A Liverpool Lullaby (Mersey Murder Mysteries Book 8)

Book summary

In "A Liverpool Lullaby," D.I. Andy Ross and his team are thrust into a chilling investigation as they try to unravel the sinister deeds of a criminal mastermind known as The Doctor. With surgically removed hearts and eerie lullabies as his calling card, the case takes a haunting turn. As the body count rises, Ross and his team race against the clock to unmask the killer before he strikes again.

Excerpt from A Liverpool Lullaby (Mersey Murder Mysteries Book 8)

At first, Frances thought she’d gone blind. She couldn’t see a thing, and then, the frightening realisation stuck her. She was blindfolded, by a dark material that kept every scrap of light from reaching her eyes. Her head ached, and she felt as if she had a terrible hangover, but she couldn’t remember having anything to drink. Then, a further realisation hit her. She tried to move her hands, and discovered they were fastened to the top of whatever surface she was lying on by tightly fitting handcuffs, and the same applied to her legs, chained by the ankles to the other end of the hard, cold surface. Cold! Yes, she was cold, and a ripple of fear ran through her body as she realised she was naked. Naked, and chained, spread-eagled on some kind of…what? A table? A bed? No, she thought, too hard for a bed.

            As a degree of lucidity returned to her befuddled brain, she tried interrogating herself. Where was she? How did she get here, and more importantly, who brought her here, and for what purpose? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be for anything good, that was certain. Why couldn’t she remember anything? Whoever brought her to this place must have drugged her, she finally concluded, and having stretched her addled mental faculties as far as they’d allow at that time, she promptly fell back into a troubled sleep.

#

‘The doctor’ watched the sleeping woman, seated in a comfortable chair in his private study. The tiny yet powerful wall-mounted cameras in the cellar pictured her from various angles and no part of her superb body was left unexposed to his view. He wasn’t really a doctor, of course, but it suited him, and his current project, to present a veneer of professionalism and respectability, and what could be more professional and respectable than a doctor. The women fell for it every time.

He’d made his way down to the cellar, opening the locked door and advancing on the helpless woman. As he stood looking down at her, seeing her as if for the first time, his breath caught in his throat. She was magnificent, was the only thought that registered with his brain. He allowed himself the pleasure of running the back of his hand down one cheek, feeling the softness of her skin. Growing confident, he did the same thing to her tummy, so soft and warm, then, suddenly, he snatched his hand back. He stood, silently watching the rise and fall of chest as it moved in time with her breathing. Eventually, he snapped out of his moment of admiration and moved to the steel table nearby, which held his instruments and vials. He quickly filled a syringe, and injected her in her left thigh, knowing that the drug would keep her unconscious for at least a couple of hours, easily long enough for him to move her, and prepare her for the next stage of his plan. He allowed ten minutes, to be certain she was fully under the influence of the anaesthetising drug, then quickly released her from her bonds, and manhandled her into a waiting wheelchair. Set into one wall of the cellar was a door, identical to elevator doors such as you’d find in a department store, and which he’d had installed when he bought the house. The builders hadn’t queried his request for the installation. Why should they? They were being well paid. When they reached the second floor, the lift stopped and the doors obediently swished open. Wheeling his prize to the centre of the room, he now set about restraining her to the king-size bed that was the centrepiece of the room.

The woman, Frances, yes, that was her name, not that it mattered much to him, was beautiful for sure, her well-styled auburn hair hanging in a cascade of waves, neatly brushed, by his own hands of course, to drape over the front of her shoulders and almost down to the swell of her ample breasts, which took up his attention for a full minute before he allowed his eyes to wander further down her body, the smooth, soft, sensuous skin of her belly, and then the small triangle of pubic hair, pointing like an arrow at her most feminine of places. His eyes lingered there for a long minute, his mind imagining the sensuous pleasure yet to come as he allowed them to continue their voyage of discovery. Her legs, fastened as they were to the corners of the bed, stretched wide and under tension were, he judged, quite superb. All in all, he decided, he couldn’t have made a better selection. Now, all he had to do was convince her how much he loved her, and in return, how she should love him too.

#

Frances Daley slept on, blissfully unaware of what was happening to her. She dreamed, and the dream took her back to her meeting with the handsome man, who’d introduced himself as Doctor Kyle Fletcher. He hadn’t needed to ask her name, of course. It was there for all to see on the staff badge she wore just above her left breast, on the white blouse of the tea room uniform she wore, in company with the rest of the waiting staff.

As for the man, he’d watched the comings and goings in the tearoom, from outside, through the plate glass window, admiring her as she bustled here and there, serving her customers. He liked the uniform the women wore, the white blouse and black pencil skirt reminding him of pictures he’d seen of such establishments from the nineteen thirties and forties. As they bent forward to place the customer’s orders on the tables, he almost salivated at the flaring of their hips as their skirts tightened with the action. By the time he’d entered the tearoom, he knew exactly which tables she served, and he quickly sat at one of ‘her’ tables. He’d seen the previous occupants of the table leave a couple of minutes earlier and stood and watched as she bent over to wipe the table-top with a cloth, before setting it out for the next customer.

Her dream continued, but, as dreams do, it skipped parts of reality. She took the man’s order, he seemed so nice, speaking to her respectfully and complimenting her on her quality of service and telling her how pretty she was. She was flattered, and quickly fell for his smooth talking. When he asked if he could take her out to dinner, she was completely taken aback, and though she hesitated, he convinced her he was quite serious and after a little gentle persuasion, she agreed.

She’d given her address and he arranged to collect her at 8 pm that evening. She dressed in her prettiest dress and applied her make-up carefully. When the knock came at her door right on time, she answered it and was quite surprised to see the car he’d arrived in. it was quite luxurious and she thought he must be very rich, wondering why he’d be interested in her. Dinner was superb at one of the city’s best restaurants, and he acted the perfect gentleman. When the evening drew to a close, he offered to drive her home of course, but insisted they enjoyed a last drink together first. He rose from the table and personally went to the bar to obtain the drinks. She never saw him add the white powder to her drink, that quickly dissolved, and which rendered her completely unconscious within minutes of her climbing into the car.

She slept on in blissful ignorance until he decided the time was right, and he injected her with yet another drug, a stimulant that would wake her in a very short time. That was when Frances’s nightmare really began.