Little Boy Blue - [7]

. Her sessions with Jake had always been private, discreet and special – a space where she could reveal her historic wounds and confront her feelings of guilt. If she opened herself up like that she’d be exposed, humiliated and in all likelihood taken off the case – and that was something that Helen was not prepared to countenance.

‘I’m fine. It was just a shock,’ Helen replied, straightening up.

‘Not a pretty sight, was he? If you want me to handle this -’

‘It’s ok. I’m good now,’ Helen said quickly. ‘Let’s get it over with, shall we?’

Her jaunty tone sounded forced, but Charlie didn’t comment. So swallowing down another wave of nausea and putting her best foot forward, Helen walked back towards the club’s gaping entrance to perform her grim duty.

11

He slipped into bed and turned his eyes to the wall. He could tell Sally wasn’t asleep – though she was pretending to be – and he wondered what she was thinking. Could she hear his heart beating sixteen to the dozen? Could she sense his excitement?

He had taken his time returning home, hoping that he would be in a calmer state of mind on his arrival. But the adrenaline coursed through him still, and even though he had taken a long shower, he felt sure the stain of the night remained on him.

He sometimes had the sense that Sally wanted to say something, as they lay together. That his increasing absence from her life had been noted, that her patience was reaching breaking point. If he was honest, he wanted her to ask. Not just so that he could apologize and make amends for the cruel way he’d treated her. But also because he wanted to explain – to make sense of his wanton, self-destructive actions. He was playing with fire, risking everything and everyone he held dear, and he wanted to share this burden with her.

Should he seize the initiative? Tell her himself? As soon as the thought entered his head, he dismissed it. Where would he begin? What would he say? Sally was no doormat, she was an intelligent and spirited woman – why couldn’t she tackle him on it, demanding an explanation for his actions?

She wouldn’t, of course. Theirs was a marriage sustained by silence now. So nothing would change, while with each passing night everything changed. He was slowly becoming a different person – someone new and unfamiliar. It thrilled and scared him in equal measure, such was the strength of his obsession. And this was why he wanted someone to talk to him, challenge him. Because he knew instinctively that, left to his own devices, he would never, ever stop.

12

It was only 7 a.m. but Emilia Garanita had been working for several hours. Journalists are often up at odd times, but crime reporters have it particularly bad – murderers, rapists and kidnappers having no respect for those who have to chronicle their deeds. Emilia was used to it and, if she was honest, rather enjoyed her lifestyle. She loved her bed as much as the next girl, but the buzz of her mobile phone in the middle of the night always presaged something exciting, something new.

She had been called at 4 a.m. by PC Alan Stark, a tame officer who was happy to accept cash payments for information. There had been a murder during the night – an unusual one – which is why Emilia was now ensconced with him in a transport café near the Torture Rooms, huddled over a bacon sandwich.

‘Did you see the body?’ Emilia asked, cutting to the chase.

‘No, but I spoke to a mate in SOC and they gave me chapter and verse. This place is something else.’

‘Meaning?’

‘It’s a fetish club and tonight was their “Annual Ball”. So they were all out in force – poofs, dykes, gimps, devils, angels -’

‘Did you recognize anyone?’

‘I’m sure they were all there,’ he laughed grimly. ‘City councillors, BBC folk, vicars, but you can bet your bottom dollar they scarpered before CID turned up. Those that did hang about were wearing masks, helmets and such, so -’

‘Did you pick up anyone with a criminal record?’

‘We’re still processing them.’

‘And who owns it – the club, I mean?’

‘Pass. But the manager – if that’s what you can call him – is talking to CID now. Sean Blakeman.’

Emilia wrote the name down.

‘Tell me about the victim.’

‘White guy in his early forties. Tied to a chair, before having his head taped up from chin to crown. I’m guessing the poor bastard suffocated.’

He continued to describe the scene, giving what details he could about the victim and the clientele of the club. Emilia was only half listening, writing his testimony down in her crisp, efficient shorthand, her mind already spooling forward to the story she would write. Sex, murder, torture, titillation – this case was kinky with a capital ‘K’ and would go down a storm with her editor. It had everything going for it and the icing on the cake was Stark’s confirmation that the case would be handled by Emilia’s erstwhile friend, now nemesis.

DI Helen Grace.

13

Helen walked briskly along the corridor, her heart sinking lower with each step. She’d been up all night, heading straight from the crime scene back to the incident room. She’d secretly hoped that the team might have made some quick progress, but in reality she knew it was too early for that – the peculiarities of this crime meant that they would have to be patient. Eyewitness reports were thin on the ground, and with no surveillance systems in the club they would have to garner amateur shots from mobile phones and piece together some kind of timeline. This might yield something and, of course, Meredith was still working her team hard on the forensics. Meanwhile, there was one very valuable piece of evidence that was as yet untapped – Jake’s body.