Paris for wasting his time. Then, of course, she realized that he’d never let her go without asking her a million other questions about Mr Handcuffs, so she decided to just leave.
Because the man from last night simply was not the killer he was looking for. Couldn’t have been. He was just some dance-hall Romeo, a little kinky maybe, but just a gigolo nonetheless. Why would a guy like that have to kill women? He was beautiful. So he liked to tie girls up when he had sex. Big deal. We all have our deviant little ways, don’t we?
Sure we do.
* * *
Although it was probably against the rules, Ellie found matches in the room, lit a Winston Light. The red wine stain on her sweater was permanent, and that seemed to be that. She had already given up on the notion of having a beige cardigan in her wardrobe so, unless the clumsy Mrs Earline Pender was really filthy rich and intended to flip her a trio of hundred-dollar bills for her trouble, the cardigan was heading for the Dumpster.
Without the ivory buttons, though, Ellie thought. No need to make it a total loss.
She drew on the cigarette once, then tossed it into the commode. As she flushed the toilet she thought she heard the door to the hotel room click shut.
Or did she?
‘Mrs Pender?’ Ellie looked out into the darkened bedroom, her eyes momentarily confronted by the sudden change of light. ‘I don’t think I’m going to get this stain out after all.’
Silence.
‘
Mr
Pender?’ Ellie tried again, but decided she was mistaken. The noise must have come from the hallway. She felt along the wall for a light switch.
Then came a glimmer from near the bed, just a few feet away. A brief sword of incandescence in the black room.
Ellie stepped forward. ‘Earline?’
A hand shot out of the darkness. It closed quickly around Ellie’s mouth, then slammed her head against the steel doorjamb, stunning her, her mind showing her stars. Ellie began to struggle but there was another hand immediately at her chest. The fingers were powerful, ironlike.
The petroleum smell of the latex glove filled her nostrils and Ellie saw in an instant that the reflection she had seen danced off the blade of a straight razor – long, highly polished, pearl-handled. Muscular arms dragged her back into the brightness of the bathroom and tossed her against the wall, pummeling the air from her lungs.
The woman who called herself Earline Pender held Ellie tightly against the cool blue tile. Her breath was hot and sweet with cinnamon mouthwash.
Ellie glanced down and saw that the woman had changed her shoes. She now wore white stiletto heels. Through the opening in her coat, Ellie also saw that the woman was nude.
‘I know who you’re talking to out there,’ the woman said. She lifted a finger from Ellie’s mouth, daring her to make a sound.
Ellie remained silent.
The woman increased the pressure, the razor now lying up against the fleshy well at the base of Ellie’s throat.
‘Don’t
fuck
with me, kitty-cat,’ the woman said. She tapped the razor once with her forefinger, drawing a trickle of blood. ‘I know who he is. He’s a cop.’
Ellie could see that the woman was younger than she had originally thought. The lines on her face seemed to have been drawn in, the gray streaks in her hair sprayed on. The beauty mark was real. ‘Yes.’
The woman looked at the floor for a moment, thinking. She brought herself to within an inch or two of Ellie’s face. ‘Where does he think you are right now?’
‘Having a cigarette.’
‘And what were you going to tell him when you got back?’
Eleanor Burchfield said nothing.
‘Were you going to tell him all about last night?’
The tears began to flow freely now.
‘Were you going to tell him about how you’re a fucking whore?’ The woman ran her hand around the back of Ellie’s neck, grabbing a fistful of hair, pulling her down to her knees. The woman threw her leg over Ellie’s head and sat down on the toilet behind her in
Because the man from last night simply was not the killer he was looking for. Couldn’t have been. He was just some dance-hall Romeo, a little kinky maybe, but just a gigolo nonetheless. Why would a guy like that have to kill women? He was beautiful. So he liked to tie girls up when he had sex. Big deal. We all have our deviant little ways, don’t we?
Sure we do.
* * *
Although it was probably against the rules, Ellie found matches in the room, lit a Winston Light. The red wine stain on her sweater was permanent, and that seemed to be that. She had already given up on the notion of having a beige cardigan in her wardrobe so, unless the clumsy Mrs Earline Pender was really filthy rich and intended to flip her a trio of hundred-dollar bills for her trouble, the cardigan was heading for the Dumpster.
Without the ivory buttons, though, Ellie thought. No need to make it a total loss.
She drew on the cigarette once, then tossed it into the commode. As she flushed the toilet she thought she heard the door to the hotel room click shut.
Or did she?
‘Mrs Pender?’ Ellie looked out into the darkened bedroom, her eyes momentarily confronted by the sudden change of light. ‘I don’t think I’m going to get this stain out after all.’
Silence.
‘
Mr
Pender?’ Ellie tried again, but decided she was mistaken. The noise must have come from the hallway. She felt along the wall for a light switch.
Then came a glimmer from near the bed, just a few feet away. A brief sword of incandescence in the black room.
Ellie stepped forward. ‘Earline?’
A hand shot out of the darkness. It closed quickly around Ellie’s mouth, then slammed her head against the steel doorjamb, stunning her, her mind showing her stars. Ellie began to struggle but there was another hand immediately at her chest. The fingers were powerful, ironlike.
The petroleum smell of the latex glove filled her nostrils and Ellie saw in an instant that the reflection she had seen danced off the blade of a straight razor – long, highly polished, pearl-handled. Muscular arms dragged her back into the brightness of the bathroom and tossed her against the wall, pummeling the air from her lungs.
The woman who called herself Earline Pender held Ellie tightly against the cool blue tile. Her breath was hot and sweet with cinnamon mouthwash.
Ellie glanced down and saw that the woman had changed her shoes. She now wore white stiletto heels. Through the opening in her coat, Ellie also saw that the woman was nude.
‘I know who you’re talking to out there,’ the woman said. She lifted a finger from Ellie’s mouth, daring her to make a sound.
Ellie remained silent.
The woman increased the pressure, the razor now lying up against the fleshy well at the base of Ellie’s throat.
‘Don’t
fuck
with me, kitty-cat,’ the woman said. She tapped the razor once with her forefinger, drawing a trickle of blood. ‘I know who he is. He’s a cop.’
Ellie could see that the woman was younger than she had originally thought. The lines on her face seemed to have been drawn in, the gray streaks in her hair sprayed on. The beauty mark was real. ‘Yes.’
The woman looked at the floor for a moment, thinking. She brought herself to within an inch or two of Ellie’s face. ‘Where does he think you are right now?’
‘Having a cigarette.’
‘And what were you going to tell him when you got back?’
Eleanor Burchfield said nothing.
‘Were you going to tell him all about last night?’
The tears began to flow freely now.
‘Were you going to tell him about how you’re a fucking whore?’ The woman ran her hand around the back of Ellie’s neck, grabbing a fistful of hair, pulling her down to her knees. The woman threw her leg over Ellie’s head and sat down on the toilet behind her in
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