Residual Moon Read online

  Chapter 3

  Grayson walked into the precinct to see Stan going over the photos on the desk. He looked up as she sat at her desk. She saw the deep frown. “Okay, what’s happened?”

  Stan absently scratched his forehead. “Just back from the coroner’s office. They identified the second victim.”

  Grayson sat forward. “And?”

  “Name’s Nan Quigley, twenty-eight, lived in Boston, and was here on business. From the reports of her friends, who identified the body, she was supposed to be back in Boston by now. When she never showed up for work, they called her friends, who in turn, called the police and gave a description. I was going to wait for you, but I met with them a while ago. They confirmed the identity.” He slid the report over to Grayson.

  She glanced at the report, her eyes darting back and forth as she read. “In Chicago on business? What kind of business?”

  Stan shook his head. “Her two friends didn’t quite know. Ms. Quigley was staying at the Drake Hotel, and they only saw her a few times while she was here.”

  “Friends that don’t know what she did for a living? You got their addresses?” She grabbed her jacket.

  Stan nodded and stood, as well. Grayson hesitated for an instant.

  “I’m going with you, Grayson. So don’t even,” Stan said firmly but with a smile. Grayson took a deep angry breath and just walked past him.

  “C’mon then.”

  They drove down Lake Shore Drive, north to Foster.

  “So you became a cop like your old man, huh? With me, it was my uncle. He was a cop on the West Side. He was a patrolman, not a detective. My mother wanted me to be a lawyer. My father was a plumber.”

  Grayson gave him a side glance and smirked but said nothing as she looked out at Lake Michigan. The sun was shining brightly in the early autumn sky.

  Stan wasn’t a bad guy or a bad cop, either, Grayson thought as she listened to his ramblings. She could get stuck with worse. She grunted inwardly. He could get stuck with better…

  “Here’s the address.” He pulled across the small North Side street.

  “They live on the second floor. They’re, you know, l-e-s-b-i-a-n-s,” he whispered in mocked awe, then laughed at Grayson’s glare. “Don’t lose your sense of humor, Detective,” he said as they climbed the old staircase. “Do you have one?” he asked over his shoulder.

  Grayson followed and shook her head. “Fine, of all the cops in the department, I get partnered with Bob Hope,” she grumbled with a wisp of a smile. She heard her partner laugh as they stopped at the door and knocked.

  A woman answered and noticed Stan right away. “Detective, what’s wrong?” she asked a bit nervously and glanced at Grayson.

  “Nothing, we just thought of a few questions if you have a minute or two. I know this isn’t a good time,” he said with a warm smile.

  Grayson was impressed. This guy should be in public relations. She’d heard of his easygoing manner; people liked him. He was a good deal like Vic in that regard.

  The woman nodded and stepped back allowing both into the small foyer. She led them into the living room and offered the couch.

  “Ms. Young, this is Detective Sergeant MacCarthaigh, we’re investigating the deaths of Ms. Quigley and another victim,” he said by way of introduction.

  “Ms. Young,” Grayson started. “What type of business was Ms. Quigley in that would take her from her home in Boston?”

  “You know, I asked Carol that just the other day. We’ve known Nan for nearly a year. We met out in Boston on vacation and became friends. We’ve corresponded back and forth, you know, through phone calls and e-mails. We honestly never got into what each of us did for a living. I really don’t know why she was here. We got a call from her a week ago, saying she was in town and staying at the Drake. We saw her twice for dinner, then she said she was heading back. That’s when we got a call from her aunt. She found our number by Nan’s phone when she never showed up at the airport in Boston. Carol and I went to the Drake and she’d checked out nearly a week before. We got a little nervous and called the police.”

  Grayson nodded and glanced at Stan, who was scribbling in his notebook. “Ms. Young, I have to ask you a personal question. What did you know of Ms. Quigley’s lifestyle?”

  The brown-eyed woman raised an eyebrow and grinned slightly. “You mean other than the fact she was a lesbian?”

  Grayson smiled, as well. “Yes. I can’t tell you much, but this much has been in the papers. Someone bound each woman in a very precise manner, suggesting a fondness for bondage.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Detective MacCarthaigh, I have no idea what Nan’s sex life was like. If she was into bondage, she never offered that information to either Carol or me.”

  “I understand. I was just hoping to get some insight or something to go on,” Grayson said. “I didn’t mean to offend anyone.”

  “No offense taken. I wish I knew more,” she said, and both detectives stood. Stan offered his hand with another warm smile.

  “You’ve been a tremendous help, thank you,” he said and offered his card. Grayson did the same.

  “If you think of anything, please call this number at anytime,” Grayson added.

  “That’s how you spell McCarthy? I never would have gotten McCarthy from this,” she said and looked at Grayson, who chuckled.

  “It’s Gaelic. Good afternoon.”

  “Well, that was a bust,” Stan said as he loosened his tie. They slid into their respective seats and fastened their seat belts. “Now what?”

  “Call Boston. See if the police there know anything. Then I want the aunt’s name. I want to know why that woman was here in Chicago.”

  “You don’t think she was just a random victim?”

  “No. I don’t think either was a random victim. I think there’s a connection with this killer and both women. We need to find out,” she said. “I’m going to check out the local S&M bars. There aren’t too many,” she said and glanced at her partner. “No, you can’t come. With you looking like a clean Marine, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. Go home and kiss your wife and kids. You’ll be spending a lot of time away from them till this is finished.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.” He snapped off a salute.

  Grayson rolled her eyes. “Why me?” she asked as she looked up. She heard Stan’s low laughter as she walked away.

  It was nearly midnight when Grayson walked into the small dark bar. She had only been in there once, when Vic wanted to know what all the fuss was about. Grayson smiled inwardly as she remembered their wild night of extremely erotic sex afterward.

  She walked up and sat at the bar. “What’ll it be?” a gruff woman asked.

  “Jameson, neat,” Grayson said. The woman came back and set the drink in front of her. Grayson pulled out a fifty, and as the woman took it, Grayson held on. “Got a minute?”

  The older butch narrowed her eyes, still holding onto the fifty-dollar bill. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “I need some information.”

  “You a cop?”

  “Yes,” Grayson said, keeping eye contact. “I’m investigating the murders of two women.”

  “The ones in the paper,” the bartender added, and Grayson nodded.

  “I need to know someone with experience. Someone who would know about the type of bondage that was used,” she said in a low firm voice.

  “Everybody in here knows bondage, lover. That’s no secret.” She laughed. “Hell, that’s what we’re here for, but that don’t mean—”

  Grayson held up her hand. “Look, I’m not accusing or judging anyone’s lifestyle. I just need some help.”

  The bartender took a deep breath. “Give me a few minutes.” She tugged on the fifty. Grayson pulled it out of her hand, tore it in half, and handed half of the bill to her.

  The old woman laughed and took it, stuffing it in her jean pocket. “Fucking cops,” she grunted. “Sit right there.”

  Grayson watched her as
she disappeared into the back room. She took a long sip of her whiskey and toyed with the glass as she waited. In a moment, walking toward her was the sexiest woman she’d ever laid eyes on.

  She was nearly as tall as Grayson with long thick blonde hair. She wore black leather pants that looked as though some lucky individual painted them on her long sinewy legs. The black silk blouse, opened to reveal ample cleavage, clung nicely to her slim body.

  She stood next to Grayson, who turned slightly on her bar stool. The woman’s eyes were as green as jade, and her lips were a deep ruby red. Holy Mama, Grayson thought as she finished her drink.

  “Buy the lady another on the house, Barb,” she said in a low sultry voice.

  Grayson raised an eyebrow but accepted the offer. The bartender put a glass of ice water in front of the blonde.

  “I understand you need some information,” she said.

  Grayson nodded. She took out the other half of the fifty and handed it to the grinning bartender. She explained again what she needed.

  “Come with me. We’ll have more privacy in my office.”

  Grayson glanced around the bar, trying not to notice several patrons in various stages of undress, some sporting collars and leashes, some holding the leashes in a tight grip. She took her drink and followed.

  “Your name?” the blonde asked.

  Grayson took her gold shield out of her back jeans pocket. “Detective Sergeant MacCarthaigh,” she replied as she sat on the only available seat, a long black leather couch. The blonde woman leaned on the edge of her desk and smiled as her eyes raked over Grayson’s body.

  “Why should I help you?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?” Grayson countered logically. “Some sick fuck has killed two women, bound them in an intricate fashion, then slit their throats. I don’t know why they were tied like this. Perhaps the murderer is into bondage.”

  “That’s a bit presumptuous, Detective,” the woman retorted.

  Grayson heard the indignation in the voice. “I’m not saying that those who have a proclivity for bondage are potentially homicidal, but these women were bound in a certain fashion,” Grayson said, looking the gorgeous woman in the eyes. “Murder tends to get me a little twitchy. I’m funny that way.”

  The blonde chuckled. “What does the bondage look like?”

  Grayson reached into the breast pocket of her jacket and pulled out the folded pictures. The blonde walked over, sat next to Grayson, and took the photos.

  Studying them, she frowned in contemplation. Grayson watched her cautiously, trying to ignore the scent of her perfume and the ache in her groin. This is business, MacCarthaigh, business.

  “This is very intricate Detective MacCarthaigh, but honestly, it could be anything. Some like heavy bondage with many different ropes. There are Japanese types of bondage, hogtying, and the very basic slip knot actually. This, however, I’ve never seen. It’s very…”

  “What?” Grayson prodded as she turned to her. The blonde glanced at every photo taken at different angles.

  “It just looks…old,” she said and shook her head.

  “Old? Like old ropes?” Grayson asked.

  The blonde shook her head. “No, old like ancient. Wait, look,” the woman said with enthusiasm. She walked over to her small bookcase and brought back a large book. “I hope this doesn’t shock you,” she warned with a smug grin.

  Grayson gave her a cocky smile, noticing the woman staring at her lips. She then opened the book and presented it to Grayson, who raised her eyebrows as she looked at the pictures.

  They depicted women in various stages of bondage, some of it painful looking. All from different time periods. Grayson noted the dates underneath each. When there were drawings instead of photos, Grayson realized she was looking at bondage from hundreds of years ago. As she looked closer, she noticed all were bound in the same way. The women in the photos and illustrations were Asian.

  “It’s called Nawa Shibari. It’s Japanese, and it started nearly five hundred years ago. So, you see, it’s not just here. Bondage is as old as time itself. I know those poor women were subjected to this kind of bondage, but honestly, I’ve never seen those knots before, except in these old photos. And trust me, I would know,” she added in a low seductive voice and gently closed the book. “Someone is either a historian or they’re over five hundred years old,” she finished with a small chuckle.

  Grayson took a deep disappointed breath. “Well, thanks. It was enlightening anyway.” She stood and offered her hand.

  The blonde smiled and took her hand, as she stood closer to her. “Are you off duty, Detective?” she asked in a sultry voice. Her free hand slid up and down Grayson’s worn leather jacket.

  “Thank you for the information. I’ll let myself out.”

  The blonde held onto the leather-clad arm. “Anytime,” she replied. She then snaked her hand behind Grayson’s neck and pulled her into a scorching kiss, which left Grayson groaning.

  Grayson pulled back, and with an audible pop, the kiss ended. “Geezus, woman!” she exclaimed and held her at arm’s length.

  The blonde slipped her card in Grayson’s breast pocket and trailed her fingernails across the soft leather. “I’ll be home in an hour. Call me,” she said in a low firm voice.

  Grayson found herself staring at the red lips. “Thanks, good night.” Grayson walked out.

  Chapter 4

  Grayson rode the rumbling Harley down Clark Street. She’d been riding around for nearly an hour. It was two a.m. when she took the elevator up to the seventh-floor apartment; she leaned on the buzzer a couple of times.

  The blondee opened the door and smiled. “Well, Detective. I’m glad to see you. Come in.” She stepped back.

  Grayson walked in, trying not to notice the black silk robe and tousled blonde hair.

  “I’m not interrupting, am I?” she asked as she stood in the darkened foyer.

  “No. I had just gotten to bed. Something to drink?” she asked as she walked in front of Grayson.

  “Whiskey, neat, if you’ve got it,” she said, watching the blondee and ignoring her libido. “I don’t know your name.”

  “Eve,” she said as she handed Grayson the small tumbler. She had one for herself. “Have a seat,” she offered as she sat on the long leather couch and patted the cushion next to her.

  Grayson took a healthy drink. She knew why she was here. So did Eve. So let’s quit playing games, she thought, and slugged back the remainder of the amber liquid. It warmed her all the way to her toes—as if she needed to be any warmer.

  Eve set her drink on the table and walked over to Grayson. Like two magnets, their bodies collided. Grayson let out a throaty groan as she roughly kissed Eve.

  Suddenly, they were in Eve’s bedroom. She stripped the leather jacket off Grayson and backed her up to the bed. Grayson had no choice but to flop back with a breathless grunt. Eve pushed Grayson’s knees apart and stood between her denim-clad legs. “Lie still and nobody gets hurt,” she said in a sultry voice.

  Grayson reached up and pulled her down. After a moment of dominance play, Grayson had the blondee breathless and on her back. Grayson loomed over. “Lie still and nobody gets hurt,” she countered evenly.

  She held Eve’s hands above her head and opened her robe. Gazing at her lovely body in the darkness, Grayson ran the back of her fingers across Eve’s breast, eliciting a quiet moan.

  “You have a nice touch, Detective,” Eve whispered and arched her back as Grayson’s thumb passed over her hard nipple. Grayson lowered her head, took the aching nipple into her mouth, and roughly ran her tongue across it. As she suckled against Eve’s breast, she slipped her hand down the length of her abdomen and easily parted her legs.

  “Yes,” Eve moaned as she lifted her hips.

  Grayson slipped her fingers lower and entered her. Eve cried out as she arched into Grayson’s thrusts. When she ran her thumb over Eve’s swollen clit, Eve came quickly. She wrenched her hands out of Grayson’s grasp and
pulled Grayson down on top of her. “Don’t stop,” she cried out and frantically clawed at Grayson’s back.

  Grayson felt the inner walls tighten around her fingers and gave one more deep thrust. Eve arched one more time, then her body stilled. “Ohmygod,” she whispered in a ragged voice.

  Grayson kissed the top of her breast as she withdrew her fingers. She gently cupped Eve and ran her fingers through her damp curls. Eve let out a contented sigh, then rolled Grayson onto her back. “Very nice, Detective.”

  Grayson’s heart raced as she looked up into Eve’s smiling face. Visions of Vic flashed through Grayson’s mind. Visions of wild nights like these when they loved long and hard all night.

  When Eve started to unbutton her shirt, Grayson reached up and held her hands.

  “What’s wrong?” Eve asked breathlessly.

  Grayson swallowed and struggled to sit up. “Nothing,” she said in a coarse voice and buttoned her shirt. She felt Eve’s eyes watching her intently and felt embarrassed and awkward.

  “Are you involved with someone?” Eve gently ran her fingers up and down Grayson’s back.

  Grayson let out a small laugh. “No, I’m not involved with someone.”

  “But there was a someone once, am I right?”

  Grayson tried to stand, and Eve gently pulled her back down. “You look like shit, Detective. Why don’t you sleep for a while? I’m sure you need it.”

  “Look—” Grayson started awkwardly, suddenly feeling exhausted.

  Eve pushed her back against the pillows. Grayson let out a deep sigh as she stretched her tall frame out on the bed.

  Grayson closed her eyes and felt Eve’s fingers run through her hair. As she drifted off, she whispered, “Thanks, Vic.”

  The cloaked figure stood in front of the roaring bonfire, arms raised to the heavens. Chanting in a low voice, he stopped and turned to the long concrete slab. A figure was bound to the altar, writhing against its bonds.

  The dense fog rolled across, engulfing the figure as it disappeared into the mist. Instantly, the wolf-like creature crawled through the fog. Snarling, it leapt at the altar amidst the screams.