Deadly Obsession (10 page)

‘
I
t's supposed
to be a bloody graceful swan, Jean-Paul, not a deformed flamingo that looks like it's gone three rounds with a sodding pack of hyenas, darling man. Can't you reshape it?'

Caitlyn Rich was not pleased. Her latest mirror covered statue, a swan with open wings and raised into position ready for battle was not exactly as she had envisaged when she'd drawn a rough sketch for Jean-Paul, the Hoxton-based sculptor behind the ever-growing reflective display of statues beginning to fill every corner of her Manchester home.

‘I may not be a twitcher or whatever they're called but even I know that a swan's neck should be fluid and curvaceous. This one is all a bit too right-angled.' Caitlyn crooked her neck almost ninety degrees to look at the mirrored monstrosity in front of her. ‘It's just not very ornithological is it, dear man. Can we rejig? Snap the neck off and start again.'

The look on Jean-Paul's face as they stared at the creation in his trendy London studio was suddenly painted with horror. The temperamental Belgian was used to awkward clients and had been ever since he'd moved to London from Brussels some years earlier, but Caitlyn Rich definitely took the biscuit when it came to being the dictionary definition of the word ‘demanding'. Thank God she paid the big bucks and was regular with her commissions. Jean-Paul's stress levels may have gone up since meeting Caitlyn but thankfully so had his bank balance.

‘I think the neck is perfect as it is, Caitlyn. I took it from your drawing, which was somewhat ...
angular
shall we say.' Jean-Paul fiddled with the waxed tips of his moustache as he spoke in an attempt to calm his nerves. Caitlyn was one of the most exasperating people he had ever met.

‘Yes, but I'm hardly Da Vinci, dear heart, am I? And you know that. I want curves on this neck to rival those on Jennifer Lopez's ass. Smooth, sleek, fluid.'

‘But the neck is so thin and the mosaic tiles are fairly big so trying to make it smooth is not always possible.' Jean-Paul was not backing down.

Caitlyn had heard enough. She was late for her next appointment and she needed to make a move. ‘It is rather thin I suppose, isn't it?' She reached her hand up to the neck of the swan and tugged at the neck to see how fragile it actually was. She didn't even notice the look of sheer horror on Jean-Paul's face as the neck snapped in her manicured fingers. The sculptor unsuccessfully tried to stifle a high-pitched yell of annoyance as Caitlyn handed him the neck.

‘Well there you go, Jean-Paul, it is
too
thin you see. If it can't survive my delicate hands then how will it cope with my Lily running around the house all the time and the maids giving it a good dusting? I've done you a favour. Now, I'll be back down in London in a fortnight, can you sort it all out for me by then, there's a good chap? And we'll talk about the next piece when I'm back. I'm thinking of a mirrored unicorn ashtray for Adam's games room. He always smokes in there so he might as well have something decent to stub his butts out on. Now, I must fly, I have an appointment with a personal shopper at Harvey Nicks in twenty and an eyebrow thread booked in for this afternoon. If you can sort out the costings for the unicorn that would be marvellous. I'm thinking about four foot high.'

Jean-Paul whispered ‘
Mon dieu
' under his breath at the vulgarity of a unicorn ashtray. As Caitlyn hurried from his studio, she felt her iPhone vibrate inside the pocket of her Stella McCartney jacquard trousers. Seeing the name across the screen a huge smile spread across her face. She took the call.

‘What is it sexy man, you can't wait until tonight? I trust the offer of oysters at my favourite eatery still stands? I am literally counting the minutes. You know I'm a
sucker
for an aphrodisiac.' Caitlyn emphasised the word sucker to stress her saucy double-entendre.

As she hung up and hailed a London cab to take her to Knightsbridge she noticed that she'd missed a call from Adam. Oh well, she'd speak to him when she returned home. She wasn't bothered about missing him. Funny really, when she was away in London – which was becoming more and more often – she didn't miss her husband at all. Why would you miss somebody who you really didn't have that much reason to speak to anymore? They hadn't really spoken properly for the longest time. And now she had ‘other interests' in London she really had even less reason to. No, she didn't miss him at all.

She took a pair of crisp twenty pound notes from her Chloe purse as her taxi pulled up outside Harvey Nichols and scanned the line of credit and debit cards housed within.

‘Time to do some serious damage to you babies,' she cooed, the thought of shopping pleasing her enormously. It always did.

‘Now which joint account shall I use first?' she mused.

The money. Now that would be something she'd miss dreadfully if her husband walked out of her life.

‘
Y
ou seriously think
Riley might still be alive? You are shitting me, right?'

Lily Rich was finding it hard to believe what Amy was telling her. Even after three courses and as many glasses of wine – Lily may have been small but she had the largest of appetites, especially if someone else was paying – her voice was still stamped with disbelief.

‘I was at the club. It was definitely Riley laying there with his face blown off. Winston, him and Laura all copped it. There's no doubt.' Sadness washed across her petite features.

‘So, who wrote the letter? It was definitely Riley's handwriting and the postmark was only a few days ago. Why would he say that people were out to get him?'

Amy had chosen to fill Lily in on everything Riley had said in the letter with the exception of his mentioning Lily and her father, Adam, as potential suspects. She's also chosen to fill her in on her discovery that her late husband was, in fact, a criminal. A fact which hadn't shocked Lily nearly half as much as Amy had imagined.

‘Forgive me for saying, Amy, but seeing as you're not my boss anymore I might as well tell you straight. Did you honestly believe that The Kitty Kat club and all of the riches you guys enjoyed – cars, a fancy house, holidays – were funded by a plastics corporation? Even I know that pipes aren't that fucking sexy when it comes to making big bucks. I never questioned it but I always knew Riley was more than likely mixed up in something underhand and dodgy. I dare say my dad is too, I've heard all sorts of gossip about criminal dealings over the years. To be honest I don't care. Money is money and as long as I can have everything I need then I'm happy. And let's face facts, hideously tasteless mock Tudor nightmares do not come cheap in the twenty-first century, do they? Plus Dad was forever taking Mum away to Monte Carlo and St Tropez when I was growing up and decking her out in enough jewellery to put Paris Hilton in the shade. I've never seen him do a day's work really, and even when he went ‘away on work' for a few years a while back, my guess is that he was a guest of Her Majesty. I never asked. Doubtless he and Riley were mixed up in something together. A bunch of smartass crooks. I don't see that as a problem.'

‘Do you really think they might have been?' Amy was beginning to think that she was the only person on earth who didn't have a clue about Riley's real life. How had she been so naive? Had she been too close to see what was really going on under her own nose? Even the strongest of minds could be weak when it came to emotion. She never questioned anything. Why would she have?

‘He bought you the club and that was his way of keeping you happy. You loved that place. It's no wonder you're pissed off that Tommy and Jemima have turned it into the fucking Dirty Cash Casino. I would be too. I miss those nights at The Kitty Kat. I felt safer dealing drugs there than any of the places I do it now. I can hardly do it at the Dirty Cash as Tommy and Dad go way back. Which, as it goes, is another pointer to my dad being mixed up in it all. Dad would murder me if he found out I was peddling all that shit.'

‘I still can't believe that my Riley would be such an evil person. Tommy said he may have killed people along the way.'

‘Christ, you are the innocent one, aren't you?' scoffed Lily. ‘Life's always been dog eat dog. You must have heard about gangland criminals ever since the famed ones like Jack ‘The Hat' or The Richardsons back in the sixties. It was all smoky jazz clubs and glamorous sex scandals back then. Now I dare say it's clubs like The Kitty Kat and bags full of MDMA. I've heard my dad talking about all sorts of dodgy people over the years. Must have been shitloads of times. People that suddenly disappeared from view and turn up sliced and diced in some back alley. The people doing that are not fairy tale characters from some kiddie storybook. These people exist and are brutal. Seems like Riley was part of Manchester's current version. Perhaps even the leader, the king. Pretty cool throne to be sitting on I imagine ... or at least, it was.'

‘It doesn't faze you at all, does it? That your dad might be some mass murderer or hated criminal ... or both.' Amy was trying, but failing miserably, to understand. How could Lily be so matter of fact about it all?

‘No, not at all. Why would it? If my dad was a baker or some banking twat he might never have been able to look after me and Mum the way he has. We want for nothing. He has obviously reaped the rewards of whatever crafty line of work he's in. Who am I to judge? I may have sold drugs to people who have then gone off and overdosed. So, indirectly I'm a killer. And you supported it in The Kitty Kat, so deep down, so are you. We're all corrupt in our own way.'

Amy wasn't sure that her day could get any lower. It was true now she thought about it. She was no better than the bunch of scum that Riley had obviously been part of. She'd enjoyed the riches, savoured the holidays, loved the feel of the latest fashions and happily dished out the drugs, diced with danger ... but just because it had all been to the backdrop of a dance floor soundtrack she had chosen to ignore it and not consider the potential side effects. Maybe people who'd taken drugs in her club, supplied by Lily, backed by Amy, had died. Maybe parents had lost a son or a daughter, or a child a parent. That made her just as bad as Riley if he was ruthlessly bumping people off. Maybe it made her worse. At least Riley knew exactly what he was doing and chose to live with it. Maybe his only fault was not sharing what he did with Amy. No, Amy felt low ... maybe she was as much to blame for Riley's supposed death, Winston's death, even Laura's death as anyone ... poor Laura.

‘How do you cope? Knowing that you could be a part of something ... something so murderous?' asked Amy.

‘Because I don't pretend to be anything otherwise, Amy. Never have, never will.' Her words were slightly slurred, the effects of the wine obviously taking hold. ‘I know I'm not a good person, Amy, and neither was Riley, however he earned his dough. I may have saved your life today but I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. If I hadn't been on my way to Eruption to pick up some clothes then maybe you'd be on some mortuary slab by now. I don't believe in God, but I do think that maybe somebody wanted me to do something right for you today. To make up for what I've done.'

‘Done what? You've always been a good friend to me. I trust you, and I'm rapidly finding out that there is a list as long as my arm of people I can't.'

Amy's words made something inside Lily snap. Something that had been bubbling at the back of her mind spewed forth. Her ex-boss had always been good to her ... maybe too good. Before she could reconsider, she said it. There was no more than a trace of remorse as she spoke. ‘A good friend wouldn't have been fucking your husband behind your back, Amy. And a good husband wouldn't have been doing it either. I think you should know that putting Riley on a pedestal is not the wisest of ideas. If he is alive, not that I believe it for one second, then your husband owes you some decent explanations as to why he was shagging me. I'm sorry, really I am, but now you're back I'd rather you know ... you can't trust anyone.'

Amy's day had just reached rock bottom ...

J
emima Hearn couldn't help
but smile as her new husband, Tommy, picked one of the bright pink bougainvillea flowers and placed it gently in the flowing blonde tresses of her hair. Hair that had become increasingly blonde ever since her arrival on the tiny Greek island of Antiparos a week earlier. The golden richness of her locks contrasted beautifully with the honey-glazed tan she'd been developing ever since her honeymoon had begun. And her smile had never left her. It was as bright and as dazzling as the sun overhead, one that reflected across the silky smooth calmness of the Aegean Sea as they had first disembarked from the rickety antiquated ferry boat that had deposited them on one of the smallest and most forgotten islands situated among the Cyclades Islands off the coast of mainland Greece.

For a girl like Jemima it was a beauty that she had never seen before. At the age of nineteen she was seeing places and experiencing riches that she had never imagined. And that was all down to Tommy. A man a few years her senior but a man who had chosen her to be his wife. A man that she knew she was destined to be with from the first time they had laid eyes upon each other at a wine bar a mere twelve months earlier. He was strong, proud and possessed an air of danger that a naïve Jemima found intoxicating. There was a swagger to him and a cocky edge that the young woman couldn't resist. Jemima, who had never even dated a boy before Tommy, was lost in desire as soon as he winked at her across the wine bar and left his friends to come and talk to her. As he greeted her with a kiss, the feel of his skin against hers, the brush of his stubble across her soft round cheek, she could feel a sexuality bubbling within her that had never surfaced before. Hadn't she always been the boring one among her friends? That was how she had always felt. Not the fashionable one, not the intelligent one, certainly not the most beautiful one. Despite her pretty looks, Jemima had never seen herself as anything other than the boring one. That changed when she met Tommy.

The first time she surrendered herself to him sexually was an amazing experience. For the first few months she had abstained, allowing him no more than a feel of her breasts or a rub of her panties. Tommy had tried, he was obviously experienced, being senior to her, but he seemed happy to wait, slowly but gently lowering any barriers that the anxious Jemima may have been putting up.

On the night they had first made love, he had asked her to marry him. Jemima had said yes straight away. In her mind, opportunities like this didn't come the way of girls like her. Strong handsome men, protective and loving, ready to look after her and treat her to the riches of life. She knew from the start that Tommy was professionally involved in something that wasn't exactly as it seemed. She'd met Cazwell Hart and his wife, Bianca, and really liked both of them and it was Bianca who had first told her to ‘turn a blind eye' to what ‘the boys did in their professional life'. She asked once and Tommy was honest. She never asked again.

They were married and headed to the Greek island of Antiparos for their honeymoon. It was paid for by Cazwell and Bianca, their gift to the newlyweds.

Jemima could see the crystalline emerald waters of the sea through her guesthouse bedroom window as she relaxed back onto the bed, her body naked and glowing from a day's sunshine as she felt the coolness of the bed sheets spread across her skin and watched long panels of warm yellow light cast their way across the floorboards and walls. The flower that Tommy had placed in her hair earlier that day lay on the bedside table, where she'd placed it after removing it from her hair before showering on the return to the hotel.

She stared down at her body. Her small breasts rose up and down, an excited anticipation gripping her about what would doubtless happen when Tommy had finished his own shower. Jemima was looking down at the neat triangle of hair between her legs as she heard the shower turn off and Tommy came back into the room, naked apart from a towel wrapped around his waist. His skin, a hard, muscled, hair-covered shell of desire, glistened with the remaining drops of moisture that still rested on his flesh.

As soon as Tommy saw his naked wife, his erection grew within his towel, distending the fabric. Jemima could see the effect she was having and ran her hands down her own body, allowing the fingers on one hand to part the lips of her pussy as the she dipped two fingers from her other hand into the soft wet folds. It was a confident action that a year before she would have never have dreamt of doing in front of someone. Back then her body was alien to her, something that she wanted to like but wasn't sure how. Now she felt beautiful, like her body was a Disneyland for Tommy's dick to explore and enjoy the rides.

She brought her fingers from her sex and raised them to her mouth, sucking eagerly at the juices coated upon them. It was a lascivious action for such an innocent being and one that Tommy loved. He ripped his towel off, releasing his proud erect member and moved towards the bed.

He took Jemima's fingers from her mouth and placed them in his, savouring any remnants of the moisture that remained there. It evidently wasn't enough to satisfy his desire and he moved his head between her legs, at first dotting light kisses around the edges of the heat that generated there and taking in the scent of her femininity before placing his hand on the mound between her legs. Parting the outer lips to expose the pinkness of the flower inside, Tommy let his tongue dip into his wife's eager pussy, hearing her emit a groan of pleasure as he did so. Jemima placed her own hands back between her legs and held herself open allowing her lover's tongue to probe deeper, tasting her honey.

His hands freed, Tommy used one of his fingers to work Jemima's pussy at the same time as his tongue, alternating between them as he lapped, nibbled and stroked against her clitoris. She arched her back in euphoria as Tommy let his teeth bite a little harder on her love button. She knew that she would need him inside her soon. As he swapped his tongue for his fingers and pushed circular motions around the edge of her clitoris she knew that the time had come. She could feel her orgasm mounting.

Grabbing Tommy's rich black hair in her hand she pulled him away from her pussy so that he was staring up at her. Her juices still glistened upon his face from where he'd been buried inside her.

‘Fuck me,' she said.

It was all the invitation his straining cock needed. Without saying a word, Tommy moved into position and allowed his thick cock to slide into her. There was a slight blurring in her vision as he did so, the joyful feeling of his strength within her causing a momentary blissful giddiness.

Tommy moved his face to her breasts and nibbled at the excited peaks he found there as he thrust into her, clearly lost in the moment. A slick of sweat wrapped itself around Jemima's body, the frenzy of his actions rocking her body. As she looked into his eyes, a lock of Tommy's hair tumbled down across his forehead and a bead of moisture dripped from it onto Jemima's cheek as Tommy allowed his strokes to become quicker.

Jemima's breathing intensified as Tommy let his young muscular body slap against hers, the hardness of his stomach and the covering of hair that rested there pushing against her delicate flesh. Tommy could feel his seed rising within his member. Kissing his wife fully upon the lips, his teeth almost latching onto her lower lip with a tiny bite, Tommy unleashed his sexual flow into her. As he did so, Jemima too let the first waves of orgasm wash over her. She could hear the waves of the sea outside their window harmonious with her own. A feverish electricity ran over her body as she gave herself over to lust. She pulled Tommy close to her as the last drops of his pleasure drained inside her, her body becoming limp as every last drop of sexual energy exited her own core.

As Tommy withdrew his cock and went to lay down beside her he made one final action, pulling back the fleshy folds of her sex, exposing the clitoris once more. It was raised and proud, a glorious tribute to her intense orgasm. He kissed it, the flavour a fusion of his wife's juices and the aftertaste of his own masculine desire.

As they lay together Jemima allowed Tommy to wrap his arm around her and hold her close, resting her head on the swirls of damp, dark chest hair that decorated his strong pecs. Her energy erased, she fell asleep in his arms.

The soft tender glow of their love-making was still there when Jemima woke up. Unlike Tommy. She was alone in the bed. The air in the room was no longer yellow and was tinged with the first murmurings of dark. She guessed she had been sleeping for quite a while, a fact confirmed when she looked at her watch next to the now wilting bougainvillea on the bedside table. How quickly it had turned from a joyous thriving bloom picked from the beauty of one of Antiparos's narrow cobbled streets just a few hours ago to something that now looked a touch sad and in need of some loving to save it.

Jemima called Tommy's name. There was no answer. Rising from the bed she wrapped a brightly coloured sarong around herself and slipped a pair of flip-flops onto her feet. She wandered out onto the balcony that joined their room and looked down onto the beach below. A few people ambled up and down it watching the sun slowly descend over the horizon but there was no sign of Tommy.

A rumble of hunger came from her stomach as she contemplated where he could be. Love-making was hungry work. Maybe Tommy had gone downstairs to fetch some food. The guesthouse they were staying in was small, almost boutique, and the owners, a middle-aged Greek couple and their twenty-something daughter, had informed the Hearns that they could order food any time they liked. Maybe Tommy had a surprise in mind. She'd head downstairs to find out.

Replacing her sarong with a Karl Lagerfeld dress that hung loosely across her frame, Jemima grabbed the spare room key – Tommy obviously had the other – and headed down to the ground floor of the guesthouse. There was no sign of any of the other guests who occupied the three other rooms alongside Tommy and Jemima's on the first floor.

She looked into the dining area to see if Tommy was there. He wasn't. It was empty. She'd ask at Reception.

When she arrived there the desk was empty too but she could hear a faint noise coming from the small office behind the Reception area. She strained her ears to hear a little clearer. The noise was a series of moans, and despite her tender years and somewhat naïve character, Jemima knew exactly what they were. Somebody was having sex.

She smiled to herself, eager to find Tommy and tell him what she'd heard. But as she started to move away curiosity took hold of her. Moving behind the Reception area she tip-toed closer to the origin of the sound. The small office door was slightly ajar. Unable to stop herself, she peered inside.

The guesthouse owners' daughter was bent over a table, her naked ass cheeks exposed as a man, his trousers and underpants around his ankles, stood behind her sliding his cock into her from behind. He slapped her backside lightly as he fucked her. It was Tommy.

Placing her hand over her mouth to silence a horrified scream that wanted to burst forth, Jemima said nothing and ran back to her room. She sat on the bed and cried. She saw the flower again, wilted, a little ugly and now somewhat pathetic on the table. She couldn't help but feel the same.

By the time Tommy returned to their room twenty minutes later the flower was thrown in the bin, out of sight, and Jemima was pretending to be asleep on the bed once more.

When Tommy woke her up he made no mention of his visit downstairs. Jemima made no mention of her sordid discovery. For the moment, just like the wilted flower, that ugly episode would stay hidden away from view.