Little Boy Blue

32

‘I won’t be able to come here again.’

Angelique looked up, pausing momentarily.

‘Something wrong?’

‘It’s just work,’ Helen replied. ‘I’m going to be abroad a lot, so…’

Helen wasn’t a liar by nature and it showed. Fortunately this was not an environment in which awkward questions were likely to be raised.

‘Let’s make it a good one, then,’ Angelique replied. ‘Something to remember me by?’

The slender dominatrix moved forward, taking Helen’s wrist in her hand.

‘No restraints tonight,’ Helen said firmly.

Angelique paused. The look on her face suggested to Helen that there was much that could be said. Angelique was well-known on the S &M scene and had presumably heard about Jake’s murder. Had she known Helen a little better she might have raised it – it had clearly rattled people – but they barely knew each other, so whatever it was it would remain unsaid. Helen had visited Angelique on a handful of occasions in the last three months. She had tried to wean herself off her habit, but when the need became too great, she had sought paid companionship. This time she had sought out female company, hoping it would remove any sexual attraction from the equation – this had been her undoing on more than one occasion before.

Overall it had worked pretty well and Helen was glad to be able to use her services when the need arose. But she knew this would be her last visit. She would have to absent herself from this world during the investigation. It was hard to know what would fill the void – she was already running three times a week and smoking far more than she should – and Helen wondered what other compulsions might rear up in Angelique’s absence. As she’d biked home from Lynn’s house, she’d tried to persuade herself not to come. But her head was full of darkness tonight and the news that Sanderson’s cover had been blown so quickly had pushed her over the edge.

Nodding to Angelique, she relaxed her body and waited for the first blow. Today had been awful in so many ways and she couldn’t rid herself of the unpleasant images swirling round her mind. The look of disgust on Mike Elder’s face, his son’s cold corpse on the stainless steel slab, and – shot through with these – images of her own past. Mike Elder’s sneering face seemed to alternate with her father’s, while the submissive Moira seemed to walk hand in hand with visions of her own mother, turning the other cheek as her brutish husband beat, tortured and raped his own flesh and blood. Helen had never been a parent – and she knew in her heart that she never would be – but still she felt a fierce, primal anger at those who visited such terrible cruelty on those closest to them. The events of today had taken her straight back to when she was a little girl, remembering the intense fear, impotence and terror that only a child can feel. It filled her with terrible rage, but also terrible sadness. This had been her birth rite, just as it had been Jake’s.

The crop bit into her back, jolting her from her thoughts. This had always been the way – the endorphins flooding through her as she concentrated on the rhythm and power of her beating. She needed the release now more than ever on this darkest of days. Which is why, as Angelique raised her crop a second time, Helen shut her eyes and uttered a single word.

‘Harder.’