pretended to lead a ‘normal’ life at a plush home in Hounslow, Middlesex, 30 miles away from their sordid vice world in Kensington. Margi operated a similar sex-for-sale racket to Offord from a flat in nearby Cornwall Gardens, Kensington, advertising her services as Miss Whiplash and charging wealthy clients £100 an hour to be tortured on a rack till they bled or strung up against a wall and thrashed with a leather whip.
I have to say, Margi did take a shine to me, even though she was a lesbian. She used to sit with her legs apart showing her crotch or even playing with herself in front of me and saying, ‘Come on, Blex, when areyou going to fuck me?’ No chance of that. I wouldn’t have put my dick near Margi Dunbar if she was the last woman on earth.
For some bizarre reason, two detective inspectors were allocated to this murder, which was very unusual and was to be very destructive to the course of the investigation. It meant each DI had his own agenda, each having their own ideas as to who had done it. It was a divisive squad right from the start, causing problems we could have well done without. I was assigned to one DI, with some friends of mine, and the other one was a bit of an old sweat who’d been around a bit and had all his old hands on his team.
I suspected right from the start they were barking up the wrong tree, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell them. They had decided to go off at a tangent and investigate some people who, as it transpired, had fuck all to do with the murder.
Christine Offord’s throat had been crushed against a wall with the iron bar causing excruciating pain and a horrible violent death. Then she had been tied up and put in the bath. Pretty horrendous all round. I decided the only sensible place to start my investigations was at the beginning and work systematically through every scrap of evidence we could dig up.
So who was the last person to see Christine alive? Margi Dunbar pretty soon became a key suspect and was arrested for questioning. She really was as weird as they come. She was in possession of some drugs which might have been partly responsible for her condition. But she was definitely not of this planet. The two DIs tried to get some sense out of her, someclues or a confession, but with little or no success. As I was at the heart of the inquiry, I was asked to go in to question her. I didn’t get very far either. Margi was right off the wall! But the interview served to reaffirm my suspicions that she had something to do with Christine’s death. We had to release her after we’d held her in custody for the maximum amount of time and we took her back home.
Margi used to talk filth all the time, just for the sake of it. She was obsessed with sex. When I’d got her back to the house, she started to come on really strong, flashing her fanny and asking me to lick it and saying things like, ‘Come on, you dirty copper, come and stick it up here, you know you want it.’ Then she would start playing with herself.
We were once in her garage when she started picking up things and using them as sex toys, dildos. I couldn’t believe my eyes or ears. I thought, What is going on here? Lesbians, prostitutes, nymphos … what’s it all about? This was London’s vice world at its seediest.
We had come to a bit of a standstill in the investigation so I decided to spend a long time interviewing Margi’s ‘maid’, who showed punters in and out of her torture chamber. I use the term ‘maid’ advisedly – ‘minder’ would have been more appropriate.
She was in fact a he, a huge man called Tony. He was a man mountain but he was gay and a bit of a teddy bear, as soft as you can come across, which was just as well seeing the size of him. He could move some furniture. I found out from him that there were two people unaccounted for in our enquiries so far, two blokes who had been on the premises on the lastoccasion before Christine had been found dead. I was deeply
I have to say, Margi did take a shine to me, even though she was a lesbian. She used to sit with her legs apart showing her crotch or even playing with herself in front of me and saying, ‘Come on, Blex, when areyou going to fuck me?’ No chance of that. I wouldn’t have put my dick near Margi Dunbar if she was the last woman on earth.
For some bizarre reason, two detective inspectors were allocated to this murder, which was very unusual and was to be very destructive to the course of the investigation. It meant each DI had his own agenda, each having their own ideas as to who had done it. It was a divisive squad right from the start, causing problems we could have well done without. I was assigned to one DI, with some friends of mine, and the other one was a bit of an old sweat who’d been around a bit and had all his old hands on his team.
I suspected right from the start they were barking up the wrong tree, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell them. They had decided to go off at a tangent and investigate some people who, as it transpired, had fuck all to do with the murder.
Christine Offord’s throat had been crushed against a wall with the iron bar causing excruciating pain and a horrible violent death. Then she had been tied up and put in the bath. Pretty horrendous all round. I decided the only sensible place to start my investigations was at the beginning and work systematically through every scrap of evidence we could dig up.
So who was the last person to see Christine alive? Margi Dunbar pretty soon became a key suspect and was arrested for questioning. She really was as weird as they come. She was in possession of some drugs which might have been partly responsible for her condition. But she was definitely not of this planet. The two DIs tried to get some sense out of her, someclues or a confession, but with little or no success. As I was at the heart of the inquiry, I was asked to go in to question her. I didn’t get very far either. Margi was right off the wall! But the interview served to reaffirm my suspicions that she had something to do with Christine’s death. We had to release her after we’d held her in custody for the maximum amount of time and we took her back home.
Margi used to talk filth all the time, just for the sake of it. She was obsessed with sex. When I’d got her back to the house, she started to come on really strong, flashing her fanny and asking me to lick it and saying things like, ‘Come on, you dirty copper, come and stick it up here, you know you want it.’ Then she would start playing with herself.
We were once in her garage when she started picking up things and using them as sex toys, dildos. I couldn’t believe my eyes or ears. I thought, What is going on here? Lesbians, prostitutes, nymphos … what’s it all about? This was London’s vice world at its seediest.
We had come to a bit of a standstill in the investigation so I decided to spend a long time interviewing Margi’s ‘maid’, who showed punters in and out of her torture chamber. I use the term ‘maid’ advisedly – ‘minder’ would have been more appropriate.
She was in fact a he, a huge man called Tony. He was a man mountain but he was gay and a bit of a teddy bear, as soft as you can come across, which was just as well seeing the size of him. He could move some furniture. I found out from him that there were two people unaccounted for in our enquiries so far, two blokes who had been on the premises on the lastoccasion before Christine had been found dead. I was deeply
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