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I smirk. Just the sound of her makes my cock twitch. “Hello, my Tully Pocket.”
“Ah, my handsome man is calling me at work now. I was right: you are getting clingy and attached to me.”
“Or perhaps I just don’t know your birth date to book the flights.”
“Oh.” She giggles. “You really are a bad private investigator. Don’t you have that stuff on a computer somewhere?”
I smile as I swing from side to side in my chair. “But then I wouldn’t get to hear your sexy voice.”
“This is true. Are you really booking us tickets to Hawaii?” I can tell she’s smiling.
“I told you I was, didn’t I?”
“Well, how long are we going for?”
“Eight days.” I frown to myself. “Or do you want to go for ten?”
“I’ll be sick of you in eight days. I need to give you the money for the ticket.”
I roll my pen across the desk with my fingertips. “I’ll be sick of you in three, and you can pay me back by giving me good head.”
She giggles, and I find myself smiling. She has the most intoxicating laugh. It does things to me that make me want to please her more.
“Okay, so I was born on eleven, oh five, ninety-three.”
My eyebrows rise in surprise. “You’re twenty-five?”
“How old did you think I was?”
“You look at least thirty-five,” I tease.
“Watch it,” she warns playfully. “How old are you?”
“I’m forty- six.”
She bursts out laughing. “You are not.”
I find myself chuckling along with her. “I could be forty-six.”
“Not with that dick’s stamina, you couldn’t.”
I smile. “I’m twenty-eight.”
“See? We’re perfectly matched.” She laughs.
“If you say so.”
“I know so.”
We both fall silent for a moment. I wish I was with her now. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m analysing mud from the sole of a boot. What are you doing?”
I’m booking a flight for a holiday. Quite frankly, I wish we were going today.” I stand and walk over to the window to look out over the park next door.
“Me, too, but three days will come around quickly enough,” she says.
“I know.”
“What time are you picking me up tonight?”
“I’m going to try and squeeze in a session at the gym first. I’ll be there around eight?”
“I can’t wait to see you,” she breathes.
I smile broadly. It feels weird having someone be so open with me. “Me, too.”
“You hang up first.”
I shake my head and chuckle. “I don’t play hang up first games, Pocket. I’m not five.”
“Good, hang up then.”
I smirk and hold on the line.
“See, you do play them. You play them badly, too. I win.” She hangs up on me, and I smile with a shake of my head.
“What the fuck, man?” Jes groans.
I turn suddenly to see Ben and Jes standing in the doorway.
“What are you two fucking doing here?” I snap.
“You hang up,” Ben teases.
“No. You hang up,” Jes mimics in a girl’s voice.
I roll my eyes. “Fuck off, the both of you.” I feel my face redden at them catching me being so soppy. “What?” I snap.
“We have new info.” Ben smiles knowingly. He sits down and produces a large yellow envelope.
I sit back. “What is it?”
“We went through the footage from the hotel, covering the dates when Chancellor was there.”
“And?”
“He was seeing three different girls. Sometimes he would see the same one twice in one week. Other times, he would see different ones.” He slides over images of a woman and Mr. Chancellor entering a room. She has long dark hair and is wearing a short, tight white dress. There are five photograph stills taken from the footage. I flick through them.
“Always the same three women?” I frown.
Ben slides another two images over. There’s one of a woman coming out of his room, and she is blonde, attractive, and wearing a tight black dress.
“Yes. Always the same three women.”
“How many times in total?” I ask.
“It’s gone on for over three years, so in excess of one hundred times.”
I pick it up and study the image. “He knows them well, whoever they are?”
Jes slides another image across. “And this one.”
This image is a close up and I can see her face clearly. “She looks familiar,” I say. She has chocolate brown hair, a killer body, and I find myself leaning back on my chair as I study the image. “I know this woman.” I frown as I try to recall where I know her from.
“Are they definitely escorts?” I ask.
“As far as we can see, that seems to be the case,” Ben tells me.
“Who do they work for?”
“Not sure yet, we’re working on it,” Jes replies.
I swing on my chair as I study the image. “Is this…?” I frown and stare at the girl. “Shit, I think I know who she is.”
“Who?”
“She’s the prostitute who was found dead in the boot of a car down on the docklands.”
Ben begins to type on the keyboard to bring up her records.
