Mark Sennen - Touch

Mitchell pressed a button on the camera and another picture appeared. This time Catherine sat topless on the bed. Click. Mitchell himself, naked and tied to the bed. Click, click, click. The pictures streamed by, each one either of Mitchell or his wife. There were ropes, handcuffs, dildos, whips, candles and other paraphernalia, but Riley’s overriding impression was of flesh.

Mitchell was chuckling now and a giggle came from Mrs Mitchell too. When Riley looked across at her she smiled and opened the lower half of her dressing gown; she was wearing nothing down there either. Enders was gawping and Riley began to wonder if they were losing control of the situation. He pushed the camera away and stood up.

‘Mr Mitchell, we would like to take a look upstairs, if you don’t mind.’

‘Because I took a few photographs for my personal use and some peeping tom wanker reported it? Do me a favour.’

‘It is a request, that is all. We can go and get a warrant.’

‘Sorry I do mind.’ Mitchell raised a hand to his forehead, wiping an almost imperceptible bead of sweat away before he continued. ‘Our daughter is upstairs. She has not been feeling well so she slept in our bedroom last night. I would hate for her to be disturbed.’

‘We will be back, Mr Mitchell.’ Riley beckoned to Enders and they left the house to the sound of Mitchell’s raucous laughter.

As they walked to the car Enders was laughing too. Riley gave him a look of disapproval.

‘No, no, boss, this is serious. I need some professional advice. What the hell do I tell the wife when she asks how was my day?’

Riley shook his head. He was more concerned with what he would tell DI Savage. Maybe it might be better to skip over the part with Mrs Mitchell and her dressing gown and only mention the pictures and the fact Mitchell wouldn’t let them upstairs because of his daughter. Then something came to him.

‘Patrick, we need to get back to the station pronto, there is a hunch I want to check. If I am right then I think we might have the bastard.’

Harry woke late and took a shower. Truth be told the shower in the cottage was pretty ineffectual. The water dribbled out like pus from a sore and could hardly clean the dirt away, let alone the shame.

Last night. Again.

Strange, Harry thought, how the problems came the morning after the night before. Like a drunk, he never regretted his actions at the time, sorry came later.

Never mind. He hoped Emma would be OK, but she would need to learn not to be naughty like that.

When he had seen her out of her room he’d gone a bit mad and lost his temper. Guests shouldn’t go nosing about in other people’s houses as if they owned the place. And her seeing him with Lucy, he didn’t like that at all. What she must have thought of him he had no idea, but he reckoned she had been disgusted as well as scared and that was why she tried to run away.

She didn’t get far. At the top of the stairs he had managed to grab her foot and she fell face down on the landing. He forced his body on top of hers, feeling the delicious skin-to-skin contact as she squirmed beneath him. He regretted to admit it but he nearly had her there and then. Shameful, disgusting, but of course Emma was to blame. He hoped she wouldn’t prove too troublesome, but either way there were only another six days and then the process would be done. God had only needed seven days to create the world, true, but Harry reckoned he needed fourteen to clean the girls and get all the badness out of their systems. Two weeks of fruit and water would purify their bodies and then he could test them.

After the business with Emma he couldn’t bring himself to go back down to Lucy for quite a while, worried about what she would say. He knew she would have guessed what had happened, for naked girls did not turn up in the living room unannounced as a general rule.

When he got back to her she sat still and said nothing. Harry decided not to try and explain. He simply kissed her, gave her a quick cuddle and said goodnight.

Goodnight, Harry.

Was the voice in his head Lucy or Trinny?

Lucy, Harry.

Strange. Where had Trinny gone?

She’s gone for good. She left me to deal with you now.

Thank goodness, Harry thought. Then he went to bed, leaving Lucy alone in the living room for the night.

After taking the shower in the morning he thought about getting Lucy up to the bathroom so he could prepare her for her leaving. He had showered in order to save the hot water for her. She was heavy and uncooperative when he carried her up, but she seemed to brighten up a little when he plopped her in the bath.

Nice smell.

The bath overflowed with bubbles. Harry had tipped in half a bottle of Lucy’s favourite peach infusion.

How sweet of you.

He had wanted to make the occasion special since this was their last day together.

Is it?

Yes. He was sorry it hadn’t worked out.

I am sorry too, Harry. I saw the new girl.

Shit.

Harry felt guilty now and the anger returned. Emma had spoilt things between Lucy and him. He tried to explain to Lucy, but she went all silent and moody. Still, he thought she was listening when he told her he still loved her and that he would never forget her.

Thank you, Harry. I won’t forget you either.

Good. He started to wash Lucy, rubbing the foam all over her and trying to ignore the patches of blue and purple skin.

Harry. The little whore Emma isn’t the one you know?

He hoped Lucy was wrong about that, but he knew he would have to wait and see.

Harry washed her all over and then removed her from the bath. He dried her thoroughly, and because she had been a bit naughty in mentioning Emma he decided to fuck her once more. He moved inside her, trying to be gentle and came with a gasp after only a few seconds. His eyes brimmed with tears as he looked down on Lucy’s face, knowing he would not have her again. He rolled off and then took his sewing kit and did his work, making sure nobody else could have her either.

All this time Harry had had the radio playing a local music station to try and take his mind off things. But just after he finished dressing Lucy, the bitch newsreader went and ruined the whole day.

Mitchell.

The police were closing in on him. The bulletin said Richard Trent had been arrested and the police had questioned his neighbours. Harry wished he had never got mixed up in Mitchell’s little game. If the police got Mitchell they would break him and then Harry knew he would lead them to him. Mitchell would be able to talk his way out of their hands, feed them some candy and fuck them over.

Harry thought Lucy looked worried, but he told her it was going to be OK, that everything would be fine.

Then, because Lucy was leaving, he thought of Trinny. How it wasn’t so fine for her. They had never had the time together she wanted and Harry had to leave her in the cold wood. He was truly sorry for her death and, although beyond his control, he had always thought somebody should pay for it.

He looked at Lucy and saw she was smiling, a great big grin on her face as if she had thought of something ingenious. He asked her what it was.

Mitchell, she said. Then she told him what to do.

Crownhill Police Station, Plymouth. Wednesday 3rd November. 1.35 pm

Savage moved the phone another six inches away from her ear in an effort to reduce the volume of the tirade coming from the earpiece. Hardin had called ten minutes ago and the bellowing hadn’t stopped long enough for her to get a word in.

‘Results, Charlotte. Yesterday would have been fantastic. Today would be good. By the weekend fucking mandatory. Understand?’