M. Arlidge - Little Boy Blue

It was said with something approaching pride and for a moment Helen thought she might actually slap him. She had never heard someone damn their own flesh and blood in such blunt terms.

‘We haven’t seen him in nearly ten years and we’re not going to be much help now, so let’s just get this over with, shall we? I don’t want to be here any more than you do.’

He rose abruptly, clearly keen to get the formal identification of his son over and done with. Moira followed suit, hurrying after her departing husband.

As she left, she glanced briefly back at Helen. After her husband’s harsh words, Helen had expected to see some embarrassment there, perhaps even contrition. But not a bit of it.

The look Moira now gave Helen was one of pure scorn.

Her fist slammed into the metal, rebounding off it violently. Without hesitating, she raised her arm again, ploughing her clenched fist into the unyielding surface. This time her impact was true and the metal buckled under the assault. Wincing, Helen withdrew her hand and stepped back to survey the damage. To her shame, she saw that she had left a large dent on the unfortunate locker door – a complement to the bloody knuckles on her right hand.

She turned away, furious with herself, but angrier still with Jake’s parents. They seemed so dismissive, so fixed in their view of him, yet if they had known their son at all , they would have known that he was kind, generous and loving. They refused to see that, remaining blinkered to the bitter end. What must it be like to live your life that way, Helen wondered, to sacrifice so much on the altar of your principles? Would it bring them happiness in the end? She suspected not.

Helen hadn’t trusted herself to return to the incident room straight away, so had been pacing the ladies’ locker room ever since, trying to quell her growing anger. Helen knew that indignation and fury were sometimes positives, driving you to work harder and faster, but this wasn’t like that. For the first time in years, Helen felt out of control. She hadn’t slept at all, which didn’t help, but still she was surprised at how upset and disoriented she was by the morning’s events. She knew that, for Jake’s sake, she had to find a way to contain her emotions. She couldn’t run a major investigation in this state.

A sharp knocking sound made her look up. Seconds later, the door swung open and Charlie entered, clutching a thin file.

‘Sorry to disturb you. I looked for you in the interview suite and Gardam’s office but -’

‘No problem,’ Helen said quickly, slipping her grazed hand into her pocket. ‘What have you got?’

Charlie pulled a sheet of paper from the file, but hesitated now before replying. The look on her face suggested she knew Helen was upset and was perhaps debating whether to say anything. In the end caution won out and, dropping her eyes to the paper, she said:

‘We’ve made a bit of progress with Elder’s communications. He sometimes used texts and emails to set up his appointments, but his favoured method of communicating with his clients was Snapchat.’

‘Right.’

‘Now, most people assume that when Snapchats disappear, they disappear for good, but actually the phone companies store them. We pulled Elder’s this morning, along with his recent texts and emails, so we’ve now got pretty much every communication he sent or received in the last three months.’

‘And?’ Helen said, hurrying Charlie to the point.

‘Well, we cross-referenced them with mobile phones that were transmitting in or near the Torture Rooms on the night Jake was killed and we’ve got a list of about twenty numbers.’

Helen took this in – their first small lead in a difficult case. As she did so, she saw Charlie’s eyes flit to the dented locker, before quickly returning to Helen once more. If there was a question implied there, Charlie hid it well.

‘Any links to anyone with a criminal record?’

‘Not yet, but we’re still processing them.’

‘Chase them all down,’ Helen replied impatiently. ‘Anything else?’

‘One regular texter who wasn’t in the vicinity was David Simons. He appears to have been in a serious relationship with Elder until fairly recently.’

Helen said nothing, her mind flitting back to the man she’d glimpsed in a city centre bar all those months ago.

‘How recently?’

‘Split up a couple of months back.’

‘Why?’

‘Lack of commitment from Jake, clinginess from David – judging by their lengthy emails on the subject.’

‘Where is Simons now?’

‘Los Angeles. He divides his time between the US and the UK. He’s been there the last four weeks. I’ve been trying to get hold of him, but…’

‘Get him over.’

‘Of course,’ Charlie replied, bristling slightly at Helen’s tone. ‘But I think we have to mark him off the list as a suspect, don’t you?’

There was something challenging in Charlie’s tone, but Helen decided not to rise to it. Instead, thanking her, she sent her on her way. Helen knew that she was being overly assertive, but the news that Jake’s boyfriend was long gone had sent her mood plummeting still further. Jake had seemed so happy when they last met, but Helen was suddenly struck by how lonely his life must have been.

No lover or friend had come forward to claim him, his parents wouldn’t have spat on him if he was on fire and even Helen had feigned ignorance of his identity to protect herself and her career. He had been abandoned in death by all those who should have cared for him and that was something those that remained would have to live with for the rest of their lives.

‘The victim lived and worked in Portswood. We’re still pinning down the precise details, but it appears that he earnt his living in the sex trade, working out of his flat as a professional dominator. Today we are asking anyone who’s encountered Jake Elder – in whatever capacity – to get in touch and help us with our enquiries.’

Emilia jotted down the details, chuckling at Gardam’s careful euphemism. Everyone present knew what he meant – he was appealing to the spankers to put aside their embarrassment and come forward.

‘Good luck with that,’ Emilia whispered to her neighbour, who raised a jaded eyebrow in response. Gardam was in cloud cuckoo land if he thought anyone in the BDSM community was going to willingly walk into a police station. A lot of them had criminal records, others had wives and families, and none of them would want to run the gauntlet of being judged by the small-minded sergeant on the front desk. Better let a killer walk free than endure that.

As Gardam continued, casually talking over his Media Liaison Officer’s attempt to direct proceedings, Emilia’s mind began to wonder. She already knew what her article would look like – she’d written it in her head on the way over – and there was little that Gardam could offer that she hadn’t already been told. The real question – and the only reason she’d come to this briefing at all – was what role DI Grace would play in proceedings. She was not someone who embraced the fourth estate, preferring to leave that to her superiors, but still her absence from the press conference was intriguing.

Emilia was pretty sure she was the only person present who knew that Helen had used Jake’s services. She had stumbled on their connection during the Ella Matthews investigation and had immediately tried to use it to her advantage, threatening the unfortunate DI with exposure unless she gave her exclusive access to the investigation. Not surprisingly, Grace had fought back, calling her bluff by revealing her knowledge of Emilia’s illegal surveillance techniques. It had ended in a score draw, both relieved to have emerged unscathed, but it still stuck in Emilia’s craw.