M. Arlidge - Little Boy Blue

‘Fuck you.’

‘Careful now, Dennis, mother might hear…’

Dennis shot her another venomous look, but said nothing. The sound of clinking crockery drifted in from the kitchen.

‘I think you’re rather more interested in protecting yourself. You can dress it up as suspicion of the police, but I think it’s more about keeping your little secret safe. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that and I have no desire to make your life difficult so -’

‘How did you find me?’ he interrupted.

‘The Brother Hood website. IP address of the site runner is registered to this address. Electoral register has a Geraldine and Dennis Fitzgerald living here. It took one of our data officers less than five minutes to locate you. Hardly a secret society.’

‘And are you harassing the others too?’

‘No, just you, Dennis. Because you have something I want.’

Helen took the photo of Michael Parker from her bag and handed it to him.

‘Do you recognize this person?’

Dennis took a cursory look at it, then handed it back.

‘Look at it, Dennis. Or I swear I’ll arrest you for obstructing police business.’

As Helen raised her voice, the clinking of crockery in the kitchen stopped. Helen could see small beads of sweat appearing on Dennis’s forehead.

‘We know he’s got form, Dennis. Was this the person who hurt you? Is this “Samantha”?’

Dennis said nothing, but Helen noted that his hand was shaking slightly as he held the photo.

‘If you’re worried for your safety -’

‘It’s not that -’

‘Or concerned about giving up a fellow member of your community, then I’m happy to make this an anonymous tipoff. But a young man has died here and we need to talk to anyone who might be connected.’

Dennis’s mother was on the move now, so he spoke quickly.

‘I don’t know where she lives. But, yes, it’s her.’

‘You never went to her flat, a place of work?’

‘She got in touch over the internet, we only ever met in neutral spaces. Clubs, hotel rooms -’

‘Come on, Dennis,’ Helen cajoled, ‘give me something here.’

‘But I do know that she sometimes performs at The End of the Road.’

Helen breathed out, relieved. The End of the Road was a gay bar in central Southampton that specialized in drag acts and cabaret.

‘She’s a performer?’

‘Sometimes she works behind the bar, other times she performs. Calls herself “Pandora” when she’s on stage. To be honest, I’ve avoided her since… you know… but she probably still works there.’

‘And do you think she could be responsible for Jake Elder’s death? Does she have it in her?’

Dennis thought for a moment then gave her back the photo.

‘Yes, I do.’

Nodding, Helen took the photo from him. Right on cue, his mother appeared in the doorway. Thanking Dennis for his help and reassuring the curious Geraldine that there was nothing to worry about, Helen took her leave.

As she walked briskly to her bike, her eyes remained glued to the photo still in her hand.

Was this the face of their killer?

‘There, that didn’t hurt now, did it?’

Her voice was soft, but had an edge. Max could tell she was excited by what they’d done. And what was still to come.

He had stripped for her – much to her evident pleasure – then slipped on the Zentai suit that she’d brought with her. It was a snug fit – she was clearly far more experienced than she let on – and it covered him from head to toe. Max hadn’t done much Zentai before, the oriental stuff wasn’t really his bag, but he liked the way he looked. He was like a kind of depraved Spiderman, every inch of him covered in black spandex.

It was an odd thing to be inside. You could still hear, but the sound was muffled, you could still see, but everything was a little darker. You felt different, not like yourself, the strangeness of the situation underlined for Max by the fact that he was the one taking the beating, rather than handing it out. This was not the norm and given recent events he had been tempted to refuse. But she seemed in control of herself and the blows she was giving him were mild. Besides, he wasn’t inclined to believe the fevered tabloid speculation about there being a killer at large in their community. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if Jake Elder’s death turned out to be an accident with the press turning it into something it wasn’t.

Max suddenly realized that she had stopped. He was still bent over the wooden horse and, straightening up, he saw that she had retreated to her little bag of tricks once more.

‘Hog ties,’ she said, holding up the leather and chain contraption triumphantly. ‘I think we’ve both had enough of the nursery slopes, don’t you?’

Max crossed the room to where she was now pointing.

‘No more talking from now on. Just do as I say,’ she ordered.

Max nodded, enjoying the game.

‘Get down on your knees. Good, now arms behind your back.’

Max did as he was told. He felt her secure his ankles in the leather restraints then, pulling his arms sharply down and back until his fingers were almost touching the upturned soles of his feet, she secured those too. All four restraints – two wrists, two ankles – were joined by a series of short, metal chains, making it virtually impossible for him to move.

He was on his knees now and utterly at her mercy. His mouth was dry and he could feel his heart beating fast. She’d said she was into Edge Play – he suspected he was about to find out exactly what her version of that was. He heard her move towards him and seconds later she lowered herself to his level. Her cheek brushed against his and he couldn’t conceal his growing excitement when she finally whispered:

‘Let the games begin.’

Paul Jackson stepped into the garage and closed the connecting door firmly behind him. He had tried to talk to Sally three times now. The first couple of times she’d just shut the bedroom door on him, but on the third she’d finally found her voice – telling him to pack his bags and go.

He hadn’t been expecting that. He had thought she would let him stay, as they tried to work out what to do next. He’d wrongly assumed that that was partly why the boys were being looked after elsewhere – to give them time to talk.

But she didn’t want him in the house. In fact she barely seemed able or willing to look at him. The last twenty-four hours had been beyond awful but this was the straw that finally broke the camel’s back and he’d sobbed as he’d begged for her forgiveness. He loved her – in spite of everything he’d done, he loved her now more than ever.

But she was deaf to his pleas, refusing to engage with him. And though the thought of facing the assembled journalists filled him with dread, he had eventually complied, pulling the small suitcase from the shelf in the wardrobe and throwing a few odds and ends into it. He never went away, never travelled for his work and it all seemed like a ghastly pantomime as he tossed his socks, shirts and toiletries into the suitcase, heading off on a journey that he had no desire to make.

Zapping the car open, he raised the boot and dropped the suitcase inside. It fell with a dull thud, the sound echoing off the brickwork that surrounded him. They’d only had the garage done a few months ago. It was supposed to be his space. What a pointless waste of money it seemed now.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and picked up the remote control for the garage doors. Was this it then? His departure from the family home? Inside was nothing but desolation and despair. And outside? A mass of prurient journalists, idlers and neighbours keen to enjoy his disgrace, not to mention two innocent boys who would never look at their dad in the same way again. It was hideous to contemplate.