Vice Cop Ch. 09

She informed the rock singer of the detective's wish to speak with him and ask him questions, and he had agreed to the meeting in his hotel suite. Mason had called at nine in the morning but Siegfried had been partying the night before in Manhattan and had not yet gotten out of bed. Mason figured this was typical of a major rock star who partied all the time. The receptionist said he had a big hang-over and was indisposed for a morning interview so she had it scheduled for eight in the evening.

Mason used the lion-head knocker on the door to his suite and Siegfried answered the door. He was wearing a blood-red silk robe which clung to his very thin figure. His hair was not red this time, but blonde and it was obviously another dye job. Mason looked at him from head to toe. He looked like a spoiled European youth, with too much money and with a sinister looking, long, thin face and devilish looking slanted eyebrows. To Mason's surprise, a black panther stood by Siegfried's side. It was wearing a collar encrusted with rubies. It was obviously the rock star's expensive pet.

"Take a seat on the divan, Herr Detective."

"Danke," Mason replied, using his German, "but please tell me that thing doesn't bite."

"Nein, Nein. He's domesticated and so well-trained that he wouldn't hurt a fly. You react like everyone else when they see my dear Moloch. Besides, if I wanted him to attack you, I'd have already given him the order."

He laughed but Mason did not find it amusing, despite Siegfried's jest. He pulled on the panther's collar gently.

"Zuruck, Moloch, Zuruck" he said to him.

The panther retreated to another part of the parlor but he was within sight. He sat down on the carpet passively.

Mason walked into the parlor, a beautifully decorated room with tall, showy, leafy potted plants that nearly looked like trees. The carpet was richly pattered with fleur-de-lys and the vases, paintings and furniture were expensive and antiques. The suite had a balcony and a terrific view of the city, and chandeliers hanging on the ceiling. This must have cost a pretty penny, and the guy was staying for days in New York City. Mason sat down and watched as Siegfried walked about and retrieved a hookah. As if completely alone, he began to smoke and only now and then glanced at Mason.

"May I ask what your real name is?" Mason said to him.

"Is this really an interview?" Siegfried replied," You are a detective, right, not a journalist?"

"That's correct. I'm a detective for the New York Police Department. As you may already know, there have been murders at various concerts of yours."

"I know."

"Here are articles I've collected from newspapers."

He showed them to him and laid them out over a coffee table made of glass. The photographs were of the deceased victims, as they had looked like in life. They were articles from the Los Angeles Times and the Chicago and Cleveland newspapers. Siegfried smoked his hookah with a very vague, expressionless face, which was increasingly becoming filled with a cloud of smoke.

"Danny Addams, age sixteen, from LA, a high school student, had just bought his first car," Mason said, not once leaving Siegfried's face, as if part of his job was to study the suspect's face, "there was no reason for a young kid like him to die. He was a huge fan of yours and it was his first concert. He had a hard time getting his parents to allow him to go to your concert. And turns out they were right. That night was his last night on earth. He was found dead in the wings of the Pantages Theater where your concert was held."

Siegfried's face was not exactly cold, but he did not seem as if he was interested in the matter in the least and was showing an indifferent attitude toward the affair.

"Two victims in Cleveland - two girls, Laurie Carmine and Natalie Anderson. Both seventeen and best friends. An examination of their bodies indicated that they had been raped as semen was found inside them. They had three 6's on their closed eyelids and upside down crosses marked into the palm of their hands. Their necks had been bitten and some blood was drained out of them."

He showed him the photographs of the girls, both dark-haired beauties with tight-fitting tops and jeans. They looked sweet-faced and yet naughty, with eyes that sparkled bright green. Mason continued to fix his gaze on Siegfried. He seemed as if somewhat high on the hookah smoke, though he continued to look back at Mason, acknowledging him. A short while later, he said something to his pet panther Moloch in German and the panther retreated to sleep in another part of the suite.

"Please continue, Mein Herr Detective," he said to him.

"In Chicago, the strange ritualistic murders continued with yet another victim," Mason said, " a male in his teens, murdered and his body found butchered in the backstage area. Police who came to each of these crime scenes interrogated you and your band members but no one seems to know anything. It's always the same alibi. They don't know who did it, they saw nothing suspicious. You were all just doing your thing, playing your music and completely unaware of any killer lurking around."

"Herr Detective, of course I'm aware of all that has happened at my concerts," Siegfried said, "but it is just as my fellow musicians and I have stated. We are innocent. It is very shameful to insist on treating me like a suspect. I have already spoken with detectives of the Los Angeles Police Department and Chicago and the Cleveland Police. They are on my side and don't consider me a suspect."

"I'm not saying you did it, Mr. Kroll," Mason said, "I believe that all suspects are innocent until proven guilty. Unfortunately, whether you like it or not, you are involved in this case. The murders occurred at your concerts. Your music, and therefore yourself, is part of the murder investigation; which brings me to the subject of your music. Let's talk about it."

"Very well then, what would you like to know? Have you even heard any of my albums?"

When his German accent wasn't "on", it appeared as if he spoke with a British accent. Doubtless, thought Mason Holmes, he had played music in London which had always welcomed new rock singers, and many of the greatest rock singers, such as the Beatles and Duran Duran, were British.

"I'd like to know why you include lyrics with mention of occult themes and Satanism."

Siegfried stared at him with a look which seemed to say "how stupid are you?"

"But mein Herr, have you never seen my televised interviews or heard me on the radio discussing this very topic with folks who are on the political Right Wing and who are Christian? I am a follower of Anton LaVey's Church of Satan, founded on Walpurgis Night, 1966. I look younger but I am in my forties. I have been in the rock music business since the late 60's. In the early 70's, I began to practice the occult arts. I can't tell you how much it has helped me to become a successful musician. My band became very popular in the 70's. It has always been public knowledge that I'm a Satanist. It's not as if I'm the only rock star or heavy metal artist linked with Satanism. There are many of us. But people don't know one bit about our religion. It's not "evil", it's not a cult; it's nothing as dark or dangerous as some people believe. I can assure you, I am not responsible for those murders. I did not murder those teenagers."

"But haven't you considered the possibility that your music inspired some fan of yours to commit these murders?"

"That still wouldn't be my fault. My music is my art and I do not apologize for being an individual in a conformist Reagan's America," he said emphatically, as if he had rehearsed the line, "I don't want to get into charged debate with you as I have in radio and TV debates. I was physically booted off that awful talk show "Hot Seat With Wally George" because he was disgusted by my music. I repeat: I may be a Satanist, but it's purely for personal reasons and it has been a ticket-seller at my concerts. People love my music. I even teach the young classic literature like Dante and Milton. They learn bits and pieces of Latin, and they learn about mystical and pagan religions and cultures of the past."

"That's all well and good but still, Satanism has many branches and some are quite dangerous and harmful," Mason said, "we can't forget all the crimes that have been committed already by Satanists such as the Charles Manson cult which I'm sure you can still remember."

"Again, mein Herr Detective. I don't like that I'm being treated like a suspect. Now if you'll excuse me, Herr Detective, I'm expecting a girl here in a few minutes. I'd hate for her to see you here bringing on the Inquisition. It will totally turn her off. She's my date and I have a special dinner prepared."

Mason Holmes stared at him for a bit and then got up. As he approached the door he turned around.

"Mr. Kroll, you did not answer my first question. What is your real name? If you don't give it, I will have more cause to believe you are a suspicious figure."

"I have not gone by my real name in ages. I was born Erich Wolfgang Stader. Is that all? I'd rather you leave now. My date is due to arrive within minutes and I don't want a third party present. It is to be a romantic date."

Mason Holmes turned and shut the door.

FIVE

The girl that walked into Siegfried Kroll's suite was a leggy brunette with blue eyes, puffed-up hair and a lot of make-up. She had on a tight leopard-skin skirt and her blouse was open to the naval. She sauntered into the parlor and as soon as he saw her, Siegfried beckoned her on to his lap. She was on his lap instantly and he held her in a tight embrace.

"How's my favorite groupie baby?" he said to her.

"I'm doing so-so," she said, "I've been trying to get into one of your music videos but I had to go through a modeling agency first."

"I can't just guarantee you a spot in my videos just because we fuck now and then."

"Someone was in here just a while ago. Who was it? Was it another groupie?"

"Now, Christine, you know you're my number one girl. It was just business, an unpleasant matter of business as a matter of fact. But he's gone now. I've prepared you a nice dinner in the dining room."

"This place has a dining room, too?"

"It's got the works, babe. So come on, let's eat so we can move on to dessert in the bedroom, if you catch my drift."

The girl Christine looked naïve, like one of those girls who were easy to manipulate and were too gullible. These kinds of girls Siegfried was drawn to, for the reason that they found him to be the total alpha male, the rock star of their dreams and crushes. He liked them young, too, even under eighteen. Christine had followed Siegfried Kroll as a groupie since her own adolescence in Vienna. When she had turned eighteen, she came to the US and continued to attend his concerts. She knew he had other groupies whom he bedded but she didn't care. She enjoyed being around him and to serve him. It was a sexual pleasure she got from being his "rock slut." She hoped, however, that she could win his heart and perhaps even become his wife.

They walked into the dining room, another beautifully-decorated room, with a blood-red carpet, cut-glass chandelier and candelabrum sprawled on the large table. He had the cooks in the hotel prepare lobster and wine and they sat down to eat with a zesty appetite. There was music in the background, coming from an unseen LP. It was one of Siegfried's albums, and a lengthy electric guitar solo was playing, full of spectacular finger work which hit both high and low notes in a swift and showy fashion.

"Is that you playing the solo or Ulrich?" she asked him.

Ulrich was one of the musicians in his band that also played an electric guitar with considerable skill.

"No, that's me," he said, "it's from latest album. I'm surprised you haven't heard it."

"I listen to other groups, too, you know. I've been to the Monsters of Rock Festival two times."

They continued to eat their dinner and afterward they shared white wine. The rock music was getting Christine hot, and her eyes never left Siegfried, letting him know that she wanted to make love with him. Siegfried stared at her and grinned. He got up from the table and walked over to her side of the table.

"Let's get out of this boring place and get high and make love, what do you say?" he said to her, with a naughty expression in his face.

"Oh, are we leaving the hotel? I thought I would spend the night."

"I have a concert, Christine. You know that. I can't have you here all night. Now come here, I want to fuck you."

He had no style, no seductive charms, he was vulgar but he took what he wanted and Christine loved that. He had his hands on her breasts and played with them, cupping them and using his thumb to stroke and rub her nipples which instantly hardened under his touch. He was kissing her, and his kiss deepened as it progressed. She cupped his face and closed her eyes. She loved how he kissed. She knew that he had animal lust and they had enjoyed intense, hardcore sex many times before.

He was even very kinky, which didn't matter much to her because she was just as kinky. In the past, they had enjoyed an S and M style relationship. He had tied her up and flogged her. He was famous in Europe for being in the S and M lifestyle, which was more or less new at the time and all the rage. He had taken her to clubs in which public floggings and public sex was permitted.

"Are we going to a club tonight? Do you know of any in this town?" she said to him.

"No. I don't feel like humiliating you in front of others tonight or walking you on a leash."

"I can still wear a leash if you want. I brought it with me."

"Alright. But not till after we get indoors. I'm taking you to my penthouse suite in Park Avenue."

The pent house suite was of course beautiful. It was designed in a modern style and he had mostly photographs of himself on the walls and posters of horror films, which he was fond of. Like any good Satanist, he had an altar, made of onyx, with two large ebony candelabras with painted blood over the little bit of candle wax that seemed to ooze directly under the candles. Above the altar was an oil painting depicting the Devil. It was Christine's first time in his penthouse suite. Doubtless, the times he had been in New York he must have brought other groupies and fans over. She looked at the painting of Satan with impressed eyes.

"Did you do that yourself?"

"The whole thing," he said, "the altar and the painting. Come on let me show you to my room."

He wasn't wasting any time. She could sense his urgent need for sex. He took her across the living room to a small hallway. On either side, suspended from the walls, were Gothic gargoyles, black, with bat wings and eerie red eyes that seemed to follow anyone who passed by. From the top of their heads were little candles that were glowing. He had a mixture of modern décor and Gothic, spooky, like a haunted house. She wondered what other surprises she'd find in his bedroom.

The bedroom commanded a view of the city and she found it marvelous. His king size bed was also in black, black posters, black headboard. The satin sheets were dark red. On a desk were more red candles, on the nightstand and on the floor. The room was cast in a dim red light, which she found sexy and Gothic. It was a turn on.

They sat on the floor and began to take crack cocaine, which was a favorite drug of theirs.

They looked at each other silently. He began to disrobe. He was looking at her the whole time, with that look, so full of lust and seductive prowess, his eyebrows slanting upwards, his breathing audible, making her hot for him. He knew what she liked.

He had put on a leather jacket and jeans before leaving the Plaza but now he was fully nude. He had not been wearing any underwear. His cock was semi-erect already. She began to take off her top. As she struggled with her own skirt and stockings, he helped her to undress completely while kissing each other with wanton abandon. Their tongues were sliding into one another hungrily, their bodies in heat, and their hearts pounding. She knew he was in no mood for slow and tender lovemaking. There was to be no foreplay. He grinned at her and gave her a look that she seemed to recognize. In the background, coming from an unseen record player, was heavy metal music from another album that was not Siegfried's. It was from a group he was associated with called Vampire. One of his singers, Val Morgan, was the lead singer of that group.

"Kneel, bitch," he said to her in a commanding tone.

She was on her knees at once and he placed his cock against her lips. She opened her mouth and received his cock. He was well-endowed, like a male porn star, and he had the habit of shaving the hair off his balls. His cock was very white and pink looking with a pretty big head. She took it into her mouth sucking on it gratefully, murmuring and moaning as she sucked.

He had his hands on her brown hair, pulling at it and grasping it forcefully. She was no longer taking just the head but taking as much of his cock as she could into her throat. He made her gag with his cock and she was simultaneously fingering her own pussy. He loved that she could do the "no hands" trick.

By now, his cock was ready to shoot cum and he did so all over her face and breasts. Aching for more, she made his cock big again by keeping her hands on it. He took her by the hair, pulled her up and onto the bed and spread her legs. He had her in an arm lock from behind. He was hard again and rubbed his cock against her wet slit. She cried out as she writhed against him.

"Tell me you want me to fuck you," he said to her.

"Fuck me, please," she begged.

He put on her collar, which she had brought along and had put on the floor. He jerked it and this hurt her throat. The song on the record player had changed and it was now a classic rock anthem, Meatloaf's "Bat out of Hell."

He now inserted his cock into her pussy from behind. He pounded her pussy deeply and heavily, making her scream for a long period of time. Her voice became hoarse. He held her by the waist and fucked her relentlessly across the bed, hitting the headboard. The hours flew by. She had several orgasms as he continued to fuck her until he was ready to cum once again.

They looked at each other with a relaxed but not calm look. She continued to hold his cock and rub the shaft, gently while kissing it to keep it hard. He was able to stay hard, another thing his sex partners, mostly groupies, enjoyed about him.

The song on the record player had changed again. It was Cream's "Sunshine Of Your Love".

"I'll soon be with you my love, to give you my dawn surprise".......

He picked her up all of a sudden and threw her on to the bed. She was on her stomach and she knew that he wanted to take her in the ass. She raised her ass to him and readied herself for his cock to slip inside her tight asshole. She was panting, as if she had been running, and she sprawled herself over the blood-red sheets with easy sexuality. She looked back at him.

"You've got the nicest ass of any girl I know," he said to her.

"Thanks baby," she said to him, drinking up the praise.

"Who's your master?" he said to her.

"You are."

"I can't hear you."

"You are."

"Damn right bitch."

"I've been waiting so long, to be where I'm going....."

He slapped her ass suddenly, heavily, and made her wince and scream out. She wiggled her ass and he continued to caress her ass cheeks, which were small but perfectly toned and rotund. He inserted his finger into her asshole, preparing her, opening it up and making her pussy wet at the same time. His fingers were now in her pussy, giving her a profound sensual wave of pleasure. She moaned and writhed as he finger-fucked her for only a brief moment. She closed her eyes and laid her head down on the bed, grabbing a hold of a pillow.