The Atlas Murders (8 page)

Henry sat staring at the
sheet of paper on the desk in front of him. Then he lifted his head - his eyes
were blank. His face had turned to an ashen pallor and bore the torment of
having looked across the Styx and seen Hades.

 Vincent shoved his chair
back and the noise on the bare timber floor brought a sense of reality to
Henry, who shifted round on his chair, his pen fell out of his trembling hand
onto the floor. He bent over to pick it up, then getting to his feet, he stood
facing the two detectives. Tom noticed his hands were trembling. "Henry we
can postpone the rest of this until tomorrow. I think we should retire to the
pub for a drink.”

“Yes I agree wholeheartedly
with you," said Vincent, rising from his chair.

 Henry screwed the top onto
his pen and placed it into his top pocket. "Yes, I think a stiff drink
wouldn't go amiss. These revelations have been quite startling."

He put a hand onto Vincent's
shoulder. "I'll catch this bastard, but how many more young girls will he
have killed before I do?”

"Tom put a friendly arm
around Henry's shoulder.

"We'll get things moving
right away, but are you sure you want to sail on this ship?"

"Oh yes, I want to join
this ship as soon as possible."

Chapter Eleven

Next day he rang Vera and she
told him to come to her house that evening at eight. The stroll through Hyde
Park was comforting. Another hot day was coming to its conclusion; the
shimmering crimson orb of the sun was casting scarlet and pink rays through the
tree tops

 Arriving at the house, Vera
let him in and showed him to the drawing room. The room was captivating in its Victorian
splendor, furniture of tropical hardwood adorned with delicate woven cushions.
Oil paintings in hand carved frames harked back to a world long gone; only
clinging to existence where opulence still presided.

“I must finish dressing, make
yourself at home,” she said as she disappeared down the long hallway.

Henry picked up a copy of
Roland Cashel, leafing through it he stopped at a picture of the reclining
"Maritana" captioned, "Linton's Last Visit". He remembered
something about an opera called Maritana but his classical ignorance was
evident.

Like some ethereal nymphet,
Vera appeared at the door. She was wearing a crochet blouse of delicate silk
tread patterned in a myriad shade of blues. Her evident nakedness beneath was tantalizingly
erotic. A sarong of similar transparency and shade hung loosely but seductively
around her petite but curvaceous waist. She sat on the large leather couch; her
silky hair fell loosely around her long slender neck as her outstretched hand
beckoned like a Cleopatra summoning a slave. "Come here Henry."

He moved closer to her, his
senses tumbling in turmoil.

"I know we have some
serious business to discuss, so please forgive me if you think I am treating it
in a frivolous manner. That is something I would never do. But for now you must
exorcise this sexual demon that is consuming me with desire. She slipped off
her blouse and opened the flimsy sarong. Now lying naked on the blue silky
garment she was like a Naiad reclining in a pool, her porcelain limbs inviting.
She pouted enticingly and then run her soft tongue ever so slowly over her
crimson lips. "Come to me Henry." Her nipples were firm like acorns as
she seductively parted her legs, revealing the soft silky hairs of her rose
petal lips. By now Henry had discarded his last garment and moved beside her
warm pulsating body.

“Henry,” she purred, “have you
ever engage in sex with a prostitute?”

He was a little taken aback
by Vera’s forthright question.

"Er…yes… once when I was
at training college for the police, a friend and myself went with two girls who
I wouldn't call prostitutes as they weren't asking for money but….."

"They were whores?” she
interrupted him.

"Yes… maybe you could
say that. We were both…er….virgins."

"Henry, I'm that whore
now. So come and fuck me. I want your big hard cock in me now."

She pulled him down; her open
legs accepted his thrust of hard manhood as she gave out a loud cry of pleasure.
Throwing back her head she gasped as he thrust deeper. Wrapping her legs
tightly around him she shifted her buttocks out over the edge of the sofa. She
felt his driving manhood deep inside her as her fingernails dug into his back.

“Harder,” she cried, “Henry,
fuck me harder!”

Henry continued, pushing
deeper and faster. Vera’s breathing grew heavier and louder. The next thrust released
a cry and scream as she shuddered under him, her body felt like a river as it
gathered tiny rivulets that flowed into an overwhelming torrent to the
confluence of her passionate release. Henry's deep thrust locked him inside her
warm honeypot as a juddering explosion of pure ecstasy consumed him - he felt
all his worldly pain immediately leave his body.

They lay locked together,
neither wanting to be released from their wonderful world of mutual pleasure.
Vera lifted his face from her neck and sought his mouth with hers, she kissed
him long and passionately, her tongue probing and sucking with breathless ease.
She felt his manhood stirring inside her and slapped his buttocks. Now, could
you please release me? Scene two, act one will not be for another hour or
so."

He raised himself from the
font of his pleasure.

"There, as you wish
madam."

She picked up her flimsy
garments and retired to the bathroom.

“Come on Henry, this way to
the bath and behave yourself while I perform my Geisha duties.”

On leaving the bathroom, Vera
had assumed a serious disposition as she sat opposite Henry at the small table
in the lounge.

Henry opened a folder and
scanned the first page.

“I have the reports from four
of the ports, and if you like I'll read the results of the enquiry."

"Henry it’s not
necessary for you to read the whole report, just tell me in summary."

"These reports confirm
the murder of four young girls from port cities across the world. And
crucially, at the time of the murders the Rangoon was in those ports. What’s
more, they all have copycat traits. It’s almost certain they've all been
committed by the same person and that is the same person who killed Shirley. He
is certainly a crewman on the Rangoon - one of the four we have named."

Vera looked shocked and took
several deep breathes before she was able to speak.

"Now Henry, to get you
onto that ship is not going to be easy. Captain Leavy-Hobbs will have to know
and he is duty bound to report this to our good Lord Percy Welland. He in turn
is not going to let his son be investigated if he thinks he could be guilty of
anything, so he will probably have him transferred to another ship."

"I shouldn't think so
because he would be putting him in a more suspicious light by doing that.
Anyway, Lord Percy and Captain Leavy-Hobbs will be sworn to secrecy by Scotland
Yard. Anything they might do to jeopardize this investigation will be taken
seriously and prosecutions will certainly follow. Neither of these men can
afford a scandal like that."

"Yes, I see your logic,
and I hope it works. But if your investigation is coming to a conclusion and
it’s known to them not to be favorable, your life will certainly be in
danger."

"What you mean in plain
language is, if it turns out that young Oswyn is shaping up to be the chief
suspect and they find this out, my investigation could, so to speak, be
terminated?

"You see Henry, it’s not
unknown for crewmen to disappear overboard, or just become missing in some
remote port where there's no law or order, and you will find this ship visiting
places like that."

"My position on the ship
will have to be kept strictly secret, even from the master of the ship.
Furthermore, the radio operator is one of our four, so any communication
through that channel is out of the question. I will have to build a system of
communication through some other source."

"Now, I want to warn you
that if you start using the diplomatic route the results you are reporting will
certainly filter down to Lord Percy. You are going to have to find a safer way
than that, or as I said, your life if it comes to it, will not be worth two
pennies."

"Can you suggest any
other way? Writing is too slow and telephone communications are all but
obsolete in most of these countries we'll be calling at."

"Henry, I will try and
work out something, and maybe your own colleagues will come up with some safe
way. We have about three weeks to get you ready. I'll find out what ports of
call the Rangoon has in the next two weeks and decide where to get you on
board. You know the man you are replacing is going to have to be restrained
ashore some way and that is not going to be easy to work out. Also, we will
have to devise a story explaining how you just happened to be a handy
replacement in the port waiting to join the crew."

"Yes Vera, there's a lot
to be worked out and little or no room for error."

"I'll start tomorrow and
try and find a suitable port for you to join. We will get you a discharge book,
and if you don’t have one, a passport. Then we will have to work on getting you
familiarized with your job."

"Actually, I haven't got
a passport, but I presume a discharge book is the seaman's passport?"

"Yes, you're right, the
seaman's book can sometimes act as a passport, but maybe you should get a
normal passport as well. We will have to forge a lot of ships discharges in
your seaman's book to make it look like you've been at sea for at least ten
years."

"I'll have to talk to my
police colleagues about all this documentation, and you may be able to advise
them if necessary."

"I will offer all the
help I can. I will be very concerned about your safety, as my feelings for you
are tipping over into more than just sexual attraction."

"It’s the same for me also;
it's not hard to become infatuated by someone as lovely as you. It’s going to
be difficult for me to stay concentrated on the task ahead - I don’t want to
fall in love now with so much uncertainty surrounding my life."

"I have to agree with
you Henry, but it's always at the most inopportune times that love enters a
person’s life. So we will just have to suffer the pangs of pain that come from
the stretching of heart strings. Maybe when you come back after accomplishing
your mission we might resume our relationship fully - if we both feel the same
as we do now."

"Of course we will, Vera."

She got up and took out the
bottle of Dimple Haig from the drinks cabinet, clinked some ice cubes into the exquisite
Waterford Crystal tumblers and poured two generous measures. Handing a glass to
Henry, they touched glasses. "Here’s to us and especially you."

“That's a fine scotch."

"It was my late father's
favorite. It always reminds me of him sitting before the blazing log fire. I'd
ask him to let me look through the glass at the flames.  To me they seemed to
dance inside the amber liquid like magic."

The old grandfather clock in
the hall struck midnight.

"There now Henry, we are
burning the midnight oil." She topped up the two glasses and threw in a
few more ice cubes. "I believe a bird can't fly on one wing. That’s an old
saying I picked up while staying in Ireland. An old fellow who frequented the
pub where we went after our day hunting would always use that old saying to
justify a second drink!"

"Did you spend much time
in Ireland?"

"Yes, I spent quite a
lot of winter breaks in the south of Ireland in a quaint place called Lismore;
we were guests of the Duke of Devonshire in his wonderful castle. Those
memories are some of my happiest. On one particular stay I met a young dashing
American senator who was also a guest at the castle. He was Irish by ancestry,
Jack Kennedy was his name. He was friends with Fred Astaire, you know the film
actor, who is someway related to the Duke.”

Henry finished his scotch and
placed his glass on the table. He could feel the spirit rejuvenating his
senses, flowing like a comfort of well-being over him.

"I've never been to Ireland
but as you said, it sounds a wonderful place and regardless of our historical differences
such as our ruling, or more accurately, misruling their country for hundreds of
years, I believe they hold no animosity towards us."

"That's true; they are a
friendly and very welcoming people. I have many friends who still keep in touch
with me and I'm always promising to go visit. So now that we have broached the
subject, I plan to make a trip back there this summer. I should offer you
another drink, but you are glowing, and any more might spoil what I have in
store for you."

"I have had my quota
thank you Vera, and another one might just do that."

 She stood and took Henry's
hand. "It's time to retire, the golden dawn, harbinger of parting lovers
will be upon us only too soon."

The bedclothes were thrown
back and the lemon colored linen sheets bathed in the soft light from an
antique shaded standard lamp gave the bed the look of an ethereal place of rest
of the Greek Gods. She slowly removed her bathrobe to reveal a lustrous rose
pink negligée. Through the fine silk tread her pale skin took on the warm glow
of molded desire, accentuating her full pert breasts. The clinging fabric
revealed the outline of smooth of soft hair in delightful pose between her elegant
thighs. She let the garment fall to the carpeted floor and stretched out her
hands to Henry who stood naked before her. She gazed down at his fully aroused
manhood. "I will be your Medea as from now."

 Henry didn't question who
Medea was, but she must have been wonderful, he thought.

She lay on the bed and as
Henry went to mount her she restrained him with her outstretched hands.
"Kneel down," she commanded him, and as he knelt before her she parted
her thighs and guided his head down. "Now you can taste the delights of my
peach
soufflé!
” She threw herself fully back on the soft
bed and arching her back, moaned and cried out as the deftness of his actions
filled her with exquisite pleasure. Within minutes, he had brought her to resounding
climax. As she lay panting, the attentions of his tongue were directed to her
silky smooth stomach, licking her navel and moving up to her hard nipples. Gently
lifting his head, she found his mouth and savored the sweet musk taste of her
own sex. She reached down and gripped him and marveled at the hardness as she
guided him to her wetness. He worked her like a stallion, driving deep and
withdrawing to the extremities of the lips, before plunging back again. The
whisky gave him stamina as she drew him into her. She was moaning and then
screaming, pulling his mane of wavy blonde hair and throwing her head from side
to side. She held him tight as she felt his member swelling then release a
torrent deep inside her.