Little Boy Blue

16

This was better than she could possibly have imagined. She had heard the stories about the Torture Rooms before of course, but had never had the inclination – or the bottle perhaps – to investigate further. Seeing the club now for the first time, she felt a surge of excitement – you couldn’t have dreamt up a better backdrop for a gruesome murder. The moral majority out there would hoover this up, scared and titillated in equal measure.

Emilia pulled out her Nikon and got to work, snapping the exotic instruments of torture and restraint. Her time here was limited and she knew she had to work fast. Gaining access had been harder than usual – the manager and most of the bartenders had gone to ground – so she’d had to track down the security company who usually provided the muscle on the doors. The first two guys she’d contacted had told her to sling her hook, but the third one was twice divorced, with a drinker’s thirst, and needed the money.

‘You can have twenty minutes, but that’s it. I need this job and I’m not going to get fired on your account.’

Emilia had agreed, knowing that once she was in there, she could push it to half an hour. Once people have your money in their pocket, they become a bit less grand.

Having photographed the dance floor area, she headed swiftly down the corridor to the crime scene. But it was taped up and the door firmly secured. So, feigning a weak bladder, Emilia scurried back down the corridor, making her way to the small box room at the back that served as the club’s office.

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.’