M. Arlidge - Little Boy Blue

Had they driven an innocent man to suicide? The press had to take some of the blame, but so did her officers. It would play hard on Sanderson’s conscience whatever the outcome, but it was ultimately her fault – the team was Helen’s responsibility and, in failing to identify the growing hostility between her DSs, she had committed an unforgiveable oversight. If he died, they would all have to answer for it.

Helen had reached the gates now and paused to look down over Southampton. It was a dark, brooding night, relentless bands of rain sweeping over the city, and the lights twinkled mischievously below, as if revelling in the dark deeds that go undetected at night. Helen instinctively felt that their latest thinking was right – that someone within the BDSM community was responsible for Jake’s murder. Samantha was potentially a good fit but, if so, why had she suddenly snapped? What had Jake done to provoke such savage treatment? And where was she now? As ever, there were more questions than answers.

The rain continued to sweep the hillside, but Helen didn’t move. She remained stock still, a lone figure lost in her thoughts, surrounded on all sides by death.

‘It’s so nice to meet you. I just wish it could have been in happier circumstances.’

Emilia gave David Simons her best happy-but-sad smile. Jake Elder’s former boyfriend had arrived on the first train from London and Emilia had been waiting for him. It was highly unlikely that another journalist would have got wind of his arrival in Southampton, but she’d decided not to take any chances, whisking him from the station back to base. They were now tucked away in her small office, breakfasting on strong coffee and the best doughnuts Southampton had to offer. In Emilia’s experience, sugar was the best medicine for grief.

Simons was jetlagged following his flight from Los Angeles, which only exacerbated his disorientation and distress. Emilia had the sense that tears weren’t far away and she was keen to keep him on track, gently coaxing his story from him.

‘So you and Jake were together for…’

‘Six, seven months.’

‘And you saw each other regularly during that period?’

‘Pretty much every day.’

‘And how would you characterize your relationship?’

‘Good. Very good at first. He was so generous and kind -’

‘And then?’

Simons looked up at her, a flash of irritation crossing his face. Emilia sensed he was irked to have been dragged away from happy memories to the painful reality, but she didn’t let her concern show.

‘Most of the time it was great, but fairly early on it became clear that there were… limits to our relationship.’

Emilia leant forward.

‘Meaning?’

‘That I wanted more than he did.’

Emilia nodded, but said nothing.

‘Contrary to the rumours, not all gay men are promiscuous,’ he continued. ‘I’ve only ever had long-term relationships – don’t see the point in the other -’

‘And you were hoping that Jake might be a keeper?’

‘Isn’t that what everyone’s looking for?’

Emilia smiled, keeping her counsel. Was that what she was after? She’d had relationships of course, but they had been brief – her work schedule and family responsibilities always conspiring to kill off any potential romance. And now, after so long, she wondered if she was actually capable of commitment.

‘So what was the problem?’ she replied eventually, interested in his answer for more than just professional reasons.

‘His heart wasn’t in it.’

‘Because?’

‘Are you always this fucking blunt?’

Now his anger was clear. Emilia had misjudged how brittle he was and hurried to recover lost ground.

‘I’m sorry if I sound rude. It’s early mornings – I’m no good at them and I’ve a tendency to put my foot in my mouth. All I’m trying to do is get a sense of what you’ve been through. But please don’t answer if you don’t want to. I’m very happy to put you in touch with the police if you’d prefer, so you can get the answers you want from them.’

This had the desired effect. The police had clearly been in contact with Simons, but Emilia sensed that he’d been evasive about the precise date of his arrival in the UK. He seemed keen to avoid contact with them for as long as possible. In the meantime, Emilia was a useful source of information for him – it would pay him to keep her onside, despite his evident distress.

‘I’m sorry, I’m just very tired…’

‘Of course you are,’ Emilia responded gently, offering him another doughnut. ‘And there’s no need to talk about anything you don-’

‘He was in love with someone else, ok? He loved me in his own way but there was a part of him I couldn’t reach.’

‘I see. And do you have any idea who this other person was -’

‘I glimpsed them talking once, but it was nobody I recognized.’

‘Can you describe him for me?’

‘Actually it was a she. Tall, shoulder-length hair, pretty.’

Intrigued, Emilia scribbled the description down before asking:

‘So what happened?’

‘I confronted him about it. He denied that he had feelings for her but he was lying, so I pushed it. He told me more and… well, I was bloody upset, so I called it a day. I’ve been in this situation before. And I didn’t want the end of our relationship to be death by a thousand cuts.’

‘You went your separate ways?’

‘I took some work in the States. Tried to put as much distance between Jake and myself as possible. I’m not sure it worked though.’

Emilia kept her eyes glued to his as she scribbled – female lover? – on her pad. The tears that had threatened were coming now and she had the strong sense that this poor guy, who had loved Jake so much during his short life, now loved him even more in death.

He hammered on the door with his stick, but there was no response from inside. What was it with these people? Did they think that paying rent was optional?

Cursing, Gary Lushington looked down at the little book in his hand. There it was in black and white – rent arrears going back over three months. Paine had been a good tenant at first – if you ignored what he got up to for a living – but he’d been evasive and moody of late, which made Gary nervous. That type of behaviour usually meant only one thing – him ending up out of pocket. And that wasn’t something he was prepared to allow.

Muttering, he leant against the door and, pulling the key chain from his pocket, began to search for his duplicate set. As he did so, he became aware of a very strange sensation. His back felt warm against the door – no, more than that, it felt hot. Gary pulled away quickly, turning to face the doorway.

And now he became aware that this corridor was markedly hotter than the couple he’d already visited on his rounds. He’d assumed his clamminess was the result of all those stairs – they were harder for him now he had to use a stick to get about – but now he realized that the heat he felt was emanating from within the flat. What the bloody hell was Paine thinking? It was a nice autumnal morning, for God’s sake – there was no need to have the heating on full blast.

Suddenly Gary was seized by a nasty thought. Perhaps Paine had gone away, leaving the heating on. He might even have done a bunk, leaving his landlord with a hefty heating bill as a final fuck you.

Pushing the key firmly into the lock, Gary turned it hard and pushed the door open. Calling Paine’s name angrily, he stepped forward, but almost immediately found himself stumbling backwards again. Crashing into the wall opposite, he remained rooted to the spot, momentarily stunned into silence. The temperature within the flat was overwhelming and a wave of choking heat now flooded out, crawling over the shocked landlord and escaping down the corridor beyond. But it wasn’t this that rendered Gary Lushington speechless, nor even the sight of a figure hanging from the ceiling. No, what really stopped him in his tracks this morning was the smell.