WARNING:
THERE WILL BE NON-EXPLICIT SEX AND VIOLENCE IN THIS STORY. But nothing worse than many mystery novels you could buy or view in the regular world.

 If you want to comment, send email to <luba@lubakmetyk.net>

"I really do appreciate this, Alistaire," Kitty said as she walked into the small cottage through a heavy oak door darkened with the passing of the years. At her host's gesture, she set her laptop down on a nearby table and the small case she'd thrown a few things into down on the floor next to it, glancing around the front room appreciatively as Alistaire lit several lamps. Neatly framed photographs of various military units hung on the whitewashed walls. The comfortable-looking furniture was visibly aging, but still in good condition. There was no television, but a fairly impressive music center sat against one wall. "And you were right -- it *is* quite out of the way, isn't it? While the route's still fresh in my mind, let me call--"

"Wait!" Her eyes widened at Stuart's strident tone, and he flushed as she stared at him. "Please, Kitty, wait just one more moment, and let me try to explain. I... I had an ulterior motive for bringing you here, I needed some time alone with you, somewhere I knew we wouldn't be interrupted..." The small, slender woman took an unconscious step back from the tall don whose familiar stoop-shouldered slouch was beginning to feel more like a menacing loom, while he rushed on, "Those stories in the papers, about you running that online sex club, about you working with the Yard -- When I read those, I knew... I mean, I... I wanted -- I *needed* -- this chance to ask you -- to *beg* you -- to wipe out any records of my sister's account--"

Her big brown eyes widened even more, and he nodded jerkily at her. "Oh, yes, I knew... I didn't approve, of course, but she never would listen to me... But that doesn't mean I don't still want to protect her from the consequences. If you'd just delete any records of her account, that's all I'm asking--"

"But Alistaire, I can't do that!" Kitty finally recovered enough to reply, interrupting him, hoping to stop the painful appeal so embarrassing to them both. "Even if I wanted to, it wouldn't do any good -- I've already given the Yard my client lists, and all the other information they've asked for." She didn't have the heart to add that his sister Alysande was already under special scrutiny, he was already upset enough... far more so than she'd realized, far more than seemed justified even if he *did* know about his sister's 'hobby'....

She took another step backwards at the striken look on his face, while he went on frantically, "But even if that's true, if you destroyed the records there wouldn't be any proof! It would just be your word, against mine--!"

"I'm sorry, Alistaire." Kitty edged back even more, gingerly. "Look, like I said, I appreciate your offer, but maybe we'd both be better off if I went to stay someplace else. I won't ask you for any more favors, just let me make a phonecall--"

"NO!"

"Hullo?!" Pete called out loudly enough to be heard through a thick front door, as he knocked once again. "Oi! Brigadier Stuart?"

"Pittman said she was home," Romany pointed out helpfully. They'd already checked in with the tall, thin, policeman -- who owed both his rich chocolate skin and his soft musical accent to his upbringing in the British Virgin Islands -- currently on duty watching Alysande Stuart's movements and visitors. "But she doesn't seem to want to let us in..."

"Like I couldn't notice that fer myself," her younger brother riposted sourly, as he pounded on the hard wood again. "Mebbe she managed t' slip out?"

"Why don't you go chat with Pittman again, have a cigarette, maybe give Dai a call -- then come back here and try the front door again..." Pushing her glasses back up along her nose, the Oxford-educated psychologist and frequent Yard consultant pulled a quite professional-looking set of lockpicks out of her jacket pocket with her other hand. "Who knows, maybe she forgot to lock up, and it would be only doing your duty to check for intruders and such..."

"Oh, fer--!" The Scotland Yard detective inspector rolled his eyes in disgust. "Are you *still* breakin' an' enterin', Romany? You promised me you were givin' up burglary..."

"Practice makes perfect," she smirked back. "After all, how can I authenticate ghosties and ghoulies properly if I don't know *all* the cute tricks that can be used to fake psychic phenomena? Besides, you know it'll take Dai quite a while to get that warrant, given the Brigadier's exalted position..."

Kitty struggled against the ropes holding her in the chair, trying to keep her motions small enough not to draw her 'host''s attention.

But she had a horrible, sinking feeling she'd lost any chance she'd had to get away, by not being clever enough, strong enough, fast enough. When she'd first -- *finally* -- realized something was wrong, she should have played along with him, continuing to play the innocent dupe, and agreed to wipe his sister's records... and used the resulting access to her computer to sneak out an SOS. Even though Alistaire's own technical knowledge made that a dicey proposition if he'd insisted on watching, she figured that her own expertise was better enough that she could have managed it somehow.

Instead, she'd panicked, and tried to run. She'd barely made it to the door before he'd caught up to her, and then any residual pretense of helpful friendliness -- or of any remaining sanity -- on his part went right out the window.

"Really, Kitty, I thought we were friends..." Stuart paced frenziedly around the small front room, kicking at the hearth rug when it threatened to trip him. "Friends do favors for friends. I *told* you you could stay here, where nobody would think to look for you. I expected a bit more gratitude from you than to have you try to run away as soon as I asked you for a favor in return, just because I want to help my sister too. And, really, I'm trying to do *you* another favor too, by getting those incriminating records destroyed--"

She struggled to keep her voice cool, and steady. "Alistaire, listen to me. Destroying your sister's records isn't necessary... just being a member isn't incriminating, nobody thinks that. It'll look far worse--"

He ran a shaky hand through his thinning hair, which didn't didn't help tame the tufts now sticking up every which way, then held up his hand to signal he wasn't done. "After all, I've done favors for you in the past, too, haven't I? I showed you around the University when you first arrived, didn't I? I helped you order equipment, I helped you set it up, I helped you calibrate it, and get it all working. I did all that because I believed in you and your work, research that would rebound to your credit, and mine, and the whole University's. I had *no* idea you were wasting your valuable time and considerable talent on such unprofessional -- such *scurrilous* -- employment..."

"Bloody hell..." Two pairs of blue eyes stared down at the battered figure sprawled gracelessly behind the large desk, its surface splattered with dried coffee, dried blood, and dried brains, as were the floor and the wall nearby -- and the body's arms and shoulders. Then both Wisdoms blinked, in perfect unison, at the bright flare from a SOCO technician aiming her camera at the carnage while the rest of the crime-scene team searched for trace evidence.

"What have we got so far?" Chief Superintendent Thomas joined the watching siblings where they stood carefully out of the way.

"Doc Stamford was here, confirmed she's dead -- not long, maybe an hour or two before we got here, but he refused t' be more precise before coverin' his professional arse with whole shiteload o' lab tests -- and *tentatively* agreed probable cause of death is massive blunt trauma t' the head -- as if *that* weren't friggin' obvious -- an' took off t' wait fer the body back at 'is shop," Wisdom grunted. "Pittman said 'er brother was here earlier, an' left about an hour ago. Nobody else here, no other visitors--"

"So, who let you in, then?" the portly Welshman interrupted.

"Door was open..." the black-haired man muttered, careful to casually glance away and around, as if to gage the progress of the minions busily combing the room.

"Maybe Alistaire didn't shut it properly when he left," his older sister added, while casually lifting a hand to her face to brush ebony bangs away from her glasses, coincidentally obscuring her eyes for a moment. "Pittman said he looked upset. He might have thought the door had locked behind him, but the latch didn't quite catch..."

She carefully hid her sigh of relief as the Senior Yard man got distracted by a different point. "What was Pittman doing here, anyway?"

"Watchin' the Brig, of course." The snarky tone of the reply didn't even attempt to hide the implication that it had been a silly question.

"He's too senior for that. Don't we have enough constables around we need to use a Detective Sergeant for simple surveillance?"

"I gave Superintendent Orpington-Smythe--" Wisdom drew out the double-barreled name of the local Divison's head sneeringly, "--an earful about 'is man abandoning his post yesterday t' play proud papa, an' insisted he put his best men on." Before his own superior and mentor had a chance to launch into his standard 'maintaining good working relations with colleagues' professional development lecture (also known as the 'you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar' spiel... aka a 'talking to a brick wall' exercise in futility, at least directed at this particular insubordinate subordinate) -- a lecture which the younger man could recite by heart for himself after all the times he'd heard it already -- Pete hastily added, "Doyle says he thinks some of the bits from the earlier bodies that didn't match the dropoff sites may match up to things in here."

He waved a hand at the grossly overweight man supervising his crew as they carefully bagged and tagged, who noticed, and came over to join them. "She had something in her hand, something that isn't there now," he reported briskly. "It'll be stained, just like everything else around her. Even if it's been cleaned, we should still be able to find traces."

"I'm bettin' we find whatever it is when we find her pillock of a brother. Seein' as how Pittman saw 'im -- an' *only* him -- here right about the time she was offed, I put a call out fer him with our people in the Met... an' the Cambridge lot too, in case he's headed fer home all nice an' innocent-like."

"But I'm still willing to try and help you if you'll let me... Just tell me how to destroy *all* the club records, and then we'll simply deny everything in those lurid articles in the tabloid rags -- after all, no one here has ever actually *met* you in connection with that... 'extracurricular' activity of yours, have they? You could ever sue the rags for slander and libel -- isn't suing one of you Americans' favorite pastimes? But you have to help me help you -- let me help save your reputation, your professional *future* -- by telling me how to access the files... But I can't let you do it yourself, you must see that. You have demonstrated seriously impaired judgement to end up in this pickle of a predicament, how do I know what further foolishness you may yet get up to, left to your own devices? Just tell me what I need to know, and I'll take care of everything..."

Exhausted, Kitty stopped her futile squirming and straining for a moment, fleetingly regretting the fact she'd never followed up on her early interest in martial arts; such skills might have let her get away. But back then, any time she could spare -- first from her studies, then from her work -- had gone into dance, which she'd always considered physical enough activity. However, neither her ballet nor modern dance had helped stop Alistaire overpowering her with a burst of strength unexpected in a hunched-over academic.

It had almost gotten her out later, though, when she'd managed to convince her captor she badly needed to use the bathroom. She'd squeezed the upper half of her body out its tiny window -- which no one less slender or less limber could have fit through -- before Stuart had gotten suspicious and had burst through the door to haul her back inside.

After that, he'd retied her to the chair with twice as much rope as before, and Kitty had to face the fact he wouldn't be so gullible again no matter what she pleaded or promised. And not only wouldn't he let her loose to visit the bathroom again, he wouldn't let her get her hands on her computer, either. Instead, he kept demanding she tell *him* how to erase the club's records -- meaning his sister's records, of course, and any evidence of his own hacking into her account... and he certainly had the skill to do so himself, if she told him the passwords and files.

"If you won't save yourself, if you won't let me save you, then, *please*, Kitty, at least help me help my sister. We both know she's a member of your club -- tell me how to erase *her* records at least, if no one else's. I won't ask you to do it, I don't want to ask you to violate your professional 'ethics' -- if you truly still believe such an obscene enterprise deserves any such high-minded consideration -- just tell me what I need to know, to do it myself. It'll *destroy* her career, Kitty, the military career that means so much to her, and to our uncle, just like your involvement will destroy *your* future... at the University, I mean. All I want is to save Alysande's career, to save *her* from the scorn and contumely that she'll face for the rest of her life if her involvement in your sex club becomes public knowledge, the same scorn and contumely I'm going to save *you* from having to face..."

"Alistaire, *please*..." Despite her, Kitty's voice wobbled dangerously. She couldn't afford to delude herself any more, and believe his promises to let her go afterwards -- he'd killed five women so far that she knew of, and she was deathly sure he wouldn't hesitate to add her to his growing list of victims.

All she could do now was keep playing for time -- pretending to agree with him after long strings of threats and blandishments and then changing her mind, over and over, trying not to exhaust his more and more visibly fraying patience, not to overstrain his ever more tenuous control, while hoping that someone would come. She knew the Yard had Brigadier Stuart high on their short list; surely it wouldn't take them that much longer to clear the others, and concentrate on her... and her brother.

And need some help from Kitty, and notice she was missing.

Although Alistaire *had* made a strong point of how isolated his uncle's cottage was, and how no one knew of his connection with it...

Pete yanked the phone away from his ear, glared at it balefully, then shook it viciously as if he expected that to produce the desired contact, before holding it back up to his ear again. "Still no answer, just her soddin' voicemail. Where the hell are you, Pryde?! Ring me back!"

"Probably in hiding," Romany said briskly as her brother slammed the phone back down. The Detective Inspector looked up to transfer his scowl to his sister where she stood behind Chief Superintendent Thomas seated at his desk. "Hiding from reporters, I mean. Or have you already forgotten that convenient little leak splashed all over the gutter press about her involvement with the investigation... and with you?"

"You and yer bloody daft cover stories..." But there was more concern than anger in his muttered response to the knowing smirks directed at him. "Mebbe we should ask the locals t' check up on 'er..."

"Finding Stuart has to be our first priority -- and theirs," Thomas growled. "We don't want to start them running after two separate hares. Romany's likely right -- the lass is just holed up somewhere... and I wouldn't be surprised to hear the press has gotten hold of her number, and has been pestering her until she's just stopped answering--"

The phone rang suddenly. Dai reached for it but the younger man beat him to it. He fumbled and almost dropped the receiver, then got it in position. "Kitty?!" he practically shouted into it.

His crestfallen expression gave the others the answer, even though they couldn't hear whatever he was listening to intently. Then he grunted, "Right -- carry on," and hung up. "That was Cambridge. They went to his flat -- no Stuart, but they found bloodstained clothes on the floor, and more traces in the sink -- evidence that can't be explained away. They're going to check at the University, quietly, and other places he might be..."

A sudden knock at the front door broke the stillness of the country twilight, startling them both. A muffled voice called through the thick old oak, "Hullo? It's Sergeant Colin MacKay, from the police station down the road... I saw the car outside, and lights on inside -- is that you, Brigadier? Or the Professor?"

"Quiet!" Alistaire hissed in Kitty's ear. He was hunched right over her now, his hand clamped over her mouth, so he wasn't worried about being overheard. "Stay absolutely still, until he leaves..."

However much she'd kept struggling -- both physically *and* mentally -- after her previous escape efforts had failed, Kitty had known Alistaire wouldn't give her any other chance to get away, and had begun to resign herself to being doomed. Now, she'd been given one last, desperate chance, and it didn't take her any thought at all to decide she had nothing left to lose.

Sharp teeth sank into his hand, then, as he jerked away in pain and shock, she yelled with all her strength, "Help! He's--!"

That was all she managed to get out before her captor recovered, and backhanded her across her face with ferocious strength. Her head snapped back, and her eyes filled with tears of pain, but her spirits soared, hearing the meaty thud of a body hitting the front door, trying to batter it open.

Alistaire must have heard it too, because he whirled around, cursing...

And Kitty screamed again, as a series of shots rang out.

Continued in Part 11...