Author’s Note: Dear reader, I’m back to writing crime mysteries after a sojourn writing short stories. This story is a thriller involving money, drugs, sex, politics and murder. Of course there will be some sex, it is a Michele Nylons story after all. That said I really do enjoy writing stories that promote character development and entertain my readers with an elaborate plot. I hope you enjoy this three-part thriller.

Day One

The girl was beautiful. No that’s not right. The girl was stunning.

Her blue eyes were embellished with black eyeliner and earthy-toned eyeshadow. Her long eyelashes enhanced with black mascara, her prominent cheekbones daintily rouged and her full luscious lips painted with ruby-red lipstick.

Her breathtaking visage was framed by flaming red hair which was fanned out on the pillows, poised perfectly, almost like a portrait.

Her flawless skin was alabaster white, almost translucent. The red brocade bustier she was wearing shaped her torso, cinching her waist, flattening her stomach and pushing up her ample bosom. Her long, shapely legs were sheathed in vintage black stockings and her feet shod in cherry-red four-inch high heels. One knee was raised and her waist slewed sideways so that a modicum of modesty prevailed and her private parts were hidden from view except for one pert buttock clad in translucent panties.

She lay on black satin sheets with her arms stretched wide, almost inviting you to join her. She looked like she was sleeping, except for the deep slash across her swanlike neck.

The girl had obviously been posed by her killer.

The room was suddenly illuminated by a flash as one of the forensic technicians took another photograph, this time from a different angle. The other CSIs dressed in Tyvek coveralls picked over the scene collecting forensic evidence. The medical examiner had already pronounced the girl deceased and was carefully inspecting the body without disturbing the scene.

“What do you make of it?” Detective Tommy Lomax asked his partner.

“She’s young, pretty and dead. This place is no dump either. If it’s hers she’s got money, she comes from money, she married money or she has a boyfriend with money,” Jack Shepard growled, his voice hoarse from thousands of cigarettes.

“What about how she’s dressed?” Tommy pointed his chin at the girl.

“Maybe daddy likes her dressed sassy? Maybe she’s a hooker?” Jack offered, scratching his poorly shaved chin.

“A kept woman?” Tommy mused.

“She was posed. She was killed here; most of the blood has soaked into the bedding. What do you think doc?” Tommy turned to Hector ‘Doc’ Freeman, the medical examiner.

“Based on lividity and body temperature I’d say she died within the last twenty four hours. The incision in her throat is the likely cause of death and looks like it was made with a very sharp knife or possibly a razor. I don’t want to speculate too much until I get her to the morgue and conduct the autopsy but I don’t see any defensive wounds,” Doc Freeman stated in the usual dispassionate voice he used when he attended a crime scene.

“Can I get in closer there Gail?” Doc asked Gail Johnson the lead forensic investigator.

Other than a rudimentary examination to declare wrongful death, Doc had left the corpse untouched so that the CSIs could do their thing.

“Sure. We have most of the initial trace evidence bagged from her body and the bed. We’ll conduct a more thorough examination of the bed when you move her and I’ll assist with the autopsy,” Gail nodded.

Underneath her shapeless Tyvek coveralls the diminutive Gail Johnson had a killer body, great tits and a pretty face. Tommy Lomax had tried it on with Gail a year ago when she came to Camden from New York City to take over as head of the Camden PD forensics unit but her bullshit detector detected his bullshit immediately and they remained cordial colleagues but she didn’t mind a little playful banter with him.

Doc approached the body and lifted one of the girl’s arms by the wrist.

“Rigor mortis is still at stage one and her pallor suggests that she’s been dead for less than eight hours, so that narrows it down some. See what I mean about no defensive wounds?” Doc indicated the woman’s hands.

Her fingers were elegant. She was wearing several silver rings and she had long manicured fingernails painted the same ruby red as her lipstick. None of the nails were broken and there appeared to be no scratches, cuts or contusions on her wrists or forearms which are representative of defensive wounds and would indicate that a she had fought with her assailant.

“Maybe she knew her killer? Maybe she was drugged or asleep when she was attacked. I don’t see any signs of a struggle,” Jack Shepard hitched his pants up around his substantial gut as he was want to do when he thought he’d made a significant observation.

“I don’t like to jump to conclusions but I agree with your partner; at least based on my initial observations,” Gail Johnson added.

“Can we turn her over? See if there are any cuts or bruises on her thighs?” Tommy asked.

“Sex, drugs or money,” Jack Shepard sighed.

Tommy and Jack called sex, drugs and money the holy trinity. They were the most common motives for violent crimes. Bruising or scratches on the girl’s thighs might be indicators of rape or sexual assault.

Gail shrugged as if to say ‘sure – go for it’ and tugged at her latex glove. Everyone at the scene was wearing latex gloves and disposable shoe coverings. Only the CSIs were wearing Tyvek coveralls but they’d had the body to themselves for over an hour and Gail had permitted the detectives and the medical examiner into the crime scene now that the CSIs had conducted their initial evidence collection procedures, mainly the collection of hairs, fibres and fluids from the body.

Gail’s team were now dusting for prints, taking pictures and collecting any trace evidence in the room.

Doc Freeman gently straightened the girl’s leg and rolled her lower body over into the prone position.

“Jesus Christ!” Doc recoiled from the bed.

“What the fuck?” Jack Shepard took a step backwards.

“Well there’s something you don’t see every day,” Tommy said sarcastically.

The girl was wearing translucent white panties. The front of her panties was distended by a good sized flaccid penis.

“Fucking freak,” Jack Shepard whispered and Gail shot him an angry look.

“It gets better,” one of the CSI techs said.

The CSI who had been collecting and bagging evidence held out a student ID card to Gail Johnson in his gloved fingers. She and Tommy Lomax peered intently at the card. The name on the card was Steven de Lorraine.

Gail took the card and held it next to the girl’s face.

“Could be him… her… whatever the fuck,” Tommy leaned in and looked at the card then at the girl’s face.

The facial features were similar enough for Tommy to be almost positive that it was, as was Gail.

“Doesn’t Senator Raymond de Lorraine have a son named Steven?” Jack Shepard offered, although he could no longer bring himself to look at the body.

“Fuck this! Nobody says anything to anyone about this,” Tommy glared at everyone in the room.

“I’m calling the Captain, who I’m sure will call the Commissioner, who I’m sure will call the Mayor. Nobody else enters the crime scene and I mean nobody. This is a closed crime scene,” Tommy strode out of the room pulling his cell phone from his inside his jacket pocket.

*****

“Thanks for the shit sandwich Tommy,” Captain James McElroy, head of Camden PD’s homicide division said, indicating a chair in front of his desk.

“Hey boss. The bad guys kill ‘em and then I find the bad guys. The rest is up to the DA and the prosecutor,” Tommy eased his lean frame into the chair.

“At least you had the sense to close the crime scene,” the Captain said and settled behind his desk.

“I approved the removal of the body from the crime scene and the senator’s wife made a formal identification at the morgue. The body has been identified as Steven de Lorraine who up until his death has been using the name Stephanie Carter,” Captain James McElroy sighed.

“This case has the potential to become a political shitfight and the press are gonna be all over it. They’ll come after the Senator as will his political opponents and the ACLU and the LGBTI activists are gonna stir up a shit storm if we don’t make an arrest soon,” Captain McElroy said anxiously.

“The alphabet soup brigade has stolen most of the letters from the alphabet so they should understand that we need PC to make an arrest,” Tommy said flippantly.

The Captain cleared his throat and nodded towards the rear corner of his office.

Tommy swivelled his neck. He hadn't seen the woman sitting in the back corner of the Captain’s office because she was sitting perfectly still, tapping away at a tablet with her head bowed but listening intently. She was wearing a charcoal grey skirt suit, her ankles crossed demurely. Tommy appraised what little leg he could see and then turned back to the Captain dismissing her. She was probably some chick appointed by the mayor’s office to be liaison on the case to ensure the I’s were dotted and the T’s crossed because the case had the potential to embarrass his office.

“The Senator and his wife filed a missing persons report regarding their son Steven de Lorraine a little over a year ago. He was a student at Camden College at the time. If you remember, the press played it up and the government put pressure on us to find him. The Senator tried to get the Feebs involved but there was no evidence that a Federal crime had been committed,” Captain McElroy refreshed Tommy’s memory.

“There was no ransom demand and no evidence of foul play and the usual false sightings all over the state. The case went cold and interest waned. Steven de Lorraine is still listed as a missing person but everyone assumed he’d just done a bunk and ran away from mommy and daddy,” Tommy added.

“Yeah. There were sightings of him in Australia and France but they didn’t lead anywhere. He’d cleaned out his rather substantial bank account and most people guessed he’d gone backpacking,” the Captain said, fiddling with a letter opener on his desk.

“And now he turns up murdered except he isn’t Steven de Lorraine anymore he’s Stephanie Carter,” Tommy leaned forward in his chair.

“I don’t get it with these people. So what happens? Some guy wakes up one day, puts on nylons and lipstick, changes his name from Karl to Karen and starts calling himself a lady? What kinda bullshit is that?” Tommy grimaced.

“I’m one of these people,” the woman sitting at the back of the room said dryly.

“This is detective Julie Sanderson. She’s been assigned by the Prosecutor’s office to work the case with you,” Captain McElroy said by way of introduction.

“I already have a partner. I don’t need another,” Tommy snapped at the Captain, refusing to look at Julie Sanderson.

“Jack Shepard is a dinosaur Tommy. He’s a misogynist homophobe. A bad fit for this case,” Captain McElroy said as delicately as he could.

“I’m not much better,” Tommy countered.

“You're still my best investigator Tommy. You will work the case with Detective Sanderson who has insight and experience with these matters. I’m not asking Tommy; I’m telling,” the Captain said with forceful finality.

“Keep a lid on it Tommy and use some restraint. I want this case solved as quickly and as quietly as possible. Meeting adjourned,” James McElroy got up from behind his desk and held the door open for the two detectives and closed it behind them as his phone began to ring.

Julie Sanderson followed Tommy out of the Captain's office and into the squad room. The detectives all looked up as Julie entered the room. I wasn’t that they were not used to seeing a woman in the squad room, one third of the detectives on the force were women. It was just that she was a new face. They soon went back to their jobs, heads bent over computer screens, talking on phones, reading reports.

“Over here,” Jack Shepard called out to Tommy.

Jack ushered Tommy and Julie into one of the interview rooms. A sign taped to the door read No Entry - Restricted Access.

“You finally got your own office Tommy,” Jack pointedly ignored Julie Sanderson.

“I’m off the case but don’t worry about me Tommy, I can make up the overtime working my second job,” Jack twirled a set of key in his fingers.

Like many of the detectives, Jack Shepard worked a second job, employed off the books by a private security firm.

“Here’s the keys, good luck partner,” Jack bulldozed past Julie Sanderson, deliberately shouldering her out of the way.

He slammed the door behind him.

Tommy took off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair.

All of the evidence relating to the Steven de Lorraine missing person case was collated in two cardboard boxes on the table. What little evidence that had been gathered so far regarding the murder of Stephanie Carter was contained in a slim file marked Confidential – Case Detectives Only.

Julie picked up the file and fanned the contents.

“Not much here yet,” Julie remarked.

Tommy ignored her and began to go through the boxes. He affixed a picture Steven de Lorraine to the wall and snatched the file from Julie and found a close-up of Stephanie Carter’s face and pinned it beside the picture of Steven de Lorraine.

He kept his back to Julie and stared intently at the photographs.

“Do you have any questions for me Detective Lomax?” Julie asked; her arms crossed defiantly.

“Yeah. You gonna wanna use the ladies room or the men's?” Tommy could barely contain his anger at losing his partner.

“Any constructive questions?” Julie said evenly.

Tommy turned and studied Julie closely for the first time.

She was a tall woman even in her low heels. She was slim, her business suit fitted to her lithe frame. He could see where the tailor had cut a bespoke side seam in her jacket to allow for the nine millimetre automatic she wore at her waist. She wore a plain white shirt under the charcoal suit, black low heels and tan nylons. She was dressed more like an FBI agent than a regular city cop.

She wasn’t pretty but she had an interesting face. Her emerald-green eyes were framed by a brunette, shoulder-length blunt-cut bob which looked a little severe. Her makeup was minimal except for her red lipstick. Tommy would have picked her as a lipstick-lesbian under different circumstances.

“Constructive? Yeah, now that I think of it I do,” Tommy said pensively.

“So tell me detective; do you still have it?” Tommy nodded suggestively at Julie’s skirt.

“You curious detective? Wanna put your hand under there and find out?” Julie looked at him defiantly.

Julie’s face was flushed and Tommy couldn’t tell it was anger or embarrassment.

“If you’ve finished with your transphobic rant detective Lomax I’m ready to go to work,” Julie sighed heavily.

“Ok Sanderson. Whether we like it or not we’re saddled with each other but I’m the lead detective. You take orders from me,” Tommy slapped the file down on the desk.

Julie noticed that it was marked: Stephanie Carter – (Steven de Lorraine).

“At least the authorities are acknowledging that the victim’s name is Stephanie and are not misgendering her,” Julie said coolly.

“More a formality I’d say so they don’t get the missing person and the murder cases confused. Anyway I guess the missing person’s case is closed now,” Tommy nodded at the two cardboard boxes.

“But there may be evidence in those boxes pertinent to the murder. Stephanie was missing for over a year before she was found dead,” Julie speculated.

“Not just a pretty face, are you?” Tommy said begrudgingly and Julie forgave his misogynism for the sake of peace.

Tommy reached for his jacket.

“There’s your homework. Go through those files tonight and see what might be useful to us before we interview the Senator and Mrs de Lorraine. Right now let’s get back to the crime scene and see what we can find,” Tommy didn’t get the door for Julie; he threw the keys to her so she could lock it behind them.

Julie followed him down to the city car and slipped into the passenger seat. She had to adjust the seat to allow for her long legs. Over time the seat had sagged from bearing the nearly three hundred pounds of Detective Jack Shepard and smelled like Old Spice, old cigarette smoke, old fast-food and old farts. She slid the window down to let in some fresh air and Tommy Lomax overrode the slide switch and slid her window closed and locked it. He smiled at his little victory and Julie just shook her head and leafed through the murder file while he drove.

When they pulled up outside the apartment block Tommy turned to Julie, he hadn't spoken a word to her in the car. When she switched on the radio he had immediately switched it off. He seemed to take delight in tormenting her.

“When we get in there you say nothing and you touch nothing. Just observe, take notes and keep your trap shut,” he hissed.

As part of her detective training Julie had undertaken a crime scene investigator course and had attended countless crime scenes but she said nothing. Tommy exited the vehicle without saying another word and strode towards the lobby without waiting for Julie. He flashed his badge at the doorman, stalked across the entrance lobby and pressed the elevator button.

While they waited for the elevator Julie approached the doorman and showed him her badge.

“Were you working here last night?” she asked gruffly.

“Yes I work nights,” the doorman grunted.

He had a Baltic accent and was short-headed and broad-faced with a heavy under-jaw and a flat broad nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. He was bulky and bald-headed and looked like he might once have been a wrestler or a weightlifter.

He didn’t seem to take kindly to being questioned by a woman

“Before you ask, I see nothing. I open door, carry bags, press elevator button, hold messages, parcels and deliveries and call cabs for residents who too fuckin’ lazy to do themselves,” the doorman said in heavily accented English whilst glaring at Julie, almost challenging her.

“Please write your name and contact details here. We will need to interview you,” Julie put her notebook on the desk and the doorman scribbled in it while she glared at him.

He handed the notebook back to Julie and she saw that he had written ‘FCUK YOU’ in a childlike scrawl. Julie sighed. She would get his details from the property manager or the employment agency. She caught the elevator just before the door closed.

Tommy was leaning against the back of the car and he looked up at her.

“What did I fucking say? Say nothing and touch nothing,” he sighed.

“You told me to take notes. I took notes,” Julie countered.

Tommy ripped the notebook out of her hand and read what the doorman had written.

“Very fucking helpful. Now I’ll have to lean on him a little harder than I wanted to. Teach him to have some respect,” Tommy sighed again.

“I don’t need you to beat up a witness because he disrespected me. Women face this sort of discrimination all the time when dealing with the criminal element,” Julie said, a little exasperated.

Tommy slammed the emergency stop and pushed Julie against the wall. He stepped in close to her, his face inches from hers. She could smell that he was wearing an expensive cologne; no Old Spice for Tommy Lomax.

“You don’t get it you dumb bitch. I’m not going to muscle him for disrespecting you,” he gave her a reproachful look.

“You are whatever you are, masquerading as a cunt. He disrespected your badge and that is intolerable,” Tommy hissed.

He raised his hand and Julie flinched expecting a blow but Tommy slammed it into the emergency stop button and the elevator continued its ascent. He gave Julie a final glare and stepped away from her. Julie’s heart was pounding.

The apartment block was situated in a less affluent part of Camden City but not quite in the slums. The building was showing its age but was in reasonable shape. The walls in the hallway had been freshly painted not that long ago and the carpet was new. Police crime tape had been strung across the hallway blocking access to Stephanie Carter’s apartment. It was one of the nicer apartments being a corner suite with floor to ceiling windows facing a park.

The apartment had been decorated with style: Italian marble floors, expensive rugs, nice artwork on the walls, expensive furniture and modern objects d'art placed artfully around the living area. It was open plan with a kitchen island and a separate large bedroom with an ensuite bathroom and walk-in robe. The incongruence of the affluence of the abode in this rundown apartment block was not lost on Julie.

“Welcome back Tommy,” Gail Johnson had taken off her Tyvek suit but was still wearing latex gloves.

She was wearing skinny jeans and a longsleeved t-shirt. Without the hood her short black bob famed a pretty face. Most of the CSIs had moved on to another crime scene.

Julie almost collided with Gail as she came through the door because Julie was concentrating on putting on her protective gloves.

“Shit!” Gail said as she looked up into Julie’s face.

Julie tried to remain stoic but Tommy caught the look of recognition that passed between the two women.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were working this case. I didn’t even know that you were in Camden,” Gail said almost apologetically.

Julie shook her head and nodded at Tommy as if to say ‘don’t say a word’.

“We’ve taken away the trace evidence for processing and photographed and catalogued everything of interest but I’ve left it in place so you can see it in situ. I’ll bag it and take it away when you're finished. We didn’t find a murder weapon,” Gail was all business but the brief interchange between her and Julie was not lost Tommy.

Julie approached the bed. The black satin sheets had absorbed most of the blood. It was difficult to see but there was plenty of it once you looked closely.

“I’d expect to see arterial spray on the wall,” Julie nodded at the pristine white wall behind the bedhead where a huge print of a nude woman posed tastefully on a chaise lounge hung imposingly.

“What did I say? Keep your trap shut!” Tommy glared at Julie.

Julie lowered her head but Gail answered her anyway.

“You're correct. There should be arterial spray. It looks like the wound severed the trachea below the larynx which prevented her from screaming or yelling. It also would have severed the carotid artery preventing oxygenated blood from reaching the brain. Death would have come quickly, hence no sign of a struggle, but there should be arterial spray,” Gail pointed to the blood-stained sheets and the almost pristine wall.

“We’ve used luminol on the walls and surrounds and there are some droplets, most likely from the initial incision but my guess is that the murderer placed something over her throat to catch the spray until her heart stopped pumping and then he let her bleed out into the bedding,” Gail nodded at the bedsheets.

“Doc Freeman will need to confirm my hypothesis at tomorrow's autopsy,” Gail deliberately looked at Tommy rather than Julie.

Tommy nodded at Gail and waved his hand dismissively at Julie indicating for her to start documenting what she saw.

The apartment was opulent and scrupulously clean with nothing out of place. The appliances were expensive, top of the line: a Bang & Olufsen sound system, paired with a Beovision flat screen. It was almost like a show home, like no one actually lived there. The trash can in the kitchen was empty, there was an ashtray on the occasional table but it was spotless although Julie could smell a faint residue of cigarette smoke.

The pantry and refrigerator were sparsely stocked but what was in them was expensive, the makings of canapés and finger foods but nothing substantial. There were several bottles of premium champagne and vintage wines. There was a fully stocked bar with crystal glassware. One lipstick smeared wine goblet sat on the kitchen island with a little evidence tag beside it. Beside that was a Versace handbag that would have cost Julie a month’s wages. There was an evidence tag hanging from the shoulder strap.

Julie went into the bedroom and stepped into the walk-in robe. The shoes, clothing and accessories were all designer although the jewellery was costume, worn more for the aesthetic than to project wealth. The wardrobe was divided into two sections. The first held the designer stuff and the rest was expensive sexy lingerie and fetish wear. There was even a French maid’s costume and some latex and leatherwear. The same with the footwear. The Louboutin's and Jimmy Choo’s separated from the thigh-high fetish boots and pumps with heels so high that they couldn’t possibly be walked in for more than a few steps.

“Fuck-me shoes,” Julie whispered to herself.

There was an extensive array of lingerie in the drawers, also divided into fetish wear and every day wear. The vanity table held a collection of exclusive cosmetics and perfumes. The mirror was professionally lit.

Julie made her way over to the bedside table where Tommy was emptying the contents of the drawers onto a sterile linen evidence sheet. There were tubes of lubricant, boxes of condoms, a little bottle of poppers and several sex toys. Tommy grimaced at the collection and headed to the ensuite bathroom and Julie followed.

The bathroom was as well appointed as the rest of the apartment. There was an ornate overhead rainfall showerhead and also a handheld shower attachment. On a shelf was a stainless steel wand with small perforations near the end of it. Tommy held it up and looked at it quizzically.

“It’s a douche,” Julie said pragmatically and she hid a smile when Tommy jerked and dropped it back on the shelf.

“Fucking pervert,” Tommy hissed.

“Cis women use them too,” Julie added and Tommy looked at her like she was an alien.

He opened the cabinet above the sinks and saw the myriad of grooming and pharmaceutical products that one would expect to find in any woman’s bathroom.

“What’s this?” Tommy opened a bottle and shook out a few of the blue ovoid shaped tablets into his gloved hand.

“Tenofovir – emtricitabine,” Tommy held the bottle up to the light and read the label.

“PrEP,” Julie said matter-of-factly.

Tommy looked at her quizzically.

“It’s a pre-exposure prophylaxis used to prevent HIV infection,” Julie explained.

“You fucking freaks,” Tommy looked at Julie with utter disgust.

“PrEP has reduced HIV infection by nearly seventy five percent in economically developed societies,” Julie added.

“Too bad. We would be well rid of the druggos and homos in my opinion,” Tommy put the bottle back next to the little evidence label.

“Here is the icing on the cake,” Gail called from the ensuite bathroom door.

They followed Gail into the bedroom and she moved one of the prints on the wall. It was hinged and behind it were three shelves set into the wall. Little baggies containing white powder and small Ziploc bags containing pills were arranged on the shelves.

“We did a field test on one of the baggies. Besides the Viagra there is cocaine and the Ziplocs contain ecstasy, speed and fuck knows what else until we test it properly at the lab,” Gail pointed to the array of drugs.

Tommy picked up one of the baggies in his gloved fingers and held it up to light looking at the sparkly flakes indicating that the cocaine was of excellent purity.

“Sex, drugs and money… the holy trinity,” Tommy said almost triumphantly.

“Here’s the thing. Stephanie Carter is selling her tranny ass and dealing drugs. She either ripped off a john or her pimp and she got her ass killed for it,” Tommy rubbed his chin.

“Did you find any money?” Julie asked and Tommy glared at her but acknowledged that it was a legitimate question.

“Her purse is on the kitchen island. A driver’s licence in the name of Stephanie Carter which looks like a really good forgery; a pack of Treasurer Luxury Black cigarettes and a gold lighter, two hundred dollars in cash and a set of keys,” Gail read the contents off an evidence sheet.

Tommy upended the purse and stirred the content with a pen he took from his inside pocket.

“I bet she had a stash of cash somewhere in the place the murderer took it with him,” Tommy hypothesised.

“Then why not take the drugs?” Julie asked.

Tommy said nothing. He took Gail by the elbow and led her into the bedroom so they could have a conversation without Julie listening.

Julie picked up the purse and looked inside. It was empty. There was a small zippered pocket and she opened it. Inside she found what looked like a business card. It was royal purple with raised gold printing on expensive cardstock.

A stylised emblem of a three-petal lily, sometimes called the ‘flower-de-luce’, was placed in the dominant position on the left side of the card. Beside it in stylised font was written: Fleur de Lis - Whatever You Desire.

There was nothing else embossed on the front of the card. On the back was a handwritten series of numbers that was most likely a telephone number. Julie laid the card flat on the countertop and took a picture of the front and back.

“Did you see this?” Julie held up the card to Tommy and Gail as they came out of the bedroom.

Tommy snatched it from her hand and studied it. He turned it over and frowned.

“Bag and catalogue this,” Tommy said to Gail, ignoring Julie.

They spent another hour in the apartment but didn’t find anything else of significance.

Tommy and Julie took the elevator to the ground floor. The surly doorman was still on duty in the lobby.

“Is that your office?” Tommy pointed to what was little more than a broom closet situated behind the concierge desk.

The doorman nodded and Tommy herded him inside and closed the door. Julie checked her messages while she waited in the lobby.

The doorman came out of the office ten minutes later followed by Tommy. The doorman held a handkerchief to his nose to stop the flow of blood from one nostril. He had a split lip which was starting to swell and a purple bruise under one eye.

Tommy was swinging a large envelope. He walked past Julie and headed outside to the city car and Julie had to trot to catch up with him.

“You didn’t have to do that you know,” she whispered when they pulled away from the curb.

“Next time he sees a badge he’ll show some respect,” Tommy stared straight ahead into the evening traffic.

“What if he files a complaint?” Julie asked.

“He’s an illegal. He aint going to file jack shit. Besides, I wouldn’t go defending the prick if I was you. Before I started questioning him he told me that he’d like to bend you over his desk, lift up your little skirt and fuck the arrogance out of you,” Tommy had a wicked grin on his face.

Julie blushed and looked at Tommy trying to guess if what he was saying was true.

“I told him he was welcome to do so but that you had dick in your panties and the poor chump almost lost his lunch. I expect you affect a lot of men that way,” Tommy chuckled.

Julie said nothing for a while.

“I know what you're thinking,” Julie broke the silence.

“Amuse me. Tell me what I’m thinking,” Tommy stared at the traffic not at Julie.

“Stephanie Carter is a hooker who deals dope. She ripped off her pimp, her dealer or a john and she got herself killed for it,” Julie surmised.

“Quickly and quietly, just like the captain said. All we need do is find the pimp, the dealer or the john who killed her and we’re done. I go back to working with Jack Shepard and you back to freakazoid city or wherever the fuck your kind comes from,” Tommy gave her evil grin.

Julie could punch a thousand holes in Tommy’s hypothesis but she knew it would be futile so she kept shtum. Just before they got back to the Police Plaza Tommy dropped the envelope he had taken from the doorman in Julie’s lap.

“Surveillance video. More homework for you tonight,” he grunted.

“I already have the missing person’s evidence to go through,” Julie tried not to sound whiney.

“Welcome to Camden homicide sweet cheeks,” Tommy chuckled.

Back at Police Plaza Tommy left Julie to gather up the evidence boxes while he went to brief the captain. Tommy told Captain McElroy that he was confident that the case would be solved soon.

*****

Camden PD had rented Julie a room in the Grand Hotel for the duration of her stay in their fair city. The word Grand was a misnomer and Julie had used her own funds to upgrade herself to a suite.

Julie had no time for a love life or relationships. The few times that she had entered into a relationship it had always ended badly. Men were either too possessive or saw her as a quick dalliance. Few were interested in bringing her home to meet mother or even be seen publicly with her. Julie didn’t flaunt her transgender identity but she refused to hide it. Men were just too complicated and women were worse.

The escort service she used in New York had a few ‘companions’ available for hire in Camden. She scrolled through the slim pickings and eventually found someone suitable and available and sent him her details. His fee would be deducted from her account; all she need do was tip him before he left.

She put the case files in the wardrobe, locked her service weapon and her valuables in the room safe and stripped. She douched and showered and couldn’t help smiling when she used the stainless steel wand on herself. It was a similar model to the one they had found in Stephanie Carter’s bedroom which Tommy Lomax had found so repulsive.

Julie put on the fleecy gown provided by the hotel and studied her face critically in the mirror. When she was a young boy struggling with gender dysphoria she had hated her face but when she actually began her transition she declined facial cosmetic surgery except for a tracheal shave.

She wasn’t ugly by any means but her nose was a little crooked and her mouth was too wide. She thought her face was interesting and it was the face she had been born with and she grew into it. Her piercing green eyes were her best feature along with her full lips. Besides, cosmetics were a wonderful thing.

Julie looked at the faint scars on her wrists and bitterly recalled her wrestling match with her dysphoria which she had won with help from understanding parents and years of psychoanalysis. Her parents had allowed Julie to undertake gender affirming surgery when she was sixteen but not on her genitals. Even the doctors had agreed with them. There were some cases where transgender women had undertaken bottom surgery and then come to regret it later. Julie had presented femme from the age of fifteen and changed her gender identity legally at sixteen.

At the time she desperately wanted vaginoplasty but by the time she was an adult and legally capable of undertaking the surgery the urge had dissipated. She was happy with who she was and satisfied with her body. Julie was never going to have children and she enjoyed sex using the equipment she had so why put that at risk for the sake of aesthetics or to provide a hole so that men could pretend that she was a ‘real’ woman.

She put on heavy makeup and stepped into ultra-sheer nylon stockings; the holdup kind because she couldn’t be bothered fiddling around with garters. She slipped on a pair of black lacy boy-leg panties and changed into a semi-transparent black negligee and put on black high heels. She put a tube of lubricant and an unwrapped condom on the nightstand. The condom was optional; the lube was not. She placed one of the hotel’s handtowels strategically next to the condom.

There was a discreet knock on the door and Julie lowered the house lights and went to the door and checked the peephole and saw the handsome young man she had booked through her service.

“You look amazing,” the man smiled at her appreciatively when he entered her room.

“I know. Come with me,” she took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

The overhead lights were out but the lamps on the nightstand were illuminated. She had positioned the mirrored wardrobe door so that the bed was reflected in it. She liked to watch herself fuck.

“I’m Ryan by the way,” the young stud gave her his most brilliant smile.

“It doesn't matter. Get undressed and join me on the bed please,” Julie lay down on the bed and watched the man take off his clothes.

Neither of them would be using their real names so Julie saw no point in introductions.

When Ryan was naked Julie appreciated what he had to offer. He had longish sun-bleached hair, a tanned muscled body and a good sized penis which was already semi-erect. She guessed he was in his early twenties but had no intention of asking him his age.

“Did you take a pill? I want my money’s worth,” Julie said dispassionately.

“I won’t need one honey,” the young man grinned.

“We’ll see about that. Get on the bed,” Julie ordered.

Ryan climbed onto the bed and Julie pounced on him.

She threw Ryan down on his back and went to work on his penis with her mouth. She traced the veins with her tongue working on the shaft, deliberately avoiding the sensitive glans. When his cock was quivering and leaking dewy droplets of precum she lapped them up and swallowed his cock whole.

She tickled his fraenulum with the tip of her tongue while her lips suckled the shaft and smiled around the mouthful of manflesh when Ryan moaned. Julie was being selfish. While she appreciated that Ryan was enjoying her ministrations, her goal was get him fully turgid so that she could use his manhood to provide her with the release that she ached for.

When Ryan was fully erect, his bloated member filling her mouth and pulsing in anticipation of relief, she spat it out and leapt on his body, straddling him so that his cock pressed into her buttocks. She reached for the lubricant on the nightstand and squirted a globule of the slippery emollient on her fingertips and greased Ryan’s turgid pole.

Julie eased aside the gusset of her panties and slowly impaled herself on his rampant phallus. Her sphincter stretched around the glans and when he was fully inside the tight ring she lowered herself onto him so that his shaft filled her tight void. She gasped as his glans pressed on the sensitive tissue surrounding her prostate, the thick base of his cock expressed little wavelets of pleasure from her sphincter.

When she had him comfortably inside her Julie rode him. She lowered her face to his and kissed him deeply while her buttocks rose and fell, slowly easing his cock almost all the way out of her anus and then pushing herself down so that it slid all the way back inside her.

Her tongue found his and Ryan reciprocated the kiss, his mouth open, his tongue jiggling and flittering against hers. Then she rose up on him, her hands pressing into his shoulders and began to vigorously fuck him. She wanted release and she wanted it quickly.

Ryan understood her need and reached up and squeezed her magnificent globes, caressing the warm pale flesh, his fingertips finding her nipples and thrumming them until they became engorged. Ringlets of pleasure radiated from Julie’s breasts joining up with the waves of delight radiating from her rectum. She rode him harder and faster, slamming her buttocks down into his groin.

Julie’s cock was straining at her panties and Ryan attempted to free it from the confines of the satiny prison but Julie slapped his hand away. She would not need his assistance to meet her needs.

Ryan began to rise up off the bed, thrusting his manhood inside her as far as it would go, grinding his crotch into hers. His breathing became erratic and his eyes screwed closed as he felt his climax about to overwhelm him.

“I’m coming!” he gasped.

That was all Julie needed to hear to trigger her own climax and she jackhammered her buttocks up and down on his greasy pole, forcing the head of his cock to punch her prostate, his shaft to chafe the walls of her anus, the thick base of his cock to stretch her sphincter.

She whipped her cock out of her panties as the first freshet of semen erupted from her penis, spattering on Ryan’s tight flat belly. Ryan felt the scalding seed on his flesh and opened his eyes and watched Julie’s cock judder as it spurted her essence onto his flesh, her gripped her hips so tight that his nails dug into Julie’s flesh as he thrust himself inside her warm, welcoming channel and ejaculated.

Julie turned her head sideways so that she could see herself astride the young gigolo. Her face was mask of ecstasy. Her head was tilted back, her mouth wide open, her eyes screwed almost closed, her hair flew around her face which resembled a harlot’s with the heavy makeup. She watched her ass rise up and down as Ryan’s cock slammed in out of her tight anus, her long legs astride him, the sheen of her stockings glistening in the lamplight as she rode him to extremis. Her tits bounced up and down in time with the fucking. It would have made a great porno.

Julie threw back her head and moaned as she felt Ryan’s cock explode deep inside her. She ground her buttocks into his groin and her anus contacted around his tumescent flesh and milked him of his essence while her own cock bounced up and down, the last dribbles of her seed seeping from the eye.

Julie sat astride the young Lothario, her cock resting on his belly where her semen pooled in his navel. She was panting. Her anus still clenched around Ryan’s slackening appendage, keeping it trapped inside her.

“Wow!” Ryan smiled up at her.

He looked genuinely satisfied and despite the promise by Max Factor that his ‘Lipfinity Lip Colour’ wouldn’t do so, Ryan’s lips and mouth were smeared with her lipstick.

“You were awesome!” Ryan announced and Julie grimaced because although she knew that she was awesome but she strongly suspected that Ryan said this to all his clients regardless.

“Yes I was. Do you need a rest before we go again?” Julie asked.

“Jesus lady, you are a cougar,” Ryan smiled up at her and Julie grimaced again.

“Forget the platitudes and get hard for me,” Julie climbed off Ryan, reaching for the strategically placed handtowel.

She wiped Ryan’s belly and went back to work on his cock with her mouth.

As promised he didn’t need the little blue pill or more likely he had taken it before he arrived because before long Ryan was at full tumescence.

Julie lay on her back and guided Ryan’s engorged manhood into her recently stretched hole. Recently stretched it may be but it still clamped tight around Ryan’s stiff appendage. She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him deeply, their tongues intertwined. Julie wrapped her arms and legs around Ryan, pulling him close, while he slowly fucked her. It was the closest that Julie ever came to expressing affection with a man.

She needed to feel his flesh on hers, feel the hunger of his mouth, feeling him hold her tight while she clung to him, feel his manhood inside her, feel feminine and supplicant whilst he made love to her. Or more correctly it was a semblance of making love. Julie topped from the bottom, orchestrating every move.

She scissored her stocking-sheathed legs on his delicate flesh knowing that her silky nylons rubbing on his skin would excite him. She grazed his flanks with her heels to encourage him.

Julie turned her head and saw a loving couple making sweet love reflected in the mirror. It was all a fantasy but it was a fantasy she had bought and paid for.

Julie kissed him again. She murmured endearments and coaxed Ryan to make love to her and when she was ready she encouraged him to ravish her.

“Come on Ryan fuck me! Fuck me like a whore!” Julie screeched.

The time for sweet endearments and soft caresses was over. Julie wanted to be banged!

Ryan lifted Julie’s ankles up over her shoulders so that he could push every scintilla of his flesh inside her anus. He gripped her calves and banged away at her ass. The head of his cock punched her prostate whilst his shaft ground against the walls of her rectum.

Julie gasped for breath as Ryan fucked her like the trollop she felt like she was in that moment. She let go of her repressed feelings of worthlessness and channelled those feelings into wanton lust. Ryan's cock was driving her into a paroxysm of desire and lewdness. She clawed at him, needing him to pummel her with his rampant member.

Relief washed over her as her cock erupted and semen suppurated from the tingling, pulsating protuberance and dribbled on her belly. Ryan was relieved when he saw her milky spend dribble from her cock because he could barely hold back his own climax.

He dropped her legs and they wrapped around him, pulling him close and he kissed her fervently and passionately, holding her down, driving her into the bed as he thrust his manhood deep inside her and ejaculated. He felt her warm seed on his belly as he kissed her and for a split second he felt her passion become something akin to affection but it vanished as Julie locked her ankles behind his back and arched her back to drain him of his essence.

They lay panting in each other’s arms, kissing each other softly in the afterglow. Julie actually smiled up at him and brushed his blonde hair out of his eyes.

“Good boy,” she grinned and then unceremoniously pushed him off her and leapt from the bed and went into the bathroom.

She came out a while later, showered, smelling of bath soap and deodorant wearing the white fluffy robe with the Grand Hotel monogram on the pocket.

“Your turn,” Julie pointed at the bathroom dismissively.

Ryan came out of the bathroom and shucked into his faded boot-cut jeans, donned a Wrangler western shirt and pulled on Boulet boots. The kid fancied himself an urban cowboy.

Julie ushered him to the door but then she had an idea.

“Wait a minute,” she picked up her phone.

“Let me ask you something? Have you seen this card before?” she showed him the picture of the Fleur de Lis card.

Ryan looked Julie up and down critically.

“Did they offer you a job? You're just their type,” he gave her that cowboy grin which Julie ignored.

“What do you mean; did they offer me a job?” Julie clutched at his arm.

“Fleur de Lis, whatever you desire. They're a dating agency that specialises in providing services for those who have, shall we say, exotic and eclectic tastes. Very exclusive, by invitation only. You have to be recommended. See, there’s no website or phone number on the card,” Ryan tapped the screen on Julie’s phone.

She decided not tell him about the handwritten phone number on the back.

“I have a friend who worked for them. He wouldn’t tell me what he did exactly but he hinted it involved heavy B and D and maybe some scat. He made his money and opted out,” Ryan shrugged his square shoulders.

“What’s your friend’s name?” Julie handed Ryan a generous tip and laid another hundred on top.

She opened the app she used for her escort service and handed her phone to Ryan. He scrolled through the profiles and stopped when he found what he was looking for.

“This guy,” he handed the phone back to Julie.

“Good night,” Julie leaned in and kissed the side of Ryan’s mouth and eased him out the door.

The Grand Hotel had a strict no smoking policy but Julie opened the door to her balcony and lit her post-coital cigarette and thought long and hard about what Ryan had said.

Should she tell Tommy Lomax about Fleur de Lis?

No. It would be too hard to explain to him where she had got the information. She would keep it to herself for now.

She showered and changed into plain blue silk pyjamas and dragged out the missing person evidence boxes and the envelope with the security video and spent most of the night working. She wasn’t much of a sleeper anyway and she did most of her busy work alone at night; anything that required analytical thinking.

To be continued…