M. Arlidge - Little Boy Blue

The crop bit into her back, jolting her from her thoughts. This had always been the way – the endorphins flooding through her as she concentrated on the rhythm and power of her beating. She needed the release now more than ever on this darkest of days. Which is why, as Angelique raised her crop a second time, Helen shut her eyes and uttered a single word.

‘Harder.’

Her boots clicked on the stone cobbles, as she walked away down the dark street. It was deserted and deathly quiet tonight. This was one of the reasons why Helen used Angelique – her flat was part of a converted warehouse down by the docks, away from the hustle and bustle of Southampton. It was discreet and off the beaten track, which is how Helen liked it.

Her session had been punishing, but still she couldn’t settle. Usually she would have walked away feeling lighter, happier, more optimistic. Tonight though, she felt a weight on her conscience. Not simply because of what she had endured today, but because there was one task she had still to perform.

She had known it the moment she’d seen Jake’s lifeless face, but her conversation with Charlie had brought it home to her. Callous as it was, she had to sever her connection with Jake for good. She told herself that by so doing she was just freeing herself to pursue his killer, but it still made her feel disloyal and unworthy, as if she was somehow embarrassed of her relationship with him.

Unzipping her jacket pocket, she pulled the battered Samsung phone from inside. She had bought it from a market stall in Portsmouth. It had clearly been stolen, but Helen didn’t quibble, handing over the cash, before heading off in search of another stall that sold knock-off SIM cards. Putting them together, she had an unregistered phone from which she could send messages that would never be traced back to her. She had her own phone of course for everyday stuff, but this phone was purely used to arrange her appointments. First with Jake Elder, later with another dominator, Max Paine, and then finally with Angelique. A discreet way to organize a side of her life that Helen wanted to remain hidden.

Helen knew this number would come up at some point in the investigation, as the team investigated Jake’s past communications. She had messaged Jake regularly in the old days, setting up their meetings, confirming times and occasionally cancelling their sessions when duty called. Recently their communications had been much more sporadic, but he had messaged her a few months back. It was innocuous enough – a request to resume their professional relationship – and Helen had been kindness personified in knocking him back. Still, it would be on the list of numbers to check out. Her team obviously couldn’t place her at the club and there would be precious little to flag her number as one of particular interest, given how irregularly she’d used it. But it was just possible that they might try to trace its location and that could lead to some uncomfortable questions, as she often had the phone on her at work.

This was why this part of her life had to end tonight. Once more she had cleaved close to someone only for them to meet a horrifying end. On nights like these Helen genuinely wondered if she was cursed. Everyone she had feelings for, everyone she formed any sort of relationship with, ended up suffering for it. Her sister, Marianne, and her nephew, Robert, had suffered, as had her former lover, Mark Fuller, and now Jake. Was she the connecting factor here? Was it somehow her fault that these people should endure the horrors they did?

Helen suddenly realized she had come to a halt, lost in her own thoughts. Cursing herself for her self-indulgence, she scoured the surface of the road. She soon found what she was looking for and marching across to the gutter, pulled both the battery and the SIM card from the body of the phone. She checked the street was clear once more, then dropped all three parts down the drain.

And that was it. Brutal, short and definitive. The last rites on her relationship with Jake Elder.

Whose bright idea was it to put mirrors in the lifts?

Charlie was already late for work – she’d forgotten it was Jessica’s ‘Show and Tell’ this morning – and her mood was not improved by the sight of herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Her clothes were ok, if a little tight – it was her face that depressed her. The lighting wasn’t great in the lift but, even so, she looked washed out, with deep, dark rings under the eyes. She wasn’t the greatest advert for being a working mum.

The doors pinged open and, turning her back on the accusing mirrors, Charlie strode down the corridor to the incident room. She paused by the door to smooth her hair down, then pushed through it with an energy she didn’t feel. Her late-night stakeout had yielded nothing – Jackson had stayed put all night – and she was paying the price for it this morning. The only consolation – if you could call it that – was that Sanderson had lucked out too.

Charlie headed straight to her desk. As she approached it, however, she slowed her pace, surprised by the sight of two Media Liaison Officers talking to Helen in her office. They only turned up when something important had happened, and looking around the office Charlie noticed that there was something different in everyone’s expression today. They looked optimistic and energized.

Waving Edwards over, she cut to the chase.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Got the DNA samples back this morning.’

‘And?’

‘We got a match. Paul Jackson. He’s the manager at -’

‘Santander in Shirley. I know, I spoke to him yesterday.’

‘There you go then.’

Edwards turned away, but Charlie stopped him.

‘Someone should have called me.’

‘I did, but it rang out. Then I thought I’d tell you when you came in – we were expecting you in a bit earlier.’

‘I got held up,’ Charlie responded tersely. ‘Anyway, what are we waiting for, we should be down there -’

‘It’s under control,’ Edwards replied crisply.

Charlie was already scanning the office. She had a nasty feeling where this was going and wasn’t surprised in the least when Edwards concluded:

‘DS Sanderson has just gone to pick him up.’

He knew it was coming, but still it was much more brutal than he’d expected.

He was in the middle of a divisional meeting – the heads of all the local branches gathered together for tea and biscuits. These sessions always ran over time, the various managers positioning themselves for promotion, while sharing tales from the coalface, but he still enjoyed them. In this environment, he was king. He liked the deference, the banter and, if he was honest, the power.

The meeting room was glass-walled, so everybody saw them coming. His PA – the redoubtable Mrs Allen – was trying hard to look professional – but in reality just looked shit scared, saying nothing as she opened the meeting room door and ushered the tall, serious-looking woman inside. He didn’t recognize her – she wasn’t the one who’d come yesterday – but he could tell by the way she carried herself that she was a police officer. A fact she now confirmed by presenting her warrant card to him.

‘DS Sanderson. I wonder if I could have a word, Mr Jackson,’ she said, her voice quiet, but clear.

‘Of course. My office is just -’

‘I think it would be best if you accompany me to the station.’

The walk of shame through the office was quick, but felt interminable – the eyes of every staff member glued to him. Colleagues shuffled out of the way in silence and moments later he found himself striding down the brightly lit corridor towards the exit.