M. Arlidge - Little Boy Blue

‘I didn’t know what she was doing in there,’ Charlie countered. ‘I could have waited another five minutes, but what if she’d done something to herself? You can see what state she’s in – drunk, emotional, unpredictable -’

‘Come off it, Charlie. You’ve always been impulsive, but that’s not what this is. This is about you getting one over on Sanderson. This was her lead.’

‘So why didn’t she bring him in?’ Charlie retorted, casting a quick glance at her rival, who loitered by the flat entrance nearby.

‘I told every member of the team to report back to me straight away with any developments, but you deliberately kept this to yourself. You missed an important briefing, went off on your own. To prove what? That you’re willing to risk your life for your career? You’ve got to get a handle on this – it’s affecting your judgement, your ability to do the job -’

‘Well, that’s rich coming from you.’

Helen looked ready to explode, but Charlie continued:

‘Ever since we found Jake Elder you’ve been acting oddly.’

‘Don’t think our friendship gives you the right to talk to me like that. I am your superior officer,’ Helen snapped back, anger flaring in her.

‘Then try acting like one,’ Charlie interrupted. ‘You were in pieces after we found Elder and you’ve been aggressive, over-emotional and unpredictable ever since. Take a look in the mirror, Helen, it’s not me that’s acting weirdly. It’s you.’

Charlie turned and walked away towards her car. Helen’s first instinct was to go after her but even as she took a step in her direction, she became aware of the large audience watching on. There was no question of continuing the argument now. Helen had already let herself down by rowing with another officer – the same crime she’d pulled Charlie and Sanderson up on only a day ago – and she risked losing all authority if she made their confrontation look personal.

But in truth it was personal. Charlie had always been Helen’s closest friend and ally at Southampton Central, but now it looked very much like her old comrade had cut her off for good.

Are some wounds too deep to heal? Is damaged love ever beyond repair?

Sally Jackson sat by her husband’s bedside, clinging doggedly to his hand. She’d kept a vigil here since he’d been released from ICU, hoping that her support and encouragement might speed his recovery. Hoping that the Paul she knew would come back to her.

He was out of danger now, but he still found it hard to talk and was asleep for much of the time. Sally didn’t mind – she’d hated being excluded from the intensive care unit, powerless to influence events and ignorant of what was happening within. Here at least she could try to help. In Paul’s waking hours, she kept up a constant chatter, talking to him about mundane family matters as well as looking forward to things they might do with the boys once he was better.

Sally had no idea if it was true or just wishful thinking. It was hard to imagine they could ever go back to the way things were given the trauma of the last forty-eight hours. He had been in such a dark place, so despairing and rejected, that he had tried to leave them. Perhaps in her position some people might have felt rejected, but she didn’t. She just felt guilt. Paul had asked for her help, for her understanding, and she had been too weak to give it to him. Paul had betrayed her – of course he had – but she had repaid him in kind and it made her feel dreadful.

Her conversation had petered out a while ago now. Much as she tried to remain upbeat, it was hard not to be consumed by dark thoughts. She’d overheard the nurses gossiping about a second victim and she suspected they were wondering if her husband would be the third. None of it made any sense and it filled her with trepidation for the future. Yes, she was here, doing all the things she should do, but really what hope was there for the future when the fissure in their lives was so great?

Wiping a tear away, Sally chided herself for being so morbid. There was no point looking too far ahead, she had to keep her mind anchored on the here and now. The rest – the future – was another world for them. She would remain here and do what was needed for Paul, for the twins. She would stay because she still cared deeply for her husband. She just didn’t know him any more.

‘This is your opportunity to tell us what happened. If I were you I’d take it.’

Samantha said nothing in response. She had seen the station doctor and was calmer now, though it was clear that she wasn’t comfortable in these surroundings. She fidgeted endlessly, shifting in her seat, tugging at her clothes, obsessing about the broken nails she’d suffered when being escorted to the station. On more than one occasion, she had asked for replacements, as well as foundation, lipstick, mascara, but Helen had refused her requests. They would be good bargaining chips in the hours to come.

‘What would you like to know, Helen? May I call you Helen?’

‘If you like.’

Helen tried to keep the edge from her voice, but didn’t wholly succeed. She was still stewing on her argument with Charlie and was not in the mood to be teased or mocked. Charlie had never spoken to her that brutally before – such an open act of defiance not only threatened their relationship but also morale within the team. It was tempting to blame Charlie’s sudden and unexpected promotion for this problem but actually Charlie was right. Helen had been behaving oddly – this case was messing with her head, making her act in ways that were both unprofessional and unkind.

‘And what should I call you?’ she asked, trying to put these troubling thoughts from her mind.

‘My name is Samantha.’

‘Samantha Parker?’

‘Just Samantha.’

Helen noted her aversion to her given surname – a small but telling sign. Opening her file, Helen digested the contents, taking a moment to compose herself. Her anger and discomfort still burnt, but the details of the case, and the rhythm of questioning, were comforting and familiar. Helen hoped that slowly she would regain her equilibrium in the hushed confessional of the interview suite. She was leading it alone, which was unusual, but in the circumstances what choice did she have? To include either Charlie or Sanderson would seem like favouritism. Another rod for her own back, Helen thought to herself.

‘Samantha it is, then. But you’ve been known by other names, haven’t you?’

‘We all have many different personalities within us.’

‘And, of course, there’s your professional work as a drag act which requires an alter ego?’

‘We’re called performance artistes and, yes, a little creativity is required.’

‘Would you say you’re well-known on the club scene?’

‘Pretty well.’

‘And in the wider BDSM community?’

‘It’s a larger world than you’d think and, yes, I play my part.’

Helen nodded but said nothing, noting that Samantha was happy to be led towards an obvious trap.

‘So you’ve visited the Torture Rooms then?’

‘On occasion.’

‘And you’ve run into Jake Elder during your time. If you need to refresh your memory here’s a phot-’

‘I believe I’ve seen his face around,’ Samantha said, without looking down at the photo. ‘At Munches, events and so forth.’

‘And what about Max Paine? Have you ever met him? Ever used his services?’

‘Once or twice. He’s got a bit of a reputation, but then again every girl likes to be slapped sometimes, doesn’t she?’

Helen ignored the assertion. ‘Last night he had an appointment. His diary said he was meeting “S”. Was that you?’