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I let out a sigh. “So, are you going to talk, or not? I could still catch the gym...”
“Let me see... Lydia Marsh... twenty-three, from Warwick. Tall, dark hair, green eyes, perky little ass... project manager for Trial Run Software Group, you may have heard of them?” I checked my watch pointedly. “Fine!” she laughed. “Her ex sounds a douche, conservative to the extreme, I’m surprised she wasn’t the one to fuck around. She must be a fucking saint. I haven’t heard him calling, but I gather he’s been round her friend Steph’s. That’s heronlyfriend by the way, and she’s a class-A fucking idiot. She’s only been round once and turned her nose up the entire fucking time.”
“Any family?”
“Only child. No daddy from what I can gather.”
“Mother?”
“Now, there’s a story. I’ve overheard bits and pieces. Her mother sounds like a real bloodsucker.”
“Go on...”
“I’m pretty damn certain she’s into drink, and I’m also pretty damn certain Lydia bails her out often.”
“How so?”
“Money... support... a sympathetic fucking ear. For all her tough-girl attitude, I think our Lydia’s pretty soft. Oh, and get this, she hasn’t even told her mother about the break up. I heard her promising to pass on a hello to the lovely Stuart Dobson.”
“They don’t sound close.”
“One way street, for sure. Urgh, victims give me the heebies. I’m telling you now, James, shit’s gone down there. I suspect her mother’s crap has screwed her up good. She has scars, James. Self-harm.”
“She told you that?”
“She doesn’t need to. I’d know them a mile off.”
“Whereabouts?”
“Arms, the ones that I’ve seen, neat little cuts, wrist to elbow. They’re faint, definitely old, but there all the same. You’d never notice if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but, you know, skin’s my thing.”
“Intriguing.”
“Anyway, she’s a model housemate. Clean, tidy and thoroughly well-mannered. She drinks too much coffee and lives on her laptop checking out goddamn work shit 24/7, can’t you do something about that? She needs a life. She also needs sex; hot, filthy, steamy, disgusting fucking sex to loosen her up a bit. She’s old way before her time. Maybe you could help her with that, too?”
“I’m not even going to justify that with an answer.”
“Whatever you say. I’ll give it a shot if you won’t, see if she’s got any bi tendencies lurking beneath the surface,” she grinned. “I’ve been holding off, but if you aren’t interested...”
“I’mnotinterested.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Knock yourself out, Rebecca. I hope she tastes sweet.”
“She’s submissive, by the way.”
Her eyes challenged me, baiting for a reaction. I didn’t give her one, just sipped my coffee whilst staring at the street beyond. Too close to work for this, too fucking close. The idea of prying eyes twitched at my fists. “How can you possibly know that? Self-harm doesn’t equal submission, Rebecca, not every time.”
“I’ve been in this game long enough to know when someone needs a firm hand.”
“It’s based on fuck-all then.”
She cackled at me, an edgy laugh which turned heads towards us. I gritted my teeth.
“She followed me into my room the other night, saw my personal stash of torture implements. You should have seen her face, James, half-apologetic, half-fascinated. I think it was probably the cane that grabbed her most.”
“Now you’re just taking the piss.”
