That’s all right,” replied Chase, struggling to force a
smile. “Ken’s my Sergeant, my...” he swallowed, “...and my friend.”

The nurse nodded as she jotted down readings from the back of
instruments beside the bed, and made an infinitesimal adjustment to the drip
that fed into the patient’s arm.

“How is he?” Chase asked.

The nurse hesitated. “Stable, I suppose,” she replied,
eventually. “He seems to have come through the operation OK, and he’s resting
now. Just as long as there aren’t any complications...”

“Complications? How do you mean, complications?”

The nurse looked back at him evenly. “Where’s Mrs Thomas?”
she asked.

“She’s gone home. For a bath and something to eat, I hope.”

“That’s good. There isn’t much she can do here, and Sergeant
Thomas needs to rest.”

“All right, nurse. I get the hint. I won’t stay too long, I
promise.”

The nurse nodded curtly and went on her way.

Chase walked over to check that she had shut the door behind
her. “We should have gone for that pint, Ken” he said. “You’d have been in the
car. With me. Safe. Not... like this.”

No answer.

Chase walked across to the bed and bent over his friend,
trying not to wince at the grazes and cuts on his face, the traces of caked
blood in the creases around his nose and mouth, the livid purple bruises
beneath both eyes.

“We’ll get him, Ken. I promise you. Not the guy who hit you,
I mean. He’s just some guy. I let him go in the end.”

Ken Thomas’ even breathing continued.

“I meant the burglar, of course. We’ll find him, somehow.
We’ll get a break sooner or later. And when you get out of here, Ken...”

Thomas seemed to pause in mid-breath. Chase froze. A moment
later, Thomas seemed to shudder and his breathing resumed its steady rhythm.

Chase slumped into the chair. “God, I really need your help,
Ken,” he sighed. “This case... I don’t know...”

“Good evening, sir. Can I help you?” asked the maître d’, a
well-fed, glossy man, immaculate in black tie.

“Yes,” replied Chase, glancing around the restaurant. “I’m
supposed to be meeting somebody here, but I think I might be first.”

“Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes. It’s in the name of Faith. I’m a minute or two early,
though.”

The maître d’ nodded impassively. “Not a problem, sir.
Please follow me.”

He led Chase to a large round table at the back of the
restaurant, partially screened by several tall Swiss Cheese Plants. He held a
chair for Chase to sit in, then shook out the intricately folded napkin with a
flourish and laid it on his lap.

A white-jacketed waiter materialised silently at his elbow.
“Glass of wine, sir?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

“Certainly, sir,” said the waiter, and scurried away.

Chase looked around him. The restaurant was deeper than it
appeared from outside, but was still cramped and narrow. Despite it being a
weeknight, almost every table was occupied, by couples, families, groups. Yet
the large table he had been shown to was only set for two.

A few moments later the waiter reappeared, clutching a bottle.
He placed it in the centre of the table, between the cruet and a glass jar
containing a red candle, and left without opening it.

Chase tried to call the waiter back, but the waiter
disappeared into the kitchen and did not reappear. Puzzled, he picked up the
bottle and studied the label. It was a Châteauneuf-du-Pape, several years old.
Not what I would have chosen, he said to himself. An Australian Shiraz would
have suited me fine. Something like that, anyway. Just as long as it had a
screw cap, not a cork.

Several minutes passed. The waiter did not reappear. No
other waiter would make eye contact. There wasn’t even a menu or a wine list
for him to read. Chase began to feel embarrassed and a little angry, as he
became increasingly aware of the curious stares of some of his fellow diners.
He took out his phone and listened to her voicemail message again. “Meet me at
Chez Bertrand, South Bourne, at seven thirty,” she had said. “I’ve reserved a
table in the name of Faith.” Her voice was calm, well spoken, neutral. Chase
was wholly unable to form a mental picture of her.

Eventually, Chase had had enough. He stood and pulled on his
jacket. As he did so he heard a quiet chuckle from behind him.

“Leaving already, are you, Inspector?” she asked.

Chase spun round. Facing him was a slim, pleasant looking
woman wearing a short red trenchcoat, belted tightly at the waist. Her lustrous
black hair was cut in a simple bob with a heavy fringe, which combined with her
high cheekbones to lend her dark brown eyes an oriental look. Her thin lips
were painted a pale coral pink. Over one shoulder she carried a large white
leather handbag, with a gold buckle in the shape of a double G.

“Inspector Chase, I presume?” she asked.

“That’s right,” replied Chase, as they shook hands. “Nice to
meet you, Ms...?”

“Please sit down,” she said, briskly.

Baffled, Chase did as he was bid. She unbuckled her coat and
slipped it off, revealing a white cashmere twinset beneath. As she turned to
hand her coat to the maître d’, who hovered obsequiously behind her, Chase
noticed a glint of something metallic tucked into the waistband of her black
tailored trousers. Handcuffs, perhaps, Chase wondered, but the woman had
already sat at the table.

The waiter reappeared and lit the candle. Then he produced a
corkscrew, deftly opened the bottle, and poured a small quantity into a glass
for her to taste.

Chase watched her as she inspected the wine carefully. She’s
probably in her mid-thirties, he thought, pretty enough without being in any
sense devastating. So how on earth is she able to bend egos like Bryn Lewis’ to
her will?

Eventually, she tasted the wine, and gave a curt nod of
approval. Chase noticed the waiter relax visibly as he began to pour.

“Bryn said you wanted to speak to me,” she began, looking directly
at him over the rim of her wineglass.

“That’s right,” Chase replied. “Mr Lewis claimed you sent
him a text yesterday morning. About ten o’clock, it would have been. Is that
correct?”

“Yes, I did.” She raised her eyebrows quizzically. “Was that
all?”

He shook his head. “What was the text about? Mr Lewis had
deleted the message, and he didn’t feel it was appropriate to disclose the
content.”

“I always send my vassals a text, the day before their next
appointment.”

“A reminder?”

“Partly, yes. And partly to build the anticipation.”

“Anticipation?” repeated Chase, stupidly.

“Yes, Inspector. I’m convinced that half the sensation my
vassals experience is due to anticipation, rather than anything that takes
place while we’re actually together.”

“Do you have many, er, vassals?”

She sipped her wine appreciatively. Chase couldn’t help
noticing the tiny blue and yellow butterfly tattooed on the inside of her right
wrist. “Not many, now. I used to have more, but not now.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t need any more, Inspector.”

“You must be expensive, then?”

She smiled for the first time, a broad smile with a touch of
haughtiness that made Chase begin to reconsider his scepticism. “Very,” she
replied. “You have no idea.”

Chase couldn’t think of an intelligent response to that.
“How did you get into this, er, line of business?” he asked instead.

“It’s a long story, Inspector. Are you sure you want to hear
it?”

“Yes, I do. Very much.”

“All right.” She paused and took another sip of wine. “I suppose
it began when I was a teenager,” she said eventually. “I was never terribly
interested in the boys in my class. Just as well, because they weren’t terribly
interested in me either.” She smiled again, more softly this time. “My uncle
Adrian used to have a major crush on me. I know, because he told me years
later. Not that he ever did anything about it, you understand. He wasn’t
abusive. But I discovered I could persuade him to do things that other people
couldn’t. Not even his wife. That was when I began to realise that I had a
talent for controlling men.”

The waiter reappeared and refilled their glasses. He was
just turning away when she spoke.

“I’d like to see the manager, please,” she said, amiably.

“It’s his night off, madam,” the waiter responded. “I am the
duty manager this evening.”

She squared her shoulders. “I said, I’d like to see the
manager, please,” she repeated, in a commanding tone, her eyes flashing.

“But...”

“Now, please!”

Beaten, the waiter scurried away.

“You were saying?” prompted Chase.

She sipped her wine, her eyes never leaving his. “I used to
practise on my male teachers,” she continued. “Not that I really needed to – I
was usually pretty good at schoolwork – but it was fun to push it a little bit,
to see if I could get a better mark here or a favour there.”

“And could you?”

“Not always, no. I’m not infallible, even now. But I got
much better at it, very quickly.”

“And then what?”

“University. I read Psychology. All very interesting, but
not much use for my special skills. That was when I took up lap dancing for a
while.”

“To pay your way, you mean?”

“Yes, partly. And to develop my skills too. It was good
discipline, asserting my will without speaking.” She chuckled. “Don’t look so
disapproving, Inspector. Many lap dancers are intelligent women. One in four
has a degree, apparently.”

“What happened after you left University?”

“I got a job. In the City. It didn’t work out, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to be in control, Inspector. I can’t have
some idiot telling me what to do, especially when he’s half as intelligent as
me and living twenty years in the past.”

“What happened?”

“My boss and I went on a business trip together. Zurich, it
was. We got on famously, mostly because I did what I was told for once. On the
last night we went out for dinner together, and drank an awful lot of rather
good Swiss wine. Then he took me to a club he knew.”

She paused, and took another sip of wine. Before she could
continue, a heavy-set man in a rumpled lounge suit hurried up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he panted.

She looked back at him and narrowed her eyes slightly.

The man took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, more
calmly. He turned to Chase. “Good evening, sir. Is everything to your
satisfaction?”

“Very good, thank you,” replied Chase, neutrally.

The man turned to back to her. “Jacques said you wanted to
see me, My Lady.”

She narrowed her eyes further. “Not here, Pascal,” she
snapped, in an undertone. “And stop apologising!”

“I’m sorry.” Pascal ran a hand through his gelled dark hair and
shook his head in confusion. “You wanted to see me?” he asked again.

“Is everything taken care of?” she demanded.

“Of course, My... I mean madam.”

“Very good. Thank you, Pascal. That will be all.”

Pascal made as if to bow, thought better of it, and scuttled
away.

“You were saying something about a nightclub?” Chase
prompted.

“Yes. It wasn’t just any nightclub, though. It was a private
BDSM club. Very exclusive. And pretty hard-core, I realised later. He probably
thought it would turn me on, and that afterwards he could have me, do what he
wanted to me.”

“But it didn’t work out that way?”

“No. I realised that that was how I could control him. That
night, he became my first vassal, and we spent several very enjoyable hours
together in his hotel suite.” She smiled distantly. “Poor man, he had an
uncomfortable flight home the next day, though.”

“Then what?”

“Our working relationship had changed. And it became very
clear that he couldn’t be my boss any more. So I persuaded him to give me an
excellent severance package, which helped me set up my own business.”

“Is he still a vassal now?”

“No, Inspector. He died a couple of years ago, sadly.”

Chase nodded sympathetically.

Before she could continue, the waiter materialised at their
side, carrying a giant tray. He laid a plate of food in front of each of them,
with a brimming bowl of salad to one side, and departed.

Chase looked down. “But... I didn’t order this,” he
spluttered.

“It’s the speciality of the house,” she smiled.

“What? Steak and chips?” He prodded the meat with his fork
dubiously. “This looks a bit rare to me.”

Her smile broadened. “Very, very rare,” she replied. “But
nowhere in London serves better Steak Frites. Trust me, Inspector.”

“Very well,” replied Chase, grudgingly. He cut a morsel of
steak, surprised at how tender it was, and chewed cautiously.

“How is it?”

“Absolutely delicious.”

“You see, Inspector, you should trust me. That’s what I
demand of all my vassals. Complete and utter trust. And it’s always worth it, I
promise you.”

“Because you fulfil their fantasies, you mean?”

She looked back at him angrily for a moment, but then
chuckled. “Of course not,” she replied. “Most people’s fantasies are pretty
banal, don’t you think?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not in the business of fulfilling fantasies, Inspector.
I’m not a whore.”

“Then what...?”

“I can take my vassals to places they never dreamed of,
Inspector. But only if they submit to my demands, totally and unconditionally.”

“I see. What else do you demand of your vassals?”

“Faith, forbearance, and utter devotion. That’s all.” She
smiled. “Not much to ask, is it?”

Chase took another mouthful of steak. It was every bit as
good as the first. “So Pascal is another of your vassals, is he?”

She chuckled again. “Not jealous, are you, Inspector?”

Discomfited, Chase said nothing, and for the next couple of
minutes they both concentrated on their dinners. Eventually he plucked up the
courage to ask another question. “So when did Bryn Lewis last come to visit
you?”

“He doesn’t come to visit me,” she retorted. “I summon him.”

Chase nodded quickly. “Where did you meet?”

“In a hotel, not far from Skyline Place. Very discreet. I
use it for meetings with several of my vassals. The others, I visit at their
homes. Very occasionally, I permit a vassal to take me away for a night or two
somewhere. At his expense, of course.”

“So what happens? Does Mr Lewis phone you to make an
appointment, or something?”

“No. I contact him, and tell him when and where we’ll meet.”

“Isn’t that inconvenient for a busy man like him?”

“Of course it is. But I’m not completely unreasonable,
Inspector. I always try to make it tolerably easy for him. Or his PA, I should
say. She has a lot to put up with, poor woman.”

“Do you know her?”

“Di? No, I’ve never met her, as far as I’m aware. I feel I
know her well, though. Bryn often talks about her. I think he’d be lost without
her.”

“You mentioned a hotel. Don’t you have your own, er,
premises?”

“Of course I do. Fully equipped, soundproofed dungeon and
everything. But I haven’t used it for a couple of years. It’s just a storeroom
now.”

“Do you have any family?”

“I’m all alone in the world now, and very happily so.”

“And you get pleasure from this, er, act, do you?”

“It’s not an act, Inspector,” she replied, sternly. “I’ve
spent all my life putting on one act after another. Obedient daughter, dutiful
student, and so on. No, when I’m with a vassal, that’s the real me. No acts, no
pretences.”

“Does it give you pleasure?”

“Of course. But not sexual pleasure, if that’s what you’re
thinking. Not really. It’s more the satisfaction of being truly excellent at
something. You must know that sensation, Inspector, when you solve a
particularly difficult crime?”