“Why Equine semen?” Silvia stared at the screen.

“What?” Penelope turned away from her whiteboard and looked at Silvia.

“Horse semen. He put horse semen in her this time,” Silva sighed.

“Ok that might not help identify our perpetrator but it adds more data to his signature. As you know, some serial killers like to engage with law enforcement or the media. Needling them or making demands or just boasting,” Bradley Wilson piped in from where he was sitting at his desk, reviewing cases.

“The Zodiac Killer in California is a perfect example.”

“Yeah… and they never caught him,” Penelope said.

“Ok, so once again we have nothing. No hairs, fibres, DNA, and no witnesses. We know that Mary Whitehouse was last seen at the Fox and Firkin and that she was approached by several men but we have her on CCTV leaving alone,” Bradley chewed his pen.

“We have officers out there identifying the men who approached her in the bar, those who used credit cards we’ve identified and interviewed and ruled out.”

“Let’s look at the evidence we do have,” Bradley handed over to Penelope.

“The lingerie isn’t exclusive to any particular store. The white lingerie we found on Rhonda Stevens is sold at Victoria’s Secret but there are dozens of stores in Texas alone and he may have bought it interstate or online.”

“The red lingerie we found on Mary Whitehouse is not exclusive to any particular store. We’ve canvassed all the lingerie stores in Balwyn and drawn a blank,” Penelope said.

“Once Bradley developed the profile on this guy and we had an idea how he thinks, I figured that this guy would be way too smart to buy any of his requisites anywhere near where he commits his crimes.”

“Same with the shoes. They come from the Shoes For Less retail chain and can be bought anywhere in the USA. They target low income earners and specialise in offering larger sizes.”

“The makeup he put on the victims can be purchased anywhere and the Poison perfume he likes is in every drug and department store, so nothing there.”

“Straws of animal semen are freely available. There are rigorous protocols to handle, store, and use it properly but our guy doesn’t care about that. None of the sperm were motive; he just uses the semen to taunt us is my guess, it’s not part of his fetish.”

“I agree,” Bradley piped in.

Silvia noticed that the animosity that Penelope had for Bradley Wilson had quickly dissipated over the two weeks they had been working together and in fact they seemed very friendly. She couldn’t help wondering if something was going on there but had refrained from asking Penelope because whatever Penelope was doing was working. She hadn’t had drink, she was looking after herself, dressing better and had even had her hair done. She was working a lot better too.

“Mary’s online activity was pretty much confined to her employment, she wasn't on Facebook and wasn’t on any dating sites. Her phone records are equally mundane and of little help,” Penelope said.

It was Bradley’s turn to speak.

“Our perpetrator’s signature is not as unique as you’d think. A guy named Jerry Brudos was one of the first serial killers with this signature and active in the late sixties when profiling was still in its infancy.”

“His mother had wanted a girl and was very displeased that she had another son instead. She would also constantly belittle him and treat him with disdain, as well as physically abuse him.”

“He developed a fetish for women's shoes and women's underwear. He began to stalk local women, knocking them down or choking them unconscious, and fleeing with their shoes.”

“At age seventeen, he abducted and beat a young woman, threatening to stab her if she did not follow his sexual demands. He married a seventeen-year-old girl and fathered two children, and insisted that his wife do housework naked except for a pair of high heels while he took pictures. He kept the shoes and underwear he had acquired in a garage that he would not allow his wife to enter without first announcing her arrival on an intercom.”

“He made his victims wear the lingerie, underwear and high heels that he had collected. He killed four that we know of and attempted to abduct who knows how many more.”

“Psychiatrists found that his sexual fantasies revolved around his hatred and revenge against his mother and women in general,” Bradley finished reading from a file.

“Does that sound like our guy?” Bradley seemed pleased with himself.

“And there were there others with similar signatures?” Silvia asked.

“Not were… are. The FBI estimates that there are between twenty-five and fifty serial killers operating throughout the U.S. at any given time and many of the organised serial killers are fetishic about underwear and shoes,” Bradley replied.

“So how does that help us?” Silvia asked.

“It’s almost certain that he didn’t start out like he is now presenting. He’s planned these murders for a long time but he started out when he was younger attacking women, likely forcing them to wear specific underwear and high heels or they were wearing them and it attracted him to them.”

“My educated guess is that he started out using hookers for convenience. But that doesn’t account for the controlling part of his fetish; his need to overwhelm the women and have his victim helpless and incapacitated. I bet he started tying some of them up, maybe even practicing on them with various chemicals,” Bradley proposed.

“So you think our guy is a mommy’s boy but hated his mother. Is it possible he also dresses in lingerie or ladies clothes?” Penelope asked.

“Oh that’s almost certain. I’m surprised he doesn’t take some of his victims clothing with him as a talisman but this guy is too smart to be caught with anything that would tie him to the crime,” Barry answered.

“But isn’t the profile confusing? He’s a mommy's boy who likes to wear panties, nylons and heels but he’s controlling and capable of cold-blooded murder,” Silvia scratched her head.

“You’ve seen the movie Psycho right?” Bradley countered.

“I might have something here,” Silvia changed tack.

“A women in her middle thirties claims she was abducted by a man in Austin and held for over twelve hours. The man had her change into lingerie, stockings and high heels that he had bought to the crime scene and repeatedly assaulted her over the time period. He made her touch up her makeup between attacks and he was very specific about how she applied the makeup.”

“He wore a stocking over his head to mask his appearance, latex gloves, and wore a condom during the attacks. He made her lie perfectly still while he was assaulting her and told her to look him in the eyes.”

“The perp made her shower repeatedly after the attack and supervised her doing so to ensure he left no trace evidence. He was described as tall and well built,” Silvia read from her screen.

“The case notes in the file state that the woman has a history of solicitation convictions starting from her teens when she worked for a high class escort agency, to her twenties when she worked the local bars and hotels, to the most recent conviction where she was arrested street walking in one of less salubrious neighbourhoods.”

“The complaint probably wouldn’t have been investigated except that the detective assigned to the case was a woman who believed the complainant. The case notes state that the detective suspected that other women had been abducted and suffered the same fate but had not come forward, either because they too were prostitutes or they were too ashamed.”

“When was this?” Bradley asked.

“Two years ago. Could this be our guy?” Silvia asked.

“It could well be; let’s get the detective on the phone,” Bradley sounded excited by the lead.

Over coffee, Bradley told Penelope and Silvia what she had gleaned from Sharon Patton, the detective who had interviewed the prostitute they now knew as Kimberley Morris.

“I have a feeling about this guy. Sure, I like the structure and scientific approach of profiling but I’m still basically a cop and I have to trust my instincts,” Bradley said.

“I think this is our guy practicing for his ultimate thrill. There are significant attributes that relate to our guy. The general description of the perpetrator, although I don’t put too much stock in that, but the lingerie and high heels and the repeated sustained assaults are indicators. Making her lie still and not talk, the makeup – he was very specific about her makeup and of course his obsession with leaving no trace evidence.”

“I’d like to go to Austin and interview Detective Patton and possibly Kimberley Morris,” Bradley tried to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Good idea and take Penelope with you; it would be good to get a woman’s perspective, also, you two seem to make a good team,” Silvia’s eyes twinkled over her coffee cup.

Penelope blushed.

“This Detective Patton; is she good at her job?” Silvia asked.

Bradley nodded.

“More importantly, does she have a good ass?” Silvia quipped.

Bradley choked on his coffee and Penelope was stunned.

“I’m just joking you morons, trying to break the tension,” Silvia grinned.

“If I’d said that I’d likely get fired,” Bradley said.

“Yeah we have come a long way in the Balwyn PD. Men get reprimanded for inappropriate behaviour, but sexy black lesbians like me can be as imprudent as they want,” Silvia smiled cheekily.

“Now should I book two hotel rooms for you in Austin or just one?” her smile widened.

It was Bradley's turn to blush.

*****

“Michael! Mommy’s home,” Livia Kendal screeched up the stairs.

Michael pulled the comforter tightly around him and prayed his mother would go to her own room.

He had no such luck. He could smell her perfume even before he heard her enter his room. The brand was Christian Dior’s Poison, and his mother seemed to drench herself in it.

“How’s my pretty little Michael? Are you wearing your pretty little things?” his mother crept onto the bed and began to crawl towards him.

Livia Kendal made no secret that when Michael was born she really wanted a girl and was bitterly disappointed when she gave birth to a son. She’d even bought girl’s baby clothes and dressed Michael in them; not that he had any recollection of course.

But as a child his mother would dress him like girl up and even put makeup on him while his father was away. His father was a weak willed man devoted to Livia but her endless affairs and infidelity eventually took its toll on their marriage and he moved out leaving Michael alone with her.

Livia lied to Michael, telling him that giving birth to him had caused her injuries that prevented her from having any more children and that she really wished he had been born a girl. She was domineering, controlling every aspect of his life. She kept him isolated and friendless and so he became perversely ingratiated and devoted to her whilst at the same time, deeply afraid of her.

When they were home alone he became the girl that his mother wanted.

He developed an obsession for women’s clothing as he grew older. His mother wore vintage lingerie; lots of satin and silk, bustiers and corsets, fully-fashioned-stockings and spiky high heels. Michael came to realise that his mother was supplementing her income by bringing men home and having them pay her for sex. He would listen to the moans and groans through the thin walls of a succession of bedrooms as they moved from town to town.

Michael would dress up in lingerie and stockings and put on his mother’s makeup and lie in bed, hating what the man in the next room was doing to his mother but at the same time wishing it was him doing it to her.

His mother’s good looks faded quickly as she became more addicted to alcohol and drugs and her behaviour to him became more inappropriate and indecent. She didn’t begin to molest him until he was of legal age, but they both knew there was no real legal age for incest.

Livia burst into his room one day and caught him dressed in a satin bra and panties, garter belt, stockings and high heels. He was lying on the bed with a stocking draped over his erect penis and was slowly stroking it.

“Oh my pretty, let me help you with that,” she sat on the bed as he lay there mortified.

“Don’t be scared honey, let mommy take care of it,” she whispered through her bright-red lipsticked lips.

She wrapped her fingers around her son’s throbbing flesh encased in the sheer nylon stocking and moved them up and down. Livia had deliberately let her dress ride up and smiled when she saw Michael was staring at her panty-clad mound.

Gobbets of hot semen seeped through the nylon stocking as Michael orgasmed. His mother milked him dry, patted him on the head and left the room.

But that was only the start. Livia began sleeping with her son while he was attending college. Returning from her late night excursions to the local bars and hangouts, if she hadn’t picked up a man Michael was required to perform what she called husbandly duties.

Sometimes he’d be dressed in his lingerie, sometimes he wouldn’t be, she didn’t seem to care. If he pretended to be asleep, which he often did, it made no difference. She would bring him to full tumescence and use his cock to satisfy herself. It became a ritual. He would lie on his back pretending to be asleep and she would mount him, usually still dressed in her lingerie and stockings. He’d stare at her through lidded eyes and lie still while she pleasured herself and inevitably he would orgasm.

Finally Michael reversed the roles. He’d wait for his mother to pass out and remove her outer garments and lay her on the bed in her lingerie and heels and molest her. He’d fuck her and if she woke up she’d just lie there quietly and let him.

Michael accidentally killed his mother just after he received his Bachelor of Science in Pharmaceutical Sciences. He was experimenting on her by then, dosing her with different concoctions, trying to find the perfect blend of chemicals that would immediately incapacitate her. The concoction of recreational drugs and alcohol in Livia’s system was listed as the cause of death and Michael was never suspected.

At the time, Michael was dating Felicity and they married soon after Livia’s death and she bore him two daughters. He never told Felicity about the incestual relationship with his mother, and his busy work schedule and family commitments with Felicity and the girls calmed his primal urges. But the hate he felt against women, particularly his mother still festered deep inside. After a while he couldn’t resist the compulsion and he began to steal underwear and high heels, wearing them secretly in his workroom where no one was allowed without his express permission. He would slip into the garments and masturbate, having sprayed himself with Poison. Knowing the garments had been worn against the most intimate places of the women he stole them from was very satisfying.

But he couldn’t keep his urges under control. Michael sought out mature prostitutes who had similar features to his mother. He paid them to wear retro lingerie, stockings and heels and to lie perfectly still and remain silent while he fucked them. It satisfied his needs for some time. He would later slip into the lingerie he had paid the hookers to wear and masturbate.

Michael was very controlling and overprotective of his wife and daughters. Felicity had to account for every penny she spent and every minute of her day. She had to dress the way he liked her to, which she found to be very old fashioned but she was devoted to her husband and it made him happy, so what the hey? The few friends she had, thought she might be one of those women who were into the retro look.

When Michael asked her to wear the retro lingerie, stockings and heels to bed she didn’t question him, even when he told her to lie still and keep silent until he had orgasmed. It gave her a perverse sense of power somehow, knowing he craved her that way, she started to like it.

Michael knew that paying prostitutes to do the things he wanted them to do was dangerous. Plenty of Johns wanted hookers to wear stockings and heels, they didn’t blink at that, but being asked to basically lie there like a corpse was too much like something from the Ted Bundy movie. He knew that one day he was going to kill a woman, he fantasised about it; it was his ultimate dream.

He started abducting the prostitutes and forcing them to do those things. The abduction and control became as important to him as the clothes he made them wear. He wore a disguise and took precautions not to leave any trace evidence at the scene; he left each of them a significant amount of cash in the hopes that they wouldn’t report the crime. Most didn’t. Michael's employment as a pharmaceutical representative took him on the road and he was able to seek out victims who met his strict criteria: mature-aged, good looking women with nice legs and asses just like his mother.

Michael perfected his concoction for quickly knocking the women out. A precise amount of it on a cotton wool ball dropped into a dust mask placed over the victim’s nose and mouth did the trick. He also believed he had perfected his neuromuscular blocker, he tried measured doses on animals and it paralysed them but they remained conscious and could feel everything he did to them. He was so excited and couldn’t wait to try it on his first human victim.

Like everything he did he was meticulous in preparing for his forthcoming crimes. He studied criminology, crime scene investigation and serial killers. He knew what had got most of them caught so he came up with his own methods for committing the perfect crime. He put together his rape kit and took it for a trial run in the City of Balwyn which was far away from his home town. He went to the Starlight Lounge just to scope it out but immediately became infatuated with Rhonda Stevens and had to have her. And so his spree began.

*****

Penelope sat in the passenger seat of the unmarked police car which she had fully reclined. She was wearing a dark business suit; the jacket was hung up in the back of the car, as was Bradley Wilson’s. She and Bradley were discussing the case, she had kicked off her heels and was relaxed, her short skirt had ridden up but she was not concerned. Penelope and Bradley were in relationship, they had spent every night together either at Bradley’s hotel or at her apartment.

After a while they exhausted the topic and were content to just listen to the golden oldies on the radio, Penelope tapping and swaying her feet in time with the beat of some of the songs. She noticed that Bradley kept glancing at her feet, her thighs and breasts; she had undone the top two button of her tight blouse.

She smiled to herself and decided he needed a little more teasing and snaked her hand across to his thigh and stroked and squeezed it affectionately. Bradley patted her hand and then returned it to the wheel. Penelope slipped her hand down the inside of his thigh and stroked there, she could feel his penis begin to engorge through the fabric of his pants.

“What are you doing?” he smiled at her.

“I’m just being affectionate; isn’t that what dating couples do?” she smiled back at him.

“Is that what we’re doing? Dating?” Bradley’s smile widened.

“Well I suppose technically we are lovers but you haven’t actually taken me out on date,” Penelope pursed her lips.

“We can go out on a date in Austin tonight. I thought that in Balwyn you wanted to be discreet,” Bradley countered.

“Probably for the best,” Penelope replied.

She squeezed Bradley’s erect penis and he gasped.

“It’s nearly lunchtime but as you know I’m on a diet so I can watch you eat a Big Mac while I drink coffee or we can pull over somewhere and roll around on the back seat,” Penelope leaned over and whispered in his ear and squeezed his penis again.

“You are a wanton hussy,” Bradley snickered.

“And you are a man with an erect penis that I could put to good use,” she blew in his ear.

“Are you serious?” he looked at her and saw her lascivious grin.

“You are serious!” Bradley was surprised by her antics.

“I’ll tell you what. Let’s compromise. We can pull over and both eat Big Macs and I guarantee I’ll work the calories off you when we get to the hotel,” Bradley removed her hand from between his thighs.

Penelope pouted like a petulant schoolgirl.

Bradley didn’t mind. He had witnessed Penelope become less uptight and more communicative as their relationship had blossomed, she was also less cynical.

Penelope stuck to her diet and had a salad for lunch and Bradley decided not to torture her by eating his much craved for burger and he too partook of a salad.

They hit the road again and were enjoying the peacefulness of not talking for the sake of talking; just enjoying being together when Penelope struck up a conversation that she had been meaning to have with Bradley since their first night together.

“You told me that your last girlfriend was transgender but you never divulged the full story,” Penelope said quietly.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bradley sighed.

“Ok. I get it,” Penelope said with some finality but Bradley knew she wasn’t going to let it rest.

“It’s just you know everything about me. My past, all the sordid details, and you haven’t told me much about yourself at all, but I’m happy to let it rest,” Penelope snuggled down into her seat and looked out the window at the countryside.

Bradley remained silent for about fifteen minutes and then he spoke.

“Kerry’s story is not much different to yours. She knew she was gender dysphoric at an early age and she had loving parents who supported her and allowed her to transition,” he began.

“When I met her she was a beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties who like yourself was secure in her own femininity and did not want or need a vagina.”

“Yeah I get that,” Penelope said quietly.

“I fell in love with her for who she was. Her gender identity and fluidity was not an issue. We loved each other, that’s all that mattered.”

“She taught me how she could pleasure me sexually and how I could pleasure her.”

“We lived together. At the time I had my degree in law enforcement and was working for Houston PD as a police officer, working my way through the ranks to detective. She had her teaching degree and was working at a local college. We lived the same life as any loving couple and were seriously considering getting married.”

“Then one night walking to her car at the campus car park she was abducted by a man who had previous convictions for sexual assault. When he confessed he said that he was just going to rape her but when he pulled down her panties and realised that she was transgender, he lost control and beat her to death.”

“I was inconsolable and begged to work the case of course. Rightly, I was side-lined and the detectives working the case caught the guy easily. I watched the trial and was glad when he was convicted. But I never got over what had happened to her and applied to the FBI and worked hard to get seconded to the behavioural science unit. I wanted to catch guys like the man who killed Kerry.”

“But I soon realised he was not a psycho-killer; he was someone who was looking to rape a woman and simply lost control when he found out that Kerry was transgender.”

“However I had an affinity to the work, especially sex crimes. It eventually habituates you, knowing what some men can be inured to; what they can do to women and then toss them aside. I knew then that this was my calling, I was emotionally numb. Profiling men that did those heinous crimes became my passion.”

“Of course I am no saint. I took pleasure with other transgender women in the short term, I’ve been with cisgender women of course, but my leaning is toward transgender women, especially after Kerry. When this case landed on my desk I was intrigued that you were one of the detectives working the case and when I read about your background and your struggle to be accepted I requested that I be assigned as the FBI liaison.”

“But all of that became irrelevant when I met you; I was entranced, despite, no, because of your flaws. And here we are,” Bradley stared at the road ahead, never looking at Penelope.

“And here we are,” Penelope hid her tears by staring out the window.

“And once again I find myself infatuated by a transgender woman, not just because of her uniqueness and beauty, but because of her humanity and her vulnerableness which she chose to hide by being unapproachable and detached.”

“I’ve said too much. Here is our exit,” Bradley pointed to an off ramp taking them into Austin.

Penelope led Bradley to the bed as soon as they entered the hotel room.

“Come here. I want you; I want you now,” she pulled him down on top of her kissed him passionately.

He impatiently removed her jacket, skirt and blouse while Penelope fumbled with his belt buckle and then his fly, Bradley kicked off his shoes and shucked out of his suit, tie and shirt, then pulled off his sox and underpants.

Penelope lay back and watched him. She had freed herself and was stroking her cock through her satin panties. Bradley lowered his face to her groin and freed her cock and engulfed it. Penelope shuddered as he used his tongue expertly on her penis.

When she felt herself close to orgasm she pulled his face away and encouraged him to lie on top of her. She opened her legs to receive him and rubbed her nylon-sheathed claves on his flanks because she knew it drove him wild. She could feel Bradley’s cock poking her belly.

Bradley lifted her legs, exposing her buttocks and nestled his erect cock inside her panties, pushing on her sphincter. Penelope nodded, indicating that she was prepared. Since she had been dating Bradley she had started using lubricant gel-caps so that she was always prepared for him.

Bradley slid his cock inside Penelope and she purred and arched her back, locking her ankles behind him.

“Yes,” she sighed and put her arms around him and kissed him deeply.

Bradley took his time, resting between strokes, bringing both of them close to extremis and then backing off. He was an accomplished lover and knew that pressing his glans on Penelope’s prostate gland caused her immense pleasure and that wriggling his cock on her sphincter illicited little waves of ecstasy.

They could both sense when it was time and Bradley began to thrust hard and fast, Penelope rising up off the bed to meet him, digging her heels into him and raking her nails on his back.

When he came it felt like he was filling her with scalding nectar, she came with him, ejaculating against his hard belly, mewing and moaning. Bradley gasped into her mouth.

“I love you,” he whispered and Penelope froze briefly and then continued to encourage him to fuck her.

He lay beside her, catching his breath. Penelope stared at the ceiling and said nothing.

Eventually Bradley broke the silence.

“What I said…” he began to speak.

“It’s alright, people say things in the throes of passion,” Penelope continued to stare at the ceiling.

“No. I meant it. I love you,” he turned her to face him.

Penelope arose, kicked off her heels and put on a bathrobe.

“I’m going on the balcony for a smoke,” she said, emotionlessly.

Bradley gave her a few minutes and then came outside and stood behind her. She was leaning on the rail and Bradley pressed against her and put an arm either side of her, gripping the rail.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear.

“Nothing to be sorry for, I’m ok,” Penelope lied.

She flicked her cigarette butt out into the cold breeze.

“I could arrest you for littering,” he nuzzled her neck.

“It’s outside of your jurisdiction; it’s not a Federal crime,” Penelope pushed her bottom back against him and was surprised to find he was hard again.

“However I could arrest you for lewd behaviour if you keep doing what you’re doing,” Penelope purred.

He had slipped his cock between her buttocks and was rubbing it against her.

“Well If I’m going to be arrested for public indecency let’s make it worthwhile,” he gripped her hips and slid into her all the way.

Penelope wriggled her buttocks appreciatively.

*****

It turned out that Detective Sharon Morris did not have a good ass, she was a short dumpy woman but she was a good detective and had a cheery disposition. She shared her case notes and recalled her interview and interaction with the victim.

Kimberley Morris however had a great ass and was currently showing it off to good effect on East Powell Lane near Interstate 35. She was attractive but had a world-weary countenance. Despite the cold she was wearing hotpants and a tubetop, fuck-me heels, red opaque pantyhose, to keep her legs warm as much as to show them off, heavy makeup and teased hair. Her picture would be found under the word ‘hooker’ in any dictionary.

“I think you women should talk to her; I bet she doesn’t trust men,” Bradley said as they watched her from his car.

Penelope got out of the car first and took up position half a block east of Kimberley, when she was in position Sharon got out and approached from the west. They had Kimberley Morris caught in a pincer and when she ran from Sharon Morris, Penelope collared her.

Sharon caught up to Kimberley and Penelope.

“Remember me,” Sharon opened her coat to show the shield pinned to the inside pocket.

“Put me up against the wall and pat me down,” Kimberley hissed.

“What?” Sharon was confused.

“You and your friend obviously want to talk to me so put me put against the wall and push me around a little. Make it look like a bust; I’ve got the remains of an eight-ball in my handbag. If those girls think I’m cooperating with five-O they’ll have my rag,” Kimberley pretended to struggle and Penelope obligingly pushed her hard against the wall and kicked her heels apart.

Sharon made a big deal of finding the coke and they cuffed Kimberley and took her over to the car and put her in the back. Bradley was in nearby diner drinking coffee, watching through the grime-smeared window.

Penelope uncuffed her and Kimberley gingerly rubbed her wrists.

“You bitches are good actors,” she smiled at them both, took her purse back and rummaged around for smokes.

“You light that in here and I’ll get the blame and my partner will kick my ass,” Penelope said.

Kimberley ignored her and lit up anyway.

“You bitches ain’t partners?” Kimberley blew smoke out the window which Penelope had lowered.

“No. Gimme one of those, if I’m getting my ass kicked I might as well be guilty of the crime,” Penelope took a cigarette off Kimberley and lit up.

“Ok. I’m Lieutenant Penelope Bishop of the Balwyn PD and I’d like to ask you some questions about your abduction and rape,” Penelope said.

“Well I was certainly abducted but not sure if I was raped,” Kimberley said.

Penelope frowned.

“He abducted me. Came up behind me and put a mask over my face that had some sort of shitty smelling chemical in it. I woke up in a shitty old abandoned house lying on a bed. At least the sheets were clean,” Kimberley paused to drag on her smoke.

“We found out later that the sheets were brand-new straight out of the pack,” Sharon explained.

“This tall dude with a nylon stocking over his face was standing over me, he had those thin rubber gloves, the kind the doctors wear when they examine your cooze. He was white, well-built, and I’d guess him to be in his thirties. I was already naked and I wondered for a while if he’d fucked me already but he hadn’t.”

“He had a knife and was very demanding. He had a makeup kit and had me put on makeup and directed me how to do it, made me put it on really heavy and use bright red lipstick. He knew more about makeup than a man oughtta, if you know what I mean?”

“He had these nylons and garter belt, panties and bra, all red satin ‘cept the nylons were sheer flesh-toned, expensive. He had me put them on and a pair of red high heels too. They were a little too big to walk in but I figured I wasn’t going to be doing much walking in them.”

“He put the knife to my throat and told me to do exactly what he said; if did I would be fine and that he’d give me some money, lots of money.”

“He had me lie still with my arms by my side but with my legs open and I was to say nothing and not move. Just keep looking at him. I had to look at him.”

“He put on a condom and fucked me; he came quick. He had a rest and then he fucked me again. He had a rest for a while and he let have a drink of water and after a while we went back to it. He had a big cock and I have admit that the third time he did me I came. I bit down so as not to make a noise but he knew.”

“I don’t know how long I was there exactly, I’d say ten maybe twelve hours. He fucked me lots. Anyway when he finished he made me shower; he supervised me, made sure I gave my cooze a good clean in case any of his cum had escaped the condoms. Then I got dressed back in my street clothes and he gave me a thousand dollars and said not to tell; that no one would believe me anyway because I have no injuries and I’m just a hooker.”

“He came at me with the mask thing again and I woke up back on East Powell. I wasn’t gonna report it, he’d given me a thousand dollars and I even came once but it was because he said no one would believe me that got me riled so I called it in and Detective Patton here listened to me, treated me fair and believed me.’

Sharon Patton smiled but it soon faded.

“She never caught the motherfucker though.”

“Any distinguishing features? Scars? Did he have an accent? A limp? Anything?” Penelope asked.

“I didn’t see any scars and like I said he had a toned body. There is one thing, he was shaved all over including his pubic area, skin as smooth as a baby,” Kimberley said and Penelope made a note.

“So anyway sister, what brings you all the way from Balwyn?” Kimberley dropped her butt out of the window.

“We think your guy might be up to his old tricks in Balwyn only worse,” it was Penelope’s turn to flick her butt out the window.

“Shit! I read about him in the paper. Two murders involving sexual assault in Balwyn,” Kimberley shivered.

“That could have been me,” she shivered again.

“We think he was practicing, getting his MO right,” Penelope explained.

“I told Sharon here that I think he took other girls off the street and did the same. In fact I know he did it to one other girl ‘cause she told me. But she said she didn’t mind really because he didn’t beat her or nothin’ and paid her well after. She said she asked why he abducted her to do things that she would let him do for money anyway, and she says that he told her that abducting her was what got him hot. Forcing her to do what he wanted but not hurting her. What a fucking weirdo,” Kimberley reached for her cigarettes again but Penelope shook her head.

“Who is this other girl?” Penelope and Sharon asked in unison.

“I ain’t telling. If she wanted you to know she’d tell you herself; I’m no snitch. Now I told you all I know so can I go?” Kimberley reached for the door handle.

“If you remember anything else, call me or Detective Patton ok?” Penelope gave Kimberley her business card.

Kimberley got out of the car and teetered across the street in her fuck-me shoes. Penelope and Sharon were discussing her story when Kimberley stuck her head back through the window.

“There was one more thing. He made me wear this shitty perfume; really cloying. Came in a little pink bottle,” Kimberley said.

“Cloying? That’s not street talk?” Sharon Patton said.

“I have a college education darling but if I spoke like the refined lady I am on these streets the other ladies of ill repute would hand me my ass,” Kimberley tapped the top of the car and walked away.

Bradley raced over as soon as Kimberley had crossed the street.

“It smells like an ashtray in here,” he griped.

“Shut the fuck up. We just got a hot lead,” Penelope said.

*****

“So we have him starting out. Any chance he might live in Austin?” Silvia asked.

They were back in syndicate room two discussing what they had learned.

“I doubt it. The guy is too smart to shit where he eats,” Penelope said.

“We have Detective Patton canvassing other hookers to see if they’ll speak but she’s already called and said that Kimberley Morris has spread the word that the man who assaulted her is the Balwyn lady killer. They aren’t speaking; Kimberley told Sharon they are scared. They think that if they talk, the killer will find out and come back for them,” Bradley explained.

“Look the profile fits; there are too many signatures for it not to be him. The key indicator is the perfume,” Bradley twiddled his pen.

“So what now boss?” Penelope turned to Silvia.

Silvia was about to rebuke for Penelope for calling her boss when the phone rang. She picked it up and listened for a while and then hung up.

“Ok let’s roll; we have another one,” Silvia reached for her coat.

Bethany Stills was an attractive thirty-three year-old divorcee. She was lying on her bed with her arms arranged by her side and her legs spread wide. She looked like she was sleeping, her body unmarked. She was wearing black nylon see-through panties, matching bra and garter belt, fully-fashioned black stockings and black high heels. She wore a French maid’s ruffled lace headpiece.

She was wearing heavy makeup like the other victims, including the signature bright red-lipstick.

“Can you smell it?” Penelope asked as they looked at the body.

“Christian Dior’s Poison,” Bradley said unnecessarily.

Brendan Scott came over.

“Needle marks in crook of her arm; early days I know, but it’s him,” he said.

Bob Tanner joined them.

“We are still processing the scene but so far there are no visible hairs or fibres. We’re dusting for prints but nothing so far,” he said.

“We’ve yet to test it but that looks like semen,” he pointed to the silvery mucus visible through Bethany Stills’ panties.

“So we have a bride, a she-devil, and now a French maid,” Penelope pondered out loud.

“Obviously fetishic. Also I’m sorry to say, that costume can be acquired at any store that sells cosplay clothing or an adult store,” Bradley said.

“I think it’s a trope; like the animal semen. He’s playing with us. He gets to indulge his fantasy, the lingerie, heels, makeup and perfume but he also gets to tease us, possibly even mislead us.”

The same Sargent from the other crime scenes was in attendance and he stood at the door of the one-bedroom apartment waiting for them. He was no longer flippant or casual.

“I’ve have officers conducting door to doors and collecting any CCTV. If we find a potential witness we’ll let you know immediately,” he said; all business.

“Lieutenant, I want to apologise for my behaviour at the first crime scene. We figured it was a sex game gone wrong or a hooker who bought home the wrong John. I promise you that you will get full cooperation from my police officers.”

Penelope was about to rebuke him but she recalled her days working the streets in uniform. It was easy to become cynical and compartmentalise some victims.

“Thank you Sargent,” she said instead.

The trio worked late into the night and when they left Police Plaza Penelope got into Bradley’s car.

“I’m guessing you’re too tired to fool around,” she said.

“On the contrary. I’d like some loving to take my mind off this mess, even if it’s just for a little while,” he took Penelope’s hand.

“You know us special girls need to do a little prep after a long day before we hop in the sack,” Penelope smiled at him.

He smiled back. Anal sex was wonderful but it required some preparation beforehand.

“Let’s go to your hotel. You can settle down and watch some TV while I make myself beautiful for you,” Penelope squeezed his hand.

“You are always beautiful,” he put the car in gear.

“Don’t be coy; you know what I mean,” Penelope chuckled.

They made love; Penelope wearing just a pair of hold-up stockings because she knew that Bradley liked them. After, they lay in each other’s arms, both of them aware of the elephant in the room, Bradley’s declaration of love.

In a room three floors above, Michael Kendal dressed in black lingerie, black stockings, heels, wig and makeup was lying on the bed paralysed except for his eyes. His cock was erect and his eyes glued to the tablet twelve inches from his face. The room was deathly silent except for the faint buzz of the vibrating dildo inserted into his anus. The room reeked of Poison perfume.

To be continued

Author's Note: This story is obviously not to everybody's taste but not all stories can be about fairies and prom queens, most people know I write stories with a hard edge. I hope someone at least is enjoying it xxx Michele