M. Arlidge - Little Boy Blue

‘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.

‘Your phone number has come up in our investigation into the death of Jake Elder. His body was found in the early hours of this morning at a nightclub in Banister Park. You probably heard the headlines on the radio.’

Jackson nodded, but said nothing.

‘A series of messages were sent to Mr Elder from your phone. Snapchat messages organizing appointments with him -’

‘I didn’t send any messages.’

‘So you don’t know Mr Elder?’

Jackson shook his head.

‘Have you ever visited the Torture Rooms?’

‘No,’ Jackson replied quickly. ‘I’d never even heard of them until this morning.’

‘And you’ve never used Mr Elder’s services?’

‘Of course not.’

‘No contact with him whatsoever?’

‘No.’

‘Ok then, I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll get out of your hair…’

Charlie could see the relief on Jackson’s face.

‘But, before I do, I would be grateful if you’d consent to provide a DNA sample. Just so we can strike your name off our list.’

‘Clearly my phone has been cloned or someone at your end has cocked up. As I’ve said, I didn’t know the guy, I’ve never met him -’

‘I know this seems intrusive, but as we’ve established that you were out last night and were in the vicinity of the club in question, we’ll need to eliminate you from our enquiries and, believe me, this is the quickest way to do that.’

‘I’m not sure. I’m already late for my next meet-’

‘It is your right to refuse, but we could later compel you to provide one. So what do you say? I’ve got a swab here. It will only take a few hours to process and that will be that. All being well, I’ll never darken your door again.’

Keeping up her breezy patter, Charlie pulled the swab tube from her bag. Jackson stared at her, saying nothing. Before, he looked angry, now he just looked empty. He seemed determined to resist, to try and pretend this wasn’t happening, but Charlie had done this many times before and knew that insistent good humour often overcomes the fiercest of objections. If you give them nothing to argue with, they have nowhere to run.

Which is why, despite his unmistakable hostility, Paul Jackson now opened his mouth. Slipping the swab in, Charlie extracted the necessary skin cells and sealed them in the clear plastic tube.

‘That’s me done. Thank you for your time,’ she said, shaking Paul Jackson’s hand and heading for the door.

Moments later, Charlie was out of the foyer and walking fast away from the building. As she went, she chanced a look back. Her suspicions had been raised by her interview and she wasn’t surprised by what she now saw.

Paul Jackson staring right back at her through the window.

‘I’m not a snooper, but when it’s paraded under your nose, what can you do?’

DC McAndrew sighed inwardly, but smiled as she took the cup of tea being offered to her. She had been knocking on doors all afternoon, working her way up and down Jake Elder’s street. Elder was not a man who got involved in community events and he was seldom seen by other homeowners during the day. So far she had amassed precious little information about Elder or his activities. Now she expected she was about to get rather too much.

She was seated in Maurice Finnan’s front room. His wife had passed away some years back but the ‘good room’ was still spick and span, in keeping with the standards the dear departed Geraldine had laid down. Pristine sofas, startling white lace, a faux Persian rug – the whole room had the air of a museum piece. It was the sort of set-up that made the naturally clumsy McAndrew nervous. A tea spillage here might herald the apocalypse.

‘They were coming and going all hours and they weren’t social calls, if you get my drift,’ he insinuated knowingly.

‘I see. Anyone in particular catch your eye?’

‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘They don’t come dressed up, you know? They’re just ordinary-looking people – probably lawyers, accountants and the like. I imagine that kind of thing always attracts people with a guilty conscience.’

He winked at McAndrew, clearly pleased to have a young female to perform to. McAndrew sensed that Maurice was probably lonely and reminded herself not to judge him too harshly.

‘Ever see Mr Elder with any boyfriends? Girlfriends?’

‘Confused, was he?’ Maurice retorted. ‘Not really. There was a fella a few months back – tall chap, with short, chestnut hair, barrel-chested – but he didn’t last long. Funny thing is I seldom saw him – this Jake, I mean – just his visitors going in and out. Quiet as you like during the day, but as soon as darkness fell you’d see them traipsing up to his front door. Three, four, sometimes more in a night. Say what you like about him, he was a hard worker.’

McAndrew smiled and this time it was genuine – despite his curtain twitching, verbosity and fastidiousness, Maurice had a nice sense of humour.

‘I never worked out exactly what he did for them, though if you’re as old as me you can hazard a guess. It was all very discreet, but they always came and went on the hour, see? Doesn’t take much imagination, does it?’

McAndrew was about to butt in, but Maurice beat her to the punch once more.

‘Each to their own, that’s always been my motto. But we’ve all got to live around here, haven’t we? Kids, pensioners, mums and dads. And you don’t know who a place like that will attract. Then there’s the house prices. Soon as it becomes common knowledge that you’ve got a brothel next door – Sorry, love, am I boring you?’

McAndrew realized her gaze had drifted out of the window towards Jake’s flat. Snapping out of it, she turned to Maurice once more.

‘Not at all.’

‘You’re very sweet, but you’re not a good liar and I know you’re busy. Now I did jot down a few number plates in case the police should ever get around to doing anything about it, let me see if I can find them…’

He hurried over to the dresser. McAndrew thanked him, grateful that her time here hadn’t been completely wasted. It was tough doing door-to-doors – ‘hit-and-hopes’ – when you knew the real police work was going on elsewhere.

‘Right, let’s start at the beginning – this was from March 2013,’ Maurice said cheerfully, seating himself and opening his large notebook at the first page.

McAndrew sighed again. Perhaps Maurice had important information for the investigation. Perhaps he didn’t. Either way, one thing was clear – she was going to be here for a long, long time.

‘Don’t tell me. Let me guess. I’ve got a talent for these things.’

Helen said nothing. She had just spent a dispiriting couple of hours trawling industrial estates and wasn’t in the mood for games. Two of the businesses on her section of the list had gone into liquidation, another had refused to talk without a lawyer and two more were dead ends, with nothing in their recent transactions that fitted the bill.

‘I look at you and I see… nipple clamps, bondage mitts and perhaps a cock cage for that special someone in your life,’ the bearded man drawled.