Chapter One: A Meeting with a Dominatrix
My name is Joyce-Lynne I am a 26 year old Criminal Defence Lawyer working for what I consider a good firm in Sydney Australia. I have had quite a few successes in my short career and have just been given a weird case. My senior partner wants me to defend a woman accused of the murder of a politician in bizarre circumstances.
My client is known as Madam Sin, she runs a brothel, not an ordinary brothel, one where bondage and S&M is performed by, or on the clients. The deceased, a senator serving his third term, a relatively young politician with no other claim to fame, was making the news in the manner of his death. The forensic pathologist has not given me anything to work with, other than to say the circumstances are suspicious. I suspect that my betters would like this case to go away!
I presented myself at the Kings Cross nick, [Australian for police station] to interview my client on a cool winters morning [August]. I was shown to an interview room trying to look severe and professional, dressed in my most formal pinstripe suit, hair in a French bun and with little make-up on. I was surprised to see my client, she was in a prison paper suit, yet still looked almost regal and her dark lustrous hair was done up like mine.
She stood up as I entered the room and I found myself looking into a steady brown-eyed gaze. This was unusual for me as I am six foot two in the old money and usually have to look down. My client was as tall as me, she was older than I was, but it would be difficult to place her actual age from her appearance. She was stunningly beautiful and the paper suit did not hide her fabulous figure. One size fits all merely emphasized a trim and taught, if overly endowed body.
I took a deep breath and introduced myself when the police officer closed the door. “Hi, I am Joyce-Lynne, my firm was given your case and my partners gave you to me. I expect to get a partnership out of your case. The old guards are rather glad that they have me to do the work rather than sully their posh names with your case. I want you to tell me absolutely everything. I really mean everything and then I will tell you what our chances are.”
The client smiled at me and said, “Call me Anne, I only use the Madam Sin name professionally and I guess that we will be spending quite some time together.” I smiled in return and sat down placing legal pad and pen on the table, my client sat opposite me. I waited while she decided what to say.
The first moments after meeting a new client tell one a lot about the person and their likely guilt. My new client came over as a confident ball breaker woman and innocent; she took a deep breath and began her story.
“I am a Madam, I have a small brothel in a basement complex just off ‘The Cross’ very discrete, very exclusive and I have never had any trouble before. I have quite a few influential clients, but I will not tell you their names, nor will I expect them to come to my defence. The least said about them the better. If you can get me out of this I will have to close and move interstate, or retire and find a husband!”
The glint in her eyes told me she was dead serious about this, she continued. “I am sure that they will find that dear Johnny died of a heart attack and it’s my damned luck he had it in my dungeon! Johnny has been a regular client of mine, once a month for the last five and a half years. We have similar tastes, he has been generous, kind and I considered him a trusted friend as well as a valued client. When we first met, I was new to the games and had just opened my dungeon. We met at a Saints and Sinners ball quite a few years ago.”
“We hit it off from the first visit, and over the years, we have had some mutually satisfying times together. S&M times that is, nothing brutal, but what I suppose you would call extreme sexual adventures. Sometimes he would take the Sadistic role other times it would be me. Just as with a marriage, the same old sometimes gets old hat and last year Johnny asked me about a threesome with a submissive young slave.”
“I had provided this sort of service to other clients and had several young women who fit the bill, but Johnny was very fussy and rejected all of them. He asked me to find a first timer, a fresh young thing that we could share exclusively. I told him that such an arrangement would be expensive and I could not guarantee any sort of long term relationship as a girl had to work and once a month would probably lead to the slave seeking satisfaction elsewhere.”
“Johnny immediately saw that this was true and so agreed to being the first master for suitable girls. Indeed, he was so wound up that session, that he excelled his normal performance. That was four months ago. Yesterday was the second time we shared a new girl. The first time two months ago was a blast, although we both knew that the girl was not a first timer, she acted the part well. I found her poaching my clients three days later and gave her the boot.”
“Two weeks ago I found a real gem, a country girl, a younger step sister of a working girl I knew, who had given her my name and address. The young girl was just legal, a small waif looking thing, very young, very timid, but quite pretty, with a wild streak a mile wide. I will not involve her if it can be avoided. I will not tell you her name, or where she is, but she was present when dear Johnny kicked the bucket. It was her who called the Ambulance. I told her to leg it before they got here. They just missed her. I hope she was not raped, but as I have not heard any news, I think she got out safe and sound. She was naked when I last saw her! I think she took a red coat of mine from the door on her way out. I think there were a few dollars in the pockets. The other coat hanging up on the door is hers.”
Anne smiled and continued. “Ok. Dear Johnny was strung up; the slave was naked and about to be forced to give him head when he went red, then purple. He did not say a word, but he looked in bad pain for a second or two then his head went back and his tongue sort of fell out his mouth. I got him out of the cuffs and supported him, ‘He’s dead,’ the waif said. I gave him CPR. I have done all the First Aid courses. I checked his pulse and there was none. I thumped his chest a few times, again nothing. I told her to ring for the ambulance and scoot, and leave the door open. I continued the CPR. I was in a dominatrix outfit, bare tits, cunt, leather and studs, the whole nine yards. The cops were taking pictures for ages; I expect they will be all over the internet by now.”
“The Ambo’s [Australian for paramedics] were really nice, very apologetic, but had to call the cops seeing as where he died. I have not said a word to them. They told me I was in deep shit. They have woken me up seven times during yesterday evening and overnight. I refused to make any statement or comment until I had seen a lawyer.”
I asked her when the session with Dear Johnny and the young girl, (I could not bring myself to say ‘slave’,) had started and how long before the fatal attack. I was horrified to learn the Dear Johnny had been in the dungeon for almost two hours!
“Anne, I understand that you want to keep your young girl out of the picture, but it is in your best interest to include her.”
“No I want to keep her out of it,” Anne’s eyes had a steely glint, but I pressed the point.
“Anne you are going to have to explain the call to triple 0 [Australian for 911]. They will find out it was not you. They will voice match anyone you can persuade to do it and you will have to explain where they were and how long it took you to get them to make the call and what was happening with Dear Johnny while you did that. You will be hung for a sheep rather than a loaf of bread!”
Anne thought about this for a while. “Yes I see that, I have been worrying about that all night. I really need to keep her out of it!”
At this point, I said. “I think we need a coffee, I bought some in a flask, the stuff in here is foul.” I produced a flask and poured a stiff caffeine fix in the paper cup on the table and a second in the flask’s lid. She took the dirty cup and drank deeply. Her hands were rock steady.
I began again. “Anne you have very little choice, if you leave her out of it you risk going down for manslaughter at least. If you change your story later, you still risk going down. I strongly advise that we make a full statement and I will try to keep her out of the case. You must see that her statement will exonerate you, and provided the pathologist agrees that ‘Dear Johnny’ died of a massive heart attack it should be possible to squash the charges and we can all go home.”
“I cannot involve her, I just cannot,” Anne was quite distressed. “Please find a way to keep her out of it.”
“Anne I have given your request serous consideration, but I cannot guarantee a successful defence if you do not tell them everything. Again, let me stress if you keep silent about her involvement now, you cannot introduce her evidence later. There is a high probability that it would not be believed.”
Anne took a deep breath and launched into a cover story. “I went to the foot of the stairs and yelled out for someone to call triple 0 then went back to ‘Dear Johnny’. I do not know who made the call. I knew that someone heard me.” Her look was sad, but defiant.
I frowned at my obstinate client. “I see; you understand that this is a risky action. I want to visit your place before I agree to this. I need to assess just how feasible your explanation is. I will tell the police that we are going to make a short statement saying ‘Dear Johnny’ had a heart attack and give no further statement until after we have seen the autopsy results.”
I smiled grimly at Anne. Her dark eyes looked at me with a mixture of defiance and a plea for understanding. “I will get the cops to give me access to your dungeon and will see you later this afternoon. For now, we must go make that simple statement. Do you understand? ‘Dear Johnny’ had a heart attack! Tell them just that and nothing more!”
Anne nodded; I shook her hand and knocked the door. A few minutes later Anne made her formal statement, she was about to add something about giving CPR and I had to interrupt. The inspector taking the statement smiled at me, he had a little bit more than I want him to have. I glared at Anne. She got the message. She was escorted back to the holding cell.
I went with the inspector back to the interview room, asked for copies of the photos, all of them, and access to the scene. I was careful not to say scene of the crime. I did make the point that ‘Dear Johnny’ would not be the first man to die on the job.
The inspector had not responded. A big buff envelope was handed to me and I then followed a sergeant around the city block and down the stairs into Anne’s dungeon. Anne was just a few meters away her dungeon was in the building behind and to the side of the police building!
The police sergeant shepherded me through a dimly lit entrance foyer with no decoration, no hint of what lay further inside the building. He rapped on the door and a young policewoman opened it. The next room was a reception room with a desk and three easy chairs, a filing cabinet and drinks cabinet. There were glossy photos of Anne in dominatrix gear, all leather and studs, alluring but not pornographic.
The sergeant pointed to a small alcove, “His street clothes were in there.” He motioned me through the only other door. He grinned at the young policewoman, who laughed and said to me, “Better brace your self.”
The room was through what appeared to be an air lock, it was quite large, and it was very warm and looked at first glance like a gymnasium. Wall bars along one side with a large red leather covered bench in the middle, chains and other things along the back wall. Hooks, pulleys and ropes hung from the ceiling. A rack of implements, crops and other paraphernalia were along the wall beside the door. On the other side were things I did not want to know about. I found myself blushing. There was another room beyond.
The policewoman watched my reaction and laughed again. “It happened back there, and if you think this is weird then you better take your time before you go in there.”
I looked around and took some mental measurements I was already over ten meters from the bottom of the stairs. There was evidence of some use in the ‘Gym’ I could see the forensic team had been checking for fingerprints. I would have to ask Anne to tell me exactly what she and ‘Dear Johnny’ had been up to during the two hours before his untimely heart attack. I was having difficulty getting my head round what consenting adults could get up to.
The sergeant said, “There were a few items here and there that had been used, they are all in the photos, they have been taken away for forensics.” I nodded. I did not want to ask what items!
I took a deep breath and went through the other door. This room was just as large. It had what looked like an old-fashioned stocks, a torture rack and chains and ropes hung from numerous places on the wall and ceiling. There was a strange looking three-legged stool and what looked like an aquarium almost full of water. There was a pirate’s chest with its lid open. I cast a quick glance at its contents and wished I had not.
The sergeant said, “He was there.” There was scant evidence that ‘Dear Johnny’ had passed away there. “His feet were there, his head over here. He was in a good CPR position. We think he was sat there when he croaked.”
The sergeant had a lewd smile on his face. “What a way to go!”
“Ok I have seen enough for now; I will have to wait for the pathology results and will see my client later today. If the results are delayed I will be asking for my client to be released or charged and I will be applying for bail this afternoon.” I was anxious to get out of that place.
“Fat Chance,” said the Sergeant, “I’ll pass the message on.”
I beat a hasty retreat. The young policewoman was laughing with the sergeant as I left Anne’s Dungeon. I walked to the car park found my car and sat a while to recover. I still had to look at the photos. I did not dare go back to my office just yet and had to look at them. I gingerly opened the big buff envelope. Anne’s pictures and there were a lot of them were exactly as she described them, but she had not told me of the red welts covering most of her exposed flesh.
The pictures of ‘Dear Johnny’ were just as bad. Red welts across buttocks, thighs, chest, back, front and sides even his manhood looked red! His penis was still semi erect and quite the biggest I had ever seen. His face was a rectus of pain. His eyes were open and his tongue was hanging out. I was feeling very hot and had to wind the window down. I looked hastily around making sure no one else could see the photos.
There were some other photos, ‘Dear Johnny’ was on the floor and there were ten evidence tags and at least two close-up photos of each of the items surrounding the body. I shuddered and quickly put the photos back in the envelope.
I got out of the car and went looking for a pub. I needed a stiff drink even though it was only just half past eleven. I downed the shot of vodka in one go.
Feeling somewhat fortified I made my way back to the car and thence back to my office. I checked in and was told to go see the partners. I gave a very brief account of my morning explaining that everything depended upon the post-mortem. I was taken to lunch and told in no uncertain way to keep the damage to a minimum and that a guilty plea would be best for ‘Dear Johnny’s’ bereaved family, friends and political allies. There must be no other people dragged into the case. I was dutifully respectful. Anne was in deep shit!
After a long lunch, I rang the pathologist only to be told that tests were being done and it would be a few days before the results were in. I presented at the police station, had a short meeting with Anne. I then had another meeting with the inspector and his superintendent. We then had an appearance before the magistrate in a special court session. Fortunately the press were late getting there and I was successful in getting Anne released, effectively into my custody. She had to surrender her passport and report to the police station twice a day.
I drove up to the back entrance, police only, and Anne still in her paper sack jumped into my car. I made haste to my apartment complex. We were lucky and made it from the car park to the lift and then to my apartment undetected. I showed Anne where the drinks were and watched her mix a large gin and tonic.
“Where are your keys?” I enquired.
“The Cops have them.” Anne replied.
“Well as we are much the same size you can borrow an outfit of mine.” I showed her a few casual clothes and she chose a pants suit. I left her to change. She asked me if she could have a shower. I of course said, “Yes.”
The smell of sex and fear would linger in my car for weeks!
An hour or so later a new woman entered my lounge room. I raised an eyebrow and said “Pizza?” she grinned and I rang out for two large with cola. “Anne you are in trouble, ‘Dear Johnny’s’ political friends and enemies want blood, your blood. My partners as good as told me to persuade you to plead guilty so it all goes away quickly.”
I had chosen my time to say this very carefully, she had a large mouthful of pizza, so before she could comment, I added, “I am not going to do that. I believe you and poor ‘Dear Johnny’ died as a result of natural causes.”
Anne gulped and took a swig of cola. “Thanks, at least you told me. What are my chances?”
“Anne, I have already told you. It is a big risk not involving the witness; you would have no problems with her evidence. Without it, it all hangs on the results of the postmortem and having seen the photos of you and ‘Dear Johnny’ even that is going to be a struggle!”
Anne looked hard at the piece of pizza in her hand. “You have seen the photos then?”
“Yes, of course I have. I am going to have to ask you to tell me exactly what you and ‘Dear Johnny’ did from when he arrived to when he died. You must also tell me just what your, err… assistant did. You must realize the cops have gone over your dungeon and will find evidence of her if she as much as left a hair or fingerprint, or drop of bodily fluid.”
“All right I will tell you everything, but my official statement is always going to be that we were alone all the time. There is no other evidence that my assistant, as you so charmingly called her was there. I had her hidden in the back room, naked while ‘Dear Johnny’ and I had fun in the front room I had only just taken him into the back room when he fell off his perch.”
I resisted the urge to laugh. “Ok Anne tell it to me, exactly; minute by minute, you were at it for almost two hours after all. The cops know when he went down those stairs!”
I made myself a vodka and tonic and Anne a gin and tonic I handed her the drink and sat down. I and waited for her to begin. I had my briefcase open beside me and was going to reveal the pictures as she told me the details.
“My friend ‘Dear Johnny’ had arranged our usual monthly meeting. He knows when my periods end and that I am most horny then. So having ‘My Assistant’ as a special treat was as exciting to me as I knew it would be for ‘Dear Johnny’. I usually have a receptionist; he was to have the evening off, all he had to do was let ‘Dear Johnny’ in and leave, locking the door behind him. I gave the cops his name and address. So they will know to the minute when ‘Dear Johnny’ arrived and he left.
“I suppose I had better tell you the set-up that I had prepared before ‘Dear Johnny’ arrived. My Assistant who was naked under a top coat and I arrived about half an hour before ‘Dear Johnny’ was due. My receptionist arrived a few minutes later. He does not know that my assistant was already inside. I had told her to go into the back room and wait. I hung her coat up in the lobby with mine. I was wearing the outfit in the cop’s photos.”