#also. i am awaiting further contact from him! cause he was one of the photographers on the con!

[insanitysoup]

I thought I fell in love but it was just food poisoning.

[skeletonpunching]

Vatican Miracle Examiner sidestory - The Invisible Man Murder Case (parts 1-7)

It’s been a while, but here we are again with a new VME sidestory!

This one has: Lauren, Bitcoin, and 100% unambiguous canon femmeslash. I KNOW.

(There are some characters you may not have met yet, but the story gives you all the background you need for them. You may want to read the Norway book recap to know a bit about what Lauren’s been up to.)

1

The mysterious affair began when Calogero Berge - a popular member of the Italian parliament, who made many television appearances, and was tapped to be on the next Council of Ministers - was being interviewed by a magazine.

That afternoon, Cleto from the International Journal’s editorial department, the interviewer Federico, and the photographer Giusto were all in the tea room of the Bordiga Hotel, awaiting Berge’s arrival.

The interview was set for two o’clock, but Berge showed up 15 minutes ahead of schedule. 

As might be expected of someone with so many female supporters, he was a tall, fresh-faced man. His lustrous dark blue suit, and his red necktie with gold thread, shone in the rays of sunlight pouring through the great window.

Cleto and the others, who had taken up position along the furthest wall, got to their feet. After a brief exchange of greetings, Berge seated himself on the sofa opposite them.

“May we begin the interview right away?” Cleto asked, and Berge slowly nodded.

Federico, the interviewer, placed a small recorder on the table; glancing down at his notebook, he began speaking.

“Please give us your views on the future of Italy’s diplomatic relations. Firstly…”

Berge courteously answered the detailed questions volleyed at him.

Giusto, the photographer, pressed the camera shutter whenever it struck his fancy.

“Then, what are your thoughts on foreign trade?”

Berge responded to Federico’s question with a refreshing smile.

“I strongly advocate free trade. We must steadily pursue trading connections with Asia and North and South America. Our country boasts history and traditions that have given rise to heightened aesthetic senses. We create fine arts, handicrafts, fashion brands, wines - all sorts of articles brimming with charm. We cannot allow other countries to rival us in this domain. I believe that putting further effort into the export of these goods will enrich this country.” 

“I see. But there have also been concerns that free trade will cause profits to decline for our domestic enterprises.”

“Yes, that is true. It is a fact that some companies are coming under pressure from the low prices or high quality of foreign products. However, we should not view this as more of a threat than necessary. Now is an opportunity for reform. We have to cooperate with foreign companies, acquire excellent technology, and strive to raise our true productivity.”

“A key theme of Italy’s economy is the north-south divide. In the north, industrialisation is advanced and there has been economic growth, but in contrast, the south and the islands have been left behind, and can only rely on agriculture and tourism. As such, a disparity has developed. Will free trade aggravate this disparity?”

“No, I do not think so,” Berge said, clenching his fist firmly. “Agriculture has long prospered in our country. Even now, we’re ranked second in the EU for agriculture, and we account for 13 percent of the EU’s total output. Agriculture is the foundation of our people’s way of life, and the backbone of our country. Because of our background of agricultural productivity, we need not fear that unexpected food crises or price surges will result from pursuing free trade. As for southern Italy, I am planning reforms to boost agricultural productivity, optimise operations, and improve product quality. In addition, I’d like to focus on promoting tourism.” 

“I see. Then here is a question based on your views, sir. From now on, which countries might be considered Italy’s most important partners?” Federico asked.

Berge’s gaze turned solemn, and he sank into thought.

Then the upper half of his body slowly began to lean forwards.

Federico silently awaited Berge’s answer.

Did he drop something on the floor? Cleto wondered, while mentally sorting through the contents of the interview.

The photographer, Giusto, took his eye from the viewfinder, and raised his head. 

Berge was doubled over, and showed no intention of correcting his posture.

On the contrary, his body slowly lost its balance and toppled from the chair, collapsing on the floor with a thud. 

“Sir! What’s wrong?!”

The three men scrambled to their feet, alarmed, and stared at Berge crumpled on the ground.

A large stain was blossoming on the chest of his suit - was that a pool of blood spreading across the floor?

“This is bad! An ambulance-!”

At Cleto’s cry, Giusto pulled out his cellphone and called for paramedics.

2 

As the people in the tea room noticed what was happening, a commotion erupted.　

“What? What’s going on?”

“Dead - that man - he’s dead!”

“Look at all that blood…”

“That face - I know him!”

“Wait - isn’t that Senator Berge?”

“What?! That’s terrible!”

Surrounded by a throng of gawking onlookers, the paramedics arrived 12 minutes later.

Berge was still collapsed on the floor; they immediately took his pulse and checked his pupils.

“Cardiac arrest. Pupils dilated. Death is confirmed. There is bleeding from the chest; the cause of death seems to be blood loss.”

The chief paramedic nodded slightly.

“I’ll contact the police at once. Preserve the scene.”

Under the direction of the police, Cleto, Federico, Giusto, and everyone present in the tea room at the time were naturally ordered to remain at the scene.

The room was in an uproar when the police rushed in.

The coroner drew a chalk outline around the corpse, and began inspecting the surroundings. Flashlights clicked on and off, and the corpse - shrouded in a white cloth - was lifted onto a stretcher.

In this atmosphere filled with tension and unease, the police officers began taking statements from the eyewitnesses. The one who approached Cleto and the others was an elderly man in a business suit.

“I’m Detective Domeniconi. Tell me what happened.”

Domeniconi flipped through his police notebook.

‘I-I’m Cleto Landi, from the International Journal. I was here today to interview Mr. Berge for a special feature in the magazine. But halfway through, Mr. Berge suddenly - like that…”

Cleto’s voice trembled as he replied; he handed his business card to the detective.

“Hmm. Are those two over there your subordinates?”

Domeniconi jerked his chin towards them.

“Yes. Our reporter Federico, and contract photographer Giusto.”

Federico and Giusto nodded at Cleto’s introduction.

“You were conducting an interview - so there’s a recording?”

“Yes. It was recorded with this.”

Federico showed him the small recorder.

“We’ll take that. And your camera.”

Domeniconi confiscated Giusto’s camera as well, and handed them over to the forensic investigators.

“Now then. Give me the full details. What happened during the interview?”

The three of them exchanged glances, bewildered.

“Whatever we say…”

“When the senator was talking about free trade, he suddenly slumped over, and just like that, he fell from the chair and collapsed on the floor.”

“Yes, and when we were staring in shock, the blood started flowing. We quickly called the ambulance.”

“Yes, that’s how it was.”

“Hmm,” Domeniconi said, stroking his chin. “Before Mr. Berge collapsed, there was nothing unusual? Did he seem unwell?”

“No.”

The three men all shook their heads.

“Were there any suspicious people nearby? Did you hear any suspicious noises?”

“No…”

The three of them shook their heads again. Domeniconi took them all to the sofa at the scene, and made them once again recount what they had witnessed.

Their seats had been along the innermost wall of the room. If any suspicious person had approached, someone would have noticed.

Unless the three of them are accomplices, and backing up each other’s story…

Just as Domeniconi thought this, a forensic investigator and police officer, who had been conversing in the distance, came walking over. 

3 

“Detective Domeniconi, Senator Berge died due to loss of blood from a gunshot. There is a hole in the chest of his shirt that appears to be damage from a bullet. The corpse also has a bullet wound, and a small blister was identified to the left. The cause of the blister is unknown, but the cause of death seems to be blood loss resulting from a shot directly above the heart. However, there is no bullet hole in the jacket.”

Domeniconi frowned at the forensic investigator’s words.

“No hole in the jacket?”

“Yes. Neither on the back nor the front,” the forensic investigator replied.

“Hey. Was Mr. Berge always wearing the jacket?” Domeniconi turned to ask Cleto and the others.

“Yes,” the three said, nodding.

This was an absolutely inexplicable story.

“We have taken statements from all the customers who were present at the scene; no one saw anyone who looked like the culprit. Neither did anyone hear a gunshot.”

“Hmm.”

Domeniconi folded his arms. 

“For the sake of argument, suppose some customer in the room shot Mr. Berge in the heart - it’s strange that there’s no hole in the back of his jacket. He was sitting facing the wall, so I can’t think of anyone who could have shot him in the chest, other than these three.” 

Domeniconi cast a glare at Cleto and the others.

“I-impossible. Why would we kill the senator?”

“That’s right. There’s no motive.”

“I’m just a hired photographer.”

The men shook their heads vehemently, but Domeniconi ordered the police officer to conduct a body search. The three of them were led into a separate room one by one, and underwent a scrupulous body search to determine whether they had a silenced gun concealed somewhere. But no weapon was found on any of them.

Domeniconi looked displeased by this report.

“Maybe there’s some device attached to the camera or recorder. Take a good look. And now, take these three into custody as suspects in the incident.”

At Domeniconi’s words, Cleto and the others were taken away by the police officers.

Meanwhile, Senator Berge’s body was dispatched to the forensic division, and underwent an official autopsy. The result was death by shooting. It was concluded that the bullet had struck the thoracic aorta, causing fatal haemorrhaging.

The problem was that there was no bullet hole on the jacket - only on the shirt.

The logical theory would be that the jacket was put on the senator after he was shot. But none of the customers present during the incident had testified to seeing Cleto, Federico, and Giusto removing or replacing the senator’s jacket.

Moreover, no suspicious contraption was found on the confiscated recorder and camera.

There was yet another mystery: the footage from the hotel’s security cameras. It showed Senator Berge smiling and having a friendly chat with the three suspects, when suddenly, he bent forwards and toppled from the chair.

There was no sign at all of any one of the three men removing the senator’s jacket, or putting it back on him. And there was no trace of anyone who might have shot the senator.

Domeniconi clutched his head.

A popular member of parliament, recognised as a candidate for future minister, had been shot and killed in public - and despite this, there were absolutely no clues as to the culprit.

A team of 50 people carried out the investigation for one, then two months - but they remained unable to obtain a single witness or scrap of material evidence relating to the culprit.

As the investigation wore on, Detective Domeniconi and the investigation team were forced to arrive at a single conclusion.

It was that, in a public space like the hotel tea room, before all eyes, a formless culprit - like an invisible man - had soundlessly shot and killed Senator Berge. Furthermore, the bullet, by some sort of magic, had made no hole in the senator’s jacket; it had only pierced through his shirt to reach his thoracic aorta. 

That was the utterly mysterious chain of events that had taken place.

Of course, such an occurrence was unimaginable. If this conclusion were to be announced, it was clear that the Italian police would be lambasted by the entire nation as being incompetents without a shred of common sense.

The police, plagued by a severe headache, detained Cleto, Federico, and Giusto as suspects. While reserving their conclusions and continuing to make inquiries, they sought the help and succour of the single person who would probably be able to break this deadlock.

This was the person who, in the past, had cracked numerous difficult cases, and who, due to his distinguished track record, had become a colonel of the Carabinieri - the man Amedeo Accardi.

4 

Amedeo, rolling up the documents before him, heaved a deep sigh.

No matter how much he read, it was incomprehensible. In fact, the more he read, the more incomprehensible it became.

Amedeo hadn’t thought that cases like this would come to haunt him, even after his becoming a colonel. He had long since arrived at an eminent position, and carried out no field work at crime scenes. There were still somewhat difficult cases, but he could entrust them to his excellent subordinates to resolve.

At least, that approach had been working well until now.

As long as he made no major mistakes, he could lead a quiet, comfortable existence until retirement - or so he’d thought, but suddenly, such a bizarre case had turned up, threatening the very dignity of the police.

Moreover, the president and prime minister themselves had contacted him directly, to offer him courteous encouragement.

Ordinarily, this would be the highest honour - but the one who had solved the numerous difficult cases until now was a criminal named Lauren di Luca. Amedeo had done no more than follow Lauren’s instructions and serve as his arms and legs.

Amedeo was now faced with a tremendous crisis that made him tremble. It was a state of emergency. Beset by unendurable nerves, he stared at the family photo on his office desk.

I’m sorry I’m such an unreliable prop, everyone. But as your father, I will find some way, no matter what... 

Having steeled his resolve, he got up and carefully retrieved a map from the depths of the safe. He stuffed the bundle of casefiles into his briefcase, told his subordinates, “I need to concentrate on my own for a while,” and got into his private car.

Setting out from Rome, he drove nearly 30 kilometres towards a rural town called Tivoli - famous for the Villa d'Este - and then turned south before the town.

After a short drive, the car was threading through a road dotted with old factories. Garbage overflowed the street, and an air of desolation hung over the surroundings.

This street, not especially lengthy, ended in a sign that said “Mauro Telephone Parts Factory”. A rustic factory stood there. Amedeo braked the car before that weatherbeaten concrete building. Then he closely compared the marking on the map with the shape of the building.

Is it… here?

This map had been handed to him by the man who was Lauren’s guardian. Amedeo had been told that, if he went to the marked location, he could get in touch with Lauren, and so he had hurried there. But the factory currently before his eyes was on the verge of being a ruin; it was totally out of keeping with the image of that extremely wealthy Lauren.

Did I get played for a fool? 

Amedeo, grappling with anxiety, entered the factory and approached the reception counter. It was unmanned, but he rang the brass bell, and an employee in his fifties slowly approached.

“I am Amedeo Accardi of the Carabinieri,” Amedeo said with dignity, holding aloft his identification.

The man glanced at Amedeo’s identification, and then pointed at the map in Amedeo’s hand, with a gesture of “show me”. Amedeo handed over the map; the man put on something like reading glasses, briefly scrutinised it, and nodded.

“Come with me.”

With those brief words, the man guided Amedeo into a small room in the depths of the factory. In that dirty small room stood a desk and chair, with a laptop on the desk. After directing Amedeo inside, the man returned the way he had come.

Thud. The instant the door shut, a light ringing split the silence. This room seemed to be installed with some sort of soundproofing.

Bewildered, Amedeo sat down in the chair.

There’s some meaning to this laptop... 

Amedeo searched for the power button. The whirring startup sound echoed, and was absorbed into the walls of the room.

In a flash, the monitor lit up. 

It seemed to rapidly cycle through several displays, and the next instant, Lauren di Luca’s face appeared.

“Oh, Lauren!” Amedeo cried out with unconscious delight.

The Lauren displayed on the monitor was older than when Amedeo had known him best. He had well and truly grown into a young man. But the androgynous features, the pale skin reminiscent of a bisque doll, the molasses-coloured hair, and those spine-chilling amber eyes - those could not possibly belong to anyone other than Lauren.

“Amedeo. Didn’t my guardian tell you that you should only make contact on rare occasions?” Lauren asked. His tone, with its edge of sarcasm, was a vivid reminder of the past.

Pinned under the glare of those eyes like glass orbs, Amedeo’s heart constricted. But no matter what happened, there was a reason why Amedeo could not budge a step until securing Lauren’s cooperation. 

If the case this time could not be settled as impressively as before, he would be betraying the expectations of so many people, from the president above to his subordinates and family below; he would disappoint them all. No, rather than simply disappointing them - if his handling of this case was suspected to be completely different from the past, it was terrifying to contemplate what sort of hell was in store for him.

Amedeo was cornered on the brink of a precipice, and the man like an unfeeling fiend on the other side of the monitor was his sole saviour.

“Th-that’s… isn’t that cold, when we haven’t met in so long? And if I could, I wouldn’t contact you - I hoped I could go forever without having to. But Lauren, that rare occasion is finally here; I don’t have a choice. It’s a terrible case - the dignity of the Italian police is at stake. Please help!” Amedeo burst out in a single breath, wiping cold sweat from his brow.

Lauren furrowed his brow as though he had smelt something unpleasant.

“Hmph. Can’t you solve cases by yourself, once in a while?” 

This derisive tone made Amedeo’s face flare red.

“If I could, would I come here?! Please, come on! You owe me one, don’t you?”

“What do I owe?”

Lauren propped his face in his hand, and tilted his head curiously.

5 

Amedeo clenched his fists and leant towards the desk, appealing desperately.

“Don’t forget. When you were transferred from the Rome police to the Vatican, you got an ankle cuff with a GPS tracker. Didn’t I risk my life to find a way to open that special electronic lock, and teach it to you?”

A faint smile drifted to Lauren’s frozen lips.

Yes, that’s good! I’ve gotten a smile! 

Amedeo pressed on.

“I was sure you’d break out of the Vatican right away, and I made up my mind to help you with that. But… for some reason, you didn’t escape. That’s right, you obediently stayed in the Vatican for many years… And then suddenly, one day, you vanished like smoke. I was so shocked when I heard you’d disappeared…”

All strength rapidly drained from Amedeo’s voice.

No matter how much Amedeo mentally vowed to risk his life, that didn’t mean Lauren owed him anything - Amedeo had decided that of his own accord. He realised this as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Back then, Amedeo had resolved that if Lauren was to break out of imprisonment, he would take the initiative to help. That was not a lie. Even so, the reality was that years had gone by without Lauren making any request, and in the end, he had successfully accomplished an escape without Amedeo’s aid.

The man named Lauren was always like this - it was an enigma how far ahead he was thinking, and what plans he was putting in motion. 

Since he’d left behind a way of contacting him, he must have calculated that a day like this would eventually come. This idea filled Amedeo with a vague dread for some reason.

“A-anyway, I’ve given it lots of thought…” Amedeo added, his voice as feeble as a mosquito’s buzz.

“Just what are you saying. You were talking about owing favours, weren’t you? If you’d like to settle all debts between us, we can discuss that - but isn’t it thanks to me that you were promoted to your current status in the first place, and were in a position to obtain that special key?” Lauren declared with utter composure. 

“Ahh - yeah - of course - I know that! But I’m in dire straits. Look, will you help me or not? Which is it?” 

Amedeo, at a loss for words, struck the desk with a thump. 

“Hmph. Since you put it that way - is it a very enjoyable incident?”

“Ohh - you’re interested in hearing about it?!”

“That’s right. After all, if you’re promoted even further, that will be to my future benefit. And I was just about to make some small movements. Your timing is excellent,” Lauren said, a thin smile on his face.

Looking at him, Amedeo’s premonition deepened - he would be mired in being Lauren’s pawn. But there was no making an omelette without breaking eggs.

Amedeo cleared his throat loudly.

“Alright, let’s talk. This happened just over two months ago.  Calogero Berge, a member of parliament who was expected to have a bright future, was shot dead by an invisible person. The crime scene was a hotel tea room; the victim was shot before the eyes of a crowd, but despite this, no one saw the culprit, and there are various other mysteries. Even though suspects were detained, the investigation ran into a dead end. Recently, conspiracy theories and suspicions of terrorism - which seem slightly occult - have been going round. The police, at a loss, singled me out as a scapegoat.

“If this case isn’t solved, my reputation will be completely ruined. It will hinder my current position too.”

“The culprit is an invisible person. I see. That seems slightly interesting. Now then, I’ll make preparations to move at once.”

“Really?! You’ll really come here!”

“The reminder is needless. I’ll do what I can. I’m not a man of leisure, to tell lies or engage in deception. Moving on, I want you to make contact with Fiona.”

It had been a long time since Amedeo had heard the name “Fiona”; he felt his heart seize as though crushed. No matter how many times they worked together, he was utterly unable to get along with that woman.

Again? Contact that woman who’s as gloomy as a ghost, and has a few screws loose…? 

“Hey, why Fiona. Can’t it be someone else? If you need an excellent profiler, there are others. For example, out of those I know…”

As Amedeo was about to rattle off the names of his recommended profilers, Lauren flatly interrupted.

“Other profilers are of no use.”

“Why? I have trouble with her.”

“I will tell you one thing, Amedeo. You are the one who is unnecessary for solving this case. It is Fiona who is needed for a case that has already stumped the police.”

“I-isn’t that a harsh way to put it?”

“Oh my. Isn’t honesty one of humanity’s virtues? Well, never mind. How about I explain the reason why she is necessary? That’s because she is someone with special abilities.”

“Special abilities? Her? Is she an esper or something?” Amedeo asked, blinking.

“To put it simply, that’s right. Fiona, in addition to her outstanding empathy, powers of observation, and strong imagination, has a deficiency of common sense and a tendency towards neurosis. Due to the combination of these various factors, she’s surpassed the level of an ordinary psychologist or profiler. Instead, she is a person who possesses what could be called the perception of a psychic. It’s because of this that I esteem her highly.”

“A psychic? It’s surprising to hear such unscientific words from you.”

“Amedeo. A blanket denial of extrasensory perception and paranormal phenomena is the act of a fool.”

“Well then, from your point of view, I’m a fool, right? But that woman is a terror. She’s a real terror. She doesn’t have any ordinary sensitivity. A while ago, she was in the middle of profiling an assailant, and you won’t believe it - she took them out shopping. There was a huge ruckus at the station. I’m always on edge around her, because someday she might commit a crime. I mean that.”

“You can feel however you want. The important thing is whether Fiona solved the case or not. Which is it?”

“That… well…”

Amedeo scratched his head, looking discomfited.

“After Fiona’s profiling of the assailant, they admitted their guilt, didn’t they?”

“Well, that was luck. It just happened to work out that way…”

“In that case, the shopping was a prerequisite for resolving the incident, wasn’t it.”

“No, no, how could it be!” Amedeo unthinkingly bellowed in rage.

Lauren let out a small sigh.

“Common sense, senselessness, delusion, reality - do you think you can distinguish between those?”

“Of course!”

“If so, I ask you: do you believe in the law?”

“Naturally. I’m a police officer.”

“Then you must believe in the police and the country?”

“Certainly. I am a public servant serving the country,” Amedeo replied confidently.

“I see. But the reality is different. Those things you believe in - law, police, country, and so on - are all no more than illusions, beheld by a group of humans who share the same values. In other words, they’re delusions. To people who hold different values, of course they do not exist - much less among the laws of nature, where they are null and void.”

As Amedeo hearing this, his head erupted in tumult.

“W-what are you saying? I don’t get it.”

“Excuse me. I thought I’d try proving that you were someone possessed by delusions, but I’ve made you panic. Do forget what I just said.

“In any case, I designate Fiona Maderna as the team profiler. That’s the condition for accepting this request.”

“I-if you say so, I get it… Then, when will we meet?”

“In a few days, I’ll send the date and time to your email address.”

As soon as Lauren had replied, the light of the monitor blinked out.

6 

Rodrigues Deniro had been imprisoned under false charges.

While awaiting his execution, blamed for a murder he had no knowledge of, he had managed to escape from prison, guided by a mysterious person with the name of “Master”. Then he had quickly met up with Master, and they had moved to their current hiding place.

Master was a youth of mysteries; Rodrigues knew nothing about him.

He seemed to be in his teens, but occasionally looked far older. It had been mentioned that he was formerly a criminal, but Rodrigues had no idea if that was true or not.

At any rate, to Rodrigues, Master was his saviour. And they had been living together like a family for a very long time.

Rodrigues generally left the base two or three times every week, to purchase what Master ordered and to deliver mail. When not doing this, he busied himself with cleaning and cooking.

Speaking of mysteries, even the hiding place where they lived was a great mystery. It was in the basement of a church, but Rodrigues did not know who had made this place, or for what purpose.

Even though it was a basement, it was remarkably spacious, and furnished with running water and electricity. There was no inconvenience in living there.

Rodrigues had taken a shine to a retro-style room with an antique teak bed and sofa, and used that as his own room.

On the other hand, Master’s room was lined with dozens of laptops; he shut himself inside all day long, tapping away at the keyboards. Rodrigues was only permitted to enter when Master’s room was unlocked.

That day, Rodrigues returned from shopping as usual, and knocked on the door of Master’s room.

“Master, I’ve bought what you told me to.”

Since the door was unlocked, he went in.

One wall of Master’s room was pasted all over with clippings about grisly incidents and accidents; this gave the impression of a fiendish murderer’s room. The formulae written on a glass board, the electronic equipment scattered on the workbench - it all evoked visions of a bomber’s hideout.

Rodrigues told himself, as well as he could, not to imagine unpleasant things. As he did so, he quietly laid out the items he had bought on the workbench.

Even then, Master did not stir; he was gazing expressionlessly at the numerous monitors 

Today as usual, the dozens of monitors displayed street corners, building interiors, and stores in Italy and foreign countries, one after another. 

Rodrigues glanced at the monitors.

Among those countless images, two young priests occasionally appeared, and he was a little curious about them.

So, gauging Master’s mood, he timidly spoke up.

“Um… Master, may I ask something?”

“What?”

“I’ve been wondering for a long time, but the views those monitors show - just where are they?”

“It varies. They’re across the world - security cameras and surveillance cameras, camera footage from laptops and cellphones, all kinds of footage of that sort. I’m intercepting them through hacking.”

“H-hacking? Is that possible?”

“Of course. If you know the trick, even a ten-year-old can do it. Plenty of networks are used with the default setup password, and vulnerable systems are even more abundant. Even the so-called public security countermeasures aren’t very complex. Anyone with a few trifling techniques can penetrate them.”

Master replied as though it was simplicity itself.

“Is… is that so…? But why on earth are you looking at such things?”

“That goes without saying. To know the currents of the world.”

Master gave a languid answer to Rodrigues’s artless question.

To know the currents of the world.

That was an answer of extraordinary scale, but coming from the mouth of this youth, it had the ring of truth.

“By the way, Master, you’re watching the same people sometimes, isn’t that right? The two young priests. I got curious because they appear on the screens quite often - are they acquaintances of yours?”

Rodrigues’s question seemed to displease Master. A deep frown creased his brow.

“What do you mean by asking that? Just what business is it of yours?”

Rodrigues’s blood curdled at hearing his benefactor snap out those cutting words. Rodrigues’s fate lay completely within the hands of this youth - he had never doubted that since meeting him.

“N… No, it’s nothing.”

Rodrigues clamped his mouth shut, and hastily made to leave.

“Today, visitors will be arriving. It won’t be a boring day for either you or me.”

Master tossed that prophetic line towards Rodrigues’s departing back.

That evening, just as Master had said, two visitors arrived at the base. One was a refined gentleman dressed in a suit. The other wore light makeup and a hat, and looked like an artist. Both of them were carrying a large attache case with both hands.

The gentleman in the suit bowed deeply when he met Master.

“You can finally come out to the outside world.”

“Yes, because the preparatory stage has begun. Eduardo, you’ve done well so far.”

 “Please think nothing of it. This is my job, after all.”

“Then, are preparations ready for the disguise?” Master addressed the artistic-looking man, who nodded.

“Yes, please leave it all to me. What disguise would you like?”

“I want to be made up as Satoshi Nakamoto.”

“Satoshi Nakamoto? Do you mean the person who, as I recall, developed Bitcoin software and carried out the earliest mining and application?”

“Yes, that man.”

“Unfortunately, I do not know his face. Or I should say, I have heard that he is a fictitious person - his true identity is a collective handle for a group of programmers.” 

Master smiled as though pleased by this.

“Yes, that’s right. There is no one who knows Satoshi Nakamoto’s face. Because that is one of my aliases, and I haven’t met with anyone under that name.”

At Master’s words, the man’s eyes went wide.

“Amazing! Unbelievable! No, I knew very well that Master is an incredible person, but to think Satoshi Nakamoto himself…”

“That’s right. That means there’s no need to make me resemble anyone, but I want my appearance to differ significantly from my current features. At least change the contours.”

“Should the features be more East Asian? But it may be somewhat unattractive.”

“Beauty and ugliness don’t matter. What I want is to have a face which fits the image of Satoshi Nakamoto.” 

“As you wish.”

Master seated himself in the chair; the man stood by him, and opened the attache case. Its interior was packed with cosmetic tools that Rodrigues had never seen.

Rodrigues merely stood there, in an astonished daze. The work began, with no one seeming to take heed of his presence.

The artistic-looking man applied makeup to Master. Under his hands, Master was transfigured into an unfamiliar East Asian man. It was like a magical spectacle; Rodrigues’s breath caught.

Meanwhile, Master and Eduardo began talking.

“Eduardo. How much surplus money do I currently have to use freely?”

“It has grown to slightly exceed Italy’s national budget - around 982.6 billion euros. It is all due to Master’s unprecedented invention of virtual currency.”

Rodrigues’s eyes flew open wide upon hearing this figure. But Master’s expression did not flicker in the slightest. He nodded lightly and said, “That’s so-so, as a war chest for going up against a powerful enemy.”

“And what about the antivirus software?” he asked.

“The recent corporate demonstrations were well-received, and we have gotten inquiries from major companies. If all of them are accepted, 80 percent of the world’s computers will be using our company’s product.”

“Accept all of them.”

“Understood.”

The scale of their conversation far outstripped Rodrigues’s understanding, so that was as much as he could follow. Over an hour passed in this manner; Rodrigues then noticed with a start that Master had completely transformed into the guise of a moody-looking East Asian.

 “How long can this special makeup be maintained?” Master asked the man who had applied the makeup. 

“Around six hours.”

“In that case, I would like you to accompany me for three days.”

“I am happy to be of service.”

The man smiled and offered a pair of black contact lenses to Master. Master placed them in both eyes, and got to his feet. He put on a grey business suit that Eduardo had prepared, and donned dark glasses.

“Now, gentlemen, let us go.”

Rodrigues was alarmed by Master’s words.

“Go? Where to?”

“You don’t need to know. You will remain here.”

“Umm… What should I do?” Rodrigues asked, gazing imploringly at Master.

Master’s magnificent metamorphosis, the outrageous conversation he had heard - it was all too much for his mind to take in. As he’d thought - should an ordinary person like him even be here? He had lost all confidence.

“Do what you want. You’re free to do anything. If you don’t like being here, it’s fine if you go out.”

Master’s tone was cool. Rodrigues shook his head vigorously.

“No, absolutely not. I’m an escaped prisoner, so, um. Can I stay here just like before?”

“Yes. Use the Internet, take a nap - do as you please.”

With those words, Master picked up his pet mouse’s cage in one hand, and left with the two men.

7 

Fiona Maderna was a psychologist with the Rome police. She had collaborated with the Carabinieri in numerous criminal investigations to date, and was a highly competent profiler.

She was currently lying listlessly on her back in bed, naked as the day she was born. Those dreamy grey eyes seemed to be gazing through the hotel’s white ceiling, fixed on a world further beyond.

Next to her in bed was Chiara Bioni, known as the most beautiful detective in the Carabinieri, the bedsheets draped over her naked body.

Chiara gently stroked Fiona’s pale skin, affectionately caressed her curly black hair, and traced her delicate clavicle with a fingertip.

Then, since Fiona displayed no reaction to her provocations, she raised her voice in slight irritation.

“Hey. What are you thinking?”

Fiona suddenly blinked and turned to Chiara, as though noticing her existence for the first time.

“Hmm… What is it? I - was I thinking about something?”

Chiara sighed lightly.

“Really… You’re as mysterious as the rumours say. Well, that’s what attracted me, and why I invited you here. But with all those rumours, I didn’t expect you to be a lesbian.”

“Lesbian? No, I’m not a lesbian.”

“Eh? Then why were you at that lesbian bar last night? And why did you take me up on my invitation?”

Fiona sat up and wrapped her thin arms around her knees. She looked vaguely at Chiara, her gaze slightly unfocused.

“Mm… I didn’t know that was a lesbian bar. I just wandered in. And I took your invitation because I had no real reason to refuse…”

“...I… see.”

“Whether my partners are male or female - bi or lesbian - I’m not really aware of that. It’s just that yesterday, you were pretty and sexy, and seemed like you’d let me enjoy a sensual night, so I accepted your invitation. Was something wrong with that? Besides, I’ve been bottling up some feelings… I thought it might be good to do this kind of thing, once in a while,” Fiona answered indifferently, like a heartless angel, or a demon.

“Seriously, was that the only reason? Honestly, I’m shocked. Then you’re a hedonist in bed, through and through. Really, I was startled by your boldness… And here I thought we were making love from the heart.”

“Even that… That’s an act done in the pursuit of pleasure, isn’t it? So, doing it as much as possible…” Fiona muttered, as though delivering a hushed soliloquy. Her face and voice seemed to belong to a different person from the passionate, charming succubus of the previous night.

That gap stirred Chiara’s heart once again.

“Hey, Fiona. How about we date for real? I’ve totally fallen for you,” Chiara murmured, entranced.

Fiona tilted her head at an angle like a broken doll.

“What is dating? How should it be done? I don’t really know. If another chance like this comes along, and we’re both in the mood, we could just do this - isn’t that good enough? I think I could manage that much.

“I’m not really cut out for love. I can’t keep fine promises, and I might sleep with other girls. If so, you’re sure to hate that, right?”

At Fiona’s reply, Chiara looked down, dejected.

“A sinful person, aren’t you. I get it, I give up. If I try dating you, I’ll probably just get jerked around.”

“Yes, that’s right. I think that’s for the best,” Fiona replied with a slight smile.

At that moment, her cellphone on the bedside table rang. Fiona cast a troubled glance at the screen, but as soon as she recognised the number, her eyes lit up, and she seized the cellphone.

“Yes, this is Fiona.”

“Hey… It’s me, Amedeo.”

“Captain! No, it’s Colonel now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m a colonel.”

“Well, Colonel, it’s been a while. So, the reason why you’re calling me is…” Fiona asked, hope singing in her chest.

“As you guessed, there’s a difficult case, and a certain someone has nominated you.”

That instant, Fiona was so blindingly overjoyed she almost swooned.

“Ahh, I can meet Master. At last…!”

“So then, please be available and get ready.”

“Yes, got it. I’ll cancel all my plans. I’ve been waiting for this day all along. I’ll go home now, and until I hear from Master, I’ll shut myself in my room and do nothing but wait for his call.”

“Hey, hey, no need to go that far. It seems like the next instructions will come in a few days.”

“How many is ‘a few days’? If you don’t notice the call, or you notice too late, what responsibility will you bear, Colonel? If I miss the chance to meet Master, or our meeting time is cut short in the slightest, I’ll sink into the abyss of despair.”

“Ahhh, I’ve had it. You tiresome woman, do what you want!”

“Yes. Anyway, I’ll keep waiting. So, Colonel, please do be in touch.”

“Got it, got it.”

Amedeo abruptly hung up.

Fiona’s face was flushed; she cradled her cellphone to her chest tenderly, and gazed up to the heavens.

“...what was that call? You seem really happy,” Chiara said, sounding amazed.

“I can finally meet the person I’ve been waiting for all this time. That was the message,” Fiona replied, her voice full of zest.

“Even though you said just now ‘I’m not really cut out for love’... So you actually have a serious lover, huh. It’s unfortunate, but I’m getting jealous.”

“Eh? A lover? What on earth are you saying? Please don’t think about Master in such a vulgar way. He is the one and only person who connects me to this world; I adore him like a god,” Fiona replied, her grey eyes limpid.

“O-oh… I don’t really get it, but I understand that’s someone I have no chance of defeating. But I can’t get enough of your icy profile…”

Chiara reached out from the bed and took Fiona’s hand.

“Hey, Fiona - there’s still time, isn’t there? Play with me, just a little longer. And then let’s toast to your happiness together.”

“Mmm, just for a little, then. Since I’m feeling really good right now…” Fiona replied absentmindedly.

Chiara embraced her, and laid a sensuous kiss on those cold lips.

[the-record-newspaper]

The killing of Rhonda Hinson Part 29

Rhonda Hinson in a photo taken shortly before her December 1981 murder.

By LARRY J. GRIFFIN

Special Investigative Reporter

For The Record

(Editor’s note: This is the continuation of a series on the December 1981 murder of Rhonda Hinson)

When he first met Pat [Sisson], he got her into the patrol car and said to her, ‘You are going to have to convince me that you are legit.’  She threw her arm over the seat of the patrol car and told him that word. He said, “Ok, Lady; let’s go.”—Detective James “Flash” Pruett recollection, as recorded by his wife, Rhonda Fender Pruett on October 20, 2019.  

 Detective Gene Franklin does not believe in psychics—he said as much in a Sept. 15, 2019 interview with The Record.  “I don’t believe in them nor place much stock in what they say; but Flash [Detective James Pruett] did and consulted with a couple of them,” Mr. Franklin recounted.

But on Feb. 3, 1995; both detectives, along with Sheriff Richard Epley, D. A. Brown [an investigator from the District Attorney’ Office of the 25th Circuit], and Lt. Greg Calloway met with and interviewed one of them—Ms. Pat Sisson.

Over this past weekend, Detective Pruett recounted his interaction with the psychic; his thoughts were recorded in a series of written messages by his wife, Rhonda, and forwarded to this writer.    

“ [Pat] lived in Knoxville when she and Flash worked together….She came to our house; [she’s] really nice…The thing that made him really believe in her, she spoke a word to him no one knows—not even me.  It was a word uttered to Flash dating back to his military service that only he would know. When he first met Pat, he got her into the patrol car and said to her, ‘You are going to have to convince me that you are legit.’  She threw her arm over the seat of the patrol car and told him that word.  He said, ‘OK, Lady, let’s go….’”

Judy Hinson recollected that Detective Pruett told them the same story relative to his first encounter with Pat Sisson.  “He said that she whispered to him a word that only he knew the meaning of.  That seemed to win his confidence in her.”

During the Feb. 3, 1995, protracted taped interview, Ms. Sisson related, to those present, images as they came to her—at times in an almost stream-of-consciousness manner. Occasionally, the investigators would interject questions for her to consider.  

Often, however, Pat would respond as if she was retrieving informative images from the middle distance—her replies frequently incompatible with the queries.  Moreover, a perusal of the transcript reveals some contradictory observations, shifts in her perceptions of the chain of events as her inner vision became clearer, and variations in her description and biographic information of the shooter.  

Several insightful details emerged, however. After viewing four photographs from the crime scene, Ms. Sisson observed:

“…I don’t feel any sexual violence to her at the time of her death…And what was used was a pretty high-powered—I don’t know anything about guns—but was a pretty high-powered gun…I think it was a hunting gun but very high-powered... [It has] sighters…it’s got this, it’s got a strange thing, instead of looking through a little V, you look through a little circle.  It looks like a little circle that you look through.”

In several instances during the interview, the psychic provides descriptive details regarding the shooter:

“He is about five-foot; he is somewhere around 5’9’; 5’10” and has curly brown hair…light brown… and he has light eyes.  [He’s] slender maybe a 100 and 70, 70, about a 172 pounds.  I guess.  Very angry and very upset…I don’t think that he meant to kill her.  I think that he meant to scare her and I just do not feel that he meant to kill her….”

And it was Pat Sisson who described for Flash several features of Greg McDowell’s office in the Brittain Engineering building that he passed along to Jeff Hinkle prior to his meeting with his old high school acquaintance on Friday Dec. 15, 1995, at 9:30 a.m.  Mr. Hinkle recounted the sequence of events during two separate phone interviews with The Record—one of which occurred this weekend past.

He [Detective Pruett] told me about several things to look for when I met with Greg in his office.  I remember two in particular:  The first had something to do with a sign that I would see through the window in Greg’s office…I don’t remember now what was noticeable about the sign; but something was different about it—a symbol or something...The psychic also told me to look for a picture of his wife that I would find in the office. She described it and told me that his wife would look like Rhonda Hinson with blonde hair.”

Flash recalled that the sign Ms. Sisson imaged was mounted on a two-story building, and it was, “upside down or funny looking…possibly containing the name Abernathy on it.”  Further, during her Feb. 3, 1995, interview, the psychic averred that the suspect’s wife, “…believe it or not…has hair very much like Rhonda...”

Armed with these images and wired to capture a voice print of Greg McDowell, Jeff Hinkle walked through the front door of Brittain Engineering, located at the corner of 3rd Street NW and 1st Avenue NW in downtown Hickory.  He reported to the receptionist who phoned Greg to announce Jeff’s arrival. Presently, the young engineer appeared to escort his former East Burke classmate to his upstairs office.

Hinkle said, “As we walked, we talked about generalities, reminiscing a bit.  When we got to his office, we stood and talked—mainly about the electrical details for which I made the appointment.  Greg had a nice size rectangular office.  He had a desk—I don’t remember how it was oriented—but I do remember a sizable drafting table.  There was a window that looked out toward the 1st  Avenue side of the building.  And I saw almost immediately what the psychic predicted I would see outside that window.   I thought, ‘Wow!’  We walked toward his drafting table on one side of the room.  And above it, was a framed wedding picture of his wife [Jane] who really did resemble Rhonda.”  

It was at that juncture that Jeff Hinkle felt what he described as, “cold chills and the hair standing up on the back of his neck.”  Everything was unfolding as Pat Sisson had predicted to Detective Pruett and communicated to Hinkle.  It was at that moment—remembering everything he had seen and been told—Hinkle was struck with the thought that he stated without equivocation during both interviews with The Record, “I am standing in the office with the man who shot Rhonda Hinson.”

Flash and Special Agent Roy Brown were sitting in a nearby coffee shop on Hwy 127, awaiting word from Mr. Hinkle that his mission was accomplished.  “I had my departmental cellular phone with us,” Detective Pruett wrote in his case notes. “Jeff called on his cellular phone and said he had completed the task.  I asked him to meet with us back at the SBI office.”  Shortly after 11 a.m., the trio convened for debriefing. Flash summarized the proceedings for his records:

 “We removed the unit from Jeff (Hinkle) noting the on/off switch was in the on-position and taped over with white tape. The reel-to-reel unit was turned off and opened.  The used part of the tape showed about one-third full.  We hooked the unit up to the speaker unit and started listening to the tape.  It was very clear as Jeff left his office and started towards [sic] Greg’s office.  It continued to be clear until the exact moment Greg’s voice should have started.  At that exact moment the tape went silent with no audible sounds.”  

The narrative continued:  “Roy and David Keller examined the unit and tried to determine what the malfunction was in the system.  Nothing could be found to cause the problem; in fact, the unit had continued to go from reel-to-reel and starting recording again when Jeff left Greg’s office.  Roy could not explain the quirk.  The malfunction was devastating to me…I quickly interviewed Jeff to gather what personal facts he could remember.”

After sketching the layout of Brittain Engineering’s side of the building and the location of Greg McDowell’s office therein, Hinkle gave Flash as many details as he could recall. Most of the information was of a biographic nature gleaned from the conversation.  

At that juncture, Greg McDowell and his wife, Jane, had two children—a boy and a girl. He met Jane at NC State; she was originally from Kinston, N.C.  The couple married as soon as they graduated.  Hinkle described a wedding picture of them, mounted on the wall, in which Greg is wearing a light-blue suit or gray tux; Jane wore a white dress. A small picture of Jane revealed a resemblance to Rhonda Hinson.  “Greg told me that his wife didn’t like to be photographed,” Jeff related to Detective Pruett.

Hinkle also noted that his former classmate was not “much of a talker;” however, he did mention that Greg stipulated that he had never gone to any of his high school reunions.  And he averred that Greg “would not make eye contact with him.”

At the conclusion of the debriefing, Flash discussed the possibility of another attempt to record Greg’s voice—but not in the immediate future.  The detective concluded:

“We all feel like any other contact with Greg by Jeff at this time may alert him to our intentions.  It may be after the first of the year before we are able to record again. This is a big setback in my time schedule.”

There were at least three such endeavors to utilize the available technology to obtain information from Greg McDowell—this failed attempt was but the first.

Three days later—on Monday, Dec. 18, 1995, Detective Pruett called Jill Turner-Mull.

[toshler]

Sexy Photoshoot ;-)

yay, i told myself i’d finish this today and here it is, my first ever tyler joseph x male reader (NSFW)

one day you were asked by a friend if you’d do a photoshoot for his classmate. as an aspiring photographer you were no stranger for doing favors, but when he said you’d actually be paid, you were all in. he set you up with a time and place to meet, and you weren’t expecting much. but when you finally met the singer/piano player ‘tyler’ at a chipotle, you were floored. stood before you was this lanky, shy boy in a hoodie with large brown eyes and the most pouty pink lips. he looked innocent, yet his fluffy hair and bedroom eyes screamed sex. you could definitely work with this. if only your mind would stop undressing him and imagining his pretty lips stretched around your cock, you might actually be able to focus and have him as a regular client.

“i rented out this studio downtown for tonight, i think it’ll be perfect” tyler mentioned between sips of his soda. “it’ll be at like 1 am though, i hope that’s ok?”

“it’s not a problem, but why so late?” you asked.

“there weren’t many time slots, and i need these pretty soon. also the late night hours are usually cheaper. plus i like staying up late” he explained.

“i see. do you want to plan out some of the shots in advance or just kind of see what happens” you asked. tyler looked down at his hands as if the answer was there.

“i was sort of hoping that you could...um...direct me” he said, a slight blush rising on his cheeks. you could almost feel the animal side in you about to take over, but you maintained your cool not wanting to creep the guy out.

“of course we could... try a few things” you said, blushing when that sounded more suggestive than you’d intended. ok tone it down you’re going to scare him away. “well here’s my number. text me with the address and i’ll be there.” you casually said, scribbling your number on the back of a receipt. you could feel him eyeing you as you were writing, and he only confirmed it when you looked up and he bashfully broke eye contact. he grinned, taking the receipt and putting it in his hoodie pocket before you both went separate ways.

you were never so excited to receive a text in your life. it was up to you to make him look good and to focus on him the entire time. but with the sexual tension from earlier, you were unsure exactly how it would work out.

11:32 pm: hey, it’s tyler. meet me at 2495 nameoki rd downtown behind the brick building :)

you stared at the text for a few minutes before replying with a “k thanks c u there” and saving his number. you had kind of a plan for how you were going to style him and have him pose, but it’d all depend on what he was comfortable with. time flew by as you got ready, grabbed your camera/tripod and headed out at half past midnight.

when you pulled into the parking lot behind the building you seen a dark figure standing next to the entrance. yep, definitely him. he was still wearing the hoodie, except with his hood pulled up. he seemed intently focused on his cell phone which was lighting up his face. he smiled nervously once he seen you pull up and get out.

“hey” he greeted you, opening the door and leading you inside the building.

“hey. this is pretty cool, i never knew of this place” you said, looking around at the large, mostly empty room with white walls.

“yeah, me neither. in fact this is my first photoshoot ever and i’m glad my classmate knew of someone who’d do this. i’m not confident in getting my picture taken” tyler admitted.

“really? well maybe i can change that, you know. bring out your inner model” you teased. he laughed, which seemed to break some of the tension.

“yeah right, model” he rolled his eyes at just the idea. wow, this kid really doesn’t see that he’s fucking gorgeous?

“what do you mean?” you asked more seriously.

“well, i’m not much to look at. which is ok, because i do music and…” he began before you cut him off.

“wait wait wait...not much to look at? you really have no idea that you are actually hot, do you.” you knew it was a little bold, but it was a knee-jerk reaction to the atrocity he just spoke.

“y-you think i’m...hot?” he asked, barely above a whisper. he was already standing next to you, watching as you set up the tripod. you could tell your little confession changed things for him, and it gave you confidence that he didn’t freak out.

“certainly” you answered, standing up and smiling at how he lit up at the compliment. he was going to be lots of fun. you put your hands on his shoulders, massaging them to get him to relax while thinking.

“lose the hoodie” you demanded, voice low and husky. his eyes widened, but long, slender fingers immediately flew to his zipper. finally you could see a bit more of what you were working with, and you were definitely pleased. he shrugged his hoodie off, letting it fall to the floor. you started taking an interest in how obedient he was, and how he was gazing at you innocently just awaiting more orders. you smirked, realizing how you may be able to pull out his kinky side with just a little bit of manipulation.

“alright, good. very good...” you praised, looking him up and down and shamelessly checking out his body. you purposefully did it for a little too long, asserting your dominance until he was shifting impatiently. you stepped forward, closing the little bit of gap and stroking his soft cheek, noting how he closed his eyes and swallowed. your knuckles trailed down his throat to his adam’s apple.

“you have a very hot body. and a very stunning face.” you spoke gently but authoritatively. he nodded slightly, eyes flicking back to yours. they looked hazy and unsure, but he still leaned forward to press his lips to yours ever so softly. you were pleasantly surprised by his initiative, cupping the nape of his neck and granting his tongue access. his lips were warm and plump, and you could taste some kind of minty sweetness on his tongue. a string of spit connected your lips to his when you pulled back and looked at his flushed face. he licked his lips, breaking the string and snapping you out of your thoughts.

“okay, as bad as i want to destroy you right now, i better take these photos before i do that.” you said, still panting lightly.

“what would you like me to do?” tyler asked sweetly.

“i’d like you to take your clothes off. but for now i guess...stand in front of that backdrop.” you instructed.

“o..okay” he said, stumbling back towards the backdrop. he naturally put his hands in his pockets and stared at you with these glossy eyes, desperation giving him this mysterious edge. you figured this would come across perfectly in a photoshoot, considering his style.

“good, just like that” you encouraged, and right away you started snapping photos. they were simple, but just the fact that they were him automatically made them more interesting.

“but i’m not really doing anything” he said, shrugging and shifting on his feet, then running his hand through his hair nervously. you smiled as you continued taking photos.

“you are, though. you’re being yourself!” you said in a dorky way to make him laugh.

“oh my god, that’s so lame!” he yelled, laughing.

“alright, now you have to give me something sexy. your best pose” you said mischievously. he gave you a playful glare, pulling up the hem of his shirt to show some skin while biting his bottom lip. you had to admit, the gesture and his ‘fuck me’ look was enough to cause your dick to jump in your pants.

“such a little tease. should i spank you for that?” you asked, adjusting yourself and trying to be subtle.

“maybe” he answered, pulling his shirt higher to expose his hard nipple. he blatantly grabbed his dick, smirking and knowing that you were still snapping photos. you could see the perfect outline of his hardon the way he was grabbing it. oh that’s it, you thought.

within minutes you had him bent over your lap with his pants and underwear down around his knees. a naughty boy like that deserved a good spanking.

“yes, pleeeease oh fuck…” tyler moaned, rolling his hips as you palmed the smooth, round curve of his ass. you slowly built anticipation before landing a generous smack, grabbing the right cheek roughly. his hips jolted forward as he let out a harsh cry, making you think you might’ve done it too hard.

“is that okay, baby boy?” you asked out of concern.

“mhmm, more” he mumbled.

“ooh, my little slut wants more now, does he?” you teased, watching the red develop on his ass. you rubbed over it soothingly, running your other hand up his arched back before slapping two more times. “you want people seeing those slutty photos of you, baby? or do you want them to be just for me?” you asked, sucking your middle finger.

“just...ahh, just for you” tyler moaned as you slid the wet finger around his hole before slowly inserting it. you felt him tighten around your finger as you wiggled it, coaxing him to relax. you were both hard from the teasing, your cock pressed into his stomach and his naked cock leaking on your outer thigh. you pulled your cock out of its confines with your free hand and as you expected, he just had to look down and take a peak for himself.

“well, what do you think? it’s not gonna suck itself.” you said playfully, causing him to smirk. he scooted down a little and wrapped his hand around your cock, leaning over to take your tip in his mouth. he teased around your glans with his tongue, finally wrapping his lips around you firmly. you placed your hand on the back of his head, pushing a little.

“fuck that’s a good boy. your mouth feels so good, lovely” you moaned, out of breath as he took your cock further down his throat. he was a damn professional, moaning and sucking like his life depended on it. you groaned loudly, hand pressing harder on his head without realizing it. it stayed there down his throat too long and caused him to gag, catching your attention.

“shit, i’m sorry, baby. here, let’s get that shirt off.” you said, allowing him to come up for air.

“it’s ok, i like it” he muttered, eyes watered and red. his lips looked so shiny and slick you could’ve nutted from the sight alone. you pulled his shirt up over his head and while you were at it you took yours off too. then you guided him to lay on his back, straddling his hips. part of you knew it was wrong to hook up with a perfect stranger that you were supposed to be taking photos of, but when you seen him gazing up at you with those big brown eyes while clumsily kicking off his pants, you couldn’t say no. he didn’t feel like a stranger to you anyway. you guided his legs apart once he was naked, lining yourself up to his hole and pressing in. he was a tight fit at first, but as he relaxed, you could tell he wasn’t new to anal penetration. whether he fucked often or used toys, you didn’t care. you watched in amazement as his mouth fell open and eyes rolled back from taking your cock.

“fuck, y/n, your cock feels so good” he sighed, nails delicately scratching your shoulders at the full feeling. his praise encouraged you to start slowly rocking your hips, hitting his spot over and over and causing him to tense around you like a vice. you knew it wouldn’t be long for either of you.

“you like it when i fuck you like this, tyler?” you asked, wanting to hear more of his sexy voice. your thrusts were involuntarily speeding up, but you kept it shallow to hold off just a bit longer. you wanted it to last, because part of you wasn’t sure if this would be the last time.

“ugh god yes, harder please” he begged, squirming. he tilted his face up to yours and parted his lips, asking for a kiss. he was irresistible. you connected your lips to his, once again exploring his delicious mouth. his legs wrapped around your back tightly to hold you in deep.

“wanna cum, princess?” you asked, sitting up on your knees and hooking your arms around his legs. he whimpered, either from the nickname or the angle change, you weren’t sure. but when he nodded enthusiastically, you took that as your cue to really lay into him. he was the one to cum first, quickly stroking himself and finishing on his chest. he wasn’t even through his orgasm when you released inside him, causing him to shiver at the warm sensation and adding to his pleasure. you gently set down his legs, pulling your now flaccid dick out of him and smirking when he softly whined.

“so was i any good?” you asked, already able to tell it was from the state he was in. you grabbed your shirt nearby, cleaning him up. you didn’t mind the thought of leaving with his cum on your shirt.

“y/n, i don’t think i’ve ever been fucked like that before” tyler admitted, still looking quite dazed and exhausted. he put his hand up to his head, wiping the sweat from his brow and you laughed. you went to put on your shirt, but he grabbed it from your hand and pushed you down on your back. you were surprised by his sudden dominance, landing on your back with an oof, but allowed him to crawl on top of you and kiss you anyway. you both made out like that for a bit until tyler got cold and needed to put clothes on. “so i’ll just text you when i need more pics?”

[luanmoretti]

Delivered to Oz

My Lord Montague,

Please find below my detailed report containing all the information I have uncovered regarding Miss Luan Moretti, as requested.

@ozmontague

(mentions of @dylan-nobody & @lilith-aurora-capulet)

I must confess I am rather intrigued by your interest in her as she seems to be a wholly unremarkable creature, it is not my place to question your motivations however so I have uncovered as much as I can about her.

The original newspaper article made reference to the Verona Park Orphanage so that is where I began my search.  Unhelpfully, the staff there had no memory of Miss Moretti.  They did however have an archive of all former residents which they allowed me to look through and this allowed me to make great progress in uncovering more information.

The above image was enclosed within the file and the date stamped to the back suggests it is from very early in her residency at the orphanage, should you require more information into the girl prior to this time the photograph may be useful in jogging memories.  I however, focused on what occured after her arrival at the orphanage.

In short: Nothing.  Miss Moretti had a perfectly clean record, she was never on the receiving end of discipline, there are no records of rule breaking or causes for concern.  Interestingly, there are also no major successes listed either.  Her grading from the internal tutoring scheme ranks her as “average” with grades “within the norm” for all classes.

I managed to have a short telephone conversation with one of the named tutors who did have a vague memory of Miss Moretti and he described her as “the silent loner type”.  Similarly there was a resident who remembered the girl but said over the years they lived in the same block he never heard her speak.  He thought she was mute.

This is not the case as there is a single note in her portfolio regarding an interview which took place after the disappearance of one Dylan Nessuno.  Miss Moretti claimed to know nothing of the other child’s whereabouts but the file states she was “unconvincing”.  This is the only evidence of her potentially having formed a bond with another person and I shall explore the avenue of Miss Nessuno should it become necessary.

There are a large number of visitor notes within Miss Moretti’s file stating an officer of the Watch by the name of Ribic made frequent visits in the early years of her residency but the frequency dropped to nothing as the years passed.  He may be someone your contact in the Watch can get in touch with for a more complete picture of this girl.

The last item of note within the file is this photograph

This is now the most up to date likeness I have and will be using it to continue my investigations.  The exact date Miss Moretti left the orphanage is not known.  I assume she was so unnoticed while here that her absence took a while to pick up on but that is purely my opinion and if I may project my own feelings even further, I too would run away from this establishment if the opportunity arose.  It is… flawed in both its purpose and management.

My search continued down many avenues nearly all of which lead to a dead end so I shall not bore you with the details of those particular endeavours.  I found success using one of my contacts at the mayor’s office who is able to access footage from all the city’s security cameras.  Using the photograph we were able to find numerous potential matches which I began investigating one by one, most of which were unsuccessful.  There was one potential match for an individual repeatedly being spotted in the poorest area of the Porta Nuova district so I focused my efforts there and whilst I would love to say it was skill which lead me to the correct place it was in fact pure luck.

I was asking locals if anyone had seen the girl in the photograph when a grimy little street urchin who smelled like he hadn’t bathed in months said he lived with her.  Obviously I was sceptical but it was the only lead I had so I went with it.  The street rat said it would cost me €5 which he seemed to consider a large amount so I was happy to humour him.

This child lead me to a very dilapidated looking building which I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a ‘marked for demolition’ sign adorning the side but no such sign existed.  Upon knocking on the door a password was demanded from me, which of course I didn’t have but a simple negotiation soon had the door opening and I was allowed entry.

Further negotiating was required when the “security” on the door noticed my picture was not on the so called ‘authorised wall’ but this individual appeared to be just another street urchin and simply offering to show him my gun was enough to placate him completely.  There was something very interesting on the wall of photographs though.

This photograph was enough to convince me I was in the right place and had finally tracked down the target.  Above her photograph was a room number and area which I made my next destination.  This house has been converted into a kind of rudimentary homeless shelter but with no management or rules.  Each resident is given their own personal area within a room, these areas are no more than 2 meters square each and there can be upwards of 20 people all in one room.

During my short time in the building I witnessed 3 fights break out, 1 over use of a shower, 1 over apparent theft of food and 1 over unfair distribution if illegal narcotics.  It is certainly an interesting place and I admit I did start to question where our Miss Moretti could possibly fit into such a place.

Upon reaching the room that Miss Moretti was assigned to I was met with some distrust from the other occupants but a swift discussion into shoplifting tactics soon had them telling me all I needed to know about the target.

Most of what was said was very much ‘more of the same’.  She is utterly silent unless substantially provoked and to my surprise she doesn’t indulge in the drug use, illegal activities or the regular room swaps for one night stands.  It was revealed she even has a place of employment though these street urchins didn’t know where it was as they didn’t care.  Interestingly she also has an agreement that she has 2 shower times per day, which apparently is scandalous to these disgusting creatures.

Needless to say the image of a homeless, unwashed, drug addicted petty criminal I had forming in my mind for this girl was incorrect.  I believe she may live here as she truly has nowhere else to go and no means of escaping her current situation.

I was shown to Miss Moretti’s designated area and found it mainly bare apart from a single blanket which was full of holes.  When I probed her neighbours about this I learned she keeps all her possessions in a single backpack and takes them with her wherever she goes.  She has a grand total of 7 items of clothing which she rotates and wears in different combinations to look different on a day to day basis and often brings home food to exchange for essential toiletries from other female residents.

This lead me to believe her place of employment must be a food establishment of some kind but the kind of background checks and proof of identity that would be needed for reputable places wouldn’t be available for Miss Moretti so it must be a more underground, potentially illegitimate sort of place.

These suspicions were confirmed by the presence of a napkin for the Della Ragione restaurant being present under the blanket along with numerous pencils which were too small to be used any more.  It seems Miss Moretti is some kind of artist and if her roommates are to be believed, a rather talented one.  

If I remember correctly the Della Ragione restaurant is part of my Lord’s distribution network so I am sorry to report that the target may well have been right under your nose for a number of years.  The restaurant is my next destination to confirm or deny this.

I have visited this restaurant on numerous occasions and not always while under your contract but I must confess to never having seen this girl there before.  I was warmly welcomed into the establishment as always and entered into a dialogue with the owner whom I fear I may have made feel uncomfortable with my line of questioning at first.  Once I explained how important finding this girl was for you and that there would be no repercussions for anything said he was far more forthcoming with whatever details he had, which admittedly weren’t many.

I do now firmly believe this girl is the target.  Her name is Luan, though her surname has neither been given nor asked for.  She was hired due to her ability to remain quiet and as suspected there were no background checks completed.  She is paid cash in hand, below the legal minimum wage which she accepts without question.  Her role is a dishwasher and she only leaves the kitchen so she isn’t present for ‘complicated business transactions’, which explains her lack of presence during my previous visits.  It has also been mentioned that she often appears at work in the same items of clothing which tallies with previously collected information.

At the time of my arrival she had not yet arrived as her shift had not begun so I remained in the restaurant to await her arrival and question her personally.

I confess it came as a very big surprise when Miss Moretti was delivered to her work place by one Lilith Capulet, the actress with whom I am sure you are familiar.  How Miss Capulet fits in to the equation I currently have no idea however I can investigate this further should you wish for me to do so.

My initial observations of Miss Moretti are as follows:  She is almost childlike in height and size, barely more than 5ft by my estimations.  She has the emaciated look of someone without a home and without the means to provide regular meals for herself though she does appear clean and well maintained with her hair cut in a very simple style to aid with this.

Upon being told that I was here to see her she gave me a look of pure horror, the fear of me clear in her facial expressions and demeanour despite my pleasant and welcoming smile.  I had given her no reason for apprehension yet she was still scared of me.

I introduced myself using an alias and advised her I was working on behalf of the owner of the establishment as he was curious who his staff were.  When she shook my offered hand I could feel her trembling with fear.

I went on to ask her some generic questions about the colour scheme and layout of the restaurant and all her answers were said so quietly they were hardly spoken at all.  She said very little and never once made eye contact with me as she was constantly playing with a salt shaker which was on the table.

When I suggested she join a group of staff to come and meet the owner she looked like I had just threatened to kill her there and then.  In my line of work I am very accustomed to expressions of fear but I have never experienced such fright over simply meeting another human being.  Miss Moretti then made her excuses, during which I noticed she speaks with a moderate stammer and she made her way into the kitchen to start her duties.

I spoke to the manager once more, hoping for an explanation into her behaviour and he confirmed it is a perfectly standard reaction from the girl.  He joked that he wasn’t sure what she was more afraid of, her own shadow or other people and he also reconfirmed how that made her the perfect employee for maintaining discretion.

During my visit I was able to get this photograph from Miss Moretti’s employee ID card so that you are aware of who to look out for.

I regret that I have failed in my assignment to bring Miss Moretti into your presence but I feel in order to do so it would require physical force as I do not believe she will come willingly.  I am of course happy to complete the assignment in this manner should you wish it done.

I can’t see how this girl could pose any kind of threat to you or your work however if you would like her taken care of she would be all too easy to make disappear on a permanent basis.  Should you wish for me to attempt to make contact once again I can complete this task as well.

I await your instructions.

Éric Badalucco

[canongoddess]

Strong and Clear - 1

Evfra had let Jaal enter the alien vessel against his better judgement. The alien – who was called Ryder – had made an offer that the open angaran identified with and that was that. Evfra had learned the hard way to not trust alien presences. But he did admit that these humans looked much more squishy and delicate than the previous bone-faced kett. This was one reason that Efvra felt it would be no large task for a warrior of Jaal’s caliber to defeat the crew – although he would likely die in the process, but who was Efvra to talk the powerful open angara out of attempting peace.

Efvra had only been swayed by the plea in Jaal’s eyes and – to be honest – slightly intimidated by the wash of hope the bioelectric field that simply saturated him at the mention of the Moshae’s salvation.

“I know you can spare me.”

Jaal’s voice had rang with a hint of laughter, and Efvra gathered that Jaal was teasing him. Not that Efvra appreciated that. After grudgingly giving his assent, Evfra’s only comfort was hearing the threat ringing out across the room from Jaal, though he doubted that Jaal would need to kill the small female in her sleep.

Now, Efvra was alone in his office awaiting impatiently for Jaal’s report. A light dinged on his datapad, and he opened the message. _________________________________ Efvra,

This vessel is amazing. The humans have many things aboard. I had brought articles with me, but it seems that they will not be needed. Upon crew introductions, I feel that they trust me as little as I trust them – save for the Pathfinder. The woman seemed to bludgeon her comrades into offering the respect that she felt I deserved. Perhaps it must be earned on both sides. We are not going to Voeld directly. I am not very pleased with this, and I am anxious to see the Moshae once again. A human colony stationed on Eos will be used to refuel and resupply before our journey. I do hope we will make it to the Moshae in time.

In the meantime, I have a good feeling about working with the crew. There are five types of aliens working peacefully aboard the ship. I will list them in terms of formidability.

Drack – He is a krogan and fierce. I feel that going into combat with this one is much better than going against them.

Vetra – A turian. I believe that she is one of the spiked aliens that have been reported on Havaarl. If they can stand stalwart against the wildlife of the home planet, I believe that they deserve our respect.

Asari –I sometimes think the patterns on their skin resemble the anagara to a degree. It is the tenacity that makes them special. There are two on board the vessel – a doctor and a researcher. They exhibit vastly different personalities. I have heard that this has to do with their paternal parentage, but I have not inquired further at the moment.

Humans - I do believe the humans are not the most intelligent, long-lived, or armored of the group, but they combine all the qualities exhibited in the other species to a slightly lesser degree.

Kallo – A salarian and also the pilot. He makes astute observation and is usually found on the bridge. For this reason, I have had limited contact with him. Perhaps he eats away from his console.

The Pathfinder has made efforts to inquire further about the angara. I am perplexed by her curiosity. It is unnerving to not feel her bioelectric field confirming her words, but I feel that she speaks true. She is the only one that I have spoken to at length. But I am not forgetting my promise.

Stay strong and clear.

Jaal ______________________________________________________ Evfra scanned the attached photos. Apparently, the inside of the ship was a practical mix of lush and functional. He approved of this – grudgingly. He supposed that this practicality would make a fierce opponent. Covert photos and scans of the crew members were included. The warrior resembling a fiend seemed to spring solely from his armor. Efvra felt that this alien was the krogan mentioned in the letter – a formidable opponent indeed. He silently scanned the other humanoids until he stopped at a photo of the Pathfinder. This photo was obviously not taken covertly. The girl’s blue eyes danced as she posed with a friendly smile on her face. Her eyes crinkled making the scar on her left more visible. Jaal must have asked for the photo. He knew the humans appeared… squishy and fragile, but they had crossed galaxies and apparently – if the Pathfinder could be believed – terraformed a world with ancient technology. Jaal simply should not ask for photographs like an enamored schoolgirl. Evfra sighed. He loved his friend dearly. He really was the closest friend he had – more from Jaal’s insistence than any invitation on Evfra’s part. Jaal wanted a peaceful world and seemed to see the starting point as slowly plucking the thorns from Evfra’s personality. But Efvra had become very adept at growing thorns, and Jaal’s persistent plucking had simply opened up a single bare spot where every so often the friendly angara could ply his commander with a touch of friendship, yet they were still close.

Efvra told himself that he held too many secrets to hold friends as well. Secrets about the Moshae’s capture were bound to come to light when this mission was completed. He was still unsure that Jaal would be in his corner after the conclusion. He could only hope.

He looked at the Pathfinder’s smile once again searching for any reason that he could possibly find to mistrust the alien, yet he could find none. Her eyes laughed, and the long string-like bits that fell from her head threatened to fall into him. He wondered what it felt like unconsciously running his hand over his head feeling the slick skin of his scalp with its scars and callouses caused from exposure to the elements as if he had never felt his head before.

“Sir?”

He jerked his hand down and slammed the datapad on the desk with a loud expensive sounding smack. As the ring dissipated along with his blush, he immediately resumed his signature frown.

“What?” He knew that he snapped, and the prickles of embarrassment were still lingering on his skin.

The warrior straightened to attention with a small blip of confusion that Efvra knew was from the usually quiet bioelectrics of the commander suddenly spiking fiercely.

“Sir, reports have come in from Voeld along with the promised transfer for those posted at the Resistance camp.”

“I’ll be there shortly.”

The recruit nodded and ducked out of the office. Efvra sighed knowing his work was never done. He glanced once more down at the datapad and frowned thinking that if only this alien’s picture made him seem so off-balance he wondered how he would ever work with her provided the alliance were solidified.

“At least there are no bioelectrics,” he muttered pushing his chair back and proceeding to stride purposefully to the landing pad.

[gyrlversion]

British mother arrested in Dubai sent a barrage of vicious abuse

Laleh Shahravesh, 55, was arrested in Dubai and is facing two years in prison

At face value, Laleh Shahravesh appears to be the victim of a very raw deal. Arrested after she landed in Dubai last month with her 14-year-old daughter and then stripped of her passport, the 55-year-old British mother is now facing up to two years in prison and a £50,000 fine.

Her crime? Penning a couple of spiteful Facebook posts three years ago about her ex-husband’s much younger new wife.

On the surface, it seems like petty stuff. Unceremoniously dumped by her husband Pedro Correia Dos Santos, Miss Shahravesh wrote online that his glamorous new Tunisian wife, Samah, looked like a ‘horse’ after their sumptuous wedding in Dubai in August 2016.

Her ex-husband, she added, was an ‘idiot’ for abandoning her.

Now detained against her will and forcibly separated from her teenage daughter, who was allowed to return to the UK, her case has been met with much sympathy among those who have surmised that she has fallen foul of an Arab kingdom with a draconian criminal justice system and over-zealous cyber crime laws. But, as the Mail discovered this week, there is rather more to this sorry saga than meets the eye.

For while Ms Shahravesh, from Richmond, Surrey, claims she is being ‘destroyed mentally’ and feels as if she is ‘slowly dying’ as she awaits a court appearance on Thursday, we can reveal that the truth about this familial feud is far more complex than had been revealed.

Nor is her arrest the first time she has had run-ins with the police in relation to her ex-husband, a 51-year-old HSBC risk manager who died unexpectedly last month after suffering a heart attack.

For while she was detained by officials after flying to the United Arab Emirate with her daughter Paris — she claims they wanted to ‘pay their respects’ at Pedro’s grave — his 42-year-old second wife says that she and her husband had been subjected to a barrage of foul-mouthed ‘vicious abuse’ and threats by an embittered Ms Shahravesh.

After she landed in Dubai last month with her 14-year-old daughter she was stripped of her passport, and is now facing up to two years in prison and a £50,000 fine

On the surface, it may seem as though Ms Shahravesh is getting a raw deal. Unceremoniously dumped by her husband Pedro Correia Dos Santos, Miss Shahravesh wrote online that his glamorous new Tunisian wife, Samah, looked like a ‘horse’ after their sumptuous wedding in Dubai in August 2016

She claims that Ms Shahravesh sent abusive emails to her husband’s relatives and HSBC work colleagues, and that her husband only complained to police in Dubai in desperation after she refused to listen to warnings by British police officers to stop posting abusive messages online. ‘She is acting as a victim to save herself from the law — I am a victim, not her,’ Samah al Hammadi told the Mail in an exclusive interview in Dubai. She says that the stress from the abuse caused her husband great suffering.

‘She has affected my reputation and my life. She has affected the reputation of my husband even after his death. She needs to put this right and clean up her mess.’

Evidence shown to this newspaper certainly appears to suggest that there is another side to this sorry story. In other Facebook posts seen by the Mail, Ms Shahravesh called Samah a ‘disgusting hoar (sic)’ and ‘an evil mean speck of nothing’ and accused her of committing adultery — something which Samah, who is Muslim, denies.

In one she wrote: ‘Don’t pretend you are special! You are nothing! Zip your ugly mouth!’

In another: ‘Let the whole world know that YOUR husband left MY daughter and I here destitute and in debt. He LEFT US OVERNIGHT WITHOUT ONE WORD! He hugged us both, said bye see you in a few weeks and LEFT!

‘Oh and he was probably seeing you the last time I saw him! Guess what WE SHARED THE SAME BED! Live with that now.’

At other times, Ms Shahravesh, who used to work for London auctioneers Bonhams, posted several photos of herself and her husband with his face obliterated with red pen.

In a message to him she wrote: ‘Go to purgatory because Satan doesn’t like c***s. In fact he despises them.’

Such was the level of abuse that Mr Correia Dos Santos felt he had to contact British police. A spokesman for Scotland Yard has confirmed that the late Mr Correia Dos Santos, a former Portuguese archery champion, contacted them in October 2015 claiming that he was being harassed by his ex-wife. After both parties were spoken to, no further action was taken though.

The emails Pedro sent and received from Scotland Yard, however, clearly suggest that Ms Shahravesh’s treatment at the hands of the authorities in Dubai is not just because of a couple of trivial, three-year-old Facebook posts.

In one, sent in August 2016, he wrote: ‘Since she found out that I have re-married, her verbally abusive behaviour started again, with more intensity this time.’

The trouble appears to have begun in 2015 when Ms Shahravesh, who had been living in Dubai with her husband for eight months, returned to the UK with their daughter.

At the time, she and Pedro had been married for around 18 years. It was Ms Shahravesh’s second marriage. A doctor’s daughter, she was born in Iran but came to live in the UK as a young girl and was educated privately at Tormead School in Guildford, Surrey.

Ms Shahravesh claims that she returned to the UK expecting her husband to follow. Instead, a few months later, in 2016, she received divorce papers.

In fact, Pedro first complained to police in London about his wife’s behaviour in October 2015.

Ms Shahravesh wrote a comment on a Facebook picture of her ex-husband’s second wedding to say: ‘You married a horse you idiot’

As soon as Laleh and her daughter landed in Dubai on March 10, intending to stay for five days, they were arrested at the airport

In an email sent to him that month, a Scotland Yard detective told him: ‘Laleh became very distressed after I put the allegation to her, claiming that it’s difficult for her as you have left her and your ten-year-old child so she believes she is entitled to tell “the world” about it.

‘I explained to her that sending messages and emails to your family and work colleagues is totally unacceptable and that if it continues she WILL be arrested.

‘I have advised her that you do not want any contact and that all contact should go through your solicitors. I have also spoken with her solicitor … and emphasised the importance of Laleh abiding by this.’

But if Ms Shahravesh was furious at being abandoned by her husband, she was even more angry when she discovered he had married Samah al Hammadi, a Tunisian archery coach and highly skilled sportswoman.

The pair are believed to have met at the club she runs in Dubai, Sam Archery Academy, and bonded over their shared love of the sport.

She denies claims that she had an affair with Pedro while he was still with Ms Shahravesh. Their romance was conducted with decorum, she says. Pedro came to her parents’ house after his divorce was finalised and asked for her hand in marriage.

‘They were separated for a year before the divorce procedure so he didn’t abandon her to marry directly,’ she told the Mail this week. ‘I am a Muslim. I don’t do such things.’

After the wedding in Dubai in July 2016, an enraged Ms Shahravesh wrote abusive posts next to an official wedding photograph posted on Facebook a month later.

The posts were written in the Persian language, Farsi, and translated they read as ‘Damn you. You left me for this horse,’ and ‘I hope you go under the ground, you idiot’.

Ms Shahravesh, left, and her daughter Paris, right, have been separated for almost a month

Soon after, Pedro complained to Scotland Yard again: ‘Regrettably it has happened again, now targeting several persons using Facebook as a means to attack people.

‘Since she found out that I have remarried, her verbally abusive behaviour started again even with more intensity this time.

‘Last time you asked me if I wanted her to be arrested and at that point I suggested that a telephone contact would be sufficient.

‘At this point I think she needs to be taken for questioning, mainly to understand that her behaviour is not legally accepted and that if she continues it can have further consequences from various perspectives.’

It is not clear if Scotland Yard took further action, but Ms al Hammadi says they decided to make a formal complaint in Dubai after ‘suffering in silence’ for over a year.

‘She has been abusing him, sending him emails, even to his boss in the bank, saying I am a b****, that I took him from her, that she doesn’t have money. He sent emails asking her to stop. It did not stop.’

Her husband and his new wife Samah Al Hammadi (pictured) were living in Dubai when the Facebook posts were made in October 2016 

Speaking of her husband she said: ‘He didn’t want her to be arrested in front of her daughter so he asked for the police in the UK to give her a warning. But when she kept doing the same thing and was insulting us via emails we made the case in Dubai.’

Unbeknown to her, immigration authorities in Dubai had an outstanding arrest warrant following the 2016 complaint. Ms Shahravesh was arrested as soon as she arrived on March 10 and her passport was confiscated.

She has been living in a hotel in Dubai ever since and says she has racked up £5,000 in debts. She has also lost her job in a homeless shelter because of her absence.

She spoke tearfully this week of the anguish she is suffering after being forcibly separated from her teenage daughter.

‘I have never been apart from my daughter for so long,’ she said. ‘The thought of being away from her even longer does not bear thinking about. I am being destroyed mentally and I feel as if I am slowly dying. Never in a million years did I think I would find myself in this situation over something that was written three years ago.

‘My life is in ruins. I am told I could go to jail but all I want to do is go home and give my daughter Paris a big hug.

Her ordeal began on March 14 when Laleh and her daughter flew to Dubai’s for her ex husband Pedro’s funeral

She admits sending messages and emails, including to her husband’s boss at HSBC, but said it was because she was left without money.

She also insisted that the messages were sent to her husband — and not his new wife. ‘I went from having what I thought was a happy marriage to being alone with no money,’ she said. ‘Pedro refused to help out financially. He even sent the divorce papers on a WhatsApp message the first time.’

She said that despite the acrimonious split, she had reconciled with her ex and he visited them at their rented home in Surrey last year.

‘We had dinner and he talked about coming over from Dubai to see Paris more often,’ she said.

‘There was no mention of the Facebook post. He would have known I was angry at the time, but it was all forgotten. I still had so much love for my husband, even though we were no longer together.

‘I know he would not want us to be going through this ordeal. He would not want his daughter to suffer like she is. She is going to need therapy to get over this.’

Back in Britain, a family member said they have appealed to the British Embassy for help but have been told by officials that they cannot intervene.

Paris has also written to the ruler of Dubai, Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum, asking him to ‘Please, please return my mother’s passport and let her come home.’

The case has been taken up by the human rights organisation, Detained in Dubai. According to CEO Radha Stirling, the cybercrime laws in the UAE are so vague ‘that even the police are powerless to interpret them responsibly.

‘The Public Prosecutor should have rejected the case if for no other reason than to clarify that the cybercrime laws should deal with matters of genuine public endangerment; hate speech, incitement to violence, and so on; and are not to be applied in petty matters of personal disputes and injured egos.’

She added: ‘Laleh had a right to her feelings, and a right to express them, and neither Ms Hammadi nor the UAE government has the right to punish her for anything she said outside the UAE.

‘What is criminal is throwing a single mother in prison for expressing her feelings, and separating her from her daughter, in vengeance for a bruised ego.’

Laleh Sharavesh was arrested along with her 14-year-old daughter Paris when she arrived in the Arab kingdom for her ex’s funeral last month 

Ms al Hammadi, however, says that the distress caused to herself and her late husband was much worse than this.

‘He was suffering deeply and in silence. My husband was very sad in his last years because of this and how it affected his relationship with his daughter,’ she said.

‘Pedro was a wonderful and very kind person. He died in front of me in hospital. He removed his oxygen mask in his last moments to say, “I love you”.’

She says she will consider dropping the case if Ms Shahravesh apologises to her on social media and gives a written statement to the court guaranteeing she won’t do it again.

Ms Shahravesh will have to wait until tomorrow’s court appearance to find out if she will be shown mercy and allowed to leave Dubai.

Whatever the next twist in this sorry situation, she must regret ever sending the messages that have landed her in this mess.

For while it may be true that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, for Laleh, hell is surely the situation she now finds herself in: unable to go home to her daughter and facing the prospect of jail.

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