The Flaming Girls Ch. 04

"Can we do that again?" she smiled at him meekly.

"Oh yes darling. We are going to do it again," Walter kissed the tip of her nose.

And they did... all night. By the time they were ready to leave for their honeymoon in France the next day Alice's lingerie was reduced to tattered, semen-soaked rags. She walked with a little pain; her cunt hurt, but it was a nice hurt.

Walter was thirty three years old and had been married for ten years when the migraines returned. Alice's buxom figure had become a little more rounded but they still had a healthy sex life. They made a conscious decision not to have children and Walter had a vasectomy right after their honeymoon. Snuggling up to Alice and having sex with her bought little relief from the pain in his head.

Then one day he went out for lunch, his head pounding and his stomach aching, and he stopped at a newsagent to buy a packet of Rennies. The shopgirl who served him was a pretty little thing with pretty red ringlets and blue eyes. She was wearing a black short-skirted dress with white piping, black tights and shiny black flats as were the other two girls working in the shop.

But she flamed. Her red hair appeared to glow and her clear blue eyes glittered. She looked at him quizzically as she worked the till. He was staring at her. She was a little flattered, the man was older than the boys she went out with but he was handsome and by looks of his suit and his styled dark hair he was wealthy. She flirted with him a little but he hardly spoke, he just stared at her.

Walter's head began to pound and he could hardly breathe, the little shopgirl's hair appeared to be a halo of fire and her eyes blazing blue coals.

Walter extinguished the fire that night in the grounds of Chelmsford cathedral. Her body was found with her tights lowered and her knickers missing under a tree near the Church Street wall. Her throat had been cut and an attempt made to cut her belly. She was missing a silver bracelet that her boyfriend had given her. Police questioned the boyfriend for several hours before they decided he wasn't the murderer.

Walter was shaking with both fear and exhilaration as he drove away from the scene that night. His migraine had disappeared the moment he came inside the shopgirl's tight little quim while she squirmed beneath him and he reached for the knife he had purchased that very afternoon.

His suit was covered in her blood as were his hands. He was lucky he hadn't been caught in the act or making his escape. He had to control himself more, to plan better, to be better prepared and to make sure that any blood evidence that transferred to his clothing could be disposed of. Walter knew there would be more Flaming Girls.

Lucky for Walter, Alice was attending the opera with her friends that night so he was able clean up during her absence and take his new trophies to the little workshop attached to the big garage. He put the bracelet and the shopgirl's cute little white nylons panties with pink polka-dots on the workbench and immediately became tumescent at the sight of them. He raced into the house and took a pair of Alice's nylon stockings from her lingerie drawer and bought them back to workshop and slid one of the stockings over his cock and bought the panties to his nose. He ejaculated without even touching himself.

Over the next few days he purchased coveralls, boots, gloves and duffle coats, resealable plastic bags, a big red tool box and several packages of good quality stockings. He put a heavy padlock on the door to the workshop.

Alice was quite pleased with Walter's increased libido over the ensuing days and weeks; it was almost like they were on honeymoon again.

But eventually the headaches returned and became worse and developed into full-blown migraines. Walter knew there was only one way to ease the pain.

The second Flaming Girl he found working on the streets in one of the seedier areas of Essex after driving around the streets night after night for a week. He had everything he needed in the boot of his car and he changed into his coveralls and boots before he picked her up and took her somewhere quiet where he could take his time with her. The prostitute thought it a little strange that a man wearing working class clothing was driving a Bentley but the offer of five pounds was too good to refuse.

Her body was found in a backstreet, sans knickers and cheap necklace.

Walter was getting better at his craft.

*****

Robin sat at the table fuming, staring at the remains of his pint.

"Fucking ungrateful bitch!" he was seething, his emotions in turmoil.

"Fuck it!" he downed his pint and stormed out of The Plough determined to walk home.

Except he didn't. He turned in the opposite direction and started walking towards Charlie's flat. He caught up with her as she rounded the corner to her street. Charlie heard the footfalls and turned to see who it was. As soon as she saw it was Robin she increased her stride but walking in high heels she was no match for Robin who caught up with her easily before she got to the entrance to her building.

She turned and backed against the wall defensively.

"Come for your five pounds worth have you?" she sneered at him.

Robin stepped in close to her, winded from chasing her.

"What if I have? What if I don't want to be your big brother and protector, what if want to be something else?" he wheezed.

Charlie fumbled in her bag and produced the five pound note. She threw it on the ground.

"There! A full refund for services not received," she hissed into his face.

Charlie turned sideways against the wall intending to walk away but Robin turned her head to face him.

"What? What do you want?" she murmured.

Robin leaned in attempting to kiss her but Charlie turned away. He followed her and his lips fell on the side of her mouth. Charlie tried to push him away and turned to face him to tell him to leave her alone but his lips covered her mouth. Charlie remained closed-mouth, her body rigid and unresponsive.

Robin realised what he was doing to her and stopped. He took a step back.

"I'm sorry," he breathed and turned to leave.

Charlie reached out and pulled him back. She pressed herself against him and raised her lips to his. Robin enfolded her in his arms. She felt soft and delicate; almost fragile and he kissed her tenderly. Charlie clung to him and stood on tippytoes and put her arms around him, returning his kiss.

The kiss seemed to last an eternity, neither of them wanting it to stop. Robin inhaled her scent, felt her body pressed against his, her lips on his, he sensed her ragged breathing, her heart pounding, as was his. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, they broke the kiss. They stood locked in their embrace, foreheads touching, searching for breath.

"Do you want to come up?" Charlie whispered.

"More than anything in the world," Robin said softly.

"But I'm not going to. I'm going to kiss you again and then I'm going to say goodnight and watch you go through the door to your building and I'm going to regret not following you inside. I'm going to go home longing to be with you, hating myself for not spending the night with you, but ultimately commending myself for not following my base instincts."

"Because I don't want one night of passion to replace what could be a long term relationship. That is I do want a night of passion, I want you more than anything right now, but I want us both to consider what might be, what sort of relationship we might cultivate together if we give ourselves a chance."

"Fuck! You're a romantic," Charlie smiled up at him timidly.

She raised herself up and kissed him again and if it was at all possible it lasted longer than their first.

"Good night," Robin whispered, not wanting to let her go.

"Good night," Charlie clung to Robin for a while longer and finally they let go of each other.

Charlie unlocked and opened the door to her building and disappeared inside. Robin watched her and then turned away and began the long walk home.

The five pound note that Charlie had dropped blew away on a gust of wind, bouncing along the footpath.

*****

The Special Crime Investigation team came together at Glenda Savage's flat; Robin arrived early and got busy reviewing copies of the case files, Ruffe Ingersoll drifted in around ten o'clock having gone first to his desk at The Daily Sun to check messages and sit in on the morning newsroom meeting. Charlie arrived around ten thirty looking well rested and wearing a skirt, blouse, nylons and heels; her hair silken and shining like a flame and her makeup perfect.

Robin looked up when she walked in and immediately looked away back to his files when she met his gaze. Ever astute, Glenda noticed the brief exchange.

"Now that we are all here, are you happy to update us please Sargent Sparrow?" Glenda said after clearing her throat.

"The Slasher has not been active since he sent his letter to Ruffe and looking at the periodicity of his crimes, he's likely going to strike again within the next week or two," Robin began.

"The pattern of the crimes indicates he hunts in and around Chelmsford, even though he has a vehicle. I hypothesise that once he sees his so called Flaming Girl, he becomes infatuated with her and has no choice but take her. This indicates to me that he lives or works in Chelmsford, possibly both."

"I think we can safely narrow our search to the greater Chelmsford area," Robin concluded.

"Ruffe?" he turned to Ruffe to chime in.

"I have extensively reviewed the newspapers looking for similar crimes across England during the last ten years and there are none that fit the Slasher's MO or victim profile other than the six we know about. There were a series of attacks on prostitutes in Manchester last year but they involved strangulation, the perpetrator killed two of the seven women he attacked and anyway he was caught and put away," Ruffe announced.

"Glenda?" Robin turned to Glenda who was wearing her uniform today.

"I'm off to brief the Chief Constable and I'll drop into CID and see if they have anything new. He's going to ask what our next course of action will be," Glenda answered.

"I propose we visit the scenes of the crimes. It's a long shot but I think we should take Charlie along and see if she sees anything there that might trigger a memory or something specific that links the crimes besides the victim's appearance," Robin said.

"Are you ok with that Charlie? We'd be in an unmarked car and you would have protection," Robin looked directly at Charlie for the first time since he had glanced at her when she arrived.

"I'd like to do something. I feel like a spare dick at wedding at the moment," Charlie grinned.

She thought it funny that Robin was obviously uncomfortable in her presence after last night.

"Ok. I'll brief the Chief Constable accordingly. I'll be back around five o'clock and I'd like to invite you all to dinner to celebrate the first few days of our SCI team if that's ok," Glenda looked around the room.

"I'll post a story this afternoon. Charlie, The Daily Sun would like a follow-up piece on life after the Slasher if that's ok?" Ruffe looked at Charlie who nodded her consent.

"I can make it. It'll be better than take away or soup in the can," Robin looked guiltily at Charlie.

"It's not like I have anything else to do. Thank you Glenda is there some way I can help?" Charlie asked.

"Do your interview with Ruffe here and then if you don't mind, go down to the co-op and fill this shopping list," Glenda handed Charlie a shopping list and a one pound note.

"Looks like we've all got things to do, I'll see you at six o'clock for dinner," Glenda said, threading her arm into the sleeve of her uniform jacket.

"Can I bring a friend?" Ruffe asked.

"A girlfriend? Of course Ruffe. What about you Robin?" Glenda turned to the detective.

"I'll be stag," Robin blushed.

"Ok, I have to run. See you all later," Glenda picked up her handbag and keys.

*****

"You're wearing your uniform," Edward Bard said when Glenda entered the cheap hotel room and closed the door.

"I told my team that I was coming to see you, which is true, so they think I'm down at the station so of course I'd be wearing my uniform," Glenda explained, hurriedly unbuttoning her jacket.

"My lot think I've gone to a meeting at Scotland Yard but obviously they think the meeting is in mufti. I couldn't very well check into a no-tell hotel for the afternoon wearing a Chief Constable's uniform could I?" Edward took off his underpants and was now naked.

He lay on the bed, his penis getting harder as he watched Glenda undress.

"I came up the back stairs. No one saw me," Glenda hung her skirt and blouse in the closet.

When she had stripped down to her underwear Edward reached out and pulled her down on the bed.

"I'd like to come up your back stairs," he traced the backseam of her black nylon stocking all the way up to her thigh and then squeezed her buttocks through her black satin panties.

"You can come wherever you like after you've given me a good shagging. Seems like ages," Glenda snuggled up to him and threw one leg over his so that his cock rubbed on her nylon-sheathed thigh.

"It has been ages but we have the room all day," Edward rolled Glenda onto her back and lay on top of her.

He kissed her and rubbed his cock on her panty-clad quim. Glenda writhed beneath him, returning his kiss and lifting her groin up to his cock pressing on her mound through the slinky fabric of her knickers.

Edward could feel that she was wet, the crotch of her knickers was soaked with her juices and he could smell them. He pulled the gusset of her panties aside and slid his big black cock inside her juicy sheath.

Glenda moaned and lifted her legs and locked them around him.

"Is that good?" she smiled up at him.

Edward nodded and lowered his face to hers and began to grind against her, burying his cock deep inside her, pressing down on her clitoris to stimulate her.

Glenda arched her back and rose to meet his Edward's rhythmic thrusts, his slick, black weapon driving deep into her quim and the almost withdrawing, then plunging back inside her. She could feel it swelling to full tumescence which she knew meant that Edward was about to orgasm. Glenda grated her raw sex against the base Edward's penis, bringing on her own climax. Edward pulled Glenda hard against him, almost crushing her as he voided his semen deep inside her. Glenda shuddered and groaned, locked in his embrace as she climaxed.

Later they lay on the bed awash with post coital bliss when Edward spoke.

"How is you little SCI going along? Solved the case yet?" he lazily circled her areolae with a long dark finger.

Lying on her back like she was, her breasts where like soft white fat pillows with her nipples like cherries gracing the top of cupcake.

Glenda hated it when Edward took his condescending tone with her. Humouring her.

"We might have some ideas that CID haven't thought of," Glenda quipped.

Edward rolled onto his side, and popped his head up on his fist.

"You're giving everything to CID right? You're not really trying to solve this case are you?" Edward said, the seriousness evident in his voice.

"You never take me seriously Edward. I sometimes think you selected me to work with you just so you could get into my knickers," Glenda removed his hand from her breast.

"Which were a few sizes smaller when you first started working for me if I recall correctly," Glenda had rolled onto her side and Edward spanked her plump derriere playfully.

He didn't see the anger in Glenda's face because she was turned away from him, nor the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Glenda sat on the edge of the bed. She pulled off her sodden knickers and replaced them with a pair from her handbag and then stood up to inspect her stockings. Happy there were no ladders she pulled up the welts and straightened the seams.

"Are you going? I have the room for the whole afternoon Glenda. I thought we might get up to bit of slap and tickle as been as we haven't been able to be alone for so long," Edward sounded petulant which Glenda hated.

"You've had your slap and tickle. I have work to do," Glenda hitched up her skirt and tucked in her blouse.

She rummaged around in her handbag and found the knickers she had been wearing when they fucked.

"Here! Enjoy yourself. I'll see you next time I'm summoned to perform the duties your wife refuses to do," she tossed her sodden black satin panties at him.

"Glenda! Glenda get back here!" he called after her as she slammed the door behind her.

*****

Dinner that night was a cosy affair with five of them huddled around Glenda's little dining table. Glenda deliberately sat Robin and Charlie beside each other having seen the exchange between them this morning and sensing that there was possibly a spark between them. Ruffe had brought his sometime girlfriend Maggie Reardon who was dressed very bohemian and had long curly blonde locks and spoke with a broad Irish brogue. She was very intelligent and lifted the conversation, taking it away from talking constantly about the Essex Slasher.

Maggie had worked for Petticoat magazine which responded to the emergence of more liberal teenagers and young women of the late sixties and early seventies but was now defunct. She now worked freelance producing articles for the more successful avant-garde women's magazines and had a niche for obtaining interviews with celebrities who were notoriously hard to pin down.

Over poached fish with asparagus, baby carrots and buttered potatoes she regaled the audience with stories of her encounters with the famous and infamous.

Ruffe and Maggie had brought wine as had Robin, and Glenda had also stopped to get two bottles from the off licence on her way home from CID. The alcohol loosened inhibitions and tongues.

"So Charlie, you're almost a celebrity now," Maggie turned to her, eyes glittering.

"I suppose so, but for all the wrong reasons," Charlie replied.

"Sales of pink rayon baby-doll nightdresses have gone through the roof," Maggie teased.

Charlie blushed. She knew that Maggie was referring to the photograph that Ruffe had taken and The Daily Sun had printed of her posing seductively in her hospital room.

"Do you know there is a look out there now? The Charlie," Maggie took a generous gulp of Riesling.

Charlie's anonymity had been sold off for ten pounds by Deirdre Edwards when a reporter from a rival newspaper interviewed her about the Slasher attack. Charlie could no longer work the underpass; it had become a place where people came in hopes in stealing a glance of the only surviving Slasher victim or of snapping a picture of her to sell to the tabloids.

"What do you mean a look?" Charlie was amused.

"Small-framed, flat-chested girls with teased dyed-red hair, heavy makeup and long legs are now de rigueur. Young women all over the UK are flattening their chests, cutting their hair and dying it red," Maggie said excitedly searching for her cigarettes.

"Are you serious?" Glenda asked.

"I thought that when we released the profile of the Slasher's victims all having red hair and blue or green eyes that red-headed women all over the south of England would be dying their hair some other colour."

"Well a lot of them are. But celebrity is a funny thing; all it takes is one photograph to start a trend. Just like Twiggy had the waif look, some girls are going 'Charlie'. It's a fad. It won't last long but you have to admit it's an interesting response to a rather morbid story," Maggie lit up and offered her cigarettes around the table.

More wine was drunk and stories told as the evening wore on. Charlie went upstairs to use the toilet and was confronted by Maggie waiting for her on the landing.