Chapter 7

"Stupid guy", that one, the rookie said. "Told him we don't tear down heaven cause of some runaway broad and he goes: why the hell am I paying taxes. How am I supposed to know, he can talk to his goddam accountant."

"Shut up", said the lieutenant. "Might be there's not much tearing on our part, there being two of us, but you don't have to rub it in. What I want to know is: Did he shoot the broad?"

"He's a kraut", said the rookie. The lieutenant took off his glasses and started to rub them with a piece of cloth. The rookie came straight from the Academy and a few years of education does for a policeman what hind legs do for a hare. But in this case the tortoise refused to enter the race.

"That's not an answer", the older man muttered. "This kraut, was he able to dispose of his wife? Did he seem to be an aggressive, dangerous, World War II kind of kraut? Or a nice bookworm kind?"

The rookie was on unchartered territory and became vague. "He was aggressive enough", he said. "You don't know with these well to do, slick guys."

"Anything else?" The lieutenant was polite.

"Yeah, lots." The rookie browsed through his notepad. "No wallet, missing person took it with her. Bike gone. Toothbrush, make up stuff, underwear still there. Husband doesn't have the faintest how she was dressed, except she should wear sandals, probably a mauve skirt. Seems he didn't find those items in the wardrobe."

"Good thinking", the lieutenant said. "And the neighbors?"

"Only the farmer couple up the road. She says she had a nightly visitor one week earlier, someone in a blue or green Mercedes. A lover, she says."

The lieutenant frowned. "Any substance in that lover?" "Sure", the rookie said. "Neighbor brought it up and the missing person blushed all over. So she says."

The lieutenant saw his happy assistant leave for the car. Domestic cases were notorious lemons, gossip and jealousy. A young broad married to a twelve year older absentee, a travelling businessman. That spelled trouble, but not necessarily for the police. He dialled the district attorney.

"Hi, sorry to disturb you. No, just a piece of advice." The lieutenant gave her a brief report. "No, nothing special", he said. "Only I don't like she left the toothbrush. No, not residents, he owns a cottage down the coast. All right, you talk to the judge? Yes, I'll be down at the bank at ten tomorrow doing a check. You'll hear from me."

It was a quiet day. A stolen boat, a brawl at the inn, and a missing woman. The lieutenant glanced through a report in block letters. Terrible spelling. Some tourists on a restingplace had seen a grey SUV stop and a girl in a black top and led out to pee in a leash. The driver was a woman in a suit, blond, in her thirties. It was not the top that made them phone in, but the absence of the bottom. They took down the plate number.

"Some people have all the fun", the lieutenant muttered.

It isn't easy to pee with four people staring at you from fifty meters. But the girl had no choice. "I won't have you pee in the car", the blonde said, "so get on with it." The girl was squatting on the tarmac, urine splashing on her shoes. Afterwards she was ordered to sit on the floor, as not to soil the seat.

Three hours later the SUV turned off the highway, and after some zigzagging on backroads it rolled in through the gates to an oldfashioned two-storeyed countryhouse with wings on both sides, the wings once being servant's quarters, repair shops and stables. The gates closed automatically.

A lean, middleaged woman in black waited in the light at the entrance. "So this is our acquisition?" she said as the blonde pulled the stumbling girl out of the car. "Rather vulgar attire, but that's what you could expect from a mistress like that. Not too happy to lose, was she?"

The blonde grinned. "Was she ever?"

Entering the house they were met by the housekeeper, a silver-haired, square woman in a plain grey flannel dress with a lace collar. Behind her two maids were peeking out from behind a door, both in the same uniform. "The usual, madame?" the keeper asked. The woman in black nodded. "Where do I put her?" "She can sleep with you, just for the night. We don't want her running around."

The girl didn't see her new mistresses until teatime the following day, having spent the day sewing. She was ushered into the livingroom by the housekeeper. It was a large room with beams in the ceiling, high windows, and furniture in dark oak. Portraits of ancient owners was lining the walls, gentlemen with wigs, ladies in pearly gowns. The far end of the room was cut off by a woven curtain on which deers tried to escape from hunters.

The girl had had her hair cut, close-cropped, and she wore no makeup. The dress was the same as the keeper's, except for the absence of lace, simple grey flannel reaching to her ankles, buttons down the front. Chaste and shy was the impression, except for the highheeled shoes.

"What about the reception?" said the blonde. "Comfortable, for a change?"

The girl seemed puzzled. "You mean the dress? It's itchy."

To the older of the two ladies, still in black but with an impressive pearl collier to match her pale face and adorn the dress, the remark was funny. But she didn't do the talking.

The blonde went up to the girl, her voice was cool and crisp. "It's not lined with silk you know. But on the other hand, it's not sackcloth. We have that too, in case you fail to live up to our expectations. We want you to be aware of your body all day. We want you to move with grace, shoulders back, head high. That's why you have no underwear."

"If you behave to our satisfaction we might upgrade it. You have to earn that. And a good start is not to be rude. You say It's itchy! like a snotty twelve-year-old. May I suggest another wording?"

"Please", said the girl.

"With your permission, madame, I wish to express my gratitude for your concern. I'm not worthy of such a beautiful dress. How's that?" The blonde raised the girl's chin with a tip of the finger. "We want yor little titties tender, you see. But if you scurry around like a brat they will soon be raw. Very raw."

The girl didn't dare to look her captor in the eye. "I didn't mean to complain", she whispered. "It's a very nicely cut dress, but..." She stumbled on the words. "I mean... I didn't ask to come here, I have an exam pending on Monday, please... I want to go home..." Tears welled up.

The older woman laughed. "Did you hear that", she said to the younger one, "she's just as stupid as she's meek. No right, indeed." She turned to the girl. "Look now, do you really believe we brought you here just to send you back to that bore of a husband you have? Yes or no?"

"No", she whimpered.

"Then why do you ask? Do you ever put yourself the question if he wants you back? A slut who spreads her legs to anyone who pushes her over, who seeks out anyone with a whip? I doubt it."

"I won't tell anyone", pleaded the girl. "Please let me go."

Nobody paid her any attention. The keeper unbuttoned the dress and took it off the girl's shoulders. She had nothing on except for the black stockings held by garters just above her knees. The blonde touched her mound. "Ouch", she said. "Not very inviting, it's like a pig."

"We have to let it grow", the keeper replied. "In a week or ten days perhaps, we can remove it permanently." The blonde nodded. "Let's make her ready."

The curtain was withdrawn. The only piece of furniture in the far end of the room was an oak table, six by four feet, and some candelabra. A dining table, but with no chairs around it. The girl was laid down on the table on her back, tied tightly, head over the edge.

"Now listen", said the blonde, "we want you to wear some jewellery, as we find collars vulgar. You have a beautiful neck and I want to see it and feel it every day. And a leash doesn't need a collar, does it? You could have a ring in your nose, but we won't be out walking that pretty little head of yours, we will be out walking your little ass."