* * *

CHAPTER THREE - Rachel's Special

I set off for London the following morning.
I kissed Sandy goodbye then removed the four handcuffs that anchored her to the bed.
I decided it best to leave my car with Sandy for safe keeping. So instead of parking in the centre of Birmingham I caught a taxi to New Street Station. I then set off by train to London.
For the record I caught the 07:15 am from New Street Station, and, seeing that it was a Monday morning, the train was packed with commuters and I had to stand for most of the journey. Anyway, I got there all in one piece. The train did not run a red light and managed to avoid all obstacles in its path. (Something that is a miracle on British railways may I add.)
On my previous few visits to London, I'd stopped at a hotel not far away from Euston Station. It was at a time when I was attached to a case involving a spate of drug related murders in both London and Birmingham. So I booked into the same hotel. It was a simple case of being on familiar territory I guess, and being fairly near the centre of London would provide me with a suitable base from which to work.
That afternoon, after a quick lunch and a pint of best bitter in the hotel bar, I got a taxi to the London offices of the Drugs Squad. I went there in the hope of meeting up with an old colleague. I wanted to pick his brains as regards a bit of local knowledge. In the past my visits to London had been very few and far between and I needed to know more about the area simply recorded on the Christmas card envelope as 'London N12'.
I flashed my old identity card at the policeman on the gate, making sure that my finger covered the expiry date. He phoned through to Detective Chief Inspector Harry Bell, whom, to my surprise did not even question the identity of the stranger at the gate. He simply told the officer to show the gentleman up. I said I knew the way and left before the man on the gate had chance to protest.
As I walked across the large car park I could not help but notice that the squad had recently been issued with a brand new fleet of cars. There were about thirty altogether and all bearing licence plate numbers issued in the same sequence. Though each car was of a different make - some small, some large, some coupes, some estates - and there were even a couple of sporty models amongst them. I was green with envy. Gosh how times had changed. I remember thinking that with my old outfit you were extremely lucky even to get a car, and if you did it was always an old clapped out banger that used petrol and oil in equal ratios.
I saw a smart looking woman getting into one of the cars. She was in plain clothes and getting into an unmarked BMW car, but she still looked every bit a cop. She had a close cropped hairstyle and wore flat low-heeled shoes for starters, but even if she wasn't dressed the way she was, then I reckon I could still tell that she was a cop. I wondered why police women always looked the same, and why criminals under surveillance could never see through their disguises. It seemed all so obvious to me.
Anyway, I walked through the car park, entered the building and made my way to Harry Bell's office, and stopping to say hello a couple of times to some familiar faces on the way. I must say it made me feel at ease seeing some of my old colleagues again. Harry Bell was waiting for me when I arrived. He was big man physically both in height an weight, in his mid-forties, and going slightly bald on top. He took me into his office and sat me down.
"Well what brings my old mate Woody to the big city?" he asked once I was seated and looking comfortable.
"I've come to pick your brains Harry," I told him, and spelling out my intentions right from the start.
Harry Bell raised an eyebrow.
"Oh!" he remarked, "and what are you up to now Woody? I'd heard you'd retired, or was that just a nasty rumour?"
I told him straight, and tried to flatter at the same time.
"Harry, I'm doing a little bit of private investigation for someone, well a neighbour actually. I need a bit of information, so who better to come to than Detective Chief Inspector Harry Bell. Go straight to the top, no messing about that's what I always say," I told him.
Harry settled back in his high-backed leather chair and opened out his hands in an inviting gesture.
"Well I guess I owe you one Woody," he replied, "so what's it all about this time? How can I help you?"
I got straight to the point.
"I'm looking for a girl Harry," I told him, "my neighbour's daughter to be precise. The last known sighting of her was in London North Twelve a few of months ago. She sent them a Christmas card from there. I'm hoping you'll give me a few leads on where to start looking, and also let me have a go on your computer. Maybe she's got a police record. I doubt it, but it's worth a try."
Harry gave a little chuckle.
"Always the optimist Woody," he said standing up and moving across the office to a map on the wall.
He tapped at a spot on the map.
"Woody, take a look at this little lot. This area here is 'North Twelve'. It stretches from the M25 in the north to just short of the Thames in the south, and about the same distance again from east to west. About fifty square miles in all and a total population of somewhere around half a million. Now you say you're looking for someone living there, no, worse than that, you're looking for someone who happened to post a card there last Christmas, and you want me to give you some advice. Well that's simple Woody… don't… that's the best advice I can give you… don't even start to look… just go back to Birmingham and forget all about it."
I knew that would be his answer. I'd already figured that much out.
"I didn't say it would be easy," I told him sullenly. "Listen Harry. I'm looking for a girl called Judy Jones. A nice simple name and I don't think she'd have changed it. She'd no need to. Who'd have all the names and address for that area? Would the Local Council be able to help? You tell me!"
Harry sat back down in his high leather chair.
"Tell me more," he said, "what's this girl of yours doing here anyway?"
"She's a runaway from home, trying to make fame and fortune in the big city I guess," I explained. "She upped and went getting on for three years ago. The Christmas card I mentioned is the only evidence I've got that she's still alive. Her parents asked me to find her, and I said I'd have a go."
Harry frowned at what I had to tell him. I guess it was still getting us nowhere at all.
"Anything else to go on?" asked Harry eventually.
I shook my head.
"Not much more I guess Harry. She was eighteen when she left home, and she'd be getting on for twenty-one now. She's a tall blonde, well built, good figure and well educated.  She's got three A-levels and speaks with a definite west country accent. She's from farming stock and that alone ought to pick her out from a crowd."
Harry gave a wry little smile.
"Don't bank on it!" he remarked.
"She also speaks Spanish very well," I added.
Harry smiled once more.
"So do thousands more people in London. We're a bit cosmopolitan down here you know?" he continued and adding further gloom to everything I said.
After a thoughtful pause I simply shrugged my shoulders and said: "I guess it's all down to the mug-shots then Harry."
Harry nodded his head slowly at the suggestion.
"I guess so, I can't think of anything else better," he replied, "and I suppose you want to scan our drugs data base, otherwise you'd probably wouldn't have come to me in the first place?"
I must admit that was not the reason. To be quite honest, Harry was my only real contact in London, but since he mentioned drugs I assumed it to be a sensible place to start. I tried to sound confident and agree with my old colleague.
"They reckon most runaways end up as prostitutes and are kept on the game by a dependence on drugs. So I reckon it's worth a scan at the mug-shots of whores caught with drugs in their possession. Is that a possibility?" I asked.
"It's one place to start," said Harry, but not sounding very hopeful, "but don't get too enthusiastic. This girl of yours could quite easily be working behind a supermarket check-out till and never got into a moments trouble in her life. But best of luck anyway Woody me old mate. Come on, I'll take you to the information room."
And with that Harry rose and shepherded me towards the door.
Harry led me to another room in the building where I was introduced to a smart young girl in a police uniform. He explained to her who I was - or who I once was without actually going into the past tense - and explained my needs. The policewoman raised no objections and asked no awkward questions. Harry then said goodbye and I was led across the room.
I was expecting to be shown lots of photographs in large albums, but how much things had changed since I left the force, and that was not too long ago either. Everything, as you can probably guess, was now computerised, and instead of having book after book thrown at me, I was sat down at a table with a screen, a keyboard and a mouse before me. I then had a brief introduction as to what to do, presented with a cup of machine coffee in a plastic cup that was too hot to handle, then left to my own devices.
I went straight to the J's and for the Jones, then started clicking through the mug shots. Every woman I looked at had those dark spaced out eyes you'd associate with a junkie. In fact they all looked terribly ill. With Jones being quite a common name, and probably the second choice to Smith if you're wanting to give an alias, then there were certainly a lot Jones's residing in the big city. It must have taken me probably half an hour to scan through the lot, and when I finally came to the end, I guess I felt rather disappointed.
Now, I've always been considered lucky. I don't know how I do it. I guess it's something that just comes naturally to me. Anyway for a while I just kept clicking on through the J's, for no other reason really, I could quite easily have moved back to the letter 'A' and started from the very beginning, but I didn't, and for that reason alone I guess I got the lucky break I was looking for.
I wasn't even looking at the screen properly when I got to the Joyce's. I'd just had a second cup of coffee handed me and was trying not to scald my fingers when I happened to look up and see a face I recognised.
However, I could not be certain, so I took from my inside pocket all the photographs handed to me by Mavis Jones - and there she was - Judy Jones's holiday companion that shared the same room with her on her trip to Spain.
Something else rang true. Mavis had thought that Judy's companion's name was Rachel, and so it proved to be. The information given on the screen told me that a certain Rachel Anne Joyce, aged twenty-one and of no fixed abode, had been convicted of being in possession of heroin and several other drug related offences. She had been sentenced to six months imprisonment for the offence last August, so unless she'd been a really naughty girl I guessed that she should be out by now. I wondered where I could find her. The 'no fixed abode' label troubled me, but fortunately there was a second address. It gave the place where she worked as a Sauna and Massage Parlour in Soho, right in the heart of the city.
I tried for a printout and pressed a few buttons, but nothing came out of the printer. I called for assistance and a sweet little policewoman came over to help me.
"Can I have a copy of this?" I asked and pointing to the screen.
She smiled, played with my mouse, clicked in a few places, and as if by magic a printer alongside started to churn out exactly what was on the screen, it was all in colour too. I was so impressed with the advancement of technology and I told her so.
Anyway, with the printed sheet on Rachel Joyce tucked safely in my pocket, I returned to Harry Bell's office, thanked him for everything and said goodbye. I then caught a taxi back to my hotel and considered my next plan of action.

* * *

As darkness fell I was back in a taxi once more, this time heading for Soho in the centre of London. For a while I walked the streets, noting with interest the many revue bars, strip joints, and looking in all the sex shops at the kinky outfits and sex toys on offer.
In one shop I purchased a new vibrator for Sandy. Just a little something to keep her happy when I could not be with her. It was called a squirmy-rooter and not only buzzed like crazy, but also twisted and pumped when you flicked a second and third switch. I also toyed with buying a video for myself, and possibly a couple of porno magazines, but couldn't quite make up my mind which to have, and in the end I didn't buy any of them.
Eventually I found the place I was looking for without having to ask anyone.
The sauna and massage parlour was down a back street, but then most of Soho consists of back streets, so guess the location was of little importance. Anyway, I entered and walked up to the reception desk. I could have been entering a doctors surgery. It was all very clean looking with tiled walls, and I was sure that the girl behind the desk was wearing a nurses outfit. She looked up and smiled.
"Can I help you sir?" she asked.
I'd already decided to take a massage and decline the sauna, since I thought that way I'd get a better chance to quiz one of the girls and ask about Rachel Joyce.
"I'd like a massage please," I told her.
The receptionist smiled a knowing smile that made me feel like a dirty flasher.
"Yes sir we can do that for you," she informed me, then asked: "Have you been here before sir?"
I hadn't, but it was time for my first lie of the evening.
"Yes, but it was some time ago," I told her.
The girl seemed to take my answer in her stride.
"Then is there anyone in particular you would like to give you the massage? Perhaps the same girl as last time?" she asked.
At this stage I felt good. Everything was going according to plan. It was now time to ask about Rachel Joyce.
"Does Rachel still work here? She did me a few months ago. At least I think that was her name," I told her and trying to sound a little uncertain on the matter.
The receptionist shook her head.
"Sorry, Rachel's gone," she apologised, "but we've got Sheila available. She's very nice, and can do you a very similar job."
I guessed Sheila it had to be then, but first I had to find out a little more about Rachel.
"Rachel's left you then has she?" I asked.
The girl shook her head.
"She stopped coming last summer," she replied.
I wondered what she meant by that exactly. It was a strange way to say she'd left their employment, especially when I knew that she'd been sent to jail about that time.
"Why? What's happened?" I asked.
The receptionist seemed reluctant to tell me. So I put it to her.
"Trouble with the police?" I asked.
She nodded her head.
"Prison," she whispered as if not wanting to be overheard, and even though we were the only two in the reception area.
 "Oh, I see," I whispered back.
The receptionist smiled, then seemingly returned to business.
"So you want Sheila and a massage then?" she asked.
At this stage, having enquired about Rachel Joyce and come up negative, I decided to cut a corner and make enquiries about Judy Jones. I thought it at least had a half chance, and worth having a go.
"What about Judy then? Is she still working here?" I asked.
I got a blank stare back, and she shook her head.
"Judy! Do you mean Julie?" she asked.
It was my turn to shake a head.
"No, I'm sure she said her name was Judy… possible Judy Jones… is she not here now?" I queried.
The receptionist shook her head again, then furrowed her brow.
"Are you sure it was here?" she enquired and looking slightly bemused by the way this conversation was going.
I decided to put her out of her misery. It was obvious that Judy Jones had never worked here.
"I guess it must have been someplace else. I'm sorry, I must be mistaken," I apologised.
The girl looked relieved. The use of the brain obviously not one of her stronger points. Excused of the burden of trying to recall someone of the name Judy Jones, she seemed to snap back into the real life.
"So, do you still want Sheila?" she asked and coming back to the original question.
I nodded my head. Having got thus far I guess I needed to explore all avenues, and speaking to someone called Sheila seemed to be the next logical step.
"One hour or two?" she asked.
I was thinking ten minutes adequate, but agreed to take the minimum on offer.
"One hour will be fine," I told her.
She told me the price and I had a shock. I picked myself up and paid her in cash. I reminded myself that I was on expenses, and that I should not be particularly concerned at throwing all this money around.
"Number three cubicle's free, and I'll get Sheila along to see you," she said after cashing the money in a draw and locking it away.
I smiled and considered just what I'd let myself in for. But never mind, I think at the time I needed a little relaxing. Anyway, I found myself being shepherded by the receptionist through a back door and told to wait in a cubicle.
Inside there was one of those black leather padded benches in the centre, a small table alongside, a couple of clothes hooks on the wall, and that was about all really. The place also had a heavy fragrance about it one normally associated with body oils and lotions. The girl at the reception desk had collected a few clean towels from a cupboard on the way, and she dropped these down on the bench.
"Just take off all your clothes, get up on here, and wait for Sheila. She won't be long," I was told before she quickly disappeared and leaving me to ponder over my reasons for being there in the first place.
Anyway, I did as I was told, I stripped myself naked, lay face down on the bench, and covered my buttocks with a towel.
Someone arrived and I turned my head towards the door. She was a pretty young blond-headed girl. It seemed that nurses uniforms were the order of the day, and she had with her a tray stacked full with various jars and bottles. She placed the tray down on a small table alongside the bench, then turned to me and smiled.
As you can imagine I smiled back nervously.
"Hello, I'm Sheila, and I'm your personal masseur," she told me, and then asked, "and what might your name be?"
"Woody," I told her.
I was expecting to give some sort of explanation as to the nickname, most times I do when first being introduced, but instead she said nothing more and simply whisked away the towel that covered my buttocks.
Suddenly I felt vulnerable and clung doggedly to the bench lying face downwards. I think the tension must have also been showing.
"Just relax Woody," she told me as she poured something cold and oily all down my spine.
She then set about rubbing the oil all over back, and I must say, for the next fifteen minutes or so I did start to relax. I got covered in the same sweet smelling body lotion all the way down to the bottom of my feet, and then had the full treatment with penetrating fingers and chopping hands slapping against all of my muscles.
But then came the moment I was dreading. I was asked to turn over.
I did so reluctantly in the hope that I'd get a towel to cover a certain part of my anatomy. But no such thing happened. Instead a great dollop of oil was splashed upon my chest and started to get rubbed into my skin.
I decided it was time to hold a conversation.
"What ever happened to the girl that used to work here? Rachel was her name," I asked.
Sheila looked at me quizzically, and as if I had no business asking the question.
"Why? You knew her did you?" she asked and turning the questioning around to her own benefit.
"She did me when I was here last," I told her.
"That was some time ago then?" she queried.
"I guess it must have been," I agreed, and thinking that to be my best answer at the time.
"Rachel's working somewhere else now," she said.
It was time for me to show a little bit of knowledge about Rachel. Just drop out something that perhaps put me a little above the ordinary punter.
"Oh, she's out of prison then is she?" I said and trying not to sound at all bothered by the statement.
Sheila nodded her head.
"Yeh! Rachel's out now," she replied and giving nothing else away.
"Where's she working now then?" I asked.
I watched Sheila's face. It had that distorted look that said she did not want to disclose the information.
"She's not doing massages anymore, if that's what you want," she informed me.
I was expecting a negative response, and that was precisely what I got. I decided to bring money into the conversation.
"Fifty pounds for telling me where I can find her," I told her.
Sheila stared at me hard and long. I could hear the cogs whirring inside the brain. But I could also see that reluctance on her part not to tell me, and her response, when it came, was also something not expected.
"Did she do extras then?" she asked. "Is that why you want to see her again?"
For a moment I was at a bit of a loss, but Sheila was quick on the uptake, she took hold of my dick and rubbed it up and down a few times.
"These kind of extras," she informed me as she shook my semi-erect shaft vigorously.
I tried to think of something away from sex so as not to get a complete hard on. To be quite frank, I did not know how to reply. But anyway, having taken the conversation thus far, I went along with her.
"Yes she did me some very nice extras," I told her, "and that's why I'd like to see her again."
I guess we started going down the wrong track at this point.
"Would you like the same extras off me then Woody?" she asked. "You can get a good lot for fifty pounds, and I can do Rachel's special."
I tried to bring the conversation back on course. I also wondered what Rachel's special was all about.
"Does Rachel's special also include an address or maybe a telephone number?" I asked.
Sheila bit her bottom lip hard, then slowly nodded her head. I could see that she was weakening.
"I shouldn't really," she said with a furrowed brow, "I promised to keep it a secret."
I could see that she was close to agreeing, so I decided to up the stakes a little.
"Would one-hundred pounds make it possible?" I asked. "Say fifty for the extras, and fifty for the address?"
Sheila nodded her head a little more energetically this time, but it was still some time before she answered. I let her ponder and just lay there waiting for an answer.
"Rachel's working the streets now," she told me eventually, "she needs the money. She's back on drugs."
I was not surprised. It takes more than two months in prison to kick the habit, and usually when they come out they're more desperate than ever for a fix.
"You can tell me where I can find her then?" I asked. "Remember there's fifty pounds extra says you can?"
Sheila nodded her head.
"I've got her address in my handbag. I'll give you it when we're finished," she told me.
I smiled and probably sighed openly with relief too. But at last I was getting somewhere.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows in order to finalise the deal.
"Then Sheila, one-hundred pounds is yours as soon as we've finished," I told her.
At this point I was expecting to shake hands on the deal, but a firm hand pushed me back down.
"You want extra's then do you Woody?" she queried.
Well the truth was I'd asked for them, so what do you reply to that? I couldn't really say no now, could I?
"Yes," I croaked as I lay back down and stared up at the ceiling.
At this point I felt oil pour all over my genitals, and a hand begin to gently massage my balls.
"It was Rachel's special you were asking for wasn't it Woody? And is that what you want from me?" she questioned again as if wanting confirmation before going into this in a big way.
I tried to relax and let it just happen. I raised up my arms and placed my hands beneath my head. Sheila was rubbing oil gently into my dick now, and I guess I was getting quite stiff.
"Yes, give me Rachel's special and don't hold back on anything," I told her whilst settling down some more.
At least, for the amount I was paying, I wanted my full money's worth, and it was all in the line of duty. So why else do you think I agreed to go through with it?
Anyway I was expecting a hand job, or better still a blow job for the money, but I didn't get either. Instead I got the tit treatment. This apparently was Rachel's special.
Sheila stripped to the waist, and in doing so, exposing two very big whoppers. She made sure that I was watching as she poured a little oil between her breasts. She needn't have bothered, for there was no way I was going to close my eyes. I must confess I'm a large breasts man through and through, and those tits of hers were simply wonderful. In fact they were everything I liked about oversized boobs. They were big and round, and firm, and had those great big aureoles about the nipples that you sometimes see in porno magazines, but rarely come across in real life. I must admit that at this stage I was in heaven. If this was what living on expenses was like, then give me more any day.
Sheila dropped down to lean across the bench, took my erect penis between her breasts, then squeezed them together with her hands pressed firmly to the sides. With my dick engulfed between two massive tits she began to move her body slowly up and down. With all the oil about, everything just glided smoothly in and out.
After watching for while, I shut my eyes and waited for nature to take its natural course.
When I finally did come, then I must have had my eyes open again, for I remember seeing a jet of semen squirt high in the air from out between Sheila's bulging tits. How it missed her chin I would never know. But I guess she'd had lots of practice and knew exactly what to expect, and also knew just when to avoid the spray. There must have been several more high shooting ejaculations after that first one, but I guess I must have closed my eyes up again.
After the special, I guess I must have relaxed in more ways than one. Anyway, I did last out the hour's session, and I must admit I really did feel a lot better for it afterwards.
When the hour was up, I got dressed then swapped one-hundred pounds for a small slip of paper that contained an address but no telephone number. I thanked Sheila for everything, kissed her on the lips, then left her to clean up the mess.
I think I must have had a broad smile on my face when I walked out through the reception area, for I recall seeing the grin on the receptionist's face. She was probably thinking, there goes another satisfied customer.
"Good night sir," she called as I walked out the door.
"Good night," I called back as the fresh air outside hit me.
As the door closed behind me I heard a muffled call from inside say: "And sir, please do come back, you're most welcome anytime."
I remember thinking that someday I most certainly would return, but exactly when that would be I was not too sure. I was already planning my next move. Tomorrow I had an address in the East End of London to visit.

* * *

End of Chapter Three