Chapter Five

To Jill, Jackie Barlow’s hold over her seemed to extend far beyond the mere sexual or physical. In no time at all the older woman appeared to have seen deeper into her personality than even Jill herself had been willing to look. Jill’s mind was still reeling from the bizarre episode which had just taken place in the toilet with the pretty girl at her side. She felt that all that uncertainty and guilt must be written as plainly on her features as the red which coloured her cheeks when DI Barlow said, ‘Where the hell have you two been hiding?’ But her next words, delivered at the same hurried speed, showed that she had other more urgent things to distract her. ‘Come on, sweety, you can start learning your job. Come with me.’

In the car Jackie glanced across at her and gave that shark-like grin, which Jill found so disturbing. ‘Pretty little thing, isn’t she, our Sandra? Or rather, I should say, Moira’s Sandra. Nobody else gets a look in there. Not even her husband.’

Jill had not failed to notice the double rings on Sandra’s left hand and alarm bells rang once more in her brain, but Jackie made no further reference to her. Instead, her left hand dropped from the wheel and clutched Jill’s thigh, just above the nylon clad knee. It slid quickly over the smoothness, clamped possessively over the fuller thigh before retreating back to the steering wheel again.

‘You can study the file when we get back to the office,’ she went on, back to business, ‘but we might have the beginnings of a juicy little case here.’

She turned left, off the busy main road leading to the city centre, into a shabby area of narrow streets all intersecting at right angles. Originally the estate had been built before the First World War to supply accommodation for the artisans and other skilled workmen, as well as clerical types, who came to the growing town in numbers as its industry flourished. It had come down a little in the world since then. Most of the terraced houses, with doors opening off the pavement, or with postage stamp bits of gardens fronting them, were now rented, comparatively cheaply by today’s standards, many to students or young couples too hard-up to get a foot on even the first rung of ownership.

‘Not usually too much bother round here,’ Jackie told her. ‘Far worse out at the flats, as you well know,’ she added with a chuckle which made Jill’s cheeks blush once more. ‘But this might be interesting. Gresham Street, we want. Down here I think. Ah, yes, here we are.’

Humble or not, the street was lined both sides with considerable numbers of vehicles, so that there was room for only one car at a time to travel down its centre. Jackie managed to find a space at the kerb to park in, which she did with practised ease in spite of its tightness. They unclipped their seatbelts, but Jackie made no effort to get out of the car. ‘There’s more than one of these places that set up as what the magistrates like to refer to as “a house of ill repute”. We don’t bother them till things get a bit blatant. Usually because of the druggies - young kids flogging themselves for money to buy their fix. Then you get the kerbside crawlers, and the pimps, and the OAPs who’ve lived here since Magna Carta get all het up. “Streets aren’t safe to be on no more”, you know the kind of thing. We step in and clear them out, things quieten down. Something like that’s happening here, but not too bad yet. Just one or two complaints so far. We’d wait a hell of a lot longer normally, but there’s something else going on. Just about this whole street’s owned by a certain Mr Jack Palmer. Now he does interest us. And not only us. He’s quite a big fish for our little pond and into more rackets than you’ve got frilly knickers. We want to know more about him, so we’re taking our chance.’ Jackie took a small ring-binder notebook from her jacket inside pocket and flipped it open. ‘Mr and Mrs Edwards. Number seventeen. Senior citizens, salt of the earth. Outraged when their granddaughter, who visits them regularly, was stopped outside and asked by some tool in a car how much for a hand-job. At least they were when the girl explained what the bastard meant. Apparently there’s a lot of it going on round here these days, and if Jack Palmer’s mixed up in any of it we want to know. So come on, watch and learn, sweety.’

Jill tried to do just that. She was a trifle over-zealous and jotted down practically every word the indignant, elderly Edwards spoke, while she sat perched on the edge of their lumpy sofa and strained to hear them over the Australian twang of a lunchtime soap on the TV.

‘Don’t mention our little visit to anyone, will you?’ Jackie told them. Cleverly she made them feel part of an undercover investigation. ‘We’ll be making a few more discreet enquiries. We’ll keep in touch.’ She tapped the side of her nose significantly.

Back in the car she chuckled. ‘Right little Dalziel and Pascoe, aren’t they? Just like me and you!’ She leaned close. Jill felt the hand slide up her skirt again, but this time it went farther and stayed longer. The fingers toyed with the ribbon of suspender, and the cool skin against which she snapped it playfully, before moving on to ferret in the tiny silk triangle of the thong, and the fleshy fold which lay beneath. Jill sighed softly and banged her knee sharply against the dashboard as her limbs jerked in response. She was nibbling her bottom lip, disturbed in several ways, not least by the contrast between the balmy normality of the scene outside and the hidden caresses stirring her more and more.

It seemed a long while before Jackie reluctantly withdrew her hand. ‘You stay in the car, sweety. I’ve an idea you’ll be more use if we keep you out of sight for the moment. No one knows you around here, not even the old lags. You might just turn out to be our ace in the hole - if you’ll pardon the expression. You just sit and amuse yourself while I make a few more enquiries.’ She blew a suggestive kiss at Jill before she eased herself out of the car onto the sunny pavement.

Nearly two hot hours later they were sitting in a quiet corner of the lounge of the Woodsman, a roadhouse on the edge of town. ‘There, feel better now? How’s your arse?’

‘Sore,’ Jill muttered, reddening, both at the question and the approach of the waiter with their drinks.

‘Everything to your satisfaction, ladies?’ He leered, with what he imagined was a suggestive, cheeky smile. ‘Anything else I can get for you?’

Jackie beamed her shark’s grin at him. ‘Nothing you can do for me, son. What about you, sweety?’ She transferred her amused gaze to the uncomfortable figure opposite. ‘Has he got anything you need?’ Jill shook her head, stared down at her lap as she felt the tide of red rising. Jackie turned back to the waiter. ‘In that case don’t call us, we’ll call you.’ He kept his smile pasted to his features as he hastily retreated to the safety of the bar.

‘Why do you enjoy embarrassing me like that?’ Jill asked.

‘Because I can,’ came the confident reply.

The tears sparkled in the brown eyes, hovered on the long curl of lashes. Jill stared at her boss mutely, shaken by the arrogant self-assurance with which the reply had been made, and by her own private admission that it was so.

‘I can do whatever I want with you,’ Jackie went on. ‘You’re my toy-girl, my chick. And we both know it, don’t we? Don’t we?’ she hissed with a sudden force that made Jill flinch back visibly, in spite of the low table between them.

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ The whisper was faint, and Jill leaned back, closing her eyes to prevent the tears from spilling over. As she answered she felt a consuming thrill, as though Jackie had caressed her intimately again. She felt drained of strength by the magnetic power of the figure opposite her.

‘That’s my good girl,’ Jackie said. ‘Don’t you ever forget that, and we’ll be just fine. But just put all that on hold for a while till I get you home. I’m going to use you for that business in Gresham Street, and it could be quite a big deal. I spoke to a few people this afternoon. I want to get you in under cover. It’s a great way for you to start, and we could pull off something really big here.’ She nodded towards Jill’s crossed thighs and the hands folded demurely on her lap. ‘And a damned sight bigger than those naughty little knicks of yours, you sexy thing...’

Two days later Jackie and Jill were both closeted in DCS Sharp’s office. The Do not Disturb sign flashed red, and Sandra’s newly-styled blonde head was at its station at the desk outside, with strict instructions to divert all calls unless they came from Assistant Chief Constable O’Keefe, or above.

Chopper Harris was merely voicing the grievance felt by all his male colleagues as he lounged, crossed ankles on desk, in the CID room. ‘Bloody disgusting, I reckon. Trust us to be lumbered with the only lezzy mafia in the sodding country! It was bad enough in the old days, with the dodgy handshakes and left tit hanging out, but at least you had a chance to get in on the act. Now we’ve no chance. Butch Barlow there leaps on that kid soon as she steps off the train, drags her off to her steaming pit and keeps her there for non-stop dildo drill all week. Next thing you know, Juicy Jill is put up for covert operations and in there with Razor Sharp and the bigwigs - probably her and Jackie take turns boffing her.’

‘Yeah, they probably do harry-swappers with young Jill and the blonde bombshell, Swinging San!’

Chopper graciously acknowledged the interruption before proceeding with his diatribe, which was again interrupted by the arrival of WPC Andrea Wise, the chunky little Yorkshire lass who had in turn unsuspectingly interrupted the impromptu kiss of Jill and Sandra a few days previously. She had just delivered a hefty confidential file to the lovely Sandra. She had intended to hand it as instructed to DCS Sharp personally, but the red light and Sandra’s determination had caused her to change her mind. Mission more or less accomplished, she had taken advantage of it to slip into CID, always a welcome diversion as far as she was concerned, though today she noted their disgruntled mood.

‘Here’s another one,’ Chopper grumbled. ‘Morning, Ma’am. Better get used to it; you’ll probably be running the plods over there in a year or two.’

‘What’s up with you lot?’ Andrea goaded. ‘Boss been giving you naughty boys a hard time, has she?’ She told them she had just been delivering an important file for the Super’s attention. ‘They’re all at it now in there. Sandra wouldn’t let me go in.’

‘You’re lucky they didn’t jump you for a gangbang! You’ll have to get some practice in at the old pussy dipping if you want to get on in this nick, Andy. At least you’ve got the right equipment for it. We don’t stand a chance.’

Her dark eyebrows rose in eloquent contempt. ‘You don’t anyway, losers.’ She grinned at the shower of abuse directed at her. ‘You’re just jealous because a slip of a lass is showing you lot how to do it!’

‘It’s who’s showing her that pisses us off!’ Chopper declared sulkily. ‘The kid’s never had her pretty arse on a chair in here for five minutes yet. We’ve never seen her.’

‘No,’ one of his colleagues offered, ‘that’s because her arse has been otherwise engaged, bouncing about on Barlow’s bed.’

‘You’re just jealous because it hasn’t been bouncing on yours,’ Andrea laughed.

‘No chance.’ Chopper nodded towards the superintendent’s office. ‘There’s more dikes round here than there is in Holland. I tell you, you’re a damn sight safer out here with us than in with that lot!’

‘Oh well then, that’s no good to me. I’ll piss off back to my own side.’ She gave a toss of her black curly head and flounced out.

In Moira Sharp’s office the long discussion was drawing to a close. Jill had contributed virtually nothing, just sat and listened, her stomach churning unpleasantly with both anxiety and a certain excitement at what lay ahead. A new identity had been created for her. She was Jill Crystal, a college drop-out with brains, beauty, and the desire to make some fast and not necessarily lawful loot. ‘Always keep your first name if you can,’ her superior advised. ‘Makes it that bit less likely that you’ll slip up.’

Jill’s immediate target was to be a young woman, approximately her own age but, Jill guessed, of infinitely wider experience, known as Liz Grant. Liz was well educated; ex-university, it was claimed, and of striking good looks. She was five foot nine and had a mane of rich auburn hair. She was a girl of imposing personality too, it seemed. She had rented a house at the end of Gresham Street a few months ago, and seemed to be working independently. The popular rumour was that she needed to earn enough to resume her college career, though another rumour suggested she had already more than achieved such a target. She had avoided attracting attention at first, and was not seen around the street when she was not working. She was on her own, no partner or pimp, but the word had spread that she was ‘well in’ with Jack Palmer himself, and that she might well be one of his girls - and he had a large and exotic stable from which to choose, for both sexual favours and those of a different commercial kind.

‘We just want you to get in with her,’ DCS Sharp explained. ‘Get her to trust you. Spin her your yarn about needing some quick cash. And how far you’re ready to go - and not go - to make it. We’ve got to compile a portfolio. Sex pics. Porno stuff. Nothing too gross, but it’s got to catch her interest - and Mr Palmer’s, we hope. Tell her you don’t do turns for strangers. But you do have a few specials - blokes you do favours for. You’ve got to persuade her to let you use her gaffe for a few spring bouncers. And offer her a tidy cut.’

‘Before you get your knicks knotted,’ Jackie put in quickly, ‘we’ll supply your customers for the specials. They’ll be our blokes, not from our poxy nick though, someone from outside who won’t make a cock-up - or get one up!’ She grinned lewdly. ‘You’ll have to make a bit of a show, though. Bit of necking on the stairs, a few groans and yells - coming round the mountain etcetera. Springs bouncing, banging on the walls, stuff like that.’

The portfolio was the first major problem. Insurmountable, Jill would have thought, and so it would have been for the old Jill, before she had assumed her role of Trilby to Jackie’s Svengali. But a few evenings later she found herself sitting at her superior’s side in the Micra as they drove through the sultry weather twenty miles out from the city to a tastefully converted farmhouse on the edge of a pretty village. Its dwellers were largely commuters along the route Jackie and Jill had just travelled. Behind the ex-farmhouse were some low outbuildings, former barns and sheds, also tastefully converted, one of which served as an up to date studio. The owner or operator of this thriving business was a thin, clean-cut youth who, in his expensive jeans and fashionable top looked as though he was not yet out of his teens. His partner was equally youthful, but her sharp and dramatically made-up features, and spiked and luridly streaked hairstyle, gave her a worldliness that belied her tender years.

‘This is Leo,’ Jackie informed Jill, as the young man came forward to greet them. ‘Old mate of mine, eh, Leo?’ Jackie laughed, held out her hand. Jill recognised the flash of wariness and the hint of fear which showed for an instant beneath his beaming smile of welcome.

‘Sure thing,’ he said uncertainly, before turning his attention to the younger policewoman. ‘You must be Jill, yeah? And very nice, too... very nice. And this is my buddy, Donna.’ Despite the heavy, almost camp sensuality, the accent was cultured. Unlike the girl who moved beside him. She gave off an aura like her spiky hairdo, and her speech was rough, the challenge evident in her aggressive Essex tones.

‘Everything’s ready,’ Leo said. ‘Would you care for a drink or two first? You know, to loosen the old libido a little.’ His laugh was a little too gushing, and Jill found herself wondering again what the nature of the hold was that Jackie had over him.

‘I reckon we’re loose enough, eh?’ Jackie laughed in return, and slipped her arm blatantly around the blushing Jill’s waist, to give a tight, possessive squeeze. ‘Let’s get straight down to it. You know the sort of thing we’re after, don’t you.’

Five minutes later Jill was sequestered in a small, partitioned-off portion of the studio with the spiky Donna, while Jackie and Leo were busy in the main working area. ‘OK, get your kit off, darlin’.’ The heavily mascara-ed eyes widened at Jill’s hesitation. ‘Come on, doll, we don’t stand on ceremony here. You ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen before. Unless you want your mamma out there to do it for you, yeah?’

It didn’t take Jill more than a few seconds to strip down to her champagne satin bikini briefs. ‘Them an’ all,’ Donna ordered, and stared at Jill with even greater impatience. ‘You do know what you’re here for?’ she asked sarcastically, and Jill hastily pushed down the briefs and stepped out of them.

‘Let’s have a look.’ Donna inspected Jill’s body frankly, and caught hold of her arm to turn her for a back view.

By the time the next two hours had passed Jill had been prodded and posed, and had displayed more parts of her bared and most intimate anatomy than she would have believed possible to the first masculine figure before whom she had appeared naked since early childhood. Ironically, for almost the whole of the prolonged session, which went on until after eleven, she was not technically nude. For the vast majority of both the still shots and videotape, she was wearing some scrap of lace or silk or leather somewhere about her person. ‘Nudity’s old hat, Jill,’ the imperturbable Leo told her, as he lifted her haunches and carefully parted her inner thighs a critical inch or two further, while she crouched on a mock regency chaise longue with her bottom raised in the air. It was at the beginning of the session. She had stood like an awkward clotheshorse as the spiky girl and Leo fastened her into a bustier, made chiefly of tulle and stretch elastic, with black lace frills across the top and hem. Her breasts were minimally covered, but were visible through the dark net; Donna had carefully painted the nipples and small areolae with a fine lip brush, to bring them up in a vivid magenta. The cups of the strapless little garment were under-wired to help make the most of Jill’s breasts, causing their pale smoothness to spill pertly from the black lace. It reached down to just above the indented navel and curved away behind to rest high on the back. The black satin suspender ribbons were longer than the bustier itself, and ran fetchingly down the length of Jill’s upper thighs to hold the dark, finely meshed stockings.

For the first series of shots she also wore a black thong, edged with delicate crimson embroidery. Though just snugly fitting the triangle of her mons Jill found it comforting in the extreme, a comfort she was forced to dispense with all too soon as Donna’s painted fingernails peeled it efficiently clear of Jill’s curl-topped mound. Strangely, it was not so much being so flagrantly exposed in front of Leo, to say nothing of his partner - in spite of the appalling intimacy of their touches as they posed her - that caused her excruciating embarrassment, but the fact that it was all done under the eagle-eyed stare of Jackie.

It was also, even more shamefully, deeply arousing, as she discovered when finally, dressed once more and still uncomfortable under the layers of make-up and the hours spent under the brilliant heat of the lamps, she slumped wearily beside Jackie on the long drive through the summer dark back to the sanctuary of the flat.