Little Boy Blue

50

Emilia Garanita hit the hands-free button and punched in the number. She was the last person in the office and this was her final duty on what had been a tiring, but satisfactory day. She always replied to phone and email messages before the day was out – it was one of the things she prided herself on as a journalist, one of the things that singled her out from her peers. Once she was done, she would head home, open a bottle of wine and read tonight’s edition.

It was an indulgence but she never got tired of seeing her words in print. It was just a provincial paper in some people’s eyes – but to Emilia it had always been more than that. It was a city paper – her city – and it still excited her to see her byline and photo at the top of the page.

Today’s spread was particularly good. Everyone knew that people in stressful, high-pressure jobs often had unusual ways of relieving the pressure, but, still, a respectable bank manager was an absolute gift. This story had all the best ingredients – murder, sex, betrayal – and was guaranteed to run and run. Not just because the killer was still at large, but also because the main suspect, Paul Jackson, was clearly leading a double life. He was happily married with two kids and, judging by the look on his wife’s face, the revelation about his involvement in the Torture Rooms murder must have come as a complete shock to her, not to mention to their friends and neighbours.

It was the kind of story that would have people all over Southampton speculating about what their neighbours were up to after hours, so the Evening News had gone to town on it – Emilia once more enjoying a four-page spread all to herself. They’d mocked up an image of the crime scene, constructed a possible narrative of events and gone large on the views of a psychologist about the attraction of hardcore BDSM. The latter element had been part of their wide-ranging profile of Paul Jackson. They’d initially run shy of using his name, but once he was released on bail the gloves were off. Maybe he was guilty, maybe he wasn’t. In some ways it didn’t really matter – it was still great news, packed with secrets, lies and depravity.

The phone was still ringing, so Emilia clicked off and tried again. But she was growing tired now, so after another fifteen rings she hung up, heading for the exit. Whatever Max Paine wanted would have to keep for another day.