Little Boy Blue

79

‘This is your opportunity to tell us what happened. If I were you I’d take it.’

Samantha said nothing in response. She had seen the station doctor and was calmer now, though it was clear that she wasn’t comfortable in these surroundings. She fidgeted endlessly, shifting in her seat, tugging at her clothes, obsessing about the broken nails she’d suffered when being escorted to the station. On more than one occasion, she had asked for replacements, as well as foundation, lipstick, mascara, but Helen had refused her requests. They would be good bargaining chips in the hours to come.

‘What would you like to know, Helen? May I call you Helen?’

‘If you like.’

Helen tried to keep the edge from her voice, but didn’t wholly succeed. She was still stewing on her argument with Charlie and was not in the mood to be teased or mocked. Charlie had never spoken to her that brutally before – such an open act of defiance not only threatened their relationship but also morale within the team. It was tempting to blame Charlie’s sudden and unexpected promotion for this problem but actually Charlie was right. Helen had been behaving oddly – this case was messing with her head, making her act in ways that were both unprofessional and unkind.

‘And what should I call you?’ she asked, trying to put these troubling thoughts from her mind.

‘My name is Samantha.’

‘Samantha Parker?’

‘Just Samantha.’

Helen noted her aversion to her given surname – a small but telling sign. Opening her file, Helen digested the contents, taking a moment to compose herself. Her anger and discomfort still burnt, but the details of the case, and the rhythm of questioning, were comforting and familiar. Helen hoped that slowly she would regain her equilibrium in the hushed confessional of the interview suite. She was leading it alone, which was unusual, but in the circumstances what choice did she have? To include either Charlie or Sanderson would seem like favouritism. Another rod for her own back, Helen thought to herself.

‘Samantha it is, then. But you’ve been known by other names, haven’t you?’

‘We all have many different personalities within us.’

‘And, of course, there’s your professional work as a drag act which requires an alter ego?’

‘We’re called performance artistes and, yes, a little creativity is required.’

‘Would you say you’re well-known on the club scene?’

‘Pretty well.’

‘And in the wider BDSM community?’

‘It’s a larger world than you’d think and, yes, I play my part.’

Helen nodded but said nothing, noting that Samantha was happy to be led towards an obvious trap.

‘So you’ve visited the Torture Rooms then?’

‘On occasion.’

‘And you’ve run into Jake Elder during your time. If you need to refresh your memory here’s a phot-’

‘I believe I’ve seen his face around,’ Samantha said, without looking down at the photo. ‘At Munches, events and so forth.’

‘And what about Max Paine? Have you ever met him? Ever used his services?’

‘Once or twice. He’s got a bit of a reputation, but then again every girl likes to be slapped sometimes, doesn’t she?’

Helen ignored the assertion. ‘Last night he had an appointment. His diary said he was meeting “S”. Was that you?’

‘Don’t tell me something’s happened to him?’ Samantha came back calmly.

‘Please answer the question. Was that you?’

Samantha sat back in her chair.

‘Yes.’

‘So you kept your appointment?’

Samantha nodded.

‘Did he beat you?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘So how did you get your bruises?’

For the first time, Samantha hesitated, her cockiness temporarily deserting her.

‘I forget.’

‘Not good enough.’

‘I honestly can’t remember. I was in a bit of a state last night.’

‘Why?’

‘None of your fucking business.’

It was aimed directly at Helen. She sidestepped it and continued:

‘Where were you between the hours of ten thirty p.m. and six thirty a.m. last night?’

‘At my flat.’

‘Can anyone verify that?’

‘No.’

‘How about Tuesday night? Cast your mind back three days – where were you then?’

‘Out.’

Helen said nothing. The silence sat heavy in the room.

‘I was at the ball, ok? It’s a very popular event.’

‘To be clear, you were at the Annual Ball at the Torture Rooms nightclub.’

‘The Torture Rooms nightclub – Jesus Christ, you sound like my grandmother.’

‘Yes or no?’

‘Yes.’

Helen scribbled a note to herself to call Meredith. If Samantha’s presence at the club that night could be confirmed, it would make a massive difference to their case. Otherwise they would always be open to the defence of false confession – a thorny problem in high-profile cases.

‘Did you encounter Jake Elder on Tuesday night?’

‘I saw him mooching about like a bear with a sore head. Poor boy looked like he needed cheering up.’

‘Did you talk to him? Interact with him?’

‘Did I… interact with him?’ Samantha replied, wrapping her mouth round the words. ‘Not that I recall, but then the night is a bit of a blur. As your colleague has probably told you, I have an issue with alcohol. I’d pay for the good stuff, but as it is…’

‘So nothing out of the ordinary happened that night?’

‘No. Same old, same old…’

‘Have you ever used wet sheets?’ Helen asked, changing tack sharply.

‘Of course.’

‘Other forms of restraints? Leather straps, hog ties -’

‘Who hasn’t?’

‘A witness – a cabbie – picked you up that night after the Annual Ball. Said you were in a terrible state. Angry, distressed, unpredictable. If it was such a mundane evening, why were you so affected by it?’

Samantha said nothing, but Helen could see her eyes narrowing.

‘What happened that night, Samantha?’

There was a long pause, as Samantha toyed with a broken nail. Then she leant forward, rewarding Helen with an ample view of her cleavage as she did so, before whispering:

‘That’s for me to know. And you to find out.’