All The Pretty Girls Ch. 02

Chapter Two -- Loretta

The killer drove slowly down Bridge Street Balwyn studying the talent. The north end of the street was well lit and populated with fresh trade: pretty young girls who were not yet ravaged by drugs, beaten ugly by their pimps and johns or world-weary of a life walking the streets and selling their bodies. They strutted their stuff confidently. The west side of the street was occupied by older but still presentable women who could still make their pimps a decent buck. The east side was where the women who were well past their use-by-date worked, offering twenty dollar blowjobs and fifty dollar half-n-half behind the dumpsters.

The killer was only interested in the girls working the south side. This was where the transsexuals worked. He passed a couple of good-looking girls with big hair and heavy makeup wearing short skirts, fuck-me heels and nylons. They weren't what he was looking for and he shooed one of them away when she approached his car.

Then he saw the girl he wanted. She was obviously a crossdresser, easily clocked, but her face was pretty and she was proudly displaying the parts of her body that attracted him. Her long legs were sheathed in high-gloss tan pantyhose and her snatch was swathed by tight black velvet hotpants. It was this that fascinated him, titillated him, drew him, captivated him, compelled him. He was captivated by the illusion this presented. The perfect curve of a pubic mound, how it so agreeably mimicked the contour of a woman's labia.

He loved their pretty faces, their makeup, the hair, their long legs and their asses but it was the perfect pubic mound that pressed all of his buttons and made this man-woman so desirable. He knew that the illusion was created by careful tucking of male genitals but as long as he didn't have to see them he didn't care. He found the sight of their male genitals repulsive.

He pulled to the curb and the girl approached his car. As she got closer he could see her flaws. Her wig-line wasn't quite straight, her makeup was not blended properly, one leg of her pantyhose had a runner in it, her high heels were scuffed from walking the streets.

The killer didn't care. The woman was still pretty even if she wasn't polished; 'let's call her a rough diamond' he thought to himself. He was mesmerised by the V of her crotch as she stood next to his car checking him out, making sure he wasn't a vice cop.

"You got a place hon?" when the woman leaned into the car he was shrouded in a miasma of perfume.

"I've got a place," the killer gave her his best smile.

He knew that he presented well to the hooker. He was middle-aged with a dad-body, he was wearing good clothes and the stolen BMW he was driving was a sweet ride; she'd think him a rube.

"What 'chew want?" the transvestite was using her femme street voice.

"I want you to suck my dick until its hard then I wanna fuck you in the ass," the killer gave her his best smile.

"How's a hundred sound?" the hooker tested the waters.

"Sounds good to me," there was no need to haggle; he didn't intend to pay this girl.

In his hurry to leave the dingy hotel he had forgotten to take the two hundred dollars from April's purse. She was only his second murder and he was still learning. This one would go better.

He knew that it was a big risk taking another girl so soon but he just couldn't control the impulse and now that he'd seen her there was no turning back. He had to have her. He didn't have to kill her but he knew he was going to. He fingered the cheap nylons in his jacket pocket and his hard cock became stiffer.

The hooker walked around the car and slid into the front passenger seat and the killer drove off.

"Where we goin honey?" the tranny slipped her hand between his legs and stroked his thigh.

"There's a place in Battersea Park," the man's throat was thick with lust.

"Thought you said you had a place?" the hooker leaned in and nibbled his earlobe.

"There's a place in the park I know. There's a bed and that's all we need, somewhere to fuck comfortably," the man put his hand on her thigh and stroked her gossamer-clad flesh.

"Shit honey; I done it standing up against a wall in Battersea Park, I done it in the underpass, shit I done it in the bushes so if you got a bed, that's luxury," the hooker nipped his ear.

The killer drove into Battersea Park along a gravel track until he came to a Park Services hut. He'd cased the place earlier, ensuring it wasn't alarmed and had broken the lock before he went hunting.

They both giggled as he led her into the dark hut using the torch function on his mobile phone. It was filled with tools and smelled musty. Both sides of the hut were fitted with workbenches but at the back of the hut there were two battered lounge chairs, a stained and scratched coffee table and an older model flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. There was a small kitchenette in the corner and a steel framed camp bed propped along the back wall. The maintenance staff used the hut as a workshop but also as their lunchroom and changing room. A small toilet and shower had been fitted as an addition.

"Honey, this is the Ritz compared to some of the shitholes I've been in," the transvestite hooker giggled as she pulled off her fake fur bolero jacket.

The killer switched on a lamp beside the bed so that they had some light.

The hooker put her thumbs in the waistband of her hotpants preparing to pull them down.

"No! Don't!" the man put his hands on her wrists to stop her.

"Sure sugar. You want some foreplay before we get down to the nitty-gritty," the hooker smiled at him.

"Here. A little extra if you do just what I ask," the man gave her two hundred dollars.

The hooker broke into a grin and took the money.

"Ok honey; I can get kinky but nothing that leaves a mark and no fuckin' scat!" the hooker stuffed the twenties into her purse.

"Just lie on the bed. Don't take off a thing," the man said as he started to disrobe.

The hooker did as she was told and lay on the bed with her head on the musty pillow. The man, now naked with his erect penis standing proud climbed onto the bed and lay on top of her.

"Well this is nice," the hooker smiled up at him and he kissed her.

She tasted like Marlboro Menthols and Juicy Fruit but the man didn't care. He placed his hard cock in the V of her crotch and began to rut.

"Don't cum on my hotpants honey, ain't no way to get that shit out of velvet," the hooker complained around his kisses.

The man rutted at the hooker and she closed her legs around his cock so he was stimulated by the smooth velvet of her hotpants crotch and sleek slippery nylons on her legs. He had to stop a couple of times because he was so close to coming. The feel of the woman's body, the smell of her perfume, the smooth pubis pressing on his penis felt divine. The knowledge that that under her hotpants and pantyhose was a cock and scrotum intensified his pleasure but the thought of seeing or touching her genitals was repugnant. It was the illusion that fascinated and excited him.

"Roll over and get on your knees," the man panted.

The hooker scooted herself up the cot, awkwardly rolling over onto her hands and knees. While she was distracted the man reached for his coat which was neatly folded on the foot of the bedframe. He took the nylons from the pocket and stuffed them in the coverlet beside him.

"Let me get my stuff," the hooker reached for her purse and took out a Ziploc bag containing a tube of lubricant and a package of condoms.

She tore open the condom wrapper with her teeth.

"An extra fifty if we go bareback," the man said excitedly.

The bitch was getting it bareback whether she wanted it or not but it would be easier if she acquiesced.

"Sure honey, I'm on PrEP and I was at the free clinic last week," the hooker tossed the condom on the floor.

"Just stay like that," the man ordered.

He pulled down the hooker's hotpants as far as they would go exposing her buttocks encased in the sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose. She hadn't bothered with panties. Her genitals were tucked along her perineum held in place by the tight pantyhose, out of sight.

The man rubbed his cock on her shiny ass and enjoyed the tingling feeling of the gossamer pantyhose against his sensitive penis.

"Feel good sugar? You like that?" the hooker wriggled her buttocks for him.

The man poked his finger into the girl's anus pushing the sleek material of her nylons into the puckered crevice. He snagged the fabric with his fingernail and made a little hole.

"You like them nylons don't you sugar?" she wiggled her ass at him appreciatively and cooed when he dropped a dollop of lubricant onto her sphincter and began to massage it in.

He pushed his middle finger all the way inside her and wriggled it around and smiled when the hooker groaned appreciatively and pushed her ass back against him. He was pleased to see that his finger was clean when he pulled it out.

"Just be careful when you... oh Jesus!" the hooker sighed as the man pushed his lubricated cock into her anus all the way.

He wasn't as big as some she had taken but he was no lightweight. His cock stretched her anus and the hooker felt herself full. She didn't usually get off with her johns but this guy knew how to fuck, slowly driving his cock in and out of her anus, pulling it nearly all the way out then pushing it all the way back in, grinding his pubis against her buttocks.

She was becoming erect and she put a hand between her legs trying to free her penis. She wanted to stroke it while the john fucked her.

The man slapped her hand away angrily.

"Not part of the deal honey," the man growled as he began to fuck her harder.

The hooker just shrugged and raised her ass higher for him; she would likely come in her pantyhose without even touching herself.

Which is exactly what she did when she felt the man push his penis all the way inside her as he orgasmed; grinding his pubis into her buttocks, howling like a banshee. It might not have been the most intense orgasm that she had ever felt but it was certainly her last. She drummed her feet in the bed and clenched her sphincter as the delicious orgasm radiated from her prostate, into her loins and washed over her.

The killer quickly slipped the pantyhose over her head and wrapped them tightly around her neck. He twisted them once and then pulled back on them as hard as he could. The hooker managed to get two fingers under the nylon before it became embedded in her flesh but it was to no avail. She was vaguely aware of the man ejaculating inside her before she lost consciousness.

The killer kept the hooker's body in the hut until just before sunrise, using her corpse for his pleasure. He took the money from her purse and left her cold and dead on the bed face down with her legs spread wide.

"Fucking tranny whore!" he shouted at her lifeless body for probably the hundredth time as he slammed the door shut.

The killer drove the BMW to a quarry on the outskirts of Balwyn where he had parked his own car. He splashed gas into the BMW's interior, threw in a match and ran to his car. He could see the flames from the BMW receding in his rear vision mirror as he drove away.

*****

"What have we got Alice?" Steve hung his coat on the rack and joined Alice at her workstation in the Special Task Force office.

"We ran the DNA and the fingerprints through the system but there is no match. The perp's a non-secretor which he may or may not be aware of. He's not careful with his bodily fluids or fingerprints so I doubt they are on file anywhere but I'll have them sent out to all of the national databases: medical, military, education, employment agencies and so on," Alice didn't sound confident.

"The semen found in April's anus and on her body and clothing came from the perp. There was a lot of it. He likely ejaculated several times, at least once inside her anus and at least once on her legs and backside. The semen was confined to the lower extremities of the body."

"The tox screen revealed no alcohol or illicit drugs in April's blood," Alice alternated reading from both the pathology report and the CSI crime scene summary.

"The fluid on the front of April's panties was her own pre-ejaculate."

"The pantyhose used to strangle her were L'eggs Everyday Regular. Cheap pantyhose sold at Walmart in an eight pack. I don't think they have any real significance other than they are a convenient means of strangulation and easy to conceal. They can't be traced to any particular store or date of purchase."

"I've entered the autopsy and scene of crime reports into the case file and checked on the physical evidence in the evidence room to ensure it's all there. I read your interview with Wendy Beaumont prior to meeting her at the apartment and processing April's bedroom," Alice stopped speaking to take a sip of coffee.

"Did you do anything this weekend other than work? You've been a busy girl," Steve felt guilty.

He'd spent all day Saturday with Felicity and spent Sunday at home online reading the CSI and autopsy reports which Alice was doing a good job of summarising for him.

"Weekend? What's a weekend?" Alice continued her case summary.

"Come and look at this. It's April's OnlyFans," Alice fired up April's laptop.

Alice logged in as administrator to April's OnlyFans account and then opened a separate tab and logged in as a user.

"I set up a user ID so we can see what her OnlyFans looks like to a member. I'm using PD funds to pay for it," Alice smirked and Steve grunted, staring at the screen.

The home page was simple enough. Once you registered and paid a joining fee you had the option to view pictures and videos of April in provocative poses and having sex with an unidentified male. There was a link for contact details which listed an email address and a phone number.

Alice clicked on a random video thumbnail. The video began with April and the man kissing and engaging in foreplay. Alice forwarded the time bar stopping randomly throughout the fifteen minute video. April was dressed in sexy lingerie, stockings and heels and her makeup was heavy. She was wearing a wig. The couple engaged in fellatio which progressed to coitus in various positions with the obligatory 'cum shot' with the male shooting his load over April's face.

Throughout the video a banner ran along the bottom of the screen inviting the viewer to contact April to engage in the same activities in real life. The stills were similarly logoed.

"Here is her OnlyFans email account," Alice opened a Gmail account.

She opened emails at random. Some were from men who genuinely wanted to hook up, most of them were just fan mail complementing April on her performance and wishing they had the fortitude to actually meet with her. A few were downright derogatory, calling her a whore, an aberration and threatening her with damnation or worse.

"Why join a site that advertises itself as a transsexual porn site and then vilify the performer?" Alice asked.

"Who knows? I'm no psychiatrist but I'll bet a lot of the anger directed at April comes from people who have self-loathing issues and are disgusted that they find the material appealing," Steve surmised.

"We can't rule out that the murder is related to the site's content," he extrapolated.

"Are there any requests for April's services on the day of her murder?" Steve asked.

"Not in her email but I've downloaded her mobile phone records into the computer. She has two accounts. One is a pre-paid Gen Mobile account that she runs from an unlocked cheap mobile phone linked to her OnlyFans. That's the phone we found at the scene. The other is with AT&T which she uses only for legitimate business and personal reasons. The two are kept separate. Her OnlyFans website and email account is accessed through the burner phone; her private phone has no ties to her OnlyFans," Alice held up the phones, one in each hand.

"There are a series of texts organising the meet at the motel. They start the day before and culminate with April providing the john with the hotel room number at 1300 on the day of the crime," Alice pointed to a list of texts on the screen.

"Bingo!" Steve finally thought they were getting somewhere.

"Not bingo I'm afraid. The perp's phone is a burner and can't be traced to its owner. I've checked the pings from the cell towers to the burner number and it was only ever used in public places: shopping malls, public parks, gas stations, etcetera. It was purchased five days before the murder and April's is the only number ever dialled or texted," Alice explained.

"It was last used in the parking lot of the motel and hasn't pinged since. I'll bet it's been destroyed and disposed of," Alice sighed.

"So we need to set up several lines of investigation. We look at the registered members of her OnlyFans. There are several thousand but only three hundred or so in Texas. We go through her email and look for any messages that raise our suspicion; those that are threatening or particularly vitriolic. We also look for other ties and links that might lead us to someone who is smitten with her," Alice stated the bleeding obvious.

"Can we work up a profile of the perp?" Steve asked.

"We can do all sorts of stuff Steve but we can't do it on our own. I'm good at tech stuff and analysis but you need at least one other detective who is a skilled investigator to work the case with us. You need a partner," Alice got out of her seat and went over to the Bunn to pour coffee.

"Tell me what I don't know," Steve sighed.

Why did Sylvia Bickle have to be on vacation? He wasn't used to leading an investigation. He was a good detective, a good street cop and had great investigative skills but he needed someone with organisational skills to help him run the investigation.

"I'm going to see the Chief of Detectives. Don't go anywhere," Steve began to put on his coat.

"Where am I going to go?" Alice settled back down at her workstation with her coffee and began clicking keys.

Gary Rasmussen was on the phone when Steve arrived at his office. He signalled for Steve to sit, barked into the phone for another minute or two and then hung up.

"What's up? How's the case going?" Gary asked spinning a pen through his fingers.

"Alice sent you a summary in an email but the gist is we have plenty of leads but nothing solid. I need another investigator to assist. Someone experienced. I have a few patrolmen running errands for me between calls for assistance but I need a trained investigator," Steve explained while Gary read the case summary on his screen.

"I need a vacation somewhere where there are warm sandy beaches, tanned women in itsy-bitsy bikinis and cocktails with little straw hats but I ain't gonna get it. Budget cuts, manpower ceilings, cops on furlough, compassionate leave, sick leave, whatever the fuck... I don't have anyone Steve," Gary sighed.

Steve knew that arguing would get him nowhere. He stood up to leave.

"I'll approve overtime for a couple of uniforms. They can run-go-fetch while you and Alice work the case," Gary opened his desk drawer looking for his cigarettes.

Steve paused at the doorway, nodded, and walked away.

Back in the Task Force office Steve began to set up a crime wall on the whiteboard that took up nearly the entire wall. It was an old fashioned technique but Penelope Bishop and Silvia Bickle had put it to good use in the past and when he was seconded to the Task Force during the hunt for the Lipstick Killer he had seen the value of it.

Data on screens and in files was good but having a visual reference with photographs, timelines, clues and deductions represented pictorially in one place gave a succinct observable summary of the case. Alice came over and began to help, sticking up pictures of the crime scene and linking them to thought bubbles while Steve put a horizontal timeline at the top of the board.