The Safe Word Read online

  The Safe Word

  an Eleanor Raven thriller

  Karen Long

  Copyright © Karen Long 2013

  All rights reserved

  ISBN 13: 978-1492801979

  ISBN 10: 1492801976

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Praise for The Safe Word

  For DS Eleanor Raven it's not so much who, what or when but why that leads this powerful read to its conclusion and Karen Long reminds us that a brutal, vicious and destructive act is not inherently evil or derived from Satan but is a rational choice made by a human being. The quirky, offbeat and endearing relationship between Eleanor and her partner Laurence Whitefoot shines a light on this dark compelling world of sexual intrigue and mystery. My imagination was certainly held captive! Robson Green

  Just read The Safe Word by Karen Long – an unputdownable serial killer tale. James Purefoy

  Most fictional detectives these days have to have a ‘thing’ to set them apart from the others, and Raven’s is one of the most original for a long time. The plot moves in some unexpected directions, and builds to a genuinely exciting climax. The Safe Word is an impressive, confident debut. Convincing characters and some nice twists make for a compelling, satisfying thriller, and I look forward to seeing what’s next for Eleanor Raven. Killing Time

  A great book and a wonderful read by Karen Long – seriously dark serial-killer thriller. Max Beesley

  for Tom, Maddie, Isabel

  and

  Michael

  CONTENTS

  Praise for The Safe Word

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Eleanor Raven had used the room before but not with the same guy. That would have been a mistake and she didn’t make mistakes: there was too much at stake. The room smelt of damp carpets and the beige flock wallpaper was peppered with an ominous green mould in the corners, which all added flavour to the upcoming event. Eleanor sat on the bed, looked around nervously and ran through the procedures once more. Her bag and everything that could identify her were safely stowed in the bottom drawer of the dressing table. This room was way too cheap to have a safe, which would have been preferable but she’d carried out her risk assessment and let that pass. She had placed shampoo, conditioner, hand sanitiser and anti-bacterial body wash in travel sized containers on a glass shelf in the small bathroom. There were also an emergency first aid kit, mouthwash and antiseptic wipes wrapped in her own towel and secured in a plastic bag next to the shower unit. She was scrupulous when it came to cleansing after the event and over the past few years this was beginning to take on almost ritualistic proportions.

  Eleanor took out the ledger-sized sheet that contained the rules and, in block capitals, ‘The safe word’. She had thought long and hard about the ‘word’ before finally committing to something old-fashioned with legal and authoritarian implications, which gave it gravity. It had two syllables, which meant that its rhythms would grab attention in a way that ‘Stop’ or ‘No’ did not. It was also easy to spit the syllables out if she was gagged in any way. It put her back in control, kept her safe. But most importantly, it could not be misinterpreted as a plea for more rather than less.

  The rules were efficient, succinct and binding. If they were abused or transgressed on any level there would be consequences. Only one individual had ever stepped outside what had been considered acceptable by Eleanor and he was very unlikely to break any rules again. Whatever either party believed in the room, before or during the event, it did not reflect the real Eleanor Raven.

  The man arrived on time, which was a promising start. He was around thirty-five to forty years old, a comfortable six foot with a trim figure. His teeth were artificially whitened and cleanly straightened which indicated a professional background, probably degree-level education and a fairly lucrative career choice. He wore a labelled suit and his cufflinks, platinum yin-yang circles, implied a man who had come to terms with his desires and was looking for another to share these proclivities. All these signs were encouraging and Eleanor began to relax slightly and allow the familiar sensations to creep over her as she watched the man read the rules. Occasionally he glanced down at her, as if he had a query or an amendment to make but when he had finished he slowly and carefully placed the paper onto the dressing table and loosened his tie. Eleanor watched him silently, feeling the pulsing between her legs and the ache in her chest as the man sat on the bed next to her.

  He assessed the curious woman lying on the bed, her head propped up by a large, strong hand. Her nails were unpainted and her fine chestnut hair was inexpertly plaited and hung languidly over her shoulder and across a small breast. Her green-blue eyes surprised him. They should have been cowed but the sharp intelligence that scrutinised him made him nervous. Maybe this would be different, more… pleasurable. She wasn’t girlish or particularly pretty to him, rather she possessed a functional face, pale skin, high cheekbones and small imperfect teeth. But the event was not about appearance, nor affection, nor lust. It was about power.

  The rules stated that only Eleanor’s own equipment could be used. The handcuffs were heavy and convincingly authentic and she had positioned them before his arrival so that her hands and feet would be spread away from her body, fastening her to the bed frame via four chains that slipped over the bed legs, thus making her vulnerable to him but not so much that she couldn’t twist both her toes and thumbs and unclip the safety catch that would free her. This wasn’t an easy maneuver but what would be the point of that? With slow and steady movements the man grabbed her wrists and ankles and locked her into the handcuffs; she held her breath, waiting. The handcuffs had been specially treated on the inner rim with a translucent plastic coating that reduced friction and ensured that chafing was kept to a minimum. Not that Eleanor didn’t enjoy chafing, but any area not generally covered with clothing, such as face, throat and hands had to be protected from her colleagues’ intuitive gaze.

  Eleanor had not given permission for a blindfold yet. That was at her discretion and so far she didn’t have sufficient information to gauge the man’s character. She needed to watch his eyes carefully to see if he showed signs of losing control and only if she was satisfied would she give the sign that would permit the move to the next level. So far the man’s slaps were restrained and showed a practiced hand. She decided to wait.

  The man was getting into his stride; he was an expert in the administration of illicit pleasure. What he wanted was the absolute and complete satisfaction that came when a woman or man was taken to the limits of their desires. He would supply that; he had a gift for dispensing pain that could cleanse the soul of an angel. In fact he had long since understood that what he did, what he was able to do for another human being, was a gift from God. Had not Christ himself suffered
untold agonies on the cross, thus purifying himself and mankind for the past two millennia? His gift; his calling was necessary and he took comfort and pride in knowing that the woman wincing, gasping and writhing as he slapped and pinched her was being liberated from her pride and sins. He respected this woman for recognising her frailties and turning to him for redemption. He would not let her down.

  Time is relative, particularly when endurance is involved and neither the man nor Eleanor knew how much time had passed since they had met. Aware that he was slipping into a regular rhythm, the man began to vary the strokes and combine them with some moderate asphyxiation. He pinched her nostrils between his index finger and thumb and used the palm of his hand to clamp her jaw firmly closed. He looked at her face, seeing the initial flush of excitement, then the fear in her eyes and finally acceptance. Not too much. It took time and the woman wasn’t clean yet. He saw her eyelids flicker and her chest buck as her carbon dioxide levels rose and the tunneling of her senses began. He’d planned to take her a little further than she was used to, make this special. He moved his face closer to hers and stared into her eyes, watching her pupils begin to dilate and unfocus. It was too soon, he slapped her face waiting for a cue to move him on. There, a quick saccade of her eyes and he slowly released his hand listening sensitively as she chugged greedy lungfuls of air.

  The man saw the change in her. Her skin was hot to the touch and dry, as if she had a fever. Now time mattered, each second would need careful control. He stepped back a pace and watched her. Slowly, he undid his leather belt and pulled it free, letting the final inch crack the air. He watched her mouth beginning to form the word ‘No’. He’d expected that and lowered his index finger to her lips, lightly grazing them.

  “Shh,” he whispered. “You’ve been so brave and now it’s time to finish.”

  The word ‘finish’ triggered a jolt of adrenaline, slowing time and crystalliing her thoughts. She’d made a mistake, the man was going to ‘finish’ her and she wasn’t sure if she had enough time to act. Eleanor twisted her index fingers viciously and began to work on the safety catch just as the first blow landed cleanly across her thighs. At first she found it hard to separate the sound of the leather strap flying through the air, from the sound of the pain. A flash of heat burned her thighs, momentarily paralyzing her, then the second blow sliced a band of red across her belly and she knew what she had to do. Her lips had just spread across her teeth as she was about to articulate when the man spoke, “No!” The strap cracked over her hips and then her breasts and she heard herself scream.

  The man had impeccable timing and while she shook and sobbed he gently unfastened her hands and feet and, putting on his jacket, tiptoed out of the room with the leather belt in his hand. The door closed softly behind him.

  Eleanor looked around her and confirmed that the man was gone. She smiled inwardly and stretched herself on the rough sheets before moving quickly into the bathroom and turning on the shower. What she should have done – what she usually did – was to make sure that the door to the room was locked from the inside.

  The man had taken several steps towards the emergency exit when he stopped and methodically threaded the belt back through his trouser loops. He felt good, really good, possibly more satisfied and holy than he had in years. The woman had been an excellent player. She had recognised the nuances and responded to his ‘dialogue’, as if they were both Oscar-winning actors. He smiled. ‘Always leave ’em wanting more.’ He’d heard that on the radio years ago and adopted it as a sort of light-hearted motto. But he didn’t want this to be a one-off performance. Of course he’d read the ‘rules’ but rules were there, if not to be broken, at least to be infringed. So he turned round and took a tentative step back towards the door. He listened carefully, his ear pressed to the plywood and smiled with satisfaction as he heard the irregular splashing of an occupied shower. The bathroom door was angled away from this one and the dressing table, so he knew he could step inside without alerting her to his presence. He quietly tried the handle. It was open, which was surely a sign that she was still interested in continuing their journey. He stepped back inside, pulling the door to behind him and looked around slowly. The room was empty of clothing or personal belongings but that wasn’t unusual. He slid open the wardrobe door and three bare metal clothes hangers swung lazily on the bar. He turned to the dressing table and carefully pulled open the drawers in descending order. The first contained her clothing, a navy blue trouser suit, polo necked sweater, knee highs, plain full panties and sports bra. He was a little surprised by her choices : not a hint of frill or tease. She dressed considerably older than her years and he wondered if she was an accountant or teacher. The last drawer revealed a small, black leather handbag, with a large clasp, which told him that she was a cautious, private woman. He liked that. A woman’s secrets were something to be savored and appreciated, he felt a thrill of excitement as he opened the bag and felt for her purse.

  The sounds from the shower were different now, as if she was rinsing off and preparing to step out. He opened the purse, noted that she kept a sensible amount of cash on her and turned to the cards: he wanted her driving licence. He found it amongst the credit cards and held it up to his face. ‘Ms Eleanor Raven’. The shower was turned off and the plastic shudder of the curtain accompanied the sound of her feet being placed onto the linoleum. He needed to leave, now. His lips moved silently and childishly as he memorised her address and continued to mouth the information as he swiftly replaced the licence, the purse and closed the handbag. A quick scan of the room to check he’d left it as he’d found it and then he slipped through the door closing it softly behind him.

  Eleanor wrapped herself tightly in her towel and ran a comb through her hair, checking in the mirror for any bruises or scratches above her throat. Satisfied, she cleaned her teeth, rinsed with mouthwash and then rubbed hand sanitiser over every inch of her body. Her eyes watered as she daubed the wheals with gel.

  Eleanor made it a point to leave the room and building within ten minutes of stepping out of the shower and she was well on target. She scraped her wet hair into a braid and checked twice that she had removed all evidence of her presence from the bath and bedroom. She collected several long hairs from the shower, wrapped them in toilet paper and flushed them away. Satisfied that she could not be traced to the room in any way, she grabbed her handbag and cautiously opened the door, looking up and down the corridor. The man was nowhere to be seen and Eleanor headed for the emergency exit stairs with a confident walk. Once outside the rear of the building, she threaded her way through overflowing trash cans and re-entered the hotel from the street, dropped the key on the desk and left, all of this taking no more than sixty seconds and arousing no one’s suspicions.

  Her car was several blocks away, in a discreet, private parking lot. As she walked, Eleanor turned on her phone and discovered fifteen missed calls from her boss and colleagues and twelve unread texts. She flipped through the texts as she unlocked the car, looked around only to make sure that no one was watching and then slid into the driver’s seat. As she started the engine she pressed ‘call back’ and listened as the ringing threaded through the Bluetooth connector and filled the car’s interior with urgency and normality.

  “Where the hell have you been Raven?” bellowed Marty Samuelson’s familiar tones. “Why the fuck do I even bother calling, perhaps I should wait till you choose to slope into the office at your convenience?”

  “Sir, I’m responding now to your first message which arrived fifteen minutes ago. I am not due to be on duty for another hour and a quarter,” Eleanor responded flatly. “I am therefore early… Sir.”

  “There is only one thing a homicide detective can be DS Raven and that is too fucking late.”

  Chapter Two

  The Westex power station had finally been abandoned in ’98. Its giant turbines had been decommissioned two years earlier, every ounce of valuable metal had been legitimately collected, and the more toxi
c of the waste products disposed of in a moderately responsible manner. The less discerning and more adventurous harvesting had taken place during night hours over the following three years until two deaths due to falls and a roof cave-in stopped business. This left considerable scope for the city wildlife, which moved in with enthusiasm and soon had their own little eco-system established complete with raccoon, peregrine, rat and pigeon populations. What the demolition team had failed to dismantle the native flora had, smashing through concrete with delicate stems and twisting cables until the whole edifice resembled a low-rent conservation area. All it lacked were some picnic tables and a couple of kiosks selling ice cream.

  Eleanor Raven stared at the entrance to the building. A uniformed officer stood guard, and on seeing her he lifted the police tape. She ignored the gesture and studied the door, which was solid steel and secured with a heavy duty new chain and padlock which were hanging loosely from the bolt. A CSI was dusting it for fingerprints.

  “Was this open?”

  “Mr Heston over there opened it when he did his rounds,” The officer pointed at an elderly looking man dressed as a security guard. The uniform was at least a size too big for him, so either he was ill or standing in for someone. Eleanor walked over to him. “Did you open this door sir?” she asked the man.

  “I did,” he replied calmly.

  “Did it show any signs of being tampered with?”

  “Not that I could see. It was locked and I’m pretty sure no one had opened it since I’d locked it last night.”

  Eleanor raised an eyebrow.

  “I always twist the chains in a particular way, so it’s easier to lock. The chain is heavy and,” he held up his arthritic hands, “I do ’em in a particular way. They wus in their usual position,” he said emphatically.

  “You called this in?”