Trust Me

"Guess so, but since when did you become a detective, James?"

"Sorry, sir, just saying. I know most murders are committed by the family, but in this case it can't be, can it?"

"You do your job and I'll do mine. By the way, what did Mr. Thompson do for all this money, do we know yet?"

"Yes, sir, import/export."

Alarm bells began to ring in Brian Hall's mind, "Importing and exporting what exactly?"

"Anything and everything, or so I'm told. Do you think that is what got him killed?"

"Hey, at this stage it could be too many parking offences and an over zealous traffic warden taking the law into his own hands for all we know. Let's wait for forensics, ok?" But the inspector's imagination had already dismissed the family, almost, and moved elsewhere, as Jason had planned and expected.

* * * *

"Ok, what have we got people?" Inspector Hall said, addressing the crowd of police officers crowded into the small office at the local police station.

A young, attractive policewoman stood up at the back of the room and, even though conscious of all the eyes on her, consulted her notes and spoke in a practiced, assured voice.

"The brother and sister's alibis pan out. The killings occurred between midnight and fifteen minutes past. She has a group of friends who confirm she was with them when the murders were committed and the hotel receptionist forwarded the daughter's call to Jason Thompson's room at midnight and he answered; both the receptionist and the daughter spoke to him as well as the daughter's friends. Also the cctv footage from the hotel show that his car never left the car park. The other cameras don't record but are monitored, the receptionists say that no one left the hotel between ten p.m. and seven o'clock the next day, the cameras are watched from the reception desk. It has to be someone associated with Thompson's business, it just has to be. "

The murmurs, which went around the room, indicated that the feeling of the other officers were the same but James wasn't so sure and he didn't run an investigation by consensus, at least until his superior took over the meeting.

Whether it was his superior's opinion or he was influenced by the reaction of the other officers in the room Hall didn't know but Chief Inspector Duncan Prist made his feelings known immediately.

"Have you contacted Interpol about the import/export business yet, Hall?" he waded in immediately.

"Not yet, sir," Hall answered, annoyed that he was being questioned in front of his junior officers. "We're still trying to completely exclude the family from the investigation."

"From what I've heard they've excluded themselves, haven't they? Concentrate on the business interest, that's where the answer lies. Drugs or people trafficking, it'll be tied up with that, I'll bet my pension on it. Leave the family to grieve, Hall, that's an order."

Chief Inspector Duncan Prist strode purposefully from the room; it excited him to be able to exercise his authority and to leave no doubt as to who was ultimately in charge.

Inspector Hall sighed long and deeply before addressing the assembled crowd, making little attempt trying to hide his feelings regarding the Chief Inspector's comments.

"Ok, people, you heard the man, get back to work and leave the family out of the investigation unless you speak to me first."

* * * * *

Jason walked into what had been their parent's bedroom and watched as Tara stretched before pulling aside the covers and swinging her long legs on to floor. His penis straightened and swelled as he crossed the floor towards her and his sister smiled in relief as she reached out to caress him. At first the merest glimpse of her long legs, pert breasts or neatly shaven pussy was enough to send his cock hard and barely a day had passed without him taking her at least twice in as many rooms as possible. But in the last few months he had seemed colder towards her. It was as if the more available she had become the less he wanted her.

When will we be able to leave?" She whispered as her long fingers slid up and down his hard shaft, "I hate it here."

"Soon, darling, soon. When the insurance company pays out we'll sell up and go. I've heard that the police are concentrating all their efforts on the business, so we are in the clear, there should be no need for any delay."

His hips swung and Tara's mouth covered his cock, she knew his climax was imminent. Since 'that day' his arousal seemed to be getting quicker but she suspected it was the thought of what he had done that exited him far more than she did, and it worried her. His expressions of love, once so sincere, now had a hollow ring to them.

His groans interrupted her thoughts and as his cum filled her mouth and trickled slowly down her throat he, once again, made no attempt to satisfy her, leaving her kneeling by the bed as he moved to the bathroom.

"I have to go away on business for a couple of days again, would you pack for me, darling?" she heard him shout above the sound of the cascading shower.

She didn't answer him, neither did she dress.

Tara was standing, naked, when he entered the bedroom holding his case and hoping that he would make some gesture, utter some words that would dispel her fears, but with a soft, almost chaste, kiss he left.

* * * * *

The car slid slowly to a halt in the hotel car park, Tara's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly and, for what seemed like the hundredth time, she wondered if she should really be there.

One minute she trusted him implicitly, the next . . . . Why was he acting so coldly, so aloof, as if he'd tired of her, so soon? And more importantly why did he need to keep coming here to this hotel? He could afford better than this now. Maybe he had another reason to come here? And that reason kept searing its way into her brain . . . Susan, Susan, Susan. Was it her imagination or did his voice soften, just a little, when he mentioned her?

Tara found herself staring through the plate glass windows and into the foyer of the Carlton Hotel. It was 10 p.m. and she watched as a pretty, blond haired receptionist poured a large measure of whiskey into a glass before walking quickly towards the elevators. Tara waited until the doors closed and entered the hotel. It was exactly as Jason had described it and within seconds she was looking down at the monitors that covered the hallways outside the guest's rooms.

She saw Susan emerge from the open doors and glide slowly down the hallway her smile broadening as, when about halfway along, a door opened and Jason emerged. A naked Jason, an aroused Jason.

Tara stifled a sob as she watched as the receptionist reached down and begin stroking his hard rod and, worse still, bent at the waist to take the cock, 'her' cock', deep into her mouth. It was only for a few seconds, but it was enough to tell Tara all she needed to know. She ran from the hotel and back towards her car gnawing on her knuckle to stifle the scream rising within her.

Two hours later Tara was slumped into a chair, a bottle of Jason's whiskey and an almost full tumbler alongside her on a small table. Her parents had died in this room, and for what? So Jason could be rich and play the field. That was all this was about . . . money, not her, not them, only money. Tara felt used, dirty and for the first time in her young life, alone.

The alcohol dulled the pain but not the memory and Tara slipped into a drunken sleep with the vision of her parent's bloodied bodies lying on the lounge floor at her feet.

Daylight brought her out of her nightmares but into the even worse horror of her predicament. She had to think, and she couldn't do it there.

She dressed, left the house and walked slowly down the green, baize-like lawn and over the stream. Her path took her unerringly towards the small copse at the top of the hill where, as children, she and Jason used to play. Those had been idyllic times when they had pledged their love for each other, but were too young to realise what that really meant or where their innocent expression of affection would eventually take them.

Tara found herself at the place where Jason had rescued her from the 'red Indians' who had captured her from the wagon train or the cruel 'black knight' imprisoning her in his lofty castle. Jason, always the hero, the rescuer of the damsel in distress, the cavalry who turned up in the nick of time to slay the wrongdoer . . . . but now, Jason the cheat, Jason the destroyer of lives, Jason the murderer.

She leant against the tall oak, the centrepiece of the copse, and sunk down sitting next to their secret place. The place they hid all the precious things whose value could only be seen through a child's eye. A marble, a toy car with a missing wheel, some costume jewellery given away free with a bag of sweets . . . . a gun.

Tara stared at it, how could he have brought it here, defiling their place with this obscene item? And yet she reached out and lifted it onto her lap. This killed her parents, she thought, but then . . . no . . . this is what Jason killed them with.

She was sitting in the lounge when Jason returned, the gun in her lap, her hand tightly gripping the butt.

She heard him shout from the hallway, but didn't look up; she sat staring at the black instrument of death cradled in her hands.

"Tara, you home?"

He peered into the lounge and the smile which was forming on his face evaporated, as he saw what she was holding.

"Fuckin' hell, Tara, take that back to where you found it, the police could come round at any time. Why did you bring it here?"

Tara's measured tones stopped his rhetoric in its tracks.

"I saw you. Last night I saw you with that slut of a receptionist. Did you think I wouldn't find out, Jason? Are you fucking her, or does she just suck you off? Do you pay her? Tell me all, Jason . . . tell me now."

"It's just a fling, it means nothing, you should know that. It's just you and me; it's always been you and me and always will be. Now put that thing down."

He watched and, sensing her hesitancy, began to inch slowly towards her.

His movement caused her to look up and he stopped, searching for words to defuse the situation.

"Tara, give me the gun, please Tara, trust me"

Jason's words cut into her heart, into her very soul, and slowly, deliberately she raised the gun and fired. It was as if fate was controlling everything. In spite of never having fired a gun before the 9 grams of copper and lead hurtled its way unerringly to a point midway between Jason's eyes and he was dead before his body slumped to the floor. Once more the Thompson family blood oozed out through the lounge carpet and onto the hardwood floor below.

* * * * *

Tara entered the police station, the gun still held at her side. The desk sergeant pushed frantically at the emergency call button as civilians backed away into the recesses of the foyer.

Tara looked around, almost surprised by the reactions and placed the gun onto the desk. "Could I speak to Inspector Hall, please?" She said in a quiet, measured tone, belying the events around her.

"I'll get him," the police officer replied, his hand sneaking across the desk and gripping the gun. As he pulled it towards him two others tore into the room and pinioned her hands behind her back. A collective sigh of relief echoed around and she was led, with a look of surprise at their reaction on her face, behind the counter and towards the rear of the police station.

* * * * *

"We've found Jason." The Inspector started the interrogation watching her reaction to every question or comment as close as any psychiatrist would a patient, always looking for the tell-tale signs that he learned over the years which would indicate a lie or 'equally importantly' a line of questioning to pursue more intently.

She said nothing for a few seconds then, "Jason killed them, you know."

"I guessed he did; want to tell me how he did it?"

"He told me you wouldn't figure it out, especially when you discovered what dad did for a living, he was right wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was right," the inspector knew that from now on it was best left to her to find her own pace in recounting the events, so he settled back into a chair and waited.

"It was simple really, but I suppose most mysteries are when you know how it was done."

Brian Hall began to tinker with a plastic cup of water on the desk in front of him. He was getting impatient, almost desperate, to know how the murder had been committed; one of the few he hadn't been able to unravel in his time as a police officer.

She started: "A while ago Jason had some trouble with his laptop so he had software installed which allowed another computer to access it and takeover. It was then he had the idea. He knew that the hotel had a wi-fi system so he could control his laptop from another, anywhere he wanted. With a little tinkering with the settings he discovered he could answer an incoming call from a remote place, but he had to have the telephone line plugged in as well.

"He did think he'd given the game away when he stumbled over the phone line you don't need on wi-fi when that bitch Susan was in the room, but she didn't notice. From then on all he had to do was get out of the hotel and back without being seen.

"That was the easy part. He established a pattern of asking for a glass of whiskey at ten each night, knowing that after it was delivered he would have the time it took the receptionist to get from his room to the desk to leave the hotel. The manager made it clear to the guests that the corridors weren't recorded so he only had to worry about someone watching the monitors.

"He sneaked out, placing a wedge under the bolt on the fire door so he could get back in later and, avoiding the camera in the car park which he knew 'was' recording, collected another car and drove to our home."

"Hold on," the inspector interrupted, "how did he get another car, there weren't any others registered to him?"

"He bought one at an auction, paid cash, and never sent the slip in. I'm not sure of the details. He rented a garage through the business; you'll find it eventually, it's close to the hotel. That was why the calls I made were so important. We had to establish that our parents were alive at midnight and," she paused slightly, "dead at fifteen minutes past. That would give him his alibi."

"And how did he get back into the hotel afterwards?" the inspector asked.

"He used an untraceable mobile phone to ring the hotel. He knew the receptionist had to turn away from the monitors to answer the call giving him just enough time to reach his room, taking out the plastic wedge as he went in."

"That was why you couldn't tell us which hotel it was when we arrived at the house until later?"

She smiled slightly at him, "Yes, I played a good part; I even had that policewoman in tears."

"I think I can guess why you killed Jason." The inspector watched her reaction closely. "He was having an affair with the receptionist, Susan. We discovered that early on, but we didn't think she was involved. She was playing around with quite a few of the guests; we think she did it for money."

"A common prostitute, he betrayed me with a common prostitute," Tara's head slumped onto the desk for a few seconds, then she added with a slight smile, "Well, he paid the price, didn't he? I would have forgiven him, you know, until he asked me that."

"Asked you what, Tara?"

"To 'trust him', again."