Free The Mak Collection by Tara Moss Page B

the effect was disturbing. A little playful bondage didn’t trouble Makedde. But this clear depiction of deliberate pain was troubling.
    Sadistic fantasies. How far does he take it in real life?
    “I love what you’ve done with the developing,” she commented vaguely. “The sepia and tobacco tones complement the mood nicely…”
    “Thank you,” he exclaimed proudly. “I felt that it brought out the texture of the leather in this shot.” He slurred his words slightly, turning the word “texture” into “testya”. He didn’t bother correcting himself.
    The police were giving Tony trouble for good reason. He had arranged the location for theLa Perouse shoot and may have known Makedde’s connection to Catherine. He also had a definite predilection for paraphilia. She needed to know more.
    After perusing the stylishly displayed images of bondage, dominance, and sado-masochistic sex which made up the remainder of the exhibition, she sat down with him at one of the tables. With a fresh beer in one hand Tony loudly went on about how the police “wouldn’t know art if it crept up their trouser legs and bit them where it matters”.
    “Tony, I remember you were arguing with a detective after Catherine was found. He was holding your camera. What was that all about?” she asked him casually.
    “What a prick. Detective Wynn—”
    “Flynn?”
    “That’s right. That wanker took all my film from the shoot as evidence. The client freaked.”
    “No kidding? Why would he want the film?”
    Tony was obviously still upset about it. “Fucked if I know.” His face twitched as he spoke. “What a fuckin’ prick.”
    What are you hiding, Tony?
    “Are they still on your case?”
    “Yeah.” He changed the subject. “So you’re from Canada, eh ?”
    “ Eh . That’s very good.” If she had a dollar for every time someone had made a joke about a Canadianexpression, she’d be a very rich woman. “So, did you see much of Catherine before she…died?”
    “Nah. You out here with anyone?”
    Makedde could see it coming.
    “No,” she said honestly.
    “Hmmm,” he murmured. She could see his inebriated mind slowly clicking over. “Would you be interested in doing a test sometime? We could shoot whatever you wanted; head shots, body shots, whatever.”
    “Oh, no. I have plenty of shots in my book at the moment. Thanks anyway.” Makedde pushed back her chair. “I’ve gotta get goin’, uh…early shoot tomorrow morning.”
    “Want to go out sometime? Maybe—”
    She swiftly cut him off. “I’m involved with someone.”
    Myself.
    “We could just go for coffee or something,” he persisted.
    She was up and walking away as she repeated, “No thanks.”
    From behind her she heard him say, “I didn’t kill the stupid bitch, for fuck’s sake.”
    She shot him a hard look over one shoulder, and hissed, “I’m leaving.” She forced her way through the crowd. Behind her, she could hear Tony shouting, “I’m sorry, Macayly! I didn’t mean that! I’m sorry!”
    “It’s Makedde , you jerk,” she mumbled, pushing past the mass of dancing bodies. “Ma—kay—dee.”
    She hurled herself out the front doors and into the crisp, night air. The cool wind whipping down the street was a welcome relief. She shook her head and hailed the nearest taxi. In under an hour, Tony had managed to insert himself at the top of Makedde’s growing “arsehole list”.
    Just after 2 a.m. the taxi deposited Makedde outside the block of flats on Campbell Parade. She tipped the driver and dragged herself out of the taxi, still brooding over Tony’s flippant comment. She was too tired to think straight. Whether it was jet lag or the hour, she was running out of battery strength like an old toy winding down.
    She noted the ugly odour of stale smoke hanging in her hair as she opened the door from the street and stepped inside. Wearily, she stomped up the steps, intent on the thought of her warm bed.
    Wait—I didn’t leave the lights