M. Arlidge - Little Boy Blue

Sally now spotted a reporter she recognized from the local news heading up the road towards her.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t want to talk to anyone,’ Sally said, finally finding her voice.

‘You’re going to have to talk to someone -’

‘Please get off my property,’ said Sally, cutting her short. She opened the door and bustled inside.

She turned to find the woman had a toe on the doorstep – where do these people get their cheek? – and slammed the door shut quickly. She hurried out of the hall, taking refuge in the kitchen, but before she’d even sat down, the doorbell rang. This time she heard a male voice, imploring her to answer. She said nothing in response. There was no way she could talk to anyone. She had the boys to think about and, besides, what could she tell them? She didn’t have any information about why Paul had been arrested, what was happening or when he’d be back.

The only thing she did know was that their happy, ordered life was about to implode.

He grasped the metal bar and pulled down hard. The weights at the other end of the rope shot up and he held them in that position, his broad shoulder muscles taking the strain. He counted down the seconds in his head – thirty, twenty, ten – before easing the weights back down to base. They touched down without making a noise, bringing a smile to his face. It was stupid to revel in the finesse he brought to the job, but not everyone could do it, so why not?

Rising from the bench, Max Paine surveyed the scene around him. This was by far the most expensive gym in Southampton – complete with floor-to-ceiling views of the Solent – but you got what you paid for. It had the latest equipment, was quiet and full of professional gym bunnies. A particularly well-toned pair of girls wandered past now as he towelled himself down and he took the opportunity to scrutinize their tight backsides. They pretended to be deep in conversation, but they knew he was checking them out and loved it. Max made a mental note to say a few words to them before he left.

He was still following their progress towards the treadmills, when his attention was caught by one of the large plasma screens on the wall. There were TVs everywhere in this place, showing sports, lifestyle programmes, soaps and of course the ubiquitous game shows that clogged up daytime viewing. He generally ignored them – he was here to exercise – but this time what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

The news was playing, showing a press conference with Hampshire Police. Max didn’t recognize the guy leading it and his headphones were switched off, so he couldn’t hear what he was saying – but his eye was drawn to the headline bar at the bottom of the screen: TORTURE ROOMS MURDER. Dropping his towel on the bench, he hurried over to the screen, tapping his console to tune into the relevant channel.

‘… in custody. We won’t be releasing a name, but we can confirm that he is a male in his forties who lives locally.’

Max Paine listened intently. He had been to the Torture Rooms on numerous occasions and had been scouring local media for updates since he’d heard the news of Jake Elder’s death.

‘That’s all I’m prepared to say for now. As you know, Detective Inspector Grace is leading the investigation, and I’m very confident that we’ll make swift progress in this case. There is no need for members of the public to be alarmed as we are currently treating this as a one-off incident.’

Max stood still. Had he been hearing things? No, the guy had definitely said DI Grace. Suddenly he laughed out loud, provoking startled looks from the gym bunnies nearby. This was too good to be true. No, this was priceless .

All thoughts of his workout were now long gone. As he strode towards the exit, his mind turned on the possibilities this surprising development threw up. This was an opportunity to make some serious money. What he had to say would pay for his expensive gym membership and a lot more besides.

‘So this was your third visit to the Torture Rooms?’

‘Yes,’ Jackson replied, without choosing to elaborate further.

Helen nodded, but didn’t push it. He had clearly never spoken about this to anyone before.

‘What time would you say you got there?’

‘Around eight p.m.’

‘Did you go with someone else or -’

‘I was alone.’

The way he said it made Helen think he had been ‘alone’ for some time.

‘This is not something I’ve shared,’ he continued. ‘It’s not something I want shared. It’s been a process for me.’

‘You’d told Jake Elder though.’

Jackson looked up sharply at Helen, then lowered his gaze once more.

‘How did you first encounter him?’

‘I went to a Munch. They’re -’

‘We know what they are. Go on.’

‘Well, I’d looked at some things online. I suppose I’ve always been attracted to men. But I’ve never told anyone, never done anything about it until recently. Maybe it’s because the kids are older, because I’ve got more time on my hands. Don’t get me wrong, I love my wife, but there’s a part of me that’s just…’

Helen nodded, but said nothing. There was more coming.

‘I liked the S &M stuff. Can’t say why. I’ve got a stressful job, a busy life… but maybe that’s just excuses.’

‘And Mr Elder… ?’

‘Someone at the Munch mentioned him, so I got in touch. We had a session at his flat and well… that was pretty much it for me.’

Helen nodded. It was so odd to hear him articulating feelings she had felt, but she kept a poker face. She wanted more than this discursive preamble.

‘I went as often as I could. Spent I don’t know how much money. After a while, it became unsustainable so I thought I’d venture on to the scene to see if I could find some more… companionship.’

‘That must have been risky,’ Charlie interjected.

‘Of course it was, given my position… but there’s a kind of unwritten rule about these places. If you see someone you know – someone you recognize from normal life – well, you never mention it.’

‘What happens on tour stays on tour.’

‘Something like that.’

‘And what about Tuesday night?’ Helen said, inserting herself into the conversation once more. ‘When and how did you meet Jake Elder?’

‘I saw him on the dance floor. He looked bored. He looked… sad.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘What happened next?’

‘I beckoned to him,’ Jackson replied cautiously. ‘I beckoned to him and he came over. I suggested… I suggested he might like to go somewhere with me.’

‘Did you touch him?’

‘A little. Just to get him in the mood…’

‘Why was your saliva on his cheek and ear?’

Jackson sighed, fidgeting.

‘Why, Paul?’

‘Because I sucked his ear.’

‘Ok.’

‘I whispered a suggestion of what we might do and then… then I sucked his earlobe. I don’t know why I did it…’

‘Then what?’ Helen persisted. She could sense Jackson retreating inwards. These confessions were taking their toll.

‘He turned me down.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘You’d have to ask him that,’ Jackson laughed bitterly, earning a reproachful look from his lawyer. ‘He said it was because he didn’t want to blur the lines between the personal and professional, but who knows?’

Helen eyed Jackson carefully. It was a convenient excuse and Jake wasn’t around to contradict him. Was his bitterness just an act?

‘Did you go into the rooms at the back of the club?’

‘No.’

‘So we definitely won’t find any traces of you – hairs, skin, prints – in those rooms?’