Double-Crossed (12 page)

Marianne smiled. “Well, so far it seems the two of you may be right, though I am not sure how far I want to take all of this.” She turned over the DVD in her hand and looked at the back of it. “But I think I'd like to do more than I've done already.”

Bill gave her a knowing look. “Give that to me.” He playfully grabbed the DVD out of her hand. “I want to send you home with all this stuff. You're scaring the other customers!”

Marianne laughed, paid for her purchase, and then with a cheery wave, left the store with her nicely stocked bag of goodies. Stopping only for Thai green curry from her favorite little takeaway, she walked home.

Back in the safety of her apartment, Marianne felt that she had time to think and gather some much-needed information. With her lunch next to her, she sat at her laptop, the table awash with books and films, ready to explore the world that had been introduced to her just a little over twelve hours ago.

The next few hours were a blurred mix of wonder and intellectual challenge. She had to stop and masturbate twice as she strolled through all of the different types of information in her books. There were stylized photos of women and men in certain poses, and there were the hard-core poses that obviously came from real settings. Photos seemed to extend from the fetish pretty stuff that involved a lot of sex, appealing to interested vanilla types, all the way to the hard-core stuff that concerned people fully clad in fetish wear. Some photographs depicted people in real, extreme situations their contorted pain showing in the grimace they presented to the camera. Marianne moved away from the photos—some terrifying, some arousing, and most tantalizingly seductive—to the Internet for some inspiration. She joined a chat room at one point and watched others having cyber conversations. These gatherings—called “munches” she found out—could be attended on the Internet or in real life. There even seemed to be many people who were into the scene online and not in the real world.

After a while, she started to ask questions and chat to folks. A young woman, who had started only a few months earlier, gave Marianne some details to fill in the experience gaps. She'd been fascinated after accidentally coming across some fetish pornography on the Internet and then joined a chat room in order to find a Master. The man who dominated her had a stable of women, and he agreed to place her at number three. This was very high for an initiate, but he did it because of her beauty and grace.

She always wore blue. The color gave her the nickname The Blue Sub.

She played into this reputation, which she adored. She said that her fetish ran more toward exhibitionism rather than pain. Therefore, she would attend a great deal of activities, parties, and online events dressed in some sort of fetish wear, but always blue. Her Master took her on a leash to these various outings. For her, pride came in the compliments her Master received for his sub's beauty and discipline.

Marianne chatted with her for over an hour and then bade her farewell.

She talked with another woman whose fetish had her pose like a mannequin, not moving until permitted. This usually so aroused her that when she went home with her lover, they would make passionate love. She talked of a partnership that she had with a man who was deeply aroused by dressing women. He never engaged sexually with the women, but he would dress them from his own expansive wardrobe that he carried about with him from party to party. He chose his women carefully. He would dress them in intensely beautiful fetish clothes: sheer body stockings, latex, leather, velvet, satin, and lace. He did their makeup. Then he would send them out, watch them walk about for a little while, and go back to the clothes and masturbate alone. He chose her to accompany him to the parties, and she chose to be posing at the front door dressed as a mannequin through the night. Her lover felt free to look at the women and men to his satisfaction, and then they would go home to their own private world.

Marianne found these kinds of stories fascinating. Actually attending a party might be a little out of her comfort zone at this point, but she felt she intuitively understood this world. It had the decadence of the sex trade that she saw on the streets of the Cross, but it had sophistication. This game had power. Not for the faint-hearted, that's for sure, but profoundly intelligent nonetheless. Moreover, it asked for real courage. Real courage that Marianne felt she had. Real courage she wanted to show Peter.

* * *

Peter felt completely prepared for the three-thirty meeting. He had a large whiteboard on a stand in his sitting room, a pile of notepads and pens on his lounge table, and copies of the notes that he had made over the last four hours. There were two bottles of wine and a full and varied cheese plate ready for his guests.

Right on time, the doorbell rang. He headed for the door, holding a glass of Sauvignon Blanc in his hand. Glancing through the peephole gave him confirmation of his first arrivals. Peter opened the door.

“I would never have said that. You have it wrong. I would never have said that
Pulp Fiction
is better than
Reservoir Dogs. Reservoir Dogs
is my favorite Tarentino, except for the
Kill Bills
, and I would never have said that.”

“Betty! Welcome!” Peter handed her the glass of Sauvignon Blanc that he held in his hand. Betty, a medium-height, round woman with very short hair took it from him and downed the glass in one gulp. She gave the empty glass back to him.

“Thanks. I feel better now!” She pushed past him making her way into the lounge room. Betty, one of the top lawyers in his firm, had agreed to be his second on this case.

Peter stood holding the empty glass, looking into it. He looked up and said, “Hi, Alan.”

Alan, the detective who worked for the firm, smiled. In his late fifties, and excellent at his job, the firm had tried for years to retain him full time for investigative work, finally succeeding a few years back. With an impeccable reputation, incorporating a mixture of intuitive creativity and the collecting of hard, supportive evidence, his contribution couldn't be ignored.

“Sorry! Got her all riled up on the way over here.” Alan looked into the empty glass. “Got one of those for me?”

“Sure.” Peter closed the door behind him and followed him into the larger part of the apartment. Betty sat on the couch and immediately started going through one set of notes. Alan moved in and sat next to her.

“Am I supposed to make room for the famous detective with no powers of lucid observation?” Betty snarled as Alan took his seat.

Peter walked in with two more glasses of wine. As he handed one to Betty and the other to Alan, he said, “Now, now, we have at least two hours of work to get through this afternoon. Try to be friendly. Have you two been arguing all the way over in the car?”

Alan gave Peter a strange look that Peter returned until Alan looked away.
What's that abou
t
? Peter mused.

“He started at me about Tarentino films on the way over. Now I have to be careful not to appear too forgiving. Where's Derek?” Betty took the wineglass from him, but only sipped at it before she put it on the table to rest.

“I'm expecting him. He's just not here yet.”

At that point, the doorbell rang.

“That'll be him,” Alan said into the bowl of his glass.

“Brilliantly detected,” Betty observed.

Peter walked to the hall way again, and opened the door to see a young man, very fashionably dressed, walk in with a laptop bag.

“Sorry I'm late. Um. I had a big night last night. Sorry.” Derek fumbled his way through an attempt at a handshake with Peter. Derek being new to the firm had not yet felt his way properly. But he was a brilliant young lawyer and a welcome addition to their team

“Derek, you're not late, man. Come on in, and I will show you around.”

Derek nervously put a foot through the door, and Peter closed it behind him. As soon as she heard the door close, Betty shouted from the other room, “Derek, you little bastard! You're late. What the hell did you get up to last night, love?”

Everyone knew Derek was terrified of Betty, and she loved to take advantage of the power she wielded. Peter gave him a grin and wandered up the hall ahead of him, indicating a bathroom to the left as they past it and the kitchen to the right as they rounded the corner to the lounge area. Derek had never been in Peter's house before, and his round eyes widened as he moved toward the large windows that showed a full harbor view, including both the Sydney Opera House and the Harbor Bridge. Looking out the window at the view, he drank it all in with what occurred to Peter as a kind of respectful envy. Peter poured him a glass of wine and whispered, “You'll have something like this one day, mate.” Derek looked at Peter, smiled, and took the wineglass. He moved over to the couch next to Alan.

“C'mon, love, I'm going to need girly details before we get started.” Betty leaned forward, grinning at the terrified Derek.

Betty's homosexuality sat well with everyone except Derek, who was still working hard at getting used to it. Betty, of course, did nothing to make him comfortable.

“I…I don't have anything to tell.” Derek stammered. “I just had a late one with the boys.”

“Peter had a night. He's got stuff to tell,” said Alan looking over the top of his glass of wine, through the windows into the harbor, as if he were contemplating floating off out to sea.

“Excuse me?” Peter asked.
Oh, shit! Alan must have followed Marianne last night. He must have seen us together
. Alan was supposed to be on another case last night, and clearly, he wasn't. Having Alan spring his time with Marianne on everyone like this wasn't part of Peter's plan.

Both Derek and Betty had moved their gaze and focused on him. Derek could only have been interested, but Betty would know instantly that something important stood at stake here.

Peter thought for a moment about what to do. He had intended to tell them about Marianne, so they could strategize, but not quite so soon into the afternoon. He'd not allowed for Alan to know.

How! How could I have forgotten that?

“You know what I'm talking about.” Alan still stared out to sea. “Are you going to tell them or should I?”

“Well, I wasn't going to bring this up just now, but seeing as Alan has so kindly dunked me into it, I'll tell you all. I slept with Marianne Ferguson last night.”

The brief pause rang in Peter's ears as his heart's pace quickened just a little.

“Jesus H. Christ!” cursed Betty.

Derek stared at him. “But, Mr. Adams. That is… You… You could get disbarred.”

“Are you going to tell the whole story?” asked Alan. Peter had not forgotten this was Alan's case; he'd just forgotten Alan rarely took time off.

“The whole story is that I met her in a sex shop yesterday and took her out for dinner at The Bayswater Brassiere, then took her home and slept the night.”

“When in God's name were you going to tell us?” Betty's eyes were blazing, and Peter felt he could hardly blame her. “And you met her in a sex shop? What the hell?”

“Today. As part of this brief. I guess I was having trouble getting it out.”

“And that's not the whole story!”

Peter looked over at Alan and wondered what he was going to say next.

“Christ! There's more?” Betty almost screeched now, as she turned to look at Alan as well.

“The couple talked to people in the sex shop. Peter stared down the defendant's bodyguard, which is unlikely to cause us harm, but it did make Peter witness to the potential violence of the accused. Then, encouraged by a woman in the sex shop, Peter asked Marianne Ferguson out to dinner. He went to the Bayswater and booked the table and sat waiting when Marianne Ferguson arrived, dressed in a black lace sheath that had every single person in the Bayswater turn to look at Peter and her together!”

The end of the last sentence, Alan shouted aloud, and he turned toward Peter accusingly. As if it were not all damning enough, he continued. “He then proceeded to leave with her, with every eye in the Bayswater on him, and walked her toward her home. He stopped in the doorway to the left of the old fire department, played sexual with her, then continued to her home, where he entered and did not come out until eleven-thirty this morning.”

Betty turned away and slumped into the couch. “Jesus, Peter. They've seen you for sure! In addition, everyone has recognized you! And even a detective this simple”—here she gave Alan a playful poke—“can ask someone what the name of the woman was you were dining with. Everyone up there at the Cross knows her.”

Peter sat fuming, trying to get control of the situation. He had to appear unemotional and in control of this. “I know that it looks bad…”

“Looks bad?” Betty yelled. “It is bad!”

For a while, they all sat in silence. Betty broke it after several strained minutes.

“Well, what's done is done, but I've never known you to fuck up like this before, Peter. What gives? Can you assure me that you are acting competently within this case? Because if you can't give me that assurance, we'll have to replace you.”

“I feel in control of the case.”

Alan and Derek were watching him carefully. Derek admired Peter too much to say anything, but Alan had a few things on his mind.

“Peter, I've never seen you act this way, either, and you know the rules as well as anyone in this room. Could I put to you that for some reason this woman gets under your skin and that you're not able to handle this situation? The last thing we need is you spending another night with her just before the hearing.”

Alan was right, and Peter knew it. He wasn't a great detective for nothing. Already, Peter had deep feelings for Marianne. The decisions he made in his head about putting her above the case and talking about their future together being more important than anything else were just one example of Peter's unprofessional behavior.

“The hearing is in three days. If we take me off the case, we will arouse suspicion and not just from those who will oppose us at the hearing. It will also look suspicious to our client, and we don't want to get on his bad side. I have a note here—” Peter produced the note that Marianne had read in his pocket and flashed it before them. “It's no defense, but it shows I had a legal agenda to spend time with Marianne. If we go to trial, I'll change the strategy.”