M. Arlidge - Little Boy Blue

The room was nearly bare – a decrepit desk, a small filing cabinet and naked light bulb. Emilia got to work, but the drawers were empty, the files uninteresting, and there was little here to detain her. Emilia cursed – this visit wasn’t proving quite as fruitful as she’d hoped.

As she turned to leave, her attention was caught by the photos that decorated the walls of the poky office. They were of past events – balls, fashion shows, photo shoots – that had been held in the club. They were full of exotically dressed revellers and deserved her careful attention.

‘Gary, can you come in here a second?’ Emilia shouted.

Moments later, he entered the office, looking flustered and annoyed.

‘What you doing in here? I said front of house and the back corridor only.’

‘I got lost,’ Emilia said, smiling sweetly, ‘but now that I’m here, could you take a look at these?’

She gestured towards the photos on the wall. But her partner in crime was already backing off.

‘We’re already over time as it is.’

‘You saw the victim, right?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Either you did or you didn’t.’

‘His face was taped up, but I knew the fella from the way he was dressed. Can’t tell you his name – we always used to call him “Twinkletoes” because of the gold boots he wore -’

‘Look at these photos then and tell me if you see him.’

‘No way. We need to be going -’

‘You’ve had good money out of me, now you have to earn it. I know Sean Blakeman’s mobile number,’ she continued, lying, ‘it would only take a minute for me to put you back on benefits.’

Grumbling, Gary pulled some reading glasses from his top pocket. Emilia suppressed a smile as he perched the owlish glasses on the fleshy folds of his red face. He really did make a comical sight.

‘There. That’s the fella.’

His finger was now pointing towards a figure on a podium who was dressed in gold lamé shorts and posing for the photographer. Emilia shot a look at the photo frame – ‘Annual Ball 2013’ – and moved in for a closer look. The man in the photo was half naked, muscular and seemingly having a very enjoyable time.

‘But I’ve no idea who he is and you won’t get anything more out of me today,’ the burly bouncer added.

‘No need,’ Emilia said, straightening up. ‘I know exactly who he is.’

Her guide was stupefied for a moment, before replying:

‘Who? Who is he?’

Emilia was already walking to the door, but turned now. Smiling coyly, she answered:

‘Read the paper tomorrow and you’ll find out.’

‘The victim’s name is Jake Elder.’

Helen’s voice held firm. It was the first time the full team had gathered together and she was determined not to reveal her distress to them, despite the emotions that churned inside her. She had to be strong.

‘Forty-one years of age, he’s been living in Southampton for the last fifteen years. His DNA matched samples taken following an arrest for possession of a Class B drug three years ago. He’s got a couple of other charges on his file – nothing major, but we should chase them down anyway. See if he owed anyone any money, whether he was consorting with known dealers. DC Lucas, can you coordinate that?’

‘Of course.’

‘His family have been informed and are on their way over from Taunton now. I’ll field them, but in the meantime I want us to climb inside our victim’s life. Did he have a boyfriend or girlfriend? Was he invited to last night’s ball by anyone? The victim had fresh saliva on his cheek – was it left there by a companion or by someone more casual? Also, it appears from his online activity that Elder was a professional dominator. Who did he meet? Who were his regular clients? Let’s interrogate his phone records, email, bank accounts, credit card statements…’

The team were busy scribbling down Helen’s instructions, so she paused now to gather herself. It was strange and unsettling to be talking about Jake as if he were a total stranger, to be deliberately withholding vital information from the team. Helen took a deep breath, before continuing:

‘Jake Elder lived his life online and via his phone – he is not your usual office worker. So check his web history, the chat rooms he used, his text messages, Snapchats, his Twitter followers…’

‘Do we think he was specifically targeted?’ DS Sanderson piped up.

‘Impossible to say, which is why we have to dig,’ Helen resumed evenly. ‘His killer may have a personal motive or Elder might just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. There are numerous DNA traces at the scene of the crime – cigarette butts, items of clothing, discarded fetish gear. We’ll need to run them all down, but I’d like us also to pay particular attention to the equipment our killer employed. You can’t buy wet sheets and panic shears in your local Tesco’s – they are specialist equipment with only one purpose. So let’s contact local bondage retailers – I’d like a list of all outlets situated within a twenty-mile radius of Southampton. Many of these operations are online only, meaning you have to pay with a credit card. So let’s interrogate their transactions, find out who’s been buying this stuff. Edwards, are you good for this?’

‘It’s my natural home,’ the handsome young officer replied, earning a few wry smiles from the rest of the team.

‘Let’s also make ourselves visible in the immediate environs of the club,’ Helen carried on, ignoring Edwards’s joke. ‘People heading to the Torture Rooms presumably cab it, rather than taking the bus. Find out if the local cabbies saw anything. Our victim was probably killed sometime between midnight and one a.m. – we should follow up on anyone seen leaving the club around this time, particularly if they appeared distressed or agitated.’

‘Perhaps they stayed to party?’ Lucas interjected.

‘Possibly, but we’ve got a lot of lines to run and my instinct is that they would probably try to leave the scene before the body was discovered. But you’re right, we should rule nothing out.’

Helen paused, picking up a file from the desk. She was finally getting into her stride, but the most difficult part was yet to come.

‘Alongside this, I want us to look at mummification.’

A ripple of nervous laughter spread through the team.

‘Also known as total-enclosure fetishism. It’s at the extreme end of the S &M spectrum and involves somebody getting a sexual kick from being completely reliant on another for their liberty, their movement, even their life.’

Visions of Jake – bound and taped – punched through Helen’s mind. Flicking through her file to buy herself a moment, Helen swallowed and pressed on:

‘There are many different ways to do it – straitjackets, wet sheets, bandages, rubber strips – but one thing that’s crucial to every method is trust . You have to trust the person doing it to you or you wouldn’t even start -’

‘So he knew his attacker?’ Charlie suggested.

‘It’s very possible. There are S &M groups who meet regularly to discuss, socialize and occasionally play. Their meets are called “Munches”. I want us to investigate them, see what we can dig up about the scene. Have there been similar incidents that we haven’t heard about? Is there anyone out there who is known for taking things too far? I don’t think a head-on attack is going to work, so I’ll be looking for a volunteer for undercover work.’

More nervous laughter, but as Lucas jokily tried to raise Edwards’s arm against his will, Sanderson stepped forward:

‘I’d like to take this, unless anyone objects?’ she said firmly, scanning the team for dissenters.