Little Boy Blue - [15]

‘Your killer could have used them before perhaps, practised at home -’

‘But he’d have to have known exactly which hole he’d use. And unless he correctly guessed the diameter of the victim’s ankle and the chair leg then -’

‘Exactly, so let’s assume they’re brand new. That might narrow the field down a little?’ Meredith offered hopefully.

Thanking her, Helen pulled her mobile from her pocket and headed on her way, speed-dialling Edwards back at base.

By the time she left the building, he’d already pinged her his list of local bondage outlets. And by the time she was on her bike, they’d divided up the list – split four ways between Edwards, Helen and a couple of broad-minded DCs.

It was time to take a walk on the wild side.

23

Sanderson sat perfectly still, as the brush caressed her cheek. As soon as Helen had asked her to lead the undercover work, her mind had been turning on how best to ingratiate herself into a scene that was utterly alien to her. She was a conventional, middle-of-the-road girl and now she wondered if she was a little bit ‘vanilla’ for the role. She was no prude, but humiliation, submission, restraint and punishment had never been part of her personal lexicon and she knew she would be on a steep learning curve. She had spent most of the day studying the scene, picking out the latest trends in the fetish world, while creating a new identity and personal history to carry into the operation.

She’d already coloured her hair and purchased the necessary bondage gear and now her good friend Hannah P. was applying the finishing touches to her face. Face painting and body art seemed to be a big part of the ‘peacocking’ that characterized a world fuelled by fantasy and role-playing. If she was honest with herself, it made her feel more relaxed, concealing her true identity beneath brightly coloured paint. If she could forget herself, she could more easily become her alter ego. And that was crucial for the task that lay ahead.

It was not just that she wanted to appear convincing to elicit information from those attending the ‘Munch’ this evening. It was also a question of safety. Their perpetrator had already proven to be without mercy or scruple, proficient and artful in taking another’s life. Sanderson was not easily scared, she could handle herself, but she knew she was out of her comfort zone here. This was the sharp end of the job.

Hannah had finished her work and now presented Sanderson with a mirror. Her older, more bohemian twin stared back at her. It was a good look and would serve her well tonight. Now was not a time for trepidation. If she could fashion a break in the case, it would play well with Helen. She’d always looked up to her superior, admiring her dedication, professionalism and bravery, and had felt well placed to be her deputy. Now, though, there was competition and if she was honest she feared that the personal connection between Helen and Charlie would hold her back. The only way to counter this was to prove to her boss that she was first among equals, the officer best suited to be her deputy. Which was why tonight was so important.

Thanking Hannah P. once more, Sanderson swept up her phone and keys, before sliding her baton carefully into her suit. She was ready and there was no point putting it off. It was now or never.

24

Paul Jackson was between meetings and resentful of Charlie’s intrusion. He was a manager at the Shirley branch of Santander – a position of some responsibility – and was clearly embarrassed by her presence. His eyes kept flicking to the clock and his answers – when they came – were brief.

‘So just to confirm, that phone number – 07768 057374 – belongs to you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you had your phone with you last night?’

‘I think so.’

‘Can I ask where you were? Between the hours of ten p.m. and two a.m.?’

There was a moment’s pause, before Jackson responded:

‘I went for a drink after work. Watched the football. Then went home.’

‘Oh, right, who was playing?’

Another slight hesitation, then:

‘Saints versus Watford. Easy win.’

‘And which pub was this?’

‘The Saracen’s Head, near the hospital.’

‘Bit out of your way, isn’t it?’

‘There are pubs closer to the office, but the beer’s better there, so…’

‘And you went with colleagues?’

‘No, I went by myself.’

‘Right,’ Charlie replied, making a note on her pad. ‘And what time would you say you got home?’

‘A little after midnight, I think.’

‘That’s pretty late for a school night, isn’t it?’ Charlie replied, smiling.

For the first time, Jackson seemed lost for words.

‘Is it usual for you to be out that late?’ she continued.

‘Not really, but it’s not one of those pubs where they kick you out after last orders.’

‘Lock in, was it?’

‘Something like that.’

‘I didn’t realize they did those on Tuesday nights.’

She smiled once more, but Jackson only gave her a tight grimace. He was nervous and uncomfortable and his answers were a little too stiff for Charlie’s liking. There could be a perfectly innocent explanation – most people tensed up as soon as they saw a warrant card – but Charlie suspected that was not the case here. Fortunately there was one surefire way to find out.