Silk Over Razor Blades (6 page)

‘The world doesn’t revolve
around you and your girlfriend, Mr Harrison.’ Ignoring Nick’s
glare, Thorne pressed on, addressing himself to Lenina again. ‘So,
you remember nothing, then all of a sudden this guy bit you. And
there was blood everywhere but you’ve conveniently had a shower,
washing away all the evidence.’

She bit her lip. Frustration
bubbled through her calm. ‘There
is
evidence. Look at my
face. He had a knife— no a dagger or something.’

‘Now there’s a weapon? This
story keeps getting better.’

‘Brad . . .’ Blake made a
‘steady’ gesture with his free hand. ‘We’re here to
investigate.’

‘How can we investigate if the
story keeps changing?’

Nick bunched his hands into
fists. ‘It’s not a story. Look at us. We’re cleaned up but look at
my face. How else would I get bruises like this?’

Thorne didn’t speak, but Lenina
saw his gaze flick towards her.

‘It’s the truth,’ she said. ‘He
really did bite me. He said something about a tribute.’

With every word she spoke more
details returned.

‘Tribute? Meaning?’

‘I have no idea. It’s just what
I remember.’

‘Right. Okay.’

Nick surged to his feet. ‘I
don’t think I like your attitude, Detective Thorne.’ The South
African traces in his accent strengthened, a sure sign that anger
had mastered his reason.

‘And I
know
I don’t like
yours, Mr Harrison.’

‘We’re victims, né? You should
be protecting us. How about doing your job?’

Thorne swelled like a rotting
fruit. ‘I’m a detective inspector of the law. Watch your
mouth.’

‘You watch yours.’

Lenina watched the play-off
between Thorne and her fiancé for a moment or two before covering
her face with her hands.

When a gentle hand touched her
shoulder she almost cried aloud, but it was only Sergeant Blake.
His fingers were warm through the layers of clothing, the weight of
his grip a gentle comfort.

‘You okay?’ he whispered.

She stared into his eyes,
caught up by the strange sensation of reassurance she got from
doing so. Slowly she shrugged his hand away. ‘Why doesn’t he
believe me?’

He cleared his throat and
leaned back, clasping both hands before him. ‘We’re forced to look
at our cases from every possible angle, but that’s no excuse for
him to make you feel like the bad guy. Tell
me
what you
remember.’

‘You believe me?’

‘I believe that
you
believe it. That’s plenty for me.’ He smiled, showing off the
straight white lines of his teeth. That same curl of hair fell into
his eyes and he flicked it back again, an unconscious gesture as
distracting as it was endearing.

‘Miss Miller?’

She stopped staring, and
clasped her hands to avoid touching her flushed cheeks. ‘Sorry,
what?’ When she realised that her gesture mirrored his, she tucked
both hands beneath her on the sofa.

His gaze made her stomach
squirm, her palms sweat. Like the nights spent gazing at the
posters of pop stars plastering the walls of her bedroom during her
teenage years.

She wiped the hands on her
dressing gown again and winced when her engagement ring caught her
eye with a glimmer of reflected light. A rush of guilt flooded her
stomach.

‘You need to tell me what you
remember. If we plan to catch this man, I must know everything. Can
you help me with that?’ The low undertones in Blake’s voice seemed
to suggest more.

Lenina watched his face,
searching for a hint of playfulness to match what she heard in his
voice. Or thought she heard.

‘He bit me,’ she whispered. ‘On
the neck.’

‘Show me.’

She turned her head and tilted
her chin, tugging at her dressing gown. Blake’s hands nudged at her
pyjama top then peeled the bandage down.

As the sticky edges tugged her
skin, fresh pain shot through her neck and shoulder.

‘Sorry,’ he murmured, still
pulling.

Removing the bandage
completely, he hovered his fingers over the area. ‘Not much
bruising. More than one set of marks, overlapping. He really
did
bite you, didn’t he?’

The last fragment of memory
clunked into place. The stranger’s hands on her neck, her ribs, her
face. The loud gulps as he swallowed. Moans of pleasure. Blood
trickling down her chin. Pooling in her ear.

‘Yes. He was drinking the
blood.’

Blake gazed at her, his green
eyes calm. Serious. Accepting. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. Please, I know it sounds
crazy, but he did. He got off on it.’

‘It’s okay, Miss Miller. I
believe you.’ Though he never once touched her, muscles low in
Lenina’s body clenched in response. He pulled away after too short
a moment. Her gaze followed his fingers.

‘It’s not too bad, quite neat
despite the overlapping marks. You should still get it looked
at.’

‘That’s what Nick said.’

‘Go to your GP. You may need
antibiotics to be sure it doesn’t get infected.’ He stepped back.
‘You said you had a shower; I assume there was blood on your
clothes too?’

‘Yes, they’re upstairs.’

‘I’ll need to take them.
Grappling with this man should have left some trace of him. Be
right back.’

Lenina watched him leave and
return thirty seconds later wearing thin latex gloves. He carried a
handful of large paper bags, a camera and a small metal ruler.

He took several pictures of the
marks on her throat and the scratch on her face before measuring
both with the ruler. All the results he jotted in his notebook.

His actions interrupted the
stand-off between Nick and Inspector Thorne.

‘What are you doing?’ snapped
Thorne.

Blake gave his partner a steady
look. ‘Miss Miller mentioned blood on her clothing, I’m going to
bag it. Problem?’

Thorne looked stunned. ‘No,
but—’

‘Good.’ He didn’t wait for the
rest, instead gestured to the stairs. ‘Lead the way, Miss
Miller.’

Lenina bit back a smile at
Thorne’s dressing down and walked past Blake’s outstretched arm to
ascend the stairs.

She pushed open the bathroom
door and pointed to the pile of clothes and bed sheets nearby. She
loitered in the doorway and watched Blake bend down and lift the
stained workout vest with the tip of his pencil. Her bra caught in
one of the arm holes and dangled in the air.

He cleared his throat. Dropped
it quickly. Moved on. ‘We’ll need to take all of these clothes. Is
that okay?’

‘Yes, of course. I want them
out of this house. I don’t need the reminder. I just want . . .’
she sighed, hugging herself. ‘I don’t want to think about it any
more.’

‘I appreciate that, Miss Miller
but I’m afraid I have more questions.’

When she tensed he stood
straight and moved closer. The hot rush of his breath billowed over
her cheeks as he moved in. Near enough to pick out individual hairs
in the faint shadow of stubble about his jaw.

‘Tell me more. Have you seen
him before?’

‘Not before the boutique. But
he knew Nick’s name. What does that mean? I’d never notice him
normally— what if he’s been following me?’

Blake placed a hand on her arm.
Warm and strong, his fingers flexed against her dressing gown. She
didn’t pull away.

‘We’ll catch him. I
promise.’

‘Thanks. And thank you for not
dismissing me. I know your partner thinks I’m nuts or just looking
for attention.’ She swallowed and tore her gaze free of his,
looking instead at the shiny toes of his shoes.

‘No one should dismiss you.’
Another flex of his fingers. ‘Everything you say has value.’

Her gaze snapped up. ‘Excuse
me?’

‘In the case, I mean. This man
could be very ill.’

‘Oh.’ Despite herself, Lenina’s
shoulders sank with disappointment. She stepped back. ‘I never
thought of that.’

‘I have to explore every
avenue.’ Blake bent to the pile of bloody clothes and placed them,
one by one, into the bags. He sealed each one and wrote the date
and time across the top. ‘Can you remember anything else?’

She cast back, searching the
tattered scraps of memory. ‘I bit him.’ The remembered taste of
blood and skin made her heave. She clapped a hand to her mouth and
tried to ignore the tingling in her gums. ‘I wasn’t trying to hurt
him— I was scared.’

‘Given the circumstances, I
think you can be forgiven.’

‘But I got skin in my mouth.
And blood.’

Sergeant Blake became very
still.

‘Am I in trouble? Is that
bad?’

‘Don’t be alarmed, Miss Miller,
but you must visit your GP. Let them assess if you need counselling
and take the necessary blood tests.’

‘Blood tests?’ Her voice jumped
several octaves.

‘It’s a small risk, but if you
did ingest some blood you should get checked for all the
blood-borne diseases. Particularly HIV and hepatitis.’

Lenina leaned in the doorway
and sniffed back tears. ‘This can’t be happening. I’m getting
married in two weeks. I have a dress. I have flowers. Doves.
Catering. This can’t be real.’ Tears trickled down her cheeks.

The detective moved closer. His
hand touched her shoulder again. ‘You’ll be okay.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘Have faith. We’ll catch this
guy and lock him up, then we can all move on. Get those tests. If
they come to anything I have the numbers of some excellent
counsellors. You’re not alone.’

She sniffed. ‘Thanks.’

His hand squeezed her
shoulder.

Lenina leaned against him and
caught the scent of peppermint on his breath, clean and fresh. It
reminded her of home and the garden in which her mother also grew
basil, thyme and sage. Safety and comfort all wrapped up in a
single familiar scent.

The tears dried. She stepped
back. ‘You must think I’m an idiot.’

‘Not at all. You’ve been very
strong about all of this.’

She opened her mouth to say
something self-deprecating, but the words melted on her tongue. She
gazed into the sergeant’s eyes and lingered there, wallowing in a
green so deep it reminded her of forests and exotic oceans. Heat
crept up her face and neck, forcing her to look away.

‘Sorry,’ he frowned. ‘I don’t
mean to embarrass you, but Mr Harrison is a lucky man.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You said you were getting
married I just assumed . . . my mistake.’

‘No, you’re right.’

‘Then he
is
a lucky man.
Shall we go back down?’

In that moment Lenina could
have stayed in that bathroom for the rest of her life, enjoying the
scent of mint and Sergeant Blake’s warmth. Then she saw the smears
of blood on the sink and shuddered.

‘Okay. I think they’ve stopped
shouting now.’ She took the lead back to the living room, relieved
to find everything in one piece when she got there.

Nick sat on the sofa with his
hands clenched in his lap, watching Thorne who glared studiously at
the framed photos above the fireplace.

Neither of them spoke.

‘We’re done here,’ Blake broke
the brittle silence. ‘Unless there’s anything else to add, I think
we’ve taken enough of your time.’

Nick stood and held out his
hand for a shake. ‘No, that’s everything, Detective. Thanks.’

When Lenina’s turn came she
slipped her hand into his and held tight. His skin was warm, dry
and smooth. Large and powerful, his hands closed over hers and
squeezed firmly. The contact sent a little wriggle of warmth
rushing up and down her arm. She heard the sigh of soft voices in
her ear and the scent of peppermint threatened to choke her. Though
she looked around she saw no one speaking. Then the voices faded
away, leaving behind a low buzzing like TV static. The whole time
he stared into her eyes.

By the time the handshake
broke, Lenina felt naked. She stepped back, cradling her hand to
her chest. Nick came up behind her and hugged her. She didn’t pull
away.

‘Thank you, Sergeant
Blake.’

His gaze lingered on hers. ‘My
pleasure,’ he whispered. Then, turning to Thorne, he added, ‘We’ll
see ourselves out. Come on, Brad.’

The pair slipped into the
hallway and were gone.

Next morning Lenina woke to a
sensation like fire writhing through her gut. She lurched out of
Nick’s arms and stumbled into the bathroom just in time to lift the
seat off the toilet and hang her head over it. Her heaving stomach
strained to return its contents, but there were none.

Dry-retching, tears streaming
down her face, Lenina clung to the bowl and waited for the spasms
to pass.

An eternity later, she flushed
the toilet and sat back on her heels, wiping drool from her
mouth.

Nick appeared in the doorway,
his hair sleep tousled. ‘What’s wrong?’

She shook her head.

‘I heard you puking.’

‘Nothing came up,’ she gasped.
‘Get me some water please?’

He passed her a plastic
cup.

Sipping the water eased her
throat somewhat, but the pain continued. ‘God . . .’ she
murmured.

‘You okay?’

‘Stomach ache. Headache.’ She
touched each location in turn. ‘Even my teeth hurt.’

‘Maybe you should stay off
today.’

Lenina sighed. ‘I can’t. The
samples from Cairo arrive this afternoon. I’ve got to log
them.’

‘Someone else can do it. You’re
not the only curator in the place.’

‘I’m the only one who knows
anything about Egypt.’ She tried to stand but her knees wobbled
before she made it halfway. Tumbling down, she sat on the mat, legs
akimbo. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

‘Rough night. It’s catching up
with you. Come on.’ Nick tucked his hands beneath her arms and
pulled.

She swayed, but eventually
managed to stand without help. ‘Thanks. Let me clean my teeth.’