M. Arlidge - Little Boy Blue

Gardam pushed the door to and walked towards the board. He stood for a minute, taking in the words written on it.

‘How’s the profile coming on?’

‘Slowly. We haven’t got much to go on.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Really, it’s pretty basic…’

‘I’d like to help if I can. I was a decent DI once upon a time.’

Helen hesitated. She preferred to do her soul searching alone, but Gardam’s tone brooked no argument and perhaps she could make an exception. She wasn’t getting very far by herself.

‘I think the key element is control. Control of himself, control of his victim, control of us. He’s a high-functioning individual with an inflated sense of his own importance, someone who feels the world doesn’t understand him. He wants to engage but will only do so on his terms, leaving statement killings for us to interpret.’

‘So he enjoys the game?’

‘Absolutely. I think he likes to tantalize, to tease, to play God.’

‘Is he likely to live alone, then? To have a home environment that he can control?’

‘Possibly but he may have a partner, even a family. Maybe he controls them like he controls his victims or it may be that they dominate him .’

Gardam nodded, taking this in.

‘Do we think his victims were targeted specifically?’

‘If they were I would expect to see more signs of overt violence against them.’

‘So does he have something against people in the BDSM world?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Does he have a moral issue with S &M? Was he on the wrong end of a bad experience? Could some incident within the community have triggered this?’

Helen considered this.

‘I don’t mean to pry,’ Gardam ventured, ‘but you must have come across these kinds of people – what sort of world is it?’

‘It’s not as weird as you’d think,’ Helen replied quickly. ‘People go into it for all sorts of reasons, but generally it’s professional, discreet and consensual.’

‘But there must be people who want to push it to the extreme…’

‘In private encounters perhaps. Professional sessions have strict safety rules, which are religiously observed.’

‘So this guy has graduated beyond the entry level? He’s experienced?’

‘Judging by his knowledge and activities, I’d say he knows this world well. He doesn’t seem to want to be punished or exposed or abused, he wants to be the one with the upper hand. It is possible he comes from a place where he has no control, no sense of hope. He could be an abuse victim, someone trapped in an unhealthy relationship, someone saddled with emotional baggage that he can’t expiate any other way.’

‘Do any of those apply to you?’

Helen stopped, surprised by the question.

‘Look, tell me to fuck off if you want to, but you’re our best asset in trying to understand this guy. I appreciate you don’t want to broadcast this side of your life to the team, but between us…’

Helen stared at Gardam, then said:

‘I do it because it works.’

‘Because you feel… guilt?’

‘Guilt, regret, anger.’

‘And it works for you? It gives you reassurance, comfort…’

‘For a while.’

‘But then those feelings come back again?’

Helen shrugged, but didn’t deny it.

‘Do you think those feelings will ever go away?’ Gardam persisted.

‘I’m not sure. It sounds stupid… but sometimes I feel… that I’m stained. That I’m marked by what’s happened in the past…’

‘It’s a mark no one else can see.’

‘ I can see it.’

Gardam looked at her for a moment. He seemed to be struggling for the right words. Finally he said:

‘Do you really think you’re… cursed?’

‘That’s exactly how I feel.’

‘It doesn’t have to be that way, you know…’

‘Believe me, if I could find a path through this I would.’

‘Then let me help you. You’ve taken the first steps by confiding in me. Don’t let this opportunity go to waste. Let me… help you.’

He took a step forwards, holding out his hand to her. The smile on his face was kindly but firm.

‘I know you’re lonely, Helen, I know you feel lost…’

Helen took a step back, but still Gardam advanced.

‘And I hate to think of you alone in that flat, with all this going on.’ He gestured at the board.

‘I’ll be fine. Look, I think it’s best that -’

‘You opened yourself up to me for a reason. So don’t be scared now.’

He put his hand on Helen’s cheek.

‘This will be good for both of us.’

Helen lifted her hand to remove his, but suddenly Gardam pulled her towards him. Now she felt his mouth on hers. She raised her hand to his chest to push him off, but he kept coming, his teeth biting down on her lower lip.

Helen pulled away sharply. But his arms were still around her and as she tried to wriggle out of his grip, she collided with the table.

‘Don’t run from this, Helen,’ Gardam chided, running his hand down her back and on to her buttocks.

He moved towards her again, but this time Helen struck first, dragging her nails down the side of his face. Gardam recoiled in shock, giving Helen the opportunity she needed. She drove her knee hard into his groin – once, twice, three times.

Gardam crumpled to the floor.

Helen stepped over him, moving fast across the room. Reaching the doorway, she burst through it, leaving her boss lying on the floor, gagging quietly into the carpet. Helen didn’t look back once. Now she just wanted to be away.

The eyes of the world were on her now.

Samantha hated mockery, she hated attention, she hated judgement. But she was getting all three in spades now. She’d pulled the curtains to, turned off her mobile, but still the intercom buzzed, buzzed, buzzed. She knew bugger all about electrics, so in the end she’d ripped it off the wall, hurling it at the door with a stream of invective. Shortly after, the handful of journalists who’d harried and jostled her on her way home had gained entry to the block. She could hardly call the police and her useless landlord wasn’t answering his calls, so they were still at the door, calling, hammering, joking. To them this was all in a day’s work.

She had stuck it for a while, ignoring their pleas for an interview, sitting in silence in the living room. But in the end it had got to her and she’d retreated to the back of the house. Cranking up the stereo, she’d treated them to a bit of Dark Metal. They would love it of course – it would add ‘colour’ to their articles – but she didn’t care. She just wanted to block out the world for a while.

The police had stolen most of her possessions, her clothes, even her babies. But they had missed a couple. A pair of dolls she’d picked up at a flea market and had called Duke and Duchess on account of their finery. They now resided in the corner of a bedside drawer, temporarily exiled there due to lack of space in the room. Samantha pulled them from their hiding place and laid them on the floor in front of her. They were all she had for company now, yet even they seemed to be looking at her oddly today, their dead, black eyes giving back nothing but suspicion and disappointment. She had seen that look a lot when she had been a kid.

God, how she craved a drink, but there was no way she could head out to get one. She had gambled and lost, revelling in the attention the police gave her as she led them a merry, pointless dance, only to be tossed aside once they realized she was lying through her teeth. All she’d wanted was a moment in the spotlight, but what a bitter harvest she’d reaped.

She wanted company but there was none to be had. She wanted sanctuary from the world, but even that seemed to have been taken away from her now. This dingy, rotting flat had been her haven for so long. But that was all over. Now it was just a home without a heart.