Little Boy Blue

55

She hurried along the street, taking care to avoid the fast-food wrappers, empty pint glasses and the occasional pool of vomit. It was Thursday night in Southampton and the drinkers were out in force.

The End of the Road was in the heart of Sussex Place and Helen pushed her way through the post-pub crowds to get to it. There was a long queue snaking from the entrance, but Helen bypassed this, heading straight for the bouncer and presenting him her warrant card.

Inside, the party was in full swing. The cavernous bar was a sea of peacock feathers, sequins and elaborate eye make-up – punters and staff alike dressing to impress. Sleekly dressed in her biking leathers, Helen fitted in pretty well, receiving several complimentary catcalls as she jostled to the bar. But she ignored them – something told her that speed was of the essence tonight.

She had to bellow to be heard at the bar. The bartender looked unimpressed by her enquiries but sloped off anyway. Cursing under her breath, Helen turned away to examine the scene. Her eye was immediately drawn to a poster for ‘Pandora’, frayed round the edges, but still in pride of place on the far wall. Helen drank in the face – even with the deep-gold eye shadow, and generously applied rouge there was a coldness to the face that was unnerving.

‘Can I help you?’

Helen turned to find a short, bald man looking at her across the bar. Craig Ogden owned The End of the Road and was clearly unnerved by the presence of a police officer in his bar on a busy Thursday night.

‘I need to speak to Samantha. You may also know her as Pandor-’

‘Both.’

‘She works here?’

‘She does the late shift. Can I ask what this is about?’

‘When are you expecting her?’ Helen replied, ignoring the question.

‘Well, she was due in at ten. But she called in sick.’

‘When?’

‘Just as we were opening,’ he replied, his frustration clear.

‘Where can I find her? Do you have an address?’

‘We did, but she moved a few weeks back. Hasn’t told us where she is now. She might be living in a skip for all I know. She’s not the type to encourage questions and God alone knows where she ends up at night…’

‘A phone number then?’

‘I can see if we have anything on file, but to be honest I inherited her from the last manager and the record keeping at this place has never bee-’

‘But she phoned you earlier,’ Helen insisted. ‘You must have her -’

‘Number withheld. Fuck knows why…’

‘What about friends then?’ Helen said, increasingly exasperated now. ‘Or colleagues? Is there anyone here who might know where I can find her?’

‘Ask around, by all means,’ Ogden replied, shrugging. ‘To be honest, I kept well clear of her. Sometimes you can just see it in the eyes, right?’

Ogden was in full flow now, but Helen was scarcely listening, turning to look at the hundreds of revellers who were packed into the club. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Helen ended the conversation and pushed through the crowds, keen to escape the din. She wanted to get back to Southampton Central, touch base with Sanderson and see if the team had made any progress. Helen had been in an optimistic frame of mind after her chat with Dennis, pleased to have a lead on the elusive Samantha at last. But now she was leaving The End of the Road empty-handed and frustrated, plagued by the feeling that Samantha was vanishing from their radar for a reason. She had vowed to get justice for Jake but she was still no closer to catching his killer.

A promising lead had just gone up in smoke.